Secretive

by Sara Rosett

  He cleared his throat. “I can’t go there. Not now. We have to stay focused. Someone targeted you, which means that either Costa decided to go after you, or...someone else is involved.”

  His words snapped her out of the warm fuzzy feeling that had been creeping over her. “Why would Costa go after me?”

  “To get to me.”

  “But you’re dead. At least, they think you’re dead.”

  “Maybe he knows I’m not.”

  Zoe stared at him a moment. “Oh, that’s bad.”

  “Yeah. If he knows I’m not dead, does he know I’ve been tracking him? Maybe that’s why he went after you.”

  Zoe licked her lips. She didn’t want to be in anyone’s crosshairs. “Have you seen anyone who looked like the two guys I described working for Costa?”

  “No, but just because I haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they don’t work for him.”

  “But what if they’re not associated with Costa?”

  “That’s worse. That would mean there’s a new player, and we have no idea who it is.”

  She shivered and drew the lapels of her coat up to her neck as she glanced around.

  The fear must have registered on her face. Jack said, “I doubt they’re going to drive up right now. No one was following you in the museum today. I checked.”

  Zoe appreciated his attempt to make her feel better, but it didn’t help. “We don’t need a new unknown. We’ve barely got a handle on the old unknowns.”

  “True,” Jack said. “But whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. You didn’t even know you were in danger, and you handled it. You got away.”

  “Only because I’m such a good sprinter,” Zoe said, grudgingly.

  Jack looped her hand through the crook of his arm. “You could always beat me during that last ten yards.”

  Zoe steered them toward Bent’s building. “Add a dose of adrenaline and there was no way he was going to catch me.”

  “Did you go directly home?”

  “And be a sitting duck? No, I took a slight detour and made sure they weren’t headed to the house, then I left town. That night.”

  Jack smiled at her. “You always did have good instincts.”

  Zoe narrowed her eyes. “Mostly. You threw me off. I completely believed your boring government employee backstory.”

  “Confidentiality agreement. We’ve been over this before.” He pulled off the scarf and held the door to the building open. “You know everything now.”

  “So you say.” Zoe stopped even with him in the doorway. “Yet, less than an hour ago you told me you had a secret bank account in Geneva. Are you sure I know everything?” The top button of his coat was open, and she was so close to him she noticed the subtle movement of the knot of his tie as it rose and fell with each breath.

  “That was it. My last deep, dark secret. You’re completely read in on everything. That means you’re up-to-date on everything about my situation.”

  His tie was wrinkled, and she had an almost irresistible urge to smooth it. She fisted her hand, and shoved it into her pocket as she scooted through the entry. “I read spy thrillers. I know the jargon. Okay. So we’re going with openness now. Let’s keep it that way. None of that ‘need to know’ nonsense. See, I can do the espionage speak, too.”

  “Suits me. Which one?” Jack asked, looking at the doors.

  “This one.” Zoe led the way into the office. “Mr. Bent?” she called as they stepped inside where the faint scent of something rancid filtered through the air. The receptionist desk was empty and the lights were off, but a desk lamp glowed from the interior office, illumining a pile of papers, a steaming teacup beside the desktop computer, a laptop, and the empty rolling chair behind the desk.

  “Mr. Bent?” Zoe called again, edging into the office. The smell intensified as soon as she crossed the threshold. As a property manager she’d run across quite a few gross sights and smells, but this one brought back memories of kindergarten and Brice Yardley throwing up all over the carpet during circle time.

  Zoe swallowed hard and put a hand to her nose. “Are you okay, Mr. Bent?” Because of the lack of lighting and the spotlight effect of the desk lamp it took her eyes a moment to adjust. “He must still be around here since the office is open. Maybe there’s a restroom in the main part of the building?” Zoe said, returning to the receptionist area.

  Jack didn’t say anything. He rounded the end of the desk with his gaze focused on the floor. Zoe followed, and as soon as she stepped to the side, she saw two sneaker-clad feet.

