Rafe paused and stroked a fingertip along his pencil-thin mustache. An unconscious habit, Mike knew. One that suggested he’d damned well better sit up and pay attention. It also usually indicated he wouldn’t like what his VP for Support Systems was going to say next.
“That redistribution doesn’t happen automatically. The project manager has to request it.”
“What are you telling me? Zia hasn’t requested her indirects?”
“Yeah, she has. Or rather, the agency managing her project funds has.”
“Danville and Associates.”
“Right. But...” Rafe frowned at his penciled notes. “As best I can tell, they’re using a different formula than the one we approved.”
Mike bit down on a curse. Whatever the discrepancy—if there was one—this was Zia’s project. When she signed her name on the bottom line of her proposal, she’d accepted full responsibility for how the money expended on the project was used.
“I’m sure Zia can explain the difference,” he said with a shrug.
He checked his watch, saw it was almost three-thirty New York time and pulled out his cell phone. When his call went to her phone’s voice mail, he left a message asking her to call him back, then tried the number she’d given him for her new work area at the research center. That call was answered by one of the other researchers working the project.
“Dr. Elliott.”
After more than a month of communicating with Zia via email, FaceTime and phone—and one very eye-opening visit to the research center—Mike was now on a first-name basis with most of his fiancée’s team.
“Hi, Jordan. This is Mike Brennan. I’m trying to reach Zia.”
“She’s still at lunch. I expected her back before now but it’s a working session. Must be running longer than expected.”
“Must be.”
“I’ll be happy to take a message. Or you could contact Danville and Associates. I’m sure Tom’s secretary can tell you where he and Zia are having lunch.”
Mike didn’t skip a beat, but he could feel his fist tightening on his phone. “Just ask her to give me a call, would you?”
“Sure thing.”
“Thanks.”
He cut the connection and gave Rafe a quick update. “She’s having a late lunch. Why don’t you leave your notes and I’ll go over them with her when she calls back?”
“Sure. In the meantime, I’ll keep scrubbing the numbers.”
Mike pushed away from the conference table but didn’t return to his desk after Rafe left. Jamming his hands in his pants pockets, he faced the windows and stared unseeing at the haze belched out by Houston’s millions of vehicles and dozen or so oil refineries. ExxonMobil’s Baytown facility—the world’s largest—processed more than five hundred thousand barrels a day. It also contributed heavily to GSI’s profit margin. Even from where he stood, Mike could see two GSI tankers negotiating the bays and bayous leading to Exxon’s giant facility. Yet the sight of their distinctive green-and-white hulls barely registered on his consciousness. He was still trying to understand his gut-level reaction to hearing Zia had yet to return from an extended lunch with Tom Danville.
Hell! What was the matter with him? He wasn’t some Neanderthal. A throwback to the Middle Ages, jealously guarding his property. What he was, he reminded himself, was ass over end in love with a smart, savvy professional woman. One who couldn’t be more different from his ex-wife if she tried. And yet...
He still remembered Jill’s reaction when he’d told her he was filing for divorce. He’d be a long time erasing the memory of her face as it twisted into a mask of fury. Or the string of affairs she’d tossed at him in retaliation. Or her snarling admission that she’d counted the hours until he’d left on another of his endless business trips. Or her shouted obscenities when he’d walked out the door for the last time.
Mike had never told anyone about that sorry scene. Not his family. Not his friends. Maybe because he knew the debacle was as much his fault as Jill’s. He had used his rapidly expanding business interests as an excuse to escape her endless complaints. He had picked up more than one subtle hint that there might be more to his wife’s jaunts to Vegas than casinos and high-end malls. And he’d experienced nothing but relief when their marriage was finally over.
What he had now, with Zia, represented the opposite end of the spectrum. From the moment he’d met her on the beach at Galveston, he’d felt nothing but admiration for her dedication, her brilliance, her unshakable belief that her research might make a difference. And, yeah, the woman inside those sweats and lab coats was pretty spectacular, too.
Now her research could be in trouble. Rafe hadn’t come right out and mentioned fraud or mismanagement. He didn’t have to. Mike didn’t believe in the old saw that money was the root of all evil, but he’d seen it corrupt too many people too often. His jaw set, he whirled and strode to the outer office.
“Clear my schedule for the rest of the week, Peggy. I’m going to New York.”
“Tomorrow?”
“This afternoon—or as soon as they can get the Gulfstream turned around.”
The jet would have to be serviced after the flight back from Seoul and a new crew called in. Mike would be lucky to be in the air by five, in New York by ten Eastern time. Although he wasn’t jet-lagged from the Korea trip, he knew the time warp would hit with a vengeance somewhere over Ohio. He should probably wait until tomorrow to fly but couldn’t shake the need to work through this problem—whatever it was—with Zia.
* * *
Half a continent away, Zia was prey to the same itchy feeling of impatience. Against her better judgment, she’d yielded to Tom’s argument they could get more done at a restaurant than at his office, where his phone rang incessantly and other clients demanded his attention. She’d also accommodated his busy schedule by agreeing to a late lunch.
