by Meryl Sawyer
“No,” Ryan said, his voice pitched low. “I’m doing what’s called a ‘wipe-job,’ which means I’m using a program on my computer to wipe everything off her hard drive onto a disk so I can analyze it later.”
“Good.” She knew they didn’t want to be in the house any longer than necessary. Linda Isle was a U-shaped island with every house on the water. This type of real estate was so valuable that the homes were very close. They’d parked down the street and entered, using a key that her parents had kept hidden. They didn’t want the neighbors to see lights and report them to the police so they’d brought flashlights
“This will take about ten minutes,” Ryan said, turning to her. “Let’s look through the file cabinet.”
On the way over, she’d told him that Trent and Chad had checked the computer and files after the plane crash, but Ryan insisted on having a second look. Hayley had grown up with Trent and knew he sincerely adored their father. Trent couldn’t have had anything to do with his death. Chad was a different story. He’d charmed her, Hayley silently admitted and not for the first time.
What had she seen in him? A smart, handsome guy with a promising future in his father’s law firm. He’d been fun—at first. Then she realized how much he depended on Ritalin. She’d researched and found it was an addictive substance. Still, Chad claimed he didn’t function well without it.
Later she began to suspect he was cheating on her. Why? They’d been together less than a year. Was he tired of her already? Obviously. The experience had undermined her trust in men. In herself.
Was Chad sorry? He claimed to be, wanted to get together again, but she knew better. If he’d been tired of her within a year, how could their marriage last? Did Chad cry at her funeral? she wondered. Somehow she couldn’t imagine him with tears in his eyes.
Hayley kept asking herself why she fell for the lout. All she could come up with was she’d wanted a happy marriage like her parents had. She’d never had trouble getting dates, but she’d never been serious about anyone until Chad Bennett. Why? And why couldn’t she get over his rejection? He kept asking her out, trying to make up but her pride wouldn’t allow her to forgive him.
“You take the top drawer,” Ryan told her as he sat on the floor and trained his flashlight on the bottom drawer. “I’ll check the lower drawer. Pull anything pertaining to finances.”
“I see a file marked Chase Visa and another called Gas Company.”
“Just take the Visa. Let’s see if there’s a pattern in how they spent money.”
“The company’s charges are in the office at Surf’s Up. An auditor goes over those books.”
“We’ll focus on the personal files.”
Hayley paused. “I’ve heard that nothing on a computer is really erased. Right?”
“Uh-huh. Think of it this way. When you erase, it’s like putting the info through a shredder. Not a cheap shredder but one that turns paper into confetti. All the words are chopped up and randomly dumped in the computer’s trash bin. We have a program that uses key words and puts the documents together again.”
“Wow! That’s impressive. Is the technology available to everyone or just the FBI?”
“It’s very expensive but firms that specialize in computer security invest in the latest version. Most people don’t know about it.”
Hayley checked the top drawer and withdrew two other files. Everything else seemed to be household expenses. She glanced down to see how Ryan was doing and saw the linear red scabs on his forearms.
“Oh, my gosh,” she cried, forgetting to whisper. “Did I do that to you? I’m so sorry.”
“Shh!” Ryan jerked his sleeve down, covering the angry red slashes. He tugged her hand and she sank down beside him. His intense blue eyes gleamed in the backwash of the flashlight.
“Don’t be sorry,” he told her in a husky whisper. “The best thing to do when someone attacks you is to fight back, try to escape.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said quietly. His intensity alarmed her, but she knew he was right. After all, this was his field. Fight rather than allow anyone to kill you.
Ryan rose to his feet, several files in his hands. “Is there anywhere else that they might have kept financial records?”
“No.” She glanced round the shadowy room. “This was my mother’s office.”
“What about her personal address book?”
“She kept it in the nightstand next to her bed.”
“Let’s get it. We’ll go through the names and see if there’s anyone listed that you don’t know.”
Using just one flashlight, they went up the sweeping staircase to the second floor, where Hayley’s bedroom was located along with two small guest rooms that Farah and Trent used when they visited. The master suite faced the water and had a panoramic view of the bay.
The room seemed to be just as she’d remembered it from her childhood, except now it had a slightly musty smell from being closed up for so long. The bed, facing the water, was still made with the cream-colored silk coverlet and banks of cream and tan pillows with black satin accent pillows. The bamboo shades were down but Hayley could imagine her parents out on the balcony, gazing at the bay and chatting over morning coffee. How incredibly happy they’d been.
She tamped down the surge of sadness and walked over and opened the nightstand on her mother’s side of the bed. There was a floral notepad and matching pen but no address book.
“That’s funny,” she said. “It was here the day of the crash. I know because I had to look up Farah’s cell phone number.”
“Could it be downstairs somewhere?”
“I guess it’s possible someone moved it to the kitchen when we were calling everyone about the funeral.”
“Has anyone else been here since your parents’ deaths?”
Hayley shrugged. “Just the cleaning lady who vacuums and dusts. She wouldn’t take anything. We’re not supposed to dispose of anything until the probate is complete.”
“Let’s check the kitchen for the address book, pick up my computer, then get out of here.”