  “Is this Bent?” Jack asked.

  The lamp’s glow illuminated the pudgy face and the goatee as well as the edge of a puddle under the desk where he’d been sick. His circular glasses hung lopsided from one ear. Zoe’s hand went to her mouth. “Yes, that’s him. What’s wrong?” she asked through her fingers. “Do you think he had a seizure or something?”

  “No.” Jack touched a hand to Bent’s neck, then stood. “He’s dead.”

  They looked at each other for a second. There were so many thoughts running through Zoe’s head that she couldn’t form a single coherent phrase for a moment. Finally, she said, “What happened? He sounded fine on the phone, and he seemed perfectly healthy when I was here last time.”

  “I don’t know.” Jack leaned over and sniffed the steam rising from the teacup, then wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sure, but it could be poison.”

  Zoe stepped back from the prone body. “Even if it’s not poison, he’s dead and that means an investigation. Police and crime scene techs.” She took another step back and bumped into a chair, which caused an avalanche of paper to engulf her feet. “The account numbers—he had them. They’ll find them on his computer. And they’ll find out he called me. My phone number will show as an outgoing call.” She kicked at the papers on her feet. “They’ll trace it all back to me. And with cameras outside on every corner—”

  Jack stepped around Bent’s legs and gripped Zoe’s upper arms. “Zoe, stop.” He gave her a little shake. “Look at me.” She looked into his silvery blue eyes. “We’re going to be okay,” he said in a smooth voice, “but we have to be smart and think clearly.”

  She nodded and got a grip on her surging panic.

  “Did you touch anything when you were here before?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His grip on her arms tightened. “Think.”

  “Ow.” Zoe rotated her shoulders, and he released her.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I get it.” She blew out a breath. “Let me think. I might have touched the door when I came in. Then I sat on the arm of that chair over there. The one with all the papers in it.”

  Jack moved to the chair and wiped it down with his scarf. “Did you write down the account numbers for him?”

  “No, I read them off to him. He didn’t write them down, just closed his eyes and...memorized them, I guess.”

  Zoe didn’t really want to go back around the desk, but she edged over to the laptop. “This is the computer he had open when I gave him the numbers. He was typing on it when I left.”

  “Okay, we take the laptop.” He was following the cord to the outlet as he spoke. “Check the desk for any papers that mention your name or the account numbers.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Zoe said, but she was already scanning the stacks of paper. “The good news is that he has terrible handwriting. I don’t see anything that I can even decipher.”

  “Good.” Jack wound the computer cord as he came back to the desk, then reached for the laptop.

  Zoe put a hand on his arm. “Jack, I don’t know. He’s dead. We shouldn’t interfere in a police investigation. What if they never find out who killed him because we messed with the evidence?”

  “If I’ve learned one thing these last few months, it’s that you have to watch out for yourself. Once we get clear of here, we can mail everything back with a nice anonymous letter, if it will make you feel better. There’s nothing we�
�re taking that they can’t find out, eventually. A computer guy like him will have his files backed-up somewhere. Grab that laptop, and let’s get out of here.”

  Zoe hesitated. “But taking his computer, doesn’t that make us look guilty—” she broke off and leaned toward the computer screen. “Wait a minute...”

  “What is it?”

  “The email that’s open—see the name in the FROM line? SERA218@mail.com? That’s the email address that Nico gave me for Ares.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  ––––––––

  ZOE clicked on the inbox and looked at a few of the emails. “There’s my email to Ares, right there.”

  Jack’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You’re saying that this cyber crime expert guy is—was—your shady hacker guy, too?”

  They both looked down at Bent.

  “Not my shady hacker guy,” Zoe said. “Nico’s shady hacker guy.”

