“Impressive.”
“Promise me, Fi, that you’re not going to ditch him somewhere. He’s there for your protection, and we know Peter Leong is fishy. Plus, there are people in the FBI doing something off.”
I nod. “Thank you for looking out for me. I promise to show you my appreciation after dinner.”
“I like the sound of that. The menu tonight is tri-tip that’s been marinating all day, and we have roasted rosemary potatoes and steamed green beans.”
“Are you trying to get me fat?”
“You had chicken broth and half an egg for lunch.”
“What? I see Shannon is reporting my meals too?”
“Yes, and you didn’t have many of the noodles.”
“They make me sleepy.”
“You need to eat for energy tonight.”
“I will. Promise.”
Once we get to Bash’s loft, he starts his grill while I change into a pair of silk sleep pants and a camisole.
I walk out to find him putting the meat on the fire on the patio outside. Light jazz is playing throughout the house, and I can see a woman watching him from across the way. She’s staring, actually—not that I blame her. Bash is hot. She waves, and he waves back.
The oven dings, and I pull the potatoes out. While I’m standing there, the stovetop makes a few noises and the burner lights.
“What the hell?”
Bash walks in a few moments later. “Thanks for pulling the potatoes out of the oven.”
“Is your stovetop on a timer?”
He chuckles. “No, I turned it on from my phone.”
I had no idea stoves could do that. “I saw that woman wave to you.”
He steps in and puts his arms around me. “Are you jealous?”
I think I am. I’m not ready to admit that, though. We’re only playing house right now.
He pulls me close. After a deep kiss, I feel better.
“I only have eyes for you,” he growls into my ear as I feel a hardness against my stomach.
Chapter 15
Bash
Fiona has been staying with me for a few days now, and told me this morning that she’s put her brownstone up for sale. She won’t go back—says she feels too violated after what happened. She’s told me she plans to buy something and hide it under several dummy corporations so it will be harder for outsiders to find her residence.
Who can blame her?
I just hope it doesn’t happen too quickly. I’m enjoying having her at my place. It’s frightening how comfortable it’s become to have her here at night. I always thought I’d go crazy with a woman in my space all the time. But she went out with Marci last night, and I felt a little lost. Quite a shocking revelation.
However, I did pick her up at the end of the evening and take her to a hotel. We had naughty hotel sex, which was very fun.
“Earth to Bash. Are you home?” Stella asks.
“Oh, sorry.” I shake my head and focus on her standing in my office doorway. “My mind was elsewhere.”
“I can see that. I asked if you were going to join us on Vincent’s boat tonight for the lighted boat parade?”
Vincent Rousseau was born in the United States to French parents who separated when he was young. His mother moved home to the French Riviera, and when he was old enough, he joined the US Navy and became a Seal. He was hired by Clear Security earlier this year. He’s great at his job, but he’s also definitely a French playboy, and his yacht screams it.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “Can I bring a guest?”
Stella’s eyes grow wide. “Um, sure. Anyone I know?”
I know if I tell her who my guest is, she’ll go crazy. I love Stella, but I’m not sure what Fiona and I are, and I don’t want her in my business. “She’s my plus-one for the holiday party.”
“Does she have a name?”
I nod. “Are you making name tags?” I flash her my panty-melting smile.
She blushes. “I was just wondering if I knew her.”
I want to change the subject. “Is your plus-one going to be Gage tonight?”
“Depends if he needs to work, but I have a sitter for the girls.”
“Great. I’ll see you there.”
“Vincent has his boat at the Marina Yacht Club. If you follow the signs for the East Harbor, he’s in aisle G-10 at the end of the dock in the last slip. Because it’s a parade, he needs to be in line by seven, which means he’ll push off by six thirty. Several of us are going about three to put up the lights, so feel free to come early.”
I nod. “I’ll check with my friend and let you know for sure.”
She grins. “I can’t wait to meet her, and I promise I won’t embarrass you too much.”
“Thanks. She may not want to come to the holiday party if you do,” I warn.
When Stella moves on, I fire off a text message.
Me: Can I pick you up about 4:30 for our plans tonight?
Fiona: What are our plans?
Me: A sunset cruise and the lighted boat parade.
Fiona: Sounds fun. I’ll be ready.
I’m sure I have a silly grin on my face when I hear Jim clear his throat.
I look up. “Sorry. What’s up?”
“I was looking for an update on Hunter’s case and whether you’ve talked to Fiona about having black bags here.”
“I can give you a full report. If you want me to pull the team, we can go into more depth. And Fiona was going to talk to Maureen, but she seemed to like the idea. I can take some black bags home tonight.”
“Is she still staying with you?” he asks.
“Yes. She won’t go back to her place. She’s going to sell it.”
Jim’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wow, that’s huge.”
I nod. “I’ll grab the team, and maybe I can get Fiona on the phone. We can go through everything together.”
Jim looks at his diver’s watch. “How about at the top of the hour we talk?”
“That should work.”
I make all the arrangements, and Fiona and Maureen decide to come over in person. Mason Sullivan from SHN—Distinctive Technology’s funder—also agrees to join us.
