Her blood pressure started to rise. Gripping the arms of her chair, she glared right back. “If you knew how my brain worked, Sam Delaney, you wouldn’t have burst into my office like a bee whose sting has just been ripped out of its body. When I took this job, I told you that you weren’t allowed to interfere with the investigation. That rule still stands.” Taking a deep breath, she sat back in her seat. “If you have any questions you’d like to ask me, fire away. If not, I really need to get on with my work.”
“Why did you select the three personnel files that were sent through to you?”
“Are you asking me in general, or about one in particular?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
Pushing her feet against the floor, she forced herself not to look away from his furious scowl.
“Why was Patrick O’Flynn’s name on one of the files you requested?”
Her gaze shot to the folder on her desk. As soon as question marks started appearing around Patrick’s involvement in the financial operations of the company, she knew she’d have to be very careful. At some point, Sam would find out about her request. She hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.
“I wanted to find out what projects he’d been involved in with this company and to look at his previous work history.”
“An idiot could have told me that,” he snarled. “What I want to know is why you’re looking at him as part of your investigation?”
Her toes started to cramp. Slipping her shoes off under her desk, she flexed her foot on the wooden floor. “I’m not linking Patrick to the missing money at this stage. I asked for three files, not one. I’ll let you know the outcome once I have more information for you.” Another spasm twisted the muscles in her toes into tight knots. If she didn’t move soon, she’d end up howling in agony.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sam growled. “You look like someone’s sticking you with pins.”
Pushing down hard on the floor, she arched her foot, trying to ease the pain bringing tears to her eyes. “For cripes sake,” she snapped. “I’ve got cramp in my toes and it’s driving me insane. If I don’t get up and move I’m going to lose what self control I’ve got and boot your handsome butt out my door.” Vaulting from her chair, she started walking briskly around her office on tippy toes.
Sam sat back in his chair, his mouth clamped shut as he watched her dodge office furniture and an unwelcome visitor. “Your shoes are far too high and you don’t eat enough salt.”
“Excuse me?” she barked.
“Salt and shoes, that’s your problem.”
Another spasm hit her feet. “No. My problem is you. You and your control freak tendencies.”
A grin slipped across his face. “No need to get personal, Nicky. I’m only doing my job.”
Panting between spasms, she managed a quick glance in his direction. “No, you’re not doing your job.” With a sigh of relief, she flexed her feet. In a quieter voice, she said, “You’re looking out for a friend.” Taking a tentative step, she tried walking normally. No cramp. “I can almost forgive your attitude. If it was my friend who’d waved a few red flags under an investigators nose, then I’d want to know what was going on too.”
Another cramp rolled through her foot. A growl escaped her mouth as she tiptoed around the office. “I’m not asking you to stay. I’m sure you’ve got a million and one more pressing things to do than watch me deal with foot cramp.”
“You’re right. I do have more to do than watch you.” Lifting himself out of his chair, he walked across the room. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Nicky continued her circuit of her room, praying the knots in her foot would disappear as fast as Sam had arrived.
***
“Where’s the prima ballerina gone?”
Nicky dropped her pen. “Jeez, Sam. Do you ever think about knocking first?
“Nope. I like catching you off guard.”
Sniffing the air, she looked at Sam’s arms, clutching something behind his back. “Are you hiding an addiction to fast food?”
“Busted.” From behind his back he pulled out two bags of hot fries and a pair of sandals. At her raised eyebrows, he said, “For medicinal purposes.” He dropped one bag on her desk. “Double salt, double ketchup.”
The tempting aroma wafting around the room sent her saliva glands to heaven. “Why?”
“Salt deficiency. Not enough salt in your body can cause muscle cramps.”
“So can pregnancy.” She clamped her hand over her mouth.
Sam’s face went white. He dropped into the chair opposite her desk. “Are you telling me something I should know or passing on medical knowledge?”
Nicky sank low into her chair. “Passing on medical knowledge,” she mumbled.
He scowled. “You shouldn’t say things like that when I’m doing you a favor.”
She nodded.
Giving her a cautious look, Sam reached toward the floor. “Which leads me onto my next cure for cramp.” He swung a pair of brown and cream sandals between his fingers. “As much as high heels turn me on, they’re no good for your feet.”
Nicky’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t say things like that. It’s called sexual harassment.”
Sam gazed innocently at her. “You’d get more people’s attention if you described sexual harassment as what you were doing on top of me a couple of weeks ago, when you moved your…”
“Sam!” Heat exploded on her face. Snatching the sandals out of his hand, she peered at the label. “How did you know what size to buy?”
With a satisfied grin on his face, he said, “I rang Emily.”
“Emily?” Nicky shrieked. “You rang my sister to see what shoe size I wear?” She barely took any notice of the nod from across the desk. “She’s going to wonder what you’re up to. And then she’s going to call Erin and before you know it half of Bozeman will know you bought me sandals.”
“The lady in the shop said this style’s good for people who suffer from foot conditions. I think she thought I was buying them for someone with an infection in their toes.”
