by Casey Dawes
“We’ll figure it out.” He put his hand on hers. Probably not the best time to try to explain Chris’s probable point of view.
She grabbed the papers from his hand and riffled through them. “It says here I need to put her on a plane to Seattle by herself if he pays for the ticket and an attendant. She’s barely five years old! How can this judge do that?”
“What will your lawyer do?”
“She warned me something like this might happen. Unless I can get him out of her life permanently, he has every right to see her. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Maybe it will be all right. Kids travel alone all the time.”
“Not Kelly Anne.” She shook her head with exasperation. “You know her. She hates new things.”
“Isn’t she getting better at that? When we were at the Halloween party, she seemed to be navigating by herself just fine.”
“She knew people there.”
“Not everyone. And she’s taken to school and even me fairly rapidly. Maybe she’s adjusting to the need to be on her own now and then, becoming more secure.”
“That’s only because this is a small place. Seattle is big, confusing, and noisy.”
He had to give her that. There had to be a way to ease the transition for the little girl. He lowered himself to the couch next to Findlay but didn’t say anything else, just took her hand. They sat in silence together until an idea filtered its way into his brain.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said. “In fact, you probably shouldn’t. We can fly Kelly Anne there together. That way, I’ll get to meet the man and may be able to come up with some compromise. You know, as an outside party.” Although, he wasn’t sure how another father would take his interference.
“I don’t have the money.”
“I do.”
She glared at him. “I don’t want your handouts.”
“It’s not a handout. Sheesh, woman, lighten up.” He took her hand back. “Look at me.”
He would have sworn he heard her neck crack, but she looked at him.
“I care about you. A great deal. We’ll get through this.” The statement was becoming worn, but it was the best he could do. “It’s not a hardship for me to pay for the flights. Let me help.”
She looked at him for a few moments before she nodded.
“Good.” He pulled her to standing, the letter drifting again to the floor. Gathering her up for a hug, he whispered in her ear, “It will be okay. I promise.”
He prayed he could make the promise come true.
“Mrs. Callahan?” Reese asked, stepping inside the kitchen. “I need to take Findlay to dinner. She’s had a bad day.”
“Why does Mommy have a bad day?” Kelly Anne hopped off her chair and looked up at him, eyes the color of Findlay’s studying him from under long lashes. “Can I kiss it and make it better?”
“I don’t think so.” He chuckled.
“Can you kiss it and make it better?” she asked.
He crouched down to her level. “I’ll see what I can do to make things good again.”
“Okay.” She climbed back on her chair, took another huge bite from her cookie, and held it out to him. “Wan some?” Crumbs dribbled from her mouth.
“Kelly Anne!” Her grandmother’s voice was sharp but held an undercurrent of love. “We don’t talk with our mouths full.”
“Sorry, Grandma.” A few more crumbs dribbled.
Mrs. Callahan shrugged and grinned at Reese.
He smiled back. Findlay’s mother had always made him feel at ease. Her homey kitchen had been a refuge from his mother’s fussiness.
“So, can you handle this little imp while I take care of her mother?” he asked.
“I’m sure it will take some doing, but I’ll wrestle her to the ground.” Her laugh was easy and short. She moved toward him and whispered, “What’s going on? She going to be okay?”
Not his business to share.
“Just stuff. I’ll let her tell you herself.”
Mrs. Callahan gazed sharply at him then nodded. “Take care of her, Reese. She needs you—even if she hasn’t figured that out yet.” She turned back to her granddaughter. “So what do you say—raviolis tonight? I got them from the store today especially for you.”
“Yes! Yes! Can I play my games before dinner?”
“Go wash your face, first, young lady.”
“Okay!” Shoving the last shred of cookie into her mouth, Kelly Anne pushed through his legs and dashed down the short hall toward her room.
“Now, go on,” Mrs. Callahan said. “Go take care of Findlay.”
He nodded and returned to the living room.
Findlay was back on the couch. She’d picked up the letter and was unfolding and refolding it.
“Get changed into something fresh, something pretty. Make yourself up. I’m taking you on the town.”
No response.
“C’mon, hon. I bet you haven’t been to Rumour since you’ve been back. It’s new. Where the Elbow Room used to be. Why don’t you . . . uh . . . freshen up and we can head out there. Maybe stop at Book Exchange first. You always used to like that.”
“Okay.” Her voice was in the dead zone, and she stared out at the lights in the darkening Missoula sky before robotically getting up and heading down the hallway.
He found a parking place close to the bookstore, and they wandered into its bright lights and crammed bookshelves. She broke off toward genre fiction while he went in the opposite direction, toward travel, nature essays, and, heaven forbid, politics.
After some browsing, he went to search for her. She was staring at two books in her hands.
“Didn’t know you were a suspense junkie,” he said.
“Yeah. I want the next book in this series. I’ve got it on order at the library, but these are both used copies.”
