by Kylie Brant
"Simon Beal." The man shook his head sadly. "Whoa, that was a long time ago. He took advantage of her, of course. Wooed her and then tried to use her position to get information on the company. Once she found out what he'd been up to, she came right to your father and me and told us the whole story. Took us a couple days to wrestle with it, but eventually we decided to keep her on. Don't think she ever got over it," he mused. "She never did get married, did she?"
"No." James swallowed. "She never did."
The man seemed to shake himself from his reverie. "Well, like I said, it's ancient history. Old hurts, old scars. But you know what they say, time heals all wounds. And I gotta say, most of them are better left covered." Clapping him on the shoulder again, he moved away, back into the crowded conference room.
Broodingly James considered the street below without really seeing it. Old wounds, he knew intimately, didn't ever really heal. Sometimes they could still throb viciously two decades later.
He didn't catch up with Tori until people had begun drifting out of the area. Then he spotted her standing across the room wearing an expression that could only be described as dangerous. The sight lightened something inside him. There was something about the contrast she presented, he supposed. In the feminine dress and foolish purse, she'd appear at home on a fashion runway. But the look on her face spelled trouble for whoever had been foolish enough to raise her ire. He started toward her, half expecting her to take off one of her heels and start swinging at the poor sap.
He saw her shift, a deliberate movement designed to dislodge a hand from her rear. Then the crowd parted around them, and James identified the man at her side.
Allen Tarkington.
There was a single savage leap inside him, something primal. It took a moment to tuck away that flame of visceral possessiveness before he started toward them again. It wasn't an emotion that Tori would welcome. He didn't welcome it himself. Since he didn't get possessive over women, not ever, he chalked up the emotion to the dislike he had for Tarkington.
He'd never been able to link the man to the fire at his corporate headquarters nine years ago, but that didn't mean he didn't still suspect him as the arsonist. There was little the man wouldn't do to get ahead in their field. His tactics hadn't won him many friends in the business and his personality even less.
"Allen." His voice pleasant, he stopped next to Tori, nodding at the man. "Caught your presentation on that new password decryptor. Interesting."
Tarkington straightened his jacket. "We're thinking it'll start a buzz. Who knows? Might even give us a leg up on that contract next week. That'd be ironic, wouldn't it? If the exposure from your expo sent some attention my way from the Pentagon bigwigs?"
James thought of the arson once more, and smiled. "Funny, I've always thought exposure would do you good, too. Will you excuse us?" Tori moved away with him, leaving Tarkington to stare after them.
"I didn't catch your company's presentation," she said. "How'd it go?"
"The Micro Secure performed well. Sometimes there are glitches in the preliminary programs, but Ana did a great job working them out. I have high hopes for it."
They strolled back toward the entrance. The rooms were quickly emptying of people. "I had occasion to talk to several of your competitors," she murmured.
"Form any conclusions?" He raised a hand to acknowledge Tucker, Corley and Soulieu, who were heading for the door.
"Well, Tarkington's a grab-ass who'll chase anything in a dress. The man's lucky I didn't drive my heel through his jugular."
The mental picture brought a smile. "There are more people than you know who'd pay good money to see that."
"I also had a few minutes to speak to Beal." She stopped them, turned to look at him, concern apparent in her gaze. "He's the one that scares me, James. He's cold all the way through. And he'd take any advantage, use anyone, to get a jump on you. He must have known I was with you, because within thirty seconds of my getting near him he was pumping me for information. He was smooth. He disguised it as small talk, but the minute I convinced him I had nothing to do with Tremaine Technologies, his interest in me dried up fast."
"He's an opportunist." A fact that, according to Dale, Celia had learned the hard way. "But that doesn't necessarily mean he's our man."
Tori looked around. "How much longer do you have to stay at this thing?"
Checking his watch, he said, "Maybe a half hour. Since we sponsored the expo we're assisting the hotel staff with security for the setups. Why?"
She slipped her arm in his and began walking again. "Let's make it fast. I'm betting Kiki went right home and started developing those photos. He can be very industrious when there's cash on the line."
Interest piqued, he glanced at her. "You're planning a trip over there at this hour?"
"I think I can safely guarantee that where money is involved, Kiki's visiting hours can be very flexible."
But when they pulled up in front of the man's home an hour later, James wasn't so sure. There wasn't a light on in the house Tori directed him to, although the man's car was in the drive.
"It's barely midnight," she said impatiently when he pointed that out to her. "I know him. The first thing he would have done is come home and load the pictures on to his computer. Where money is involved, Kiki is meticulous."
He'd have to take her word for it. The slovenly man he'd briefly seen at the expo certainly hadn't seemed meticulous about much else.
"If he's awake, he'll still be at the computer. It won't hurt to check."
Giving a shrug, he followed her up the cracked front walk to climb the steps. "That's weird," she muttered. The front door was open, as it had been the day she'd come to hire him. The screen was still missing from the storm door.
"Kiki," she called, banging on the door. "It's Tori. I've got your money." Her greeting failed to get a response.
"Maybe if we call," James suggested.
