by Meryl Sawyer
“I think Jasper is just nervous,” she explained. “And I don’t think the nodule you noticed behind Jasper’s ear is any better. Shouldn’t I take him to his vet?”
“Yes. There’s a file on Jasper in the office. I’m sure it has his vet’s—”
“I have the number. Miranda has the telephone number for the vet of every dog she walked. Emergency numbers of the owners, too. She was very thorough. I have it all in my BlackBerry.”
A burst of static followed. “My phone’s cutting out. See you later, sweetheart.”
Whitney said goodbye and snapped her phone shut. Sweetheart? Adam was full of surprises. The way he’d kissed her—well, nothing had felt so right in a long, long time. After her ordeal with Ryan, she hadn’t expected any man to interest her. Just the thought of her ex-husband sent up red flags. She cautioned herself to take time before becoming involved again. Make better, more responsible decisions about men.
She slowly walked back into the office, her mind on Miranda. Maybe she would never see her cousin again. It was possible she would never know who wanted to kill Miranda. Whitney needed to stay out of harm’s way until the police came up with some answers.
Last night she hadn’t been able to sleep. Adam was right. Nearly dying made her look at life differently. After her divorce, she’d become a fugitive from life by deciding to take over her cousin’s business.
Whitney was realizing more and more that what she really wanted to do was become a veterinarian. She’d put her dream on hold to send Ryan to medical school. She’d passed up her chance. After all this time, she would need to take a few refresher courses in biology and anatomy before she reapplied.
She could do it, Whitney assured herself. She would have to go to school at night and scrounge to make ends meet, but she could do it. With hard work, she would be ready to take the entrance tests next spring.
If she was accepted—it was a really big if—she would have to leave the area. The nearest veterinary school was at University of California at Davis in the northern part of the state. It would mean leaving Adam behind.
Don’t go there, she warned herself.
Her relationship with Adam was too new to factor him into her future. She had to chart her own course. She’d learned the hard way that setting your dreams aside for a man was a huge mistake.
AS SOON AS ADAM FINISHED talking to Whitney, his cell phone rang. It was Tyler.
“Where are you, Adam?”
He heard the tense note in Tyler’s voice and knew he was upset. “I was taking care of a little business. What’s going on?”
“My father’s been trying to reach you. Didn’t you get his messages?”
“No. I’ve been really busy.”
“Too busy to pick up voicemail?” Tyler’s tone was hostile now. Anything to do with his old man made Tyler edgy, to say the least.
“I guess you didn’t see the news.” Adam went on to explain about the bombing and subsequent fire.
“Holy shit! You’ll be tied up with insurance claims from here to eternity.”
Leave it to Tyler to think about the financial ramifications of the fire. Adam hadn’t even taken time to report it to the attorney. No doubt this would impact the probate.
“My father’s on the way over to your place. He thinks there’s a disc with a copy of the info somewhere in your uncle’s house.”
Missing financial records and now a missing disc. Things were not adding up. Adam was now more sure than ever that his uncle had been murdered.
“Adam, are you there? Can you hear me?”
“I’m here. I was on my way to the office but I can go home again.”
“I’d appreciate it.” There was no mistaking the relief in Tyler’s voice. “Father’s going postal over this missing disc.”
Adam almost told him that Quinten Foley could drop dead. Searching the house was a waste of time. Adam had already gone over every inch. Then he recalled all the e-mails Tyler had sent him when he’d been in Iraq. He’d kept in touch, tried to lift Adam’s spirits. Most of all, he’d worked hard and protected Adam’s investment in the security company.
It wouldn’t kill him to indulge Quinten Foley. He was the kind of guy who wouldn’t take Adam’s word about not finding the disc. He would have to see for himself. Adam tried to imagine what it must have been like for Tyler to grow up with such a demanding father—and couldn’t.
