by Helen Hanson
Yuri drove the black sedan out of the hangar. Anton leaned over the wing to open the pilot door of the cockpit. He took the flight bags from Vladimir.
“You have good flight?”
“The weather was spectacular.”
Vladimir hadn’t flown since the day he reported for his stint at San Quentin. Because of well-placed connections, his time behind bars was hardly typical. Better food, cushier work, unlimited visitors—privileged in every respect. Prison heightened his appreciation for freedom. Brief as his stay was by sentencing standards, each minute chafed like a noose.
All because of Barney Reid. That son-of-a-bitch deserved to die. He’d be dead soon enough, and no one would care. Vladimir had already made the arrangements.
He stepped out of the cockpit onto the wing and climbed down to the ground. “I flew to Harris Ranch for the hundred-dollar hamburger.” He drew a pack of Dunhills from his shirt pocket and tapped out a stick. Anton fished for a lighter in his jeans pocket and was ready with a flame.
“More like three hundred with av-gas prices.” Anton laughed at his own joke.
Yuri hustled back to the hangar and returned with an airplane tow motoring behind him. He shoved the tow plate under the nose wheel and locked it into place. The other two men each took a wing as they guided the Mooney backwards into the hangar.
Vladimir pulled the chocks off a wall hook and positioned them around the nose wheel. He dragged on his cigarette. Smoke curled from his lips.
“We found the company that developed the financial code.” Anton unholstered his phone and hit a few buttons. “CBF Net. They are boutique software firm in Philadelphia. They specialize in programming for sectors with regulations. Government, heavy industry, financial services.”
“Has the SEC prosecutor—what’s her name?”
“Samantha Merrick.” They both turned toward Yuri when he spoke.
“Yeah.” Vladimir took another drag. “Has she talked to these guys?”
“Her team camped there for one month.” Anton flicked the phone screen with his finger. “Word is that the code did exactly what it was supposed to do. Make the trades. It linked to the New York Stock Exchange, NASDAQ, NIKKEI, SOFFEX, NYMEX, FINEX. You name it. But once they transferred the code to Patty O’Mara, they lost control.”
A vein pulsed in Vladimir’s neck. “I checked my accounts with O’Mara daily. I logged in to something. What the hell was it?” He pointed his cigarette at Anton. “Find out who managed his computers. Where were they? Who had any kind of access?” He threw down the butt and ground it out with his heel.
Anton entered some notes on his phone.
Vladimir opened a storage container mounted to the wall. “What have you learned from Mr. Kurt Meyers?”
“The attorney, Vonda Creevy, went to see Meyers yesterday. She brought boxes of things sent to her by Patty O’Mara.”
Vladimir positioned a remove-before-flight sock over the pitot tube.
“After she left his office yesterday, he searched on the internet for company named The Rockstag Group. So we did the same.” Anton caught a bottle of window cleaner Vladimir tossed to him and almost dropped his phone. He stepped onto the wing and sprayed the windshield. “The Rockstag Group is local, and one of their IT staff was killed two days ago, Brian Carter.”
“Killed how?” Vladimir threw a rag on Anton’s side of the plane and got up on the wing to wipe the windows.
“Stabbed. But the interesting part is The Rockstag Group was hacked over a year ago. A kid broke in and took copies of their records.”
His curiosity was finally aroused. “A kid hacker.”
“Travis Fender. He was only fourteen at the time. Brian Carter was the man who found the security breach. His father, Martin Fender, killed Carter on the same day the kid got out of jail.”
“What’s the connection to Patty O’Mara?”
Anton shrugged. “We don’t know if there is one, yet. Brian Carter was killed near the Fender’s home in Half Moon Bay. Why would the man come looking for trouble?”
“More importantly, why is Kurt Meyers interested?”
Yuri nodded.
“The police did not keep the father in jail.” Anton sprayed cleaner onto the side window and wiped. “He is not so old, but senile. But they found a knife in the father’s hand, so they know he’s the one who stuck it to Carter.”