His solo appearance at this cozy French bistro on Broadway and 58th had irritated her no end, however. So had his insistence that they eat before getting down to the nitty-gritty. She’d picked her way through half of her Salad Niçoise but now pushed her plate to the side and voiced her annoyance.
“I’ve communicated directly with Elizabeth Hamilton-Hobbs for the past month. She’s my primary contact at your firm. I don’t understand why she couldn’t make this meeting.”
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted this face-to-face.” Danville dabbed his mouth with his napkin and folded his expression into unhappy lines. “I know how well you and Elizabeth connected. But...well...I had to let her go.”
“What! When?”
“This morning.”
Zia jerked back, her shoulders slamming the padded booth. She’d worked so closely with Elizabeth these past weeks! Had come to appreciate the woman’s droll sense of humor almost as much as her business acumen. When GSI approved that quarter-million-dollar grant, Zia and Elizabeth had celebrated with a bottle of Chilean Malbec. And when the rest of the funding came through, they’d treated each other to an orgy of Godiva chocolate. Now she was gone?
“What happened? Why did you let her go?”
“I really can’t...” Danville paused and scrubbed a finger under his nose. “I’m sorry, Zia. I have to follow certain rules of confidentially in situations like this.”
“Situations like what, dammit?”
“I can’t say. I really can’t. But I can tell you this. From now on I’ll manage your funding personally.”
Oh, sure! Like she was going to trust a crackhead to oversee her project’s finances? She started to tell him so but pulled up short when she remembered the contract she’d signed with Danville and Associates.
How binding was it? Did she have an out? Any grounds to terminate? She’d better find out, and fast.
Grabbing her purse and hooded wool jacket, she squeezed out of the booth.
“I’m not happy about this, Tom.”
“Neither am I. I trusted Elizabeth.”
He rose and helped her on with her coat. Zia murmured her thanks and raised her left hand to tug her hair free of the hood. The sight of her engagement ring sparked a now-familiar refrain.
“I hope your fiancé knows what a lucky bastard he is.”
“I hope so, too.”
He caught her hand and angled it so the pear-shaped diamond caught the light. “If any your project funding falls through,” he said with a cynical twist of his lips, “you could always hock this.”
She tugged her hand free and pinned him with an icy stare. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. For both our sakes.”
“Whoa!” He held up both palms. “Just kidding, Doc.”
He’d damned well better be! Her mind churning, Zia left the restaurant and headed for the subway stop on the corner. A quick glance at her phone showed a short list of missed calls, including one from Mike. She decided to wait until she was back at the hospital to return it along with the others.
She exited the subway at Lexington and 96th and cut over to Mount Sinai’s four-block campus. Spring was still just a vague hope. Trees and bushes had yet to put out any buds and the hospital’s brick-and-glass towers looked stark against the unforgiving sky.
The sounds and smells of the Children’s Hospital greeted her. She’d finished her neonatal ICU rotation and now spent the majority of her time in the research center. The familiar scent of antiseptic followed her as she hurried past the labs with their gleaming equipment and ongoing experiments to the modular unit set up to house the MRSA study. The only member of the team present at the moment was Jordan Elliott, a microbiologist with a specialty in infectious diseases. Petite and vivacious, she glanced up from her computer and flashed a smile.
“Hey, Zia. How was lunch?”
“Long. Unproductive. Worrying.”
“Huh?”
“Elizabeth Hamilton-Hobbs isn’t with Danville and Associates anymore.”
“You’re kidding! When did that happen?”
“This morning, evidently. Tom wouldn’t tell me why he and Elizabeth parted ways. It’s some kind of confidentiality thing.” Frowning, Zia shed her coat and hooked it over the back of her chair. “I need to review our contract with Danville and see what our options are.”
Jordan’s brows lifted but she didn’t comment. This wasn’t her first research study. She knew funding was a complex and multilayered process. Even more complicated with outside sources like GSI in the mix. Which reminded her...
“I almost forgot. Mike called. He wants you to call him back.”
“I will,” Zia promised, her gaze locked on the contract scrolling up on the computer screen.
The legalistic phrasing didn’t reassure her. If she was interpreting it correctly, the only way out of the contract was if Danville and Associates failed to meet one of their stated objectives. Elizabeth had aced them all so far, not least of which was soliciting and securing every penny Zia had requested.
Only a fraction of those funds had been disbursed to date, though. Just what they’d needed to cover the start-up. Computers, furniture, subscriptions to medical and commercial databases, the first month’s salaries for team members...six pages worth of direct costs. The total looked ginormous to Zia, but she knew it would climb even higher when they factored in the indirects.
With a moue of disgust, she clicked through the dizzying array of figures again before listening to her messages. The one from Mike requested a callback. He didn’t answer his cell, though, so she tried his office.
“Hi, Peggy. It’s Zia. I’m returning Mike’s call.”
“Sorry, Zia. He’s already left for the airport.”
