“But I can still say you didn’t deny having breakfast with her.”
“Are you in the habit of having meals with people you don’t know and have never met? I’m not.”
“So that’s a denial of having breakfast with her?”
“Asked and answered. Unless you have a different question, I’ll go back to my work now.”
She had no sooner hung up than Mercedes buzzed to say that Nadia Langhorn was on the phone. Tam sighed and took the call.
“Ted’s got the flu,” Nadia said. “Since we were all together last night I thought I’d check on you. Thank goodness it’s the flu and not food poisoning.”
“Ouch—that’s a little cold, and from his wife, no less.”
She laughed. “Just being pragmatic. Can you imagine, all those clients sick from the food?”
“Okay, I grant you that. If Ted must be sick, I’m glad it’s the flu and not food poisoning too. I’m fine. Haven’t heard of anyone else with it, either.”
“That’s a relief then. Do you have time for dinner with me tonight? He’s such a bear when he’s sick and I could use a quiet meal. You don’t chatter. I’ve always liked that about you.”
“You make it sound tempting,” Tam said, recalling her after-work hope to meet with Kip. Even though Nadia could be wicked and fun, Kip was her first priority. Just business, she hastily added to herself. “I’ve got way too much work. A dinner meeting is tentatively scheduled on a new case. I couldn’t.”
“Fine. Be that way,” Nadia said without rancor. “If you end up at a loose end, take pity on me.”
Tam sat for a moment, hand still on the phone. Right, just business to put a chance meeting with Kip ahead of a welcome diversion with a friend.
Quelling the sudden butterflies in her stomach, she called Hank back. She was so lucky in her colleagues. Hank was as devoted to the company as she was. The New York office was huge and growing every year, but the knack for managing and motivating people that she’d admired in him when they’d both worked for the FBI kept the chaos organized. He was far more subtle than most people expected. Like with Diane, it was a successful collaboration.
She must have sounded odd to him, because the first thing he said was, “Who already put salt in your milk? That’s my job today.”
She quickly explained about the gossip reporter.
“I know the Cantu woman—well, of her,” Hank said. “She was at the fundraiser we co-sponsored for the New York Public Library. We were introduced but I quickly knew I was not of consequence to her. You’ve been linked romantically?”
“Never met her.”
“I know. It’s just strange. And I doubt it’s a coincidence. Here the Journal isn’t jumping on rumors of client losses and staff leaving yet, but the scandal rags can’t wait to blog up you and a model.”
“I know it has to be connected. I just don’t know how. Anyway, why am I on your list this morning?”
“I’ve got a letter from our contact at Big Blue. The New York office is canceling our contract.”
“Big Blue?” Her fingertips went numb. “Some of the biggest corporate butt we’ve ever pulled out of the fire?”
“That Big Blue. I’ve worked with Avery Jessup for so long that I’ve talked him into dinner tonight. I want answers—this makes no sense to me. Nobody else will give me the time of day. It’s like SFI suddenly has bad breath.”
“Diane says the other offices are having cancellations too. We think there’s a rumor about us circulating.”
“What does Ted think?”
“Good question. I think if he’d heard something he would have said something, though. He’s got the flu. I’ll ask him, though.” She could ask Nadia to relay the question, but that would mean Nadia knowing more than she should about company business.
“Well, I think it’s a rumor. A rumor bad enough for someone like Avery to pull the plug on us without talking first. He’s a pretty straight-and-narrow guy, conservative. I’m shocked he wouldn’t at least call me first, ask a few questions.”
She ought to tell him about the embezzlement—just like she ought to have told Diane. But she would wait until she got the report from Kip tonight before doing so.
“I appreciate what you’re doing, Hank.”
“Hey, don’t thank me yet. Besides, your ass is my ass. Okay, plus fifty pounds.”
Tam didn’t know how she could laugh, but picturing Hank’s broad-shouldered ex-football physique compared to her too-tall, too-thin frame struck her funny bone. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
“Always have been, boss. I’ll call you later.”
