Christopher proceeded cautiously up the winding driveway to the offices of Safe Haven as sleet bounced off his windshield. He looked forward to his vacation in the sunny Virgin Islands, and his suitcase sat in the backseat. All he had to do now was collect his last commission check and he would be on his way, a richer man.
When Harold had called him earlier, he wasn’t angry, and Christopher assumed they knew nothing about the Rebecca Baron deal or the database. How could they?
He pulled into an empty space next to the carriage house and saw two secretaries carrying boxes out to their cars.
“Good morning!” he said, recognizing the receptionist Mary Ann.
“Keep your car idling,” she said as she opened her car door and dropped a box onto the backseat of her Prius.
“Why, what’s up?”
“Layoffs.”
“Ben let you go?”
“He’s moving the business to Dallas,” Mary Ann said, scraping the ice off her windshield. “Everybody has been let go except the sales department. Those boys got first-class tickets out of here last night. So maybe you still have a job.”
He doubted that as he walked up to the front door and stepped inside the mansion. The artwork on the walls was gone, the rugs were stacked in rows along the corridor. He could see employees in their offices, some throwing things into wastebaskets, cleaning quickly, others on the phone networking to find other jobs.
Why would Ben make a fast exit? Christopher walked upstairs to his boss’s office. The hallway was dark except for the light and shadows coming from Ben’s office. Maybe this isn’t worth it. He could have them mail the commission check. He started to turn around and leave when Harold stepped out of the office and waved him in.
He walked apprehensively down the dark corridor, toward the lighted office. When he stepped inside, Harold closed the door behind him.
Christopher saw Ben at his desk, wearing a tie with matching paisley suspenders. He dressed well, even when shutting the place down.
“Sit, please,” he said.
“Why are you shutting down?” Christopher asked as he and Harold took seats across from Ben’s desk.
“We’re moving out,” Ben said. “Too cold, too dreary here. Can you believe they even have freezing rain?”
Christopher had grown up in Minnesota. The weather was bad, but not bad enough to suddenly close an office and move overnight.
“I guess it was timely that I resigned,” he said. “Have you got my commission check?”
“That depends,” Ben said. “Have you got our database?”
Christopher immediately broke into a sweat. The fear started in his stomach and worked its way up his chest and neck. He felt his ears tingle. How did they know?
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“You downloaded copies of our records,” Harold said. “I keep a log of all the file transfers on our computer system. Wednesday afternoon at four o’clock, somebody in the sales department copied our database. The only people in the sales department were you and Quin.”
He was trapped but struggling anyway. All he wanted was to get on that airplane and escape to the islands. “Wasn’t me.”
Ben laughed with a wide grin, as if he were enjoying Christopher’s poor acting. “We met with Louis Schultz this weekend. That fat-ass tried to blackmail me with database you sold to him.”
“All right, so I took the files.”
“You know, I can understand why you’d steal the database. A salesperson like you could make a good living on his own with all those records,” Ben said. “But why would you hand them over to Louis? You hated Louis. I saved you from that bastard.”
Christopher fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. “You wouldn’t let me earn a commission, and I wanted to make more money…I guess.”
“You could’ve picked a better business partner than Quin,” Ben said. “Tell him what you found out, Harold.”
“He’s a lunatic. Quin takes medications to control his hallucinations.” Harold handed him a lab report describing the chemical makeup of Quin’s pills. “We also met with his psychiatrist, who verified that he’s manic-depressive and potentially violent.”
Christopher scratched his head in disbelief.
“He’s a flake, Christopher,” Ben said. “And he has a mean streak. Remember Cassy and Martin? Quin killed them.”
“He told me he found the bodies in an icehouse,” Christopher said. “He said you had killed them before he arrived.”
Ben laughed with a loud howl. “Crazy people say anything you want to hear!”
“Have you seen bodies?” Harold asked.
“No,” Christopher admitted. “But Quin—”
“Quin hallucinates,” Harold said, pointing at the medical document again.
