by G. K. Parks
“I can respect that, but you know I have an interest in Martin. Your failure to disclose has put me in a difficult position. I merely want to know how long this has been going on in order to accurately conduct damage control.” Unlike yesterday, Cross was back to his normal, diplomatic self.
“That is none of your damn business.” Mark’s words repeated in my mind. “But you should be aware that Martin takes my safety very seriously. If anything were to happen to me, he would probably hold you responsible.”
Cross looked up. “Go on.”
“That’s it.”
“That doesn’t sound like it.” He put his elbows on the desk and rested his chin in his palm. “Ask your questions, and then I’ll ask mine.”
“Why are you obsessed with Martin?”
“It’s not obsession. It’s pragmatism. He’s on the leading edge of technological developments, not computer programming or the newest apps or AI, but on creating practical items that impact our lives. His company comes up with amazing innovations. He’s done the research on biotextiles. And as soon as he releases that research, every military and defense contractor will be clamoring for it. I want it.”
“He said it isn’t feasible, and he has no interest in going into the defense business.”
“Maybe not now, but one day.” Cross narrowed his eyes. “You were supposed to be my in with him. You worked for him, knew his needs, and what his company and personal security looked like. I figured he’d eventually ask you to do some work for him, and he’d see exactly what benefits Cross Security has to offer.”
“You thought he’d see your business as a lucrative way to expand?”
“No, to embark on a joint venture. Neither of us would ever give up control. You must realize that. However, after his recent problems with inappropriate workplace relationships, he’s issued several public statements that past mistakes will not be repeated. In other words, he won’t mix business and pleasure.” Cross narrowed his eyes. “I believe you mentioned having the same philosophy when speaking to Mr. Dey.”
My irritation from yesterday returned with a vengeance, but I tamped it down. “For the record, I don’t appreciate having my coworkers spy on me.”
“Yes, well, it was a good thing Kellan was checking into you. If not, I never would have realized I handicapped myself by hiring you.”
“So fire me.”
He stared at me for a moment. “If that would solve the problem, I would, but it will only further complicate matters. I don’t wish to make him vindictive. How serious is your relationship? Assuming it’s just a fling or fizzles away, James might be amiable to a partnership in the future.”
“That won’t happen.”
“The fizzling or the partnership?”
“Both.”
Cross frowned. “That’s what I wanted to know.” He went back to his paperwork.
Seventeen
As with most undercover assignments, there was a time when one had to commit to her undercover persona. Since Noah said he would be busy until the weekend, I wouldn’t make contact again until Saturday morning. That gave me a few days to continue my investigation before I’d have to assume the role of Alexandra Scott again.
The car dealership gave me Noah’s home address, believing I was calling from his insurance company to verify his vehicle information. Afterward, I spent half the night staked out across the street from his alleged apartment. It was two a.m. when I spotted the luxury sedan pulling up to the curb. He parked, and I ducked down in my seat, watching as he headed inside. The building didn’t have a doorman or much in terms of external security. It wouldn’t be difficult to get inside, but Noah’s schedule was unpredictable. That might cause a problem, so I waited to make a move.
Over the course of the next two days, I ran a thorough check on the apartment owner. It was rented to an older man who was away on an extended business trip. Noah had sublet after finding an ad on an apartment listing website. I couldn’t help but wonder if anything in Noah’s life was real. For all intents and purposes, he was just a name on a piece of paper. His apartment and his car weren’t even his. Maybe he just didn’t exist.
The next day, I phoned Jablonsky and asked for a favor. I gave him everything I’d gotten on the con artist, hoping something would shake loose. I was itching to break into Noah’s apartment, but it was risky. I should exhaust all other avenues first, so I returned to the office Noah used to scam Klassi.
Cross’s forensic experts failed to find anything inside. No prints. No hairs. No evidence of a crime in progress. But maybe they missed something. Maybe Noah hid a stack of passports under a loose floorboard or in a ceiling tile.