  Zoe flinched at the sound of shattering glass as shards flew across the room. Something glowing and on fire thudded to the floor in front of the desk. A bottle stuffed with a wad of burning fabric rolled across a pile of papers and bumped into a stack of magazines. Orange and gold flames licked up the stack of magazines, raced along the leg of a near-by chair, and exploded into a column of fire as it consumed the mounds of papers in the seat of the chair. Tendrils of flame shot out across the floor, snaking up and down the piles of paper, igniting them as it spread. Embers flickered in the air of the small room.

  It all happened so quickly. One moment Zoe and Jack were talking about email and the next, fire was everywhere. Instinctively, they crouched to avoid the smoke filling the room. Jack stripped off his coat. “Get the laptop,” he called as he kicked a pile of paper out of their path. Zoe grabbed the laptop. She ducked her head, pulled her scarf over her nose, and followed Jack.

  The fire reached the long fabric drapes on either side of the broken window. The flames raced up the sides and spread to the swag across the top of the window. Jack had been making for the window, but now he switched direction and aimed for the doorway, beating at the fire with his coat to clear a path. Zoe grabbed the tail of his suit coat and scuttled along. How could it be so bright with fire, yet so dark with smoke? A few embers danced through the air and landed on her scarf. She let go of Jack’s suit jacket and frantically brushed them away as she moved in the direction she thought Jack had been moving.

  She felt the doorframe, the paint melting and warm on her palm and then she was out, gasping for clean air in the tiny reception area beside Jack. “Your coat,” she wheezed, and Jack looked down as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. It was a mass of smoldering fabric, the tiny embers already working into the fabric, curling into flames and creeping across the threads. He flung it through the doorway. It landed on one of the stacks of paper that was already blazing. Before they turned away, it was fully engulfed in flames.

  Jack reached for her hand. She gripped it, and they hurried out the door, through the building’s entry area, and into the night.

  A few people several yards away were moving in the direction of the flames, which were visible through the broken window. Ash and a few embers circled through the air.

  Zoe and Jack slipped away, turning down a narrow street. “You okay?” Jack asked as they hurried, putting as much distance between them and the building as possible.

  “Yes, I think so,” Zoe said, amazed. She ran a hand over her coat. “Only slightly singed, but I’m sure we both smell of smoke.”

  Sirens cut through the night. “There’s no way that anyone will connect us to that fire or trace you to visiting that office, at least until they get to his phone and computer records,” Jack said.

  Zoe put Bent’s laptop in her messenger bag then turned to Jack. “Let me look at you,” she said, pulling his arms out and turning him in a circle.

  He’d lost his hat, but otherwise looked just the same, except that he was breathing a bit harder than usual. “Do I pass inspection,” he asked, grinning.

  “Your shoes have a slightly melty look to them, but you’ll do.” They resumed walking, but then Zoe stopped. “Wait. Your coat. The flash drive was in the pocket.”

  Jack reached out to pat the pocket where it would have been, if he’d had his coat on. “It’s gone, melted into oblivion.”

  “But you had a copy, right?” It was a statement, not a question. Jack was careful. He was a back-up file kind of guy.

  “Of course I have a copy.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw. “There’s a slight problem, though. It’s in Germany.”

  ––––––––

  “DO you have a hotel?” Jack asked as they moved along a residential street. Since they smelled of smoke and made a memorable couple with their sooty clothes, they were trying to keep to the quieter roads.

  “Yes, near Victoria Station.” Zoe stopped to consult the map in the guidebook.

  “Good. That’s not far,” Jack said, looking over Zoe’s shoulder. “How did you make the reservation? Credit card?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack frowned.

  “If I’d known I was going to be on the run again when I made the reservation, I would have used cash. But I’m a little short on it right now, which is rather ironic, considering everyone thinks I have a secret bank account.”

  “We’ll have to risk it,” Jack said. “We need to get cleaned up. I’m not exactly flush right now, either. I have a couple of hundred on me.”

  “How can that be? You do have a secret bank account.”

