“Yes, of course.” Harper tossed the gold pen aside and got to his feet. He went to the window. “I see what you mean. We’ll have to do this discreetly.”
“Right. So what I’m thinking is, I go to L.A., find the woman, and watch her for a while. Get a feel for her daily routine. When we nail that down, we can figure out the best way to pick her up without causing a fuss.”
Harper gazed fixedly out at the lake while he considered Leon’s logic.
Leon’s chest burned.
“All right,” Harper said eventually. “That makes sense. The last thing we want to do is to draw attention to this situation. The retrieval must be handled as quietly as possible.”
Leon allowed himself a small sigh of relief and took a step back toward the door. “I’ve already made my plane reservations. All I need to do is go home and throw some things in a suitcase. It’s a long drive to the airport, so I’d better get moving.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t like this,” Harper muttered. “But I suppose we can only be grateful that this GopherBoy person contacted us instead of Forrest Cleland.”
Leon shrugged. He knew there was no mystery about why the hacker had approached someone at Candle Lake Manor first. GopherBoy was clever enough to figure out how the place worked. He obviously understood that the management here had solid financial reasons for wanting to get the Cleland woman back without raising a fuss and that privacy and a real low profile were crucial to Harper’s profitable operation.
Leon cleared his throat. “Going to Cleland would have been a whole lot riskier. Cleland is a wealthy, powerful man, and he has no particular reason to keep things quiet. Hell, he might have called in the cops, which would have screwed GopherBoy’s plan royally.”
Harper frowned. “How did GopherBoy reach the conclusion that I would be willing to pay for this information?”
“Who knows? Probably something in that ID broker’s files he hacked into that mentioned just how much money Cleland is paying to keep his relative under wraps here at Candle Lake. GopherBoy’s gotta know what that income means to this place. Maybe more important is that he’s figured out that the big thing you’re selling here is a guarantee of silence. This place can’t afford any bad press.”
Harper clenched and unclenched the fingers of one hand.
Satisfied that he had made his point, Leon turned and walked swiftly across the thick beige carpet to the door.
In the outer office, Fenella Leeds looked up from a file she had open on her desk. She was a centerfold dream, blonde, blue-eyed, and gorgeous. She was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in real life, but he treated her pretty much the way he would have treated a cobra that happened to be coiled on the chair behind the desk.
He was fairly certain she had screwed Harper for a while, but there was now some gossip going around that she was getting it on with the guy in accounting. He did not envy either man. If you slept with snakes, you tended to get bitten.
“You’re going to L.A to find the Cleland woman?” Fenella queried.
It did not surprise him that she had somehow listened in to the conversation he’d just had with Harper. He wouldn’t put it past her to have a tape recorder under her desk. He had a hunch she kept real good tabs on everything that went on around Manor. It was one of the reasons why he had to be very, very careful until he was clear of the place.
“Yeah.” He glanced at his watch and kept moving. “Gotta get going or I won’t make my flight.”
Fenella did not wish him a safe trip. She went back to work on the file.
By the time he reached the relative safety of the hall, the burning in his chest was the worst it had ever been, almost unbearable. He took the bottle out of his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and poured several tablets into the palm of his hand. He shoved them into his mouth and chewed frantically.
He knew why the heartburn was so bad today. It was because he had made his decision and that had involved lying outright to Dr. Ian Harper. It was a scary thing to do because it meant that he was burning all of his bridges.
He had told Harper that GopherBoy had given him only the Cleland woman’s new name and the fact that she was somewhere in L.A. But that was pure crap. GopherBoy was a hell of a lot better than Leon had led Harper or Fenella to believe.
According to the information the hacker had provided, the Cleland woman was not in L.A. She was in a place called Whispering Springs, Arizona. GopherBoy had come up with an address and phone numbers, office and home. Everything, in short, that Leon needed to find her.
If the information had come through a year ago, right after the women had escaped, Leon knew that he would have gone straight to Harper with the data. But at some point, probably the day he noticed that he was popping the antacid tablets every couple of hours, he’d arrived at a blinding realization. He no longer wanted to work for Dr. Ian Harper, regardless of how much the bastard paid.
The problem was that, due to his expensive lifestyle and his lifelong inability to hang on to a dollar, he lacked the kind of nest egg he required for a comfortable retirement. When the hacker had turned up the location of the Cleland woman, however, Leon had been struck with a rare burst of creativity.
Chapter Five
“Jeff and Theo told me that you got your first client today,” Bonnie said from the other end of the table.
“Sure did.” Ethan forked up a bite of grilled halibut and looked at his nephews, sitting on either side of the dinner table. “I wouldn’t say she was overly impressed by my professional style, though. She was in such a big hurry to leave that she nearly ran you guys down on the stairs on her way out.”
“But you got her to pay you in advance,” Jeff said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
“I may not have graduated first in my class from charm school,” Ethan said, “but I do know something about running a business. The first rule is always get the advance before the client leaves the office.”