I borrowed a chair from the interior designer across the hall and checked the ceiling tiles. Nothing. The floor tiles and baseboards yielded the same results. There was nothing here. Noah didn’t leave anything valuable behind.
“Strike two,” I murmured. Deciding it was time to leave, I returned the chair, locked the office, and went to Noah’s apartment.
The drive didn’t take long. It was close. Maybe that was why he chose that office or this apartment. More than likely, it was because he was able to rent both of them without a formal background check or thorough examination of his phony IDs. I circled the block to make sure his car wasn’t in sight. Getting caught would be an amateur mistake, and I was no amateur.
I parked at the side of the building in case I needed to make a fast getaway. Luckily, Noah had never seen my vehicle, so it shouldn’t arouse suspicion, but if he spotted me, I’d be screwed. I braided my hair and tucked it into my shirt. Then I grabbed a baseball cap and hoodie that I’d brought in preparation for this particular venture and slipped them on. Next, I put on a pair of large, wraparound sunglasses and a pair of leather gloves. My nine millimeter was holstered at my side, and I slipped my lock picks into my pocket.
In the event the building had security cameras, they wouldn’t be able to identify me. Hell, maybe I should have been a criminal. I could make a black leather catsuit look good. Of course, I didn’t know any criminals who actually wore catsuits, which meant I could start a trend.
Stepping out of my car, I kept my head down as I went up the front steps of the building. The door opened, and I glanced around. The building wasn’t anything special. Just another apartment building in the city. A man was leaning across a counter, staring at his phone which was propped against the wall. My guess was he worked here. He grumbled a hello but never looked up. I returned the greeting and continued to the stairwell.
Noah’s apartment was on the third floor. I followed the increasing numbers until I found 312. It was difficult to see clearly with the dark glasses. The hallways weren’t brightly lit, but I couldn’t risk my anonymity by removing them. Instead, I knocked on the door. I had no idea what I would do if someone answered, but I’d come up with an excuse. Thankfully, no one came to the door. I leaned in closer, casting glances to the left and right before removing my lock picks.
Slowly, I turned the knob and stepped inside. I remained at the door, listening for sounds of water running or a TV, but the apartment was quiet. After flipping the lock, I checked all the rooms. It was a two bedroom. One of the bedrooms had been converted into an office, so I started there.
Noah was smart. He didn’t keep much out in the open. He had folders neatly placed on the desk. Each one contained a variety of materials and business cards. One of the folders contained the information he had given me. Another contained the brochures and work details he’d handed to Klassi. I photographed the contents of the other two folders. Each one must correlate to a separate con. He knew to mix things up. If he kept the same identity or used the same phony company too long, someone would wise up, and the authorities would be able to track him.
I searched for a computer or tablet but didn’t find one. Since that was a necessary tool of his trade, it had to be with him. That piece of hardware might prove crucial to locating Klassi’s stolen millions. Without it, I didn’t have mu
ch to go on.
After completing a thorough examination of the office, I moved into the bedroom. The dresser contained basic items. Everything was plain. No graphic tees or memorabilia. I hoped to find something of substance, even if it was a souvenir tee from the Grand Canyon or a ratty old high school football jersey. But there was nothing.
“Dammit,” I hissed. His clothes were solid colors in common brands found at any department store. I opened the closet. He had a couple of suits, dress shirts, slacks, and sports coats. Everything was off the rack. Noah was bland. Nondescript. He didn’t stick out or invest in anything that might identify him. He had no watches or jewelry to speak of.
Next, I went into the bathroom, hoping to find a prescription pill bottle. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He had all the necessary toiletries and nothing else. No little blue pills or painkillers. Not even a box of condoms. I snorted, realizing there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever take anyone home with him.
I closed the medicine cabinet and looked down at the wastepaper basket. I found some used dental floss, cotton swabs, tissues, and a dry cleaner receipt with gum stuck to the back. I pocketed the disgusting receipt, figuring we’d at least have Noah’s DNA if nothing else. I was just about to leave the bathroom when the floor creaked.
