by Marta Perry
Logan Angelo, his partner, had done a very preliminary rundown on Paul Hartline this morning when he’d turned up missing at the same time that certain very sensitive files from Attwood Industrial showed signs of tampering. Attwood, who’d been remarkable only for his insistence on doing everything his own way since he’d hired Angelo and Mordan a few weeks earlier to advise him on security, had been predictably furious and inclined to blame them.
Fortunately Logan was in charge of dealing with irate clients, not he. He didn’t have the necessary tact, as Logan frequently reminded him. Clint was more comfortable driving straight over any obstacles between him and the facts.
Clint pressed the buzzer at the front door of the school. Logan had also wanted him to wait until the end of the school day to approach the Hartline woman, but that wasn’t Clint’s style. His years as a cop had taught him to move in fast and take control of the situation. And that included getting to the ex-wife before she had time to hear about this from other sources and prepare a story.
The presentation of his credentials was sufficient to move him quickly past the school secretary and into the presence of the head teacher, but there things stalled.
Lyn Baker regarded him skeptically from behind the barricade of her desk, handing his credentials back to him with a dismissive air. Calm, cool and collected, she looked as if she’d be equally at home dealing with irate parents and difficult kids. To a woman like that, a private security agent presented no particular challenge.
“Ms. Hartline is in the middle of the afternoon kindergarten session. Why can’t your business with her, whatever it is, wait until dismissal time?”
He’d been deliberately vague about why he needed to see Ms. Hartline, but this woman wasn’t one to be awed by a set of credentials. He could use a little of Logan’s tact right now.
“I can’t discuss the specifics with you because of client confidentiality. However, an important matter has come up regarding her husband, making it imperative that I speak with her at once.”
“Ex-husband,” she corrected. She studied him for a long moment...long enough to make him nervous. Just when he thought she was going to kick him out, she nodded. “Very well. If you’ll come with me, I’ll ask her if she’s willing to talk with you. If so, I’ll take over her class while you speak with her.”
Since the woman didn’t seem inclined to converse during the walk to the classroom, he had time to assess the school. Despite the venerable look of the exterior, the inside seemed to have been completely remodeled to make it efficient and attractive to children and, probably more important, their parents. Bright colors, cheerful murals and appealing furnishings created an up-to-date impression.
“This area is our primary section.” Ms. Baker’s gesture took in the wing of the building. “The kindergarten classroom is down here, across from the library. You can speak with Ms. Hartline there, if she agrees.”
He nodded, feeling no response was welcome. One wall of the hallway leading to the kindergarten room was adorned with what were apparently self-portraits of the children—most grinning, some with gaps where baby teeth had been. Ms. Hartline’s pupils? He supposed so.
They stopped outside a closed door that had been surrounded with colorful cutout balloons, each with a child’s name printed on it.
“Wait here.” The woman’s tone left no room for doubt.
Clint waited. But he could see into the room through the glass panel, and what he saw intrigued him.
Rachel Hartline sat cross-legged on a rug, a cluster of children around her. Telling a story, he assumed, judging by her animated face and gestures. She was smiling, enjoying herself, and her audience leaned forward, intent on every word.
The head teacher’s entrance had all the faces turning toward her. He watched for signs of apprehension on the Hartline woman’s part, but saw nothing other than polite interest until Ms. Baker bent and murmured something. Then she gave a quick, startled glance at the door before turning back to the children with another smile and what was probably an explanation.
A moment later she rose gracefully and walked toward him. Apparently he was going to get his interview. Good. There was no way he could have pushed it if she’d refused.
He had just enough time for a quick assessment of the woman before she reached out to open the door. Average height, slim and fit-looking in khakis and an aqua knit shirt. She wore no jewelry but for a pair of gold studs and a businesslike watch. Her thick blond hair was pulled into a single long braid that hung down her back to between her shoulder blades.
Then she’d reached him. She closed the door to the classroom behind her, looking faintly apprehensive. He concentrated on the words he’d speak. The first few words were important when it came to someone who might be an adversary or a source of information. After all, he didn’t have the authority of a police badge now.
“Ms. Hartline, my name is Clint Mordan. I’m a partner in a security firm, and Attwood Industrial Designs is one of our clients. I’d like to talk with you about your husband.”
“Ex-husband,” she corrected, as the Baker woman had. She frowned at him, lips pressed together as if to prevent any question or comment. If there’d been a flicker of some emotion in her eyes, it was quickly gone. “Come over to the library. It should be empty at this hour.”
The library, a few steps down the hall on the opposite side, was sunny and welcoming, with bright murals of children’s book characters and child-size furniture. But his attention was on the woman beside him, rather than the surroundings. Did she know that her ex-husband was missing, or had he gotten in first with the news?
Before she could ask the question that obviously hovered on her lips, he fired his own query.
“Where is Paul Hartline?”
She stiffened, attempting a look of disinterest she couldn’t quite master. “I have no idea. Paul and I are divorced.”
