“The same way that Nadia Rachel Belize, now Nadia Langhorn, is who she says she is?”
Tamara flushed with annoyance. “Nadia’s not part of this. And her childhood history is no more relevant than mine.”
She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Tamara would defend someone rumored to be her ex-lover. “How am I supposed to believe you?”
“That’s why I’m leaving. You’re not supposed to.”
“I’ll have the report in the morning. We can talk about it after that.”
“I suppose.” She pulled on her coat. “I’m not going to sit idly and wait.”
“You don’t have a choice. You want to be cleared and you want the money back. Let me try to eliminate you as a suspect and then… Then we’ll see.”
Tamara put her hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn it.
Kip reached to turn it herself and their fingertips touched. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?” Tamara pulled her hand away from their contact.
“My lack of faith.”
“I really could use it. But you have faith in the evidence, and I guess I need that too.”
Kip could hardly hear for the alarm bells in her head. She prided herself on knowing through her intellect, through study and focus. She denied her heart any reasoning powers and had learned to ignore it. But it was her heart that brought her fingertips to Tamara’s chin. “There is one thing I can give you.”
She kissed her tenderly, quietly. Tam tasted of cinnamon and Kip abandoned herself to the moment. She would think later.
Tam said her name as their lips parted, then raised her head and whispered it again. Her arms tightened as Kip inclined forward for another kiss, but her mouth said, “No.”
Kip turned her head and nestled her ear to Tam’s chest just long enough to hear her heart pound once, twice, three times. Then she let go.
Tam said something, then the door was closed and she was gone, leaving Kip with her head and heart at war.
She didn’t go after Tam. She didn’t call or text. She did what any heartsick woman of sense would do: she finished the cake, cried into a cup of tea and flicked through channels of late-night television until she fell asleep on her cold, hard sofa.
* * *
The city lights twinkled with false cheer and warmth, but the beauty of the panorama from her window failed to move Tam. She made herself study the empty expanse of black where the shoreline ended. In daylight it was Puget Sound. In the deepest part of night it was a void that existed because of what it wasn’t. Unlit, silent, like secrets. She found the darkness outside easier to contemplate because the one inside her was too intimate.
She put one hand to her lips, living the memory of Kip’s kiss, playing it over and over. Sweet and impetuous, nothing like the woman who’d walked into her office—could it be only a week ago? Her mind was playing tricks. It seemed like so much longer. That her knowledge of Kip’s warmth had been part of her for years.
This was a waste of time. She had other priorities. Just one more time, one more recollection of the way Kip’s eyes could spark with light when she was roused, then she would focus on what she could actually do something about. It was time for that whiskey and some creative intrusion into a few databases.
Halfway down the glass she found the resolve to place the bundle of light that was Kip’s smile, the smell of her, the blue eyes, the shrug of her shoulders, the curl of her ponytail, the curve of a hand lifted to accent her words—she put all of Kip into a ball and pictured locking it away. She visualized turning the key in the lock. She had done this a thousand times, and it kept negativity and distractions at bay.
She finished the whiskey with a slight burn in her throat, but she didn’t feel the alcohol. That wasn’t the point. She opened her eyes and waited for the mental clarity and peace of mind that the process always triggered.
Chapter Ten
When Kip came fully awake she realized two things simultaneously. Since she wasn’t asleep in the bedroom she hadn’t heard her alarm, which meant her day was going to get off to a rough start. The light seeping around the blinds suggested it was well after eight.
She also realized her cell phone was ringing.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone? You don’t pay me enough to hunt you down, Barrett.”
She cut off Buck’s whining. “My reports are ready? Give me the highlights.”
“SFI of the Bahamas—your girl Tamara filed the State Department waiver as the principal of the foreign corporation. Wren Cantu is listed as secretary/treasurer. Too early for tax returns of course. But I found a dozen bank accounts in Nassau with that corporate identification number.”
“Couldn’t all of this have been done by anyone with brains and WiFi?”
“Some of the declarations are notarized.”
Kip rolled her eyes. How many notary stamps had she examined in the last few years that had proven to be courtesy of Photoshop? “Did you get copies?”
“I have several of them. These are just forms. If a determined person had the basic biographic information—social security number, et cetera, it would be easy to do it without her.”
Kip’s mind was running at hyperspeed. Maybe she wasn’t falling for a thief and in the process shredding her own self-identity and sense of morality. Maybe this was a setup. Or was she just hoping that was so? See, she wailed inwardly, this is why investigators shouldn’t have attachments to their clients. Second-guessing the instincts and deductive abilities she’d trusted all her life was shattering her confidence.
“Was there anything unusual about Cantu?”
“Not really. She owes a bunch of people money—or rather, Wren Cantu Incorporated owes a lot of people money. But it’s not bad, I mean, she makes a mint, too.”
She focused on what she could control. “I’ll be at your place in forty minutes or less. Add to the report a call list for these phone numbers.” She rattled off Tam’s private line and cell phone.
“That would be illegal. Where’s the warrant? What happened to the Girl Scout? You know, trustworthy, loyal—”
“That’s the Boy Scouts, and if you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a boy.”