“Why would he kill Cassy and Martin?” Christopher asked.
“Who knows? The man is insane,” Harold said.
Ben leaned over his desk, closer to Christopher, as if he were on his side. “Cassy, Martin, and even Quin were all hired by Benson & White to steal our files. Maybe there was a disagreement among them. It doesn’t matter, the man is playing with half a deck.”
Christopher closed his eyes, thinking back on the past week. How much did he know about Quin? He knew very little at best. Quin arrived at the office just days after Cassy went missing.
“So tell me,” Ben said. “Did you and Quin buy Rebecca’s policy?”
He nodded, shamefully. “Yes.”
“Where’d you get the money?” Ben asked.
“Quin provided the funds from somebody on the Indian reservation.”
“And when you signed over the papers, who was made the official beneficiary of Rebecca’s policy?” Ben asked.
“Quin is the beneficiary. He raised the money,” Christopher said.
Harold shook his head. “He used you, Christopher.”
“As soon as she dies, we’re going to split the death benefits,” Christopher said.
“I doubt that,” Harold said.
“Quin got what he wanted,” Ben said. “He’ll never pay you. He’s a liar. Did you know he’s not Sioux?”
If ever there was a straw that could break a camel’s back, this was it. Christopher couldn’t take any more revelations. “He’s not?”
“He made the whole thing up,” Ben said. “He’s a drifter, a wacko!”
Christopher sat wringing his sweaty hands. His plan had unraveled into a mess he couldn’t clean up. He felt foolish and betrayed. Why hadn’t he noticed these clues?
He looked at his watch. He had a plane to catch. “What do you want from me?”
“You know what I really want?” Ben asked. “I want you to come back to the company.”
“But I stole company files.”
“I know, but Ben Moretti can forgive and forget,” his boss said. “Why start your own firm, Christopher? It’s hard for brokers in this business to survive out there as lone wolves.”
“But you’re shutting down this office.”
“Come with us,” Ben said. “I’ll promote you. No more searching for leads. You’ll be a closer earning commissions on deals. You’ll live the good life like the rest of us.”
Considering his predicament, an invitation back and a promotion sounded good. But could he work here? He wasn’t sure if he trusted these people. Then again, maybe all of his doubts were because of Quin.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re a shrewd negotiator, Christopher,” Ben said. “Swiping that Rebecca Baron deal out from under my and Louis’s nose was a sweet move. I admire that kind of ambition.”
Christopher was proud of it himself and appreciated his boss’s recognition.
“I’ll think about it. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Good idea,” Ben said. “Take a break, clear your head, and whenever you’re ready, you can come back to work at Safe Haven LLC.”
Ben handed Christopher his check. “Here, and you’ll earn much more than this when you return.”
Christopher nodded. Fair was fair. He’d already made money on the database from Louis Schultz, and if he wanted to, he could come back to work. Why would he need the database? Besides, how long could he outrun Ben Moretti?
Along with his commission check, Ben gave him a hearty handshake and a business card so Christopher could reach him after his vacation.
Christopher walked out the door of Ben’s office feeling confused and nervous about his boss’s willingness to forgive. How could Ben ever trust him again? How could he ever trust Ben?
The pack’s treatment of the omega wolf depends largely on the benevolence of the alpha wolf.
Quin could not believe that it was only a week ago that he had sat here in his truck in front of the Safe Haven villa, nervously waiting to go inside for his first day of work. Today he wore his black Armani suit with a blue silk Gucci tie. He felt at ease in this wardrobe, as if it were a new pelt that gave him power against Big Ben.
He sat with Zoe by his side, watching staff members streaming out of the mansion with boxes.
“Why would you go in there?” she said.
Quin noticed Stray Dog’s car parked in the street. “I have to meet with them. Christopher is in there right now.”
Big Ben had called Quin early that morning to tell him he had proof that Quin had killed Cassy and her boyfriend. He’d told him to return to the office with the Rebecca Baron contract, or he’d go to the police.
