License to Lie Page 14

  “She was probably conning you.”

  I gritted my teeth. “That bitch. I can’t believe she betrayed me.”

  Skip stared at me.

  I gave it right back to him. “What?”

  “Aren’t you the one all filled with righteous indignation?”

  I planted my elbows on the table and buried my face in my hands. I massaged my temples for a few seconds and sat up straight. “You’re right. I did this. I have to fix it.”

  “Let’s begin with that number she kept calling. It belongs to Jimmy Dane.”

  I checked back further in the call log. Sure enough, Stella called Jimmy Dane regularly. Very regularly. I checked the address book. “Holy shit!”

  “What?”

  “I think that’s Stella’s address. Might be a different apartment, but they both lived on Chinquapin.”

  “This one’s down the street a block or so from where they held your dad. Where the hell did someone come up with that name, anyway?”

  I rolled my eyes and watched the ceiling as I parroted 2007’s Loser of the Year. “It’s a shrub and a tree and a water plant—the American lotus, to be exact.” I caught Skip staring at me, his mouth hanging open. “What? I dated a guy who tried to turn me into a freaking arborist. This guy thought plant sex was—”

  Skip formed a T with his hands. “Time out! Too much information.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s too late to be skulking around. We’ll have to wait until morning.”

  “He could be gone by then!”

  “If he’s leaving, he’s already gone. Besides, we need to get the rest of the info off this thing so you can drop it on Stella’s desk tomorrow morning.”

  I thought about it for a minute. Skip was right. If we went chasing around now, all we’d do is raise suspicion and alert the cops that he’d stolen Stella’s phone. And that we were snooping. They’d probably charge me with obstruction or tampering with evidence. The bottom line was that us visiting Jimmy Dane tonight was a bad idea. Nothing in that thought meant that I couldn’t do a little reconnaissance on my own. No one had to know. “Okay, let’s export everything to my Dad’s computer.”

  Skip shook his head. “A disk. It’ll make the trail just a bit harder to follow—just in case.”

  I had to admit one thing, Skip was sharp. Too bad, with a business partner like him we might have spotted Stella’s plan. But then, he would have known mine also.

  It didn’t take that long for us to get the information onto a disk. We made two copies, one for me, one for Skip. By the time we were done, it was after nine. Skip left right after that and within about fifteen minutes, I snuck out of the house without saying good night to Mom and Dad, who had both fallen fast asleep in front of the TV. I left them a quick note, got into my car and, instead of heading home, went straight to Jimmy Dane’s apartment. From my parent’s place, it took just a few minutes to get there. Turn onto Tamarack head toward the beach. Left on Adams, do the street-parking search, and there I was, ready to roll.

  The apartment building had minimal exterior lighting. The pathways to the apartments were dimly lit and only a couple of the units had porch lights. Most appeared to have had the bulbs removed by tenants who’d grown tired of living in artificial twilight after dark. With grocery and other necessity-type shopping just a block away and the beach less than a mile down Tamarack, I could see where this would be a popular location. On one of the upstairs apartments where the lights shone brightly, I saw a couple of surfboards propped against the wall along with the shadowy outlines of wet suits suspended in midair like dark knights watching over the street.

  Dane lived in Apartment #14. I stood on a narrow walkway between #6 and #7. The night air felt silent. Serene. The marine layer blanketed the sky above, the reflection of city lights gave the sky a dull sheen reminiscent of dirty white linoleum in a half-lit room. The only sounds were those of TVs from inside the apartments and an occasional loud vehicle on I-5, which was just a couple of blocks away. But there was something else, too. A sense that I wasn’t alone.

  I spun on my heel and surveyed the complex. No people. No movement. My pulse quickened as I continued on. I glanced over my shoulder again, this time catching just a hint of movement behind me in the shadows. My body tensed involuntarily as I wondered if perhaps the kidnapper had come here also. My jaw felt like a steel trap clamped shut by the tension. I was unarmed. My usual confidence had been shattered by the man who had so easily escaped earlier today. Where was the manager’s apartment? It was so late. And dark. Would people come if I screamed?

