“Nothing definitive,” Ian said. “But not the kind of thing I wanted you talking about outside of these walls.”
Angie darted her gaze between Colt and Ian. Jace was frowning, which wasn’t good.
“Do you have the spreadsheet, Miss Turner?” Ian asked.
“Yes.”
“And yours is the only copy you know of?”
Angie nodded. “We keep everything in the cloud at work, but I made a copy of Martinelli’s work because I didn’t want to mess with the original. In case I needed it for proof later—proof that I wasn’t the one who’d screwed everything up.”
Ian nodded. “Makes sense. Is your copy in the cloud?”
“No. I emailed it to myself so I could work on it at home.”
“Does anybody know you did that?”
Angie frowned. What was he getting at? “I don’t see how.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Just Colt. And now everyone in this room.”
He acknowledged the information with a smile. “You emailed someone at the Cardinal Group to tell them you were having an issue with the account. Correct?”
“Yes. I told them I needed to clarify the figures. I thought they’d send updated bank statements. I sent my queries to the company secretary. There was no need to involve anyone else at that point. This kind of thing is not all that unusual. I mean Martinelli’s spreadsheet is a little suspect, sure. But things get entered wrong, statements don’t line up, and it’s usually some little mistake somewhere along the way. Accounting is mostly an unexciting job. It’s logical. Things make sense. And when they don’t make sense, you go back and look for where you went wrong. Or, in this case, where Charles went wrong. I didn’t have any reason to believe there was anything criminal going on.”
“Just clarifying things, Miss Turner.” Ian turned to Dax Freed, who’d taken a seat across the table.
All the men were sitting. Waiting.
For what, she didn’t know.
“It’s all you, Freed,” Ian said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The television screen flickered and the presentation began.
Chapter Ten
Jenny Clark didn’t have the kids that week, which meant she was free when the phone rang. She knew who it was without looking. She’d given him his own ringtone.
“Jenny,” he said, sounding masculine and commanding. He made her shiver with that voice. “I need you to do something for me.”
Jenny gripped the phone tight and stared out the window at the building opposite. She hated this apartment she’d had to move to when Dwight successfully hid his assets—their joint assets—from the lawyers. He’d lied and cheated and what happened to him? Nothing. He moved into a great house near the waterfront, started seeing a woman ten years younger, and had the kids every other week.
Meanwhile, she’d had to downsize so she could afford to take care of their kids properly. He paid child support, but he’d gotten that argued down too since they shared custody. She hated him. Funny how you could love someone so much at one time and then hate them at another.
“What do you need?” she asked.
She tried not to let disappointment color her voice. Hadn’t she done enough already? She’d risked a lot for the man on the other end of the line. She’d let him into the building after hours so they didn’t have to meet at a hotel. And then she’d erased files for him. Or she’d logged in and let him do it while they slugged back bourbon and laughed.
All those Cardinal Group files. Bank statements, credit card statements, spreadsheets. It had felt wicked and empowering at the same time.
She shouldn’t have let it happen, but he’d paid her when it was over. Ten thousand dollars in cash delivered to her apartment by courier this morning. The day after the fire. Jenny tried not to let it bother her, but it somehow did. She knew she wasn’t responsible for the fire, and yet it must have started soon after they’d left the building.
Still, she needed the money. If she got enough, she could go back to court. Fight for majority custody. Her kids should not be raised by Dwight and his bimbo.
He’d said the money was for her, because she needed it. Not because she’d been drunk and logged into the server for him. Not because she’d set fire to the building, because she definitely had not. But what if they’d left the space heater on? Was that possible?
There was another cloud in her sky. Angie Turner knew something about the Cardinal Group’s files. She’d been working on them. Jenny hadn’t known when she’d let him delete them. It didn’t really matter who had been working on them—but why had Angie asked her specifically if she knew about wonky accounting?
Jenny shivered. She would have to tell him about it. She started to clear her throat, but he spoke.
“I need you to meet me later,” he said. “I want to see you.”
A current of pleasure slipped into her veins, soothing her. He didn’t only want her to do things for him. He wanted her. They hadn’t had sex since the night he’d deleted the files. Before that, he’d bent her over the desk and—
She shuddered with the memory of it. The raw way he’d taken her, pounding into her from behind. Pinching her nipples and telling her she felt so fucking good.
“I want to see you too. I need you.” She could tell him about Angie’s question later. After they’d made love.
He chuckled. “I can’t wait to fuck your hot little pussy tonight.”
Jenny’s throat tightened. God. “What time?”
“Meet me at nine. You know the place.”
He’d found a new place for them. Not a hotel, of course. He didn’t like hotels. “Yes. Okay. See you then.”
“Don’t wear any panties, Jenny.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
He laughed. Then he hung up.
The presentation was typical Dax. Thorough, organized, and to the point. It was also sanitized for Angie’s viewing. Meaning there was nothing too sensitive contained in it.
Colt didn’t like what Dax was showing them. He made a mental note to ask for the extended version later.
