Midnight Rain

by Dee Davis

  He flipped to another statement, comparing it to the first. There was definitely a pattern here. Small amounts of money transferred into the account monthly. Unfortunately the bank account didn’t show where the transfers had originated. He picked up another report, this one generated by the bank, a list of one month’s transfers complete with authorizations.

  His.

  He turned to the computer and pulled up a ledger. According to the bank’s report, at least one of the transfers had originated from this ledger. He turned to the proper account and searched for the corresponding date, but there was no notation of a transfer. He skimmed the account again. This time he found a dollar amount that matched. Following the ledger line, he searched for the payee. The line read “expenses,” but on closer inspection, he realized the account number matched the inactive account.

  Someone had changed the account code. No doubt the same person who’d authorized the diversion to the inactive account. Which again, if the bank was to be believed, made him the culprit.

  John frowned at the statements. Someone had gone to great lengths to make sure the transfers wouldn’t be noticed. He turned back to the statements. Copies from the bank. The originals were conveniently missing.

  Since the two accounts used were not currently active, no one would have been looking for statements. It was simple and well executed. Flawless really. He wasn’t sure it would have been discovered at all if D’Angelo hadn’t found Miller’s deposit.

  Which brought it all back full circle.

  Miller was dead. And someone had wanted him to follow suit. What the hell had they gotten themselves into? He couldn’t even begin to guess what he’d done. Of course, if he listened to Katie, he might not have done anything. But if he wasn’t involved, then that only made the facts in evidence more puzzling.

  And just at the moment he had the horrible feeling that time was running out.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” Frank stood in the doorway, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. Sometimes John wondered if the man had any self-confidence at all.

  He reached over to turn the monitor off. “Yeah. Come on in.”

  Frank took a seat in one of the chairs across from the desk, crossing first one leg and then the other, as if he couldn’t find a comfortable position. “So what’s this all about?”

  Best cut to the chase. There wasn’t any sense in dancing around it. “I wanted to talk to you about D.E.S. ”

  “Something up?”

  “Not exactly. It’s just that I’ve been talking with Danny, and we think maybe it would be best to let him handle the account from here on out.”

  “Have I done something wrong?” For a moment his face registered a combination of resignation and resentment, but then almost as quickly it was gone, his expression carefully neutral again.

  “No. Not at all. It’s just that Wilson Harris is a tough man to deal with.”

  “And you don’t think I can cut it.”

  “I’m not sure I can cut it. You were at the meeting. It’s me that Harris distrusts. Since Danny is my brother, we thought maybe the two of us, acting as a team, would help to reassure Harris that we’re up to handling his business.”

  “Was this your idea or Danny’s?”

  “I don’t see that it matters. The point is, we’re doing what’s best for Guardian.”

  “What you think is best.” If it was possible, Frank’s tone actually bordered on belligerent.

  “I take it you don’t agree.”

  “Of course I don’t. You’re trying to hold Guardian together by sheer willpower, but the truth is, you can’t save it. Not when you’re the problem.” Frank was standing up now, hands clenched, a vein pulsing in his throat. “You and Derek Miller. I don’t know what the two of you were up to. And I’ll even accept that you don’t remember what happened. But that doesn’t change the fact that something illicit was going on and that you were in the goddamned center of it.”

  “We don’t know anything for certain.” His voice was deceptively soft, his emotions roiling just beneath the surface.

  “You might not know anything for certain, but I’m sure of one thing. Taking me off of the D.E.S. account isn’t going to solve any problems. The only way to do that, John, is to remove yourself from the equation.”

  John stood up, too, his fury rising, surpassing Frank’s. “I am not resigning. I thought I made that perfectly clear the other day. Guardian is my company, Frank. Mine. And I will decide what’s best for it.”

  “Well, you may not have a choice.” Frank’s face was flushed, his breathing heavy. “You seem to forget that you aren’t the only shareholder.”

  “But I have a majority.”

  “Not if everyone else votes together.” He somehow managed to sound timid, even in the midst of his anger.

  John gripped the edge of his desk with his good hand, trying to control his temper. “You’re dreaming, Frank. Danny and Flo would never vote against me.”

  “Don’t count on it. Even they’re bound to see that you’re determined to drive this company into the ground. You may not want to face the truth, John, but it’s out there just the same. And if you aren’t willing to do the right thing, then you’re not leaving us a choice. In the end, we’ll do what has to be done. Either you protect Guardian, or we’ll be forced to do it for you.”

  “Are you threatening me?” John leaned over the desk, his jaw clenched so tightly it throbbed.

  Frank started to move back a pace, but checked himself, holding his ground. “No. I’m just telling you how it is. It’s time to face reality. Whatever you had going with Derek, you can’t allow it to destroy what you’ve built. What we’ve built. You owe it to us. And you owe it to yourself.”

  “Get out of here.” The words were spoken on a whisper. All he could manage without saying something he knew he’d regret.

  Frank nodded, his face still reflecting his anger. “I’m going. But understand that I’m not backing down. I respect you, Jonathan. But that doesn’t change anything. I’m warning you, I’ll do what I have to do to protect this company. So please, don’t force my hand.”

