Betrayed by a Kiss (18 page)

She waved Dane over, pulled the duffel out of his hands, and rummaged inside. Once she had her laptop and additional hard drive, she left the security guards’ server room and removed her mask. “If anyone leaves while we’re upstairs, they’ll think it’s weird that the door is closed and locked.”

“And hopefully they’ll leave with their questions unanswered. We have a twenty-minute window with fifteen minutes left. Let’s go,” he said.

Dane led her to the elevator. It was ballsy—so perfect for their needs. When the doors closed them inside, they went floor by floor to the top, listening to the Muzak. Marnie fought adrenaline overload, fought her body’s need to be twitchy, and harnessed the energy into a sharp focus. Whitman’s offices were three floors up, and that meant floors one and two could potentially destroy their plans. Someone could stop the elevator and step on, with guns or a mop. They’d be busted and have a decision to make—abort or hide the body. Every moment felt like an eternity. Anxiety morphed into functional panic.
Just another day on the grift
, she thought. Her body shuddered with relief as the carriage passed the second floor. Whitman’s floor was verified empty. They were good.

The doors of the elevator opened moments later to opulence. Whitman’s personal offices were designed to look like an old-money library. Brick accent walls, wide-plank flooring covered with expensive red-toned Oriental and Persian rugs were a backdrop for glass and pewter lamps, colorful wall art, and leather furniture scaled to size. Towering, interconnecting cubicles lined up ten deep in the center of this great space. Constructed of cherrywood and soft charcoal-gray woven upholstery, the cubicles were a clever way to give pseudo privacy to the employees. On the lower levels, there wasn’t even the attempt to pretend. Marnie’s basement cubicle was taupe and five by eight feet of tiled, fluorescent-lit unexceptionalism, with an African violet its one splash of color.

She looked left and right before leaving the elevator and saw they were, indeed, alone. She and Dane hustled behind a cubicle wall twenty feet from Whitman’s glass-enclosed office. The clock was ticking, but she couldn’t shed the feeling things were coming together too easily. She flipped through her plan, searching for the reason for her unease, from her morning breakfast to breaching the outer door of the building, but couldn’t find anything that should warrant hesitation. So, what was her problem?

She felt Dane touch her arm, met his gaze, saw his question, and knew the problem instantly. She wasn’t alone. This was the first job she’d pulled where she’d allowed someone to have the power to betray her, or simply fuck up, screwing her completely. It was a risk to include him, but she’d done it anyway. He was still looking at her, waiting for an explanation, but she had none for him. This unease had to mean something, as did her willingness to break all the rules by working with Dane. She just wasn’t sure what.

With more care than she’d take crossing the Autobahn, she scurried the last few feet to the darkened, glass-front office door. Ian Whitman’s office. Again. She had her lock picks in her back pocket and made quick work of the pin-based locking system used to keep the casually curious out of the boss’s office. She pushed open the door and hurried to the desk. The real deterrent to theft was the multilevel security protocol protecting his computer.

Marnie plugged her hard drive, a device the size of an iPad, into the mainframe’s server—Ian Whitman’s personal server. It woke up. Like most large servers protected by multimillion-dollar security firms, Whitman’s was kept in sleep mode when not in use. It would require a prohibitive length of time to reboot every day otherwise, and with high security, the risks of breach was minimal, near impossible.

She watched the monitor light up, logged into the system using Whitman’s code app, and pulled up his directories. Calculating how much hard drive space they had compared to how much time it would take to download, Marnie sectioned off the program from the document files and started copying. Then she used the admin rights to search for the decryption key. She found the hidden directory, verified it wasn’t a mock-up, and then saved it also. The decryption would have to happen later, off-site, but she had it this time. Now all she had to do was not fuck up.

Dane left his lookout at the door and scanned the monitor. He was disregarding the plan. This office was a fishbowl. Panic stopped her fingers on the keyboard. She’d be caught again, shot again. Marnie slapped his arm and then pointed him toward the door, where the plan stated he should be. Dane ignored her and grabbed the mouse. Marnie turned the monitor off. She wanted to shout but settled for a repressive whisper. “Stick to the plan.”

“I want to see the files.” Dane didn’t seem to notice she was pissed.

“We need to decrypt them.” Which wasn’t the truth. He could see the files, but the man wouldn’t be worth much after he looked at the murder video, saw the face of Alice’s killer. She pointed to the door. “Stick to the plan.” He’d see them soon enough, when they were safe, when he didn’t have to function after.

Dane made his displeasure known, and for a moment, she thought he was going to physically move her away from the monitor to gain access to the computer. Instead, he went back to his post, and after Marnie talking herself down from a panic attack, the download was complete. She’d copied all the files, not just the ones concerning the MacLains. Now Whitman Enterprises would finally be outed for the evil empire it was.

