by Jo Goodman
She looked down again, toed the wad of gum with her shoe. It was stuck fast. “I needed to hear it.”
“Maybe. I figure you told me because you wanted to do the right thing and needed some backup.”
“So no lasso of truth.”
“Nope.” He gave the box of bulbs he was holding a little toss. “I’m going to buy these and head back to the station. I’ll talk to the chief about what you told me and we’ll go from there.”
She nodded. “I’m still going to talk to Mr. Finch this afternoon.”
“Your money guy.”
“I believe he prefers financial advisor, but yes, my money guy.”
Sullivan chuckled. “All right. You do that. But hold off writing a check.”
“Neanderthal. It’ll be an electronic transfer. Jay gave me the account information.”
“Is it a bank here? Not specifically here, but in the US?”
“It’s numbers. I don’t know. I have it right here.” She patted the back pocket holding her phone. “Do you want it?”
“Yeah. I should be able to find the bank that way.”
Ramsey pulled out her phone, scrolled to the app where she kept passwords and confidential information, and copied Jay’s number. She pasted it in a text and sent it to Sullivan. A few seconds later his phone pinged, alerting him to the arrival.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Mm. It’s going to get out, isn’t it? About the lottery, I mean.”
Sullivan didn’t pull any punches. “Probably.” He saw her wince. “You know that buying off Jay was no guarantee that he’d stay silent.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “But I guess I hoped that he’d see it was in his best interest to keep my secret. If he gives me up, then he has no leverage the next time he wants money. And there will be a next time, no matter what he promises now. Going public about my lottery win is pretty much leading his cash cow to the slaughterhouse.”
“Cash cow.” A slim smile flickered across Sullivan’s face. “I was thinking it’d be more like killing the goose that lays the golden eggs, but cash cow works too.”
Ramsey nudged him in his middle with her fist. “Don’t make me laugh. I don’t want to laugh.”
He covered her fist with a hand, held it against him, and squeezed. “It’s going to be all right. I swear.”
She searched his face, held the steadiness of his blue-gray gaze. Not steely. Not smoky. Something in between. Winter mist rising over water. His eyes held his promise. “God help me,” she whispered. “I believe you.”
Sullivan removed his hand and her lightly clenched fist fell away. “Then God help me.”
38
Her phone rang as she was getting into the SUV. She didn’t recognize the number but she was familiar with the Baltimore area code. She debated whether to answer. Telemarketer or Jay. Both were unwelcome. After three annoying rings, she accepted the call before voicemail took over.
“Hello.”
“I checked my account, Ramsey. There’s been no change. You want to explain that?”
She shut the door and huddled behind the steering wheel. The interior of the car was cold. She quickly changed the phone’s setting so Jay’s voice wouldn’t come through the speakers when she started the car. Among the many things she didn’t want where he was concerned was a conversation with him in surround sound. “Just a minute,” she said, pressing the ignition button. She checked the heated seat control and turned it to max.
“What’s going on? What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to get warm,” Ramsey said. “I just got into the car. How’d you get my number?”
“That’s what you want to know?”
Every shade of sarcastic superiority was audible in his tone. Ramsey held the phone away from her ear as if that could soften the sharp edges of his voice. “I suppose you found and memorized it when you had my phone.”
“Oh, good for you, Liz. Worked that out all by yourself.”
“I’m going to hang up if you keep speaking to me that way.” He did not respond. “Are we clear, Jay?”
“Clear.”
“Good. I told you last night that doing what you want required a conversation with my money guy.” Imagining Jay’s wince when he heard money guy, Ramsey permitted herself a small smile. “I arranged a phone appointment for this afternoon and was fortunate enough to get the time off to have that conversation. I’ll know something later. Don’t call me again because I won’t answer. I’ll call you.”
“Expect me at your door otherwise.”
“Thanks for the warning.” She hung up and couldn’t get the phone out of her hand quickly enough to suit her. She tossed it on the passenger seat and then set her forearms on the steering wheel and leaned in. Closing her eyes, she sat without moving. She didn’t have a thought in her head, only dread in her stomach. She had made a comfortable life for herself in Clifton. How much of what she knew would change when people learned she was a millionaire? Sullivan had decided against asking her how much she had won, but he’d find out eventually. She was worth more now than when she hit all six numbers. In spite of donations to favorite charities, the purchase and remodeling of her house, supplementing her income from the Ridge, and her own—mostly modest—spending, sound investments and an expert tax preparer meant that her substantial nest egg was growing.
Jay could have asked for so much more than half a million. He hadn’t, though. She didn’t believe it was an oversight. The fact that he hadn’t asked for more was what convinced her he’d keep coming back. He’d take a little at a time. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. But he’d take and keep on taking.
Would others? How would her friends react? Her family? Who would put a hand out? Who would never ask for anything but expect something just the same? Who would harbor resentment? Envy? Who wouldn’t give a shit?
Ramsey smiled as this last question flitted through her mind. That would be Briony and Maggie. There wasn’t much they gave a shit about. Each other first. Racquetball. The Penguins. And pearl onions, not olives, in their martinis.