When they’d first met as cadets at the police academy, Adam had learned he and Tyler had a lot in common. Both had lost their mothers at a young age. He’d assumed Tyler had a great dad like Adam’s own father. Then he’d met the man.
From then on, Adam had befriended Tyler. It wasn’t hard. Tyler was easygoing—the opposite of his father. They’d become closer as they moved through the ranks and became homicide detectives. They both had become disillusioned with detective work at the same time. It was only natural that the two friends go into business together.
Adam assured Tyler that he’d go through all the discs with Quinten Foley. He’d rather be tarred and feathered, but there you go. Some things you did for friends—like it or not. Adam hung up and drove back to Torrey Pines.
A hulking black Hummer was parked in his driveway. Adam pulled in behind Tyler’s father. Quinten Foley jumped out of the Hummer. Splotches of red mottled his face, and Adam knew the jerk would attempt to ream him a new one for not returning his messages.
“Don’t you pick up your messages?” Foley bellowed at him the instant Adam opened the car door.
“Fuck off.”
That got him. Foley stopped dead in his tracks. Adam was certain no one dared to curse Foley. The older man frowned and the red blotches deepened in color.
“I’ve been trying to reach you since late last night,” Foley said as if nothing had happened, but his tone was conciliatory.
Adam headed up the walk to the front door and Foley fell in step with him. “We had some trouble here. My cell was shut off.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“A pipe bombing.”
“Christ! Why?”
Adam was at the front door now. He stopped, the key in his hand. “Apparently the woman who was living in the cottage behind the house got into some trouble.”
“I see,” Foley replied as if he had his doubts. “Did Tyler tell you what I wanted?”
Adam unlocked the front door and held it open for Tyler’s father. “Yes. Something about information on my uncle’s computer.” Adam headed up the stairs toward the office. “It was stolen along with some other computer stuff during my uncle’s funeral.”
“Yes, Tyler told me. I think Calvin made a copy of the file.”
Adam reached the office and flicked on the light. “What makes you think he’d copy your file?”
A beat of silence. “It’s the way we were trained. You know, military stuff.”
Yeah, right. Something else was going on, and it might be the link to his uncle’s death. Adam dropped into the chair behind the desk and turned on his computer. “I’ve run the discs the burglars didn’t take. What are you looking for exactly?”
Foley pulled up a chair beside the desk. “It would be lists of names with numbers.”
Bank account numbers? Adam silently wondered. “I didn’t find anything like that.”
Foley craned his neck to glance around the office at the bookshelves. “It could be hidden somewhere. Mind if I check?”
Foley hadn’t bothered to ask any questions about the fire or express concern. His attitude already had Adam pissed. “Yeah, I do mind. I’ve been through everything in this room. Nothing’s hidden in any of the books or—”
“Did you check discs that seem to be something else like PhotoShop or QuickBooks?”
“Believe me, I read every disc.”
“Why?”
There you go. Quinten Foley was an arrogant SOB but he hadn’t been made with a finger. “Some of my uncle’s financial records are missing. I checked to see if he’d hidden them for some r
eason.”
Foley studied him for a moment. “Look, I’m going to level with you. No one knows about this—not even Tyler.”
Well, hell. This wasn’t exactly news. Tyler’s father didn’t tell him squat.
“Your uncle was working with me on a weapons deal.”
I’ll be a son of a bitch! Adam had never suspected his uncle might be involved in something that was, if not illegal, damn close to it. When Uncle Calvin told Adam he was afraid, the older man hadn’t mentioned this.
Why would he sell arms? Money, of course. There were countries and groups of people all over the world who would pay vast sums to get the latest equipment. But he never thought his uncle would be involved with them.
How well did you know him? Adam asked himself. Not well. The man blew in and out of his life. Adam had assumed his uncle shared the same principles that Adam’s father had instilled in him. Evidently, this was a serious misconception.
An arms deal gone sour could mean a bunch of pissed-off men who would stop at nothing. Maybe that was why his uncle had been so afraid someone planned to kill him.
