For The Love Of Laurel

by Patricia Harreld

“All it takes is one innocent slip that can’t be taken back. We all do it all the time. That’s why surprise parties are so difficult. We try so hard to keep the secret, but before we know it, our treacherous subconscious causes us to let the cat out of the bag.”

  “That’s baloney. Guys like you have secrets you never divulge, even under torture.”

  Dylan tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t. “You watch too many spy movies. The right drug, the right incentive, the right amount of unimaginable pain can make anyone talk.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Colombia.”

  “What’s he doing there? And so help me, if you say it’s on a need to know basis, I’ll . . .” She stopped. What would she do?

  He leaned against the counter. “You’ll what? It seems like almost every time we’re in the same room, you are either trying to best me at Tae Kwon Do or making idle threats.”

  “What’s he doing there?” She glared at him, not about to let him wiggle out of answering.

  Dylan sighed. “Sit.” He plopped onto a chair at the kitchen table and waited until she was seated before answering. “He’s doing just what you suspect.”

  “What is it that makes him so valuable? You’re much younger and I know you speak the language, unless you were only pretending to read on the plane.”

  “I’m fairly fluent, but not like your father. He sounds like a native when he speaks Spanish.”

  “What difference does that make? He doesn’t look Hispanic.”

  Dylan shrugged. “It’s gotten him by, so far.”

  She studied him for a few moments. “Do you wish it was you down there?”

  “As opposed to here? I don’t know. I’ve been sent to a lot of places, some okay, some not so good. I do my job wherever I am.”

  “Is your job like his?”

  “You mean am I an asset? No.”

  “But in your line of work have you ever had to kill someone?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Has Daddy killed the four men he was sent to kill?”

  He looked apologetic as he gazed at her. “Need to know,” he mouthed, and then aloud, “I’m sorry.”

  “Right. When he finishes his mission, will he be able to come home?”

  “That isn’t up to me. Out of curiosity, how did you decrypt his message?”

  She stood and walked to the door, and then turned to smirk at him. “Need to know,” she said and left the apartment to the sound of his laughter.

  Chapter 23

  Laurel sat at her desk, chewing on a pen and staring at the wall. She wouldn’t have come into the office if she didn’t have a client. She could barely concentrate. I should be happy Daddy’s alive. And I am. Yet I also feel as if I’ve been manipulated, by both him and Dylan.

  But was that fair? She didn’t doubt her father’s reasons were just as Dylan said—for her own safety. Always, always, she came first with him. She could almost hear him. For the love of Laurel. Keep her safe. Don’t let her be tainted by my job. Don’t tell her anything.

  She put her hands over her face and cried. What was she going to do? She didn’t even know where Gerald was. Somewhere in Colombia, if Dylan had told her the truth. And what about Dylan? How much did he really know? He professed to know nothing about the Markhams. How could she trust that when he had lied about so much else?

  Her phone buzzed. She wiped away the tears and hit the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “You okay?” Sue spoke quietly.

  “Fine. Can you come in here a moment?”

  Sue came in, file in hand. “Whoa, girl, you don’t look okay.” She put the file on the desk in front of Laurel. “This guy already came half an hour late, so if you want, I’ll reschedule.”

  Laurel glanced at the name. William Steadman.

  She took out her compact and looked at her eyes in the mirror. They didn’t look red, thank goodness. “I’ll see him. I need the distraction. Grief seems to hit in waves. I’m all right for a week, and then my father’s death hits me all over again.” She hadn’t told Sue and Jim who the email he decrypted was from, so Sue still thought Gerald was dead.

  “I’ve heard that’s normal. It hasn’t been that long.”

  “You’re right. Give me a couple of minutes to get it together before you show him in.”

  “You’ve got it.” She left, closing the door behind her.

  I hate lying to Sue, but no way could I tell her the truth. Where the hell are you, Daddy?

  Several minutes later, Sue opened the door. Laurel stood to greet her client. He was about her height, wore sunglasses, and had gray hair and a full beard. He also had on a blue baseball cap, which was pulled down enough to effectively help shade his face. As he approached her, he didn’t remove it. She thought little of it. These days men left their hats on even at restaurants. Emily Post was apparently passé.

  They shook hands across the desk. “Please sit down, Mr. Steadman.” As he did so, she sat as well, and opened his file. He had filled out the forms, but not his reason for hiring her.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You can give me half a million dollars.” His tone was steely.

  Her eyes widened. “What?” She realized she’d heard that voice before. His disguise had gotten past her, but not the voice. Never the voice.

  “You deserve it, the way you run around. Tell your daddy hello for me.” That was it! The words he’d said in the alley that she couldn’t remember. Tell your daddy hello for me. What did he mean by that? Did he know Gerald?

  Heart thumping, she slowly reached for her purse. As she did, she kept her eye on him, but looked down for just a second to locate the purse. When she sat back up, he had a gun pointed at her.

  Sue was just in the other room, but there was no way to contact her and warn her to leave and call the police. She decided the best thing to do was play along.

  “I know who you are,” she said, glad her voice was steady.

