I still can’t believe this is happening. Maybe I’ll wake up and find out it’s all just a bad dream.
Yeah, right.
Robin Hanna tucked her long brown hair behind one ear and looked at the computer screen for perhaps the one-hundredth time. She had a headache from staring at numbers for so long, and the taste of frustration was bitter on her tongue. She’d worked late three nights in a row and still didn’t feel as if she’d accomplished what she needed to. Getting information for Jonas Faulkner had been the easy part. Protecting her clients was a lot more difficult.
Damn Raymond Forrester anyway.
Damn herself, while she was at it, for being smart enough to spot what was happening. And stupid enough to work for a man who was laundering money for the Russians and stealing from his clients while doing it. If only she could wave a wand and make things go back to the way they were. She had spotted the discrepancies by accident, her business and accounting brain working overtime. She had thought about asking Raymond about it, but what if she was right? She could be putting herself in danger.
And what if she was wrong? She could be putting the entire firm in a bad situation. God! Raymond Forrester a crook. One of the most respected, successful investment counselors in the business. But after a week of worry and checking everything again and again, she madepromising discretion and assuring her if it turned out she was wrong, no one would ever know.
Still, every day she came to work waiting for disaster to strike. Armed with her degrees from the University of Michigan and Wharton School of business, she was parsing each client account and doing what she could to move things around and protect as many of their assets as possible.
She checked the time on her watch. Seven thirty. She should have left long ago. Raymond was working late tonight. What if he decided to question her on what she was doing? As she closed her computer down, something startled her, causing her to look up.
What was that?
It sounded like a heavy book hitting the floor or the snap of vertical blinds. Except none of the windows on this floor had vertical blinds and, as far as she knew, the only other person at work was her boss. He might be fuming at the dismantling of his carefully constructed empire, but he wasn’t given to throwing things.
Of course, all of that could have changed. Knowing the FBI was after your boss could have a significant impact on anyone’s personality. Everyone still left on staff walked on eggshells these days, staying around like she was just until the clients they still had left were taken care of.
When the word of an investigation of Forrester for money laundering and skimming filtered out to the investment counselors in the firm, it scared everyone. Several of the investment counselors had already flown the coop. Robin would have been gone also, except she had this nagging sense of responsibility to her clients, plus, Jonas Faulkner had asked her to keep feeding him information until he had what he needed. Whoever would have thought she’d become the inside person on something like this.
Just as she turned back to her screen, she heard raised voices coming from Raymond Forrester’s office. Had he left the door open? That was unusual. The door was never open unless he was arriving or leaving. Giving in to the little prickle of unease skating down her spine, she made sure her computer was off, grabbed her purse and coat, and flicked off her office lights.
She headed toward the elevator, but then she heard that sound again. Looking down the hallway, she saw two men leaving Raymond’s office. Behind them, on the carpet, her boss lay unmoving. The men were talking, but one of them looked up and spotted her. She froze, staring at them for a long moment before panic grabbed her.
Can’t wait for the elevator, she told herself, and headed instead for the stairs.
Eight floors. I’m glad this building isn’t any taller.
She gave fervent thanks for the run she took every morning before work and the stamina she’d built up. Now she was past the lobby floor and into the parking garage. Thank god she was on the street level. Not much farther and she’d be at her car.
But she’d barely headed for her parking spot when the door from the building banged open, and she heard footsteps pounding after her. God. They were so close. They’d be on her before she ever got her car started.
Veering to the left, she headed for the exit, ducking beneath the mechanized arm. Then she was out on the sidewalk, looking with desperation for someplace to hide. Any place. At eight o’clock at night, however, there wasn’t much open.
Running as fast as she could, she hugged her coat to her body in an attempt to shield it from the cold and the winter wind. With the heavy footsteps still pounding in her ear, she hung a left at the corner. And gave fervent thanks that god, or something, was with her. A cab was just dropping a passenger off at the entrance to the condo building halfway down the block. She pushed the person exiting aside, leaped into the cab, and yanked the door shut.
“A hundred dollar tip,” she gasped, “if you can get us out of here right this second.”
