The Senator's Daughter (Heritage Series Book 3)

by Ciana Stone

  As she made her way to John’s apartment, she thought about his current situation. It didn’t take a mind reader to know he was furious about Maddox being granted a hearing. John and his partner had been working round the clock to try and find something they could take to the judge to change his mind.

  She’d taken the initiative and started researching Winfred Maddox. What a nasty piece of work. The Hood understood why John was so desperate to keep the man in prison. It took her all of ten minutes to decide that she was going to help John. She wasn’t sure how, just yet, but it would come to her.

  This game had become more than she anticipated. John had become more. She could barely go an hour without thinking about him, and even now had to push aside a little fantasy that was trying to assert dominance over her thoughts.

  Damn girl, you really need to get laid. That wasn’t a hard task to accomplish. The problem was, she didn’t want just anyone. She wanted John.

  With a reminder to herself that she couldn’t get lax and had to continue to exercise the utmost caution to keep from ending up in handcuffs that had nothing to do with sex games, she parked two blocks from John’s apartment and got out of the car to make the rest of the journey on foot.

  Thanks to knowing the security of the building better than the people who worked security, she was able to get inside and up the stairs without being spotted. It was all just a matter of avoiding the cameras, and that was easy once you knew where they were.

  She made it to John’s apartment without encountering anyone, pulled out her pick-set and in under ten seconds had his door unlocked. The Hood didn’t waste time. She placed the envelope on the floor, closed and locked the door and turned to leave.

  That’s when she heard the elevator. It gave her a momentary start. The stairs were on the other side of the elevator. If she made a run for it now, there was a better than average chance that the elevator door would open and she would be seen.

  Shit. She could think of only one possible escape route, and it wasn’t one she was eager to try. But the seconds were ticking. Hurriedly, she turned, picked the lock on John’s door again and entered.

  After locking the door behind her, she hurried to the living area, unlocked the sliding glass door on the balcony and slid it open. Thankfully, the blinds had been pulled so once she closed the door behind her, she was safe for the moment.

  Or so she thought. She had time to go to the rail and look right, left and then below before lights came on in the apartment. That motivated her. She looked at the balconies on either side of John’s. It was too far to jump.

  That left going up or down. There was no way she’d reach the balcony above his without equipment, which meant her only escape was to go to the balcony one floor down.

  The Hood leaned over the rail to look. If she could get hold of the bottom rail on John’s balcony, she should be able to swing her body and let go when she was swinging in. If she timed it right, she’d land on the balcony.

  She quickly climbed over the rail, lowered herself down, and swung her legs. The first swing took her feet toward the wall of the building, but not far enough, so she let her body act like a pendulum and swing back. When she reached the top of her arc, she threw her legs forward.

  The moment she saw her feet clear the railing beneath her, she let go. The two seconds she was in flight were two very long seconds, but thanks to her lucky stars she dropped a good three feet from the railing and sank down in a crouch.

  A split second later she heard the sliding glass door on the balcony above her open. The Hood waited until she heard it close and then ventured a look upward. She didn’t see John, and when she looked down she didn’t see anyone on the patio beneath her. Since she was on the second floor, the next drop was straight to the ground.

  That she accomplished with ease and hurried away from the building and down the street. She could check one task off her “to do” list for the night. Now it was time to get busy on the second.

  As she walked down the street, she thought about John and imagined him opening the envelope. What would he say when he saw the photos of himself and Amber Walker?

  She didn’t think she wanted to dwell on what he’d thought or how he felt about Miss Walker. She’d prefer to be the woman who stole into his dreams and the one he found himself daydreaming about. Not the Senator’s daughter.

  *****

  John locked the sliding glass door and backtracked to the entrance of the apartment. He was certain the sliding door was locked when he left. But then so was his front door and that hadn’t stopped her. He locked the door and the dead-bolt and then picked up the envelope from the floor.

  John carried the envelope into the bedroom and tossed it on the bed. After changing into a pair of cotton pants, he lay back on the bed, tore open the envelope and dumped the contents onto the bed.

  The first thing he saw delivered a shock. Photos. Of him and Amber Walker. There were three. He studied each in turn. One was of him carrying Amber. It was taken from in front of and off to one side of them.

  John didn’t remember seeing anyone else in the garden when he carried her back to the castle, but to be honest, Amber claimed all of his attention. As he looked at the photo, he remembered the feel of her in his arms and the way she smiled up at him.

  In the photo, she was doing just that. They looked like a bride and groom, about to cross the threshold. Both caught up in looking at the other and oblivious to the fact that someone was photographing them.

  The next one was of them dancing. John liked the way they looked. The top of her head just barely reached his nose even with the added height of her heels. She appeared to glow with the way the fabric of her dress reflected light. He propped that photo against the lamp on the nightstand and turned his attention to the final picture.

  It was of them at the bar. He was shaking hands with her father, and she was smiling at him.

  John lay the photos aside and picked up a folded sheet of paper.