* * *
Kip sat up with a gasp. A page of Buck’s reports was stuck to her cheek. She’d fallen asleep at the table. She could have sworn she heard her bones creak as she peeled the paper off her face.
The days of all-nighters and bouncing to a class to ace a test were behind her, obviously. She felt a hundred years old as she loaded the stacks of printouts into her satchel.
She had no idea what she was going to do about Tamara Sterling. About anything.
Not the least bit refreshed by a hot shower and a triple-shot mocha, she arrived at her desk to find a note from Emilio asking her to spend an hour with a colleague tracing a transaction through a series of banks and accounting codes. The projected hour became three. By the time she felt as if she’d found her feet for the day it was pushing noon and her stomach wanted lunch. She told it to shut up.
How was she going to make any kind of report to Tamara if she believed Tamara was a viable suspect? She had to deliver on promises to her client, but in doing so she could be telling key investigation points to a suspect. Or believed that Tamara had secrets of her own, and somehow Kip was part of keeping those secrets intact? She had never been in this position before. People higher up than her usually dealt with the rocks and hard places.
She threw herself into more exhibit checking and labeling. Following the same procedures, over and over, might clear her mind. But no matter how many case files she looked at and numbers she printed, she couldn’t forget for more than a minute that Tamara Sterling was expecting to hear from her by the end of the day.
As the workday ticked toward its end, she knew she had to contact Tamara. If Tamara was guilty, she’d find her failure to get in touch suspicious. If she wasn’t, she’d find it incompetent.
At five minutes to five she called the private voice mail number written on Tamara’s business card. She hoped she sounded brisk, and not freaked out, as she left her cryptic message. “I would like to get together and share details. This evening, if you’re free. You have my number.” She hoped any colleague nearby would presume it was a date of some kind.
There was no immediate return call, so at six thirty she packed up her things and headed for home. What she was going to do there she hadn’t a clue. Her empty stomach wanted a big, fat slice of pizza with two inches of gooey cheese and pounds of pepperoni, but her brain sent back queasy signals at the mere thought. She’d open a can of soup at home.
She had just unlocked her front door when her cell phone rang.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner,” Tamara said in her ear.
“Not at all. I haven’t had a chance to start it,” she responded. “It can wait, depending on your schedule. I think it would be better to meet in person.” It was the truth, even if she did experience a swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was just nerves, she told herself.
“I have a thought, if you’ll take pity on me,” Tamara said. “I haven’t had lunch or supper, and dinner last night was those dreadful hors d’oeuvres that would be dinner if you had fifty of them. If I don’t eat I won’t be able to listen to a word you say. If you’ll let me order us dinner—”
Kip cut her off, surprised to be laughing and horrified to be pleased. “Dinner I don’t have to make sounds too good to be true. Where should I meet you?”
“I have a sailboat docked at Gas Works Yacht Club. J
ust give your name to the attendant who’ll tell you where to park.”
Kip was momentarily delighted…to be on a boat, even one docked, was a thrill. Her delight was short-lived. Down girl, she told herself. You are meeting a client. Your boss’s boss’s boss. A suspect. Someone who might not be who she says she is.
She sedately agreed to be there in a half hour. A handful of almonds quelled her stomach, though every time she thought of asking Tamara “So who are you really?” she felt nauseous.
The weather had remained clear and sunny throughout the day, but the temperature had plummeted as the sun had set. She changed into long underwear under jeans, thick socks and deck shoes, and a tightly knit shepherd’s sweater. Traffic on the George Washington Bridge was light so she arrived on the north side of Lake Union a little early. She scooted into Il Pattiserie for a couple of slices of their Triple Sin cake. She hoped Tamara liked chocolate. If she didn’t, then that was another tick mark in the “bad guy” column for her.
