by Dee Davis
John nodded, his attention still on the computer screen. He tapped out some additional commands, his progress slower than he’d have liked since he was typing one-handed. “I think maybe I’ve got something here.”
Flo dropped into the chair. “You found the files.”
“Looks like it.” A column of numbers filled the screen. “Son of a bitch.” He let out a low whistle.
“What?” Flo leaned forward and he turned the monitor for her to see.
“This account is far from inactive.” There was a series of deposits, the amounts varying. A couple of transfers and withdrawals spaced out over a period of months. But it was the bottom of the list that held his attention, the last recorded withdrawal. A check.
For thirty-five thousand dollars.
Chapter 8
“I talked to someone from the bank. It was definitely your signature on the check.” Flo stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “So D’Angelo was right.”
John felt a surge of disappointment. Part of him had hoped that the whole thing was a mistake. Something that would be laughed about and forgotten. But another part of him, the part that faced reality head-on, had known it wouldn’t be so. “Did I make the deposits?” He waited, holding his breath, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“They weren’t actually deposits.” Flo shook her head. “Looks like they were transfers from other Guardian accounts. According to bank records, they were authorized by you.”
He slammed his hand down on the desk. “What about the withdrawals—any record of those?” There had been three other withdrawals besides the check to Miller. All in five-digit amounts.
“Only the one check. The rest was withdrawn in cash.” Her worried gaze met his. “The authorization came by fax.”
“My signature.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” Flo looked away, obviously troubled.
“Great.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to assimilate the information. “So now instead of one problem, we have two.”
She nodded her head resolutely. “Well, I’m certain there’s a reasonable explanation.”
John wanted to believe her. Wanted to make things go back to the way they had been before he’d been shot. But then again, maybe he didn’t. In the space of forty-eight hours he’d discovered things about himself he wasn’t sure he liked. Things that made him wonder about his own integrity.
Things that frightened the hell out of him.
He drew in a breath, reining in his fear. It wouldn’t do to lose control. “So we still have no idea why I gave Derek the money, or why I used this account to do it.”
“It was a business account.” She laced her fingers together, resting them on her knee. “Maybe he was working on a special project of some kind.”
“For thirty-five thousand dollars?” He tried but couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice.
“Look, whatever it was, I can’t imagine you doing anything that would have caused another person harm.”
“I wish I were as certain as you. I mean, in my heart it makes sense. But Detective D’Angelo thinks there’s more to it than just me writing a check, and there’s evidence here to support that.”
“Detective D’Angelo doesn’t know squat.” Leave it to Flo to call it as she saw it. “He’s on a fishing expedition. Probably getting all kinds of pressure from higher-ups to solve the case. He’s got to follow up on anything he finds. And now he has. End of the road.”
She sounded so certain. So sure that he wasn’t involved in anything suspicious. But he couldn’t stop the little thread of doubt that was pounding at his brain. “I hope you’re right. But in the meantime, I want to look at all the books. There’s got to be something that explains my involvement with Derek.”
“I’m telling you, it’s the result of nothing more than a good heart. But I know you, and you aren’t going to rest until you find out what happened.” She stood up, her expression resolute. “Which accounts do you want to start with?”
He smiled at her, his uncertainty replaced with love. She was a hell of a lady, Flo Tedesky, and he was damn lucky to have her in his life. “Let’s start with mine. Maybe there’s a reason why I used Guardian’s money and not my own.”
“You guys look like you could use a break.” Katie stood at the door to the study, holding a tray of iced tea, hoping she looked more casual than she felt. John and Florence had been holed up in his study since she’d returned from lunch, and from the grim expressions on their faces, she doubted they were enjoying the work much.
Flo immediately closed the ledger she was examining, a slow flush indicating she was hiding something. Protecting John. Katie’d always admired loyalty. Even if it was misplaced.
“It’s okay, Flo.” He raised a hand. “I think we can trust Katie.” John’s solemn gaze met hers, the look assessing.
She fought to maintain her composure. He had a way of seeing inside her, beyond her carefully constructed persona, but despite what he saw or didn’t see, the truth was she wasn’t to be trusted, and yet everything depended on his believing the opposite.
And, for the moment, he did.
She ought to be feeling elated, but she wasn’t. She set the tray carefully on the desk, pausing to look over John’s shoulder at the computer screen. “So what’s going on?”
It was a silly question really, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. All she seemed to be able to concentrate on was the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed in and out, the rhythm somehow hypnotic, pulling her in, daring her to believe in him.
“I’m looking for an explanation actually.” He reached for a glass at the same time that she did, his hand warm against hers, an internal conversation going on between them that had nothing whatsoever to do with ledgers and bank accounts.
She jerked back, just stopping herself from pulling her hand all the way to her chest. “An explanation for what?”
Flo opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again, instead taking a frosted glass from the tray, her expression guarded.
“We found the check. It was written on a Guardian account—with my signature. So we’re looking through my financial records to try and find a clue as to why I saw fit to give someone with a drug addiction that kind of money.”
“You aren’t guilty of anything, John.” Florence’s voice was tight, colored with emotion.