  Well, looks like I’m not the only girl in your life these days. Would it make me seem petulant if I said I wasn’t thrilled? I thought we had something special. Well, actually, I still do. I doubt Miss Amber Silver Spoon In Her Mouth could give you anything close to what I gave you.

  You do still remember that, don’t you John? I know I do. I remember how you groaned, and your body strained as I teased you to within moments of orgasm and then kept you from release. I remember how I made you beg and how good it was.

  Wonder if the spoiled little heiress could manage that? Probably not, but you’ll find that out soon enough I imagine. And that’s not really the point of tonight’s communique. The photos were merely to remind you that I’m watching.

  Even when I’m not. Does that cause you consternation, knowing that wherever you go and whatever you do, my eyes are on you? Or does it give you an erection knowing that I’m always right there, watching and wanting?

  Think about it, John, while I’m out of touch. I can see so clearly in my mind the dismay that comes on your face when you read this. But don’t worry John, I’m not leaving you forever. I just have another little wrong to make right, and then I’ll turn all of my attention back to you.

  Until then, take advantage of the contents of this envelop and earn a little glory with it. But (and this is just my opinion), you might want to consider keeping this note to yourself.

  Unless, of course, you want the entire Bureau to know about us. Do you, John? Or are you going to keep me as a private fantasy you never share with anyone? Oh, share. Now there’s something I will have to think about. Sharing. Hmmm, what would be more fun? You, me and another man, or you me, and another woman?

  I’m game for either, so I’ll leave that up to you.

  Be seeing you soon, John. Don’t go breaking my heart by giving yours away.

  John lay the note aside and reclined back. How could she have eyes on him wherever he went? Alarm ricocheted through him, and he grabbed his phone. He spent the next ten minutes sear
ching through his apps, emails, messages, and settings for anything that looked suspicious. He didn’t find anything, but he wasn’t a tech guy, so he couldn’t be sure she hadn’t done something to his phone.

  Maybe he could ask one of the techs at the Bureau to have a look. And explain it how? Perhaps the best idea would be to stomp this phone into a thousand pieces and get a new one.

  He decided that’s what he’d do first thing in the morning. But for now, he wanted to see what other surprises The Hood had left for him. What looked like a presentation folder lay on the bed. The cover was slick like printed on thick photography paper, and it was all bound with that spiral plastic that held the pages together.

  The text on the cover read, “And you thought you got away with it.”

  Just the title gave him pause. What the hell has she done now? He opened the folder to the first page. There was an introductory note from The Hood.

  By now I guess you’re aware that a certain high-profile investment group has suffered a loss. Well, the truth is, it’s not a loss. It’s merely repayment of what they stole over a decade ago.

  Are you following me? You do remember when they peddled over forty billion in securities, backed by at least two hundred thousand risky home mortgages but never told the buyers that they were secretly betting that a sharp drop in housing prices would send the values of the securities sinking like the Titanic?

  I can almost see your faces as it dawns on you. Yes, the premier investment kings got away with murder, figuratively speaking. They murdered the economy. Do you remember?

  They bought tens of thousands of mortgages from subprime lenders and converted them into high-yield bonds – and pay attention FBI, this became the subject of many of your investigations.

  They used offshore tax havens to shuffle those mortgage-backed securities to institutions around the world, often through secret deals run through the Cayman Islands.

  Thousands of homes were repossessed from bankrupt people or those struggling financially but who had gotten subprime mortgages anyway because Wall Street made it easy for them to qualify.

  And then when it all went to hell in a handbasket, they emerged intact thanks to a twenty-three billion dollar hand out in direct and indirect federal aid.

  How pleased they must have been with themselves, and how they must have enjoyed the fruits of that poisoned field for the last decade. Do you ever wonder how many times they have laughed, patted themselves on the backs and bragged to one another about their achievements?

  I have. I’ve thought about it a lot. And I got tired of thinking. Now is the time for action.

  So, congratulations, America. Everyone who was forced into bankruptcy, who lost their home or life savings, has now been repaid. For the last 37 months and 29 days, checks have been going out from accounts all over the world to the individuals who were cheated.

  Twenty-three billion dollars worth.

  And today, all you crooks, your systems will stop giving you false reports and let you see the truth. That you’re twenty-three billion dollars poorer than you realized and because of that – because the numbers are now accurate, your ship is about to sink.

  Bye-bye, assholes. I hope it was fun while it lasted. And good luck on trying to recover.

  It’s been fun.

  Sincerely,

  Robin Hood

  “Holy hell.” John flipped through the pages. It was a history lesson in what took place from 2004 – 2009, and finally, there was a profit loss statement. She’d done it. The Hood had taken down the biggest investment firm in the world, and no one had been aware there was anything amiss.

  Until now – when it was too late.

  John jumped up, dressed, and then grabbed the personal note from The Hood, took it to the kitchen and set it on fire in the sink. Once it had entirely burned, he washed the ashes into the disposal and turned it on to let it run while he returned to the bedroom, shoved the folder into the envelope and grabbed his phone and keys.