Frantically, I looked around for somewhere to hide. Maybe behind the door or in the shower. My options weren’t great, so I stepped behind the shower curtain. The creak sounded again, and I held my breath. I needed an escape plan.
After two minutes of complete silence, I edged to the bathroom door and peered out. I didn’t see anyone. I held my breath and stepped into the hallway. The bedroom was empty. I continued to the next door, which was the office. The light was on, and I couldn’t remember if I turned it off.
I pressed myself against the wall and strained to hear something over the sound of my beating heart. A part of me wanted to run for the door, but that wasn’t the best option. Sneaking out as quietly as I snuck in would be best. Making a break for it would alert Noah that someone was inside.
When I failed to hear any noise coming from inside the office, I peered around the corner. No one was there. Idiot, I berated as I blindly hit the light switch. That meant the sound must have come from the kitchen or the living room. The longer I waited, the greater my chance of getting caught. Still, I couldn’t go to the front door if Noah was waiting in the living room. He had to be in the kitchen. If not, I was trapped.
The creak sounded again. This time, it was much louder and a lot closer. I spun, expecting to come face to face with Noah. But no one was there.
And then the loud and annoying sound moved from the far right corner of the living room toward me and past me. I looked up at the ceiling. The creaking was coming from above. I ran a hand down my face and let out a lengthy exhale, my heart rate slowing.
Hurry up, Alex, the voice in my head warned. I moved into the kitchen. Noah must have secrets. His entire life, even his name, was a secret. There had to be something here. I opened the cabinets, checking beneath the drawers and under the sink. Nothing was hidden. I checked the fridge, shaking several containers in the hopes of discovering something with a false bottom. I looked in the freezer. Ice trays were commonly used to hide things, but he didn’t have any. That would be too easy.
Getting frustrated, I opened the microwave. Also empty. My focus turned to the pantry, but he didn’t have much. No canisters of sugar or flour. The usual suspects were out. There must be something here. Something to find. How could someone with ten million dollars stashed away keep it entirely secret?
My eyes fell on the stove. Since Noah didn’t have much in the way of foodstuffs or cookware, I doubted he used the oven often. I checked inside. Nothing. Cursing, I slammed the door, hearing the rattle of the drawer beneath. Pulling it open, I found a couple of lids.
I’m not sure what possessed me to remove the drawer. It might have been sheer determination to find something. Taped to the bottom was an envelope. Carefully, I pried it free and opened it. Inside was a Wyoming driver’s license, matching passport, and five hundred dollars in twenties. The name didn’t match any I was aware of, but the photo was Noah.
For the briefest moment, I thought about taking the envelope with me, but instead, I photographed the documents and flipped through the cash again. It looked real. Still, five hundred dollars wasn’t much. He couldn’t get too far on that. The ten million must have been hidden in an account he could access from anywhere.
The details Don Klassi gave me on the wire transfer couldn’t be traced. He daisy-chained the transfer from bank to bank, all from countries with closed banking policies, ensuring the U.S. government couldn’t get a look at it without good reason, and those reasons were limited to matters of national security, not some asshole getting duped by a con artist. With any luck, this new ID would lead to something. It was the only thing I found.
Before giving up entirely, I searched the living room. The furniture was old and worn. There were dried up tortilla chips in the couch cushions, along with lint, cookie crumbs, and random stains that I didn’t want to think too hard about.
Well, Noah, your secrets remain secret, I thought. My gaze fell on the front door. I had a new problem, figuring out a way to relock the deadbolt. Noah was clearly persnickety when it came to his privacy. I doubted he’d ever leave the deadbolt unlocked, and if he found it that way, he’d know someone had been here.
I went back into his office in search of tape. Hopefully, the roll of clear tape would be strong enough. After hooking a piece around the lever and folding it over so it wouldn’t stick to the door, I let myself out of the apartment, closed the door, and tugged on the tape. The lock slid into place, and I pulled the rest of the tape free from the door. With any luck, it didn’t leave sticky residue behind.
