“Awesome. Make me look like the insensitive asshole,” Holt said.
Isabelle moved so she was next to Holt and tucked herself under Holt’s arm. She wrapped her arm around Holt’s waist and squeezed gently. Holt wasn’t insensitive from trying to protect her from all of this. She was working her tail off trying to keep her safe, emotionally and physically. Moose was right, though. She wanted to be part of the solution.
Holt sighed. “Moose is right. You’re probably not very inviting bait. Although that was never an option,” she added quickly. “If he wanted you dead, he probably would have done it already. This new development with the file might tip him over the edge, but with me involved now, I just don’t see it.”
Isabelle caught the quick but meaningful look that passed between Holt and Moose. She replayed Holt’s last phrase “with me involved now.”
“Well, I sure as hell don’t like the idea of you using yourself as bait,” Isabelle said, trying not to panic. “There has to be a better way.”
“We’re bond enforcement, not the police. Our ability to really get him is limited without further action on his part. So we need to force his hand.”
“So get the police involved. Your cousin is a cop.” Isabelle’s mind was racing.
“That seems to be a non-starter. Danny said the investigation into the break-in at your office had a really bad smell to it. If Decker has even one cop who owes him a favor and is positioned well, we’re screwed.”
“We could probably get Diamond on the home invasion,” Moose said, “but that would never get us Decker.”
“He wouldn’t rat on his boss?” Jose asked.
“Doubt he knows enough,” Holt said, “and even if he did, he’s not a reliable witness. Not against someone like Decker Pence.”
“So how do we help you convince him to come after you and not get you killed in the process?” Isabelle asked, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking as she said the words that, if they came true, would ruin her life.
“Kill?” Jose said, his eyes as large as saucers. “Just why do you want that psycho to try to kill you?”
“Decker Pence is a well-respected businessman. We can’t just go to the police and say what we suspect. Even if we unlock this spreadsheet, gas bubbles and baseball teams aren’t enough to put him away. Diamond doesn’t work because his word isn’t powerful enough to go against Decker’s,” Moose explained.
“But there are very few people in Rhode Island that have more sway than Holt,” Jose said, understanding spreading across his face.
Holt looked grim but determined as she nodded confirmation to Jose’s hypothesis.
“Okay,” Jose said, “like Isabelle said, how do we get him to go after you? Are you going to convince him to put a hit on you?”
“If it comes to that,” Holt said. Everyone seemed to think it would. “I need information overload,” she said. “If he feels like I’m inside his head, or always watching him, it’ll make him paranoid. Paranoid people don’t act rationally, especially panicky, paranoid people.”
Isabelle knew the feeling.
“Max, Isabelle, can you crack the spreadsheet? It would be nice to know what he’s hiding. Even if it’s just information on the people that work for him, like Diamond or Gary, his bookkeeper. Max, pull every record, background detail, and scrap of intel you can on this guy. The little things are what matter, where he bought coffee yesterday, who his mother is and where she lives. We have to scare the shit out of him. That gives us the advantage.”
“Does this need to be aboveboard, boss?” Max asked, taking notes while she waited for Holt’s answer.
“I know it’s not our usual protocol, but we’re not building a case for the police. Get me the background information I need any way you can.”
“Hack it up, kid,” Moose said.
Despite her whirring emotions and jumble of thoughts about this new plan of attack, Isabelle wanted to get to work.
“Let’s go back to the bubbles,” she said. “Can you search for houses purchased for the exact amounts listed as each of these?” She pointed to the remaining bubble amounts. “Let’s start in Rhode Island.”
After a few minutes of searching, Max found one hundred properties purchased for the prices listed on the spreadsheet. “Look at that,” Max said. “That’s the address of the house Holt broke into. The house Diamond lives in and Gary Capelletti owns. Soap bubbles number two.”
“Good work, guys,” Holt said, patting Max on the shoulder and kissing Isabelle.
“You got the raw end of that congratulations, kid,” Jose said.