  Frank held John’s gaze for a long minute in challenge, and then he was gone, leaving only a deafening silence, and a lot of unanswered questions.

  John sat back at his desk, his ire evaporating into a sense of helplessness so overpowering it threatened to swallow him whole. He might not remember the past, but that didn’t mean it had lost the power to haunt him.

  And, perhaps, to destroy what was left of his life.

  Chapter 16

  “What the hell were you thinking, keeping information from me?” Katie knew she was yelling, knew it because she could see people outside Roswell’s office reacting, but she didn’t give a damn.

  “It was need to know.” Roswell was sitting behind his desk, the only sign of his anger the tense line of his shoulders.

  “I think I needed to know that someone wanted John dead. It changes everything.” She gripped the edge of Roswell’s desk, leaning forward, so that their faces were only inches apart.

  “It changes nothing. We haven’t verified the identity of the shooter, and until we do I can’t definitively say that it was a hit.”

  “But you think that it was.”

  “It seems probable. But I’m—”

  “Not going to commit.” She waved him off, interrupting. “I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell the victim. He could very well still be in danger.”

  “It seems unlikely, considering his memory loss.” He leaned back in his chair, putting more distance between them.

  “But there’s still a chance.” Katie pushed back from the desk, the gesture a reflection of her frustration.

  Roswell shrugged, obviously unconcerned. “A small one, maybe. But it was a risk we were willing to take.”

  “With someone else’s life.” She fought to keep her voice level.

  “He had protection.” Roswell’
s smile wasn’t reflected in his eyes.

  “Me?” The word came out on a shriek. She gulped in air, struggling for composure. Losing it in front of Roswell wasn’t helping anything.

  “Yes. In part. Of course, we were also expecting you to come up with something to tie Brighton into Miller’s death.”

  She dropped into a chair, running a hand through her hair. “None of this makes any sense. You’re telling me that someone tries to take John out and your reaction is to try to pin Miller’s murder on him?”

  “We have solid evidence that points to his guilt.”

  “But it’s all circumstantial. It doesn’t even add up. And you don’t have a motive.” She stopped, an ugly thought raising its head. “Unless there’s more you haven’t told me.”

  Roswell rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, his fingers steepled, his gaze meeting hers. “A little more. You know that after Miller was arrested he contacted us, claiming he had information we’d be interested in.”

  “Right. But he died before he could tell us what it was about.” She frowned, trying to anticipate where Roswell was going with this.

  “What you don’t know is that we’ve been tracking a group of Korean businessmen, a company called Taegu International. We think it’s a front. A way for information and certain products to make it out of the U.S.”

  “Illegally.” Roswell nodded, and Katie was intrigued despite herself. “But what’s the connection with John?”

  “There isn’t one. Not directly anyway. The only link we had was through Miller.”

  “But I thought he disappeared before you had a chance to talk to him.”

  “He did, but when he made the original call, he said he had information about Taegu.”

  “Okay.” Katie held up a hand. “While I find all of that interesting, provocative even, I fail to see how you made the leap to a connection between Guardian and Taegu. Considering Miller’s history with drugs, maybe that’s his connection with the Koreans.”

  “We looked into that, but it didn’t pan out.”

  “Have you definitively connected Taegu to anything illegal?”

  “No. It’s all speculation at this point. But I believe if we can nail Jonathan Brighton for Miller’s death, we can get him to roll on Taegu. And once we have that information, we’ll have Lee Jung Hyun.”

  “Who is Hyun?”

  “He heads up the Korean mafia. Or their version of it.” He opened a file and pulled out a picture. “This is him. Reportedly he’s behind Taegu.”

  “And you think if you can get him, you can stop the illegal trafficking.”

  “No. It’ll take more than bringing down Hyun to stop this. But it’s a start.” He slid the photograph back into the file. “And there are other fish to fry. Hyun has a second in command. A man named Kim Soon Hee. He’s in charge of security.”

  “A hit man.”

  “Something like that. We believe he’s responsible for a series of assassinations involving foreign nationals who, shall we say, were friendly to our cause.”

  “Traitors.”

  Roswell’s smile was cold. “Well now, I suppose that depends on whose side you’re on. In this case they were on ours. So from a certain point of view they could be considered patriots.”

  “It’s a fine line, Roswell.”

  His eyes narrowed, his smile disappearing. “Only if you let it be.”

  She met his gaze, holding hers steady. He was obviously not talking about Korea anymore. Well, she wasn’t playing. Not this time. “So you’re looking for Soon Hee.”

  “Among other things. We think he’s in the United States, but we haven’t been able to run him to ground.”

  “Is he here in Texas?”

  “I honestly don’t know. There’s a chance. We think the connection between Guardian and Taegu might bring him here.”

  “You’re thinking he’s behind John’s shooting?”

  “No. It wouldn’t be his style to use someone else to do his dirty work. But I think if things have gone bad, and it certainly looks like that’s possible, then he’d be the one sent in to clean up the mess.”

  “So what’s the guy look like?”

  “That’s the question of the hour.” Roswell laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “We don’t really know what the guy looks like. He’s a regular chameleon, I’m afraid.” He handed her another photograph, this one so grainy the man was almost indistinguishable from the background.

