Secretive

by Sara Rosett

  “So what is the truth now? You’re not really in the resale business?”

  “No, that is the truth. I swear.” He extracted a business card from his wallet. “See? Completely legit.”

  “Anyone can have business cards printed.”

  Tiny droplets of water covered his hair and a few clung to his lashes. “Call the number on there. Go ahead. And, you can look up an article in Entrepreneur Magazine about me. It’s online. There’s a photo there and everything. I do own the companies. And, I work undercover a lot. All that is completely, one hundred percent, true.”

  Those things would be easy enough to check...if she had Internet. She could look them up at the hotel. “What isn’t true?”

  “It’s more an exception.”

  “Go on.” People were picking up their pace, hurrying around them, as the drizzle thickened. Zoe pushed her ever-inflating hair behind her ears and raised her eyebrows.

  “It’s about my mother. She invested all her retirement in GRS stock. I’m trying to find out what happened to it.”

  It took Zoe a second to process his words. “This is about your mother?”

  “Carolyn Clark,” he said with a nod. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he added hurriedly. “I can easily cover what she lost, but she’s proud and doesn’t want to take anything from me. I figured if I could find out where the money went...I could get some answers for her.”

  “But the FBI is investigating.”

  “Right. And how long has that investigation been going on?”

  Zoe sighed. “I understand that point more than you know.”

  “I keep telling her that there’s not going to be anything left for the investors, but she refuses to believe me. She is holding out, hoping that when the dust settles from the investigation all the shareholders will be reimbursed. You and I both know that’s not going to happen. If I can show her that the money is gone, then maybe she’d accept my help.”

  “And you thought I could provide the answers to what happened to the money?”

  He shuffled his feet slightly. “You seemed to be a logical starting point. You were married to Jack Andrews, you still lived with him when all the money went missing, and the FBI was interested in you—I read the papers. I know you went on the run with Andrews last spring. I figured you had to know something.”

  “But I don’t,” Zoe said wearily.

  “I know that now. I was afraid if I told you about my mom losing her money—that it was the reason I’d made contact with you...well, I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me.”

  “Let me get this straight. You moved to Dallas and opened a branch of your business there, intentionally renting an office from me, so you could meet me?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time. We were getting nothing out of the FBI, and you’d been involved with Jack Andrews. I figured you had to know something. If I got close to you...I might be able to get the inside story. But once I got to know you, I realized you weren’t involved.”

  His face looked so earnest, but she wasn’t about to be sidetracked. Those years in the reality entertainment industry had given her a wide streak of skepticism. “So, back to my original question. Why are you following me? If you think I’m not involved, then there’s no reason to tag along behind me, much less follow me to London.”

  Sam looked even more miserable. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not like that. It really was a coincidence that we were on the same flight, and I do have business here. In fact, I have a meeting in,” he paused to check his watch, “fifteen minutes. Please don’t let my initial misguided beliefs ruin...whatever this is between us.”

  “We don’t have anything between us.”

  “But we could.” He leaned in. “You know it’s true. Please, let me take you to dinner. Don’t ruin what could be the best thing that ever happened. Someday we’ll laugh about this.”

  Zoe stared at him. “No, I don’t think so. That’s too many lies.” She pushed by him in the direction of the tube, then stopped and turned back. He still watched her. “No need to follow me. I’m going to my hotel.”

  She made straight for the tube station, anger and—yes, she could admit it to herself—hurt that he had an ulterior motive in wanting to get to know her gave her a burst of energy and pushed away the lethargy from the jet lag.

  The streetlights had come on and it was fully dark now. The drizzle transitioned to a light rain. She pulled out her umbrella and joined the crowd of workers heading home, her umbrella bumping along in the tide of umbrellas above the pedestrians. She didn’t look behind her until she reached the Underground. She paused inside the doorway and shook the raindrops from her umbrella, watching commuters stream into the station. No tall, silver-headed guy with brown eyes in sight. She thought about the flight, Sam’s earnest face as he talked about them being more than friends. She made a little growling sound, and a woman who was coming into the station gave her a look, then moved quickly by her.

  As she turned to go to the platform, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered it, expecting to hear Sam’s voice. It was a male voice, but the guy had a British accent. “This is Dave Bent for Jenny Singletarry.”

  “Oh, hello,” Zoe said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t get my message.”

  “Got it right here. You want an interview?”

  “Er—yes.” Zoe figured she had to keep going with the lie until she was actually face-to-face with the computer guy.

  “I have an opening next week. Tuesday at ten.”

  “Oh. Well. I’m only in London for a few days. Would it be possible to meet soon? Say tomorrow?” Despite Nico’s thought that Bent wouldn’t be able to help her, Zoe wasn’t about to give up on him. She’d take help from anywhere she could find it.

  “No. Unfortunately that’s impossible.”

  “I’d really hoped to speak to you as soon as possible.”

  “Well, unless you can be here in fifteen minutes, you’ll have to wait until next week.”

  He was probably joking, but Zoe said, “I can do that. I’ll be right over.” She hung up before he could protest. She stepped outside, unfurling the umbrella as she moved against the crowd and quickly retraced her steps to the street where Dave Bent had his office.

