Janna uttered a bitter laugh. “Simon’s strong and honorable, but he wouldn’t understand.” He’d want to go to the AD right away and avoid conducting a private investigation. She needed to know the truth first. Truth would build the foundation of strength she’d need if they learned the worst.
“Won’t the abuse come out in an investigation of Gabe?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes. If there’s an investigation. I can handle it if I know ahead of time.”
“If Gabe crossed the line, there’d be no Dr. Jekyll — only Mr. Hyde,” Dr. French suggested. “Perhaps he fooled everyone. People will be understanding.”
Of his control and abuse of her, she meant. “I never thought of it that way.” But nothing would absolve her guilt for allowing the abuse to happen. Nothing would prevent her from having to face pity and revulsion in people’s eyes. And nothing would rid her of the shameful memories.
“I want you to think about telling Simon. You’ll feel better if you do. But it’s your choice, as always.”
As soon as Janna said good-bye, the doorbell chimed. Simon. They planned to search through Gabe’s effects tonight.
She gave the cat a final caress as she rose from the bed. Rocky complained vociferously at being abandoned. “Yowl one for me too, baby. From one emotional wringer to the next.”
Chapter 7
“NICE PLACE.” SIMON scoped out Janna’s living room. Her new digs resembled the old about as much as a pony did a Clydesdale. Except this pony had class.
“Thanks,” she said from the kitchen side of the serving bar, where she was preparing iced tea. She wore pressed jeans and a black T-shirt with the saying There Are Only 10 Kinds of People in the World: Those Who Understand Binary and Those Who Don’t. He didn’t get the geek-speak, but dug how the words mapped the contour of her breasts.
This was more like the old Janna — except for the damn dark-rimmed glasses. Armor or a mask?
He wandered around the room. Simple furniture in neutral colors, soothing against brick-red walls. Not too many of the puffy pillows most women liked to pile everywhere. On the walls, paintings of the villages and mountains in Eastern Europe. Escher stylized geometric prints of fish and flowers. Both worked. Both suited her.
A tall bookcase displayed a wide range of interests — biographies, romances, geek textbooks with titles he couldn’t pronounce. Family photos — Janna with a tall, elegant couple — separated the book sections. “These your parents?”
“Yes, the newest ones were taken when I visited them last year in Prague.”
No pictures of Gabe. No wedding pictures of the happy couple. No honeymoon snapshots. Nothing.
Before he could ponder that omission, the next shelf surprised him. “Kids’ books?”
“My grandmother started collecting the classics for me. She was afraid I wouldn’t know them because I was living abroad.”
Classics in older editions. He read the titles aloud. “The Secret Garden, Treasure Island, Misty of Chincoteague. I read Treasure Island, but X-Men is more my style.” Unusual collection for a high-tech woman. A complex woman.
“No surprise to me, but I like X-Men too.” The clink of ice in glasses announced that the tea was ready.
He’d seen her house only once — when Gabe died. That humongous McMansion could hold three of this one, not that this was a cold-water flat. “Smaller than your Virginia house, but very nice.” He returned to lean on the polished-granite countertop.
She handed him a tea with lemon and two spoons of sugar, just the way he liked it. In spite of all her troubles, she took time to remember. A warm little bud sprouted in his chest, but he pinched it off before he could say anything stupid.
She sipped her drink and smiled. “I know what you’re thinking, but Gabe had an insurance policy. That and the other house netted me enough for this, plus investments. Besides, that place was more his than mine. All those rooms echoed.”
Echoed with reminders of him. Even if the guy was dirty, she still loved him. No matter what excuses she gave Simon, his responsibility for Gabe’s death would gnaw at him for a long time. He glumly gulped down his tea. “No, I like it. Comfortable, livable, not a museum.”
He got a smile out of her for that one. Small victory.
Small talk and home decor weren’t why he was here. A search through Gabe’s possessions ought to yield something incriminating. He’d settle for damn near anything. It didn’t have to be a smoking gun. Or a confession. Janna had nothing to do with whatever Gabe did. No way.