Charles Martinelli had bought a plane ticket to Brazil. He had not boarded the flight. There was no record of him checking in, nor did he appear on any airport cameras. He’d simply disappeared.
Beside Colt, Angie swallowed. He knew she was wondering if her ex-coworker was dead.
“Dax,” he interrupted.
Dax turned. “Yeah?”
“Do we have a body?”
Dax shot a look at Angie. “No. We have no evidence that he’s dead.”
The tension in Angie’s body seemed to relax a little. Colt wanted to reach for her hand. He refrained. He knew she hadn’t been a big fan of Charles Martinelli, but that was a long way from wanting him dead.
Dax continued. “We’ve analyzed his desktop computer. He deleted his browser history recently, and he used a VPN to mask his IP address. Except for the last time he was on. He must have been in a hurry. He logged onto the Barton, Barnes and Blake server and transferred a file from his computer onto the server.”
“Quite possibly that spreadsheet you have,” Ian said to Angie. He nodded and Dax continued.
“He also had some saved tabs—porn sites, sports cars, shopping sites. Stuff like that. He had two bank accounts. One that his paycheck went into, and another savings account. He made small transfers from the savings account to another account. That one is much larger, and it’s offshore. There’s at least two million dollars in that account—and Charles Martinelli is the owner of it.”
Angie’s jaw dropped. “Wait—are you saying that Charles was taking kickbacks? Or stealing from clients?”
Ian spoke. “We don’t know, but either of those options are possible.”
“And he transferred the spreadsheet to the BB&B server from his desktop? When?”
“The night before he didn’t show for work. I think it was a few days later you were all told he’d quit?”
“Yes,�
�� Angie said. “But if he was stealing, and that spreadsheet is evidence, why would he put it on the office server where any of us could access it?”
“Because he was afraid,” Ian said. “We don’t know for certain that’s what he transferred, but we’re working on tracing it.”
Angie frowned. Colt could almost see the wheels turning in her head. “You said he had an offshore account. Where?”
“The Cayman Islands,” Dax replied after a glance at Ian, who nodded. “The deposits to that account came from another account that seems to be located in the Cayman Islands—but not the same bank. We haven’t traced that one back to a source yet.”
“The Cayman Islands,” Angie said, half to herself. She reached into her handbag and pulled her laptop out. “I think I might have something.”
She flipped open the lid and powered up the computer while they waited.
“Here,” she said, turning the computer toward Ian and Dax. “This number right here. I copied it from the spreadsheet. It could be an account and routing number. And maybe a pin too.”
They were looking at it with interest. Ian gave her an approving nod. “I think you might be right about that being an account number. Dax, copy it down. Let’s try to sort it out and see what we come up with. Can I see the spreadsheet?” he asked Angie.
“Yes.”
He took her computer and looked at the screen. “If we can have this, we can compare it to the Cardinal Group’s official bank statements, and any other records we can dig up.”
“I don’t have their statements anymore,” Angie said. “They were erased from our server and the company closed their account with us.”
Ian grinned. “That’s okay. I can get them.”
“Is that legal?” she asked.
Ian shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”
Angie shook her head and shot Colt a look. “I don’t want to know. And yes, you can have it.”
“Great,” Ian replied. He tapped a few keys and Colt knew he was logging onto the wifi and airdropping the spreadsheet to Dax. Once that was done and he’d scrubbed the network from her computer, Ian pushed it back to her. He slapped his palms lightly on the table.
“All right, kids. That’s it for the moment. We have a lot more to do, so let’s get cracking.”
Angie’s gaze darted around the room as the men pushed their chairs back and stood. Colt could tell she was confused about why they’d had to appear for a briefing when it was short and mostly about Charles Martinelli.
He knew exactly why.
Ian had wanted Martinelli’s spreadsheet quicker than it would have taken to dig up the deleted file, and he’d known he could get her to give it to him if he presented her with enough information. He might have had Dax put more into the briefing, but once they had the potential account number and the spreadsheet, they didn’t need to show Angie anything else.
Colt didn’t know whether to be amazed or annoyed. He hadn’t wanted Angie involved in the first place, but when she’d stated that she wanted to participate in the analysis, he understood why. She’d found the anomaly and she deserved to know the solution. Unless the solution could get her killed, in which case he didn’t care if she ever knew.
“Thank you for coming in today, Miss Turner. We really appreciate your help.”
Angie’s mouth was set in a suspicious frown. “You left a lot out. And now you intend to proceed without me.”
Ian didn’t do her the disservice of lying about it. “This is potentially dangerous information. Do you really want to know more than you already do?”
Angie’s chin came up. Her eyes flashed. “In fact, yes. I damn well do.” She flung a hand out, encompassed the room. The whole building, probably. “I know you’ve got more going on here than just a nice little protective services firm, and I know you think you’re doing me a favor. But somebody tried to break into my condo, somebody burned down the office building where I work, and somebody erased files in the middle of the night when they shouldn’t have had access. I think I’m already in possession of dangerous information, don’t you?”
She stood toe to toe with Ian, and Colt felt a swell of pride in his chest. She was magnificently fiery and beautiful. He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to slip his tongue into her mouth and taste her anger before sliding her clothing from her body and turning that fire into passion.