She gathered the equipment and hurried to Dane’s side. Poised at the door, looking more dangerous than she’d ever seen him, he no longer channeled cop. He was pumped up, looking for a fight, but that’s not what tonight was about. Tonight was about stealth and subterfuge. This was why Marnie worked alone. Too many unknowable variables. This was too personal for Dane. It messed with the job’s groove.

She put the hard drive into his duffel bag, turning it into the most valuable bag in the world. Dane didn’t seem to see it that way. He was looking around the office as if he wanted to take a sledgehammer to it. It hurt her to see him like this. Physically hurt.

She wished she’d never met him.

They hurried toward the elevator, and when it was twenty feet ahead, she heard voices. Dane grabbed her arm and dragged her behind a cubicle. Best-case scenario, housekeepers. Worst case, angry guards who woke sooner than expected, guns at the ready. She and Dane would have to improvise.

She peeked around the cubicle for a look, and her breath left her body as she cringed from its edge. Dane silently demanded an explanation for her reaction. She couldn’t tell him. There be no predicting how he’d react, because the man who’d shot her,
who’d killed Alice
, was having a confab with Ian Whitman, president and CEO of Whitman Enterprises.

Chapter Sixteen

Dane could tell Marnie was freaking, and her silence unsettled him more than if she’d screamed.

“Don’t move,” she mouthed. Then she held up her hand and went still, squeezing her eyes shut, like a child that sought to be invisible. Slowly, her hand lowered onto his forearm, her nails biting into his skin.

Dane was flummoxed. This was Marnie. She was tough, brave—it took a lot to faze her. If they were in danger, he had to know from what. He peeled her fingers from his arm and saw her surprise. She hadn’t known she’d been clutching him. He tried to reassure without words but gave up when he realized her terror was unnerving him.

He peeked around the partition and saw Joe Folsom speaking with Ian Whitman. At first he was surprised. He hadn’t seen his ex-partner’s sedan out front, but he must have been in the building this whole time. That was the only explanation, or the unconscious guards surely would’ve caught their notice. A formal visit? Maybe Joe was shaking Whitman down for information, doing Dane a solid. It was past nine at night, and Whitman was dressed in a tuxedo.

They’d known there was a chance people would be in the building, and this
was
Whitman’s floor. He didn’t blame Marnie for freaking. If Joe and Whitman left before them, there was an increased chance the unconscious guards would be found, an alarm raised, all while he and Marnie were in the building.

Dane crawled back to her side, waiting, interested to hear their conversation as he reviewed their plan B in his mind, their alternative exit strategy. They were still good. They could still get away clean, they just needed to be patient.

“They can’t find her. Her trail went cold after the cabin,” Joe said. “She’s with Dane. I know it. He’s smart, Whitman, as much as you like to pretend otherwise. We need to get out in front of this. Waiting—”

“I don’t wait,” Whitman said. “She almost got away with my files. She knows too much. Make sure she’s dead.”

“
Working on it,
” Joe said. “It’s all I work on. I have a job, too. There’ve been questions at the precinct despite half the patrolmen on your payroll. You’re relying too heavily on me, taking up too much of my time.”

“Don’t give me that horseshit. You’re trying to protect MacLain. It’s too late now. Even you have to understand that.”

“The woman is the problem. MacLain’s not a threat. I made sure of that. And he’s a cop—”

“Ex-cop, thanks to you.”

“If he’s murdered, there’s no burying that with thefts from the evidence locker.”

“It saved your ass more times than I can count.”

Dane couldn’t move. His stomach flipped with every word he heard. Joe? On the take? Then suddenly he couldn’t move fast enough to the cubicle’s edge, having to see Joe’s face as he revealed himself.

“Has IT moved the servers yet?” Whitman asked.

Joe didn’t look as if he’d allow the change of topic, but he acquiesced. “No. They said tomorrow morning at the latest. Something to do with a supplier and a piece of equipment.”

“I don’t like delays.”

Joe shrugged. “It’s a risk you take when you work with Caleb Smith. He’s dragging his feet for some reason. We’ll deal with him after he provides us the equipment.”

“This is your mess,” Whitman said. “Two years I’ve been dealing with this shit, and you were screwing the wife. That should have given you the leash you needed to control her. Now I’ve got another woman you seem incapable of controlling. Where the hell is Marnie Somerville? I want her, Folsom. Today.”

“Alice wasn’t controllable. She was a mistake. Marnie Somerville, well, shit. I think Dane’s protecting her.”

Dane felt a jolt of pain clutch his heart. Alice
had
been cheating on him, and with his best friend. A deafening roar exploded in his head.
Joe and Alice.
He felt Marnie’s hand press gently against his back. Crouched on his haunches, he dropped his head in his hands and discarded all the reactions appropriate to the moment. He’d take this blow in silence, even if it meant dying inside. He’d take it, listen until they said their fill, and then he’d kill them. He’d kill them both.

