Live a Little!

by Nancy Warren

  Her stomach had tied itself into knots of excitement and her fingers trembled slightly on the keyboard as she studied the columns of numbers on her screen. It was a set of books, all right, but she knew immediately they weren’t for Harrison’s home accounts. They were for the company.

  It didn’t take her five minutes to realize that this was Aladdin’s cave, the treasure trove of secret evidence she’d been looking for. These books contained categories not listed in the “cover books” she’d been working on.

  Harrison had been clever, she had to give him that. Her accountant’s mind appreciated the subtleties that had allowed him to create a set of phony books that probably would have passed muster during an IRS audit.

  She lost herself in the document, the way a mystery fan gets lost in a thriller. Grabbing her notebook, she made notes as she went. When she reached the bottom of the document, her eyes bugged out. She couldn’t believe it!

  A list of names and addresses in the U.S. And in Colombia.

  “Good night, Cynthia. Don’t work too late,” Agnes said, popping her head in the open office door, the Chintzware pot of roses in her hand.

  “Hmm?” Cyn glanced up, stunned. It couldn’t be the end of the day—could it? “Oh, good night, Agnes.”

  “I’d stay late to help you with the month end, but I’ve got a date tonight,” the older woman said with shy pride.

  Cyn grinned at her. “Month end? Oh, don’t worry about it. Have a great time.”

  Once Agnes left, Cyn’s face sobered suddenly. There was a good chance that George’s stepson was up to his bland eyeballs in crime.

  Doug Ormond and Lester Dart were clearly part of it.

  Harrison had used an abbreviated code, kind of a personal shorthand, but D.O. and L.D. seemed clear enough.

  Not wanting to call any suspicion to herself by working too late, she crossed to the supply cupboard for some blank disks so she could transfer a copy of the suspicious files. Then her job would be done and Jake and the FBI could take over.

  She wouldn’t gloat, she decided, as she began copying files. The words I told you so would not pass her lips. Instead, she’d be coolly professional. Cyn the Bold reporting in—mission accomplished. Well, maybe she’d polish up her mother’s sterling tray so she could literally deliver the goods on a silver platter.

  She popped one full disk into her bag and inserted another. The outer offices were hushed, and now that she was filling her bag full of incriminating evidence, she wanted to get the hell out of Dodge as fast as possible.

  “Come on, come on,” she encouraged the computer, as though she could make it copy the files faster.

  She glanced at her watch. Almost six. It would look strange if she didn’t leave soon. Almost there. She was almost there….

  Done. She dropped the last disk in her bag and sighed with relief.

  A knock sounded on her open door and she jerked her head up to see Neville, a bland smile on his face.

  “Hi, Neville,” she said brightly, while panic seized her chest. With a jerky mouse click, she pulled up her month-end file to cover the incriminating evidence of her snooping.

  “You’re working late, my dear.” He stated the obvious, moving closer.

  “Just finishing up a few things for month end,” she chirped, standing and turning to face him so her body shielded the screen.

  He came even closer and toyed with a pencil on the corner of her desk. “Agnes had a word with me before she left.”

  “Agnes?”

  “Yes.” His face flushed slightly. “She said you’d been crying.”

  “Of course I haven’t been crying.” Not for hours, anyway; she’d been too caught up spying to even think about Jake’s defection.

  “Your eyes are rather puffy, and a bit red,” he pointed out.

  “That’s just, uh, allergies,” she managed to murmur.

  He dropped his gaze. “Agnes was under the impression that I had, um, hurt your feelings by leaving the other night.”

  Oh, Agnes, you didn’t. “No. No, of course not. Agnes must have made a mistake.”

  There was a pause. And when he spoke again his tone had changed so completely, he didn’t even sound like the same man. “She wasn’t the only one who made a mistake.” Neville’s voice was cold as lead.

  She turned to him in surprise and found him staring at the notepad on her desk—the one she’d used to jot down the most incriminating pieces of information from Harrison’s file.

  “Neville, that’s not—” She reached for the pad of paper, but his hand slapped down on it so hard she felt the impact quiver through her palm.

  “I think you’ve made a very big mistake, my dear.”

  She heard voices from the hall, voices she recognized. Eddie from shipping, and Doug Ormond. Maybe they could help her? Even as she thought it, Neville strode to the door to call them in.

  While his back was turned, she grabbed the phone and frantically punched in Jake’s emergency number, her fingertips slipping with sweat.

  “Put down the phone, Cynthia,” Neville said in that same cold, inhuman tone.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The man she’d once thought so harmless and pleasant had a gun trained on her back. He was flanked on either side by Eddie and Doug Ormond, all three looking grim and murderous.

  She put down the phone.

  13

  JAKE FOUGHT A RISING sense of unease, sipping tepid coffee that tasted like toxic waste—as though that would calm his gut.

  About a dozen agents were gathered in the meeting room, along with some guys from the Drug Enforcement Agency, customs and the local cops, working on a plan to widen the net and catch as many drug-dealing fish as possible.

  As pumped as he felt that they’d found hard evidence at Oceanic, right now he didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything but getting Cyn out of there. Today. Now.