  I pushed away my fears and continued my search for Dane’s apartment. I stopped at Apartment 10, closed my eyes, and listened. Just the normal traffic and mindless entertainment sounds. I concentrated on relaxing my shoulders and on being ready if something should happen. As I moved deeper into the complex, my sense of confidence returned.

  At Apartment #12, I heard a swish behind me. I spun around. A shadow disappeared between the buildings. I strode to the walkway where the shadow had been and checked for people. No movement. My breath felt ragged as I stared into the darkness at nothing. Someone was there. Stalking me. Maybe it was just a resident from one of these apartments—then why were they following me? Why disappear? “Get a grip,” I muttered.

  I retraced my steps and found Apartment #14 just one unit from the end of the row. There were no lights on in the apartment, no porch light outside, and dead silence everywhere. I jumped at the sound of a voice behind me.

  “Adding breaking and entering to your list?”

  “Jesus Christ!” It was Skip. “You scared the crap out of me!”

  “I intended to. I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

  I hissed, “And what about you? Why are you here?”

  He smiled. His eyes moved constantly, scanning every direction in the half-light. “Someone has to protect you from yourself.”

  From one of the upstairs units, someone yelled, “Move it along! It’s late.”

  I glanced at my watch, it was barely ten. I started to yell something back, but Skip clamped his hand over my mouth. I rolled my eyes and nodded. Only then did he remove his hand.

  Even in the dimness I could make out the slight shaking of his head. I whispered, “Okay. I’ll be nice.”

  Skip motioned with his head, I followed. We walked to the street, turned left, and ended up at my car. I realized that his was just a few spaces away. “Can’t believe I didn’t see the Porsche.”

  “I’ll follow you home. Dane’s not here, anyway.”

  “How do you know? We didn’t even try.”

  “I knocked. He didn’t answer.”

  “He might be asleep. He might be hiding out. He might—”

  “I took a quick tour of the apartment.”

  “You got the manager to let you in?” I snickered. I could just see that one.

  Skip reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small case. “Let’s say I have a master key. A graduation present from a buddy in college. He thought it was funny, but I’ve always loved tools. Don’t you love tools?”

  A giddy wave washed over me. “You picked the freaking lock?” Mr. “By-the-Book” had surprised me again. I half-laughed. “You hypocrite.” This guy was never going on my Loser list.

  He slipped the case back into his pocket and gave me a self-satisfied smirk. “Call it resourceful. I’m a little out of practice. I used to be able to pop one of these old locks in thirty seconds—took me twice that to get this one.”

  “You frigging broke in. I can’t believe it.”

  Headlights approached from a couple of blocks away on Chinquapin. Suddenly, Skip was all business again. “The creepy sensation you felt back there was your common sense kicking in. Let’s get you back to your place. Tomorrow morning you can drop off Stella’s phone at work and then we’ll come over here. If Dane’s not around, we’ll get the manager to let us in. That one can be on you.”

  “You want me to lie?”

  “Until th
is is over, we don’t know who we can trust. Yeah, you’ve got a license to lie.”

  Skip followed me home, his headlights never far behind. As we drove, I considered what he’d said. He was right. We didn’t know who we could trust. For all I knew, I couldn’t trust him either. Sorry, Skip. I watched his headlights in my mirror. “What’s one more lie?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Skip

  Skip arrived home at about 11:00 p.m. He’d spent time helping Roxy check her place for an intruder, then excused himself and drove home. Exhausted, he’d stripped and fallen into bed. At midnight, he still lay awake, bothered by what he hadn’t told Roxy and by the steps he was taking on behalf of a woman he barely knew.

  Jimmy Dane’s apartment had been pitch dark. There had been no lights on and, with the blinds and windows shut, the place had a closed, hostile feeling. He eased the door shut behind him, subconsciously gave the latex gloves he wore a tug to check their fit, and drew his .357 Sig from the back of his waist band. He held a small flashlight in his other hand, but wouldn’t turn it on until he was sure the place was empty.