“I’ll give you infected toes, Sam Delaney. Not only have you now made me a target for my loveable but nosey sister, you’ve also put me off wearing high heels for life.”
“I hope not,” he grinned. “Maybe if you downgraded the stilts you seem to prefer, your feet would thank you for it.”
“On that friendly note, I think you should leave now before I find another use for these sandals.”
With a bag of fries in his hand, he headed toward the door. “I know when I’m not wanted. You can thank me for my thoughtfulness when you report back to me on those three names you’re looking at.”
Nicky wiggled her toes in her new sandals. “I don’t need to wait that long. Thanks, Sam. I appreciate you thinking about my feet.”
“That’s not all I think about,” he mumbled, “but that can wait for another day.” Clearing his throat, he asked, “When will you be ready with the report?”
Nicky sighed. “I should have something concrete for you by Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.”
“Fine.”
With a sinking heart she watched his back disappear out the door. Patrick O’Flynn was more than a passing interest in her investigation. If she was right, and she was pretty sure she was, Sam’s friend was the main reason for all the missing money. Eighty-five thousand dollars had gone missing in the last five months. She wouldn’t be surprised if the accountant eventually uncovered other money disappearing out of the company before then.
Sam had a small, but important group of friends. He’d take the theft hard, but not as hard as Patrick’s wife. This investigation had turned into more than an issue of money.
People’s lives were about to be shattered by the cold, hard, truth of Patrick O’Flynn’s double life.
***
“Are you sure?” Sam asked.
Nicky stared at the report sitting on his desk. “Yes, I’m
sure.”
He flicked through the bound pages. “What proof do you have?”
“There are copies of his bank account transactions for the last six months in the back of the file, as well as the accounts he opened under his children’s names. I’ve highlighted the deposits that match invoices processed through the accounts team for work supposedly done on The Oasis development.”
Setting the report down on his desk, Sam rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t believe he stole from the company. I’ve known Patrick for over eleven years. He’s my friend.” His brown eyes stared bleakly at Nicky. “He earns damn good money. Why would he risk his career doing something so stupid?”
Nicky sat in silence, watching the grim set of Sam’s face as he realized the enormity of Patrick’s actions. The last seven days had been hell. She’d known she would need as much proof as possible when she identified the person who had manipulated the company’s tight auditing system.
Contacting an old friend who worked for a fraud investigation unit had given her access to financial records that she wouldn’t normally have been able to view. After meeting with Patrick’s previous employers, Nicky had been shocked at the level of deceit he had used to twist his employment record.
Scotson Construction wasn’t the only company to suffer from his money making schemes. Two other businesses had questioned him regarding his handling of company funds, but without solid evidence they hadn’t been unable to press criminal charges. He’d resigned from both employers on the pretext of better job offers and both companies had accepted his resignation with relief.
Sam looked back down at her report. “He changed the tender amounts?”
“More than that. He altered one of the kitchen subcontractors tenders, and then invented a fake company, writing another tender for the altered amount plus job overruns that didn’t exist. The overall budget for the development was correct, Patrick just siphoned off some of the money into a fake company for himself.”
“What the hell was he thinking?”
“One hundred and thirty thousand thoughts, I’d guess.”
“What?” Sam dropped the file on his desk.
“That’s how much the contract was worth to the company he invented. He still had another forty-five thousand dollars left to invoice.”
“Shit.”
“Precisely.” Gripping her copy of the report, Nicky sat back in her seat, not quite sure how to tell him the rest of the story. “Patrick wasn’t the only one stealing from you. Annette Davies, an accounts assistant, co-signed the phony invoices he submitted. It looks as though she took a cut of the money in return for her services.”
Taking a deep breath, she tried to think of a way to minimize the impact of what she had to say next. “There are two more pieces of information you need to know. It looks as though Patrick has a gambling addiction.”
Sam’s head jerked up.
“He didn’t tell you the real reason he resigned from his last job. I checked with his previous employer. He was asked to reconsider his future with their company after he was caught placing Internet bets on different sporting events. It wasn’t once, Sam. When they reviewed the sites he’d visited over a six week time frame, he’d spent hours each day checking results or placing bets.” She paused. She really didn’t want to tell him the rest of the news.
With a steady gaze, Sam said, “You said you had two pieces of information.”
Nicky pulled another folder from her satchel. “I hired a private investigator to follow Patrick for a few days. She took these photos last week.” Placing the file on Sam’s desk, she tried to ignore the sadness pressing down on her.
Sam thumbed through the photos, his face turning white as he saw for himself the full extent of his friend’s deceit.
Clearing her throat, Nicky watched Sam’s gaze slowly connect with hers. “I’ll leave you with my report,” she said. “I’ve got another half hour of work to do in my office, then I’m heading to the gym. If you need anyone to talk to, just come and see me.”
Sam nodded, closing the folder with the photos in it.
Nicky picked up her satchel and left the room. Sitting at her desk, her feet nudged the sandals Sam had bought her. She slipped off her high heels and slouched down in her chair.
