The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “And the damn cleaning people took them, that’s what! I want their number. Zeke. Can you get me their number?”

  He patted his pockets. “I’m not sure I have that contact in my phone. Do you want me to get your phone?”

  She ignored him, turning to me again. “Yeah, I only read a couple, and they were the sweetest things I’ve ever read.”

  I felt my shoulders drop just a tad. “That’s really cool.”

  “Yeah, I know, right? No one wants to think of their mom and dad getting it on or anything, but once they’re both…gone, it’s nice to read how much they loved each other.”

  She’d only read the good parts, thankfully. I reached over and touched her arm. “It’s great to have those memories.”

  “But I don’t have them, dammit.”

  Wrong move by me.

  “I just know the cleaning people must have taken them.” She put a hand to her chin, her eyes drifting off. “Wait a second. We had that party over here. The girls from the office. Do you think it’s possible one of my own employees stole the satchel?”

  I shrugged, and then I looked at Zeke, who did the same thing without saying a word. He was quiet. Too quiet.

  “Do you really think one of your own employees would steal something from you?” I asked, grasping the opportunity: she’d opened the door to lead us toward Nancy Klein.

  Zahera looked off in the distance. She seemed to ponder that question, or perhaps her mind was back to thinking about her mom and dad and those letters—which, to her, were full of positive memories. I thought about how much the truth might destroy her impression of her father. I was afraid, in her current fragile condition, the truth about her dad’s transgressions might shatter her.

  The doorbell chimed, and we all jumped a little, but no one moved toward the door.

  “Oh, Zeke, that might be Liu.” Zahera had some excitement in her voice.

  Zeke’s eyes went to me, then back to her. “Yeah, let me get that. He can set up in the living room.” He paused, as if he were waiting to hear something more.

  Zahera’s gaze turned to the floor under the desk. “I wonder who could have done it.”

  “Perhaps Nancy Klein?” In some respects, I felt guilty associating Nancy with an offense I knew she didn’t commit. But it was the only way to move the conversation where it needed to go.

  Her big brown eyes got wider. “Why would you say Nancy?”

  “I know she stole patient data and tried to sell it to a pediatric group.”

  “How…? Wait, you probably talked to Kelly, am I right?”

  “She mentioned it when the drinks were flowing at the party.”

  Zeke was still at the door. It felt like he was eavesdropping, albeit in plain sight. I looked at him, hoping to draw Zahera’s gaze in that direction.

  “Baby, aren’t you going to get the door?” she asked with a little bite.

  “Oh, sure.” He gripped the door frame, his eyes on me until he disappeared.

  My concern, which might be shifting into the fear department, was that Zeke had something against me. I wasn’t sure how, but he must have learned that we’d been looking into his connection to Udovenko. Was there some type of leak at INTERPOL, perhaps the person Nick’s partner, Alex, had befriended?

  Too much cloak-and-dagger shit for me to deal with right then. But I had to deal with it, dammit. For Zahera.

  “I just don’t think Nancy would steal my personal letters. It’s not in her nature.”

  Zeke called out for Zahera, and she trudged out of the room, stopping in the hallway. “Let me change into my robe.” She disappeared into her bedroom as I walked into the living room.

  “I’m Yao. Do you also want a massage?”

  Zeke looked at me. “I thought it would be good for Zahera to relax. She mentioned Liu is her favorite, but it turned out he was busy. So, Yao, his partner, came in his place.”

  “Cool.” I turned back to Yao. “I’m good. Just take care of Zahera.”

  “She will get white-glove treatment.” The man, who spoke in monotone, had some type of Asian accent. He looked like a bodybuilder. He had bumps all over his body, including his head. I touched the bruise above my eyes. I could tell it was a dandy.

  My thoughts shifted to Zahera’s response to my comment about Nancy stealing the patient data. It seemed like she’d just glossed over it, not addressing it one way or the other—almost like she was covering for Nancy. But why?

  I just knew I couldn’t leave her condo until I’d told her about Stan bringing Nancy in for questioning.