Ian studied her for a long moment. Colt felt a growl start to form deep in his gut. Hands off, he wanted to say. She’s mine.
But Ian never touched her, and he never let his study of her cross the line into male appreciation of female beauty. No, he sized her up like he was sizing up her potential.
“You don’t want to go home and forget all about this? Get your life back to normal?”
Her color was high. “Of course I do—but I’m realistic enough to know that isn’t going to happen because you say so. You don’t know who tried to break into my house—or you aren’t saying—but I doubt you intend to let me walk out of here and return home. I have to stay with Colt, right?”
Ian laughed suddenly. “It would be best, yes. Okay, Miss Turner, I’ll make a deal with you. You stay with Colt for now, let him protect you. There are some things I can’t tell you because it’s sensitive information and you aren’t cleared. But if those numbers lead to an account in the Cayman Islands, I will tell you that. I will tell you everything I can that isn’t sensitive information.”
“Which means you can decide it all is and tell me nothing.”
Ian looked at Colt. Colt didn’t say a word. “I like her,” he said. “I think we could use her around here.”
“I’m here right now,” Angie growled. “And I’ll make my own decisions, thanks.”
“Redheads,” Ian said, oblivious to the danger. Or maybe he wanted to provoke her. Colt wasn’t sure.
Angie drew herself up like a queen. “If you want to offer me a job, we can discuss it. But you’d better discuss it with me, not Colt or Jace or—or the Easter Bunny.” Angie turned on her heel and headed for the door, flicking her fingers behind her like she was shaking off dust. “I’m done here.”
Jace, Tyler, Dax, Jared, and Colt watched her go with variously dropped jaws. Ian didn’t seem surprised at all. Colt looked at the others. They looked at him. Jace started to laugh, but he knew Angie better than they did.
Colt was beginning to know her.
What he knew, he damn sure admired. Had he really thought she wasn’t strong enough? Where the fuck had he gotten that idea?
“Whoa damn, Colt, I wouldn’t want to be in the car with you on the way home,” Jace said.
Colt shook his head. “Dude, I wouldn’t be so smug. You know she’s gonna call Maddy. Your ass is in a sling as much as mine is.”
Jace’s laughter died. “Well, shit.”
Ian had his fists on his hips. “I could order her not to talk about it. But I somehow think that wouldn’t work.”
“Only if you want to die a fiery death,” Dax said. “I, for one, would rather live to tell the tale.”
Angie fumed. She’d stormed out of the conference room with those smug as hell men staring at her, but her grand exit was marred when Colt chased after her and told her he had to go to the fifth floor. She would have to wait for him.
A lovely black woman with long wavy hair and a beautifully tailored suit seemed to appear out of nowhere. She introduced herself as Melanie and then showed Angie to a waiting area with a Keurig, an espresso machine, and a fridge with water, sodas, and snacks.
Angie took out her phone to look at email. She had no signal so she stuffed it in her bag again. She picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages angrily.
It was half an hour before Colt reappeared. She took a moment to appreciate how gorgeous he was as he stalked down the hall toward her, but she reminded herself she was more than a little annoyed at every male who’d been inside that room.
“You ready to go?” he asked when he reached her.
She scowled. “What
do you think?”
He stood back while she got to her feet. She marched beside him through the building and back to the freight elevator. It wasn’t until they’d emerged from the parking garage into the rain—oh great, it had started raining now—that Colt said something.
“I’m sorry about that, Ang.”
She folded her arms over her chest and looked out the window. “I’m not an idiot, Colt,” she finally said.
“I know you aren’t. Ian knows it too.”
She turned to look at him. “I know you think I’m fragile. I know you think I’m one freakout away from a nervous breakdown. But I’m not. I don’t ever want to be abducted and threatened again, but I don’t spend all my waking hours worrying about it. And Tom Walls? Yes, I was shocked. I didn’t feel safe and I didn’t feel normal for a while, but if it happened today? Right now? I’d kick that motherfucker in the balls. And if I couldn’t kick him? If he overpowered me and ground his body against me now, I’d spit on him. I’d scream bloody murder and I’d threaten to sue. I won’t ever take that shit lying down again.”
She’d had a lot of time to think in the past few months. Yes, she’d been stunned by everything that’d happened in so short a time. She’d needed to process it.
She’d been scared for a long time afterward. Afraid to live. But then she got mad. She wasn’t sure precisely when that was, but she was madder than hell now. And nobody was going to live in her head for free anymore. Colt had clarified that particular bit of wisdom when he’d said to think of her life like a bank account. She was done making withdrawals on behalf of other people.
“Holy shit, Ang,” Colt said softly. “Where did that come from?”
She sucked in a breath and squeezed herself tighter. “I’m not entirely sure, but it’s about time, right? I’m done letting people walk all over me. For any reason.”
“I’m proud of you, baby.”
She should be furious with him too. She wasn’t. And there went that little thrill of pleasure rushing through her when he called her baby. “I didn’t do it to make you proud.”
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