Ari then spent the rest of the lunch hour regaling us with stories about her weekend. I could hardly believe she’d managed to fit in her visit to Bloomingdale’s to interrupt my shopping amid all that activity, but I didn’t have Ari’s energy level.
While she talked, I tried to evaluate my friends as possible suspects. I hated thinking of them that way, but I knew I’d feel better if I could eliminate them from the list. Ari worked in R&D, but in the practical magic division rather than in theoretical magic with Owen, which still gave her access to the entire secured department. I got the impression that she had a thing for Owen, but he showed no signs of returning her interest. She had a devious streak and was the person to go to if you wanted a creative revenge plan against a cheating boyfriend. If she’d made a pass at Owen and he’d rejected her or—more likely—hadn’t even noticed, there was no telling what she might do to get back at him.
But she was also a little on the flighty side—and not just because of the wings. I couldn’t imagine her being driven enough to care about corporate espionage. Work to her was a way to earn money for going out and having a good time. She lacked the motivation and determination for spying. The only way I could imagine her breaking into Owen’s office was if she was looking for personal information or blackmail material to force him to ask her out. I couldn’t eliminate her entirely as a suspect, but she wasn’t high on my list.
Isabel was at the same time the perfect spy and the worst possible spy. She knew everyone in the company and everything that happened there, but she also couldn’t resist telling everyone everything she knew. If she’d been the spy, she’d have already let it slip to at least one person that she’d been in Owen’s office because she’d have to tell all about anything else interesting she found while she was spying. She was also the size of a pro-football linebacker, so she wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.
As Isabel zapped the remaining food wrappers and cups out of existence, I reflected that musing wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I had to find a reason to get out and about within the company to figure out what was going on, or my suspicions were likely to be based strictly on my personal feelings.
I’d barely made it back to my desk when Rod Gwaltney, the head of Personnel and Owen’s lifelong best friend, stepped off the escalator and approached the desk, a stack of papers in his arms. “Hi!” I greeted him. “You’re a few minutes early, but I can see if he’s ready.”
He flopped into the chair in front of Trix’s desk and draped one leg casually over the arm. “I don’t mind waiting. It gives us a chance to chat.”
“Chat about what?”
“Just wanted to see if you’d heard anything interesting. Word has it that Owen’s desk was broken into over the weekend.”
Seriously, the CIA should have been recruiting at MSI. Finding one spy in a company full of them was going to be nearly impossible. Guiltily, I tried to measure Rod as a suspect. Deception was a way of life for him, given that he constantly wore an illusion that made him look outrageously handsome to those who were affected by magic while he put no effort into his real appearance. I generally considered that a harmless quirk, though. He might know everyone in the company, but he didn’t have full access. Then again, that lack of access often irked him, and he’d shown signs of being jealous of Owen.
“Where’d you hear that?” I asked casually, with what I hoped was the right hint of curiosity. Whether or not he was a suspect, he was a good source of company information.
He waved a hand. “Oh, around.”
“Did they steal anything?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you.” He gave me a grin that made him look appealing in spite of his greasy hair, bad skin, and unfortunate features. If he’d do something about his hair and skin and smile like that more often, he might be even more successful with women with his real face than he was with the handsome illusion and attraction spells he used. Or maybe not. He averaged about three dates per weekend; it would be hard to top that. I knew I’d find him more appealing without the façade, even if I only saw the real Rod no matter what he did. As long as I knew he was hiding himself, I had a hard time taking him seriously as a man. His spectacular social life was a sign that I was one of very few women who remained immune to his magic.
“Why would I know anything about someone breaking into Owen’s office?” I asked with my own attempt at an innocence illusion. Since I didn’t have access to magic, I suspected it wasn’t very convincing.