A lightning-fast shower was followed by a scramble into a pinstriped pantsuit, leaving her no time to dwell on her impetuous decision to kiss Tamara last night. It hadn’t felt impetuous, though. Part of her had been very deliberate about it. That fact made other parts of her anxious, and still other parts really angry.
She scraped her wet hair back into a severe ponytail, grabbed up a light jacket at the last minute and pulled up in front of Buck’s in slightly over the forty minutes she’d allotted. He pushed an envelope out through the smallest possible opening in the door. It was accompanied by the aroma of strawberry Pop Tarts. Her stomach growled.
Kip flipped through the pages at stoplights. Like most of the other evidence, a third party could have filled out and signed the original documents, but they could have also been executed by Tam herself, with Cantu’s help. Tamara had never called the Bahamas from her private line, but she had called one number there numerous times in the last twenty days from her cell phone. This puzzled Kip because Tamara knew better than anybody that cellular phones weren’t secure. She knew it was possible for a sophisticated electronics wizard to listen in or even use the phone line for their own purposes. Someone else could have placed these calls. They did conveniently begin just after Tamara’s last phone bill was posted by the carrier so Tamara would have only seen them if she’d made an extra effort to look at her usage since then.
Someone else could have set up SFI Bahamas. Tam’s sarcastic comment last night was the truth: a corporation in the Bahamas practically screamed “Look at me!” at law enforcement. That and the phone calls were a pattern of sloppiness. Tamara was so much smarter than this.
Unless…unless Tamara was behind all of it and was setting it up to make it look like someone else was doing the embezzling. Perhaps she had it in mi
nd that she would keep the embezzled money and the company by collecting insurance. What a lot of great publicity, too, a company and CEO so honest that someone went to these unbelievable lengths to discredit it. It could all be a brilliant, warped scheme.
Given that there were so many unsavory possibilities, she didn’t know how any part of her could think kissing Tamara was appropriate. Yet she had done just that, last night, because part of her had concluded a kiss was the only appropriate thing to do.
The bank accounts owned by the Bahamas corporation were listed. She would send Buck a fruit basket or something. She was willing to bet that these accounts had received at least some of the unauthorized transfers. She could confirm that by comparing the international routing codes, and that provided one more bit of information that bolstered a prima facie case against Tam. On the face of it, she looked guilty—up-to-the-elbows-and-more kind of guilty. But it was all circumstantial.
A loud honk brought her back to the now green light. Reading in traffic was stupid, she acknowledged. She quickly veered to the unoccupied curb and was startled to hear the squeal of brakes. She glanced in her rearview mirror as a dark blue sedan swerved to the curb behind her, then back into traffic, gunning its motor to speed past her.
She caught sight of the license plate long enough to recognize the U.S. Gov exempt markings.
Her heart pounding, she finished the drive to the office in a panic. It seemed as if every car was a dark blue sedan, behind her, in front of her, passing her, just turning so she couldn’t see the plate. Nobody followed her closely when she swiped her card to open the garage gate, but if she was being tailed by the Feds, they wouldn’t need to follow her into the garage. Her destination was clearly her workplace. She parked in her usual row, recognizing the few people on their way to the elevators as well. At least no one appeared to be lying in wait for her.
Her imagination was getting the best of her, she told herself. She continued to repeat that until, at street level, the elevator stopped and two men got on. Blue suits, white shirts, red ties and Florsheims. Maybe on TV the FBI agents wore designer jackets and snug body tees, but not the ones who worked in Seattle.
They’d pushed the elevator button for SFI’s main reception on the fourth floor. Don’t panic, she told herself. Federal agents weren’t infrequent visitors. After all, any one of their investigators in the building could have business with law enforcement.
They exited the elevator and went directly to the desk. A few more people exited, some entered. When the elevator’s doors started to close, Kip feigned confusion and pushed the button to open the doors again. It was long enough to hear one of the agents—in that “We’re the FBI and we don’t have to be discreet” voice they needlessly used—ask for Tamara Sterling.
Heart throbbing in her throat, she pressed the button to close the doors. It seemed to take forever to resume the upward journey.
Someone had already pushed the button for the executive offices on eight. She rode past her own floor, not sure what she was doing, aware that her palms were sweating. She had no plan, only instinct, and it felt very scarily like the same instinct that had said, in spite of every rule to the contrary, that it was safe to kiss her boss’s boss’s boss.
The executive floor receptionist waved her on when she said Mercedes Houston was expecting her.
The agents could be right behind her. Tam didn’t need her protection, but Kip’s vision was edged with a dread black. The agents would take the evidence she had in her briefcase and she wouldn’t be able to help clear Tam, which was what her stupid heart wanted her to do.
Mercedes Houston was at her desk, the picture of poised, professional courtesy. Bright, inquisitive eyes seemed to recognize her as she greeted Kip with, “How may I help you?”
“I need you to give a message to Tam. Tamara. Ms. Sterling.”
One manicured and expressive eyebrow lifted though her expression remained impassive. “Yes?”
“I was followed to work. I think. I’m pretty sure. And there are FBI agents on their way to see her right now. Downstairs.”