He wanted this spy gig over with, for her sake. And his. So he didn’t feel dirty for snooping for DARK. So he could get on with bringing down Roszca. So he didn’t have to face the temptation of her day after day. He set down his empty glass. “Ready to get to work, Q?”
She halted her glass halfway to her mouth, held it a sec and then set it down. “I made myself wait for you. I want help and a witness. Everything’s in the den.” She whisked out of the U-shaped kitchen and turned left down a short hall. “This way.”
To him, den meant fireplace, leather recliner and deep-pile carpet. Hers had the carpet, but instead of a recliner, she’d jammed three walls with components that blinked at them. “You have enough electronic gear to outfit the NSA.”
“A woman needs her hobbies. I just got two new Zelman peripherals, a VGA Heatsink and their silent 400W power supply. I prefer listening to the newest Grace Kelly sax release than the CPU hum.”
Simon had no clue what she was talking about, but the enthusiasm in her voice heated his blood. “Epic.”
The bay window in the back wall looked out on an enclosed patio. A large mottled-brown cat lay sprawled out on the sunny window seat. Totally unimpressed with the intruders, the animal yawned before settling back into its nap.
“I’ve never seen a cat that big.”
“I got him at the shelter. Rocky’s about two years old,” Janna said. “He weighs twenty pounds, but when he snoozes on your lap, it feels like fifty.”
“Moby Cat.” He grinned, but she was already cross-legged on the floor beside their afternoon’s work.
His heart thudded. Disappointment rankled, but he should know better. Not the time to try his light-bulb riddle again. He really had to cut out the kidding around and stick with professional. Being pals wouldn’t fly, and she wanted nothing from him but his help.
On the deep-green carpet sat four boxes stamped with official inspection seals and striped with tape remnants.
“DARK sent the boxes back to me after they checked out the contents of Gabe’s desk at our house. I removed bank statements, insurance and tax stuff, but didn’t bother with anything else beyond a cursory look.” She lifted the folded flaps on the first box.
“Did he bring work home much?” Simon opened a second box.
“Never, as far as I know.” She stiffened as if remembering something unwanted. An odd emotion that wasn’t quite sorrow darkened her eyes behind the clear lenses. “But I didn’t know what his desk contained. It was sacrosanct. He locked the drawers and allowed no one access.”
“Not even his wife?” Simon remembered the man as a stickler for privacy. Maybe he had a reason beyond DARK security.
“Not even. He kept track of the finances, the checking account. Everything.”
So Mr. Perfect was a damn control freak. But he said only, “Our business makes you paranoid about security.”
She made no reply, not even a nod. Instead, she focused her attention on a trio of manila folders banded together.
Taking her cue, Simon dug into his box.
An hour later, the two of them had examined every box and file, every receipt and index card. And found nothing incriminating. Or exonerating. Just typical desk junk.
Janna sighed in exasperation. She’d prayed to find the answer to why Gabe dyed his hair and met with the notorious Viktor Roszca.
“No calendar. No PDA or day planner, electronic or otherwise,” Simon
said as he finished. “DARK must’ve kept it as a security risk.”
She murmured distractedly as she lifted a book from the last box. “What’s this doing in here? I’ve been searching for it ever since I moved.”
“What’d you find?”
“My copy of Heidi. When I unpacked, I couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t with the other books.”
“Your children’s collection? Why would Gabe have kept Heidi in his desk?”
Another example of his control. She suppressed a shudder. “He thought the collection was frivolous and silly. Heidi is my most valuable one, the only first edition.”
“But why would he take it and hide it.” His comment wasn’t a question, but a deliberation. He scrubbed his knuckles over his shadowed chin. “May I see the book?” He held out a hand.
“What are you going to do?” It was her prized possession. She clutched the volume against her breasts.
“I’ll be careful. I just want to look at it.”
“I’d have detected a bug.” She handed over the book with reluctance. “You think it’s booby-trapped or something?”