When Max turned bright red, the entire room cut up.
“That’s the first real evidence that links Diamond to Decker, although it could all be circumstantial. This is Rhode Island, after all.”
“Assuming Decker funded all these housing purchases, I don’t understand where the hell he’s getting all this money,” Isabelle said. “None of this went on his tax returns.”
“Let’s find out,” Max said, a flicker of excitement in her eyes.
*
At the end of the long day, Isabelle didn’t even pretend she wasn’t going home with Holt. They had talked about sleeping arrangements the last few nights, although she had always ended up with Holt. Tonight, she knew they both needed the closeness, and she didn’t want to spend the night alone and afraid in a hotel room. Besides, Holt never would have let her stay anywhere by herself, so it made more sense for them to both be comfortable in Holt’s loft.
It was well after midnight when they crawled into bed together, and Isabelle was almost desperate for the escape she knew Holt’s body would provide. Unfortunately, when she thought about sleeping with Holt, it felt disingenuous. They were enjoying each other, and it was wonderful, but there was so much emotion left unsaid or unexplored. Holt was risking her life for her, and neither one of them could say for sure how they felt about the other. And then Holt had called her “love” this afternoon and Isabelle had liked it. It was enough to make her nuts.
Isabelle floated the idea that they should just sleep now that they were in bed. Holt reacted to the news exactly as Isabelle expected she would.
“I’ve got plenty of feelings to keep us busy without ever having to worry about you and me, and us, and relationships, and a white picket fence,” Holt said.
“Not gonna happen, stud,” Isabelle said, confident in her decision, but still wishing she didn’t have to be so rational.
“What happens if Decker comes after me and I’m maimed for life? We wouldn’t want to miss out on a night of mind-blowing sex, would we?”
Isabelle figured she must have turned white, or green, at the mention of what could possibly happen to Holt because she quickly changed tactics.
“I’ve gotta be on top of my game if I’m going to keep myself safe. You don’t want me to be distracted by wanting you so badly I can’t walk comfortably, right? What if I have to run away from a bad guy and am so hard all I can do is waddle?”
“Last time I inventoried, you’ve got two hands. Make use of them.”
Holt laughed and pulled Isabelle close. “I love that you’re looking out for me, and even though it will make me crazy, you might be right about not sleeping with me. Boxers don’t have sex for weeks before a big fight. I’ll just pretend that’s why I have to lie next to you wearing nothing but my T-shirt tonight without touching.”
“I only grabbed one pair of pajamas,” Isabelle said, pretending to be offended by the implication that she was a tease. “I need to do laundry. The last time I was home, people were shooting at us, remember?” Did she mind that the T-shirt just barely covered her ass, and when she moved around the loft it was obvious she wasn’t wearing anything underneath? Not at all, but she didn’t need to confirm Holt’s suspicions.
“Are you nervous?” Isabelle asked, snuggling in tight to Holt’s warm, solid form.
“Terrified,” Holt said. “There have been times when I couldn’t find a perso
n I was looking for. Sometimes bad things resulted, but that’s part of the job, unfortunately. If that happened this time, I don’t think I could live with myself. Not being good enough scares me.”
“Aren’t you worried that you’ll get hurt?”
“No, not really,” Holt said. “Moose and Lola will protect me. Hell, even Jose could do damage if properly motivated. I have good friends.”
“What about your parents? You’ve only told me little bits about them. Will they be worried about you risking your life for me?”
“Oh, I won’t tell them about this. I hardly ever talk to them anyway. We never had a particularly warm relationship,” Holt said. “It went downhill after George died and I moved out. Like I told you, testifying in court was a patriotic duty, but testifying against a drug dealer charged with murder was a blight on the family. What kind of people know anyone who would get themselves killed by a drug dealer? The Lasher legacy couldn’t be burdened with that ugliness. I can hear my mother’s screechy voice now.” Holt sounded mildly amused.