Whitman swore. “Your attempt to defang MacLain left an even greater mess. I’m beginning to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“So why keep me?” Dane could hear Joe’s frustration.

“Because I’ve never met a man which such a deft ability to get the job done.” Whitman snorted derisively. “Despite that asinine kidnapping scheme. If we’d stonewalled MacLain from the get-go, he’d have a reprimand in his personnel file, his wife would be alive, and his son—”

“Daughter. Her name is Elizabeth.”

“—wouldn’t have been abused like that. That email proved nothing, and the pressure was on him to drop his investigation. The problem of MacLain is your creation.” Dane’s ears perked up.

“Bullshit. The kidnapping was Alice MacLain’s idea. We needed leverage. I ran with it. At the time, you thought to distract MacLain. There was no way to know she’d become unstable.”

Dane felt sick. Marnie tugged at his arm, but he couldn’t move away from the cubicle’s edge. He had to watch.

“I should have let you go down for that.” Whitman grimaced. “It cost me an arm and a leg to pay off Tuttle.”

“I’ll clean this up,” Joe said. “No one else has to die—”

“Don’t waste more of my time or money, please. I have to pick up a report from accounts receivable on the second floor,” Whitman said. “Walk with me. I want an update on all things MacLain.”

Their voices trailed off as they entered the elevator and the door closed behind them. Marnie pulled out climber’s rope from the duffel. “We can’t exit using the elevator. I’ll go back into the security server by way of Whitman’s computer. I can disable the alarm on his balcony door using the admin rights.”

Marnie was avoiding his gaze. She’d heard what he heard. Why wasn’t she saying anything? He stared at the elevator, wanting to chase after Whitman and Joe. At the very least, beat the shit out of them. Rope slung over her shoulder, she bolted back to Whitman’s office. He didn’t follow. He couldn’t.

Joe had to be undercover, lying to Whitman, saying what had to be said to string the evil fuck along. When he confronted Joe, he’d admit this and help Dane take Whitman down. That had to be it. Marnie popped back into sight minus the rope. She was waving him over, impatient that he wasn’t moving.

She hurried back to his side, out of breath. “I did it. The alarm is off, but time is up. We have to go.”

He grabbed her chin and kissed her hard. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” She slapped his hand off her chin. “Stop it. We’re leaving.”

“Go without me. I’ll meet up with you at the farmhouse.”

He could see her shaking. “You don’t have the right to be this stupid.”

Dane held out the duffel. “Take this.”

She shook her head, staring at it like she feared it would bite her. “Elizabeth is waiting for you.”

“I have to do this.” She had to know that. When WE was destroyed and Alice’s killer was brought to justice, there would always be this lingering question of where Joe’s loyalty lay. If he and his family were ever to be
safe
, Dane had to know. “Go.”

He dropped the duffel and headed after Joe and Whitman, standing before the closed elevator. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marnie follow, hesitate, and then haul ass back to Whitman’s office with the duffel. She was activating plan B. Good girl.

The second-floor light shone above the elevator doors. Dane didn’t think it sensible to follow that way. Guards would be waking, and they’d be pissed. He had more of a chance stumbling onto them than Joe or Whitman if he used the elevator. The stairs? His opportunity to confront Joe was dwindling. Then the elevator binged, and the third-floor button lit up. Dane had moments to make a decision.

Strategy won out. Stepping behind the nearest cubicle, he crouched, fists shaking, waiting to see if it was Joe or a cadre of security guards with guns drawn. The elevator doors opened, and he forced himself to be still. Joe stepped out alone and headed to Whitman’s office, toward Marnie and the balcony.

Dane stepped in front of him. Joe pulled his sidearm from his shoulder holster, aiming at Dane.

Dane couldn’t believe it. “You’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill me, Joe. You won’t now.” The truth was written on Joe’s face. Guilt. It hurt like a physical blow.

Joe’s shock mingled with confusion, but his aim remained steady. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Why, Joe?”

He shook his head, panicking. “We’re friends, Dane. I’m protecting you.”

“You’re working with Whitman.”

Joe blinked, sweating. “He owns me. He owns everyone. There are things you don’t know.” Joe opened his mouth as if to explain some more but closed it again, discarding that approach. Dane had known Joe a long time, knew his quirks, the way his mind worked, but never once had he suspected. “You’re a dirty cop.”

Joe’s anger surged and then faded to acceptance. “I’m alive because I’m a dirty cop.”

“Who is everyone?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He grimaced. “You should never have come here. You should have thought of Harper. Dammit, Dane. What about Elizabeth? Haven’t they been through enough?”