Thank the lord the cabbie didn’t decide to argue with her. She ducked down out of sight as he pulled away from the curb, tires squealing. Robin was grateful the traffic in this area wasn’t any heavier right now.
The driver glanced over his shoulder. “Okay, where to?”
“Um, can we just drive around for a few minutes? Please? And maybe get into some traffic?”
She held her breath until the driver answered her.
“Okay. If you got the money, I got the time, as long as it isn’t the cops you’re running from.”
“No. I promise you that.”
“Okay, then.”
Robin didn’t think anyone had managed to get into a car that fast and follow her, but she wasn’t taking any chance. Making a conscious effort to pull herself together, she dug her cell phone from her purse and hit the speed dial number for Jonas.
“Faulkner.”
Just the sound of his voice eased her fear. She trusted him implicitly, and knew somehow he would take care of her. But even though he’d told her this was a secure connection, she didn’t identify herself. “It’s me.”
“What’s up? Problem?”
He certainly uses an economy of words.
“You might say. I think someone shot Raymond Forrester. Maybe killed him. And they saw me.”
“Are you okay?”
Was she? “Yes. Just scared to death.”
Always a man who got right to the point, he asked, “Where are you now?”
She looked out the window. “In a cab heading downtown in the middle of evening traffic. I figured being in a crowd was the best thing.”
“Yes. Okay.” Another second of silence. “Do this.”
She listened to his instructions, including the code word she should listen for. “Okay. Got it.”
She gave his instructions to the driver then sat rigid in her seat until they pulled into the parking lot of one of the newer mega malls. “Over there,” she directed, pointing at one of the three major anchor stores.
The moment the cab stopped, she shoved money at him and hopped out, hurrying through the big glass doors into the busy store. Forcing a calmness she was far from feeling, she made her way to the sportswear department. She was pretending to glance through a rack of jeans when a woman wearing the tag of a salesperson approached her, carrying some hangers with clothes on them.
“I think these would look terrific on you,” the woman said. “They just came in. Let’s take them to the dressing room so you can try them on. These are things you can wear anytime.”
Robin headed for the dressing room area, but the woman took her arm. “Oh, not those. They’re crowded. Over here.”
She propelled Robin through the crowd to an area in the corner that turned out to be a storeroom. The woman closed and locked the door and began taking items off he hangers.
“We don’t have much time,” she told Robin, “so get changed fast. You need to be out in back in five.”
Robin wanted to ask her what was going on, but she figured she’d better just shut up and do what she was told. Jonas had the uncanny ability to make things happen when he needed to, and she’d learned to trust him. So she stripped off her clothing, including her shoes, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and slipped her feet into rubber-soled shoes.
“Not glamorous,” the woman said, “but they’ll protect your feet from the snow. The plows cleared the streets this morning, and the drifts have done a little melting today.”
A fleece-lined jacket completed the outfit. Then Robin took the ponytail holder the woman handed her and yanked her long hair into a tail.
“Ready.” At least she hoped she was.
“Good. Here we go.”
Robin’s heart was thumping as the woman ushered her outside through a back entrance. A brown sedan idled not five feet away. The driver, a muscular man in a soft-collared shirt and jeans, leaned over and pushed open the door. “We need to get going, anyway.”
Robin heard the signal word and relaxed an infinitesimal amount. At least it wasn’t someone from the killers. She climbed into the car, closed the door, and fastened her seat belt.
“It’s going to be okay,” the man assured her in a deep voice.
Somehow, she believed him.
He pulled out of the parking lot onto the wide thoroughfare and headed north toward the residential areas. The man never spoke again, and neither did she. What could she say, anyway? She had to trust Jonas to take care of things. He’d been her rock since the first day she went to him with her proof of what Raymond Forrester was doing, and one of the main reasons she hadn’t lost her mind during all this.
They rode in silence for a long time, the silence filled by the noises of the night—cars honking, tires on pavement, filtered crowd sounds. Then they were off the main roads and driving down a residential street filled with a mix of Craftsman bungalows and various Colonial styles. At almost nine o’clock, it was pretty quiet in the neighborhood.
