Need to Know

by Fern Michaels

  “Absolutely not, Countess. Do you want one of my people to help you?”

  “No. I’m fine. Just close the door when you leave. I don’t like people staring at me and nudging their friends to notice me.”

  “I totally understand. If you’re sure you’re okay, then I’ll be happy to show Ms. Cabot our available vaults,” Holiday said, using the name Myra had given him when they were introduced.

  Annie thought she would explode right out of her skin as she waited to hear the door close. She already had the tiny flash drive in her hand. Seven minutes was all she needed. Or was it ten? She wasn’t sure. She catapulted out of her chair, stood up, and swung the computer around until it was facing her. She inserted the flash drive and then typed in Arthur Forrester’s Social Security number and waited as she hardly dared to breathe. A blizzard of numbers, symbols, and what looked like spreadsheets appeared on the small screen. Annie clicked the keys and started to pray. “C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered under her breath as she watched the minute hand on the treasured Mickey Mouse watch that adorned her wrist, the watch she was never without because she so loved the great big numerals. She was so light-headed from what she was doing that she almost blacked out. “Faster, faster,” she muttered. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. She was getting everything, Mr. SOP’s checking account, his IRAs, and his brokerage accounts. She tried to focus; then she tapped in letters that would give her Mr. SOP’s entire banking reports from the day he opened his first account. The knowledge of what she was downloading, along with a vision of herself in an orange jumpsuit, waiting in some federal prison for visitors, was almost more than she could bear.

  Annie looked down at the minute hand on her Mickey Mouse watch. Seven minutes, seven and a half minutes. Maybe it was a mistake to ask for the entire banking history. The computer pinged. Download finished. As quickly as she could, she removed the flash drive and tapped again so that the original screen appeared. She swung the monitor around so fast, she thought it was going to sail right off the desk. Eight minutes total. Damn, I’m good. The vision of her in an orange jumpsuit, waiting for visitors, disappeared. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her knees, taking deep breaths; four-seven-eight, they called it. Four deep breaths, hold for the count of seven, and then exhale to the count of eight. She had to do two series of four deep breaths before her heart rate returned to normal.

  Annie quickly reached for the pen and finished filling out the papers in front of her. She finished just as Kyle Holiday ushered Myra back into the room. Both were smiling.

  “Ah, I see you finished. And we were successful with the vaults. Your sister has the keys to all four of them,” Holiday said as though he were offering up the Holy Grail.

  “That’s wonderful, Mr. Holiday. I just called my financial manager and he will be calling you in the next hour or so after he returns from lunch. From here on in, you will be dealing with him. His name is Connor. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Holiday. I hope all my financial dealings with your bank will be just as pleasant.”

  “I think I can guarantee it, Countess. Let me walk you out.”

  That was the last thing Annie and Myra wanted, but they obediently followed the bank president out to the lobby of the bank, where the teller lines had dwindled to a mere trickle.

  “Quick! Quick! Your ten o’clock. There are Myra and Annie, with, I assume, a bank officer,” Maggie sputtered.

  Myra spotted Nikki and Maggie out of the corner of her eye. Stunned, she stumbled, but the banker quickly reached for her arm.

  If nothing else, Annie was quick on the draw. She saw Nikki and Maggie at the same time Myra did, but she didn’t stumble. “That’s so like you, little sister. Just because I hurt my ankle doesn’t mean you have to, too.” She giggled as she pushed her way through the revolving door, with Myra behind her and Nikki and Maggie behind Myra. Both women waved to the banker, who waved back.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m going to look for the nearest bar and order a double or triple shot of something. I got it all. Honest to God, I got it all!” Annie cackled as she set off down the street, her “twisted ankle” totally forgotten, and the others running to catch up with her.

  “All his banking records?” Nikki asked in awe.

  “Every last one.” Annie cackled again.

