“Saul,” he stated in an impatient tone.
Saul nodded his goodbye to the guard and they made their way to the elevator. They rode the elevator for several floors before either spoke.
“So, what did you do with Ashanta?”
“What did you do with Harold?”
Neither one of them answered. Talib knew Saul’s cool exterior was a façade. He would remain focused and if that meant leaving another dead body on his trail, so be it.
“Do you know what we’re looking for?” Saul asked as the elevator doors opened. He walked over to the keypad behind the receptionist desk.
“No,” Talib said absently as he looked across the ceiling for security cameras. Saul noticed his concern.
“We have cameras, but they don’t record sound. The front desk has access to viewing the common areas only. Right this way.”
They walked through the office passing departments. Saul removed his keys unlocking the solid Oakwood door that led to the accounting bay. Once inside, the floor configuration differed from the other areas. It was narrow with a line of file cabinets embedded into the walls and several secretarial cubicles filled the open walkway.
Saul opened a door with a gold-plated nameplate that read Ashanta Kenani. Talib followed as they surveyed her office.
“I’ll check the file cabinet,” Saul said, moving to the file drawers along the wall. The office was neat, although much smaller than Saul’s. Talib walked to Ashanta’s desk.
He began checking the drawers. He would start by looking for any notes, markings, anything that would point to his money. He opened the right drawer, pushed papers around and found a little notebook. He flipped through the pages, noticing a few pages had been torn from the worn book. He looked through the drawer again. Maybe he’d find the missing papers, he thought, as he rummaged past hairpins, lipstick, ink pens, and other knick-knacks.
“Do you see anything over there?” he asked Saul.
“No, I still don’t know what we’re looking for.”
“How much did she know about our arrangement?”
Saul stopped as if contemplating his question. “Very little, unless my dad shared more with her. She was senior financial director for international accounts. She would see the financial documents, financing details, that type of information. But I have your accounts coded.”
“What about deposits?” Talib asked, searching the top of Ashanta’s desk. He sat back, thinking about what he’d do if he was her. If I wanted to hide a half million dollars where would I begin? He turned to the computer and searched her documents. He found nothing.
“Yes, but again, they were coded according to the account names.” Saul slammed the drawer closed and moved to the closet.
Sitting back in the chair, Talib began running his open hands across the top of Ashanta’s desk. His fingers brushed against several indentations. He sat up and ran his finger over the area in front of him. He reached for a pencil from a cup that sat in the far corner of the desk. He turned the pencil on its side and lightly shaded the lead over the impressions. He read the words, “Dear Cami…”
Camille?
Talib’s face hid the surprise he felt. His hands opened and closed into tight fists. He glanced up to see Saul still going through files. He sat motionless as his tried to wrap his mind around what he should do next. He knew he had to get his emotions in check. He clearly recognized the growing effect Camille had on him and he did not know why.
He refocused on his minor discovery. He tilted his head closer to the desk calendar. He shaded the areas around the words. He could make out the beginnings of a letter. His discovery was short-lived due to other indentations on the desk calendar. What did Camille know? Why would Ashanta write her a letter?
He leaned back in the chair, lightly tapping the pencil on the desk. Talib had more questions than answers. He looked behind Saul to an open closet. It appeared to be more like a personal closet than a file storage area. He could see a few things strewn about the floor. He moved to the doorway.
Saul stopped his digging and watched him for a few moments. Talib could feel the tension. Saul seemed satisfied by Talib’s entrance into the closet and returned to his search.
Talib walked into the closet and flipped on the light switch. He noticed a small shelf with toiletries. He bent over to unzip a small tote bag; inside he found running shoes and athletic wear. He figured it was Ashanta’s workout bag. She always took good care of her body, so the bag didn’t surprise him. He closed it and scanned the rest of the closet.
His eyes caught sight of a small black box hidden in the shadows of the clothes hanging from the overhead rack. He moved closer on his hands and feet in an animal-like crawl across the floor. Talib surveyed the area around the opened box. There were papers spilling over. He pressed his finger to his mouth in thought. Had Saul come in here?
He looked over his shoulder, Saul was reading a file, and he turned back to the box. Talib lifted several pieces of paper, scanning it looking for anything that could help.
“What is the name on my accounts?” Talib asked Saul while looking through the documents carelessly thrown around the box.
Saul paused and his eyes flicked about as if he was calling upon his memory. “You have several.” He put down the file in his hand and thumbed through the open drawer. He pulled out a file labeled Imperial Investors. Saul brought the file over and handed it to Talib while looking around the closet.
Talib stood and quickly flipped through the pages. He was growing frustrated with searching and coming up empty-handed. He exhaled a sigh of frustration and continued to look through the file, making note of the names and Ashanta’s handwritten notes.