He studied her face, considering before he spoke. Her face was strongly contoured, with deep green eyes under arched brows. She had a straight nose and full lips that were firm and level at the moment. All in all, she looked like someone who might appreciate plain speaking.
“You’re fairly recently divorced, I understand. Since you still own property together, I assume you’ve kept some track of his whereabouts.”
Her green eyes darkened, her frown deepening. “You seem remarkably well informed about my personal life, Mr. Mordan. What business is it of yours?”
So she was going to battle him every step of the way. He moved toward her, deliberately invading her personal space. “I told you. My security firm represents Attwood Industrial, so Attwood’s employees are of vital interest to us. Especially when they turn up missing.”
The warm peach of her skin faded, to be replaced by a pallor she couldn’t possibly have faked. So she really hadn’t known Hartline was gone.
“What do you mean, missing? I just... I heard from him yesterday. How can he be missing?”
He’d caught the hitch in her voice that told him that wasn’t what she’d intended to say. What was she hiding?
“He didn’t show up for an important meeting this morning. His office tried to reach him, but there was no answer on his landline or cell. Attwood sent someone over to his apartment to check. Hartline was gone.” He pounded the facts like nails and then paused, letting them sink in. “It looked as if he’d left in a hurry.”
She took a step back, fingers clenching into fists, obviously fighting for composure. “I had no idea. Some...some emergency must have come up. Or I suppose he might have had an accident.”
He was shaking his head already. “As far as we’ve been able to determine, he went back to his apartment at around eight last night, packed up a few things and left. What would make him do that?”
“How would I know what he was thinking?” She evaded his glance and answered a question with a question.
So she knew, or suspected, something. And she didn’t want to talk. Guilt? Or an instinct to protect her ex-husband? He wouldn’t have expected loyalty, given how recent their divorce was, but he knew nothing yet about the circumstances. Maybe theirs had been unique, leaving no harsh feelings on either side.
He tried again. “Come now, Ms. Hartline. You two live in the same area, own property together—you probably have the same group of friends. You must hear something about him at times. When was the last time you saw him?”
Clint knew instantly that this was the thing she didn’t want to answer. For just an instant she looked...what? Lost? Bereft?
“Well?” He didn’t want to give her time to think up a convenient lie. “When?”
She stiffened, her chin coming up, ready to go on the offensive. “I don’t see any reason why I should answer your questions. Anyone can flash an identification card and claim to be official.”
There was no arguing with that. “Fair enough. You can call Attwood’s yourself and check on what I’m telling you.”
“I’m in the middle of a school day, and it’s time I got back to my class. There’s no way I can help you. My ex-husband may be away on perfectly legitimate business of his own.”
“Taking with him a file of valuable information that belongs to Attwood Industrial?”
That staggered her, and he had to suppress a surge of sympathy before he could push her further.
“We’re taking about theft, Ms. Hartline. If you hold back information, you’re just as guilty as your ex-husband is. When did you last see him?”
Clint had expected fear for herself, but he didn’t see it. Instead, the implied threat seemed to feed her resistance. Her chin firmed, and he realized how very stubborn it was.
“I don’t know that anything you’re telling me is true, and I’m too busy for this. You could be making this whole thing up.” She swung away from him.
He caught her arm, got a flash of fury from those green eyes and released her. He lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Like I said, it’s easy enough to prove.” He pulled out his cell phone and held it out to her. “Call Attwood’s. Talk to the head man himself. He’ll confirm everything I’ve said.”
The woman looked at the cell phone as if it were a snake. Then she glared at him. “I am going back to my class to complete the school day. When it’s over, I’ll call James Attwood on my own phone. I have nothing else to say to you.”
He couldn’t keep her here, not unless he wanted to end up in jail. He let her reach the door before he spoke.
“School ends at three fifteen, I understand. I’ll be waiting to talk then.” By then he’d have the results of further interviews with the staff at Attwood Industrial, along with the security camera footage that might have caught Paul Hartline in action. Too bad Attwood wouldn’t allow the cameras in the offices, or Hartline’s guilt might be established if they could see what he’d done there.
No answer. She went out the door and disappeared from view.
One point for Rachel Hartline. The head teacher would be here momentarily to escort him out, and he’d have to go.
This was one of those times when he had to remind himself that he wasn’t a cop anymore. Cold swept over him like a wave, and he was back in uniform again, flat on his belly, gasping for air. The dirty alley, concrete hard on his cheek, the pain ravaging his body as he fought to hang on to consciousness. Tony...where... Then he saw him, just a glimpse as the darkness closed in, lying in a pool of blood, his body twisting...
Sweat broke out on Clint’s forehead as he grabbed the closest table, leaning heavily on his hands as he fought the attack. He jammed the memory back into the recesses of his mind. Slammed the door on it.
Damn. He took a steadying breath. That had been a bad one. He’d thought he had those flashbacks under control. Looked like he was wrong.
