Blind Spot

by Dani Pettrey

  “That looks good,” Finley said. “Do you mind my asking what it is?”

  “A virgin lime and blackberry mojito,” Elizabeth said dryly.

  “That sounds delicious.”

  “Let me get you one,” Griffin said. “I’ll be right back, folks.” He turned and left, heading for the patio bar before the Markums could excuse themselves. Finley could work them for a while. She was doing a masterful job.

  He made his way through the milling crowd, catching bits and pieces of conversation. When he reached the bar he smiled. “Eddie.”

  “Mr. McCray,” the bartender said.

  Griffin liked Eddie. He’d been working the retreats and for the resort the past three years, putting himself through school at Stevenson University, which was just down the road. “Griffin, please.”

  “Okay, Griffin. What can I get you and that lovely wife of yours?”

  “Two blackberry lime virgin mojitos.”

  “You got it.” His gaze drifted to Finley as she talked with the Markums. “How you talked her into marrying you, I’ll never understand,” Eddie said, the two always joshing each other.

  “You and me both,” Griffin said, dropping a twenty in the tip jar and grabbing the drinks.

  “You’re too generous,” Eddie said, “as always.”

  Griffin didn’t completely know Eddie’s circumstances, but God had placed him on Griffin’s heart, and that was more than reason enough to be generous. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “I’ll be here the rest of the night,” Eddie said. “The patio bar is open until midnight, in case anyone would like a nightcap with their s’mores.” Griff was glad to see heaters at either end of the bar, but Eddie would certainly earn his wages and tips tonight.

  Griffin walked back through the crowd, scanning it, wondering what Jenn and Jeremy Barrit looked like and if they had already arrived. They were the next couple on the list Haywood had given him of clients with missing funds.

  “Here you go, my love,” he said, handing Finley her glass.

  “Thank you, dear.” She angled toward Griffin. “John was just telling me the highlights of the resort.”

  “We’ve been coming for ten years now,” John said.

  Good job, Fin. She’d got them talking.

  “This is just my third year,” Griffin said.

  “I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”

  “This is my first year with Finley.”

  “We were recently married,” she added.

  “Ah, newlyweds.” John smiled. “Congratulations.”

  Finley snuggled into Griffin. “Thanks.”

  “I spent most of the other retreats hiking during the day and reading at night,” Griffin explained.

  “So a solitary man before marriage,” John said. “I get it.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Apparently she wasn’t enjoying the conversation nearly as much as her husband, who’d relaxed a great deal.

  “How long have you two been married?” Finley asked. “If you don’t mind my asking. You look very happy together.”

  John and Elizabeth exchanged a glance, and Elizabeth’s scowl softened.

  “Twenty-three years,” she said.

  “Wow. That’s wonderful.”

  Elizabeth’s tight jaw relaxed into a smile.

  Amazing, Fin.

  “So what do you do, John?” Finley asked.

  “I run a marina in Annapolis.”

  “Impressive. That sounds like a big job.”

  John’s smile gleamed. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Having grown up around boats, I love it though.”

  “I grew up in Chesapeake Harbor,” Griffin said.

  “Oh sure, I know the place,” John said.

  “Really?” Not a lot of people were familiar with the small harbor town southwest of Baltimore along the Chesapeake Bay.

  “We sail all over the place,” Elizabeth said.

  “And we visited Chesapeake Harbor on one of our many Bay cruises,” John added.

  “How lovely,” Finley said.

  “Haywood’s a big boater as well,” Griffin said, trying to steer the conversation back to the case in a natural and what he hoped was casual way.

  Apparently not casual enough. Elizabeth’s jaw tightened again.

  “He has a power boat,” John said with a bite to his tone. “We’re sailors.”

  “Oh, a true boatman,” Griffin said, trying to regain John’s favor.

  “You like to sail?” he asked.

  “Grew up sailing,” Griffin said. “And so did Finley.”