He glanced towards the doorway where Saul stood casually with his hands in his pockets. Talib’s eyebrow lifted and his eyes narrowed as he looked around him again. He was inside the closet and Saul blocked the only exit. A smug expression passed over Saul’s face as if he’d read Talib’s mind.
Talib slapped the file closed and walked toward the entrance without pausing to allow Saul to move over. Saul noticed a hair too late, stumbled backward and lost his footing. He tumbled to the floor.
Talib stepped over him and walked toward Ashanta’s desk. He pivoted and watched as Saul tried to get up from the floor. One of embarrassment replaced his pompous look. Coward.
He planned to watch Saul. Talib did not want to underestimate him. Hell, he knew the cost of underestimating frenemies. It had been the downfall of many of his victims. After a brief stare down, they resumed the search. Talib sat behind Ashanta’s desk, reviewing all that he’d learned tonight. He went through her computer again, searching for any files that would associate with the handwritten notes in the file, but he came up empty. Talib slammed his fist on the desk. Saul jumped from the unexpected nose, yet said nothing.
They searched for another twenty minutes before leaving the office. He was no closer to finding his money, but he did have Camille as a small lead. Talib kept his findings to himself. He would start by talking with her tomorrow.
“Can you have the system searched for accounts Ashanta last accessed?” Talib asked as they walked back to the parking lot.
“Sure, we have to be careful though. We don’t want to spark any suspicion. I’ll assign Camille to work with you on the files, which should help make things appear normal,” Saul said.
Talib thought it was important to make his stance known. “Saul, I want my money. If we don’t find it within the week, you need to pull it from your account or things will get ugly.”
Saul’s eyes flashed with red-hot anger, yet he did not speak his mind, which solidified Talib’s thoughts about his weakness. He did not stand up for himself, which ultimately lead to his father not respecting him. He had to find a backbone.
Talib watched him retrace his steps back to his car. He jumped in and drove off. Talib shook his head at the thought of a grown man cowering before another man. He was not here to teach Saul…but he would school hi
m.
He learned as a boy that respect did not come easy. His first years as a soldier in the Imperial Dynasty were some of the hardest days of his life. He had made it through and became the youngest known leader of the infamous group. He had strengthened the group and its members. They now spanned several continents and they no longer dealt solely in illegal arms and terrorists activities. Under his leadership, they had expanded their enterprise to include highly lucrative relationships with companies such as IJDC.
He had a vested interest in finding his money and keeping his relationship with IJDC intact. However, he would only tolerate this game of hide-n-seek for a short time. He did not intend to stay in the United States longer than a week. In the meantime, he would find his money and, hopefully, pinpoint his attraction to Camille.
He did not like being drawn to Camille. He had to figure out what it was about her that made him feel this way and remember things that he’d forgotten for most of his adult life. He placed the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine hummed into submission. He reached for the gear shaft to place the car in drive when it hit him. Camille reminded him of his mother.
Talib collapsed back in the seat. His hands were positioned on the steering wheel. He held the wheel tight and squeezed to relieve some of the tension he was feeling. He could hear the black leather protesting to his grip.
He had not thought about her for years, not until he sat next to Camille at the board meeting. Her smile was genuine, although her eyes appeared guarded, and rightfully so. He’d built his life on fear. It was somewhat like his secret weapon, but he felt awkward about her fearing him.
He dropped his head, eyes shut tight, in the stillness of the night. His heart raced until it flooded his ears. The pounding only heightened his mental strain. He clenched his teeth and allowed the pent-up air filling his lungs to escape through his nose. His mind flashed to the last time he saw his mother. He felt his eyes burn.
Talib snapped the gearshift into reverse, pulling out of the parking space. He slammed on the brake. His head fell between his outreached arms. His attempts to steady his breathing were not helping. How could you hide from yourself?
Camille’s eyes flashed before him again, jolting his foot onto the gas pedal. He needed to get out of Houston, and soon.
Chapter 13
Marc stared at the clock on the nightstand. It was after eleven o’clock. His flight was scheduled to leave at eight the next morning. He thought he heard the phone ring. He opened his eyes and stilled himself, listening for the ring again. On cue, the phone next to the clock let out a ring. Marc extended his hand, patting around the table in search of the receiver. He snatched the phone up before it could invade the silence again.
He mumbled an incoherent greeting.
“Did I wake you?” Camille asked. He could hear the hesitancy in her voice, but the strain behind her voice is what caused him to sit up in bed. He used the heel of his hand to rub his eyes, forcing himself awake.
