“Get me her address. Phone number if you can. I really want to talk to Heather. Grayson’s out there, too, and he might take it in his head to act out against her.”
“Do you think so?” Bryce sounded dubious. “She doesn’t know anything.”
“She might. We may not have asked the correct questions. Heather might not know she knows something.” Manny tried not to be paranoid, but something didn’t sit right. Why would Grayson fail to go home the night before, fail to go into work that morning, yet want to get onto the fourteenth floor?
“Manny? Any thoughts?”
“You have him for fraud, right? And McAllister won’t quit on the murder. So he’s desperate and the only thing to save him is the money he’s been setting up to steal so he can run. He mustn’t have enough from his previous rape of the accounts. And he can’t get the money.” He thought harder. “Search every inch of the fourteen floor. Look for that piece of data, code, anything Grayson might need to complete the process from another vantage point.”
“You think he’s got a remote setup but needs something still here.”
“I can’t think it’s anything else. He spent a lot of time out of the office, not at home. Heather wondered if he had a gambling problem. I think he might have been working with someone else, somebody with experience with computers.”
“Heather didn’t say a word about gambling. What else didn’t she say?” Manny’s partner had his hackles up.
“Nothing I can remember, and a gambling problem would have only given you the reason for Grayson stealing to pay off debts, so don’t turn your ire her way. Search the floor and email me that information on Moesha.” He snapped his phone closed to hurry up and wait. He punched the dash, wincing when the impact split the skin on the first knuckle. The information he needed showed up within a minute and he placed yet another call.
“What?” Typical Moesha. Manny knew his name, his alias, had come up on her phone. Part of him was surprised Moesha had answered. The other part knew she wanted to bust his chops or maybe another body part.
“This is Manny Baker. I’d like to talk to you about Heather.”
“Call display reads Matthew Bourke. The jerk who screwed over
my best friend. You related to him?”
“One and the same, Moesha. I admit I’m a jerk, but a jerk who really cares about your best friend.”
He waited what felt like a million heartbeats, holding his breath in the silence. Finally a strangled sigh emanated from the phone.
“You say. But what you did was beyond anything. You hurt that girl, Manny. The day she saw you in the police station about gutted her. She figured you out right away and didn’t drop the dime on you. Sound like somebody who you should have done what you did to?”
A knife to the heart couldn’t hurt so badly, although now he had his explanation as to how and when Heather figured him as an imposter. “It was different from almost the first date, Moesha. I was with Heather for Heather, not for any other reason.”
“So she wasn’t some kind of fringe benefit—”
“No!” Manny’s instant denial echoed around the car.
“Well, I don’t pretend to understand cop thinking. Heather watches all that shit on TV, so maybe she does, but you might not be able to fix this, buddy. Let me think on it and call you back.”
He stared at the blank screen. More hurry up and wait. He didn’t want to run into McAllister, so he couldn’t go back to Heather’s apartment. He wracked his brain in an attempt to come up with something, anything, to find a way out of this mess. Nothing came to mind. Throwing the car in gear again, Manny pulled out to merge with traffic and drove back to Jameson and Company. He’d help with the search, occupy his mind and hands until, if, Moesha got back to him.
Chapter Nine
Heather supposed that the bright side about her side trip was the distance it built between her and Matthew-Manny, both physically and in her heart. The busywork and act of driving, reflecting on her college application and future education helped her focus and prioritize. And once she made it to her friend’s, Moesha would feed her ice cream and other comfort foods, maybe tequila, because red wine just wouldn’t cut it.
The miles flew by and as she got closer to home, her belly clenched with anxiety. Pushing her emotions into that closet in the back of her head to join all of life’s other disappointments, she drove on autopilot. Her cell signalled and Heather jolted from her grim perusal of the gray asphalt ribbon unwinding in front of her. Checking her mirrors, she pulled over and carefully parked well away from traffic, up on the verge. Cautiously hooking the phone toward her, pulling it across the fake leather seat of her car, she looked at the display, wishing she’d remembered to turn it off. The one recent missed call was from Moesha. Heather flinched in disappointment despite herself.