“I’m not comfortable with this situation,” Zoe said. “You said he carries a gun.”
“He won’t shoot me with all these people around.”
“You watched Ben’s client get shot here a week ago,” Zoe said. “Wasn’t that right here in the front yard?”
Quin turned to the street where Munroe Pilson was shot and killed last Monday. “Yeah, right over there.”
“So I’m right,” Zoe said. “Ben is capable of cold-blooded murder. He’s ruthless.”
“I’ll show him that I have enough evidence against him,” Quin said. “Nobody would believe his side of the story.”
“But if you back him into a corner, he might get desperate,” Zoe said. “Desperate people do desperate things.”
“I know, but Christopher is in there. I feel like I dragged him into this.”
Quin noticed a raven landing on the roof of the mansion, spreading its wings for balance.
“The other day I was with Hawk, and I had a vision. I dreamed that you and I were surrounded by hundreds of ravens in the sky.”
“Were you afraid?” Zoe asked.
“No, we were holding hands, and we felt warm and protected by all the ravens,” Quin said. ”But I know now that the ravens I see every day are not real.”
She reached for Quin’s hand; their fingers entwined. “You know I’m real, right, Quin? You believe in me?”
He studied her smooth milky skin and black shiny hair. How could she ask such a question?
“Of course I do.”
“Don’t leave me here alone. Come back to me,” she said.
“I’ll return. I promise.”
Quin stepped out of the truck and walked the snowy path to the mansion. Employees passed him, grumbling about the sudden notice and layoffs, but nobody paid much attention to him. Inside, the mansion was in chaos, with boxes and furniture stacked in the lobby. No receptionist greeted him, no classical music played in the background.
He reached the top of the stairs and spotted Stray Dog walking his way.
“Did they threaten you?” Quin asked.
Stray Dog was reading a paycheck and hadn’t noticed Quin standing on the stairs.
Stray Dog looked up, startled. “Back off. I want nothing to do with you.”
Quin knew they’d gotten to Stray Dog first. Quin grabbed Stray Dog’s arm before he could flee. “What did they say?”
“Let go of me,” Stray Dog said, yanking his arm back. “Why did I trust you?”
“Whatever they said, they’re lying.”
“Are they? Things were good around here until you showed up,” Stray Dog said. “Now people are dead, and a policy that belonged to this company is in your hands.”
“Our hands,” Quin said. “We’re working together. Trust me.”
“Trust you? Who are you really?” Stray Dog said.
“In time, I can explain,” Quin said, but he knew this wasn’t the time or the place.
“Why would you need me? You’re the sole beneficiary of Rebecca’s policy,” Stray Dog said, walking away. “Given your track record for telling the truth, I doubt I’ll see a dime of that money.”
“Christopher, let’s meet up later and talk,” Quin said.
“Why meet? It’s over, Quin. I don’t know who’s cheating who anymore,” Stray Dog said with a sigh. “I’m leaving the country and I don’t know if I’ll ever come back.”
“Christopher, wait!” Quin shouted.
“Good luck with Ben,” Stray Dog replied. “See ya’, Crazy Horse!”
Quin turned and realized Harold was waiting for him in the doorway of Big Ben’s office. Quin approached the doorway cautiously, his heart pounding.
“Take a seat,” Big Ben said, leaning back in his leather chair.
Harold moved behind Quin and locked the door.
“I’d rather stand,” Quin said, holding Rebecca’s contract in his hands.
“It makes me uneasy,” Big Ben said.
Harold shoved Quin from behind, and he landed astride one of the chairs in front of the desk. Not a bad move for an old wolf.
Quin jumped back up, grabbed Harold by the throat, and threw him against the wall. He’d loathed this wolf since that first shotgun greeting. “Watch yourself, old man, or I’ll—”
The unmistakable sound of a magazine chamber snapping into a gun caught Quin’s attention. Big Ben, still lounging in his chair, pointed a Glock at him.