“So it’s just the old man and the boy?”
Yuri smiled.
“And a very beautiful daughter, Maggie.” Anton raised his eyebrows at Yuri. He tossed the window cleaner back to Vladimir. “But it gets more strange. Brian Carter’s widow attacked the boy today at his house.”
Vladimir caught the bottle and dropped it in the box with the rags. His mood buoyed. “Find out everything about this dead guy, Carter. Get whatever police records you can on his killing. And his company. Get the transcripts to the kid’s trial. That might contain some leads.”
“You got it.” Anton tucked his phone in the case at his waist.
Vladimir walked outside the hangar. “We need to keep a step ahead of Kurt Meyers if we’re going to find that money first. Whatever is left, I want my cut before the SEC gets a hold of it.”
Yuri and Anton closed the hangar doors and replaced the lock. Yuri ran ahead to open the car doors.
Vladimir stretched his back. “Find out everything you can about this family, too. The Fenders. Where do they work? Do they know O’Mara? Where do they fit in?”
Anton grinned. “We’re already close to the Fenders.”
Chapter Eighteen
As Travis led Barbara out to her car, Maggie and Ginger stayed on the porch. Barbara was calm now and let him open the door for her. She reached through the window to touch his hand before starting the engine. Maggie stood her ground when he returned.
Travis tried to brush past her. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Good, then you tell me.” She blocked his path. “Because I don’t know what the hell to say to you.”
Ginger stood with her fists on her hips. “I think this is my exit. But take it inside, will ya? The neighborhood has had enough excitement.”
Shame flooded Maggie. “I’m sorry, Ginger.” She stepped aside to let their neighbor pass.
“Hey, I love you both.” Ginger called over her shoulder. “So don’t kill each other.”
Maggie stomped into the house. She knew Travis was on her tail. All the trouble he’d caused. Didn’t he know how hard he made it on everyone? She resisted an urge to slam the door in his face.
Travis stepped inside. “Her husband is Kingphisher.”
She whipped around to face him. “Her husband is dead. Dad stabbed him with a knife. Remember? She just tried to kill you, moron.”
Travis’ jaw muscles flexed. His Adam’s apple wobbled. Maggie’s words scored a direct hit. Why did she wish she could take them back?
He pushed past her.
“Travis.”
She reached for his arm, but he jerked it out of her grip. The sliding glass door rattled open and shut. A walk on the beach for Travis. What’s new? He spent half his time out there. The sea offered his every mood some satisfaction.
Where the hell was her satisfaction? She kicked the jute mat. While his ass was in jail, she’d taken care of their father all by herself. She’s the one who kept this leaky, freaking ship afloat. Now that he was out, she just wanted someone to help her bail.
Not more trouble.
She pushed back the first tears and sunk down the wall to the floor. Shit. The bills mounted on her desk, and she didn’t even have a job. Home school Travis. Take care of Daddy. Who the hell was going to take care of her?
The tears dropped from their own weight. She pulled up her knees, burying an eye into each one where her ripped pantyhose exposed the skin. Her last good pair. Well, not now.
And she forgot to shave.
At least she had her health. Isn’t that what they said when the hole caved deeper?
&
nbsp; But she did have her health. She wiped an eye. Trisha hadn’t. Daddy didn’t. And she could sell some things until she got a job.
Her brain flashed on an image of Peter’s pukey face when her fist connected with his nose. As he hopped around the floor, his muling cries of outrage sounded pathetic. He was such an ass.
Punching him had felt stupendous.
She fell against the wall, and her body coughed out a giggle. The sound echoed in the empty foyer, and her diaphragm began to chug like an engine. Each burst, a little steam leaving the stack, venting until she bent over from laughing. She wiped her eyes with her hair, but she couldn’t stop.
“Maggie, honey, are you alright?”
Her father stood over her, his pale blue eyes cloudy with concern. His lucidity startled her to a lull.