Jeff grinned. He was eight, two years older than his brother. He still had all the awkwardness of boyhood, but when he smiled like that, Ethan thought, the kid looked exactly like his father.
Ethan glanced down the table and caught the wistful expression that came and went in Bonnie’s eyes. It had been almost three years since Drew’s death, and he was pretty sure that his sister-in-law had come to terms with the loss, but he knew that she would never be able to look at her sons without thinking of her husband. She had loved Drew deeply.
She was not the only one who thought about Drew Truax whenever Jeff or Theo smiled their father’s smile, laughed their father’s laugh, or exhibited his keen intelligence and outgoing nature. Ethan thought about his brother in those moments, too.
Drew had been four years younger. They had been close, but no one who knew them well was quite sure why because, when it came to personality and temperament, they had been polar opposites. Drew had been the enthusiastic, optimistic visionary. Whip-smart and endowed with gifts for management and finance, he had been a natural for the corporate world. He had risen far and fast.
Drew had disappeared seven months after the board of directors of Trace & Stone Industries had voted him into the CEO’s chair. A big chunk of the company’s financial assets vanished at the same time.
The police arrived at the logical conclusion that Drew had taken the funds, blown off his family, friends, and the life he had known in L.A., and was probably living under another name somewhere in the Caribbean. It happened, the cops said.
Ethan and Bonnie had known better. But while Ethan had sensed deep in his gut that his brother was dead, Bonnie had held fast to hope. The situation had become a thousand times worse after the con artist claiming to be a psychic had fueled Bonnie’s belief that Drew would be found alive.
Ethan had dealt with his grief the only way he knew. He had gone after the truth with a vengeance and a fury that stunned even those who knew him well, including his wife.
&nbs
p; Shortly after he started asking questions, a walking skeleton of a man with basset hound eyes had paid him a visit in his office at Truax Security. He had worn a cheap brown suit distinguished only by its incredibly poor tailoring.
“I represent some people,” the man had said in a voice that had been damaged somewhere along the way.
“Sort of figured that out for myself.” Ethan had leaned back in his silver-gray leather desk chair. “Can I assume these people are concerned about my ongoing investigation?”
“Yeah. The general opinion seems to be that your brother is not dead, but if it turns out that he is, these people want you to know that they are sorry for your loss.”
“Compassionate.”
“Very. But they also want you to understand that they had nothing to do with it.”
“Swell. Then they have nothing to worry about, do they?”
“Thing is,” the man had said, “they got a lot of money invested in a certain company, and they would prefer that you did not meddle in this situation at this time. This is a delicate stage, financially speaking.”
“What do they suggest I do?”
“Leave the investigation to the cops.”
“Who are getting nowhere fast.”
“My employers urge you to be a good citizen and rely on the duly authorized forces of law enforcement to handle this case.”
“Tell me, if you were sitting where I’m sitting would you rely on the duly authorized forces of law enforcement to deal with this?”
The man had not responded to that. “My employers also want you to know that if you stop asking questions, they will see to it that a large amount of money will be placed in your company’s bank account.”
Ethan had thought about that.
“Who are your employers?” he had asked.
“I am not authorized to provide you with that information.”
Ethan had sat forward. “In that case, you can give them a message from me. Tell them I said to go fuck themselves.”
“This is not a good idea, Mr. Truax. Trust me.”
“Get out of here,” Ethan had said softly.
The man had studied him for a long time. “You’re not gonna change your mind, are you?”
“No.”
“I can see that.”
Then he went to the door without further comment and walked out.
Ethan’s investigation into Drew’s death produced far-reaching consequences that ultimately destroyed a Trace & Stone competitor and the powerful man who had been attempting to manipulate it from behind the scenes. The fallout from the scandal also sent shock waves through a shadowy consortium of power brokers, politicians, and businesspeople, many of whom had invested heavily in the rival firm on the basis of insider knowledge.
Ethan eventually found Drew’s body in a shallow grave in the desert. The contract shooter and the man who had hired him, Simon Wendover, a majority shareholder in the competing firm, were both arrested. The shooter got killed before he could testify against his employer, and Wendover walked out of the courtroom a free man.
Wendover died a month later in a boating accident.
Karma was a funny thing.
Trace & Stone’s rival was forced into bankruptcy. It was not the only firm that went down in flames as a result of the investigation. Truax Security, the company Ethan had built from the ground up, foundered the following year.
His third marriage disintegrated at about the same time. Everyone else in the family blamed the collapse on the stress of the investigation and the tumble into bankruptcy. Ethan didn’t correct the impression, but privately he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t any good at marriage.
The small mention of the demise of Truax Security in the business section of the L.A papers attributed the financial failure to poor management.
But Ethan knew what had really happened. So many abrupt decisions made by so many Southern California firms to shift their business to other corporate security companies at precisely the same time had not been an unhappy coincidence. The mass exodus of clients was engineered by his visitor’s angry employers in retaliation for obliging them to weather some annoying losses.