She’d noticed all Matthew-Manny’s missed calls and texts when she called Moesha from outside Pinewood. She didn’t want to talk to him, hadn’t listened to the messages or read the texts, but the curious cat in her noticed he had given up trying to reach her. She should be glad but was perversely disappointed. Heather’s optimistic heart had been scurrying around behind the bulwarks of hurt pride and betrayal, undermining them, suggesting she meant more to Matthew-Manny than a convenient conduit of information from Mr. Grayson’s office. It reminded her she didn’t know anything about her boss, couldn’t contribute to the investigation and Matthew-Manny had to have known that and yet he still wanted to spend time with her. That incredible Saturday night not withstanding, she liked and trusted the man. She supposed she needed to start thinking about him as Manny. Except he’d given up trying to contact her. So maybe the point was moot.
Moesha picked up right away. She’d retrieved Heather’s plant and chewed on some man Heather suspected was Bryce Olsen. Heather’s revenge imp rejoiced a little, but she kept her comments to herself. Eesh’s next statement blew her away and made her decision to pull over to use her cell a good one.
“Matthew called you?
“He did, girlfriend. All macho and where’s my woman? I told you he had it bad for you. Pretty much begged me to tell him if I’d heard from you.”
“I thought you said he was macho?” Heather couldn’t imagine Matthew begging.
“Yah, well it was macho begging. I kinda enjoyed it. So, do you want me to call him back? Tell him you’ll talk to him?”
Heather debated. Her head told her not to be a fool, not to read anything into the situation that wasn’t there. Matthew-Manny wasn’t who he said he was, had cozied up to her to hedge his bets in getting everything he could on Grayson. She couldn’t have given him much, but he kept dating her. He said they had to talk the night before that group of people shut down the fourteenth floor, but she hadn’t allowed it. Had Matthew-Manny planned to tell her then? She didn’t have the answer but her heart insisted she really didn’t need one. Her flight seemed a little overreactive in retrospect, especially when she’d spent most of the day driving to nowhere and nobody.
“So what do you want to do?” Moesha clearly had her own idea. Heather decided not to ask.
“I’m going to come to your place and decide then. I’m still too upset to make any big decisions.”
“So you want me to call Manny back?”
Manny. Not Matthew. Manny Baker. Heather tasted the name. She supposed Manny suited the undercover guy, but she also liked Matthew.
“You can tell him I’m okay and I’ll call him when I feel I can talk to him.”
“Throwing the man a bone, huh? You sure? He’s gonna read a whole lot into that. You be sure, Heather.”
“That’s why I’m taking my time, Eesh. And I’m not promising to call.” That was Heather’s revenge imp surfacing again.
The next forty-five minutes didn’t seem to take very long. Heather pushed her car along pretty good and considered the merits of making a life-altering decision over ice cream and tequila. She pulled into Moesha’s visitor parking and climbed out of the car, w
incing at her stiff muscles. Debating about hauling her suitcases in right then, compared to doing it later was a no-brainer. She wasn’t going home tonight and was certainly not facing tomorrow without a change of clothes and her makeup.
Hustling to the trunk, she pressed the remote to pop it open. Sensing a presence, she began to turn but was foiled by a hard pressure in the small of her back.
“You just keep on doing what you were, Heather.”
The faint aura of sickly sweet aftershave drifted to her nose. “Mr. Grayson?”
“Lift the trunk lid, Heather.”
It was her boss. His voice sounded colder, but no one other than Mr. G wore that awful scent anymore. Her brain kick-started but failed to suggest any brilliant plan to elude the sharp object now pricking into her spine. Her knees grew weak and she lifted the lid of the trunk. The pressure on her back eased.