In another few minutes, they turned into the driveway of one of the bungalows. Her driver hit a button, and the overhead slid up smoothly, allowing them to drive inside. As soon as it clunked into place behind them, Jonas was there, helping her out of the vehicle.
“Glad to see you made it safely.” His steady voice settled her nerves a little.
“Thank you for doing this.”
He nudged her into the house and into the kitchen.
“Of course. I always take good care of my people.”
His people. What a reassuring sound that had.
“How about some coffee?” he asked. “Or would tea be better? We’ve got it all.” He gestured to a single-server coffeemaker on the counter.
“Tea would be great. Thanks.”
He nodded. “Okay. Have a seat, and I’ll fix it.”
She all but fell into one of the chairs at the little table in the breakfast nook. Jonas said nothing as he went about preparing her tea with an economy of effort. She still hugged her coat close to her body, wondering if she’d ever get rid of this chill. And how much of it was due to the weather and how much to the situation.
She watched Jonas as he fixed her hot drink with the same spare movements he did everything else. About five ten and muscular without being bulked up, he had short, dark hair slightly grayed at the temples and a very masculine face. His outstanding feature was his dark-brown eyes that always seemed to see everything. She was used to him in a suit but, tonight, in jeans and a sweater, he still looked every bit as official and in control. Every bit as solid. From the very beginning of this unsteadying business, he’d given her a sense of security.
When Jonas placed the mug before her, she wrapped her hands around it and just held it for a moment, letting the warmth seep into her body. She took a sip as Jonas dropped into the chair across from her.
“I need to know exactly what happened tonight,” he told her, “but take your time. Drink some tea. Get yourself together.”
“Thank you.” She let out a deep breath and looked around. “Is this your house?”
He cracked a little smile. “Not hardly. I live in a condo with zero personality. I don’t have time for anything except to sleep there, and not always that.”
“So, who does live here?”
“The agency owns it. We use it for…different things.”
That was her signal not to ask any more questions. She took a sip of tea, letting the heat of it slide through her veins.
“Think you’re up to telling me what happened?” he asked.
Robin nodded. “As best I can.”
She described for him in as much detail as she could what she’d seen and what she’d heard.
“You actually saw the body on the floor?” Jonas persisted.
“Yes. I believe I was the only one working late besides Mr. Forrester. Probably why his office door was open, because it is always closed.”
“What caught your attention?”
Robin took another swallow of tea. “First, I heard a noise, sort of a thud like a heavy book dropping.” She went on to give him the rest of the details, scant as they were.”
“And you’ve never seen these men before?”
She shook her head. “No. Neither of them.”
“Okay.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Tell me again what they looked like, as much as you can.”
While she talked, he took notes.
“I’m sorry, Jonas, but my whole focus was on getting the hell out of there.”
“Smart.” He sat back in his chair. “Did you get a good enough look at these men to identify them if you had to?”
She wanted to say no, but she couldn’t lie. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Do you think if I could get a sketch artist out here right away, you might be able to translate what you saw?”
She stared at him. “Tonight?”
“Yes. Because, tomorrow, I’m getting you someplace safe, far away from here. I started that in motion as soon as I hung up from your call.”
“Oh!” She hadn’t given much thought to what she’d do next. “Well, sure, although I’m not sure how much help I can be.”
“You’d be surprised at what the brain registers and remembers. At least it gives us a starting point.”
The tea had taken the edge off the cold enough that she could unzip her jacket, although she didn’t take it off. In fact, she wondered if she’d ever be warm again.
“Okay, go ahead and see if you can get someone. I’ll do my best.”
“One more thing.” He slid over a pad of paper that was sitting on the table and handed it to her along with a pen. “I need you to write down all your sizes, even for your”—he paused—“your delicate items.”
If she hadn’t been so uptight, Robin would have laughed. Unflappable Jonas, uncomfortable discussing ladies’ lingerie.
“Okay, but what for?”
“We’re sending you out of town, and you obviously can’t go home and pack your own things. The woman you met at the department store will gather your new things and deliver them packed in two suitcases.”
