by Rebecca York
When she answered, “Of course,” he got the feeling that she wished he’d simply drive away.
Instead he turned into a nearby space and cut the engine.
They both got out, and she turned rapidly away, leading him toward the front entrance, where she stopped to get her mail, then took him up a flight of concrete steps to the second floor.
“A good location,” he remarked. “I mean, better than the basement for safety—and not so far to climb as to the top.”
“But I do sometimes hear people in the apartment above me walking around.” She gave him a quick smile. “And of course, it’s possible a guy on a rope could swing down from the room above and crash through the window.”
He laughed. “Yeah, but unlikely.”
After unlocking the door, she switched on the light, and they both stepped inside. She walked a few paces away as he looked around, then breathed out a small sigh as he made a professional judgment. If she was pulling in extra money because she was stealing information from S&D, it didn’t look like she was spending it on herself.
The furnishings were inexpensive, probably even secondhand. Some of them were like the furniture he’d rented for his own apartment. But there was really no comparison. He hardly noticed or cared about his surroundings. She obviously wanted to make her living space into a real home, and she’d worked hard to do it on a budget. She’d found some unusual pieces, like the carved sideboard, and added a lot of touches, like bright throws and pillows that gave the place an unexpected warmth.
But he wasn’t simply admiring the decorative effects. He was also looking for a place where he could leave the bug he’d been carrying around, thinking he’d use it if he got the opportunity. He might have put it in her office at S&D. But he hadn’t thought there was much chance she’d talk out of turn there. Her apartment was a much better bet.
Elena saw him taking the place in, and the expression on her face told him that she cared what he thought about her efforts.
“This is charming.”
“Thanks.” She raised a hand and let it fall back to her side. “I’m paying off some student loans. The decorating style is early cheap.”
“But you’ve done a good job with it. It looks like you have a flair for design.”
“Thank you,” she said in a low voice. He was fairly sure she wasn’t comfortable with him being there. And he was thinking that the sooner he left, the better, before he did something he shouldn’t. And what would that be, exactly? He managed to keep his mind from going there.
He held up his still-dirty hands. “Which way to the bathroom?”
“Down the hall.”
He looked in the direction she’d indicated, still thinking about the bug in his pocket. If he got her to fix him something to drink, he could probably plant it then.
“Do you have a rag I can use?” he asked. “I don’t want to get grease on your towels.”
She brought him a piece of terrycloth, then left him alone to soap his hands.
He looked around while he worked on the grime. It was a standard apartment bathroom, but she’d given it a lot of personality—with a rainbow-colored shower curtain and small ceramic figurines on a wicker shelf sitting on the toilet tank top.
He got most of the grease off and wrung out the towel, then draped it over the edge of the tub.
He was just fumbling in his pocket for the listening device when a loud rap at the front door made him go still.
Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was after seven. So, who was dropping in on Elena this evening? Not someone with a key.
He heard her walk to the door and hesitate a moment before opening it. She stepped rapidly back as someone barreled into the apartment.
A sharp male voice spoke. Shane could tell by the inflection that a question was being asked. But he didn’t know what the guy had said because he’d spoken in Spanish.
Chapter 7
Shane stepped out of the bathroom, still listening to the Spanish conversation and picking up only a few words here and there. He arrived in the living room to see Elena confronting a dark-haired man who looked to be in his early thirties. His narrow lips were set in a grim line, and his angry, deep-set eyes were focused on her.
When he saw Shane approaching, he turned his attention to him and switched to English that was much more accented than Elena’s.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Who are you?” Shane countered.
The guy’s hands went to his hips in an aggressive stance. “I said who are you? And I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”
Elena answered quickly. “This is Shane Gallagher. He works at S&D. My car broke down, and he gave me a ride home—after he tried to see if he could fix the car. He got his hands dirty under the hood, and he came in to wash them.” She looked from the newcomer to Shane and back again. “Shane, this is my brother, Alesandro.”
Neither of them said, “Glad to meet you,” but the brother relaxed a fraction.
“I was just leaving,” Shane said, wishing he had an excuse to stay for a few more minutes. He hadn’t accomplished his main mission in coming here, but it was instructive to observe the relationship between brother and sister. The guy seemed overprotective. Or was “protective” the right word?
Shane didn’t have much experience with cultures where the men ran roughshod over the women, but he had wondered if that was the case with Elena’s family. She’d talked about them a little, but now he had a better idea of where she was coming from, as the phrase went.
The brother stepped out of the way, and Shane exited the apartment, hearing the door close firmly behind him. He had to fight the temptation to stay where he was and press his ear to the door to find out what was going to happen in there now. But he could picture Alesandro pulling the door open again and discovering the Good Samaritan was a snooper.