  But he was too well trained, too experienced an agent to do something stupid. He couldn’t phone her at her office or show up there. He’d have to wait until she left for the day, then make damn sure she didn’t go back. Nobody in the meeting had referred to her, probably because they’d forgotten she existed—all except Carl, who’d glanced over at him a couple of times with a questioning expression, but kept his mouth shut.

  Cyn was a volunteer; no reason for her to be involved now there was a possibility of danger. Damn it, Jake should have handcuffed her to the bed this morning to prevent her going to work. Worry, sharp and acidic, churned in his gut along with the god-awful coffee. He stood suddenly, unable to sit still any longer.

  Adam gave him a quizzical glance, but Jake shook his head sharply. He didn’t have anything to contribute to the conversation, because he hadn’t heard one word in ten. He glanced at his watch. A couple of hours before she’d be through. He slipped out. They would assume he’d visited the john.

  Instead, he checked his messages. The sick feeling of unease didn’t let up. No messages from Cyn. There was one from an Agent Wong of Interpol in Hong Kong. The man had left both work and home numbers, and, since Jake couldn’t begin to figure out what time it was over there, he tried work first.

  “David Wong,” a soft voice answered in English on the first ring.

  “This is Special Agent Jake Wheeler, FBI.”

  “Ah, yes, Agent Wheeler. You have been inquiring about a Thomas Harrison?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I believe we may have found him. A body was pulled from the harbor late yesterday. Fits your description.”

  Jake’s limbs felt like they were frosting over. “How did he die?”

  “A bullet in the back of the head.”

  Execution style. “Any sign of torture?”

  There was a short pause. “It is impossible to say at this time.” A discreet cough traveled the miles between Hong Kong and Seattle. “The body was badly decomposed. Perhaps the autopsy results will tell us more.”

  “Are you certain it’s Harrison?”

  “No. Not
one hundred percent. He was wearing a watch engraved with his name, and a wallet containing identification was found near the body. But we will not be able to confirm identity until dental records can be matched. However, we know he was Caucasian and his height and clothing match your description. I believe these to be the remains of Mr. Harrison.”

  Jake rubbed a hand across his churning gut. “Looks like the killers didn’t care if he was identified.” Maybe they were sending some kind of a warning? Harrison must have double-crossed or stolen. “Any idea when death occurred?”

  “We believe several weeks ago. As soon as all the tests are completed, I will forward you a full report.”

  “Thank you.”

  “In return,” the courteous voice continued, “I would very much appreciate any information you might have about Mr. Harrison’s known associations.”

  “You will have our full cooperation, Mr. Wong. Thank you for this information. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Good day, Special Agent Wheeler.”

  As he hung up, Jake noted his hand wasn’t shaking. It must be the only damn part of him that wasn’t.

  He spared a glance at the meeting room as he jogged by. His sense of urgency was too keen to stop and brief the troops. He could do that from his cell phone.

  He knew damn well he’d essentially broken ranks by hightailing it out on his own, but he couldn’t worry about breaking a few lousy rules now. And while he was at it, he broke another one and called Cynthia’s direct number at Oceanic.

  “Come on, baby. Pick up,” he muttered, swearing with vicious helplessness when he got her voice mail.

  He tried her home number, but he wasn’t surprised when he got her answering machine. He cursed the air blue, pushing harder on the gas pedal.

  “LOOK, I CAN EXPLAIN,” Cynthia protested for about the fifth time as she was forced at gunpoint into the warehouse.

  She was pleased to find her voice steady, but then she’d already moved beyond the first panicky fear to a surreal feeling that this couldn’t possibly be happening. No way was the man with the cold eyes and colder looking gun the one who reminded her of a trusted anchorman, and no way were they going to shoot her in cold blood. Things like that only happened in movies…didn’t they?

  Now that she had confirmed Harrison’s involvement in the drug smuggling and money laundering operation, she began to wonder about his “vacation” in Hong Kong. No one had received so much as a postcard from the previous accountant. Had he ended his tenure at Oceanic staring at a deadly weapon just as she was doing? A shudder rippled through her.

  As though he’d read her mind, Doug Ormond asked, “Did Harrison put you on to us?”

  “Harrison? Do you mean the man who held my position before me?”

  “Yeah, Harrison. Dude with the expensive habit and the sneaky fingers.”

  Her stomach felt a little odd, like she might be coming down with something. “I’m not sure I follow. I thought Harrison was in Hong Kong.”

  It was Neville who answered her. “He was, for a day or so, until some friends of ours caught up with him.” He mimed with his gun.

  “Dead?” she squeaked.

  “I’m afraid so, darling. Everybody who crosses us winds up dead.” He glanced at her significantly. “But in your case that won’t happen right away.” He motioned to Eddie. “Tie her up.”

  “What with?”

  Cyn scanned the area for any kind of weapon, any means of escape, but there didn’t seem to be any. On the bright side, she couldn’t see anything suitable for tying people up, either. The boxes were all taped, the wooden crates nailed; there was some kind of a chain thing on one of the machines, but it looked like it would be a lot of work to get it off.

  Exasperated, Neville passed the gun over to Doug Ormond. “Wait here.”