Robin shook her head. Things were moving so fast here. “Where am I going?”
“I’ll give you all the details shortly.” His cell buzzed, and he looked at the screen. “Sketch artist will be here in thirty. How about another mug of tea while we wait, and we can talk? Maybe some other details will pop up.”
Robin’s head spun. If only she could go back a few months and leave town before any of this began.
The sketch artist arrived, and she worked with him for more than an hour. What emerged were drawings that resembled the two men she’d seen much better than she’d expected. The artist was damn good at doing this.
While that was going on, the woman from the store, who introduced herself as Sarah, arrived with her clothing, smiling at her and telling her she hoped she was okay with what had been selected for her. At the moment, Robin would have been happy with a burlap sack if it disguised her.
“This is for tonight.” Sarah handed her a tote that matched her new luggage. “And tomorrow morning. When you get where you’re going, you’ll not only be bringing a new wardrobe, but they’ll give you a new look. Subtle changes but enough that no one should recognize you.” Her smile was kind. “Try to get some sleep, Miss Hanna. You’ve had quite a shock, and tomorrow could be a long day.”
“Do you know where I’m going?”
“Jonas is arranging all that, now. But it will be pleasant and safe.” She winked. “And warm.”
Pleasant and safe. And warm. Three things this city wasn’t right now.
At last, everything was finished. Jonas picked up her luggage and led her down the hallway to a guest bedroom. Although, she supposed all of them were guest bedrooms. Did these guys even sleep?
“Sleep tight.” He gave her a smile she thought was probably meant to be reassuring. “Tomorrow, you’ll be out of here and safe until this all comes to a head.”
“Sarah hinted you found a place to stash me.” She cringed at the way that sounded.
“We did some research to find a location where you wouldn’t feel so much like a prisoner. A private plane will take you to the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa at Barefoot Bay, in Florida.”
She stared at him, and she supposed her shock was evident on her face.
“What?” He frowned. “Circumstances make it an ideal place. An old friend who was in the CIA, Gabe Rossi, runs an undercover business hiding people out, and it’s been very effective. Your contact there will be one of the agents from McBain Security, and everything you need will be taken care of. Is that a problem?”
She shook her head, still stunned. “But, Jonas, that has to be very expensive. Can the government afford it?”
“Not to worry. Gabe has arranged everything.” He chuckled, something he rarely did. “With your boss dead, the case against Forrester Investments will probably go away. We haven’t found anything that leads us to believe anyone else was involved. And, thanks to your work with the sketch artist, we’ve got a pretty good idea who the killers are. You’ll be out of harm’s way while we wrap this up here.”
She nibbled her lower lip. “Will…will I have to testify?”
Jonas sighed. “I’m afraid so. But we’ll keep you under wraps until then and move you to wherever you want after that.”
“Move me?” Her eyes widened. “You mean I can’t live here anymore?”
“Let’s talk about that when the time comes.” He gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “Let’s get past this part, first.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “Thanks. I think.”
She was too tired to look through the suitcase, so she just dumped everything in the tote out on the bed. Sleep shirt. Lingerie. Toothbrush, toothpaste, and, bless the woman, makeup and all the appropriate necessities.
Thank you.
She wondered what the people at the office would say when they learned their boss was dead and she had disappeared? Then, of course, there were her friends, Ellie and Sheila, the other two members of the Flirty Thirties, as they called themselves. And wasn’t that just an awful name for them to call themselves. Unmarried, career-driven women who just last week, over tacos and margaritas, had discussed adding a little excitement to their lives.
She swallowed a slightly hysterical giggle as she wondered if this would qualify for that. She asked Jonas to please get a message to them. They’d be panic-stricken and turning over all kinds of rocks to find her if he didn’t. And it had to be something plausible, like an overseas trip for the firm. He agreed that doing nothing could compromise her situation, so he sent each of them a text from her phone before he killed it and gave her a burner to carry. One with only his number in it.
My situation.
Another inane descriptive phrase.
Her life had certainly taken a strange twist. She just hoped wherever she was going, she’d have a chance to regroup.