  From where he stood, he could see that the apartment had a living room and a small galley kitchen with an adjacent dining area. A single doorway to his right led to the bedroom. Before he went any further, he needed to know if someone was sleeping in that room. He crept across the carpet as though he were a cat stalking prey. His every sense became razor sharp as the adrenaline rushed through his veins. He listened for the slightest noise, knowing that not sensing a change—any change, even a breath or a heartbeat other than his own—could cost him his life. He reached the door and craned his neck to peer into the room. The bedroom, too, was dark and unoccupied. Next, he checked the bathroom. Clear, also.

  Skip flipped on the flashlight and flicked it around the bedroom. Dane had little in the way of furniture. The bed had a comforter haphazardly thrown over the top and a few pieces of clothing strewn around. One side table had three items—a lamp, a clock, and a sci-fi paperback. Another lamp stood atop the dresser, where he also found a framed picture of a man and a woman, a business card, some jewelry, and two drawers left half open. Skip inspected the photo first. It was Stella, which meant that Roxy had been correct about the relationship. The jewelry was also probably hers since he doubted Dane wore earrings in the shape of hearts or a dainty gold chain necklace.

  Skip picked up the business card and read it. It was for a local fertility clinic. The card doubled as an appointment card. The appointment was for next Tuesday. Were he and Stella trying to have kids? He placed the card back on the dresser. The drawers were empty.

  Dane was gone, probably panicked after things went wrong this afternoon. Skip went to the kitchen to confirm his suspicion. The refrigerator contained milk, eggs, some leftovers, beer and wine. He found food in a small pantry. Yes, Dane had definitely fled in a panic.

  Skip returned to the bedroom, where he’d seen a computer monitor, keyboard and mouse. He heard the whir of the computer below the desk. Skip jarred the mouse and the monitor lit up.

  Line after line of gibberish filled the screen. Skip suspected that it was a programmer’s or a hacker’s code. He briefly considered having it checked out, but decided it would just be a waste of time. If Dane was truly gone, he wouldn’t leave anything of any importance behind. Or would he? It depended on how big of a hurry he’d been in. Skip stared at the screen again. It had lots of weird characters. Forget it. He left through the front door and made sure to lock up on his way out.

  Skip was about to cross the grassy strip to his car when he spotted Roxy. He slipped into the shadows and watched. She stood by her car door, glancing up and down the street, then quick-stepped to the front of the apartment complex. So he’d been right, he thought. She couldn’t stay away. Time for a little cat and mouse. A way to teach her a lesson.

  As he lay in bed, he realized that his biggest problem was that he’d enjoyed those moments. He’d enjoyed stalking Roxy, then meeting her on his terms. It was the worst case scenario—he enjoyed being with her.

  He forced himself to think of other things—of how Dane, Stella, and a kidnapper had gotten together. Stella had obviously been the inside source, but how were they connected to the kidnapper? And now that his girlfriend was dead, what had happened to Dane? Was he on the run with his share of the money? Skip drifted off to sleep, annoyed with himself for not being able to solve the puzzle. Annoyed more that he couldn’t even focus on it. And annoyed with Roxy that she kept intruding on his thoughts.

  Skip’s alarm jarred him from a deep sleep the next morning at 6:00. He felt groggy and tired, as though he were falling down a bottomless shaft in the earth’s surface. Although a hot shower helped wake him, every time he thought about Roxy, that helpless feeling returned. He downed an extra cup of coffee and was getting ready to leave when his cell phone rang.

  “Cosgrove.”

  “Herman Nordoff, Skip. Sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday, but this took longer than I expected. This is quite an operation you’ve uncovered. I haven’t seen one this ingenious in a while.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s a scam. She’s collecting money for a project that’s already funded. Maybe she just came to the party late and is going to return the money. I suppose that’s a possibility.”