  “Then all right! Let’s find a place for food and drink to celebrate! It’s lunchtime,” Maggie said. “Of course, to my way of thinking, it is always lunchtime somewhere in the world. Don’t you all agree?”

  Chapter 6

  Avery Snowden walked nonchalantly around the block, pretending to talk on his cell phone. He was still practicing the tradecraft he had perfected back in the old days with MI5, when he and Charles Martin worked for the queen of England. Old habits served him well in his new endeavors. The truth was, he was in tune with his surroundings. He could hear a dog barking down the street; he noticed a fat pigeon on the lookout for a stray crumb here or there. He noticed the pedestrians on their way to do whatever they did during the noon hour here, during one of the busiest hours of the day. He was aware of the light breeze, the warm sun, and, of course, the high-rise condominium building where Arthur Forrester and his wife, Nala, lived. It was a high-security building, but that didn’t worry him. There was no lock known to man that he couldn’t open.

  Snowden turned the corner, jammed his phone into his pocket, then crossed the street and headed back the way he had come. He had the uncanny knack of being able to see everything without turning his head. What he was looking for, in particular, was any sign of Nala Forrester returning to the condo.

  Charles had dispatched him and his team last Thursday. The condo and the Forresters had been under surveillance twenty-four/seven since the moment the team had arrived. Unfortunately, there was very little to show for their efforts. The Forresters didn’t go out much, and when they did, they stayed planted at their destination until it was time to head home. As far as he could tell, they had no friends and no social life. Arthur Forrester played golf three days a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. At least that’s what one of the staff at the Golf Shack told him. He’d also said that sometimes, weather permitting, Forrester would play a round on Sunday. He went on to say Forrester had no golf buddies. He showed up and waited to see if he could join a foursome, which happened most times. He confirmed that the scuttlebutt was that Forrester was an excellent golfer.

  The wife, Nala, went to a place called Lady’s Fitness every morning, stayed for three hours, then hit the Organic Market, where she bought fresh fruits and vegetables. When she had finished shopping, she walked back to the condo, carrying her workout bag on her shoulder and a string bag with the produce. She rarely left the condominium after that.

  Arthur Forrester usually returned at around three o’clock and, like his wife, never left the building afterward. Except for one day, last Friday, when he had returned from his golf game. On that day, he had gone into the condo, changed clothes, then emerged and drove six blocks to his attorney’s office, where he stayed for ninety minutes.

  Avery had explained to Charles in his late-night call yesterday that he didn’t have a feel for the guy yet. He’d gone on to tell Charles that he needed a few more days to make any real kind of assessment.

  When asked about Mrs. Forrester, his response had been she was a nonstarter. He took that one step further and said he wasn’t 100 percent sure Nala Forrester even knew about the lawsuit. He explained it was just a gut feeling, and he couldn’t explain it any better than that.

  Snowden stopped under a colorful awning and pretended to light a cigarette he didn’t want. He didn’t smoke and only used cigarettes as a prop, when needed. Pretending to be interested at what was on display, he looked in the store window at a variety of hiking boots on pedestals. He winced at the discreet price tags, which barely showed. He was in midpuff on the cigarette when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He dropped the cigarette, crushed it out with his s
hoe, then picked it up and put it in one of the pockets of his cargo pants. “Snowden,” he said by way of greeting.

  The voice on the other end of the phone sounded breathless and hushed at the same time. “The Forresters are leaving in the same car. I can’t follow them, as I’m wedged in here. I updated Kelly, and she’s two cars behind them. I took the liberty of alerting Duke to get in front. We have it covered. What do you want me to do?” Sasha Quantrell asked.

  “I’m headed your way. Stay put till I get there, which should be in about eight minutes. This might be my only chance to get into their condo. I want you with me.”