With a sigh, Shane walked rapidly down the steps and out to his SUV. Too bad he didn’t carry around equipment like a directional mike. Of course, they had probably switched back to Spanish, and the effort would be wasted.
He looked up at the lighted window that he now knew was Elena’s and waited a couple of minutes. Finally, he drove away, wondering why the guy had shown up in the first place. Had he followed them from work? Or was he just making a social call on his sister? It didn’t exactly seem like it. He’d been angry or upset when he came in.
Shane thought about the two people in the apartment as he drove home. Elena spoke almost as if she’d been born here. Her brother, not so much. But he’d been older when his parents emigrated. That could have made the difference, or maybe he hadn’t put as much effort into assimilation.
***
Elena stood facing her brother. He looked upset. Because of Shane, or was it something else?
“I don’t like coming over and finding a guy in your apartment,” he said, switching back to Spanish.
There were a lot of things she wanted to say. Like—that’s none of your business. Or—are you checking up on me? Or—how dare you decide who I can see. But she pressed her lips together. She’d been taught respect, and she wasn’t going to throw that away because her brother was acting like a jerk.
Instead she said, “You haven’t visited in a while.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she hoped they didn’t sound like an accusation.
“Sorry. I’ve been busy,” he said in an apologetic voice.
“Did you eat dinner yet?”
He turned one hand palm up. “I’m fine.”
Maybe if he was referring to food. But from the tone of his voice, she thought that wasn’t entirely true. Something was wrong.
To give herself a little breathing room, she asked, “Do you mind if I eat something? It’s been a long day.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
She was glad for the chance to turn away from
him as she opened the refrigerator and got out the dinner portion of rice, beans, and chicken she’d barely touched yesterday.
She covered the bowl with wax paper and put it into the microwave.
When she looked up and saw Alesandro watching her, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“You got any hard stuff?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Wine?”
“I don’t really drink.”
“Yeah, right. Okay, you got soft drinks?”
“Ginger ale.”
He wrinkled his nose but let her put ice in a glass and pour some of the fizzing liquid over the ice.
He fiddled with the glass, then sat down at the table. When the rice dish was heated, she put a mug with water and a tea bag into the microwave.
She sat across from her brother and ate a few bites of her dinner, then glanced up as he shifted in his chair.
She could let this go on for a few minutes, or she could find out what was going on.
“Why did you come over?” she asked.
“I’m in trouble, and I hope you can help me,” he answered, surprising her with his bluntness.
Elena put down her spoon. “What’s wrong, and how can I help?”
He gave her a look that said he wasn’t happy about providing an explanation, but he knew she wasn’t going to cooperate unless he did.
“I’ve gotten into some stuff I can’t handle,” he clipped out.
“Like what, exactly?” she asked, feeling as though she were prying a piece of hardened gum off the bottom of her shoe.
“I was making a delivery.”
“At the rental car agency? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Not the car agency.” He stopped and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s better if you don’t know.”
She waited for more information.
“Someone’s got the goods on me. They can have me arrested big time if they want. But they told me there’s a way out. If you can get me some information from S&D.”
“What are you trying to say?” she asked in a voice that hardly sounded like her own.
He leaned across the table toward her. “There was a guy who died. Arnold Blake.”
There was the name again. She hadn’t thought about Arnold Blake in months, and now both Shane and her brother had brought him up.
“What about him?” she managed to ask.
“He took some information from S&D. He was supposed to turn it over to a guy, but he didn’t do it. That’s how he ended up dead.”
“I don’t understand. What do you want me to do—exactly?”
“Find out where he hid the material, and bring it to me.”
Chapter 8
Elena moistened her dry lips. “What information? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know what it is. I only know it’s my ticket to freedom.”
She tried to take in the reality of what he was saying. “You’re asking me to steal something that belongs to S&D?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “No.”
“Then what?”
She heard the exasperation in his voice. “Just find where Blake put it, and give it to me.”
“Alesandro, you know I can’t do that.”
“You want me to get beat up real bad? Maybe killed?”
“No. Of course not. But I thought this was about not getting arrested.”
“It is. It was.” He made a low sound. “The bastards set me up. They can turn me in to the cops, or they can make me wish I was in protective custody.”
She gasped, trying to understand but not really getting it.
“Think about helping me. But don’t think about it too long because I don’t have much time.”
“What if I get caught?” she blurted out.
“Blake took the information months ago. They won’t link you to him.”
“What you’re asking could get me fired.”
“They won’t know you did anything.”