  50

  Zahera swooped into the room, stopping as she noticed Yao. She looked at Zeke.

  “Liu was caught up with another client, so his partner, Yao, came over. He’s just as good as Liu. That’s what he said. Right, Yao?”

  “Yes sir.” He popped his hand on the top of the chair next to the table he’d set up. “It’s nice to meet you, Zahera. Liu has told me so much about you.”

  He sounded like a robot, or the dumbest form of artificial intelligence I’d ever heard.

  She walked over and shook his hand. The big beast was surprisingly gentle with her. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised. That was his profession. He uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured her a glass. He then held up the bottle to Zeke.

  “May I pour you a glass?”

  “No thanks. I actually have an urgent meeting and I’m already late,” he said, looking at his watch. From what I could see, it looked like one of those digital numbers.

  The bodybuilder then looked at me. I shook my head no.

  “Oh, baby, have I kept you from your work?” Zahera held out a hand. Zeke leaned over and kissed it, then started walking toward the door. “You know my job; clients and potential clients are very demanding in my world. But you’ll always be my number one priority.”

  “Thank you for setting this up, baby,” she said. “I think it will be just what I need to relax, get my mind off things.”

  He winked as he walked to the door. He seemed to be trying to avoid looking at me, but our eyes met. Again. My gut swirled with anxiety, uncertain what to make of him. And where the hell was he going when his fiancé needed him the most? I knew Zahera. She was putting on a good front, just to allow him to go about his business without carrying any guilt.

  I had to follow him. I had to figure out, once and for all, what the hell he was up to. He closed the door behind him, and I turned to Zahera. In between Zahera taking sips of her champagne, Yao was massaging her neck and shoulders.

  “Z, I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” she asked with her eyes closed. Her tension had already been reduced.

  My throat became dry, and I wished I’d taken Yao up on his offer. I couldn’t delay this any longer, not if I hoped to catch up to Zeke. “Zahera, Stan believes Nancy could be involved—and let me emphasize could be—involved in this string of fake kidnappings going on.”

  “That’s insane,” she said, her eyes still closed. “Look, I know she’s not perfect. She’s annoying, if nothing else. But she’s got a good heart. I’m sure once Stan looks into everything, she’ll be exonerated.”

  Her calm demeanor caught me off guard. Again, it seemed like she was covering for her.

  “Z, why didn’t you fire Nancy after you found out she tried to sell the patient data to Stonebrook Pediatric?”

  “Is it safe to assume that all of your questions relate to your client…what’s her name?”

  “Megan.”

  “Right. Well, it’s actually pretty simple.” She paused, sipped her champagne, releasing an audible “aah” before continuing. “I don’t think she actually followed through with it, for one. She said she didn’t, and I believe her.”

  Talk about gullible. Was this the same Zahera? I kept my caustic comments to myself. Instead, I just said, “Okay. And…?”

  She opened her eyes for a moment. “She’s had a hard life, Ivy. Well, her family has, taking care of her b
rother. He has a lot of health problems. It’s put a lot of pressure on everyone in their family.”

  She’d at least piqued my interest, so I played along. “What kind of problems?”

  “He has autism. Do you know what it’s like to raise a kid who has autism? Severe autism. It has taxed her entire family, emotionally drained her, her sister, her parents. She basically broke down in my office. She only wanted to sell that patient data to make more money, to try to pay for an operation he needs.”

  “Operation? For autism?”

  “Well, she did mention some sort of advanced research going on, something like that. It was hard to get much out of her after she broke down.”

  Was she for real?

  “I can see you’re questioning my judgment.”

  “No, I…” My voice trailed off as I glanced at the door. I knew time was of the essence. I couldn’t let the opportunity to follow Zeke slip away.

  “Ivy, her brother needs a kidney transplant, and he keeps getting turned down. All because he has autism. It’s simply not fair. And it’s tearing her apart.”