Sullivan, on the other hand, cared about a great deal. Money was not precisely an exception, but he was satisfied with what he could live on, and he understood as well as anyone could how money, whether too much or too little, tested relationships.
Straightening, Ramsey placed her hands in position on the wheel. She had few answers and dwelling on the questions at this juncture was unlikely to give her any more. She put the car in reverse, checked her mirrors, the backup camera, and slowly rolled out of the parking space.
Fifteen minutes later, she was setting her security alarm. She made a cup of green tea and sat at the kitchen table to drink it while she checked email and waited for Woodrow Finch’s call.
As expected, her phone rang exactly at the agreed upon time. After an exchange of pleasantries, she got to the point of the call. Ramsey asked about the logistics of transferring a half million to another account. How long would it take to arrange? Were there tax complications? No, she wasn’t making a charitable donation. What stocks would she be selling to arrive at the amount she was requesting? Fees? Liabilities? No, she didn’t require the expertise of a Realtor.
Ramsey appreciated that Mr. Finch did not inquire directly as to how she intended to use the money. Since she had never made a similar ask, his curiosity was natural, and she did not mind that he poked around a little looking for answers that would ease his conscience and protect her from a foolish investment. She pictured him sitting behind the large expanse of his mahogany desk in his equally oversized executive chair, his high forehead creased horizontally as he studied her portfolio on his computer screen. His dark gray suit jacket would be unbuttoned and his striped tie would be slightly askew. He’d be looking over the top of his black frame glasses to read the screen and tapping a pen on paper when he wasn’t taking notes. He had a warm, welcoming smile that made him approachable, and on the phone, it was his reassuring voice that gave Ramsey confidence.
The call did not take much more than thirty minutes. She thanked him for the information and said she’d be in touch when she was ready to make the transfer. Mr. Finch could not quite contain his pleasure and relief when she said she wanted more time to think before she acted.
When she ended the call, she scrolled her contacts for Dudley. “I really need to change that,” she said under her breath, but she knew she probably wouldn’t. His shout of laughter when she showed it to him practically guaranteed it. He was a funny guy. Mostly straightforward. A bit complicated to keep it interesting. Was it really any wonder that she was falling in love with him?
She caught herself. Rewound and replayed. Was it really any wonder that she had fallen in love with him? Was it really any wonder that she was deeply, irrevocably in love with him?
Nope. No wonder at all.
Ramsey considered that she was not at all uneasy with her epiphany. The opposite was true. The dread that had knotted her insides was gone. Perhaps her conversation with Mr. Finch had been a factor but only a contributing one. It was mostly the realization that she loved Sullivan Day. She wished she had come to it earlier. Then again, Aisle Fourteen was not the most romantic spot to declare herself a goner, though perhaps Sullivan wouldn’t have minded hearing about love among the lightbulbs. He was just that much of a Dudley.
Smiling, she tapped his number. When he didn’t answer, she figured she’d caught him at a bad time. She left a short message that she’d spoken to her money guy and that she was going to the trail for a run. “Be home around six. If you stop after work, I’ll order take out for two.”
She changed into her cold weather running gear, which included black thermal leggings, Bluetooth earmuffs, and a red woolen scarf. Once she was outside, she looked for unfamiliar cars among the few that were parked on the street. Seeing none, she got in the SUV and headed for the trail. She figured she had about an hour to run before it started to get dark.
She warmed up and stretched beside her car and then started a slow jog. The paved trail replaced an old rail line and ran alongside a gently meandering creek. The incline was so gradual as to be hardly noticeable, although it was more apparent when cycling. Ramsey increased her pace gradually. She had a playlist specifically for running that helped her maintain a rhythm. At the three-mile marker, she circled an empty, weather beaten wooden bench and started back.
Before she reached the parking lot, she had been thinking that the run was just what she needed to clear her head and eliminate the last vestiges of anxiety. But that was before she saw Jay standing at the rear of her SUV, hands in his pockets, resting a shoulder against her rear window. She slowed to a walk. He straightened the moment he spied her and brushed road dust that had been a film on the window off his shoulder.
“What the fuck, Jay?” Ramsey didn’t pause to hear a reply to what was essentially rhetorical. She rounded the SUV, pulled on the handle to unlock the door, and got in. Jay went around to the other side and tried the passenger door. It didn’t open. She looked at Jay through the window, shaking her head as she locked her door.
Carefully, Ramsey lowered the passenger window a couple of inches, just enough to allow him to hear her clearly. “Step away from the car. I promise you it will hurt if I run over your feet.”
Jay looked around. No one was approaching the lot from the trail and the parked cars were all unoccupied. “Let me in, Liz. This is stupid. I only want to talk. You said you’d call.”
“And I will.”
“When?”
“When I know something. Now, step away.” She moved the gear shift to reverse but kept her foot on the brake.
“You had your phone call, didn’t you?”
“No. I spoke to Mr. Finch’s assistant. We had to reschedule. Some kind of family emergency. Don’t worry. If his wife’s stable tomorrow, he and I will talk then. I have the day off so there’s plenty of opportunity to have our meeting.”