“Daddy.” She reached out a hand to him. “I’m fine.” He helped her to her feet. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, honey. But, I worry about you. I know I’m not much help to you these days. So much on your small shoulders.” He hugged her. “You manage everything for Travis and me. I’m so proud of you.” He kissed her cheek and wandered off down the hall. “I’ve saved it for you both. He’ll help you find it.”
The moment ended like most of their recent encounters. Confused. But he was her father, and he loved her and appreciated her. In spite of his wretched disease, he saw she was doing whatever she could to keep the family together, for him, for Trisha, for Travis.
Remorse weighed on Maggie for taking her frustration out on Travis. Again. She had to fix that one.
He wasn’t on the porch, and she couldn’t see him from the sliding door. She doubted he’d gone too far. This thing between them needed resolving. He usually saw it before she did. She snapped the leashes on The Firm and trotted them outside.
There he was, about 200 yards down the beach, poking at something in the sand with a stick. “Let’s go pups.” She took a starter skip to get Bailey and Belli moving then settled into a steady run toward Travis.
As they pounded down the beach, the sun was already blinking behind the clouds at the horizon. Travis’ back was to them. With only tens yards to go, she dropped the leashes and slowed to a jog. Each dog scrambled to reach him before the other. They skidded up to him, sand splaying at their feet.
He rumpled their heads and scrubbed their coats with the same enthusiasm they showed him. His smile stiffened when he saw Maggie.
“I’m sorry, Trav. I’ve been too busy feeling sorry for myself to listen. You know?”
He dropped down to sit on the sand. “How about now?”
“Now’s good.” She settled into the sand next to him. “What’s going on?”
He sat lotus-style and moved in close to her, so one knee touched her hip. “Maggie. I want to say everything I have to say before you say anything. Promise?”
Sheesh. Fifteen. She forgot what a kid he was. She batted her eyes and held up her hand like a scout. “Yes, I pro—”
“Don’t joke about it, Maggie. I’m serious.”
He barked with such force, it scared her. He wasn’t the kind who raised his voice. Only she was.
“You want to hear me, then let me talk and don’t interrupt until I’m done. Promise me or forget it.”
She huddled closer to him. Bailey and Belli stretched out next to them. “I do want to hear you, Trav. I really do. I won’t interrupt. You let me know when you’re done. I promise.”
He nodded at her, lips pursed. A long breath stuttered out of his mouth. “Okay. I did not hack into the computers at The Rockstag Group on my own. Well, I did, but I was asked to by someone who worked there.” He inhaled. “I know you’ve heard all this, but it’s true. I was on one of the forums and someone named Kingphisher wanted a pen test of their computers. He was trolling for somebody who could do a serious prodding of their security defenses.”
He waited as if she should respond, but she bit her tongue and let him continue.
“Anyway, he was supposed to pay me a thousand dollars for this job. I know. Looking back, I should have seen it was a set-up. But I wanted to surprise you.” He looked away from her.
He’d surprised her alright. So did the visit from the sheriff. As Travis said, she’d heard all this. Only now, she operated under a promise. Trisha always insisted they honor a promise.
“I got a message to a friend of mine and—”
“What kind of—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
“He knew the trouble I got in and did some checking. The computer that Kingphisher used to contact me tracked back to The Rockstag Group. Kingphisher was pretty good. He made it look like it was from a Yahoo account. But my friend said it came from The Rockstag Group. And if he says it did, it did.”
Her blood pressure climbed. He was online. That was the only way he could contact his buddies on the forums. Damn it. He was busting his parole, and now she was an accessory. The computer must be at Javier’s. She’d call Mrs. Modesto just as soon— But wait, she promised. Maggie’s heart thumped. This was why he made her promise. She must have looked ready to bust.
“Stay with me. Why else would this Carter guy come here? If The Rockstag Group really was an innocent victim in all this, why come after me, or Dad?”
Maggie picked up a handful of sand, let it run through her fingers. That did make some sense. Why would they?
“And Dad.” His arms reached over his knees, pulling them close to his chest. “I don’t know. It’s like he knows something.”