“A bargain.” He plucked them from her hands and added it to his purchase of Truman, a thick tome that ought to aid with the sleepless nights he’d been having.
The ones haunted by dreams of Findlay in danger, and the ones of her naked in his arms.
He wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Thanks,” she said with a tentative smile.
“Anytime. Remember when we used to spend hours in here, then have a cup of coffee with whatever treasure we’d bought?”
“Yeah. I was a cheap date.”
“You were a great date.” He put his arm around her and gave her a quick hug, intending to let her go but hanging on for a few seconds, enjoying the warmth of her body next to his. Nobody felt like Findlay in his arms.
Once he paid for the books, he handed them to her, took her hand, and walked her to the car.
“Who’s your favorite suspense author?” he asked once they were seated in the restaurant. Flat screens televised sports on two walls, while logs burned in the fireplace near their table.
“Catherine Coulter,” she said. “I like a little bit of romance with my mayhem.”
He grinned. “But that’s not what you got.”
“Nope. When I’m feeling really down, C.J. Box is my go-to man. The bigger the body count, the better.”
“You are a bloodthirsty woman.”
“Yep. Got to watch out for people like me.”
It was good to see her playful side emerge. Now, if he could keep the conversation light, leaving out anything to do with Chris and Seattle, she’d perk up and be ready to face things.
Why was Findlay counting on her fingers?
She looked up and grinned.
“WWNDD.” She tapped the letters out. “What would Nancy Drew do?”
It was better than moping, but did it verge a little too much on the hysterical?
“Okay,” he said.
“These books reminded me. Before I loved suspense, I read mystery. Tons of Nancy Drew. Sherlock Holmes. Cozies—although I got tired of those real fast.”
“Cozies?”
“Miss Marple style. I read Agatha Christie, too—gi
rl sleuth who runs a bed and breakfast, owns a quilt shop, that kind of thing. Nancy Drew for grownups.”
“And?” Their meal would be finished by the time she got to the point.
“Don’t you see?”
“No.”
The waitress slid their plates in front of them, checked that they had everything they needed, and left.
He took a slice of steak, plopped it in his mouth, and chewed.
Findlay twirled her pasta for a few moments then plunked her fork down.
“It’s like this. We’ve been going about this all wrong. I’ve been taking it personally. I can’t see what’s really going on because I’m too wrapped up in it. You, too.” She pointed her fork at him. “’Cause of your father.”
“Okay. I’ll buy that. But I don’t see how we change that. We are emotionally involved.”
“We don’t have to be.” She finally ate a bite of the meal.
“How is it?”
“What?”
“The pasta.”
“Oh. Good. Thanks.” She put down her fork again and leaned forward. “See, I have to pretend I’m a detective, and I’m solving this case for someone else. I have to write down all my notes. You know, like on a whiteboard.”
A memory came back. Findlay pressed forward, trying to explain a math concept that didn’t make any sense to him. She’d had that same determined expression.
Guess she hadn’t changed that much. He smiled.
“We could do it at work,” he said. “Plenty of whiteboards.”
“No. Someone might see us.”
She had a point. Another stab of steak.
“I’m going to work on it tonight. After I get Kelly Anne to bed. I’ll have to use a legal pad or something. Oh!” Her fork clattered down again. “I forgot to tell you. I found Deborah.”
“What?”
“I had to do something. I must have gone around the carousel about ten times. At first I thought I was going to be doing it for the rest of the day, but something snapped, and I realized I was wasting time. There was an internet cafe nearby, and I had my laptop. It took me two hours, but I found her.” Her smile was briefly triumphant. “Unfortunately, she’s dead.”
Great. A dead bookkeeper was of no help at all.
“But don’t you see?” she asked.
“Of course I do. Dead, pardon the pun, end.”
“No.” She laughed out loud this time. “I did it. I’m a good analyst at work, and I’m a good analyst out of work.” She frowned.
Yep. She was a little out of control.
“There was something,” she said. “I had a nagging feeling that I was looking at a clue, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I was missing a detail that would tell me something important.”
“Where was she when she died?” he asked, driving his fork into his mashed potatoes.
“Arizona.”
“Where my mom said she went.”
“Yeah. They said she was a bookkeeper at a high tech-firm in the Tucson area.”
“How did she die?” he asked. “She couldn’t have been very old.”
“No. In her early thirties.” Findlay scratched her temple with her index finger as she forked another mouthful of pasta. Slowly, she chewed it, then absently got some more, her eyebrows furrowed, her gaze out of focus.
He drank a sip of wine. Decent vintage. He’d heard Rumour had a good wine list even though they poured it from a tap, and it looked like the rumors were right.
“How did she die?” he asked again when Findlay paused in her eating.
“Car accident. The car she was driving hit a tree.”
“That’s too bad.” On more levels than one. She might have been the one with answers, even if it wasn’t possible that she was the one sabotaging the programs today.
“Like I said, I need to map this out. I also need to get back into the current programs to be able to figure out how they did what they did.” She picked up her fork.