Dane rushed him, slapped the gun aside and swung, his fist connecting with Joe’s jaw. His knuckles split on contact, and Joe fell to the ground with a grunt. Dane could feel his body shaking with rage as he struggled to control the endless fury that only seemed to grow as he stared at his best friend, the man who’d saved his life in Afghanistan, who’d gotten drunk with him when Alice was murdered, who kept an eye on Elizabeth when Dane couldn’t. “Enough? What is enough, Joe? You don’t get to say that to me! You betrayed me! Alice is dead!” He would kill him. Dane flexed his fingers, straining not to kill him. “You are working for the man responsible!”

Joe climbed to his feet, backing away from Dane. He still held the gun, still aimed it at Dane, but this time he looked as if he was using it to defend himself. He was afraid, and that was more of an indictment than anything Dane had heard so far.

“Things spiraled out of control,” Joe said.

“You were sleeping with Alice.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

Dane scrubbed his hands over his face, restraining a howl. His world was spinning out of control. “In what world do those words make sense? You betrayed me on every level. You were family.” He stepped forward and only stopped when Joe shook his head, threatening to shoot.

“Alice wanted out of the marriage. She thought I was her way out. You’d stopped talking to me about the case and wouldn’t stop asking questions about the company, about Washington, so when Alice made a play for me, I went along with it. Yeah, we had an affair, but I was just using her for information. Trying to protect you. But then you stopped even talking to Alice. I became desperate, because Whitman had lost his patience, wanted you dead. I had to do something. And Alice, she wouldn’t give up, kept asking me to run away with her. She came up with the idea of the kidnapping—” He nodded when he saw Dane’s skepticism. “She did. She wanted money, a ransom to live comfortably on when we ran. I needed to keep her happy if only to keep her quiet.” Joe clenched his teeth and growled, his frustration seeming to overpower him. “You stopped trusting me, dammit.”

“I was trying to save your job. The signs were everywhere they were looking for a reason to fire me.”

“Fire you? Whitman was one order away from killing you! I had to do something. Alice’s idea would keep you too busy to continue pursuing the case. And when you got Alice and Elizabeth back, they’d need you around. You’d have to back off. So I jumped at the kidnapping idea. Whitman backed off, I thought everything would work out, and then it all went south.” Dane heard the words but none of it seemed real. “Look,” Joe said, “I’m not the man I want to be. I’m the man I had to be.”

An image of Marnie popped into Dane’s mind. She’d said much the same thing, but when it was time to choose sides, she chose him. A complete stranger chose Dane and his family over Whitman’s threats. Why couldn’t Joe? “Is that what you’ll tell yourself when you kill me?”

Joe’s grip on the gun tightened. “Where is Marnie Somerville? Does she have the files? It’s a mistake, Dane. They’ll just get you killed. If Whitman doesn’t get you, his bosses will.”

“What?” There was another faction of the business, someone Whitman was accountable to? Well, damn. He’d take them all down.

Dane’s vision cleared. He saw what
was
instead of what he wanted. Joe was struggling to pull the trigger. It was undeniable and understandable. With Dane alive, there was no out for Joe. He’d implicated himself in the kidnapping. Joe was going to prison otherwise.

“Whitman had Alice killed,” Dane said. “What’s to stop him from killing Doris?”

“There are things you don’t know.” Dane barely heard him. All he saw was Joe’s finger tighten on the trigger. He waited for a bullet to rip into his chest and waited some more, every second an eternity of hell.

“If you’re going to kill me, at least let me know why. Help me understand,” he said. “Better yet, help me take Whitman down. We have proof now.”

Joe’s expression sharpened to keen interest, and his finger loosened on the trigger. “Where’s Marnie Somerville? We know she tried to copy files earlier this week. Was she here with you now? We’ll find her, but a lot less people will die if we find her sooner.”

“Do you even hear yourself? Joe, this isn’t you. Make up for all the bad. Make a deal with the DA—”

“There’s no deal. No negotiations.” Joe didn’t sound upset or frustrated anymore. It was as if he were disassociating. “Whitman is surrounded by obedient toadies—do what you’re told or your family dies. Honestly, I could give a shit if Doris were killed. Hell, it would save me from paying alimony. But my parents are still alive. Whitman has no pity. He’ll find what you love and kill them one by one.
There’s no negotiating.
Alice is dead because of you.”

“No.” Joe’s words were an echo of Dane’s fear.

Joe stepped forward, his gun shaking, pointing it at Dane’s head. “You wouldn’t back off!” Frustration poured from him. “Couldn’t drop it, couldn’t forget the Whitman name, and now we’re paying because of a fucking email. Pay your damn bills! The company asks one thing from its customers. Just pay your damn bills! Washington knew that. He knew!”