  “Maybe we can enjoy a sail together sometime,” John offered.

  “We’d like that very much,” Griffin said.

  “Well, I think we’re going to get settled in our room.” John gave his wife a “Let’s go” glance.

  “Yes. I could use some settling-in time,” she said, as if on cue.

  “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you folks,” Finley said as the couple scurried away.

  “You too,” John’s voice drifted away.

  “So they like boats, but there’s clearly no love for Haywood,” Finley said.

  Griffin sighed heavily. “Would you have any warm feelings toward the person you believed was stealing from you?”

  10

  Relief flooded Declan as he and Tanner pulled into the Bureau’s parking garage. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, guiding her through the concrete structure as they made their way into the warm interior of the building’s lobby.

  Agent Matt Greer stepped off the elevator as they were about to step on.

  “Hey,” he said. “I heard what just happened. You two all right?”

  “Nothing some warm clothes won’t fix,” Declan said, rubbing Tanner’s arm. “Car’s in the lot, so the processing can start.”

  “Yeah, about that . . . I know you like to work with Parker Mitchell, but . . .”

  “He’s off this weekend,” Declan said. “I know.”

  “Yeah. Weird, right?” Matt frowned.

  Parker was nearly always on call, or at least had been until he and Avery became serious. Now he had found a much better work-life balance. Same as Griff did since meeting Finley. He, on the other hand . . .

  He swallowed and responded to Matt’s quizzical expression rather than finishing that thought. “Parker has a standing invitation around this time every year.”

  Parker was taking Avery to the retreat for the first time, and Griffin was bringing his wife, Finley. Declan glanced at Tanner, wondering what it would be like to bring her as his significant other. The idea warmed him more than dry clothes would.

  Matt arched his brows in curiosity but pushed no further on Parker’s whereabouts. “I’ll let Cross and his team know to head down and get started on the vehicle.” He punched a couple buttons on his phone and placed it to his ear.

  “Thanks. Glad to hear Cross is on.” Next to Parker . . . well, no one came close to Park, but Brayden Cross always did a precise, thorough job.

  “We need to get into some dry clothes,” he said, hitting the Up button on the elevator.

  Matt nodded, waved, and continued his phone conversation as he moved away from the elevator.

  “I don’t have . . . clothes . . . here,” Tanner said, her words borderline jumbled.

  Definitely hypothermia.

  He jabbed the button again, fighting the urge to pick her up and wrap her in his arms. “No, but I do,” he said. He always keept extra workout clothes at the office.

  She nodded, her eyes growing heavy, her head lolling to the right.

  “That’s it.” He swooped her up in his arms, and she was obviously feeling bad because she didn’t protest or even question his move.

  Reaching his office, he set her on his sofa, removed his jacket and then hers. He cranked up the space heater he kept in his drafty office and moved to the secretary hutch in the corner, pulling out his FBI-issued sweatpants and sweatshirt. “Here.” He handed them to her. “I’ll leave
so you can change. I’ll be back in two.”

  She nodded, and he headed for the kitchen. Finding an oversized pot in the back of the lower cupboard, he filled it with hot water. Returning to his office, he elbow-knocked on the door and asked, “Okay to come in?”

  “Yep,” she said, her voice sounding a bit stronger.

  He entered to find her drowning in his sweats, her hair still damp. He grabbed a gym towel from his cabinet. “Here,” he said, chastising himself for not thinking of it sooner.

  “Thanks.” She lifted her hair, draped the towel across her shoulders, and let her hair fall back over it.

  He retrieved the pan of water he’d set on the corner of his desk and moved to place it on the floor at her feet. “Stick your feet in. It’ll sting at first, but it’ll warm you up much quicker.”

  She dipped one foot in tentatively, winced, and then went for it, submerging both feet.

  “That’s my girl,” he said without thinking.

  A soft smile crept onto her still blue-tinged lips.

  “I’m going to make you something warm to drink. Coffee, tea?” He moved for his Keurig. A gift from his mom last Christmas.