  Snowden set off at a jog and appeared at Sasha’s car in seven minutes. “Let’s go. We’ll go in through the garage and take the service elevator up to the ninth floor, where the Forresters live. I checked the ownership records at town hall last night, and this building seems to be made up of seniors, which, to me, means it’s pretty much a mind-your-own-business kind of establishment, no little kids permitted. A high-end establishment, mainly for senior citizens. There are, however, about a dozen middle-aged investment-banker types who live here, but they work during the day. Just act like you belong or are visiting friends or family.”

  Sasha laughed. She’d done this type of thing so many times, she’d lost count. Still, she nodded. After all, Avery Snowden was her boss and signed her paychecks. If he wanted to share totally unnecessary reminders about how to do her job, who was she to object?

  “So if anyone asks questions, who are we today? FBI, Homeland Security, ATF, or DEA?”

  “We’ll just wing it. Okay, showtime,” Snowden said as the elevator doors opened. Snowden took a moment to look at the arrows that indicated which way to go. “Apartment 909 is to the left. We knock as per usual, just in case,” Snowden said, his lock-picking kit in his hand. “Eyes everywhere, Sasha.” She nodded as Snowden pressed the doorbell and was rewarded with a pleasant chime. He waited a few seconds, then pressed the button again. When nothing happened after that, he selected the tool he wanted and was about to insert it in the lock when the door suddenly opened to reveal a woman wearing a bandanna on her head and an apron. She had a feather duster in her hand.

  The woman looked puzzled, like she’d never opened the door to guests before. “Can I help you?”

  Snowden reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded leather wallet. He flipped it open to reveal an FBI shield, compliments of Jackson Sparrow. “I’m Special Agent Jonathan Ryan, and this is Special Agent Martha Blake.” Martha Blake, aka Sasha Quantrell, held up her own badge. “We’d like to talk to you. May we come in?” Snowden’s tone clearly said he would not take no for an answer.

  The maid or housekeeper, her hand over her heart, stepped aside, her eyes full of fear. “Mr. and Mrs. Forrester are not at home. I have a green card,” she blurted fearfully.

  “I know that. We’re not here for you, but we do want to talk to you. When will the Forresters be home?”

  “They say . . . not till late. They tell me to lock up when I leave. I have a key.”

  “Do you know where they went?” Snowden asked.

  “They did not tell me, but I heard Mr. Forrester say to his wife they had to go to where he used to work in the city. I did not hear anything else.”

  Snowden nodded to himself. That makes sense, he thought, since Nikki and Maggie did pay a visit to the firm earlier today.

  “We have a warrant,” Snowden said, waving a paper under the woman’s nose. She jerked back, but didn’t bother to read what was on the paper. “What that means is my partner, Special Agent Blake, is going to search the premises while you and I talk. I mean you no harm, so please do not be afraid. You have done absolutely nothing wrong. I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you know the answers, I want you to tell me the truth. If you lie to me, I will have to ask the proper authorities to take another look at that green card you have. Do you understand what I just said?”

  “I do. Do you want to go to the living room or the kitchen to talk? I can make coffee for you or give you cold fruit juice.”

  “The kitchen will be fine. Tell me everything you know about the Forresters. How long have you worked for them?”

  “I used to work for them before they moved. Maybe for ten years, once or twice a week. They sold the house and moved here, but they said they didn’t need me any longer. I found other work. Then eight months ago, Mrs. Forrester called and asked if I would come to work one day a week. She said she would pay my travel expenses. I said yes. The work is easy. There are no children or pets, not like before.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Forrester are retired?”

  “Yes. But on the days he does not play golf, Mr. Forrester works in his office here. Many, many papers, but he will not let me clean his office. It is . . . how you say . . . a pigsty. Yes, pigsty. They . . . they are different now from before, when I worked for them. Not mean, but not nice. They do not talk. They fight and argue over money all the time. Last week, I heard Mrs. Forrester say that she no give him her money. Her money is for her children and the children she helps with her charity. They closed the door so I would not hear, but I could still hear. Did they do something wrong?”

  “We can’t talk about that. And your name is?”