“Knows what?” She covered her mouth again. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” His smile arched in stages. “You can talk now.”
“What do you think he knows?”
“I don’t know if it’s nothing or something, but he keeps saying things like ‘It’s mine.’ Or, ‘They can’t find it, but you can.’ You know. Weird stuff.”
His words made her shudder. “He’s said the same things to me. But only since you’ve been back.” She crossed her arms, clutching her biceps with her fingers.
“I’ve even been looking around the house. I don’t know.” He shook his head as it lowered. “Even during the trial, he’d say things that made me wonder. I just wrote it off to the Alzheimer’s.”
“You think he knew you were innocent?”
Travis’ head snapped up. “I told him I was. That was enough for him.”
Another direct hit. But she deserved this one. She’d never known Travis to lie. Why didn’t she believe him when he needed it most?
“Maybe he has something for us to see. I can’t imagine what it could be, but it can’t hurt to look. You know, together.” She grabbed his knee. “What d’ya say?”
His mossy-green eyes looked moist. “Thanks.”
He was sinking. The kid needed her to throw him a line. “I got a bill in the mail for a safe deposit box at a bank. I’m not really sure Dad has one, but we can start with that tomorrow.”
Chapter Nineteen
With all the excitement from the day before, Maggie woke up late. She rushed out to buy two pair of nude pantyhose. Given their finances, buying two pair was an extravagance. But being the sole breadwinner of the family entitled her to emergency backup hosiery. Or maybe she needed to control her temper, quit decking punks, and stop grappling on the lawn with strangers.
Not that she cared, but her bio-mother would have been aghast. A young lady did not—blah, blah, blah. This was the same woman who had slept with several of her father’s friends. While Trisha might have censured Maggie over the methods, she would have delighted in the swift nature of the justice.
Travis said he’d take care of Dad and look around for a key to the safe deposit box, so she could concentrate on getting a job. If he’d been on the computer, there wasn’t much she could do about it. Maybe the key thing would keep him out of trouble.
She pulled in to her driveway and fished around the side seat for her purse. When she opened the car door, her breath seized.
“Fyodor.” Her hand
slapped against her chest. “You scared me.”
“I am so sorry. I thought you saw me approach.”
After yesterday, he probably wanted to tell her that the neighborhood took a vote, and she was out. But his gleaming smile more than made up for her climbing heart rate. In fact, it may have been the cause.
She swung her sweat-panted legs out the side. They weren’t even stylish sweats. Why couldn’t he have seen her an hour from now? She planned to look stunning.
He held a hand out for her. “Allow me.”
His hand was firm, cool, smooth, steady. A girl could get used to this. Must be a catch somewhere. He probably has nine cats. Or eats with his mouth open. Maybe he’s a stoplight nose-picker.
“Maggie. Would you have dinner with me tonight? I could pick you up at seven-thirty.”
She flipped her hair behind a shoulder. “Yes, I’d love to.”
“We’ll head somewhere on the coast.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go. “I’ll see you then.”
She didn’t care if he did have nine cats.
Maggie fell back on the car as she watched him leave. Time-to-get-a-grip. And a job. She hustled into the house and dressed quickly for what she hoped would be some interviews.
True to his word, Travis had the house under control when she started to leave. She peeked through the front window to see if Fyodor was about. While she looked good enough now, she just wanted to get on with the job hunt. He was a distinct distraction and fortunately, nowhere in sight. She blasted out the door and zoomed miles down the road in search of meaningful employment.
Denesha told Maggie about a seafood restaurant fifteen minutes south on Highway 1 that might be hiring. The Happy Pearl. A silly name, considering there weren’t any oysters to be found on this stretch of beach. Maybe that’s why the pearls were happy. She’d be a happy pearl if they offered her a job.
Her car rumbled into a parking spot at the rear of the restaurant. Denesha said the hourly pay was typical, but as wait staff everywhere, Maggie was mainly interested in tips. Tips to a waitress were like spinach to Popeye. Right now, she could use all the cans she could get.