  Acid from his coffee churned in Skip’s stomach. Shit. Now Herman Nordoff knew, too. What would he do with the information?

  Everything made sense now. The pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place and he saw it all so clearly. Roxy was pulling a con. And Richard Tanner had figured it out. He’d gone drinking to forget what he knew. The kidnappers had used him just as Roxy had used the ocean wave technology project.

  “Skip, you still there? You want the details?”

  “Have you got a synopsis?” Skip sat at the dining-room table, just sure he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear.

  “Fair enough. Ocean Technologies has filed for a patent on a system to turn ocean wave movement into electrical energy. Lots of people are working on this, so it’s getting lots of attention. They wanted to put together a demonstration project where they could produce enough energy to power a hundred homes. They started searching for capital and found a block of investors. There is a Tanner Investments that’s part of the team, but they’re East Coast. I happen to know the principal. That’s the only reason we realized this was a scam. This company you asked me about is playing in the shadow of a legitimate firm.”

  Skip stared off into space for a minute. Finally, he said, “Herman, I want to thank you for this.”

  “No problem. It was kind of interesting. If you need any help in nailing these bastards, you let me know. I could always call Tanner myself. He could get the feds in on this in no time.”

  “Hold off on that for now, Herman. We’re working through this. I’m sure it’ll all come out soon enough.”

  “I understand. You want the glory. No problem. You’re the one who found this. I’ll let you handle it your way for now.”

  Thank God for reprieves, thought Skip. How far into this was he? He’d probably already damaged his business beyond repair. He’d lose his consulting contracts. What police department would want to deal with a criminologist who was a criminal himself? He thought about possible charges. They’d go for obstructing justice, assault, and breaking and entering. As he disconnected, he thought that he should walk away while he could. Cut his losses. Go to the cops, explain what had happened—tell them how he’d been conned himself. And how would that look? It was easy to judge if you weren’t the victim—and how the self-righteous would judge him. Two days ago, he’d probably have agreed with them.

  Skip stepped out onto his back deck. It was tiny compared to Nordoff’s and his view wasn’t elevated like theirs. Still, it was his home. And if he started losing work, he’d lose this, too. Sooner or later the bills would catch up. “Damn you, Roxy Tanner!” He took the few steps down to the sand and walked t
o the shore. He stood, coffee in hand, watching the waves.

  “Greed. It just drives the whole system,” he said.

  A wave lapped at his feet.

  “I’ve never felt this way before. She’s a complication I don’t need.”

  Skip watched a large greenish-brown mass of seaweed drift in on the waves. It was like a spider’s web, ready to catch the unsuspecting. Unlike a spider’s web, this mass had no organization, no symmetry, and no real threat for its victims other than being an annoyance. Roxy’s web had symmetry. It was organized. And it held danger. Roxy was a financial black widow and the consequences of being around her were far more than just a little clingy stuff around his ankles. So far, the consequences were bad, but were they critical? If there was anything that he knew from personal experience, it was that those consequences could turn seriously ugly almost overnight. He had one foot in the web and that put him close enough to be bitten. The solution was obvious. He should pull away. Get the hell out as fast as he possibly could.

  The problem was that he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t walk away from Roxy. He had to help, had to find out who kidnapped Richard Tanner and get the money back where it belonged. He’d force her to return it to its owners. He laughed. He’d already learned that forcing Roxy to do anything would be about as easy as getting out of quicksand alone. Despite that, he had to try to turn her around. Or go down with her.

  He stared out over the water. “Cosgrove, you’re a moron. She’ll toss you away like yesterday’s garbage. She doesn’t even like me.”

  His face went hot when he realized a jogger had just passed him by. He glanced after the jogger. It was a young woman—long hair pulled back in a ponytail, a sweatshirt, shorts, and running shoes. Fortunately, she also had on headphones, so he doubted that she’d heard him.

  “And I didn’t even notice her.” That in itself bothered him.

  The ocean she-devil chuckled. She seemed to mock him. Did she find his predicament funny?