  I internally replayed what she’d just said. She’d given me new information, alarming information. Had I just connected a couple of dots? Maybe only in theory; more evidence was needed. The only way to get there was to ask questions. For starters—and maybe my most sarcastic question in response to hearing this news—if Nancy was so distraught over her brother’s condition and not being approved for his transplant, then why was she jumping into the sack with Carlos Espinoza? When Zahera made her ruling on Nancy, was she even aware that her sister worked at the place where she was accused of passing along the patient data? Did she inquire as to which patients’ data Nancy had pulled together, and why those patients were selected? I stayed mum on that arm of the story. “Thanks for the additional insight, Z.”

  “I know it doesn’t look good on her part. By the way, how did Stan make the connection from her to these fake kidnappings?”

  I didn’t have the time to go down that rabbit hole, especially when it would lead to the seedy pictures I’d found and my theories that had yet to be proven. “I’m not sure exactly. You know him though. He’s a solid detective. He knows his stuff.”

  She waved an unconcerned hand, then sipped more champagne. “Keep going, Yao,” she said to the masseur, then looked at me. “I’m sure it will all be worked out. Nancy just needs to explain everything to Stan. She’ll be fine.”

  Nancy, in my mind, might want to be fitted for prison garb, but I stayed mute and simply nodded. “Okay. Speaking of Megan, she’s in a bit of a pickle. I need to go catch up with her.”

  “You sure you don’t want Yao here to do his magic on you?”

  I was already at the door. “Maybe once things are normal again. Not sure when that will be.” I grabbed the door handle.

  “Hey, Ivy. Any other thoughts on who might have taken my satchel?”

  “Not a clue. Enjoy your massage.”

  I was out the door before my guilt forced me to unload everything I knew.

  51

  Thanks to the doorman, and the fifty dollars I gave him, he shared with me that Zeke had stopped in the lobby as he talked on his cell phone. He said he couldn’t quite hear the exact conversation, but that it was animated. He then said something that surprised me. “I think he was crying when he got off the call.”

  “What? Are you making this whole thing up? Did he already pay you off?”

  “I swear on my momma’s grave.” He paused, swallowed. “And I don’t take bribes. I’m only telling you all of this because you’re a good friend of Miss Z. There’s something…” He leaned in closer, looking around to make sure no one heard him. “There’s something about her fiancé that doesn’t seem right.”

  I wanted to quiz him further, but time wasn’t on my side. I asked which way he went. He pointed south. “He’s on foot.”

  “Thanks.” I pushed through the revolving door and immediately broke into a jog. Zeke, per his usual outfit in the summer, was wearing a distinctive blue Lycra shirt that accentuated his sculpted physique. Between that and his gelled and cropped blond hair, I knew I could spot him in a crowd rather easily. Weaving around numerous pedestrians, I covered a city block in no time.

  Light rain fell from the sky. The drops were nickel-sized, but so intermittent it made you wonder if someone upstairs was merely teasing everyone. I noticed a couple of kids crane their necks upward to try to catch the drops in their mouths. They looked disappointed.

  I reached the corner of Broadway and 8th and paused, wondering which way he would have gone. On foot, he had to be close. Unless he knew I was following him, and so he hopped into a taxi. But how would he know?

  I cringed, hoping like hell I wasn’t searching for someone who was ten miles away. Stay the course. That’s all you can do. I crossed the intersection, now moving at a fast-paced walk, my eyes scanning everyone in front of me, as well as glancing across the street in case he’d decided to backtrack.

  Four more blocks and I saw signs for the Tobin Center for the Performing Arts. Dark clouds roiled overhead. The temperature had dropped, but the humidity and the tension had me sweating. I wiped my brow and kept moving, now back in a jog.

  I finally spotted him up ahead. And his walk told me he was not out for a casual stroll. I stayed back, keeping enough people in between us to give me cover. He turned right on Pecan, and I followed, trailing him by about fifty feet. We came upon Travis Park, a square “green space” with trees and grass that was supposed to be green. It was all brown from lack of rain.