Marc sat upright with shock registering on his face. The only light in the room shone from the alarm clock and its soft red glow did very little to reveal the appearance of his face. He thought he scared her off. His honest delivery usually did that. In response, he accepted that they would talk eventually. He did not think his opportunity would present itself so soon.
“Hey, what’s up?” He swung his legs over until they hung from the bed. He waited. Rubbing his eyes, he let out a small groan.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t noticed the time. I will—.” He could hear her fidgeting with the phone. She must be worried or nervous; neither sat well with him.
“Camille, you must have wanted something. I’m up. I’m listening.”
Marc listened as Camille told him about the letter from Ashanta. He made approving sounds when needed, but he did not speak. He knew she needed time to vent and get everything off her chest.
She ended minutes later with an exasperated sigh. He waited. Her nervous giggle made him remember the physical turmoil he felt, yet her distress was more important than his yearning.
“What do you think is going on?” he finally asked.
He could see this case was going south fast. He had inquired at the Agency and had a friend looking into some of the files. He narrowed the potential groups from over a dozen to three. They were dangerous and had remained under the radar.
Marc knew if it came to the attention of the CIA that they were potentially on the hook it could affect her case. Bringing formal charges against a large mastermind would be a great accomplishment for the agency. They would not stop, not even for a second, to consider the time or commitment Camille gave to the case.
He decided to remain silent about his discoveries until he received more evidence.
Marc asked his ex-partner, Russell, to check travel records and the current political climate in several African countries. He knew tracing financial transactions would help, but not with rebel groups. They did most of their transactions underground. He did not expect to turn up much, but it was worth a try. He was confident in Russell's ability to find what he needed, if it was there to be found. Satisfied with the calls he made, Marc knew all he could do now was wait.
“Honestly…I thought one thing, but now…” Her voice faded.
He wished he knew what she was thinking. Marc did not usually spend time wondering, guessing, or hoping, but he was now—yet another sign that he was falling for this woman, and falling hard. He would be terrified…if has wasn’t fascinated by her.
Marc tossed his belongings in a travel bag. He would try to catch an earlier flight. He would have to take it upon himself to offer his assistance until she felt comfortable with his presence. He knew he had no right to claim her, to barge into her life but he found her hard to resist.
“Will you do me a favor?”
He hadn’t known her long, but as an agent, he knew how he would react if he was in her current situation. He would want to head over to Ashanta’s and check things out. However, that was the last thing he wanted her to do alone, especially with Harold’s death.
“It depends on what it is.”
He stopped and placed his hand on his hip. He had to ask her in a way that would not impose on her ability to do her job. He knew he was walking a fine line because the last time he questioned her, she blew a fuse. Unable to sugarcoat his intentions, he decided to go with honesty.
“Camille, I need you to hear me out,” he said, caution evident in his voice.
“Okay.”
He sat on the end of the bed and dropped the last of his toiletries in his bag. He wedged the phone between his jaw and his shoulder, zipping the bag close. Tossing the bag on the floor, he reached for his shoes.
“I would like for you to wait for me before you do anything else.” He waited to hear her response, half expecting a rant, but she said nothing. He took this as a green light to proceed. She would hear him out, and he appreciated it.
“I have a hunch that things are not what they seem and until you hear from Derek, and I from Russell, I would prefer to hang around a bit.”
Again, he waited. Her end of the phone was silent. He would wait until she spoke. He did not want to impose, but he could not bear the thought of leaving her exposed to an unknown, faceless person who might come in and place her in danger. Something told him they were coming for her. It wasn’t a question of whether, but when.
“Marc, I appreciate your concern, but you don’t have to do this.”
“I know. I want to.” She had not turned down his request. This relieved some of the tension gathering in his chest.
“Why?”
The tension returned. He had asked himself the same question more than once since leaving Houston. He was supposed to be on vacation, removing himself from work. Yet, here he was working on a case. However, in this case, he could walk away, except that felt humanly impossible.
How would she fare? Would she find the person responsible? Was she in danger? He knew he could not walk
away with these questions running around in his mind.
He lowered his elbows to his knees with the phone gripped close to his ear, searching his mind for the right words. He caught his reflection in the TV screen. Goodness, he even looked different! It was because of his adorable, freckled-faced chameleon. He exhaled the pent up air, giving his lungs temporary relief.
“Honestly, Camille, I’ve asked myself the same question a million times. I could say it’s because Derek asked, but that would only be partially true. You and I know it has some degree to do with the lingering feelings between us. More than anything, I do not want to see you hurt. If I can stand in the shadows and be of any help, I would be satisfied.”
Again, he waited.
“Okay.”
He was certain he had caught her by surprise. They would work out the details later.
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