The man had paid Ethan another visit. The occasion was the public auction of the last remaining assets of Truax Security.
He had approached Ethan, who was leaning against his former office desk, arms folded, watching the progress of the sale. The desk was an impressive piece of furniture composed of polished steel and a massive slab of curved glass. The decorator who had done the interiors of Truax Security had assured Ethan that it made a statement.
For a while the man had not spoken. He had seemed fascinated by the patter of the auctioneer, who was trying to work up some enthusiasm in the crowd.
“You ever wonder how they learn to talk like that?” he had asked eventually.
Ethan had said nothing.
The man had released a world-weary sigh. “You shoulda stopped when you had the chance. You woulda come out of this okay, you know? You woulda been sitting in a very nice place right now if you hadn’t meddled. Maybe still be behind that desk.”
Ethan had looked at him. “You never got around to telling me your name the last time you came to see me.”
“Name’s Stagg. Harry Stagg.”
“How does it feel, Harry Stagg, to sell your soul for a bunch of bastards who probably can’t even remember your last name and who could not care less if you have a heart attack or crash your car tomorrow because they know that you can be replaced in five minutes?”
“It’s a living.”
Ethan had gone back to watching the auctioneer.
Stagg had stirred a little. “You asked me a question that time I talked to you in your office. You wanted to know who I was working for. I didn’t answer.”
Ethan had said nothing.
“They’re all members of a fancy private club,” Stagg had said. “Got everything in that club, you know? Two big swimming pools and saunas and steam rooms and handball courts. There’s this big golf course and a bar and everyone who works there, male and female, looks like a fashion model. They say that if you’re a member of that club, you can get just about anything you want.”
Ethan had listened to the auctioneer labor heroically to elicit bids for a pair of leather and steel chairs that had once graced the reception lobby of Truax Security. The chairs had come from Italy, and they had cost a bundle. He had objected strongly to the purchase, but the frustrated decorator had waged a passionate campaign on the grounds that first impressions on potential clients were crucially important. The chairs, according to the decorator, were an investment.
The chairs had finally sold for a tiny fraction of their original cost. Some investment, Ethan had thought. As God is my witness, I will never trust another decorator.
“What’s the name of this private club?” he had asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Won’t do you any good. You can’t touch those guys. No one can. They’re always real careful to keep their hands clean.”
“You going to give me the name?”
“They call the club The Retreat,” Stagg had said. “The man who told me to talk to you back at the beginning of this thing? His name is Dorney. He was the president when the situation involving your brother first went down.”
Ethan had recognized the name. You could conjure with it in Southern California.
“If it means anything,” Stagg had said, “the club’s board of directors fired Dorney and elected themselves a new president a few months ago. Presidents only get to hold the job as long as things are going the way the club members want them to go. Mistakes are expensive.”
“Sounds like The Retreat runs pretty much like any other business enterprise.”
“Yeah.” Stagg had turned to leave. He had paused. “By the way, I quit working for them right after I heard you were having financial problems.”
“What are you doing now?” Ethan had asked.
“I’m a secur
ity consultant.”
“Any money in it?”
“It’s a living. Even got my own business card.” Stagg had pulled out a small leather case, removed a cream-colored card, and handed it to Ethan. “Let me know if you need any consulting.”
He had walked away through the crowd and disappeared.
Ethan had stayed at the auction until the bitter end. His personal desk had gone for a lousy one hundred seventy-five bucks. Some statement. On the other hand, maybe it had said it all.
Bonnie glanced at Ethan while she passed the potatoes to Jeff. “What kind of job does your new client want you to do?”
Ethan pulled his mind back to the present and reached for another dinner roll. “Routine background check on a guy she’s thinking of getting involved with. Take about ten minutes.”
“Did you do it already?”
“Not yet.” He buttered the roll. “Ran into some glitches when I tried to set up the office computer this afternoon.”
“Uncle Ethan is going to have to update his apps,” Jeff said. “They’re not compatible with the operating system on the new computer.”
“I’ve got my laptop back at the house,” Ethan said. “I’ll run the check on it when I go home tonight. My client will have her answers in the morning.”
Bonnie frowned. “Speaking of that pink monstrosity you now call home, did you give any more thought to my idea of putting it on the market?”
“Who’d buy it?” Ethan took a bite of the roll. “The only reason I got it so cheap from Uncle Victor is because he couldn’t sell it before he moved to Hawaii. At one time or another, he had it listed with every broker in Whispering Springs.”
“I think Nightwinds is cool,” Theo announced. “And it has a pool.”
“And a real theater with a big-screen TV,” Jeff added. “And a popcorn machine.”
“The TV and popcorn machine were Uncle Victor’s only serious upgrades, outside of some work on the wiring,” Ethan said. “At least he had his priorities straight.”