“Left? I thought he just got back.”
“Didn’t he let you know? He’s on his way to New York. They should be wheels up, um, right about now.”
Surprised and delighted, Zia thanked her and tried Mike’s cell again. The call went through this time, although about all she could hear was the roar of revving engines.
“I just heard you’re headed this way,” she shouted over the noise. “What’s the occasion?”
“Do we need one?”
“I can barely hear you.”
“I said... Never mind. Hang loose and I’ll call you back when we’re airborne.”
* * *
Mike waited for the sleek ten-passenger executive jet to slice through the haze and hit open sky to make the return call. When he picked up his phone, however, the instrument buzzed in his hand and Rafe’s office number popped up on the screen. He took his brother-in-law’s call and had his world rocked for the second time that day.
“Have you talked to Zia?” Montoya wanted to know.
“Not yet. We’ve been playing telephone tag. I was just about to call her back.”
“You may want to hold off on that.”
The reply turned Mike’s insides cold. “Why?”
“Remember I told you I was going to keep scrubbing the numbers on her indirects.”
“What’d you find?”
“A disbursement code that wasn’t in the original proposal. It’s buried in a subset of indirects relating to utilities. But instead of linking to the university’s general operating fund, the code links to a separate bank routing number.”
Mike’s knuckles turned white where they gripped the phone. “Bottom line this for me, bro.”
“That’s just it. I can’t. When I tried to trace the routing number, I hit a wall. Or more precisely, a damned near impenetrable firewall.”
“Oh, hell. It’s a blind?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Rafe fell silent. Mike knew there was more, though. When his brother-in-law sank his teeth into something, he didn’t let go.
“You said damned near impenetrable. Did you get in?”
“No, but I did poke around enough to generate a call from a friendly FBI agent.”
“Christ!”
“He’s with what used to be the white-collar-crimes division, Miguel. He wanted to know why we’re digging into that particular account.”
“Did you tell him I’m on my way to New York? That I plan to check into this very issue myself?”
“Yeah, I did. He says he needs to talk to you first. In fact, he offered to fly up from DC tomorrow and meet you in New York. I told him I’d check with you and see if that’s how you want to handle it.”
Mike scrubbed a hand across his jaw. He could feel the jet lag from his trip to Seoul crawling over him now. Combined with the tension Rafe had just piled on, he felt as though he’d been hit with a pile driver.
“Mike?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Set up the meeting.”
Before returning Zia’s call he signaled the steward. The Gulfstream crew didn’t normally include a cabin attendant on short hops within the States. Graham hadn’t checked out after the transatlantic flight, however, and at this moment, Mike was happy to make use of his services.
“Would you bring me a Scotch, Gray? Neat.”
“Sure thing.”
The Glenlivet went down with its usual smoky fire, but the heat didn’t dissipate the cold spot in Mike’s stomach. Whatever way he looked at it, he couldn’t see a good ending to what was smelling more and more like fraud.
Although he didn’t for a second believe Zia had a hint of anything questionable in the works, she was the project manager. She’d put the proposal together. She’d signed off on the grant solicitations. She was responsible for proper distribution of funds. At the very least, a fraud investigation would hang a cloud over her project. At the worst, her reputation in the tight-knit world of pediatric research would take a hit. Not the best way to kick-start a new career.
; Mike tossed back the rest of his Scotch, powered up his phone and hit the speed-dial number for Zia’s cell.
“Sorry it took so long to get back to you. I had another call.”
“No problem. So how was Korea?”
“Busy and productive. GSI’s going to acquire six new Triple-E class super-containers over the next three years.”
“Super-containers, huh? I’m getting a mental picture of hundreds of those shipping containers piled one on top of each other.”
“Try thousands. Eighteen thousand, to be exact.”
“On each ship?” she asked incredulously.
“On each ship.”
“Okay, I’m officially impressed.” She paused before changing the subject. “I’m really glad you’re flying in tonight, Mike. Something’s come up. I’d like to talk to you about it.”
“Personal or otherwise?”
“Otherwise.”
Hell! He had to ask. “Is this related to your working lunch with Tom Danville?”
“How did you know about lunch?”
Surprise and just a hint of wariness colored the question. She obviously hadn’t forgotten Mike’s reaction to Danville when they’d met at La Maison.
Or was it something else?
No, dammit! He was letting this FBI business spook him! Whatever the hell was going on, there was no way Zia could be involved. Deliberately, he put a shrug in his reply.
“Jordan mentioned where you were when I called earlier.”
“Oh.” Another pause. “What time do you think you’ll be in?”
“Late, I’m afraid. After midnight.”
“You have to be dead, considering you were on the other side of the world this morning. Get some sleep tonight and I’ll take off early tomorrow afternoon to welcome you home in style.”
“Define style,” he said with a smile, relaxing for the first time since Rafe’s call.
“We could do the ballet,” she teased, well aware of how he felt about it. “Or the opera. Or maybe just snuggle in with a pizza and a movie.”
The Texan's Royal M.D. Page 13
