Betrayed

by Rebecca York

  She pushed that imagined confrontation out of her mind and tried to focus on what she’d come here for. If he’d hidden something, it would have to be in plain sight, because if anything was suspicious, someone would have examined it.

  Hesitantly she started opening drawers. She found pencils, pens, paper clips, and an old-style cell phone in the middle drawer. He’d obviously gotten a new smartphone and left the old one here. She felt the underside of the drawer and also the underside of the desk above the drawer but found nothing of interest.

  Another drawer had vertical files, and she riffled through them, even though her brother had said she wouldn’t be looking for paper.

  On the bottom right was a small bottle of Scotch, which she hadn’t been expecting. She hadn’t known that Arnold drank at work. Under the bottle were some stacks of computer printouts that he’d just shoved in the drawer.

  She kept searching, finding other things that made her pause—like a small stuffed bear with the logo of a software company on his chest. She felt over the fur and probed at the stuffing inside the body, but as far as she could tell, it was just a toy. When she found a program from his son’s school graduation, she felt her stomach knot. She remembered Blake talking about his son. The boy was going to Princeton, and his father was so proud of him. Had Blake needed extra money for school tuition? Was that why he’d stolen from the company? She wished she had understood him better.

  She kept looking and found nothing that could be a storage place for information Arnold intended to take out of S&D. Getting up, she began pulling books out of the shelves and riffling through them.

  But she kept thinking about the phone in the middle drawer, lying there in plain sight. And some of the things Blake had said in his emails kept circling in her head.

  “If you have any doubts, phone me.” And what had he called his puzzles, “SIMon Sez”? Simon Says was the name of a game kids played in the States. She’d played it at some birthday parties when she was little. The person running the game would say, “Simon says, ‘Lift your hands.’” And you were supposed to do it. There would be several similar directions. Then the game leader would quickly say, “Lift your hands,” without adding the “Simon says” part first. And if you did it, you were out.

  It was a good name for a game. But it didn’t exactly fit what Arnold was doing. Why had he used that name?

  She’d thought it was odd—along with his direction to “phone me.”

  Her mind made a leap to an idea, and her heart pounded as she opened the drawer again, pulled out the phone and flipped it open, looking at the blank screen.

  SIMon Sez.

  She pried off the back of the phone, looking inside at the tiny subscriber identity module card. It was an integrated circuit, designed to store information about the phone. Once SIM cards had been as big as credit cards, but now they were much smaller—about the size of a dime. But what if this one only looked like a regular SIM card? What if it didn’t have anything to do with the phone and was being used to store other data?

  There was no sign on the phone saying, “This is it.” And on the face of it, the idea might seem unlikely, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought that it made sense. Particularly since Blake had given her two clues. SIMon Sez. Like for SIM card. And then he’d said to use the phone when he had no reason to do it.

  But why her? Because he knew he was in danger, and he wanted someone to have the information?

  She looked at her watch, seeing that she’d been in the office twenty minutes. She had to get out of here before anyone figured out what she was doing, and the phone seemed the best bet for a clandestine storage device.

  She stood up and started to slip the instrument into her purse. No, maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. But where to put it? She finally tucked it into her bra, thinking that would be a dead giveaway that she was doing something shady if anyone found it.

  She was about to leave when she remembered to take the folder she brought along. Snatching it up, she exited Blake’s office and headed back toward her own workstation. But as she rounded the corner, she saw the light come on over the elevator. Someone was coming up here, probably to find out what was wrong with the camera.

  She looked around quickly, saw that the ladies’ room was only a few steps away, and sprinted inside. Then she crossed to one of the stalls and used the toilet, flushing the rubber gloves and praying they would go down. When they disappeared, she clicked the buttons on the device her brother had given her.

  She thought about throwing the phone away. But then she wouldn’t have the information she’d come to get. If it was truly in the phone. But what about the thing that had turned off the camera? She shouldn’t keep that, should she?

  Still unsure that she was doing the right thing, she kept the phone in her bra and wiped off the camera remote control before stuffing it in the bottom of the trash can. Then she took a deep breath and let it out before exiting the bathroom. As she stepped into the hall, she almost bumped into one of the security guards who was standing there, staring at the bathroom door. She stopped short, trying to look normal.

  “Ms. Reyes?”

  “Yes. Is something wrong?” she managed to say.

  “We were having a problem with the security cameras up here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you notice anyone in the building who shouldn’t be here?”

  “I’m sorry, no,” she said, managing to keep her voice even.

  “Did you sign in when you came in?”

  She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I should have done that.”

  His walkie-talkie crackled, and he pulled out the device and put it to his ear.

  “The cameras are operating properly now,” a voice said.

  “Okay, thanks.” He continued to stare at her. “Let’s go through correct procedures. You need to come down and sign in, then sign out.”