“I thought you already looked at them.”
“I did. But I was angry and scared.” She stabbed a piece of chicken. “I’m still scared. And now I’m on probation.” Her face crumpled, like the strength of will she’d been using to keep herself together was only baling wire and bubble gum.
A hiss and crack from the fire made her drop her fork with a clatter.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No problem.”
She looked up at him, the mask not entirely back in place. She bit her lip.
He wanted to kiss it to smooth it out.
She picked up the fork and laid it to the side. “I think I’m finished.”
He looked down at his plate. Only a few pieces left, but he didn’t want them.
“Okay.”
Once the bill was taken care of, he helped her into her coat and they left. A blast of winter cold swept through the alley as they exited the front door.
She shivered, and he put his arm around her as they walked to the car in the parking lot across the way. A neighboring building blocked the arctic air.
“I’m okay,” she said, trying to dislodge his arm.
“I like it.” He pulled her closer.
She settled.
Near the car, he clicked the remote, and the familiar beep-beep sounded.
He spun her toward him.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he said before lowering his lips.
For a brief second he wasn’t sure she was going to respond. Then it was as if a switch were flipped.
She moved closer, their thick winter coats the only impediment.
Damn, he hated the season.
Unless they were snuggled, warm in front of his fireplace.
She pressed into him, and he wrapped around her, their kiss exploding the next layer of caution between them.
He wanted to explore her, every inch of her. Show her how beautiful she was, how much he treasured her, how good their life together could be.
Her mouth was soft beneath his, not surrendering but demanding in her own way that they fit together. He threaded his fingers through her hair, releasing the damn hat she’d pulled down over her platinum tresses. He loved the spun gold, soft as silk. He’d always imagined it caressing his chest as they . . .
He groaned, his hard urgency craving release he knew he couldn’t give it.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He snuck another kiss. “I could do this all night,” he added.
Her lips stretched into a smile, and her eyes lit up with warmth.
“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” she said, snuggling closer. “At least I’d be warm.”
“Mmm.” He could stay like this forever, like they had as teens, holding each other through every school dance.
A sliver of icy air snuck around the building.
She shivered.
“Let’s get you home. On the way we can plan out what we’re going to do, Nancy Drew.”
Chapter 16
Findlay strode into the office Monday morning.
Reese believed in her. She had a plan: Look at the new programs. Find the old ones. Search out the bad code in them. See if there were similarities or clues about who the real villain had been twelve years ago.
Chris? She’d see him in court.
A note on her desk stopped her forward momentum.
See me. Wayne.
Her confidence swirled away like dishwater down the drain.
What was this about? He’d already put her on probation. What else could he do?
Fire her.
Her fingers trembled as she hung her coat on the heavy wooden hanger she’d brought from home. She stowed her purse, the energy of the morning sliding through her nerves, making her light-headed.
“You wanted to see me?” She walked into his office.
He looked up, but his features were cold, no longer her congenial boss.
She lowered herself to the off
ice chair.
“You’ve been reassigned,” he said. “For the next quarter, you’re going to work on supply chain management systems.”
“But I don’t know anything about supply chain,” she protested.
“You’re a smart woman. You’ll learn.”
“But why? Who?”
“The powers that be.” He shrugged. “Sam told me that I had to make the swap. Emily will be taking over your work. See that she’s up to speed before you leave.”
Did Wayne know Sam was one of the owners? He had to.
“How long have you worked here?” she asked.
“Long enough. Why do you ask?”
“Do they do this kind of thing very often?”
“It’s the first time it’s come up outside of our annual review,” he said. “You know where Roger’s office is?”
“I think so.”
“Go see him.” Wayne glanced at his screen. “Hopefully, this will all blow over soon. In the meantime, your access to financial systems has been revoked.”
Crap. How could she figure out how the coding was inserted if she didn’t have access?
“Do you want me to move my office?” she asked, her spine compressing on itself.
“That won’t be necessary for now.”
The tone indicated dismissal. He no longer had her back.
She swallowed and stood, leaving the office without comment.
It was a temporary setback. She’d figure out what to do next. She was the reincarnation of Nancy Drew after all. She smiled and walked in the direction Wayne had indicated.
Roger Rosentreader was exactly as her father had portrayed him—a bit of a mad scientist with an elfin smile.
“Sorry to hear about your troubles. Seems to run in your family. But we’ll get you taken care of. Here’s what I want you to do.” He went over the program he wanted her to change, the back end to an app they were developing to speed up just-in-time manufacturing.
“Most of our market’s been in the States up to now,” he said. “But even China woke up to the fact we only have one planet and started to be environmentally conscious. So we’re getting new sales there all the time. This app is crucial for that expansion.”
She nodded without really understanding what he was saying. He seemed easygoing. Good thing. It was going to take her a while to come up to speed. If she had to be exiled, working for Roger was as good a place as any.