"The heck with it. He's one guy you don't have to stand on ceremony with." She pulled open the storm door, stepped inside. "And he's never been unhappy to see anyone with money in hand."
Warily James glanced around before following her inside. This wasn't exactly the kind of neighborhood that inspired faith in humanity. But there was no one in sight. Not a sound could be heard, other than Tori still calling out the man's name. Her voice echoed in the too-silent house. "Exactly where is this office of his?"
"Right back here." She continued through the house, pushing open the office door. "Talk about engrossed in your work, Kiki, you really take the—" She stopped so abruptly that James nearly ran into her. A moment later he saw the cause for her reaction.
It was instinct rather than comprehension that had him reacting. He pushed her behind him and searched for the light switch, flipping it on for a clearer look, but that first glance had been enough.
Kiki Corday lay crumpled on the cracked linoleum floor. And from the amount of blood pooling around him, there was little doubt that he was dead.
"Ohmygod." James heard Tori's low moan, turned to see her staring horrified at the figure on the floor. "Is he…"
"Yes." From this angle he could see the man's sightless eyes aimed at the ceiling. "Use your cell to call my brother." He recited the number as he gingerly stepped over the body and went to the computer. Taking off his tie, he wrapped it around his hand before touching the mouse, bringing the screen to life.
"It looks like he was loading the pictures, all right," he said grimly. The compact flash reader was hooked to the USB port, but there was no sign of the memory card itself. The CD carousel was standing open and empty. Muttering a vicious curse, James used his covered hand to type in commands, but it was quickly clear that the images had been erased. A quick check proved that the recycle bin had been emptied, as well. "Damn."
"He's on his way." There was a slight shake to Tori's voice. He looked at her sharply, noted that she was keeping her eyes firmly away from the body on the floor. "He said not to touch anything.
" Despite the words, she moved closer. "Everything's gone?"
"Looks like it." Frustration rose, keen as a blade. "It could be retrieved. The only way to really get rid of them is to format the hard drive, and he sure didn't have time to do that. If I could have a half hour and an undelete program…"
"Somehow I doubt your brother will hold off on the crime-scene investigation until you get that done. They have a tech department for that, though, right? So eventually we'll get a look at them once they're recovered."
"Eventually being the operative word." He rose, frowned down at her. "You said he was meticulous."
"He is … was." Her voice stumbled over the past tense of the word. "He wouldn't have made just one CD, he'd have made several. He'd give me one and then keep the rest in case he could sell them to someone else later. I suppose the killer took them all." She stopped, looked toward the door. "Unless…"
"Unless what?"
When she didn't answer, just nearly ran from the room, he followed her. Flipping on a light in the living room, she went unerringly to a filing cabinet, reached for a drawer.
"Here." He handed her his tie, and she wrapped it around her hand before pulling the drawer open. Looking over her shoulder, he observed, "He'd have filed it under Tremaine wouldn't he?"
"Nope. I hired him, you didn't." She stopped when she found a file folder marked "Corbett." Taking a deep breath, she pressed it open.
And revealed two disks inside, marked with tonight's event and date.
"Thank God," she breathed. "This should speed things up for the police."
A siren sounded in the distance. James blew out a breath. "We should wait for Cade outside." At his suggestion, she straightened shut the drawer. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, and they walked out together.
Cade Tremaine held his flashlight in one gloved hand and shone it at the figure on the floor for a few seconds. Then he looked up at his brother. "Okay, here's the deal. This isn't my territory, but if this guy's murder is connected to the bombing, that will give us jurisdiction. And judging by your presence here, I'm guessing there's a pretty strong link."
"He was hired to take pictures at the expo," Tori said. "James tightened security, but we thought there was still a chance someone attending might have had something to do with the bombing. So he was taking photos to give us an idea of who talked to whom, maybe pick out some faces that shouldn't have been there." She stopped, swallowed hard. "It was my idea to hire him."
James heard the guilt beneath the words. He was familiar with the feeling. "Don't. He took the job because we were paying him handsomely." Tightening the arm he had around her waist, he looked at his brother. "He dumped the images, but a good tech should be able to recover at least some of them. If you need a good undelete program, we manufacture the best. And there's a disk filed under Tori's name in the file cabinet in the living room. Hopefully it's a copy of what he loaded tonight."
Cade rose and took out his cell phone. "I'm calling this in. Do you remember what you touched before you phoned me?"
Tori drew in a shaky breath. "The front door. The light switch in here. The doorjamb and knob to this room. For everything else James wrapped his hand. We didn't touch the disks."
From his narrowed gaze, it was obvious that Cade was less than impressed with his brother's forethought. "Made yourselves at home, didn't you?" He pressed a button on his cell, held it to his ear. "It'd probably be best if you two waited outside. I don't want you contaminating the scene." Tori turned, seemingly anxious to reach fresh air. As James followed her, his brother's voice trailed after them. "Oh, and stick around for a while. You're going to need to give a statement."
Disaster had been narrowly averted. A deep breath was taken. And then another. It was easy now to remember how distasteful it was to involve oneself personally.