  After turning off the disposal, he placed a call and left his apartment. He had to get the information turned in to the Bureau. As much as he disliked the idea of The Hood spending the rest of her life in prison, he disliked the idea of him being accused of withholding evidence even more.

  Besides, if she hadn’t wanted him to take it to the Bureau, she shouldn’t have given it to him. He once more wondered if secretly she wanted to be caught or if her providing a confession of her crimes was just her way of flaunting that she’d done it and was smarter than they were, so would get away with it.

  And he wondered once more what he wanted out of this? To be the agent who collared the most successful thief in history or the man who made the Robin Hood his?

  Chapter Seven

  Heritage Ranch, Texas

  Per Richard's request, Russell's pilot picked him and Sharon up from the private airport one county over and delivered them to Heritage. When the helicopter landed, Russell climbed out of the SUV and looked over at Naomie who exited from the passenger's side of the vehicle. She walked to the front of the car and looked up at Russell. "You look like someone expecting bad news."

  "I feel like it."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. Something in Rich's voice, I guess. And the fact that he made this sound like a planned visit. Which it was not."

  "Well, they're getting out now, so I guess you'll know soon enough. I admit to being curious, as well, I can't imagine why he'd want me here."

  "Like you said, we're about to find out."

  Russell embraced his brother, then gave Sharon a kiss on the cheek. "Good flight?"

  "Good enough," she replied, then looked at Naomie. "Thanks for agreeing to join the conversation."

  "Yes, ma'am." Naomie was shocked. She and the AG hadn't really hit it off the last time they met, and she was surprised Mrs. Walker wanted her present.

  "Put your stuff in the back, and we'll get on to the house," Russell said and took Sharon's carryon bag from her.

  There was no conversation on the way to the house. In fact, no one said anything until they walked inside, and Richard spoke. "We'll stow our stuff in the guest suite, change and be down in a few minutes. Any chance we could rustle up some sandwiches?"

  "I'll put together something," Naomie volunteered, then looked at Russell and added. "If you want."

  "Thanks, honey, that'd be great, and I'll help." He cut his brother a look. "See you in a few."

  By the time Richard and Sharon walked into the kitchen, Naomie and Russell had the center island laden with fixings for sandwiches, along with chips, a big bowl of potato salad, one of baked beans, plates, and utensils.

  The table was set with placemats and napkins. All that was missing were the drinks.

  "Where's Clyde?" Richard asked when he entered the room.

  Clyde was the man who had cooked for the family for the last fifteen or so years. He lived in a small cottage on Heritage and had a talent for making himself scarce when the family was present.

  "Probably at his cottage, why?"

  "Just wanted to make sure we have privacy. You still keep a bottle in the cupboard?"

  "Yep." Russell went for the glasses, cutting a look over his shoulder. "Shar? Naomie?"

  "Yes, thanks," Sharon replied.

  "No, it's a bit early for me," Naomie replied.

  "Opposed to day-drinking, Dr. Taylor?" Sharon asked.

  "Not unless I need my wits about me, and I suspect I wouldn't have been invited to this party for any other reason."

  "Smart girl," Sharon nodded, put together two sandwiches, plopped them on plates and then finished filling one with a helping of potato salad and some chips.

  As Richard finished piling food on his plate, Richard poured drinks and set them on the table. Naomie grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sat beside Russell. Richard dove into his sandwich, polished off half of it and then downed his drink.

  "Mind if I have another?"

  "It's your home too, Rich. Ge
t up and get what you want."

  Naomie saw the look Sharon cut at Russell and wondered if Russell living in the family home was a bone of contention between them. Rich didn't seem to take Russell's comment as such. He just got up, got the bottle, refilled his glass, and set the bottle on the table.

  It didn't go unnoticed, at least to Naomie, that Russell didn't touch his drink. She slid her bottle of water over to him and he gave her a smile and took a long drink. Richard drank another swallow from his glass and took out his phone. He diddled on it for a moment then looked at Russell.

  "These are strange times, brother."

  "You won't get an argument from me on that."

  Richard nodded. "What I'm about to tell you is classified, so I'm trusting the two of you won't share what I say?"

  "You already know the answer to that."

  "I do." Richard agreed with his brother, then looked at Naomie. "I know you already carry secrets, but I'm asking you to add another."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Thank you. Early yesterday morning an FBI agent turned in evidence on the Robin Hood case."

  "Robin Hood?" Russell frowned. "I read something about that a while back."

  "The label was attached a year ago when a quiet attack took billions from multiple banks." Sharon filled in the information.

  "Robin Hood, robbing from the rich and giving to the poor?" Russell asked.

  "Something like that," Sharon replied. "Robin Hood successfully diverted over thirty million dollars back to people who had been gouged by the banks with raised interest rates on their credit cards. And she had erased over one hundred million dollars of debt.

  "And the kicker was the Hood so completely doctored the banks' records and even its history files that it was impossible to determine which customers had benefited from her crime. In short, the bank had no recourse but to eat the loss. Which made the Robin Hood the single most successful bank robber in history."

  "I remember something about a letter going to newspapers," Russell said.