  “Elena Mendez. Am I in trouble because they pay me cash?”

  “It’s a problem, but I’ll take care of it if you cooperate,” Snowden said smoothly.

  “I will do what you say,” Elena said fervently. “I do not want trouble for me and my family.”

  “I know that, and we’re here to help you. Now, this is what I want you to do. I want you to call either Mr. or Mrs. Forrester and tell them there is an emergency in your family, and you won’t be returning to work. Tell them you will leave the key on the counter. You said you have a key of your own, right?” Elena nodded. “Then thank them for being so good to you.” Elena grimaced. Snowden grinned. “Okay, you can leave that part out. From that point on, I don’t want you to have any further contact with them. If they call, do not answer the phone. Is that understood?”

  “Yes. Yes. I understand. I understand that through no fault of my own, I am losing a job I depend on. It is not fair. I did nothing wrong.” Tears welled in Elena’s eyes.

  Snowden felt lower than a snake’s belly at Elena’s words. “We at the Bureau are not that heartless, Elena. We understand, and we are going to make it right for you. If you do everything we say and do not speak of this to anyone, and you will have to sign off on that, then we’re prepared to help you.”

  “How will you help me?” Fat tears rolled down Elena’s cheeks.

  Snowden pulled off his rucksack and rummaged around until he found what he wanted, a thick envelope full of cash. “There is five thousand dollars in this envelope, a tidy sum to hold you over until you can find additional work. Will that work for you?”

  The tears were gone, and the woman’s smile was brighter than the sun outdoors. “Yes, that will work for me. What do you want me to sign?”

  A good question, Snowden thought. He fished around inside the rucksack again and came up with a paper that he didn’t have time to read, something to do with his last car maintenance. “Just sign on the bottom, and we’re good to go.” He watched as Elena signed her name carefully and handed the paper over. Snowden folded it in two and slipped it back into his rucksack. “Make the call now.”

  “I will call Mrs. Forrester. Her number is here by the house phone. Mr. Forrester might not answer the phone.” As it turned out, Mrs. Forrester didn’t answer her phone, either, so Elena left a clear, concise message, ending by saying, “I will leave the key on the kitchen counter under the phone. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work for you.” She made a funny little face at Snowden, who just smiled. “Is there anything else?” she asked after hanging up.

  “Not unless you think there is something I should know?”

  Elena shook her head. “They are different people, it seems to me, from when I worked for them before. Mr. Fo
rrester is a cold, heartless man. He only cares about himself, and all he talks about is money. But I only see him a bit one day a week, so I am sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

  “Do his children and grandchildren ever come here? Or do they go to visit them?”

  Elena shook her head. “I don’t know. They have never been here when I’m here. I don’t know if they visit the children. Once I heard Mrs. Forrester talking to one of her daughters about a Sunday dinner. Oh, every six weeks or so, they drive to Hilton Head, South Carolina, and stay for ten days. They call to tell me they don’t need me during that time. They own a house there. Mrs. Forrester doesn’t much like going there, but Mr. Forrester likes the golf course. Should I leave now?”

  “Yes. Remember everything I said, Elena.”

  “I will not forget.”

  “Give me your cell phone number and your home address in case I need to get in touch with you. Here is my card. If the Forresters harass you or do anything, I want you to call me right away. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, it is clear. They do not know where I live. They never cared enough to ask me, and I never volunteered the information. I will not answer the phone. Thank you for the money. It will be a big help to me and my family. I will not tell anyone about my fairy godfather,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  Sasha appeared in the doorway. “I checked everything.” Snowden nodded as he escorted Elena to the door. They said good-bye; then he closed and locked the door.

  “I planted four listening devices,” Sasha continued. “I copied everything on Mr. Forrester’s computer. I took pictures of the paperwork on his desk. Do you want a bug on this kitchen phone?” Snowden nodded as he eyed the key on the counter. “Did you happen to notice any candles around here?”