  “This is him?”

  “Intel thinks so. But as you can see, it isn’t much to go on. That’s where Brighton comes in.”

  “You’re pinning a lot on supposition, Roswell. Surely you know that.”

  He smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “I’m rarely wrong, sugar.”

  Right, and J. Edgar Hoover never wore a dress.

  She forced a smile. “Unless you get something more compelling on the man, you’re not likely to find out, are you?”

  “That’s where I’m counting on you. Of course, if you’re not up to the task . . .” He leaned forward, challenge gleaming in his eyes.

  She was more than up to the task. She just wasn’t sure she wanted the job anymore. “I don’t think there’s anything to find.”

  “Well, we don’t pay you to think, Cavanaugh. We pay you to infiltrate the enemy camp. Wherever that might be. So go back in there and find something. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Maybe it isn’t.” She sounded perverse, but she couldn’t help it.

  Roswell studied her for a moment, suspicion coloring his expression. “You haven’t been made, have you?”

  Not in the way he meant. “They have no idea who I am.”

  “Then all you have to do is go back in there and get the goods on the man.” Roswell leaned back, locking his hands behind his head, his smile dismissive.

  For a moment she felt a thread of worry, the thought that maybe Roswell was right and John was guilty, but looking at him, sitting there so pompously, she knew she hadn’t made a mistake.

  And in her line of work, trusting your gut was everything.

  “This had better be important.” Carrying a cup of coffee in his good hand, John carefully made his way between tables to where his brother was sitting. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get here on my own?”

  Danny looked faintly apologetic, but not overly so. “Gotta admit I didn’t really think about it.”

  John set his coffee on the table, and then tested the chair before sitting in it. Austin Java had great coffee, but the old house it was located in had shifted over the years so that its sloping floors could present a hazard for people sitting without a look first to make sure that all four chair legs were well grounded.

  “You don’t look so good. Bad day?”

  It was possible that someone was trying to kill him— that ought to qualify, but perversely he wasn’t ready to discuss it with anybody, not even Danny. He sat down, his gaze meeting his brother’s. “I had a little talk with Frank.”

  “I take it it didn’t go well.” Danny swirled the tea in his glass absently.

  “As well as can be expected, I guess.” John reflexively tightened his fingers, grateful when they responded. “He wasn’t pleased. In fact, he was downright hostile. He definitely counts himself a member of the John-should-resign team.”

  “Valerie’s always led him around by the nose. But I am surprised he thought he could intimidate you.” Danny’s tone was derisive.

  “Well, in some ways I guess I can’t blame him, and to his credit, he’s just trying to protect Guardian.” John sighed. “Anyway, bottom line is that he’s upset and swears he’ll force me to resign if I don’t do it myself.”

  “So you going to resign?” Danny’s expression was guarded.

  “You still think I should?” He was testing his brother and he knew it, but some part of him needed to know where he stood.

  “I trust you.” Danny shrugged, taking a sip of his tea. “I feel confident that whatever you decide
to do, it’ll be best for the company.”

  John felt emotion welling, an absurd sense of gratitude. “I just wish the others had the same faith in me.” Hell, he wished he had that kind of faith himself.

  Danny shrugged again. “They’re not your brother.”

  John reached across the table to squeeze his brother’s hand. Despite Danny’s flippancy, at the end of the day, he could be counted on. Blood definitely ran thicker than water—at least for the Brightons.

  “Okay.” Danny pulled his hand away, obviously embarrassed. “Enough with the loyalty crap. We’ve got more important things to talk about.” He leaned forward, something in his voice sending a shiver of worry chasing down John’s spine. “I did a little poking around.”

  The hairs on John’s neck rose, and he prepared himself for the worst. “You’re talking about Katie.”

  Danny nodded, and reached for the file folder laying on the table. “I started at the hospital, and according to her personnel file she checks out.” He pulled a sheet of paper from the folder, handing it to John. “Right down to the ‘Med’ place. Medfield actually. It says here that Kathleen Alicia Cavanaugh is from Medfield, Massachusetts.” Danny pointed to the appropriate blank. “It’s just outside of Boston. She went to school in New Adams, at a liberal arts school.”

  John met his brother’s gaze, knowing his face reflected his confusion. “So what’s the problem?”

  Danny blew out a long breath. “It took me a while to get hold of the hospital record. Red tape. So in the meantime, I did some investigating on my own.” He sat back, his gaze troubled. “You’d said Katie was from ‘Med’ something. That seemed like a good place to start. Only it turns out there’s more than one town in Massachusetts with that prefix.”

  “Meaning?” John could feel his impatience building, and focused on his brother, trying not to let his anger get the better of him.

  “That I found another town that fit the criteria Katie gave you. A town called Medway. It’s right outside of Boston, too. I hadn’t seen the hospital records yet, so it seemed as likely as anyplace else. It’s a little place. The kind of town where they think everything is news. I found a website, and started digging through the newspaper’s archives.” He pulled another piece of paper from the folder. “Turns out they had a police chief there by the name of Patrick Cavanaugh.”