There was no thrill in taking a life. Just relief that a crisis had been averted.
The CD was snapped in two, and then each half broken again. The pieces could be disposed of easily, as could the CF card. It wasn't so much what the man had photographed that could have caused complications; it was what he may have heard in doing so. There could be no real regret in ridding the world of yet another bottom-feeding paparazzo, snooping and prying into matters that didn't concern him.
One had to create one's own opportunities. Tremaine couldn't be awarded that new Pentagon contract. His death would be the most certain method to ensure that. But he'd be on his guard now, more difficult to take by surprise.
The woman, however, was a different story. Corbett, that was her name. Tremaine seemed taken with her. And as single-minded as the man could be, it was unlikely that he could complete any new project if she suffered an unfortunate accident.
Lips were pursed and the idea given consideration. There was usually more than one way to reach an objective. Whether Tremaine died or the woman, if the end result was the same, the choice really made very little difference.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
"I don't want to go back to the lake," Tori objected, after James gave the order to the driver. They'd just left Cade and it was nearly three in the morning. "I just want to go home." Sneaky fingers of regret tugged at her conscience. Kiki would still be alive if she hadn't hired him. That fact was indisputable.
"I can take you home," he said agreeably. Then his hand went to his suit jacket, withdrew a flat object. "But I thought you'd want to see these."
She stared at him, aghast. "Tell me you didn't steal evidence from the crime scene."
"Steal is such a negative word. Since I have every intention of returning it, I prefer the word borrow."
"When did you get that? We were together the whole time." Tori was beginning to believe that the man had more than a hint of the criminal in him.
"Not every minute, obviously."
Her initial shock had been replaced by temper. "I doubt very much whether your brother is going to share your fine distinction between stealing evidence and borrowing it. You just may end up in a jail cell before the killer does."
"Let me worry about my brother. The killer went to some pretty shocking lengths to get those pictures. Given the investigation we've done so far, if there's a clue to the killer's identity in those photos, you and I are far more likely to pick up on it than the police will. And much more quickly."
The fact that he was right didn't excuse his actions. Interest stirred, but she wasn't about to admit it aloud. "I hope," she said huffily, folding her arms across her chest, "that you still feel that way when you're introduced to your toothless bunk mate named Bubba."
"Darling." Amusement threaded his voice. "Your concern overwhelms me. And here I was counting on you to bake me a cake with a saw inside."
"You'd better pin your hopes on a good lawyer. I'm not much for baking." But despite her sarcasm, hope was unfurling inside her. Hope that the images would finally elicit a clue that would bring the killer to justice.
And hope that they could do so before another attempt was made on James's life.
Since she couldn't tolerate the thought of him looking at the disk without her, her objections subsided. Besides a few more pointed remarks about his light-fingered ways, the trip to the lake was made in silence. He was grateful he didn't have to argue with her about going home.
He wanted, more than was comfortable, to keep her near him. To keep her safe. And the logic of that particular emotion eluded him. He was accused, on a regular basis, of being fiercely protective of his family. This was the first time he'd felt the same emotion for a woman.
It was the situation, he told himself, discomfited. He was a man accustomed to taking responsibility for others. But it wasn't solely a sense of responsibility that made him remember, far too often, what she felt like in his arms. It wasn't responsibility that made him anxious to have her there again.
When they reached the house he led her to the den where he kept a secure computer. He put the CD in the drive, clicked on
its icon when it appeared on the screen. She seemed to be holding her breath until the first image opened and showed a scene that had unmistakably been taken that night.
"Meticulous to the end," she murmured. As one, they leaned closer to the screen while he clicked first on one image, then the next. "If you get me copies of the registration photo IDs, I can cross-reference the people in the images to identify them," Tori suggested.
"We'll work on it together so we can eliminate the people I know by sight. The preliminary count was close to five hundred."
He clicked through the images fairly quickly. Even with his powerful computer, it took several seconds for each to open. After a few minutes Tori leaned closer to get a look at an image he'd just opened. It had been taken from a distance, and depicted Dale and him on the balcony. "I didn't know Cartwright was going to be there tonight."
"Neither did I." Nor had he considered the emotional impact of the conversation they would have. Briefly, he filled her in on the information the man had imparted.
"Sounds like there were hard feelings, at least at the beginning," she said. "And plenty going on with several of the employees at the company at the time."
He clicked out of that image and opened another. "Ancient history, that's what he called it." There was, he supposed, skeletons buried in every decade. It was damn impossible to tell which ones, if any, were relevant.
Several pictures later she said, "This one's interesting." It showed Tarkington and Beal in a corner of the conference room, in what appeared to be deep discussion.
"Not necessarily nefarious," he commented. "I spoke to both of them tonight myself." A few minutes later, though, he paused on a different one, a frown forming on his face. There was an image of Marcus and Tucker talking just inside the entrance of the building. From the expression on their faces they appeared to be arguing.
"I know him." Tori pointed at Tucker. "He's one of the young men you had drive me home that day. Who's he with?"