  Once he’d gone, Cyn attempted a confident smile. “Hey, guys, I know Neville’s under a lot of stress right now. Why don’t you just turn your backs for a few minutes, I’ll slip out and we can all pretend this never happened?”

  “Shut up,” said Ormond.

  Well, it had been worth a shot. While they waited in silence, she had time to wish she’d taken boxing or karate to keep in shape. What good was deep water aerobics when your life was on the line?

  Around her, piles of boxes and sacks loomed, hulking and menacing. The cement was cold and hard through her thin-soled shoes. But not as cold and hard as the knowledge that her predecessor had been shot dead. Even as her mind tried to focus on that one horrible fact, she skittered away from it. She couldn’t afford to panic; she had to think.

  And all she could think about was how much she wished she’d listened to Jake when he’d told her to stay away from this place. At least she could count on him to search Oceanic when she disappeared. They’d find something. Agnes would remember her asking about Dominic Torreo—that was the only clue Jake would need. It was definitely cold comfort, but at least she felt her death would be avenged along with Hank’s.

  She had another futile wish. She wished she could tell Jake she loved him before it was too late.

  But it seemed like too late was on its way when the heavy doors opened and Neville Percivald strolled in—her leather bag under one arm, a pair of handcuffs swinging from the other.

  At the sight of the handcuffs, she gulped. It was one thing to be helpless when in bed with a man like Jake, quite another to be helpless in front of the three evil stooges.

  She struggled, twisting and scratching, when Neville grabbed hold of her. He grunted when she managed to kick him in the shin, and if Eddie hadn’t joined in, she really felt she might have got away. But the two of them managed to cuff her right arm to a water pipe.

  She glared at them both and raised her chin, determined not to give in to the panic squeezing her chest. Common sense told her they weren’t going to shoot her right there in the warehouse, and she still had one fist and two feet left to defend herself.

  That and her wits. Which she’d better start using.

  There was a strange moment, sort of like an awkward lull in dinner-table conversation, when none of them seemed to know what to do next. Ormond was still pointing the gun her way, his arm beginning to quiver from holding it up for so long.

  Neville stared at her warily, standing out of kicking range. “I should have brought rope,” he grumbled. “I think the best thing is to take her to my place.”

  The metal handcuff clinked angrily against the metal pipe as she yanked hard. She knew the kind of stuff he was into. If he thought he was going to strip her naked and do disgusting things to her, he had another think coming.

  “I don’t know.” Eddie shuffled his feet. “I don’t mind taking somebody out, but I don’t want to get involved in any of that kinky stuff of yours.”

  “Yeah.” Ormond jumped in. “Let’s just do it quick and clean.” Since he was the one with the gun, she had to force herself not to shut her eyes and cower.

  “I saw her put something in here,” Neville said, picking up her bag and upending it over the coffee-break table a few feet in front of her.

  Out tumbled her wallet, breath mints, makeup bag, keys, an old nail file, an open package of tissues and, finally, clattering to the scratched Formica tabletop like a couple of dirty secrets, two black disks.

  Neville shot her an evil look, then picked up one of the disks, turning it in his hands and gazing at it as though he had X-ray vision. “Well?” he demanded.

  When Jake was around, danger acted like an aphrodisiac, but right now she didn’t feel turned on at all. She felt angry. These men had taken a good company and turned it into a shameful thing. What would happen to George and Agnes and Marilyn and all the other decent people who worked here?

  Damn it, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  They’d find out what was on the disks soon enough. All she could do was stall as long as possible and wait for an opportunity to escape. “It’s, um…” She shrugged. “Just some month-end files. I wanted to work on the
m at home.”

  “Go get a laptop,” Neville ordered Ormond, who put the gun down on the table, massaged his right biceps and headed off without a word.

  She exhaled slowly. Without the gun pointing at her, she could think better. Now there were only two of them against her, so the odds were one-third better, but there remained the sticky problem of her being handcuffed to the damned pipe.

  “Please, could I use the bathroom?” She directed her question at Eddie, who she figured was her best shot at any sympathy. But even as Eddie blushed and harrumphed, Neville said, “No.”

  Time ticked by and Neville took the opportunity to rummage through her makeup bag. As she watched him paw through her cosmetics, she couldn’t believe she’d once thought him gentlemanly. Her arm was starting to lose all feeling. She began to clench and unclench her fingers to keep the blood flowing.

  “Was Harrison your boyfriend?” Neville asked while twisting open her lipstick.

  “No. I already told you, I never knew him.” Was he really dead? Had these awful men killed an accountant?

  “Let me guess. He was supposed to call from Hong Kong, and when he didn’t, you figured he’d double-crossed you and you decided to come in here and help yourself.”

  “No. That’s not right at all.” In the back of her mind, she was at least grateful they hadn’t a clue as to what she was really doing here. She was determined to protect Jake and the operation. “I took the job because I wanted a change. While I was doing the month-end books, I just, um, found this file that didn’t seem to match the one on my computer. That’s what you saw on my screen. I’m a very conscientious employee.”

  “A bit too conscientious, I’m afraid.”

  “But I don’t understand. What did Harrison do?”