“Or something.” As he leafed through the book, she saw that he took care not to bend or tear the fragile pages.
A taut wire of tension stretched between them as he continued paging. She bit her lower lip and gripped her hands tightly in her lap.
Finally, he came to the last numbered pages. “These two are stuck together.”
“No. Or they shouldn’t be.” She lifted the book from his hands. She rubbed her fingers over the double thickness, peered at the edges and frowned. Her pulse kicked up a notch, the hairs on the nape of her neck rising. “Something’s sealed between them. Another piece of paper, I think.”
He pushed to his feet and offered a hand. “It’s your book. How do we separate those pages?”
More used to his casual touches without an automatic fear reaction, she allowed him to help her to her feet. “Steam. The teakettle won’t take long to heat up.”
Meowing, Rocky followed them to the kitchen. He twined around her feet as she turned the heat on beneath the kettle. “You had your supper, Mr. Piggy. Cool your jets.”
The cat twitched his tail and leaped up to the counter to glare at Simon, the apparent reason for his owner’s rejection.
“Sorry, buddy,” Simon said, stroking between his tufted ears. “She’s cut you off. Not my fault.”
Janna managed a small smile at the sight of his big hand on her pet’s fur. And at the coon cat’s reaction. Rocky purred and pushed his head into the hand. “I didn’t know you liked cats.”
He shrugged. “The stables at Pimlico had several cats. Some friendlier than others. I guess Gabe didn’t like cats.”
“He didn’t like animals — period. Said they were dirty.” Now why did she blurt that out? She felt too comfortable with Simon. He made it too easy to reveal too much. “I wonder what kind of glue it is.”
He tipped his head toward the open book on the counter. “So I can assume you didn’t do the gluing?”
When she caught his sarcastic tone, she started. For once, she couldn’t respond in kind to his dark humor and cocky attitude. “It must’ve been Gabe. I can’t imagine why DARK security would tamper with my book. Why? What could be hidden in there?”
The teakettle’s shriek made them both jump.
“Unless you’re clairvoyant, there’s only one way to find out.”
In a few moments, steam softened the glue. She carried the book to the granite counter. She felt Simon’s keen gaze as she plied her thinnest, sharpest kitchen knife to the paper edges. With careful precision, she peeled the two pages apart. Inside lay a folded sheet of thin paper.
“Don’t touch it,” he said. “I’ll get my evidence kit.”
She hadn’t noticed earlier that he’d brought his courier bag. He returned with latex gloves, tweezers and a plastic bag.
After they donned the gloves, he said, “Go on.”
“It’s tissue paper. With writing on it.” She couldn’t stop her hand from trembling as she lifted out the paper with the tweezers. Lead weighted her chest. Whatever Gabe had hidden wouldn’t contain good news. Proof of his guilt meant divulging everything to Ramsey. And the risk that she couldn’t continue to conceal her failed marriage.
Together, they used tweezers to unfold the paper. She slipped the letter into the evidence bag and sealed it before reading it.
Simon shifted his feet. “What does it say? I hope to hell it’s not in Cleatian or some other damn obscure language.”
She unfolded the page and raced her gaze down the page. “It’s a letter. In Gabe’s handwriting. To me.” Gnawing on her lower lip, she began to read.
Simon’s fingers itched to grab the paper, but seeing the message first was her right. Was it Gabe’s last will and testament? A confession? Evidence against Roszca?
What?
Janna’s face crumpled. A sob tore from her throat. The thin paper in its plastic bag floated to the floor like a tiny parachute as she buried her face in her hands.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Her distress unnerved him, slipped inside his chest and squeezed. He reached out to her. Uncertain whether touching her was a good idea, he let his hands hover above her shoulders.
She shoved her glasses to the top of her head and swiped a hand across her eyes. The raw emotion — grief, anger, alarm — sparking from her flint-gray gaze set him back a step. “Damn him! Damn the bastard!”
She looked around frantically, then grabbed the lemon she’d sliced earlier and heaved it against the wall. The soft fruit shattered with what he hoped was a satisfying splat.