“You’ll what? Kill him? Let him go.”
Quin eased his grip on Harold.
“Sit down,” Big Ben said, waving the gun. “We have to talk.”
Quin picked up the pages of the contract and sat in front of the desk. “I’m not a killer,” he said defiantly.
“That might be something a jury has to decide,” Big Ben said. “All the evidence is there.”
“What evidence?”
“My assistant Cassy and her lovely boyfriend vanish after the company Christmas party,” Big Ben said. “Then out of nowhere you show up, ready to work as an intern.”
“So what?”
“So you have to be a student to be an intern,” Harold said. “The school said you’re not enrolled.”
He could feel Harold and Big Ben circling him with questions, nipping at his heels the way wolves test their prey before running it down.
“We know you were hired by my competitor, Quin,” Big Ben said. “And it would be easy to convince a jury that Cassy wasn’t succeeding in her undercover espionage, and you removed her and Martin so you could take the assignment.”
Their lies infuriated Quin. “I saw the bodies in the ice-house. I took photos—”
Harold smiled. “Let’s see them.”
“You deleted them.”
“I deleted your photos?” Harold said in a mocking tone.
“You linked my phone to your network. That’s how you found Lunde’s apartment, and that’s how you deleted my photos of Cassy and Martin. I’ll still go to the FBI.”
“You’re not a reliable eyewitness,” Harold said, handing him a medical report. “Says here you take medication to suppress hallucinations.”
Quin glanced at the document. ”Where did you get this information?”
“We’re in the life insurance business,” Harold reminded him. “We have easy access to medical records.”
Harold has done his homework. Give the brownnose an A for effort.
“Nobody will believe this,” Quin said.
“Yes they will,” Big Ben said. “Your doctor, Kirsten Hayden, says you’re capable o
f violence, and after a jury sees how you nearly choked Harold to death here, I’d say our story is quite convincing.”
Big Ben pointed to a small camera in a corner near the ceiling.
“Christopher has your database,” Quin said. “There’s evidence in those files that you’ve been murdering your clients.”
“Maybe there is, or maybe there isn’t,” Big Ben said. “But Christopher doesn’t trust you anymore. He’s coming back to the fold. He’s agreed to return the stolen files.”
Quin was falling fast, grasping for something to cling to in order save his ass.
“Spencer Lunde will back me up,” he said. “He knows you’ve been killing clients.”
Big Ben gave another one of his toothy grins. “I worked out an arrangement with Louis Schultz and Spencer Lunde. And I’d be more than happy to work out an arrangement with you.”
Quin held tightly to the contract. “What kind of an arrangement?”
“I want you to sign over the Rebecca Baron viatical settlement to me,” he said. “Make me the beneficiary of that policy.”
“Why? So you can murder her, too?”
Big Ben folded his arms. “C’mon, Quin. We’re just thinning the herd, remember?”
Signing the contract over to Big Ben would be like signing Rebecca’s death certificate. “I won’t do it.”
“It’s within your right to do so,” Big Ben explained. “Brokers transfer policies on a secondary market all the time. Make Safe Haven the beneficiary of Rebecca Baron’s policy.”
“I don’t trust you,” Quin said. “You’ll kill her.”
Big Ben leaned over his desk, his arms folded tighter, studying Quin’s face. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”
Quin sat back in his chair, embarrassed. “No, what difference would that make?”
“Look at his face, Harold,” Big Ben said. “Isn’t that the face of a man in love?”
Harold stepped forward and smirked. “He’s got that lovesick look in his eyes.”
“What happened to your poker face, Quin?” Big Ben asked.
Quin wanted to pound them both, to whip their asses. There was a gun on the desk, but it would be hard to take them both on at once.
Big Ben shrugged his wide shoulders. “I warned you, Quin. Never fall in love with a client. Love makes things very difficult—-you in prison, while she’s wasting away in some hospice.”
In the Company of Wolves_Thinning The Herd Page 22