She was shimmying out of the tight parking space before the irony of repeating “This is not a date” to herself and at the same time singing along with a silly love song on the radio hit home. You are making a report to her and investigating her at the same time. Don’t forget, she scolded herself. This was a business dinner and a chance for her to further the investigation. Whether the client/suspect liked chocolate was irrelevant. Tamara was not good-looking, her touch had not thrown Kip into a panic, and for all Kip knew she already had somebody in her life, like Diane Morales, in defiance of company policy. She could be a fraud, a cheat and a liar.
There, she thought, that was better. Cheat and liar.
With a firm grip on her nerves she turned into the marina parking lot and was directed to Tamara’s berth. There was no sign of Tamara as she walked down the floating pier toward the lithe sailboat. The graceful vessel—20-24 footer she guessed—gleamed with white paint, teak decking and sails wrapped in dark green. The polished brass of the porthole frames glinted like pure gold in the last of the autumn sunlight. The Emerald Petral was lovely.
Cheat and liar… The refrain was getting weaker.
“Ahoy, captain,” she called.
There was a muffled reply and then Tamara came up from below deck. A worn University of Washington sweatshirt and jeans accented her angular hips and shoulders. “I was just setting up the table downstairs, but the wind has died. Can you manage sitting up here if I switch on the deck heater?”
“I can handle it if it gets chilly, but the night air is perfect right now.” She let the Il Patisserie box dangle into her view. “Dessert,” she said.
Tamara smiled at her with a relaxed blink. “I hope there’s some chocolate in that bag.”
Kip’s heart went thump-thump-thump, stupid heart, no brains at all, unreliable, foolish thing. Her voice sounded unnaturally high as she said, “Absolutely.”
“Good,” Tamara said as she disappeared down the hatch. “The harbor restaurant only had coconut-lemon something. I’m sure it’s quite good, but it’s not chocolate.”
Kip set down what she was carrying. She attributed the slight sense of vertigo she felt to the mild drift of the boat against its moorings. Cheat and liar… Nope, that wasn’t working at all now. She felt a flutter of panic as she called down, “Can I help?”
Tamara handed up a picnic hamper emblazoned with the port’s coat of arms. “Would you like wine?”
“I really don’t drink,” Kip said. She’d never acquired a taste for it, and her father’s problems had only made her more of a teetotaler.
“I should drink less than I do. Can I interest you in some hot cranberry juice?”
Kip wrinkled her nose. “That sounds a little weird, but I’m willing.”
Tamara looked over her shoulder from the steps. “Trust me.” She disappeared into the galley.
I do trust her. Kip froze as the unbidden thought sank in. She knew she had to fight it. She knew she shouldn’t trust anyone she was investigating. She knew better.
Feeling on autopilot, Kip set out the dinner—it looked like chilled salmon filets in a light orange sauce. When she sniffed the contents of a bowl of linguini salad her stomach did a little dance. Seed rolls and butter were at the bottom of the box, but after she lifted them out she found a tray of antipasto. Mortadella, salami, tapenade… Mmm.
She heard Tamara emerge onto the deck. “This all smells delicious.” She warily accepted the steaming mug and cautiously sipped. Her eyes widened.
“Like it?” Tamara was warming her hands around her own mug. “I find it very refreshing and it chases away colds.”
Kip nodded and sipped the hot cranberry juice again. It was like a tart, sweet tea. “It is refreshing. And unusual. Thanks.”
Tamara pressed the deck heater’s ignition lighter and a soft glow suffused the table, followed by a wave of heat. “I hope the food is up to their usual high standards. I just told them to double the fresh catch order.”
She does this often, then. Kip felt a wave of disappointment, then mentally booted herself. This is not a date, you dope! “I was just hoping you wouldn’t think I was a pig if I helped you devour every ounce.”
“I am hoping you’ll be as devoted to enjoying the dinner as you are to your work.” Tam’s tone matched the twinkle of good humor in her eyes.
Kip was glad the low light hid her blush. Stop flirting, she told herself and she turned her attention to the meal.