  “Fine,” she answered. What was she going to do now? The camera in the lobby would have recorded her time of arrival. Which meant that she’d better not lie about that.

  “What do you have there?” the guard asked, looking at the folder tucked under her arm.

  “It’s instructions for the new word-processing program, and there are things I don’t understand. I mean, the program should do all the same functions, but I can’t get some of them to work,” she said, thinking that she was babbling. She ended with, “I wanted to study them at home.”

  “And that was an emergency?”

  “No. I just wanted to get ahead of it,” she answered, wondering if that sounded lame.

  They walked back to the lobby, and she signed the in-and-out sheet. While she did that, the guard picked up the folder and riffled through it, but he only found the word-processing instructions.

  “Don’t these usually come with the program?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I printed them out.” Which was the truth. “Sometimes it’s easier for me to deal with stuff on paper than on the computer screen.”

  He gave her back the folder.

  “Do you mind if I check your purse?”

  “Of course not,” she said.

  She put the purse on the counter and stood with her heart pounding as she watched him riffle through it, glad that the camera controller wasn’t inside. When he was finished, he handed her back the purse, and she exited the building, thankful to have escaped. But as she stood in the cold night air, she couldn’t stop herself from having second thoughts about what she’d done. She’d always been an open and honest person. Now she was breaking the law. Well, maybe not technically, but morally.

  ***

  Lincoln Kinkead was watching Notorious, an old movie with Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant that he pulled out every few years. They have a spy operation going, only she doesn’t know that the bad guys are on to her and are slowly poi
soning her. He loved the story and loved the young Ingrid Bergman. Such a stunning actress. And her scenes with Grant were beyond hot. He had watched the movie so often that he knew every line of dialogue before the actors spoke.

  Just as Cary Grant figured out that Ingrid Bergman was in terrible danger, Lincoln’s phone rang, jerking him out of the spy drama. He looked at the clock on the desk in his den. Who was calling at this time of night? When he crossed to the instrument, he saw from the caller ID that it was the security desk at the S&D building.

  This better be good, he thought as he snatched up the receiver and demanded, “Is there a problem?”

  The man on the other end of the line was apologetic. “I’m not sure, sir, but I wanted to call you.”

  “What is it?”

  “The cameras on the IT floor went off a while ago, and when they came on, we saw one of the employees coming out of the ladies’ room.”

  “Who?”

  “Elena Reyes.”

  “What was she doing in the building so late?”

  “She said she had come to get some information on her current word-processing program. That sounded strange, and she looked nervous, like she was up to something she shouldn’t be. But maybe she just doesn’t like dealing with authority.”

  Lincoln thought about the scenario. The camera coming back on just as Elena Reyes walked out of the bathroom on the IT floor. How likely was that? Had she really gone to her office, or had she done something else instead?

  “Where did the cameras go off?” he asked.

  “Just in the IT area.”

  “Would she know how to turn them off?”

  The guard answered promptly. “In my judgment, not without help. Unless she’s got a lot more training and special equipment than she needs for her job.”

  “Okay,” Lincoln answered. “I’m coming in. I want to look at the security tapes. Have them ready for me.”

  “Yes, sir. And should I call Mr. Gallagher?”

  Lincoln considered the question and answered, “He should be in on this, but I’ll get in touch with him.”

  He hung up, thinking about what Elena Reyes might have been doing in the building after hours, and he came back to something he’d been on edge about.

  Falcon’s Flight, the software from Alex Rosenbloom. Although Alex had never understood its true worth, Lincoln had immediately seen it as a gold mine. He’d known it could make him millions—from sales of the product and from the hidden potential he had no intention of sharing with the public.

  He’d been worried all along that someone might try to steal it out from under him. And when it looked like Arnold Blake had tried to get his hands on it—and gotten killed in the process—Lincoln had hired Shane Gallagher to make sure that the software stayed where it belonged.

  Was this thing with Elena Reyes connected? What if she’d been working with Blake and biding her time until she thought it was safe to—do what? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to take a chance.

  Chapter 12

  Thankful to be out of the building at last, Elena walked to her car. She thought she had the information her brother so desperately needed. She had taken a big chance getting it, and she should be relieved to have accomplished her mission. But as she unlocked the vehicle, she couldn’t help having second thoughts. Could she really drive back to her apartment and turn over something so vital that a man had been killed because of it?

  She’d gone to Arnold Blake’s office to get the information. Then she’d had a confrontation with a security guard. And now she was feeling sick to her stomach. Not only because she’d almost gotten caught. Something Alesandro had said was rattling around in her mind, and now she understood the implications. If Blake had been holding the information, nobody had done anything with it yet. But if it came on the market from another company, someone was going to be blamed. And S&D security would remember this incident.