She couldn’t believe he’d said that so casually. He was asking her to do something immoral, and he wasn’t worried about it at all.
“I’d better go,” he said, standing up abruptly.
She jumped out of her chair. “Wait, you can’t just drop something like that on me and leave.”
“I have to go. They could be tracking me. I have to keep moving.”
He strode out of the dining area, down the hall, and out of her apartment, where he carefully closed the door behind himself.
She stood, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to try and ward off the sudden chill that had gripped her body.
When she looked at the food still on the table, she knew she couldn’t choke down another bite. Mechanically, she picked up the dish, carried it to the sink and scraped the rest of the meal into the sink, then ran the disposal and washed the mess away. Looking back at the table, she saw the glass of ginger ale she’d set in front of Alesandro and poured that down the sink, too, then stood with her fists clenched.
Damn him.
It was easy to get rid of the evidence that he’d been in her apartment, but not so easy to figure out what to do.
For a split second she thought about calling Shane Gallagher. He’d know how to handle this. But then she’d have to explain about her brother’s gambling and about what he’d asked her to do.
Not stealing, he said.
She didn’t know if she agreed with that interpretation, but whatever you wanted to call it, it was wrong. And she didn’t even know if her brother was lying. He said he wanted the information from S&D to settle a gambling debt. But that might not even be true. It might just be a story he’d told her.
She pounded her fist against the counter, hating Alesandro for putting her in this position.
***
Shane knew if he went home and tried to relax, he was only going to let the scene with Elena and her brother keep spinning around in his mind. Instead he stopped for a small pepperoni pizza and took it back to the S&D office to eat at his desk.
While he ate, he checked his email. There was a message from Max reporting that Jed Lansing and Roy Newman were both on record as complaining about not getting adequately compensated for new products they had developed for S&D. Did that mean one or both of them would be willing to get back at Kinkead by stealing from the company? He didn’t know, but it left him with a feeling of relief. Maybe it was one of them—and not Elena.
The sound of footsteps in the hall made him switch from Max’s message to a Google search of camera equipment that he could put on the screen if needed.
Glancing at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, he saw that it was nine thirty. Late for someone to be in the building, besides the security guards.
When he looked up, he saw the bulky form of Bert Iverson standing in his office doorway.
“You’re working late,” his second-in-command said.
“I could say the same for you.”
“I had a few things to finish up.”
“Me, too.”
“I was about to leave. Then I saw the light on in here. You need any help?” Bert asked.
“No. You go on home. I’ll be leaving soon.”
He watched the big man head for the elevator, then reread the email from Max on Lansing and Newman.
Next he checked their office emails, looking for patterns that would clue him in to suspicious activity. When he found none, he went back to another office email account—that of Elena Reyes. At first he found nothing interesting. But when he scrolled back to a year ago, he stared at the screen. There had been a fair amount of correspondence between Elena and Arnold Blake.
A lot of it had been work related, with the new employee running questions by the old hand. She c
ould have mentioned that at lunch. She could also have mentioned that Blake had sent her jokes and asked for advice on puzzles that he was working on. He’d called them SIMon Sez. There had been quite a lot of back and forth between them, so she’d known Blake better than she’d let on.
Could the puzzle stuff be some kind of code he was sending her? Why? And a code for what?
Shane made note of the puzzle queries and saved them into a work file.
Then he pushed his chair away from the desk and leaned back with his hands laced behind his head.
Was he looking at evidence of suspicious behavior on the part of Elena and Blake? Or was he looking for more reasons to question her? Translated—spend time with her.
With a snort, he shut down the computer and got up, thinking about his next move in the game they were playing. Or maybe he was the only one actually playing, and she was perfectly innocent.
But he knew that he couldn’t stay away from her. She might be a suspect, but it had been a long time since he’d found a woman so appealing. Maybe it was the combination of innocence and strength he sensed in her. Or was he making up the innocent part?
He’d asked her to lunch. What if he asked her to dinner?
Would she go with him? Or make it clear that there wasn’t going to be anything personal between them?
Chapter 9
Elena called a car-repair service the next morning, took a cab to work, and met the auto mechanic in the S&D parking lot. She’d expected that he’d have to tow the car away, but after looking under the hood, he fiddled with some stuff and told her to try and start the car.
It started right up, and she was grateful that the problem had been easy to solve.
“You had a couple of loose spark plugs,” he said.
Not knowing much about cars, she answered with a small nod.
“Kind of an uncommon problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t usually happen spontaneously.”
When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Could anyone have fooled with your vehicle?”
She felt the hair at the back of her neck bristle. Why would anyone fool with her car? But she only answered, “I don’t think so.”