“Wait a minute,” Isabelle said, connecting the dots for the first time. “You’re from that Lasher family? The Lasher family that owns half of New England? But their child is Emily or Emma or Amanda, something like that,” Isabelle said, confused.
“Not just from it, the living heir,” Holt said, now definitely amused. “My legal name is Holt Lasher. My birth certificate tells a different story. But one of the perks of being eighteen when you find out what big assholes your parents are is you don’t have to keep the name they gave you. Now you see why I’m a much better witness against Decker Pence than Diamond would be.”
“I guess so. Decker should be shaking in his Colorado ski boots,” Isabelle said. “So if you’re so filthy rich, why didn’t you pack Lola, Jose, and Moose up and get the hell out of Rhode Island after the bad guy came after you?”
“My parents would have loved that. It would have fit perfectly with the rest of their friends shipping their kids off to parts unknown. I couldn’t do it, though. I couldn’t stand the thought of George’s killer walking free. Besides, if I could find him at eighteen with no training or skill, how long before he found me? It never would have ended.”
Not to mention you never walk away from a challenge, Isabelle thought.
“My parents tried to insist on paying the startup costs for this business, but there was a fairly sizable reward for capturing the baddie, so I declined. I didn’t want their money then, and I don’t need it now. The only money I’ve taken from them since is for a foundation I started five years ago. The gala I invited you to is to support that foundation. It’s the only thing my mother and I agree on. I let her plan it, actually. She’s better at it than I am, and she really enjoys doing it. And, of course, annoying me as much as possible in the process.”
“Is your father going to be there too?” Isabelle asked, hoping she would be able to contain her desire to throttle Holt’s parents.
“They’ll both be there. They seem incapable of having anything else to do that weekend.”
“I think I might hate them,” Isabelle said, then placed her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, that popped out. They’re your parents. I shouldn’t hate them.”
Holt laughed. “I never mind a strong sexy woman defending my honor. Unfortunately, though, you’ll have to get in a long line if you’re considering slapping them. Jose leads the parade every year.”
“I guess I’ll just have to settle for being on the arm of the hottest woman at the party.”
Holt nuzzled into Isabelle’s neck and started kissing the sensitive skin. Isabelle pushed her away playfully.
“I don’t think so, hot stuff. I haven’t changed my mind just because you’re irresistible.”
“Not that irresistible, apparently. You must have loins of steel,” Holt grumbled.
They both laughed and Holt pulled Isabelle into a tight embrace. It was going to be a long night for both of them.
Chapter Fifteen
“Good morning, boss,” Max said as Holt walked into the office. Isabelle grinned and went straight to Holt’s office.
“Debatable.” She hadn’t slept at all after telling Isabelle her story. She had visions of Decker Pence and George running through her head as she had when she first told Isabelle about George. On top of that, she was so horny, just looking at Isabelle this morning was almost enough to make her explode.
“Um, okay,” Max said, looking unsure.
Max still looked unkempt and like she hadn’t slept enough in months. Holt had been trying to respect Max and let her come talk to her when she was ready, but Max didn’t seem to be in a rush to come and chat. She was looking worse and worse, and Holt couldn’t stand it anymore. If she slept any less, Holt was worried Max would start doing serious damage to her health.
“Oh,” Holt said. “Isabelle said you needed to talk to me about something. Are those the same clothes you had on last night?”
“Fine, yes,” Max said, frustration and anger clear in her voice. “Why does everyone keep asking me about my damn clothes? I got kicked out of my house. Who cares? It doesn’t affect my work here.”
“That been building for a while?” Holt asked. She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk, an eyebrow raised.
“Guess so,” Max said. “Sorry.”
“Why did you get kicked out?” Holt asked.
“No offense, ma’am, but I’ve got a lot to tell you, and I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”
“Fair,” Holt said. “Answer me one thing and then I’ll remove myself from your business. Where are you sleeping if you can’t go home?”