Mercedes’ gaze flicked to the clock on her desk, her monitor, then back to Kip. She blinked once, then logged out of her workstation and rose. “Come with me.”
Kip imagined she heard the steady tread of Florsheims on the carpet outside. Mercedes led the way into Tam’s office. A good six inches taller than Kip, she moved with deliberate economy.
“Over here.” She popped open a small chest on a bookshelf, revealing a keypad. A few beeps later, she leaned on the left end of the bookcase and it smoothly slid to one side, revealing a utilitarian file area. “In.”
Kip had no sooner obeyed than Mercedes pushed the bookcase back into position. The beeps repeated and a soft click meant she was locked in. She’d had no idea the space was here. It struck her as a purely decorative choice because it wasn’t set up to be a safe room—she could see through gaps into Tamara’s office.
Mercedes had left the door between the offices open. “May I help you gentlemen?”
“We’d like to see Tamara Sterling.” Voice one was surprisingly deep.
Whether the gaps in the seaming along the back of the bookcase were deliberate or not, she could see through it well enough to tell that Mercedes’ rigid back was to the open doorway between her office and Tam’s.
“Ms. Sterling isn’t in yet. Can I make an appointment for you?”
“Where is she?”
“As her personal assistant, I’m not at liberty to tell you that.”
The next bit was muffled, then the other officer finished speaking with, “So you should answer our questions.”
Mercedes, in a firm but very sweet voice, said, “I see very well why you believe I should answer your questions. You’ve been quite clear making your point and I thank you for taking the time to explain it to me. However, I prefer requests for information about private records in writing. For example, in the form of a warrant.”
“Do you have something to hide?”
“Prudence is not a sign of guilt, that’s what our head of legal was saying just the other day. I’m sure I can locate him for you.”
“Look, your boss is implicated in embezzlement and drug traffic—”
Mercedes’ amused laugh drowned out the rest. She still sounded merry when she said, “Anonymous is as anonymous does, gentlemen, and the only tip I prefer is on my embroidery needle. Now please let me get back to my work. I have no time today to help you fish.”
Mercedes moved out of sight, and something muffled ensued, then Mercedes, in a much louder voice said, “If you prevent me from using my phone or that door I believe that would constitute illegal detention. Now you can do that if you want, you just step yourself right out on that tree branch and wave your badge around in the breeze, but I guarantee you that the branch won’t hold your weight. You can’t take that tone with me, sirs.”
A shadow across the light indicated someone had come into Tam’s office, but they were standing in the one spot Kip couldn’t clearly see. Then the second officer called from nearer to her than she expected, “There’s no one here.”
Kip stepped back and held her breath, but the shadow retreated.
Mercedes’ voice still carried well. “Please come back out here. You don’t have my permission to be in that office.”
“The door wasn’t shut, ma’am.”
Mercedes could have closed it, Kip thought, but perhaps she wanted them to be fully aware that Tam really wasn’t there. “I still want you to come back in here—David, hello. This is Mercedes Houston. I have two FBI agents in my office and they have no warrants and yet expect me to divulge Ms. Sterling’s calendar to them. Oh, thank you, you’re a dear.”
Voice one had grown quite annoyed. “Once again, your failure to cooperate will not bode well if it’s revealed that you aided and abetted a felony enterprise. You’re letting yourself in for a nightmare.”
“Well that will be my nightmare, won’t it?” Mercedes sou
nded cheerful. “Right now your nightmare has three lawyers on the way.”
* * *
Of all the stupid things to do, Tam thought, gingerly lifting her head. She eyed the whiskey bottle, gauging how much she’d had. Too many and not enough. Kip was still alive to her, though at the moment the thought of Kip’s scathing glare at the picture Tam made—waking up after deciding to sleep on the floor—only increased her headache.
She pulled herself upright, head swimming. Her business world was falling apart and she’d decided to get drunk? Someone was doing a masterful job framing her for embezzlement and she thought she’d have a half-dozen shots of whiskey for a late-night snack?
That wasn’t why she had gotten drunk, she knew that. But the compelling need for her to focus on her company and her reputation should have stayed her hand on the bottle. She’d kept drinking out of panic, panic that she couldn’t put Kip out of her thoughts. The mental device of putting things in a locked room had let her lock away her childhood. It had always let her put away distractions and emotional confusions.
She forced her shaky legs underneath her and managed to make it through a shower. With each normal action her world steadied, and she could go on today as she did every day, the past at rest. She focused on brushing her teeth and planning her totally screwed up schedule.
That was when she wondered about her silent phone. Why hadn’t Mercedes called to find out where she was?
* * *
Kip hunkered down in the small anteroom, wondering how long it would be before she could leave. This was her reward for loyalty? Locked in with a bunch of file cabinets, ears straining to catch as much of the drama in the next office as possible? Her only thought had been to save Tam from the FBI.
There was a whole lot of bluster going on in Mercedes Houston’s office, but from what she could follow, the lawyers were winning because the agents not only didn’t have a warrant, they weren’t working on one. They’d gotten an anonymous tip that had excited the interest of one of their superiors and had been dispatched to make inquiries, and that was all.
Above Temptation Page 13