  “I doubt that. You think you know my name because it’s on that there . . . that file, but it could be an alias, couldn’t it?”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “I know. And that’s why I’m here.”

  “I don’t understand. You plan to rape me right in my office?”

  He humphed. “Rape has nothing to do with it. At least, not as long as you cooperate. Your daddy hired me to scare you into stopping your slutty behavior. Rape was never part of the deal. But money was. He was gonna pay me a hundred grand. But he went back on his word. The way I see it, what with interest and a penalty for a broken promise, the fee is now half a million.”

  Laurel barely managed to keep from gasping. No way would she give him the satisfaction.

  “Half a million? Now who’s the whore?”

  “You gotta sassy mouth on you, sittin’ behind that desk like some big executive. But all I see is a woman trying her damndest not to look as scared as she is.”

  “I don’t believe you. My father would never do that.” Keep him talking.

  Steadman gave a nasty snarl. “You’re right. Men like him don’t do the dirty work themselves. They have minions who take care of that.”

  Despite herself, Laurel paled. “Who?”

  “Good. Now you look convinced. But the who isn’t important.” He waved the gun. “Let’s go. We have to get to your bank before it closes.”

  Laurel didn’t want to leave the office with him, but if the money was all he wanted . . . Will he let me live now that I know who he is? He was just requesting payment for services rendered. Technically, it could be considered kidnapping. Will he realize that and kill me after he gets his money?

  “Okay. Let’s get this over with.” She reached for her purse.

  “Easy. You got a gun in there?” She nodded. “Take it out, slow-like, and put it in your desk.”

  She did as instructed.

  “Okay, we’ll walk out like we’re going to lunch together.
Tell your girl something that won’t arouse her suspicions. And don’t try any funny stuff or she gets shot.” He put the gun in his pocket.

  Laurel opened the door and went out ahead of Steadman. When she got to Sue’s desk, she said, “Can you call Dylan and tell him I have to cancel our lunch date? I’m going to lunch with Mr. Steadman.”

  Sue looked up and smiled. “Have a good time.”

  When they got in the elevator, Steadman began to whistle “Billy Boy.”

  Laurel turned toward him. “You! You’ve been following me.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “That song. Some guy was whistling it in the parking garage the other day. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  He sneered. “Yeah. I do it all the time. Habit. But I didn’t follow you. Didn’t have to once I found out where you live and work, and waited long enough in this garage to see what car you drive.”

  The elevator stopped at garage level and the doors opened.

  “My car isn’t here. I took a bus. We’ll take your car. I’ll keep my gun ready. In case you’re thinking they can find you by your license plate, think again. That’s why I was late. I swapped your license plates with mine.”

  Laurel’s heart sank. It sounded as if he didn’t intend to stop with the visit to the bank. There would be no reason to switch plates if all they were doing was something she did often anyway. Why did I have to be such a hardass and have the tracker removed? She knew Dylan would get the message that something was wrong when Sue called him, but what could he do about it? He had no way to find her. Even if somehow he found the car, he would think it wasn’t hers because of the plates.

  Laurel ignored the gun pointed at her when they were in the car. He wasn’t about to do anything to her before he got his money. She knew he was thinking about what she’d done to him when he’d attacked her. His hand was steady as he kept his weapon pointed at her head. She couldn’t do anything while she was driving, but once they left the car she’d look for an opening. If she couldn’t find one, she would try to figure out some way to alert the bank.

  When she pulled into the bank’s parking lot, Steadman reminded her to act normal. He took her keys and had her stay in the car until he could go around to the driver’s side. He opened the door.

  “See what a gentleman I am?” He guffawed and motioned her out of the car.

  The bank was nearly empty of customers. Laurel strode up to a teller’s window and nodded curtly.

  The teller smiled. “Ms. Avidon, nice to see you. You’re here earlier than usual.”

  “Yes. I need to withdraw five-hundred thousand, please.”

  The teller’s mouth opened in surprise, and then shut. “In cash?” she said, finally.

  “Yes. Is that a problem?” Laurel kept her tone clipped and business-like. Since she was usually friendly with the staff, she hoped the teller would get the message that this was not an ordinary visit. What might come of that realization, Laurel had no way of knowing, but it was better than doing nothing.

  “Actually, yes. We don’t keep that much cash in the branch, for security reasons.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Laurel said coldly, aware only of the man standing beside her and promising herself to treat the entire staff to dinner should she and they get out of this fiasco alive.

  “Could you issue a cashier’s check?”

  Laurel glanced at Steadman who gave a miniscule shake of his head.

  “That won’t do, I guess,” she said. “How long would it take to get that much cash delivered to you?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask the manager.”

  “Do that.”

  The teller left the window. Laurel could see Steadman was getting antsy, and probably ticked-off. Fortunately, the teller returned quickly with the manager.

  “Good afternoon, Laurel. Is there a problem?”

  “If there is, it’s on your end not mine,” she snapped, hating to act like a rich snob, especially with the manager, Sam Long. They had been good friends in high school. Would he be able to see through her ruse?