At the appointed time, we all take our seats at the large conference room table.
Fiona unrolls a long piece of paper that runs the length of the room. It’s a timeline of Hunter and Jenn’s movements on the day Jenn died. She posts flip-chart pages with a list of clients for The John Riley Company and Distinctive Technologies, and she notes that there are three companies that are on both platforms.
She then adds an extensive list of competitors and some of their differences.
I’m blown away. This makes our team look a little haphazard.
“I’m a visual person,” Fiona says, starting us off. “Hunter and Jenn arrived at their office that morning a little after nine. According to interviews with neighbors and employees, they got along well. No one ever heard loud voices or arguing. Jenn had opinions, but she wasn’t obnoxious—unless you talk to Eric Martin.”
“What does the background on Eric Martin say?” Jim asks.
“I can step in here,” Mason offers. “You guys did a background check on Eric Martin when they chose to start him. But Emerson Healy in our offices also did an evaluation. He struggles with strong women and has had some interpersonal issues, but he had valuable experience with cloud technology, as he was coming out of the big two as architect of the platform. So, they chose to overlook his warts.”
“Jenn wanted him gone, and they’d talked to their lawyer about it,” Fiona shares. “If they’d exercised the release clause in his contract, he would have maintained his equity in the company.”
“How is Eric doing managing the company through this crisis?” Jim asks.
Mason sits forward. “My team has been helping him. He did threaten to fire our public relations team, but given our equity, he backed off. But clients are getting nervous.”
“That’s understandable,” Fiona sa
ys. “He comes across as abrasive when he’s stressed, which he is with the loss of Jenn and Hunter in hiding.”
“Clients seem to be looking at other options, but no one has pulled the trigger yet,” Gage adds. “I’ve seen emails with Distinctive’s sales team.”
Fiona points to the timeline again. “The office ordered in Chinese for lunch on Jenn’s last day.”
“We got the lab work back,” adds Christine Lang from my team. “That would match the rice in her stomach.”
“Did she have any Zoloft in her system?” Fiona asks.
“She didn’t. We have a hair sample, and it shows she went off the Zoloft three weeks before her death. According to her therapist, she was not suicidal, and they hadn’t discussed going off the meds.”
“Has anyone tested the Zoloft to be sure she wasn’t slipped a placebo?” I ask. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.
“The police have her meds in evidence,” reports Miles Carpenter from my team.
“Do we see Mah-Wing involved with either Distinctive Technology or The John Riley Company?”
Miles shakes his head. “The John Riley Company does have a Chinese investor, Jon Yun, but he lives in Shanghai and is one of China’s many billionaires. There’s nothing linking him with Mah-Wing that we can find.”
“Miles and I are trying to tunnel into The John Riley Company’s servers,” Gage says.
“I’ve gotten into their server,” Maureen interjects. “I can show you where the trap door is so you can look around. I also found that John Riley himself was sexually harassing one of his female engineers. He’s sent her provocative photos.”
Miles looks at Gage for direction, and I try to hide my smirk. Gage sees Maureen as his primary competition. This could be fun.
“On the day of her death, Jenn and Hunter left the office shortly after six and seemed to drop their things at home before they called a rideshare to Ashbury Central,” Fiona continues. “They arrived at six twenty-five. They had a seven-thirty reservation and had drinks at the bar—Jenn had a cosmo and Hunter had a German beer. They were seated at a table and ordered the vegan stir fry and the tofu with mixed veggies with their hallucinogenic mushrooms as a starter.”
“And what about their waitress? Is she still employed at the restaurant?” Jim asks.
“Her name is Wendy Van Wick,” one of my team members says. “She called in sick the last few days. We’ve gone by her apartment, but her roommate says she’s up in Tahoe skiing.”
“How did Hunter and Jenn get home?” Jim questions.
“They took a rideshare,” I say. “Their driver can’t remember anything about them, so they weren’t so drunk that they had to be poured into the car or fought. I checked with the rideshare company, and the driver had more than sixty rides that night, so it’s reasonable that he doesn’t remember them.”
“The DNA has come back from underneath Jenn’s nails,” Christine says. “It’s Hunter’s, but they lived together, and it’s unclear whether it includes any blood. He had a deep gash on his face, so we would expect to see blood.”
“Her medical history shows she had some issues in high school,” Gage says. “It looks like that’s when she was first prescribed Zoloft.”
“Anyone know how her parents are doing?” Jim asks.
“They’re a wreck and seem to be looking for Hunter, but they’ve been warned by Detective Leong that he’s a person of interest.” Tom says.
“Do you think I can meet with them?” Fiona asks.
“They’re staying at the Marriot in SoMa.” Tom says. “I can get you their names and information.”
The meeting begins to wind down, and Jim and Mason head back to his office. There are other things they’re working on.
The rest of the team files out and returns to their afternoon.
Fiona and Maureen pull several hard drives from their bags and a few thick manila envelopes. “Do you have the black bags Jim referred to?” Fiona asks.