“I appreciate your faith. But the only way we can be certain is to try and figure out what’s going on. And since I can’t remember, we’ll just have to find the answers some other way.” His injured hand closed awkwardly around an oddly shaped lump of clay.
“You make that?” Katie forced a smile, gesturing to the object in his hand. It was a complete non sequitur, but her thoughts were tangled, and she needed a moment to think.
“Yeah.” He looked down at the clay figure in his hand. “I made it in OT. It’s supposed to be a phoenix, but I’m afraid it looks more like a blob.”
“I think it’s beautiful,” Flo added loyally.
John’s smile was brilliant as he turned to Flo, and Katie found herself wishing she’d been the beneficiary of the gesture. “It’s symbolic, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he turned the statue, rubbing a thumb along what looked to be the wing of the phoenix. “I couldn’t get the image out of my head.”
Flo looked puzzled for a moment and then broke into a smile. “I get it. You’re like the phoenix rising from the ashes. The bird is meant to be a symbol of your recovery.”
John shrugged, looking embarrassed now. “Something like that. Not that it’s done me a bit of good.” He pushed the statue away from him, leaving it sitting forlornly on the corner of the desk.
Katie watched him from under lowered lashes, her heart going out to him. He seemed so sincere. So honest. Incapable of hurting anyone. And yet, the evidence seemed to support Roswell’s accusations. So where was the truth?
She bit the side of her lip, studying the pile
of ledgers. “How much of this have you been through?”
“About half of it.” He rubbed the side of his face with his hand, his eyes heavy-lidded as he struggled to contain a yawn.
“You’re pushing it again,” Flo insisted maternally. “You need to rest.”
“I’m fine.” This time his smile missed reaching his eyes. “I just need to get to the bottom of this.”
“And you’re certain the answer is here?” Katie watched as he considered her question.
“No, but it’s a logical place to start.”
“Not if it puts you back in the hospital.” She met his gaze, knowing her face reflected her concern.
Florence nodded her agreement, her expression determined. “We’ll finish this later.”
Their words bounced off him like water on a hot griddle. “We’ll finish it now.”
Once he’d made up his mind, there was apparently no stopping him. Again Katie found herself admiring the man. Despite the situation. Or maybe because of it. Either way, she was treading on thin ice, but at least she was cognizant enough to recognize the fact.
“Then I’ll help.” The statement was matter-of-fact, leaving no room for discussion, and he accepted it without a fight.
“Here.” He reached to the pile and handed her a ledger.
The thing she didn’t know for certain was if she was helping him to expose him, or helping him to clear his name. Philosophically, she told herself, it didn’t matter, but for reasons that didn’t make a bit of sense, her heart was singing a different tune.
Which meant that it did matter.
A lot.
Frank paced the confines of his office, trying to decide what to do. If he made the wrong decision he could easily wind up worse off than he was now. Of course, Jessica would throw the old adage “nothing ventured, nothing gained” at him. And he supposed in some ways she’d be right.
Except that he wasn’t very good at taking risks.
He sighed, staring out the window at the evening traffic. The rush was already beginning. Cars moving at a snail’s pace, people locked inside metal boxes. Trapped for the duration. A lot like him.
But then, he’d made his bed. Married above his station, and then somehow managed to disappoint her. No matter what he tried, what he accomplished, he was never good enough. Which was the biggest reason why siding with Valerie was so tempting.
As long as he worked for Jonathan, there wouldn’t be any grand promotions. No spotlight. He’d always be an underling. Well, maybe not an underling, but certainly not the kind of man that could hold on to a woman like Jessica.
He picked up a photograph of his vivacious wife. It might not be much of a marriage, but it was all he had. And that meant that he had to do everything in his power to stop it from slipping away. Truth be told, Valerie’s proposal was looking more alluring by the moment.
“Hey, Frank, you good for a drink?”
Frank pulled out of his reverie to meet Danny’s gaze. “Of course, come in.” He gestured to a visitor’s chair and then turned to the small credenza that served as a bar. “The usual?”
“Yeah.” Danny sounded preoccupied.
Frank poured a stout whiskey and turned to hand it to Jonathan’s brother. “Something wrong?”
Danny smiled wanly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Doesn’t sound like it to me.” Frank poured his own drink and sat down in his chair, propping his feet on the desk.
“It’s just everything. Jonathan, Miller, all of it. I guess I’m not certain this is the right time for him to be coming back.”
“Have you thought about asking him to step down?” Frank studied the younger man’s face, trying to read his thoughts. Danny Brighton might look like an open book, but Frank had known him a long time. Danny only showed people what he wanted them to see. The rest he kept locked inside him, only occasionally giving a hint to his true feelings about things.
“Yes. But I don’t think he’ll do it.” He stared into his whiskey, watching the amber liquid swirl against the glass.
“Well, it wouldn’t have to be permanent. Just a continuation of status quo. We’ve done a good job for Guardian over the last six months. Jonathan has to see that.”
“He does, Frank. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t ready to resume control.”