  He eyed her keenly. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Your teller said you don’t have enough cash to handle my request.”

  “No branch keeps that kind of money in house. Surely you can understand why.”

  “How soon can you get the money?”

  Long hesitated and glanced at Steadman, seeming to size him up. Laurel could only hope he caught the dynamics and called the police. “Not until the next business day. Since this is Friday . . .” he said apologetically.

  Laurel wanted to cry. “Not until Monday?” What now? Will he be content to wait a couple of extra days?

  She turned to Steadman and he gave a quick nod. She took a deep, thankful breath.

  “Okay, Sam. That will be fine.”

  “Brinks comes in around nine-thirty, so any time after then. Sorry we can’t do anything for you now.”

  “That’s all right. I understand. There’s no hurry.”

  Once back in her car, she said, “What now?”

  “Now, we wait. Together. Drive where I tell you and don’t try anything. You did good back there. Keep it up and you’ll be home by Monday afternoon.”

  Chapter 24

  Dylan was on his way to Coronado to run. He was halfway across the Coronado Bridge when his phone rang. It was Laurel’s office.

  “Kraft,” he said as he braked. Traffic was stopped on both sides. Probably a fender-bender. Damn people can’t drive.

  “Mr. Kraft, this is Sue Burdette, Ms. Avidon’s assistant. She asked me to call you and tell you she was sorry but she had to cancel her lunch date with you. She needed to take a client to lunch.”

  Dylan frowned. Lunch date? Since when? His internal alarm went off.

  “Is that all she said?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  The traffic began moving again. “Who was her client?” He kept his tone nonchalant.

  There was no sound on the line for a few moments, then Sue said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kraft, but I can only give you the message I was given.”

  Dylan wanted to throttle her. “Ms. Burdette, has Ms. Avidon ever told you my occupation?”

  “You mean other than being her chauffeur? Actually, yes. Just the other day when my boyfriend decoded a message for her.”

  Under any other circumstances, he would have laughed. So that’s how she got Gerald’s message. That wasn’t important now. The only important message was the one he’d just gotten from Laurel via Sue. She was in trouble and he was stuck halfway across the goddamn bridge and miles from home.

  “Good. Then you understand why I need that name.”

  Sue gasped. “Is Laurel in danger?”

  “I don’t know. The name?”

  “William Steadman.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “That’s the odd thing. He had gray hair and a gray beard, but the beard looked fake.”

  Dylan finally got over the bridge and looked for a place to turn around and go back to San Diego. “Fake? What makes you think that?”

  “I did the makeup in high school for school plays. I’ve seen lots of fake beards and I’d bet a month’s salary this guy’s wasn’t real. He wore glasses and a baseball cap. That’s all I remember.”

  “Okay. You’ve been a big help. If you hear from Laurel, call me immediately.” He gave her his cell number, and then tried to call Laurel, but there was no answer.

  He had tried for years to get her to buy a new phone. Though he didn’t tell her, unlike the old ones, the new ones contained a GPS chip that would give him her location, but she insisted she didn’t need all those fancy apps. “I don’t need anything on my cell that I can’t get from a landline,” she argued. He finally bought her one for her birthday, but she didn’t trust his motives and refused to use it.

  He drove as fast as he dared, but the trip from Coronado to Rancho Santa Fe was thirty traffic-filled miles. He could h
ave kicked himself for not getting a tracking unit for her car that worked with an iPhone, but he never imagined he would need it. He realized he’d been lulled into unforgivable inattention by having Gerald out of the picture. Once he realized she’d had the tracker removed, he did the expedient thing and replaced it with one he had handy in his apartment, figuring she was safe enough.

  When he finally got to his apartment, he checked his computer to see where Laurel’s car was and had been. Normally he would need both a real-time tracker and a logger. The logger told where the car had been, but it had to be retrieved from the car and plugged into the computer. The real-time tracker showed the car moving now. His government-issue device showed both.

  He also checked the cameras he’d installed, but all they told him was that no one had fooled with the car.

  She had left her office and stopped at her bank. Now the car was parked in a mall in El Cajon. El Cajon? A little far to go to lunch or shopping from her office.

  He tried unsuccessfully to call her again. At least the car wasn’t moving. He considered calling the El Cajon police, but what would he tell them? He decided to wait a while and see if her car moved or stayed put. He checked every five minutes for half an hour. No movement. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad news. She might be doing her version of a stakeout for the client she had lunch with. Why don’t I believe that?

  Despite his instincts, he knew he couldn’t rush. All he needed to do was interrupt her while she was working and incur her wrath. Rightfully so, he had to admit. How often did she lunch with clients?

  He called Sue and asked her.

  “I can’t recall her ever saying she was going to lunch with a client, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she hasn’t or wouldn’t. Maybe she would if he was an old friend, but I don’t think she knew him.”

  “Did she appear to be under duress?”

  “No. She just calmly gave me the message to pass along to you.”

  “What was the client’s demeanor?”

  There was a brief silence. “A little nervous, maybe. I don’t read people too well.”