  “Coffee, please.”

  “On it.” The Keurig spit out the warm brew in no time.

  “You need to change and get warm too,” she said.

  The sight of her in his sweats, three sizes too big, cupping her mug on his couch, warmed him quite a bit, but she was right. It was time for him to get out of the wet clothes too. “Agreed,” he said, grabbing his gym bag and heading for the bathroom down the hall.

  Within two shakes he was back at her side, praying the men shooting at them had been caught. But, unfortunately, there was no news, which meant they were still out there.

  A rap sounded on Griffin and Finley’s door shortly before ten. “It’s Parker,” he said, getting up to answer it.

  “Hey, man,” he said, opening the door to find Parker and Avery waiting in the hall. “Come on in.”

  “Kate said she’d be right up.” Parker took a seat in the sitting area of their room. “Nice fireplace.”

  “Exquisite bed,” Avery said of the four-poster mahogany bed dating from the 1800s.

  “According to Ann, the owner, it’s original to the inn,” Finley said.

  “Wow.” Avery studied the smooth curves of the posts and the detailed carvings on the headboard.

  To Griffin it was just a place to lie next to his wife. He’d take a sleeping bag in a tent if it meant falling asleep with her in his arms—where or on what didn’t matter. Only Finley in his arms did.

  “So what’d you guys learn?” Parker asked as Kate tapped on the door.

  Griffin opened it. “Hey, Katie.”

  “Hey, yourselves.” She carried a movie-theatre-style tub of popcorn—caramel, if his nose was working right—cradled in her right arm.

  “Where’d you get that?” Parker jumped up from the wingback chair and moved for Kate and her popcorn.

  Kate held up her left hand. “Back off. I’ll share, but only a handful each.”

  Parker grudgingly obeyed, taking just one handful and downing it in seconds. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Miss Ann. We’ve been chatting for the past hour, and she mentioned she has a DVD library and offers guests a bucket of homemade caramel popcorn on the weekends.”

  “No way.” Parker headed for the door.

  “Park,” Griffin said before he could dart from the room. “Focus. Case now. Popcorn later.”

  Parker exhaled and held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, but have you tasted this stuff? It’s as good as Fisher’s.”

  Now he had to taste it. Griffin grabbed a handful and popped several pieces into his mouth, where it proceeded to melt in ooey-gooey goodness. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

  “Okay, now you both have to focus,” Kate snapped.

  “Your fault,” Parker said, threatening to snatch another handful. “You brought it in. You should have anticipated the consequences.”

  “Fair enough.” She took a seat in one of the wingback chairs, tucking her right leg beneath her and dangling her left leg over her right bent knee. “So I’ve got some juicy details. How about you guys?”

  Griffin sat on the loveseat with Finley as Avery took the armrest of Parker’s chair. “Finley and I learned a few things about the Markums, but with a lead-in like that, I think we’re all curious to hear what you learned.”

  “So,” Kate began, “Lowell said he wants to start his own firm. He claims he’s being held back and doesn’t feel he can do his clients justice in his partnership with Haywood. He’s just waiting until after the retreat to drop the news.”

  “He told you that, even knowing your ‘Pirate connection’?”

  “Yeah, I guess I just dazzled him with my charm.” Kate smiled. “That and the liquor.”

  “Did he give any indication of how he believes his partnership with Haywood is holding him back? Did he mention anything about skimming from clients, anything like that?”

  “No. But he definitely plans on leaving and taking his clients with him.”

  “So he’s bailing on Haywood before he gets exposed for stealing from company clients.”

  “If Lowell is setting up Haywood, as Haywood claims, distancing himself is a brilliant move,” Parker said.

  “How about you?” Kate asked Griffin. “What have you learned?”

  “The Markums clearly resent Haywood. I’d be very surprised if they don’t confront him this weekend.”

  “What about the Coveys?” Griffin asked Parker.