  “Did. It’s closed now. I’ve been using it to pay for the search for Costa.” Jack checked the map. “Let’s make a quick detour.” He led the way toward a bright, busy intersection.

  “This is Piccadilly Circus.” Zoe hung back when she saw the sign on the Underground, the billboards, and the mass of traffic.

  “And it’s busy enough that we should be fine as long as we move fast. I have to get some clothes to change into,” Jack said.

  “You don’t have more clothes?” Zoe asked.

  “My suitcase is in Left Luggage at the airport. It only has a new shirt and a change of underwear.”

  “You mean you’re not even staying here?” Zoe asked, shifting around people on the sidewalk, which was becoming more crowded as they moved into the bustling area.

  “No.”

  “Well, where are you staying?”

  “Currently? In Germany, at Costa’s rather bleak castle.”

  Zoe jerked on his arm and pulled him to a stop in front of a store window displaying the Union Jack on everything from T-shirts to underwear. “You’re staying at the same place as Costa?”

  “I’m working there, maintaining the grounds.”

  “How did you get that job?”

  “By bribing the last guy who had the job with a large portion of the cash I pulled out of that Swiss bank account. Now, can we stop playing Twenty Questions and get moving?”

  “No. I have a few more. Why would you do that? Get so close to Costa? What if he recognized you?”

  “I’ll explain, but let’s keep moving. This place looks as good as any,” he said and stepped inside the shop. “I did it to get the info on Costa. I had access to the building, something that I wasn’t able to get when he was in a hotel in South Africa.” Zoe followed Jack through the crowded aisles with rows of Big Ben replicas, Union Jack flags, and commemorative plates imprinted with everything from pictures of Buckingham Palace to the faces of the royal family.

  “He’s not going to recognize me because he never sees me. I work the grounds with a thick coat, a hat, and sunglasses when he’s home. It’s when he and his entourage are away that I go inside the building and look around. That’s how I found the info on the flash drive.” He held up a pair of dark pants and a Union Jack T-shirt. “I suppose this will have to do. It’s the least flamboyant thing here. Ah—wait.”

  He plucked a navy windbreaker off the sale rack, then collected a package of underwear and socks along w
ith a new hat, this one a knit stocking cap. Zoe had more clothes to change into in her hotel room, but she doubted she’d be able to get the smoke smell out of her coat and scarf. She picked a royal blue scarf and a dark gray coat. They checked out and were on their way again.

  They moved away from the hubbub of the tourists and navigated to the hotel, doing their best to avoid the major roads. Cutting across Green Park, they made their way between the golden, winged Victoria Memorial and Buckingham Palace. Zoe goggled at the gold crests and gold-tipped wrought iron enclosing the palace. Normally, she would have wanted to linger, hoping to see the changing of the guard, but the experience of the last hour made sightseeing pretty low on her list. Getting to the room safely was her top priority.

  Once in the room, Zoe tossed the messenger bag on the bed, pulled off her smoky coat, and crossed her arms. “I think I understand how things stand between us. You flew in specifically to meet me,” Zoe said. “As soon as you dropped that flash drive with me, you were planning to get out of here, weren’t you? You want me to take the evidence to the police in the States.”

  “You’re not a huge fan of the idea. I can tell from your expression.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m not your courier. You can’t just ignore me for months and then expect me to come running to you when I finally get your message.”

  Jack crossed the room, stopping inches from her. “That package wasn’t a summons. I didn’t have any evidence to finger Costa until a few days ago.” He ran his finger under the chain at the side of her throat and pulled. The ring moved against her chest, seeming to send out a trail of sparks, as he pulled it out from under her shirt. Once it came free from the fabric, he balanced the chain on his finger, and the ring hung suspended between them. “This,” he said as he moved his finger and the ring rocked, “was a message...and a question.”

  “I got the message—that you were alive.” She realized she sounded winded, as if she’d finished a 5K. She wanted to back away from his intense gaze and, at the same time, she wanted to move closer to him. “But what was the question?”