Frank dropped his feet, leaning forward. “You saw him. He’s obviously in pain. And then there’s the whole memory thing. For all we know, he’s still losing bits and pieces. That can’t be good for business.”
“I don’t know, Frank. I can’t make that kind of call. I’ll admit that Jonathan isn’t the man he used to be. But that doesn’t mean he can’t handle his job.”
“What about the cop? He’s still snooping around, and it’s pretty obvious it’s because he believes Jonathan had something to do with Miller’s death.”
“Maybe. Or maybe the man is just playing the angles.” Danny took a long sip of whiskey, his face a polite mask. “Whatever he’s doing, I don’t see how getting Jonathan to step down will help things.”
“It insulates us from the fallout, Danny.”
Danny frowned, obviously considering his words. “You’re talking about more than a leave of absence, aren’t you?”
Frank took a deep breath, realizing he was walking a fine line between committing to Val’s scheme, and his loyalty to Jonathan. Still, it couldn’t hurt to test the waters. “It’s possible. If we all stand together.”
Danny set his drink down on the edge of the desk. “But Jonathan has controlling interest.”
“What about Derek’s shares?”
“You already know the answer to that. They’re divided up proportionally between the remaining partners. Status quo preserved. So even if all of us were to get on board, the best we could hope for is a tie. And Flo has enough shares to break that tie.”
“She cares more about your brother than anyone. Surely she’d want what’s best for him.”
“I think you’re whistling in the dark. John isn’t going to resign. And Flo will support whatever decision he makes. Besides, the point is moot, I’m not about to join in a coup against my brother.”
Frank made a play of pouring Danny another drink. He was blowing it. “I’m not suggesting a coup, Danny. I was merely exploring our options. I just want what’s best for Jonathan. It’s at least worth thinking about.”
“I suppose so. I just don’t want to see my brother hurt. He’s been through enough.”
“I agree.” He handed Danny the new drink, forcing what he hoped was a casual smile. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if it hadn’t been for Jonathan, Danny. I’m not about to bite the hand that feeds me.”
But Valerie would. Which meant he couldn’t sit on the fence any longer.
It was time to get in the game.
John stared at the computer screen, his mind refusing to contemplate the implications of the entry he was staring at.
“Is something wrong?” Katie’s voice intruded on his thoughts and without thinking he reached over and turned off the computer.
“Nothing at all.” He forced a smile, hoping to hell the horror he felt wasn’t reflected in his face. He needed time to think. And he needed to do it alone. “I’m just tired.”
“I should think so.” Flo’s eyes narrowed with concern and a touch of I-told-you-so. “You’ve been at it all day, without a break.”
Katie frowned, her gaze assessing. “You sure that’s all there is?”
He nodded, pushing back from the desk. The woman saw too damn much. “I think I’ll just take a breather. We’ve basically finished anyway. I can go over the rest in the morning.” He stood up, rubbing his eyes, fighting against a headache. He was tired. Bone tired. And confused as all get out. First the check to Miller and now this.
“John?” Katie had moved to stand beside him, her eyes worried.
“I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to mother me.”
“I know that. It’s just that—” She broke off, her
gaze locking with his, something decidedly unmotherlike passing between them. She stepped back, swallowing nervously, her eyes still dark with emotion. “It’s my job, remember?”
“How could I possibly forget?” He moved closer, their breath mingling, energy crackling between them.
Flo cleared her throat, short-circuiting the moment. “Maybe you should continue this conversation over dinner?”
“I don’t think that would be appropriate.” Katie backed up again, her expression inscrutable.
“Nonsense,” Flo said, ignoring the undercurrents, “I think it’s a marvelous idea. John hasn’t been out of this building since he came home. A nice dinner out would be just the thing.”
“I hardly think he needs his therapist along.” She was obviously flustered, her tongue darting out to trace the line of her bottom lip.
“Oh, come on, Katie, it’d do us both good. The perfect therapy.” He stressed the last word, surprised to find he was holding his breath. He needed to be with her. Needed to forget about his problems for a while. After all, they’d still be waiting when he got back.
“He’s right.” Flo beamed at Katie, her look cajoling. “It’s just what the doctor ordered.”
“When you put it like that, how can I refuse?” Katie sighed, accepting defeat, her slow smile warming him in places he hadn’t even realized he’d been cold.
He held out a hand, grateful when she took it. “It’ll be good to get out of here.”
At least for a meal.
And then—then he’d have to deal with the fact that he’d liquidated half a million dollars in assets just before leaving for Mexico.
Which seemed like a hell of a lot of cash for a vacation in the sticks.
Chapter 9
“Isn’t it a little late for a house call?” D’Angelo frowned up at Roswell, realizing with a sigh that his dinner was going to get cold.
“The desk sergeant said you were working late.” Roswell shrugged, perching on the edge of the desk opposite Eric’s. “And I thought we might have a few things to talk about.”
“Derek Miller’s murder being at the top of the list?” He pushed his burger out of the way, and sat back so that he could see the man. Roswell was obviously trying to maintain the upper hand. Height advantage and all that. What he failed to understand was that D’Angelo wasn’t intimidated easily. Even by a man with Roswell’s reputation.