  “They seem oblivious to the fact their accounts are being skimmed,” he responded. “They went on and on about how happy they were with the investment growth they saw in their last portfolio report from Haywood.”

  “Which can totally be doctored,” Kate said.

  “Any progress on the financials?” Parker asked Kate, who had planned to take a look at them before heading to the retreat.

  “It’s a lot to go through, but so far it does look like Haywood is the guilty one.”

  No one commented or wanted to go there. They were taking Haywood at his word, but ignoring the obvious wasn’t always easy.

  “I know a great forensic accountant, if you want to go that route,” Parker offered.

  “That might not be a bad idea,” Kate said. “Then I can focus on what I need to learn here.”

  Griffin liked that idea. While Kate was excellent at hacking and following the numbers, Thatcher Grimes was specifically trained to detect fraud or embezzlement of funds. He had a great reputation with the Baltimore PD.

  “Okay, I’ll give him a call,” Parker said. “Thatcher Grimes is the best.”

  “I can send him the documents from my computer and scanner,” Kate said.

  “I’ll ask him to get you his contact information,” Parker said.

  “Great. That takes that off my plate. Now I can concentrate on the people here.”

  “How soon do you think Thatcher will be able to give us some answers?” Griffin asked, always impatient when it came to obtaining evidence.

  “He usually gets back within forty-eight to seventy-two hours depending on his availability and how much paperwork he needs to go through.”

  “There is a lot in the sense that the Markums have been clients for more than a decade,” Kate said, “but it looks like the skimming has only been happening over the past year, so that lessens the scope.”

  “But it begs the question,” Griffin said, “if he’s been working with the Markums for that long and with some of his clients since he started the firm twenty years ago, why start stealing now?”

  “You’re considering that Haywood might actually be the thief?” Kate asked.

  “Yeah. I guess my mind went there.” He’d been trying hard not to let it. “But the same question holds true if he’s telling the truth and Lowell is the one behind it all. Why, after being with the firm for eight years, would Lowell start stealing now
?”

  “While we’re waiting on Thatcher, I’ll do some digging into both of their financials,” Kate said. “See if either is dealing with personal money troubles, or if the firm is. I’ll also start looking into their personal lives.”

  “Might as well check into Emmitt Powell while you’re at it,” Griffin said.

  “Agreed.” Kate popped a piece of caramel corn in her mouth. “I’ll start digging on all of them.”

  “You said that with a little too much pleasure,” Parker jested.

  She smirked. “So I like digging up dirt.”

  “As do we all,” Parker said. “We can all pitch in and help while we’re here.”

  “Great,” Griffin said, “but you and Avery keep the Coveys as your main focus, and Finley and I will focus on the Markums. Kate, keep working Lowell, and we’ll have to double cover the Barrits and the Douglasses, when they finally show up.”

  “Ann mentioned everyone has arrived,” Kate said. “So they must be here somewhere.”

  “Great. Let’s head down for s’mores and hope they all have the same idea. We need to solve this before Haywood’s reputation is ruined.”

  “If he is, in fact, innocent,” Kate said, her train of thought similar to Griffin’s.

  He’d never envision Haywood capable of theft, but the evidence against him was strong thus far. They needed to keep digging.

  11

  Just as Declan and Tanner were finally warming up, a knock sounded on the door and Matt Greer entered.

  Declan frowned. “I thought you were on your way out when we ran into you at the elevators.”

  “Nope. I’m covering Ford’s shift tonight and was heading out to check into a lead when you guys came in. But I stopped on my way back and grabbed some takeout. Thought you could use some sustenance after all you’ve been through.” He set a white plastic bag that smelled of orange chicken and General Tso’s on the table. “Hope you like Chinese.”

  “Thanks, Matt.” Declan stood and shook his hand. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Please, my treat. After the day you two have had . . .”

  Declan nodded. “I owe you one.”

  “That”—Matt smiled—“I’ll take you up on.”