“Um, here, mostly. The storage closet, extra offices, my desk. Sometimes the street.” Max looked uncomfortable.
“Not anymore. Understand?” She held up her hand to stop Max’s argument. “There are three studio apartments upstairs. Moose has one, Lola sometimes uses a second when her lady kicks her out, and the third is empty. It’s yours as long as you need it, and if I hear you’re not using it, I’ll kick your ass. Talk to Lola or Moose about where to get sheets, towels, toilet paper, etc. Now, what do you have to tell me?” Holt couldn’t believe Moose hadn’t already gotten Max into one of those apartments, although she had hidden this from her pretty well too. Holt felt bad she hadn’t noticed or pushed Max sooner.
Max provided Holt with an outline of the fruits of her nightlong computer search. Most of it was aboveboard and came from various public records. Credit card statements and other key information were obtained slightly less benignly. Max didn’t seem particularly worried about getting caught. She was confident in her abilities as a hacker.
“This is great, Max,” Holt said, finally feeling some forward progress. “Isabelle is in my office. She said something about comparing the file to Decker’s actual records. You want to check in with her? I’m going to make a phone call.”
Holt dialed the number Max said was associated with Decker’s Colorado house. The trick was going to be to steer their conversation to areas Holt had fairly reliable information on. She wanted to scare Decker and make him paranoid. Having to do too much guessing would weaken her in his eyes.
When a man answered the phone, Holt recognized his voice. “May I please speak to the owner of this property?” she asked.
“Speaking,” Decker responded, sounding wary.
“Hello, Decker Pence. May I call you DP? I think I’m going to. You have one of those names that just begs for you to say the first and last every time, but frankly, it’s just too long. So, DP, how’s your vacation going? Must be nice to own the only completely worthless ski house in Colorado. What exactly is in Cheyenne Wells?”
“Who is this?” Decker asked.
“I’m hurt you don’t recognize my voice. We spoke last week. I intimidated you, you lied to me, I thought we hit it off pretty well.” Holt was enjoying herself.
“Holt Lasher,” Decker said, all friendliness gone from his voice. “As I told you, I’m not in Co
lorado for the skiing.”
“I do remember you mentioning that. Also that the house was being loaned to you by a friend. I think I’m going to insist all my friends change their names to my name too. Then I only have to remember one.”
“My grandmother owned the house. She willed it to me when she died,” Decker responded, his voice getting more agitated.
“Eh eh,” Holt said. “Don’t lie to me, little man. Your grandmother’s name is probably not Ernest Richard Stewart, the previous owner. Besides, your paternal grandmother lived her entire life in California, and Marie Decker Jones is alive and well, tucked away with your mom in Bumblefuck, Florida.”
“What the fuck do you want?” Decker asked, his voice once again calm, eerily calm. It gave Holt the creeps, and she lost her sense of humor.
“I would very much like you to work out some better lies while you sit on your window stool at Java Madness tomorrow morning. We’ll be in touch.”
Holt hung up before the profanity on the other end really got going. Max had been thorough in her search and had even called the café where Decker had used a credit card the day before and got information on where he had been sitting. Despite being a regular, Holt was hoping he wouldn’t be returning to Java Madness. It would be a small litmus test of the affect of her phone call.
She toyed with the idea of sending someone to Colorado to torment him in person, but it wasn’t worth the risk. She wanted him focused solely on her, and she refused to leave Isabelle here without her. She also had better protection here in Rhode Island, both from her crew and the authorities. She wasn’t naïve enough to think Decker Pence didn’t have friends in high places, but she was banking on her friends being a few steps higher on the social ladder. To keep Isabelle safe, she was happy to exploit the trappings of a wealthy upbringing and a recognizable last name.
With Isabelle on her mind, she headed toward her office. She found her days now revolved around ways of being close to Isabelle. She didn’t need to always be physically present, but Holt craved the connection, something she had never experienced, nor ever desired.
The Chase Page 17