They made short work of the food while they bantered back and forth about sailing experiences and favorite meals. The salmon was obviously freshly caught and Kip’s tongue wanted to melt from the exquisite parmesan garlic sauce on the linguini salad. It had real Greek olives stirred into it. She’d forgotten how good they were. Her daily cuisine was boring, she realized. Boring because she didn’t spend any time planning it. She made a mental note to put more energy into her menus in the future, then glumly erased it. Sure, she told herself. You’ll have time for that just after this case is over, and then you’ll get another case and you’ll be right back to eating out of boxes and buckets.
Tamara restacked the dishes and bowls in the hamper and Kip handed her one of the takeaway containers of Triple Sin cake.
“We really shouldn’t,” Tamara said. She peered at Kip’s slice. “How come I get the smaller piece?”
Kip grinned—who knew that Tamara Sterling could pout? “Big baby. Here.” She lifted the chocolate curl from her slice and put it on Tamara’s. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” Tam’s smile was open and for just a moment Kip saw a woman who could relax at the beach or set out for a day’s sailing just because the lake was beautiful. “You’ve been very kind. I was starving and in a lousy mood. This has been very relaxing.”
Kip tried to strike a light note. “It’s all part of the service.”
“No, it’s not.” Tamara looked at her seriously for a moment, then stared down at the cake. “I’m sure… You must have other places you’d rather be. People you’d rather be with. I appreciate your giving your time to me.”
Kip didn’t know what to say. She could hardly tell her boss’s boss’s boss she hadn’t dated anyone in months and months, nor would it sound right to say she lived for her work. “You’re welcome,” seemed the only correct answer.
They were silent for a few minutes, savoring the cake. Finally, all the chocolate licked from her fork, Kip reluctantly reached for her paperwork.
Tamara sighed and got up to bring a deck lantern closer to the table, adding to the soft glow from the deck heater. “I suppose we should get down to business.”
Kip passed her a single sheet of paper. “These are officially the affected accounts and the amounts missing as of Monday.”
She went very still. “Six million nine. How?”
“It’s all being done in concurrence with pre-authorized transfers and the next one is Friday. We need to move fast because—”
“Because a lot of thieves leave town when they hit a major mile
stone. The perp could be aiming for seven million—but it could also be ten million.”
Kip nodded. “Our thief started small only two months ago, just after our last quarterly audit. In the last four weeks, the amounts have been larger. If I were them, I’d be alert for investigation and ready to leave at a moment’s notice. And I’d have already picked a day to leave anyway, whether it appeared anyone suspected me or not.”
“So how are the transfer orders being sent?” Despite the lantern’s glow, she couldn’t really see Tamara’s eyes, but the tone was overly nonchalant.
Kip had had a lot of experience making cogent presentations. She took a calming breath, hoping it would save her now. “As you know, a number of our largest clients pay their retainers on a quarterly basis. The financial firms in particular pay by pre-arranged wire. The wires come into several sweep accounts. Four times a month there are transfers out of those accounts. Most of the balances are transferred to payroll accounts for the California, New York and Illinois payroll systems. A variety of other payments are made to the overhead accounts at the various offices for premises expenses like rent. Our malpractice insurance premium gets paid that way as well.” Tamara probably knew this, but the background was important.
Kip absently scratched behind one ear. “Our thief apparently knows all of these details. He or she simply adds another destination account on to the instructions to transfer money to an account we don’t control.”
Tamara had been leaning back in her chair, but now she sat forward, bringing her face into the light. “That’s pretty sophisticated computer work. Not many people could do it.”
“I know.” Kip desperately tried to appear nonchalant, as if she didn’t have a reasonable investigator’s suspicion that the woman across the table from her could be the mastermind. “It’s easy to cover up if you can doctor the bank statements. It’s equally easy for me to discover it. But there’s no paper trail other than the statements.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I at first. But I can only come up with one explanation,” Kip said. “If this was being done the usual way, which is falsified paperwork, the paperwork we sent to the bank, with the extra instructions, would be in our files. But our paperwork is fine.”
Above Temptation Page 9