  And now that she was thinking straight, the idea of stealing from Lincoln Kinkead made her sick. He’d always been straight with her. He’d given her a good job with good possibilities for advancement, and she couldn’t knife him in the back.

  She pulled her phone out of her purse and called her home number. The phone rang, and she thought Alesandro wasn’t going to pick it up. But finally after five rings he did.

  “Do you have it?” he asked immediately.

  “I think so.”

  “Then bring it to me.”

  The words were hard to speak, but she said, “I can’t.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I can’t do it. You’d better get out of my apartment and find somewhere to hide until I figure out what to do.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To Shane Gallagher.”

  “That guy I met?”

  “Yes.”

  “You puta!” he screamed at her.

  “That’s what you think—that I’m a whore?”

  “When you’re killing me. I need that information. I need it to be safe.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said and hung up because she couldn’t stand the fear in his voice or her disgust with him. Or with herself. Alesandro had gotten her to do something she never would have done on her own. Not in a million years, and now she had to put it right.

  Instead of heading home, she used her phone to find Shane Gallagher’s address and drove to his apartment building.

  ***

  Shane was relaxing in his boxers, sitting at his computer when the phone rang. The caller ID said it was Lincoln Kinkead. He looked at his watch. Eleven o’clock. What did the head of S&D want at this hour?

  “Something wrong?” Shane asked.

  “There may have been a breach of security tonight.”

  “What happened?”

  “One of the security cameras went offline, and when it came back on, Elena Reyes was coming out of the ladies’ room on the IT floor. There’s no record of what she was doing before that.”

  “Shit.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ll be right over.” He clicked off the phone and charged into the bedroom where he grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt. After putting them on, he pulled on socks and shoved his feet into running shoes. He was just heading back to the front of the apartment when someone knocked at the door, and he stopped short.

  His Sig was in his desk drawer. He got it out and took it with him to the door. When he looked through the spy hole, he saw Elena Reyes, of all people. She was the reason Kinkead had called, and now here she was. But why? She was standing stock-still, but with the distorted image of the fish-eye lens, it was impossible to read her expression.

  “Elena?” he called out to see her reaction.

  She jumped.

  Pulling the door open, he found her standing in the hallway, looking pale and upset—and also with an expression he hadn’t seen on her face before. He decided it was steely determination.

  He’d just been talking to Kinkead about what she might have been doing in the building. Strange that she was standing at his door looking like she was in the middle of a mess. But maybe the lunch and dinner and helping her after her car broke down had made her trust him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, apparently having second thoughts about this midnight visit. “Maybe I shouldn’t get you involved.”

  “But you’re here now, and you must have had a reason. Come in.”

  When she stepped into the apartment, he closed the door and turned the lock, making her jump.

  “Something bad happened,” she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm.

  “Okay.”

  She didn’t continue, only stood in the short hallway looking sick.

  Unwilling to let her back away from her mission, he
prompted, “Something bad happened?”

  “My brother…”

  “The guy I met at your apartment?”

  “Yes. He said they were going to kill him. That’s why…” Her voice trailed off.

  He ignored the last part and asked, “Who?”

  “Bad men.”

  “Can you be more specific?” he asked, wishing she would just lay it all out.

  She swallowed hard. “He said he had done some work for them. Then they must have found out about me. That I worked at S&D. They beat him up, and he came to me. He said there was something I could do—to save his life.”

  When she stopped short again, he kept his face hard. “That isn’t making a lot of sense. How were you supposed to save his life?”

  “He said Arnold Blake had stolen something from S&D, but he hadn’t given it to the men. He was holding out for more money, only they killed him when they were…questioning him.”

  Shane thought back over the events at S&D. Everything she was saying could be true. “And what—exactly—is your involvement?”

  “My brother sent me into the building to search Arnold’s office. And I’m pretty sure I found what he wanted me to get.” She gulped. “But I didn’t take it to my brother. I came here instead.”

  He pinned her with his gaze. “Why not?”

  She raised one shoulder. “I couldn’t…”

  “What did you find?” he demanded.

  “A phone in his desk.”

  Shane snorted. “And that’s supposed to prove anything?”

  “Why would he leave it there? You don’t leave your phone at work, do you? And if you were going to steal something and keep it around, maybe you’d hide it in plain sight. Like in that Edgar Allan Poe story I read in school.” She snapped her fingers. “Wasn’t it called ‘The Purloined Letter’?”

  She kept talking, giving him reasons why she thought the information her brother had asked her to get was hidden in the instrument. And as she spoke, what she was saying began to make sense. That was interesting, because Shane had ordered Blake’s office left the way it was—as a trap. In case someone went there looking for whatever Blake had presumably stolen.