“You see, there are times when our government doesn’t want it to be known that they are supplying other governments with arms,” Quinten continued. “They conduct business through a third party.”
“That would be you and my uncle.”
“Exactly. Information concerning a recent deal was on your uncle’s computer. I can’t tell you more—it’s classified top secret. But I can tell you there are people who would stop at nothing to get the information.”
“Would they kill Uncle Calvin?”
“No. Why would they?”
“A little over two months ago, I visited my uncle at his villa on Siros. He was worried about being killed. He wouldn’t tell me who was after him or what it was about. He wanted to protect me.”
Foley gazed at Adam with a stricken expression. “He didn’t send me any message or try to warn me.”
“Would you have warned him?”
Quinten Foley didn’t respond. He didn’t need to; Adam knew the answer. This was a man who didn’t love his own son. How could anyone expect him to protect a business partner?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WHITNEY HUNG UP and walked down the breeder’s driveway to check on the dogs. She’d left Lexi along with Maddie and Da Vinci in the back of Adam’s Rava. They were far enough inland that the breeze from the ocean didn’t keep the air as cool as it was in the La Jolla area. If Jasper didn’t perform soon she would ask Kris if the dogs could be put in one of the dog runs.
Whitney stuck her head inside the window. “Are you guys okay?”
Lexi responded by licking her chin and Maddie hopped up and down, but Da Vinci merely opened one eye and gazed at her for a second before going back to sleep.
“I’ll hurry,” she promised, then walked back up the driveway toward the office. Her cell phone rang again. Rod Babcock’s secretary was on the line.
“Mr. Babcock is in La Jolla for a deposition. He has a noon reservation at Starz and would like you to join him. He needs to talk to you.”
“Okay,” she reluctantly agreed and hung up. She had rushed into Wal-Mart on the way out here. She’d bought a few changes of clothes and some toiletry items, but she didn’t have anything nice enough to wear to a trendy restaurant. What she had on would have to do.
Whitney walked back into the office and found Kris had left. The television showed the breeder in the pen with the two dogs. Apparently Jasper had finally become interested in the teaser bitch while Whitney had been outside.
She watched Jasper attempt to mount the female. She kept bucking off Jasper again and again. He finally managed to corner the female and climb up on her. Jasper was going at it when Kris knelt down, grabbed him, and quickly covered his penis with the collection device. The breeder began milking Jasper and Whitney turned away.
She couldn’t watch. Instead she checked her voicemail. One was a client canceling a walk and the other was Trish Bowrather.
“Call me right away. I’m so worried about you.”
Evidently Trish had seen news of the fire on the morning television broadcasts. There was no mistaking the concern in her voice. Whitney couldn’t help being touched. Other than Adam, she didn’t have anyone who cared about her.
“From the looks of it, you don’t have a place to stay, or clothes…or anything. Why didn’t you come in and tell me about it when you walked Brandy this morning?”
Whitney had been in a hurry when she’d taken Brandy for his walk. Trish must have been in the shower when Whitney came by for the retriever. She’d walked him then left. She’d needed to squeeze in another dog and a trip to Wal-Mart before driving out here to deliver Jasper. Whitney called Trish at the gallery but her voicemail picked up.
“Trish, it’s Whitney. I’m okay. I’ll tell you all about it this afternoon. I’m meeting Broderick Babcock for lunch at Starz. Afterward, I’ll drop by the gallery.”
By the time Whitney retrieved a very dejected Jasper and drove south, she barely had time to park the car in an underground garage, so the dogs wouldn’t get too hot, and still make it to the restaurant in time. She rushed up to Starz, her hair flying behind her like a banner. Broderick Babcock was waiting at a table in the rear.
The lawyer rose and extended his hand. He’s dressed for a GQ photo shoot, Whitney thought, and I’m a walking advertisement for the homeless.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his brows knit. “I heard about the pipe bombing and fire on the radio while I was driving here.”