Jay frowned deeply. “Tomorrow? How much time do you think I have?”
“I don’t know. More to the point, I don’t care. Last warning, Jay. Step back.” Ramsey raised the window. She stiffened and looked away when Jay hammered on it with his fist. Easing her foot off the brake, the SUV rolled backward. It was all the warning she was willing to give him. She gave the car gas and swung into the lot. Jay cleared the tires but followed, pounding on the hood until she shoved the stick into drive and shot forward toward the exit.
It was only as she reached the main road that she wished she’d left more slowly. There might have been an opportunity to see which of the cars in the lot belonged to Jay. That was something worth knowing. It also begged the question of how he kept finding her with apparently little difficulty. He knew the make and model of her vehicle, but that wasn’t enough to explain his success.
Ramsey decided against going home. She turned toward the police station instead.
Sullivan wasn’t at his desk, but the chief was in his office. After exchanging some small talk with the officers at their desks, she got through the gauntlet and reached Chief Bailey. He waved her in as she was lifting her hand to knock.
“This is unexpected,” he said, coming to his feet, welcoming her as he always did with a genuine smile. “Please. Have a seat.”
She did but perched on the edge, betraying her anxiety. “I don’t want to take up a lot of your time, but I was wondering if you’d follow me out to my car and look it over. I think my ex put some kind of tracking device on it. Is that even possible? I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
The chief did not return to his chair. He angled one hip against his desk, folded his arms across his chest, and regarded Ramsey with something more than fatherly concern.
Seeing his expression, one of Ramsey’s hands flew to her mouth. She spoke through her fingers. “Sullivan told you about Jay, didn’t he? He said he was going to. Do you even know what I’m talking about?”
“Calm yourself. Yes, I know. I’m allowed to be worried, aren’t I?”
“I don’t suppose I can stop you.”
“That’s right. You can’t. Now about this tracker. You want to know if it’s possible. It is. A tracking device uses GPS and Google Maps, and it’s relatively inexpensive depending on the contract and the monitoring system. We have it on our fleet. An individual tracker runs under a hundred dollars. A lot of them are less than fifty. So, yes, possible and likely. Sullivan said your ex found your car in his neighborhood, although he didn’t quite find you.”
Ramsey bit her lower lip, nodded. “I was running on the trail. When I got back to the lot, Jay was waiting beside my car.”
“Found you at the trail? Then I’d say you’re right. He installed a device.”
“Is it one of those magnet type things that stick to a wheel well?” When the chief gave her an indulgent smile, she understood she was even more naïve than she thought. “I guess not,” she said.
“Um, no. It’s a little more complicated than that, the ones available commercially anyway. Jay would have had to do a little bit of prep first, but then he would have needed about fifteen minutes access to your car. Longer, if he had to fumble around some.”
“Jay doesn’t fumble around at anything. He probably watched how-to videos on YouTube.”
“Well, there are a lot of them. Let’s call it fifteen minutes. How would he have done that? You park on the street? Your driveway?”
“I put the car in the garage. I have a keypad for the door, but Jay wouldn’t know the code. I keep the side door locked.”
“All right. Not there. Sullivan says your husband hacked into systems to get information about you. It stands to reason that he knew what you drove before he got here.”
“Of course. I’ve had the SUV for three years now. I hadn’t thought of that, but how does that—” She stopped, considered where Bailey was going with this, and said, “The parking lot at the Ridge.”
“Uh-huh. Pure supposition, but it’s a good guess that he installed the tracker be
fore he ever showed up at your place the first time.”
“Then he’s always known I work there.”
“I imagine so. You probably park in the employee section and workers aren’t coming and going in that area except at shift change.”
“Wouldn’t he need my key fob? I lock the car. How did he get in?”
“All kinds of information on the dark web. If it was impossible, there wouldn’t be a booming auto theft industry. And his purpose wasn’t to steal your car. He only wanted to tamper with it.”
Ramsey felt like crying but only because she was so mad. “Can you remove the tracker?”
“Maybe. The tools are around here somewhere. We had the trackers professionally installed, but from time to time we’ve needed to get at them. We have a couple of guys who take care of that.”
“Oh. No. Please, I don’t want anyone else to be involved.”
“Sullivan’s one of those guys.” Bailey glanced at his watch. “He’ll be here in twenty. Do you want to wait or have me take a crack at it?”
Ramsey considered her choices. “I don’t suppose waiting makes any kind of difference. Jay already knows I’m here, doesn’t he?”
“If we’re not wrong about the tracker, he does.”
Ramsey slumped in her chair and sighed heavily. “I hate this. Hate it.” She tilted her head back to look at the chief from under her lashes. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this.”
“You didn’t. Sullivan did.”
“Yes, but—”
“And it was the right thing to do. This business with your ex is not something you should ever have to deal with on your own. I believe Sullivan explained some of the criminal ramifications.”
“He did. Pulled me back from stepping into shit.” A hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry. He saved me from jumping into hot water.”
“No, no. Stepping into shit works.”
She lowered her hand to reveal a wan, slightly embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
