Obsession Under Jakarta Skies

Chapter 2

The humid night air of Jakarta didn’t cool as the clock ticked toward four in the morning. Silas bypassed the precinct entirely, his car tires screeching as he pulled into the circular driveway of a glass-and-steel monolith in Mega Kuningan. He didn’t want the sterile lights of an interrogation room. He wanted her on her own turf, where the mask might slip just a fraction.

The lobby was a cathedral of silent marble. A sleek, sharp-featured woman in a navy blazer stood by the private elevator bank, checking a tablet. She didn't look tired. She looked like she was waiting for a delayed flight.

"Detective Silas," the woman said, her voice a clipped professional monotone. "I’m Nadia Candrakirana. Miss Kertawati’s executive assistant. She’s expecting you."

"Is she always this welcoming to the police in the middle of the night?" Silas asked, stepping into the elevator.

Nadia tapped a floor number on the touch-sensitive panel. "Miss Kertawati doesn't sleep much. And she’s rarely surprised."

The elevator doors hissed open directly into a penthouse that looked more like an art gallery than a home. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of a city that never truly went dark. Anastasia was sitting on a low-slung velvet sofa, a crystal glass in her hand and a bottle of Macallan 25 on the table. She had traded the emerald gown for a silk robe the color of a bruised plum.

"You look like hell, Detective," Anastasia said, not bothering to rise. "Nadia, get him a glass. He looks like he’s about to start lecturing me on civic duty."

"I'm fine," Silas said, though he didn't stop Nadia as she poured two fingers of amber liquid and handed it to him.

"Don't be a martyr. It’s bad for the complexion," Anastasia teased, gesturing to the chair opposite her. "Sit. Tell me why you’re breaking my door down at this hour."

"The door was open, Anastasia. And you know why I’m here."

"I know why you think you’re here." She took a sip of her scotch, her eyes never leaving his. "But please, enlighten me. Was it the flower? Or did you just miss the conversation?"

Silas sat, the weight of the silver earring in his pocket feeling like a lead weight. "Let's start with the flower. Cattleya schilleriana. You told me you have a conservatory. You told me it’s expensive. Why leave it on a dead man's chest?"

"I didn't leave it anywhere, Silas. I simply recognized it. Is it a crime to be observant?"

"It is when you’re the only person in the room who isn't screaming."

"Maybe I’ve just seen enough to know that screaming doesn't bring anyone back." She leaned forward, the silk of her robe shifting. "Hadi Wijaya was a dinosaur. He was loud, he was greedy, and he had a very long list of people who wanted to see him as a centerpiece. Why me?"

"Because you were standing five feet from him when the lights went out," Silas said, leaning in. "And because you dropped this."

He pulled the diamond earring from his pocket and set it on the glass table. It clinked softly, a tiny, glittering accusation.

Anastasia didn't flinch. She picked it up, rolling the platinum between her thumb and forefinger. "Oh, thank God. I thought I’d lost this in the fountain. It’s part of a set. My grandmother would have haunted me if I’d let it go."

"That’s your defense? You lost it in the fountain?"

"It’s not a defense, Detective. It’s a statement of fact." She looked up, a playful glint in her eyes. "Are you going to handcuff me now? The lighting in here is much better for a mugshot than the station."

"Don't push it," Silas muttered, taking a long swallow of the scotch. It burned, but it was the best thing he’d tasted in weeks. "You were there. You knew the victim. You have a thing for rare orchids. It’s a pretty short walk to a motive."

"Motive? I liked Hadi. He was one of the few people in this city who knew how to keep a secret. Killing him would be a net loss for my social calendar."

"And what about your business calendar? I heard the Kertawati group was bidding for the same shipping lanes Wijaya just secured."

Anastasia laughed, the sound low and rich. "Silas, really? You think I’d kill a man over a shipping lane? I have three others. I don't need to get my hands dirty for a few extra containers of palm oil."

"Then tell me where you were five minutes before the lights went out. And don't say the foyer."

"I was in the garden. Alone. Taking a breath of air that didn't smell like expensive perfume and desperation."

"Anyone see you?"

"The statues, perhaps. But they’re notoriously bad witnesses." She set the earring down and leaned back, crossing her legs. "You’re trying very hard to make me the villain of this story, Detective. Why is that? Is it because I make you nervous?"

"You don't make me nervous," Silas lied, his pulse betraying him.

"Your heart is beating so hard I can practically see it through that cheap suit," she whispered. "You’re frustrated. You have a dead body, no weapon, and a suspect who isn't afraid of you. That must be very difficult for a man who likes control."

"I like the truth," Silas corrected.

"The truth is a bore. The truth is that Hadi Wijaya was killed by someone who wanted to make a point. The orchid isn't a signature, Silas. It’s a message. One that has nothing to do with me."

"And what's the message?"

"That even the richest man in Jakarta can be turned into a garden ornament in the dark." She reached out, her fingers grazing the back of his hand as she reached for the bottle. Her skin was cool, sending a jolt through him that had nothing to do with the alcohol. "You’re looking at the wrong things. You should be looking at who stood to gain from the chaos, not who was calm enough to watch it."

"I’m looking at you," he said, his voice dropping.

"I noticed. It’s a bit distracting." She poured him another drink. "Stay. Finish the scotch. The sun will be up in an hour, and we can both go back to pretending we don't find this... exhilarating."

"This isn't a date, Anastasia. It’s a homicide investigation."

"Can't it be both? Life is so much more interesting when you blur the lines."

Silas opened his mouth to snap a retort, but the words died as Nadia stepped back into the room, her phone pressed to her ear. Her face had gone pale.

"Miss Kertawati," Nadia said, her voice trembling. "Security just called. There’s a black SUV that just breached the perimeter gate. They aren't answering the radio."

Silas was on his feet in a second, his hand instinctively going to the holster at the small of his back. "What? How far out?"

"They’re in the courtyard," Nadia gasped.

"Get away from the windows!" Silas yelled, lunging across the table.

He tackled Anastasia just as the world exploded.

The sound was rhythmic and deafening—the heavy, mechanical thud-thud-thud of a high-caliber automatic weapon. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows, meant to showcase the beauty of Jakarta, shattered inward in a rain of crystalline shards.

Silas rolled, pinning Anastasia beneath him against the base of the heavy velvet sofa. The scotch bottle on the table turned into a spray of amber glass. Wood splinters flew from the walls as bullets chewed through the priceless art and the plush furniture.

"Stay down!" Silas roared over the noise. "Nadia! Get to the hallway!"

Anastasia didn't scream. She was pressed against the floor, her eyes wide, staring at the ceiling as plaster rained down on them. Her breath was coming in sharp hitches, her hands clutching at Silas’s jacket.

"Who is that?" she choked out, the composure finally shattered.

"I think they’re delivering that message you mentioned," Silas growled, drawing his service weapon and peering over the edge of the sofa into the chaos of the night.

Outside, the muzzle flashes of the SUV in the courtyard lit up the dark like strobe lights, a violent rhythm that promised this was only the beginning. Silas looked at the woman beneath him, the orchid-scented heiress who was suddenly very much a victim, and realized the investigation had just become a war.