“I’m fine.” She lowered herself into the chair opposite his.
The waitress bounced over and took her order for iced tea. Rod must have arrived early. He already had a glass of white wine and had buttered a roll from the basket on the table.
“I wasn’t home when it happened,” explained Whitney. She thought she sounded a little breathless and told herself to calm down. Rod was adept at reading people. She didn’t want him to know how frightened she was. He was doing her a favor by reviewing the document. She didn’t need to drag him into her personal affairs. “Apparently someone has a grudge against Miranda. She lived in the cottage until a few days ago. I guess they didn’t know she’d moved out.”
Rod studied her a moment. “Did you find out where she is?”
Whitney shook her head and let the waitress deposit a tall glass of iced tea with a wedge of lemon in front of her before continuing. “We found her car at the airport. She must have taken a flight somewhere.”
The attorney nodded thoughtfully. Whitney didn’t tell him that Miranda’s ID hadn’t shown up on security checks. She didn’t want him asking how she’d obtained the information.
“You needed to see me?” she asked.
“Yes. I want to clear up a few details. Let’s order first. I’m starving. I had to be out here early for a deposition and missed breakfast.”
Whitney picked up the menu beside her napkin and quickly selected an ahi tuna salad. She wondered why the attorney couldn’t have cleared up a few details over the phone. Rod signaled and the waitress came over. They both ordered salads.
“I had my investigator go over the titles to both properties. Did you realize your former husband has taken out a second mortgage as well as a home equity line of credit?”
“No, I didn’t,” she replied slowly. “But I’m not surprised. We were tight for money when we split. He’s starting a new practice. That requires a big financial commitment.”
The lawyer didn’t respond. He looked at her with an expression that said he expected her to continue.
“I’m not responsible for these loans, am I? We are divorced, right?”
He gave her an encouraging smile. “We double-checked the court records. You are divorced. It’s not uncommon for couples to divorce then settle property matters later.”
“Will I be responsible for loans he took out after—”
“What counts is the day the divorce papers were
filed. Subsequent loans are his problem.”
Whitney smiled to herself. Ryan had never been good at managing money. Let him sweat this one out with his Miss America wannabe.
“Did you realize your ex had a gambling problem?”
She bit back a startled gasp. “No,” she managed to say after a moment. “I had no idea. Are you sure?”
“My sources—always reliable—tell me he’s into the casinos for half a mil.”
“Half a million dollars.” The second the words were out she knew she’d raised her voice. She added in a lower tone, “I don’t believe it.”
“I’ve represented the tribes on several matters. They’re as computerized and businesslike as Vegas. If they say Ryan Fordham owes half a mil, he owes the money.”
“I see,” Whitney said, the light slowly dawning. How many times had Ryan gone out in the evening? He’d claimed to be checking on patients. Now she knew the truth. When he hadn’t been cheating on her, the skank had been gambling.
“I guess I’m not responsible for his gambling debts, if they were incurred after we filed. Right?”
“Correct, but it explains why he’s so anxious to settle the property dispute. I doubt if he can scare up another cent.”
Whitney couldn’t feel sorry for her ex. She’d walked away from the marriage without much more than her maiden name. She’d lost her job, but Ryan hadn’t cared how she survived. She’d taken a house-sitting job, then she’d been forced to turn to Miranda.
“You said the property near Temecula has Environmental Protection Agency restrictions on it.”
“Yes. Ryan insisted we buy the land because development is moving in that direction and it would be valuable one day. When we were finalizing our divorce, he discovered the property had been a landfill. It can’t be sold without an expensive cleanup and decontamination.”
“Our preliminary check didn’t reveal any EPA restrictions, but I’m told that isn’t too unusual. A lot of those reports are given to county agencies that don’t have the manpower to disseminate the information to all appropriate agencies. Often the EPA reports don’t turn up until a transaction is in escrow.”