“Going somewhere, Heather? Maybe meeting your new boyfriend? Is he waiting for you at your friend’s? That twit from accounting?”
Boy, Mr. G hadn’t missed much. Heather thought frantically. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Mr. Grayson.” She tried to turn to face him but was pricked again.
“I’m not stupid, Heather. You and Matthew Bourke have something going on. Did he have you spying on me?” There was a different note in his voice now, an angry, distressed sound.
“Matthew used me,” she blurted. And all the pain and humiliation of the past few days colored those words, saturated them with the strong emotions.
Silence. Then a nasty chuckle. “So you were taken in by a pretty face, Heather. Makes no difference. I need something from the office and you’re going to help me. Take those suitcases out.”
She reached for the largest case, struggling to lift it with her boss still in such close proximity, cramping her movement. He wasn’t going to allow her to wallop him with it and her vagrant plan faded. She managed to tip it over the edge of the trunk and set it on the ground. Her purse slipped from her wrist and dropped inside with her actions.
“There should be room enough in there for you now. You can leave the smaller one.”
Oh no. Heather knew if she got in that trunk there was no hope. Never let them get you into the car. She wasn’t sure if that was her mom’s edict or information gleaned from the cop shows, but she wasn’t getting into the trunk. Although her purse was inside, and her phone…
Grayson read her hesitation. “I need to trade you for something, Heather. And I don’t trust you to drive without giving me a problem. They won’t be looking for your car.”
“Who would trade for me?” Heather thought it was a reasonable question.
“You’d better goddamn well hope they trade, you twit! Because otherwise you’re no use to me.” There was that impotent fury surfacing again. But she wasn’t getting into the trunk. Surely the longer they stood in the lot someone would come by or notice them. She tried another question.
“What is it you want? Maybe I can just go and get it for you.”
Grayson snorted. “They aren’t letting anyone back on the fourteenth floor. I tried. I sent my…never mind. She didn’t have any luck, either.”
She. Who didn’t have any luck? Spurious curiosity wasn’t going to get Heather out of this, but it sounded like Mr. G had a friend, maybe a partner of some kind. All those covert lunch hours made more sense. Mrs. Grayson never called the office, hadn’t attended in the year Heather had worked for her ex-boss, nor any other time she could recall. Maybe her boss had a girlfriend…
“Heather! Get in the trunk. We’ll go someplace where you can call the boyfriend. Ask him to bring something of yours from the office. He’s been at your place looking for you. I nearly ran into him. And there was a cop who arrived, too.”
“You put me under suspicion.” Heather knew she sounded like a petulant five-year-old with a great vocabulary, but she was tired. She’d pulled a drama queen act, fuelled by hurt pride and embarrassment, found out her boss was some kind of embezzler and most likely a murderer, and had been on the road for the better part of a working day. She tried not to think of Matthew-Manny looking for her.
Grayson chuckled again, this time edged with more than nasty and desperate. “You think I care, Heather? You’re a secretary, and a complacent little cow at that. Now get in the goddamn trunk!”
“First tell me what you want from the office.”
“Your plant.” Grayson gritted it out. Heather could feel his hot breath on her neck. “That green thing you fussed over every day. I stashed something in the pot and I need it today. Not tomorrow. Today. If I get the plant, you just might live to tell this tale to Bourke.”
“The plant isn’t…” And there she went again. The CIA would never recruit Heather Graham to spy for them. Things tended to fall from her mouth under duress, like telling Matthew-Manny she loved him, although she hadn’t exactly been under duress, more like... Her heart lurched. Maybe it was okay she’d told him. It wasn’t likely she would have another opportunity.
Grayson plunged his free hand into her hair, grabbing hold and yanking her head back. The sharp object, probably a knife, pierced her skin right through her clothes, and she could feel a warm trickle of her precious blood curl over her back. She whimpered.
“Where is it?” he hissed, his breath stinking of desperation and rage.