The cat dived off the counter and disappeared with a yowl not very different from his owner’s.
“Janna?” Simon scooped the all-important paper from the floor.
Fists clenched, she trembled, seeming barely able to remain standing. “Gabe is guilty. He sold arms and dealt with Roszca. God knows what else he did.”
He poured her some iced tea and pressed her down onto the kitchen stool. Then he read the damning letter.
To my darling wife:
If you are reading this, it means I am dead. A certain business associate has eliminated me. He pressures me too much. You don’t need to know who or why, only that I have provided for you. I intended this fund for the two of us, for our future. If you hear rumors, remember I did it all for us. Contact Privatbank, Sarnen AG, Zurich, Switzerland. Speak only to Edouard La Casse. Give him my name and password: Hornblower.
Yours always, your loving husband,
Gabriel
Chapter 8
GABE WAS WRONG. Roszca — if that’s who he meant — didn’t kill him. He died before any of his so-called associates could. Why was another question. “Damn. A Swiss bank account.”
Swiss. Hidden in Heidi. And Hornblower. Gabriel blowing his horn. Too fucking cute. Controlling and greedy son of a bitch. Simon swallowed that and a more blistering comment.
“Blood money.” She blew her nose on a paper napkin. Tears welled in her eyes and her nose was pink. “‘For the two of us.’ He did it all ‘for us.’ That’s a lie. Simon, I didn’t know, I swear. I wouldn’t have wanted…” She broke down in gulping sobs.
This time, he followed his instinct and enfolded her shaking shoulders. She stiffened, then moved unresisting into his arms. Nearly his height, she buried her face in his neck. Her warm tears soaked his T-shirt, slid past his boundary rules and right into his bloodstream. He savored her almond fragrance. The subtle throbbing at her damp temple. The temptation of her skin. Need flared in him. New instincts prodded him. Unwanted primitive urges of protection and possession swamped him.
She clung to him in her grief and anger. He could no more push her away than he could pilot her state-of-the-art electronics. He drew in a slow, careful breath and let it out. Then another. Until his traitorous arousal eased.
“He was the agency’s hero. I t
hought—” Her muffled voice punched him in the heart.
“You didn’t know, Janna. He betrayed you. He betrayed DARK. And maybe his country.” He massaged slow circles across her back. If he had Gabriel Harris here, the man would wish he was dead again. But thank God they’d found definite proof of Janna’s innocence.
She knew nothing about her husband’s moonlighting. In fact, she knew little of what Gabe did, either clandestine activities or DARK assignments. He’d locked her out of his desk, managed the finances and kept her ignorant about everything.
He was the agency’s hero. Damned odd way to phrase it. Hadn’t Gabe been her hero too? She had no pictures of him around. Granted, her bedroom could be lined with them.
Or was her marriage not the happily-ever-after he’d thought?
Janna blew her nose in her wad of tissues. Sniffling back the last tears, she raised her head, but didn’t move away. Around eyes dark with defeat and dread, crystal droplets spiked her lashes. “Damn him! Damn—” She wagged her head and looked upward as though searching for the right epithet.
“Damn hacker,” he finished for her.
A tremulous smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Oh, Simon, only you could make me smile at a time like this. Yes, he’s a damn hacker.” She paused, her watery gaze skimming his features. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Her eyes glistened like wet slate, her moist, pink lips tempted. He ought to let her go, but she made no effort to pull away. Her mouth, only inches away, beckoned. He brushed a kiss on her lips. Then another.
She didn’t kiss him back, but she didn’t resist, allowing him to taste her sweetness. Just closed lips, but a taste like no other, sunshine and midnight. Fire surged through his veins and his body clenched.
He’d wanted to find evidence so he could get away from her, and here he was holding her and wanting more. Damn. The longing that welled up scared the hell out of him. Unable to resist one last taste, he pressed his lips to hers before forcing himself to stop.
Dark Rules (The DARK Files Book 3) Page 6