I had gone down three steps when I heard someone coming up the stairs. Noah. Shit. I turned around just as he rounded the corner and headed up the next flight. As casually as possible, I jogged up the steps as if I’d been on my way all along. Two flights up, I stopped and waited. He wasn’t following, not that he had any reason to.
Someone coughed, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. A man watched me from his doorway. I was glad my appearance was obscured by the glasses, cap, and hood.
“Yo,” I said, “I’m looking for Dino’s place. I don’t remember if he said he lived on four or five. You know him?” I adopted a tough, punk voice, hoping the guy would think I was just some stupid kid.
“You have the wrong floor. I suggest you go.”
“Yeah, no problem, pops.” I shot him the peace sign and went down the steps.
I kept moving, not turning or stopping. I didn’t take another breath until I was outside and rounding the corner. My car was inches away, but I stopped dead in my tracks. The red Pontiac blew past me and was gone by the time I thought to look at the plate. This was no coincidence.
Eighteen
Throwing my car into drive, I floored it. The bastard with the knife wouldn’t escape again. He blew through a red light and took a sharp left. I laid into my horn, hoping to stop oncoming traffic as I barreled after him.
My heart leapt into my throat, and I slammed on my brakes. My tires screeched. The acrid smell of burnt rubber filled the air, and my back wheels skidded and jumped against the asphalt.
The woman yanked her young child back onto the sidewalk. She was white as a sheet, but they were okay. Several people yelled profanities and made obscene gestures. Waving them off, I hit the gas. After the extreme braking, my engine was sluggish. It bumped and protested before smoothing out and accelerating. But I didn’t take my eyes off the red car.
The driver took a ramp, abandoning the surface streets for the expressway. Dammit. I was seconds away from losing him. By the time I made it to the ramp, he had already merged into traffic. I was stuck waiting for an opening.
Aggravated, I pounded on the steering wheel. I had him. I fucking had him. Grabbing my phone, I dialed Jablonsky
.
“I need eyes on the expressway. Westbound,” I gave him the nearest exit and mile marker. “The bastard with the knife just made a reappearance.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mostly.”
“Hang on. I’ll see if the police or highway patrol has anyone close.” Jablonsky put me on hold, and while I waited, I merged with traffic and darted from lane to lane, searching for signs of the red jalopy. My phone beeped, notifying me of an incoming call, and I looked at the display. It was Noah.
Did he know? Was I caught? It was Friday. He was supposed to be busy. He shouldn’t be calling. What if he had surveillance equipment or an alarm system in his apartment? Did I overlook it? Maybe I accidentally tripped it, and he somehow realized it was me.
“No one’s near your location, but they have units positioned ten miles away. They’ll keep an eye out,” Mark said. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“He was outside Noah’s apartment.” My phone beeped again. “He must have followed me. I don’t know how, but he did.” I thought through the commonalities. “I went to the office Noah rented before the apartment. That’s the second time I’ve been there, and both times this asshole popped up. There might be a connection. Let me call you back.”
Talking while zipping in and out of traffic is not recommended, so I stuck with the lane I was in and hit answer. “Hello?” It took every ounce of training to keep my voice neutral and calm.
“Hi. This is Noah Ripley.”
“Hey, Noah.” I tried to sound friendly. He doesn’t know, I told myself. “I was about to call you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, someone needs to explain this entire unbacked system of currency to me. I understand the logistics, but I have no idea how it works.”
He laughed. “Sure, I’ll explain that if you can explain how our monetary system works. And don’t tell me it’s backed by gold bars kept at Fort Knox because I’m nearly positive that isn’t true.” He didn’t give me time to speak before he said, “I’m just finishing up for the night and wondered if I could drop by the gallery. You did promise me a preview of the artist’s upcoming show, and I wouldn’t mind having someone to eat with, if you haven’t eaten yet.”