She clicked off her flashlight and followed Ryan downstairs. They looked on the granite counter and in the drawers, but there wasn’t any sign of the floral directory in the kitchen.
“That’s strange,” she whispered. “Who could—”
“Did your father have an address book?”
“Not really. Mom was in charge of social events—not that they did much. Daddy kept a Palm Pilot with his surfing buddies in it. He had it with him.”
“Wait while I grab my computer. The wipe job should be finished.”
Ryan raced upstairs and was back again a few moments later. He motioned for her to slip out the kitchen door to the narrow side yard. He followed, closing the door behind them. She returned the key to its place under the stone tail of the lion near the kitchen door.
They didn’t speak until they were back in the car and driving off the island.
“Do you have a theory about this?” she asked as they went over the small bridge that connected Linda Isle to the mainland.
He seemed to hesitate and she studied his chiseled profile. “I’m not an investigator. I’m a computer—”
“I know, but you’re a smart guy. You must have a theory.”
“Well, there are two main ways to look at crimes.” He guided the car onto Coast Highway and drove toward his father’s home. “We prepare a psychological profile by looking at the crime scene. In this case, there wasn’t enough at the scene to leave what we would call a signature.”
“Wouldn’t the type of crime—a car bombing—tell you something?”
“The Bureau’s profiler at the Behavioral Analysis Unit said it seemed to be a very personal crime. The killer wanted you obliterated. It was the sort of thing an antisocial personality would do.”
“Antisocial? Like someone who doesn’t go out much?”
“No. They often appear to be just as well-adjusted as the average guy. But someone with
an antisocial personality disorder is convinced whatever they do is justified. Society’s rules don’t mean anything to them. They’re above the law.”
“Dead wasn’t enough. I had to be erased off the face of the earth.” Just saying the words made her neck go stiff.
“So it would appear.”
“I can’t imagine anyone who would hate me that much.” She bit her lip and looked away. It was a few seconds before she asked, “What’s the second way of looking at this crime?”
Ryan sped through the loop from the highway onto the street that went out onto the peninsula. “A geographical profile. It uses an area map and pinpoints the crimes. The theory is the perp has a comfort zone and operates in a neighborhood he knows, but not too close to where he lives, otherwise people would recognize him. We use this for serial killers, bank robbers, rapists—repeat offenders. I doubt the killer will do this again. My guess?” He turned and his intense eyes met hers for a few seconds. “A pro was hired to kill you. Not that it couldn’t have been done by an ordinary person, but it seems to have been someone with a lot of nerve or experience. Quite possibly a pro.”
Hayley couldn’t imagine anyone she knew hiring a killer. Where would they go to get one? “That’s why you’re concerned about a money trail. It would have cost a lot to hire a pro. But my parents couldn’t have paid to have me killed. They were already dead.”
“Right, but there could be a clue to the problem in their finances. Maybe they owed money or owned something even more valuable than the business that we don’t know about.”
“Well, my father did have an amazing collection of surfboards. He hung some of the best, like one of The Duke’s boards, in the shop where people could appreciate them.”
“The Duke? I didn’t know John Wayne surfed.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Hayley couldn’t help laughing. “No, silly. Duke Kahanamoku, the father of modern surfing. You’ve heard of him.”
“Vaguely…I’m not sure.”
“He was a Hawaiian who won an Olympic gold metal in swimming in 1912, I think. Anyway, back then Hawaii was like a foreign country. Few people had been there. When the Hawaiian swim club told the Olympic committee they had someone for the team, they laughed themselves sick. Then Duke showed up and had the last laugh. People began to travel to Hawaii and Duke and the other beach boys gave surfing lessons.”
“How did your father get Duke’s board?”
“Duke was a lot like my father. He kept designing his own boards and trying them out. In 1917—I know because the date is on the board Dad hung in the shop—Duke caught a wave off Waikiki and rode it for a mile and a half.”
“Wow! How far out did he go to catch that wave?”
“Not far. There was a big earthquake in Japan that caused huge waves. Duke was off Castle’s, a prime surf spot. He caught the huge wave as it angled along toward the shore, that’s why he had such a long ride. Lots of people were watching. They called it ‘The Big One,’ which is where the expression started.”
“Your father bought ‘The Big One’ board?”
“No, that board is hanging in the Bishop Museum in Honolulu. My father bought another of Duke’s boards that was very similar. It was resting against a palm tree on the beach when Duke caught the big one. He carved the date in both boards.”
“Interesting. How valuable is it?”
“I don’t know. Dad bought it when I was two and the shop started to make real money. He bought lots of other boards. Some are at the warehouse where he made custom boards—the best he hung in the shop. I guess Duke’s board is worth thousands. I’m not sure about the others.”
“People collect anything and everything. I suppose there’s a market for vintage boards. I guess it’s part of the probate.”
Hayley considered this for a moment. “I’m not sure anyone brought the boards to the court’s attention. I don’t recall them on the asset list. Everyone must have forgotten about them.”
“You could have—what?—a hundred thousand in boards. I can’t see everyone forgetting about them. Not when a bunch are hanging in the shop.”