Heather hesitated, wondering how she might mislead Grayson. But his cold, clinical brain was obviously functioning far quicker than her own beleaguered one. Of course she hadn’t masterminded a fraud or killed someone.
“You had nothing with you when you left the office this morning. I watched. The police and the other investigators didn’t get there early enough to catch me, Heather. If they had, I wouldn’t have seen them all heading in. It gave me just enough time to retreat. Although you were early for once. Helping them?”
“No! I had a bad night and couldn’t sleep so went to work. That’s all. I was questioned along with everyone else then told to leave the building until further notice. I quit, actually.” She nearly sobbed the last few words. She’d quit her job and enrolled in college before running home to Mom. Well, at least she would go out on an optimistic note and had one last look at her mom. And she had told Manny she loved him.
Grayson was silent for a moment, and released her hair. “We’ll go up and see your friend from Accounting, Heather. Maybe then you’ll shed some light on the missing plant. We’re going to attract attention here.”
How had he guessed? Or did her boss think he was going to make Moesha find the stupid plant while he held Heather hostage? Either way, she couldn’t allow it. She was going to scream and make Grayson drag her with him, draw attention, before she’d let him near her friend.
“And if you don’t cooperate I’ll kill you now and put your body in the trunk. Don’t think I don’t know how. Then I’ll go see Moesha.” Grayson read her mind again. “Close the trunk.”
Heather did as he told her, then Grayson put his arm around her back, his hand grasping her elbow, the knife in his other hand pricking at her waist. They made their way across the deserted parking lot to the building entrance, locked together in some strange dance parody. Promenade with your partner. She tried to control her breathing in order to think of a way out of this.
Grayson pulled the door open with his knife hand, and Heather strained for a glimpse of her blood on the end of the blade, wondering how deep he had stabbed her. The injury hurt but not in a horrible kind of way. He gripped her elbow, fingertips grinding into the nerve there, nearly paralyzing her forearm, and precluding any thought she might have about running. They crowded through the entrance and took the few steps to the elevator. Stepping inside almost immediately, because of course the car couldn’t be delayed, couldn’t give her a few more moments to think. Grayson stabbed the fifth floor button without needing to ask where Moesha lived. He clearly knew a great deal about her friend. Heather supposed that’s what bad men who embezzled money and killed people did. They researched and planned for conti
ngencies if they hoped to be successful.
They rode in silence. The elevator didn’t stop for anyone else and there was no one in the hall when they disembarked. She didn’t know whether to be happy or not. Despite his thin body and advancing age, Mr. Grayson would probably harm anyone who tried to help, but she also longed for a rescue. The walk to Moesha’s door took only seconds and Grayson rapped on it with the butt handle of the knife, pinching her arm cruelly with his other hand. The sound made her blood run cold. Would Moesha look through the peephole first? Or would she throw open the door with her usual carelessness because she was expecting Heather?
As she feared, Moesha opened the door to the bogeyman.
“Hi Heather! You made good time! Hey, Mr. Grayson!”
Although Grayson stiffened at her friend’s bonhomie, he acted quickly. He pushed Heather ahead of him, never releasing her elbow. She saw him show Moesha the knife out of the corner of her eye.
“Shut the door, twit, and shut your mouth. You go get Heather’s plant right now.”
Heather didn’t miss the spark in Moesha’s face, but her friend hunched over a little and gasped as if intimidated. In a tiny voice she had never heard Moesha use before, one Heather knew was absolutely fake, her friend said, “What are you doing, sir?”
“I’m here to get what’s rightfully mine. Claim my money. All those years of paying out insurance claims to whining, puling clients. Never appreciated by management. No corner office and no chance for a partnership.
“I’ve got another way to load that data. With someone who’s smart as me and appreciative. We’re going to live life well off that money, and two more snivelling bitches won’t get in my way.”
Be Your Everything [All for Love] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 10