  Zeke crossed the Navarro intersection. I took a step into the street. He stopped cold. He lifted his foot up on a fire hydrant and tied his shoe. He had on sunglasses, but he turned in my direction. On pure instinct, I pivoted right and began crossing Pecan, blending in with a crowd of about twenty people. Once on the other side, I fought the urge to turn around, and continued moving north. I made it past cars parked on the side of the road, then quickly dipped below the last one.

  I heard myself panting. I counted to four, then slowly peeked through the window to see the fire hydrant on the far corner.

  No Zeke. I lifted higher to get a wider view. He hadn’t followed me—that was the good news. The bad news? I’d lost him. I quickly cut across Navarro as someone yelled out, “Jaywalkers go to jail in San Antonio.”

  At the corner of Pecan and Navarro, I looked east. No sign of him. I huffed out a frustrated breath and moved cautiously down Pecan, now on the north side of the street. I felt a few more drops of rain on my head. The skies looked like they might explode, but I continued my trek.

  “Oh, nasty!” a voice said from a crowd that had halted pedestrian traffic.

  I tried wedging my body between the hordes of people. “Excuse me.” I made it to the center and found a dog—some type of German shepherd—peeing on the base of a lamp post. Had to be a stray dog, given he had no leash or visible collar.

  I spotted Zeke again. He was crossing over to the north side of Pecan, just east of St. Mary’s. He glanced in my direction, but there was no way he saw me in the sea of people. I eased my way toward the cross street, St. Mary’s, and made it to the other side at the same time he scooted inside a building. I walked closer and saw it was a barbecue place. He had to be meeting someone there for an early dinner in plain sight.

  Leaning against the adjacent brick building, I pondered my next move. If I went inside the barbecue joint, he could spot me. And then he would… What did I expect him to do? Sure, he’d know I was following him. He might give me the death stare, but he wouldn’t harm me, not in a public restaurant. In fact, the crowd might give me enough cover to where I could finally confront him. Maybe under the pressure of me pelting him with questions, he’d finally share with me the nature of his connection with Udovenko.

  Or not.

  I rode the wave of my desire to take control and marched inside. A quick scan of the place. I didn’t see him. I walked up to the host and aske
d if he’d seen a man matching Zeke’s features.

  “Oh, Mr. Ryan. He’s a frequent guest. He asked to—”

  “Ryan?”

  “Yes, Jack Ryan, the man in the blue shirt and short, spiky hair.”

  The name was familiar—not associated with Zeke, of course—but my adrenaline was pumping so hard I couldn’t recall why. I was still stuck on why he’d used a different name. “Where is he?”

  “As I was saying, he offered to do a security check for us, since he’s in that business.” He paused, looking at one of his colleagues, then back to me. “Are you a friend of Mr. Ryan’s?”

  “Definitely. Tight,” I said, crossing my fingers. “Where did you say he was?”

  “I think I last saw him in the kitchen.” He pointed behind him.

  I walked past him and said, “Thanks.”

  “You’re not allowed in the—”

  His voice dissipated as I walked into the kitchen, a symphony of grease-popping sounds. I glanced behind me and saw the host heading in my direction. I asked one of the men wearing white hats if they’d seen Zeke. He gave me a quizzical look. “I mean Jack Ryan.”

  The man with a tattoo of the Alamo on his arm wiped sweat from his brow and said, “He went through the kitchen door in the back there, and down the back steps.”

  “Steps to where?”

  He smirked. “The River Walk, of course.”

  Had Zeke seen me and now was trying to elude me? I thanked the man, found the back door, and flung it open. Two flights of stairs led to a parking lot adjacent to the River Walk, the barren section. I’d forgotten there were no access points at this northeastern spot. Basically, at the river level, there was nothing. Just a narrow sidewalk on either side of a dirty, green pool of river water. No restaurants. No shops. No people.

  In other words, the perfect place to meet someone without being seen.

  I scooted down the stairs, all the while scanning the narrow sidewalks looking for Zeke, or Jack Ryan, as the case may be. I saw no one. Part of my vision of the sidewalks was blocked by the streets that crossed overhead. As I reached the bottom of the staircase and walked toward the River Walk, I saw a sign affixed to the street overhead. Convent Street.