“I was going to bring a few of them home tonight. Let me get them for you.” I walk back to my office and return with several large, black bags that look like postal priority-mail envelopes.
They fill four bags, and I ask them to sign with the silver paint pen we use for this. It makes it obvious if the bag’s been tampered with. We walk them into Jim’s office after Mason leaves.
“I’m glad you’re doing this,” Jim says. “I’d hate to see the FBI dig the safes and other goodies out of your floors and walls. Will you have more?”
“Yes, quite a few,” Fiona says. “Is that an issue?”
“Not at all. Bring as much as you need. We have a walk-in safe we’ll put the black bags in. Hopefully, the FBI won’t do too much damage.”
“They will. They’ll have a warrant and will be looking for anything they can use against me.” Fiona shrugs. “I wish this were my first rodeo, but it isn’t. But I get it.”
“I don’t, so I’m glad you do,” I lament.
By the time Fiona and Maureen are done emptying and making an inventory of what they’ve stored in which bags, it’s almost three.
“Shall we drop Maureen off before going to get changed?” I ask her.
“Sure,” Fiona says. “I can work over the weekend.”
Chapter 16
Fiona
I haven’t seen the lighted boat parade in years, and I’ve never been on a boat in the parade. It always looked like the people on the boats were having a great time, but it’s a little nerve-racking to be joining the Clear Security team.
Bash appears in the doorway, looking delicious in jeans that hug all the right places and a large cable-knit sweater.
“You’re not wearing leather?” he asks.
“No. It doesn’t usually do well with the water.” I run my sweaty palms down my jean-clad thighs and try to shake the nerves away. “Do I look okay?”
Bash studies me, and his eyes cloud with desire. “You always look stunning. Maybe we should stay home and check carefully to make sure your clothes are safe.”
I smile. “I think we can delay our gratification and enjoy a night out on the bay.”
Bash leans down and touches his lips to mine. “As long as we’re only going to delay.” There’s a ping on his cellphone. “Our ride is here.”
We’re dropped at the north entrance of the Marina Yacht Club, which is already busy with people decorating the boats with lights. Holiday music blares from the loudspeakers. It doesn’t take us long to find Vincent’s yacht.
As I take in all the people and drinks flowing, I realize this boat might be bigger than my condo.
“Enchanté, ma belle,” oozes Vincent as his lips graze my knuckles. “Welcome to my slice of heaven.”
Bash presents him with a bottle of amber liquid and slides his arm around me possessively. “Thanks for having us,” he says.
I spot Stella, busy working on the bow decorating a giant tree. She waves and jumps down. “Fi! So great to see you.”
I give Bash’s hand a squeeze and join her. “Would you like some help?”
“Yes. There’s a contest, and Vincent wants to win.” She looks at Bash. “Are you here to work, too?”
Bash offers a brilliant grin. “Like I could ever say no to you.”
Stella points to Vincent. “Do you have the lights for the sides of your boat?”
He nods, and the guys walk away to manage their task. Stella is the organizational queen. There’s also a group stringing lights across the windows and railings and a group of people blowing up a nylon Santa Claus that I would guess is at least ten feet tall.
I help Stella and three others work on the tree.
“Are you and Bash dating?” She grins like a cat that caught a canary.
I shrug. I can’t answer because I don’t really know. “He’s been helping me since I had some problems with the FBI.”
Stella stops. “Is everything okay?”
“I think so. I just have a difficult client.” I brush it off, hop
ing she doesn’t want to dive in. I don’t want to think any more about the cameras and the asshole who ejaculated on my bed.
As Stella puts a lighted star on the top of the tree, four women arrive with large gift boxes wrapped in lights. They put them below the tree, and we stand back to take in the results of our work. It’s beautiful.
The sun will be setting shortly, and the final stragglers have arrived. There are easily sixty people on the boat, and while it’s full, it’s not that crowded.
The engine turns over, and a rumble begins as Bash and some others pull the lines in. Vincent backs us away from the dock.
Bash joins me on the deck and puts his arms around me as we move away from the Golden Gate and the sun sets at the back of the boat. We maneuver through a bit of chaos as boats of various sizes line up. “Thank you for coming with me,” he whispers in my ear.
The shore is packed full of people, and it’s fun to see all the holiday lights along Pier 39 and up the hillside of apartments and homes. It may not snow here in San Francisco, but we do find our seasonal cheer.
Jim and his wife, Kate, make their way over. “How are you doing?” Jim looks at me, wanting a real answer and not a platitude.
I smile. “I’m doing better. Thanks. Aren’t you two getting ready for a honeymoon?”
Kate nods. “I’m the one holding us up. We had almost ten thousand kids across the US participate in Brighter Future’s school-retention program. Bullseye was a great partner, but now we need to get all the gifts the students purchased with their reward money wrapped and ready for the holiday parties.”
“Are you wrapping gifts for all ten thousand here?”
She laughs. “No, thank goodness. But we are working with more than eight hundred kids across the Bay Area.”
Unwrapped: Clear Security's Holiday (Clear Security Holiday Book 2) Page 11