She was lost in thought the rest of the way out the long peninsula that formed one side of Newport Harbor. The cafés and tourist shops and small hotels that gave the area a beachy ambiance were scattered among cottages that rented by the week during the summer. In the winter students lived here. It was the only section of Newport Beach that was affordable. As they drove toward Peninsula Point, the cottages gave way to elegant single family homes shaded by tall palm trees that swayed in the ocean breeze.
When they arrived, the garage door slowly rolled upward and Ryan drove in, shutting the door behind them. He parked beside an older model Lexus.
She asked, “Do you think I could take a walk along the sand? At this hour no one will be around to see me.”
Ryan considered her request. “All right. I’ll come with you.”
Hayley followed Ryan through the dimly lit house out onto the open-air courtyard. In silence, they took off their shoes and she removed the baseball cap she’d been wearing. She fluffed her hair with her fingers. They left their things on the table where they’d had dinner. He unlocked the gate that opened onto a short path that ended on the sand. After Hayley passed through the gate, Ryan again locked it behind them and shoved the key in his pocket.
The balmy air was just starting to cool, a sure sign summer was almost here. The sand between her toes was still warm and the briny scent of the sea filtered through the darkness like an unseen mist.
Hayley tossed her head back and gazed up at the winking stars. “How can the world look just the same when everything has changed?”
She asked the question more of herself than him. Until she’d learned about the car bombing, her world hadn’t varied much except for her parents’ deaths. Life hadn’t been the same since that fateful day. The minute she’d heard her parents’ plane was overdue, Hayley had prayed for their safety, but had known—deep inside—that they were gone.
After their funeral, Hayley’s life had continued, but everything had changed. The disappointment she’d felt at Chad’s betrayal became devastation at the loss of her parents. She’d anticipated being sad, believing it would take months or even years to come to terms with the deaths of her parents.
This new—and totally unexpected—blow meant she was alone in the world without anyone to trust except a total stranger. She couldn’t contact Aunt Meg, who had always been like a second mother to her. She was isolated and had no idea who was determined to destroy her.
“I know how you feel,” Ryan said quietly. “After Jessica died, I never looked at the world the same way.”
“J-Jessica?” she asked, stunned by the emotion in his voice.
“My wife. Jess died of myeloma—bone marrow cancer—two years ago.”
The unmistakable anguish in his voice sent a depth charge of guilt through Hayley. She’d told Ryan a lot about herself, but she hadn’t asked him any personal questions. She’d decided he must be single because he was living alone in his father’s house. It had never occurred to her that he might be a widower who even now mourned the loss of his wife.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to murmur. “How tragic.”
Ryan gazed down at her for a moment, then said, “It is a shame. Jessica’s life held such promise, but it wasn’t to be. I’ve learned to accept what happened and treasure the time we shared. The memories.”
“Memories,” she whispered. For a moment, the rush of the surf against the sand brought with it her parents’ laughter. Happier times. Precious memories.
“I know what you’re going through,” Ryan added. “Just remember, some people will be with us always in the way we live, the way we love. Your parents, Jessica—they’re still with us. Life goes on, but memories are forever.”
Tears sprang into Hayley’s eyes. She never imagined Ryan could understand her feelings, would feel the same way, too.
Ryan walked beside her as t
hey made their way toward the Wedge. The sound of waves breaking against the beach was louder than usual due to a tropical storm off the Mexican coast that kicked up huge waves. A fine vapor of saltwater spray misted the air as frothy spume from the white-capped waves hit the shore. A silvery wafer of a moon cast otherworldly light on the creamy white sand.
Hayley didn’t know what to say. His hand curved around her upper arm—a casual gesture, she was positive, so she pretended not to notice. She walked a few more steps and spotted a couple entwined on a blanket half-naked. Ryan guided her to the right, closer to the water line and around the oblivious couple. Now the sand beneath their feet was cool and hard-packed by the retreating tide.
A nervous need to break the tense silence made her ask, “What made you join the FBI?”
His grip on her arm tightened just slightly, sending a shiver of anticipation tingling through her. “An injury kept me from playing pro football. I’d always excelled in math and was fascinated by computers. A friend from Duke was in the FBI forensic computer program. He encouraged me to apply.”
His tone was flat and she had the feeling he’d only revealed the bare details, sharing nothing of his true feelings. He was an interesting man. There seemed to be more depth to him than most of the men she’d met. In other circumstances, Hayley assured herself, they might have become romantically involved.
Wait! Don’t kid yourself. This man is still in love with a woman who died two years ago. He’s helping you because Auntie Meg has a way of manipulating people.
Ryan stopped, bringing her to a halt too, and pulling her just a little closer. Or was it her imagination? “Why did you want to know about me?”
“Just curious,” she told him as lightly as she could.
This time he drew her to him. It wasn’t her imagination. “I’ve been curious.”
They were so close that she needed to tilt her head back to see the gleam in his eyes. What was he thinking? she puzzled, suddenly short of breath. The moonlight shone in his dark hair and limned the strong line of his jaw. He was so undeniably masculine, so attractive that she couldn’t look away. His lips parted in the suggestion of a smile and she found herself staring at his mouth…wondering what it would be like if he kissed her.