It would take more than a bag of salty french fries and a pair of sandals to help him deal with Patrick’s betrayal. Sam was a man of honor and Patrick had just ripped their friendship to shreds.
***
Later that night, Sam leaned his head against the back of his deck chair, watching the sinking sun boil blood red over the mountains.
After Nicky left his office, he’d gone over her report, looking for any possible reason for the deliberate lies Patrick had spun. There were no reasons, except the need to cover up a gambling addiction that would cost him his job, his freedom, and quite possibly his marriage.
He breathed deeply. The smell of meat sizzling on a barbecue drifted through the still night air. The distant murmur of voices from other apartment owners and the clink of glass against glass told him that he wasn’t the only person sitting outside.
Unlike the people below him, he couldn’t relax and enjoy the incredible view spread out like a rich oil painting in front of him. There had been nothing enjoyable about the telephone conversation he’d just had with the company’s lawyer. By midday tomorrow, the board of directors would be briefed with a full report of what had happened, and Patrick and Annette would be fired and charged with fraud.
Finding out who had stolen the money was always going to be difficult. Finding out one of the people involved was his best friend was impossible to understand. A friend who had a wife and family to support. A friend he trusted with his life.
His doorbell rang. Frowning at the night sky, he glanced over his shoulder. He wasn’t expecting anyone and he sure as hell didn’t want company. Maybe if he ignored the bell they’d go away and leave him to work out how he was going to handle tomorrow.
The doorbell rang again, followed by a loud knock. He stalked across the apartment, yanking the door open, prepared to do battle for a night of peace and quiet.
“Nicky?”
She gazed up at him. “I’m not staying long. I just want to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m doing a whole lot better than Patrick and Annette will be tomorrow.”
She nodded, her teeth gently biting her bottom lip as she hesitated in his doorway. “Well I’m glad you’re feeling all right. Have you spoken with granddad yet?”
“Not yet. I’ve called a board of directors meeting for half past nine tomorrow morning. Do you want to come in for a coffee?” Where the hell had that invitation come from? Nicky had made it more than obvious she didn’t want anything to do with him and here he was, offering her coffee in his apartment.
Her gaze jerked toward him. “Umm, no. No thanks. I just thought I’d see how you are, that’s all. I’ll see you tomorrow in the office.”
Spinning on her heels, she walked back toward her apartment.
“I don’t understand any of it, Nicky.”
Stopping mid stride, she turned to face him.
“What do you mean?”
Raking his hands through his hair, he tried to work out what the hell he was doing. Having a heart-to-heart conversation with a woman who refused to acknowledge his existence wasn’t sane behavior. But that didn’t stop his mouth running away from his brain. “I don’t understand how the hell he managed to hide what was going on. He never gave a hint there was more to his life than what I saw.”
Nicky shrugged her shoulders. “I guess that’s the problem with addictions. You don’t know what’s going through someone’s mind until it’s almost too late.”
“How long have you suspected it was Patrick?”
Lowering her lashes over her blue eyes, Nicky took a few minutes to answer. “Come and have dinner with me. We can discuss this over food. I’ve just been to the gym and I’m going to keel over if I don’t get some food i
nto me soon.”
He searched his brain for some excuse why that wouldn’t be a good idea, but he couldn’t think of a single reason. Except maybe the quickening of his breath at the tight pink t-shirt and black Lycra leggings she had on. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Her mouth tilted into a slow smile.
And that, he supposed, was that. He was going to have dinner with the woman who’d enjoyed a rumble in the sack with him and then did her best to ignore him for the next three weeks. It was almost as bad as finding out his best friend was a gambling addict, liar and thief.
***
“Make yourself at home, Sam. I’ll have the food organized in a couple of minutes.” Nicky walked back toward the kitchen, ready to do battle with a size fourteen chicken.
“What flavor are we having?”
She jumped. Sam had followed her into the kitchen, filling up what little space was left with his six foot plus frame. “Flavor?”
“Soup. I couldn’t smell any toast or barbecued meat cooking, so I guessed you must have a can of soup heating up.”
Lifting a knife out of a drawer, she turned and smiled at Sam.
He took a hasty step backward, colliding with the edge of the counter. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing.”
“I’m armed and dangerous.” She smiled at the frown on his face. “Don’t worry. You’re safe for now.” Opening the fridge, she picked up a cooked chicken and left it on the counter. “This little critter, however, is on the chopping block for dinner tonight.”
Sam looked between the knife and the chicken, then back at her. “Do you want me to carve?”
“Nope. If I can wrestle with the can opener and win, I can handle a rotisserie chicken.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Neither was she. “If you want to do something, you can put all the salady things in some bowls.”
Opening the fridge door, Sam stared at the assortment of containers sitting on the shelf. “You don’t believe in doing anything from scratch, do you?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Nicky watched him pull out the goodies. “I wouldn’t know how. If I can eat it raw, then I’m fine. If not, the supermarket deli’s my favorite place to visit. They’ve got some amazing food. I grabbed a little bit of everything.”
Forever After (Montana Brides, Book 3) Page 9