At the sight of movement beyond the glass door, Clint sucked in another breath and strode out into the hall. Okay. Focus on the thought that Rachel Hartline was wrong, too. She hadn’t gotten out of this situation, not yet. He pushed aside the appeal of that hint of vulnerability in those green eyes, the appeal inherent in the way that slender body had straightened to fight back.
When the kids poured out of school at the end of the day, he’d be waiting for her.
* * *
WHEN SHE’D WAVED goodbye to the last of her kindergartners, panic poured into Rachel’s mind. While her students had been there she’d been able to compartmentalize, keeping memories of that strange confrontation with Clint Mordan at bay. But now the implications flooded in on her.
Her original instincts had been on target. Paul had been doing something wrong, and now it was catching up with him. She tried to think of an innocent reason why he’d have copied apparently important material that belonged to the company and came up against a blank wall of ignorance.
She’d known a little about Paul’s job, of course, but when he talked, it was about the marketing he did, not about the devices that were created by the company. She knew they’d invented devices corporations needed and couldn’t create in-house. But from what Paul had said, Attwood’s biggest interest had been in working on original ideas and then finding a market for them. That was where Paul had come in, with his background in marketing.
Rachel rubbed her aching temples, pushing back the curling strands that had escaped from her braid. It shouldn’t hurt and surprise her, but it did. The last time they’d talked, he’d said that he was trying hard to turn things around. She’d actually thought he meant it, because he had accepted that their marriage was over. He no longer had any need to lie to her about it. Now, to find out this...
She had to talk to Paul. She couldn’t go stumbling around in the dark. If he had stolen a file, he’d have to return it at once.
He’d know that would be her attitude. Maybe that was why he’d ignored her messages all day. Clenching her teeth, Rachel grabbed her cell phone, this time leaving a voicemail. “Call me. At once.”
Glancing up at a sound, she saw Lyn hesitating at the door. “Do you want me to vanish while you make a call?”
“No, come in.” She dropped the cell phone on her desk. “He won’t call me back.”
“Sorry.” Lyn put a comforting arm around her in a quick hug. “I take it Paul’s misdeeds have finally hit the fan.”
No point in trying to keep anything from Lyn. She already knew everything there was to know about Paul and the divorce. Rachel leaned her hip against the desk.
“It looks like it. That man...Mordan...claims that Paul stole valuable information from his company and has vanished.”
“Is it true?” Lyn was practical as ever.
“Maybe.” She paused, rubbing her temples again. “I’ve got to talk to someone from Attwood’s and find out what’s going on there. And what authority this man has.”
“In the meantime, you’re going to be talking to Mordan again if you don’t move quickly. That’s what I came in to tell you. He’s been parked on the street since he left here, and I spotted him coming toward the school.”
Rachel snatched up her bag and phone. “I can’t deal with him again right now. I’ve got to get out—”
“Not in your car,” Lyn said. She held out a set of keys. “Mine is parked behind the school. We’ll switch and change back later.” She shoved Rachel toward the door. “Out the back, quickly. I told Maggie to delay him, but I don’t know how long her ingenuity will hold out.”
“You’re a saint, Lyn.” There was no time for the thanks she owed her friend. She tossed her car keys to Lyn. “I’ll be in touch later.”
Rachel hurried to the door, took a quick look down the hallway and then scurried toward the back of the building. At least this would give her breathing space. She had to talk to someone from Attwood Industrial, but she didn’t want it to be the m
an himself.
Ian. Ian Robinson had been friends with Paul since college, and she and Paul had socialized with Ian and his wife before the split. Ian would tell her what was going on.
She slid into Lyn’s compact car and pulled out into the alley. She’d have to go the long way around if she didn’t want to run into Clint Mordan before she was ready to talk to him.
Rachel shivered a little at the thought. Hard-edged, tough, aggressive... Maybe those were necessary qualities for his job, but they certainly didn’t leave any room for excuses. Or empathy. He was the kind of person who’d keep barreling straight toward what he wanted without even noticing what or who he went through.
It wasn’t fair that Paul had entangled her in his situation, forced her to defend him to that man. Not fair, but very like Paul, unfortunately.
A few miles from the school she pulled over into a convenient mall parking lot. If she went straight home, she’d probably run right into Mordan, who’d undoubtedly go there when he realized he’d missed her at the school.
He wouldn’t stay there long, would he? Surely he had other avenues to explore—she wouldn’t think he’d waste all his time on her. She quickly called Ian. Would he answer, or would he try to avoid her, too?
But Ian picked up promptly. “Where are you? Have you heard from Paul?” His voice sounded guarded.
“On my way home from school, and no, I’ve been trying to reach him. Ian, what’s going on? I’ve had this man, Clint Mordan, dogging my steps all afternoon. Is he really who he claims?”
“Security firm. James called them in just a couple weeks ago.”
“Because he suspected Paul of something then?” The thought leaped to her mind.
“I don’t know.” Before she could respond, he hurried on in little more than a whisper. “I can’t talk here. I’ll come by your house later, on my way home. We’ll talk then.” He ended the call on those words.