  Inside his office, the reception area was empty. “Mr. Bent?” Zoe called, looking into the office behind the receptionist desk where a man was zipping his coat. She recognized him from his pictures. He’d gained some weight, but still had the goatee. “You’re here.” He didn’t sound thrilled to see her. “I can give you ten minutes.” He waved her toward his desk.

  Zoe perched on the edge of a chair that was filled with papers, notebooks, and magazines, hoping she didn’t set off an avalanche. Bent moved a laptop case off sheaves of paper covering the desk to the floor and plopped into his chair, still wearing his coat.

  She decided to cut to the chase. She licked her lips. “I’m not a reporter. My name is Zoe Hunter.”

  He gazed at her a moment, then reached for his laptop bag. “In that case—”

  “Please hear me out. I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say. I figured an interview request was the best way to see you.” Zoe felt a prick of guilty conscious. She had lied, exactly what Sam had done. She pushed the thought away to consider later. “I read about your work with the police, how you’ve played a big role in finding cyber criminals.” She figured flattery couldn’t hurt.

  He nodded and she continued, “I’ve been caught up in some cyber crime—I didn’t take any money or do anything. In fact, I know so little about how these crimes are committed that I want to hire you to prove that I’m innocent.”

  He tilted his head to the side, and his thick brown hair drooped down over his forehead to the edges of his circular glasses. “And how would I do that?”

  “By finding the money that’s disappeared from an account. If you can find it—it’s not going to be in any account I own—that would clear me, and then the FBI woul
d leave me alone.”

  He picked up a piece of paper and began to fold it. “Tell me more.”

  By the time Zoe had finished explaining her situation, Bent had turned the paper into an origami crane. He set the crane on a stack of paper as he asked, “You think Costa is behind the money transfers?”

  “I don’t know. It seems possible he could be involved.”

  Bent shrugged. “There are many people who could have done it.”

  “What are you saying? That it’s a hopeless case?”

  “No, just not to jump to any conclusions. Costa and your husband’s past association, as you so vaguely put it, may be nothing more than a coincidence.” He scooted his chair closer to the desk. “I’ll need all the information you can give me about the accounts.”

  “So, you’ll look into it?”

  “Yes. What are the account numbers?”

  “What about your fee?” she asked warily.

  He pawed through the papers on his desk. “If I find anything, I will charge you. My secretary will handle the paperwork tomorrow, give you a contract to sign, all that sort of thing. Account numbers?”

  Zoe pulled out the file folder and consulted a page at the back where she’d jotted down all Jack’s account information, glad she’d kept a copy of it for herself. She’d found it in Jack’s things before the multiple searches of his part of the house. She read the first numbers off to him then looked up to find him sitting perfectly still with his eyes closed.

  At the pause, his eyes popped open. “Go on.”

  “Don’t you want to write this down?”

  “No need. Continue,” he said as he closed his eyes again.

  “All right.” Zoe read off the string of numbers.

  She finished and Bent nodded. He reached for his laptop, his thick bangs falling over his glasses. He brushed them out of his face as he came upright with the laptop. He set it up on his desk, powered it up, and then began typing. After a few minutes, Zoe shifted in her chair and said, “Umm, did you have any other questions?”

  He glanced up at her. “You’re still here? I’ll call you if I find anything.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Zoe stood. He was already focused on the computer screen again, his fingers tapping away. “Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”

  ––––––––

  THE pictures came as attachments to an email. Anna was glad Costa was on the phone and didn’t notice her intake of breath. Checking his email was a routine part of her job, but she didn’t recognize the name of the sender. The subject line of the email was blank, so she’d clicked it open and found the thumbnails of three photos attached to the email. Even in the small pictures, the red hair was unmistakable. Zoe Hunter.

  Anna’s back was to Costa. She squashed the urge to look over her shoulder at him. He was still on the phone, his voice carrying through the open door that connected their offices. She was careful not to move as she studied the pictures. The first photo showed Zoe Hunter coming out of a London Underground tube station. What the hell was she doing in London?

  Anna downloaded the first photo and checked the larger resolution. It was definitely the Hunter woman. A date stamp at the bottom corner showed it had been taken only a few hours earlier. She closed the photo, mentally cursing Wade.

  The old wooden floorboards creaked behind her. Anna swiveled her chair smoothly to Costa. “Ernesto called while you were on the other line.” She motioned to her monitor. “And these came in. Should I forward them to you?”

  If Anna hadn’t known him so well she would have missed the narrowing of his eyes. He was angry. “Yes,” he said casually. “But there is no rush. Take care of this first.” He handed her a note and returned to his office, closing the door behind him.

  She waited a beat, then hurried to the double-sided fireplace on the connecting wall. It was large enough that she could have stepped inside it without ducking her head. Costa’s voice was muffled, but she could still make out a few words. “...don’t care...told you...not through Anna.”

  Anna wasn’t surprised that he had kept something from her. She knew he kept lots of things from her. She moved across the room, avoiding the noisy floorboards as she swiped her phone off the desk then hurried to the narrow window and opened it.

  A gust of frigid air engulfed her as she leaned out to get a signal on her cell phone. The thick walls were terrible for reception. Within seconds, her ears, fingers, and nose tingled with the cold.

  When Wade answered she said, “What happened?”

  “Nothing. We’ve been sitting here on her house all day. She hasn’t gone anywhere. Just debating about going in to get her. Do you think we should?”

  “No. She’s not there.”

  “What? She’s got to be here. We’ve been here since seven this morning.”

  “She must have left last night. She’s in London. Get on the next plane. I’ll text you her location.”

  Anna closed the window and was back at her desk in moments, her pink fingers and reddish nose the only sign that she’d been hanging out the window a few moments earlier.

  Chapter Eleven

  ––––––––

  THE slant of morning sunlight through the curtains revealed that Zoe had gotten plenty of sleep, but she still felt groggy as she rolled over and sat up. Last night, she’d returned from her meeting with Bent, sent a quick email to the mysterious Ares character, and then dropped into bed.

  Zoe rubbed her hand across her face, gathered her wild hair into a bundle, and pulled it over one shoulder. She stifled a yawn as she pulled her laptop toward her to check her mail. Nothing from Ares. She was about to shove the covers off and get out of bed, when she remembered the pin board website. She’d logged into it last night and looked at the board Nico had mentioned, but there had been nothing new. She refreshed the page and froze.

  “No way,” she whispered as she studied the new photo of a mosaic of a dog. She recognized the arrangement of a black dog with a red leash on a white background. It was from a home in Pompeii. The fog of grogginess disappeared as she focused on the mosaic. Jack had posted it. He’d picked something that they had experienced together, Pompeii, and while Nico knew she had visited Pompeii with Jack, only Jack knew how she’d fallen in love with the mosaics. The intricate shading and delicate lines conveyed through small tiles had fascinated her, and she’d spent most of the time in Pompeii hurrying from one house to another, always checking out the mosaics. There was no description under the photo, only a hyperlink to a webpage.

  She sat up, crossed her legs, and stared at her computer screen. But what did it mean? Nico had said that whatever Jack posted, she would understand. Sorry, but the picture wasn’t exactly speaking to her, at least it wasn’t speaking very clearly.

  Was Jack in Pompeii? Had the note with the web address only been sent to get her to London so she could find Nico? But then why not just send her the coordinates to Pompeii directly? Why route her through London?

  She clicked on the photo and was taken to the pop-up of the picture. She clicked again on the hyperlink, and an article about a traveling exhibit from Pompeii filled the screen. She quickly skimmed the article, which included photos of the black and white dog mosaic as well as other antiquities found in Pompeii. The exhibit was currently at the British Museum.

  She threw the covers back and went to shower. A museum wouldn’t normally be on her must-see list. Her first choice would be The Tower or the London Eye. However, the British Museum was definitely at the top of her list today.

  ––––––––

  THE miniscule tiles ranged from shades of gold and deep brown to light tan and white. Zoe took a few steps back and the tiles merged together into a smooth gradation of color in the wing of the game bird. It sat on a table among the mix of food items that looked as realistic as a photo.

  The mosaics were like Impressionistic paintings, Zoe thought. From a distance, the colors blended, but close inspection showed the individual parts, like the br
ush strokes—or in the case of the mosaics, the individual tiles. Zoe moved on to another item at the exhibit, a fountain tiled in intricate scallops of green, blue, yellow, and red tiles. As Zoe studied the fountain, she felt the gaze of one of the museum’s docents on her. Zoe could understand why. There was only so long you could hang around a museum exhibit without attracting attention. As much as she loved the mosaics and the other items from Pompeii, even she was ready to move on. She’d examined every aspect of the exhibit from the well-preserved furniture to the casts of human bodies and their pets, which had been made as the site was excavated.

  A large group with a tour guide shifted around her, and Zoe moved on to the next display, the mosaic of the guard dog. It was her third inspection of this particular exhibit. She’d already circulated through the rest of the museum, hitting the highpoints: the Rosetta Stone, the mummies, and the Elgin Marbles. Now, not sure what else to do, she’d returned to the Pompeii area.

  One person from the tour group lingered, hovering slightly behind Zoe’s right shoulder. With her peripheral vision she could just make out that it was a man a few inches taller than her with a solid build and wavy dark hair in a double-breasted wool coat. They stood in silence for a moment, both looking at the mosaic. With her gaze still focused on the tiny squares, Zoe said, “You couldn’t have just sent me an email?”

  “My first choice was a singing telegram, but that was out of the question.”

  A surge of relief shot through her as she heard Jack’s voice. “Too showy?

  “Unfortunately, yes. And I knew that wouldn’t get me any bonus points with you, which I’m sure I need.”

  “Six months. It’s been six months.” She couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice as she turned to him. “I was beginning to think you really were dead.”

  “There are certain people who I need to think exactly that. There’s a good reason I’ve been lying low.”

  “Why don’t you explain it to me.”

  He stepped back. “Meet me in the Great Court restaurant in five minutes.”