Eyes on You (23 page)

“I can’t believe they think you’re responsible,” he said at the end. “It’s preposterous.”

“Why are you so sure I’m not?” I asked.

“I spent four years in the DA’s office, and I’m pretty good at spotting liars, narcissists, and sociopaths.” He smiled. “You seem to own a lot of shoes, but that’s the only obsession I’ve picked up on.”

I smiled back. “I appreciate that endorsement.”

His expression clouded. “Do you really think it’s Vicky Cruz?”

I threw up my hands. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” I said. “There
is
circumstantial evidence pointing to her.”

I told him about the remarks Vicky had made regarding Ambien and the makeup I used, as well as the hostility she’d directed at me in the corridor.

“Could she see you as a threat?”

“That’s what I wondered initially, but maybe I overreacted. Over the past few days, I’ve been trying to entertain other options. Different people at work.”

“It can’t be a very long list.”

“I never set out to be adored by everyone, but most people appear to respect me. The only one who’s seemed to have her knickers in a twist lately is Charlotte.”

“I’ve noticed that,” he said. “And she’s been the one doing the most whispering and snickering about you. Says she saw you in the lobby yesterday morning and that you looked white as a ghost.”

So I’d interpreted her expression correctly. “She clearly blames me, not herself, for her job woes. The question is whether she’d act on her pent-up animosity.” I paused. “I feel awful saying this, but briefly, I wondered about Maddy. She seems to have developed a chip on her shoulder about me as well.”

Alex scrunched his mouth. “I’ve worked with her closely lately, and she seems to hold you in awfully high regard.”

It had helped to articulate my ruminations, but Alex had promised information, and that was what I was most eager for. He seemed to read my thoughts.

“Let
me
share now,” he said. “Like I mentioned on the phone, I have a piece of information. And it’s about Vicky.”

Instinctively, I caught my breath.

“You know the night you found the bug in your drink?” he said. “I’m not sure if you were aware of this, but Vicky Cruz had come up to the newsroom around then.”

“Yes, I knew that.”

“At one point I came around the corner to that little area with the table just behind the set. Your coffee mug is always there, the one with your name on it, and a thermos they keep the coffee in. As I rounded the corner, I discovered Vicky just standing there.

“It seemed an odd place to find her,” he added, narrowing his eyes at the memory. “Even odder was that a guilty look crossed her face when she saw me, as if I’d caught her at something. Just a micro expression, but it was definitely there. And then she was calling me sweetheart and asking if I knew whether there was any bottled water around our set.”

“What you’re saying is she might have dropped the bug in my coffee?”

“Possibly. I have no proof at all, but after I realized what had happened, I flashed back on her at the table. At the time, though, I didn’t feel justified making any kind of insinuation. There was no evidence.”

“Are you willing to go to Potts and Oliver with it now?”

“Absolutely. But I wanted to talk to you about it first. I’d like to make a suggestion, too. What I’m conveying is very circumstantial, so it might be best to present this in conjunction with anything else you have that could prove your innocence. Do you have a lawyer helping you put a defense together?”

“Not yet,” I said. “And the so-called evidence against me is pretty damning.”

I shared what Potts had revealed about the searches on my computer, how they’d been orchestrated while Keiki was at her desk, so it would have been tough for someone to have sneaked in. Alex listened pensively, his hazel eyes flickering.

“You know,” he said. “There’s a way someone can search from your computer remotely, so that it looks like you’ve done it yourself. They send you a phishing email with an attachment, and that in turn attaches what’s called a botnet to your computer. It sits there unnoticed and allows the other person to download information.”

“Why wouldn’t Oliver have looked into that?” I said, flabbergasted.

“That kind of investigation has to be done by an outside forensics company, and from what I know, it’s pricey. Once security became convinced you were behind everything, they probably didn’t want to spend the money.”

“That’s appalling.”

“I know. Can you recall any emails with attachments that were sent to your office computer lately? One you weren’t expecting?”

“Not off the top of my head,” I said, smiling woefully. I felt deflated. After Alex’s call, I’d let myself become hopeful, but all I had was Vicky’s proximity to my coffee mug. Once again, Alex seemed to read my thoughts.

“I want to help you, Robin. There’s got to be a way to clear you.”

“I’m not going to reject your offer. But where do we even start?”

“Over the next day or two, go back in your mind and see if you can remember receiving any unexpected emails with attachments. I also want you to list everyone you know at the network and any recollection you have of someone acting miffed at you, no matter how silly it seemed.”

“Will do.”

“That said, I think we should turn the spotlight on Vicky. She’s the first person you suspected, so let’s start with her and work our way from there.”

“If she’s done torturing me, how do we catch her at anything?”

“By checking out her past.”

“Her past?”

“Yes. If there’s one lesson I learned in the DA’s office, it’s that people who do bad things have generally done the same kind of thing before. Maybe not identical but close enough. I also want to find out how tech-oriented Vicky is. That could explain if she knew how to send a botnet.”

“One point you should be aware of?” I said. “The brownie was left for me when Vicky was in D.C. So if she
was
after me, she didn’t operate alone.”

“Good to know.”

I reached out and touched Alex’s arm. “There’s a chance, Alex, that you could put your own job in jeopardy by snooping around on my behalf.”

He smiled warmly and ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair.

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world not to cover underboobage anymore,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “I better hit the road.”

I walked him to his car. The night sky was practically white with stars, but there was no moon this evening, and Bettina’s house was a dark, hulking shape.

“Have you watched the show the last few nights?” Alex asked.

“No, it would kill me to see it,” I told him.

“If it’s any consolation, it’s a disaster. They’ve named Hadley as the temporary fill-in, but she couldn’t do it tonight, so they tapped that chick Erin from the morning show
This Just In
. Carter ended up calling in sick tonight. Apparently, he despises her.”

I didn’t want to hear any more.

“Drive safely,” I told him as he slid into the car. I felt more than grateful for his visit.

“Yup. Give me a few days to start my research, and then I’ll be back in touch.”

As he drove off, I hurried back toward the guesthouse. Inside, I slammed the door tight and pushed the bolt in place. It was late, but I wanted to mentally review what Alex and I had discussed. I set a kettle of water on the stove for tea.

When the teakettle whistled, I offed the flame, letting the room go silent again, and filled a mug with water. As I went to set the kettle back on the burner, I heard a noise outside the house. A snap.

I held my breath.

Another snap. It was like the sound of someone’s boot coming down on a twig and breaking it in two.

I froze, the teakettle still in my hand. Had Alex returned? Or was it Nancy, finally back? I hadn’t heard a car.

My eyes flew to the door. I waited for a knock, but it didn’t come.

“Nancy?” I called out. My voice was like a mouse squeak. I spun toward the back of the house. On some level, I’d sensed that the sound had come from behind me.

Quietly, I set the kettle down and listened hard. Nothing. Except the katydids. I’m just jittery being alone, I told myself. It was the wind, or the house creaking. I let out my breath.

I dropped a tea bag into the mug, dunking it a few times. But my body was on guard, straining to hear. Stop, I told myself. Who would be out there, anyway?

And then I heard it again. Not a twig this time. It was the rustle of bushes out back, as if someone were brushing past. Fear shot through me. I looked toward the back wall of the room again, at the row of three windows. The drapes were all drawn. I’d done that earlier, before Alex arrived. As I stood there watching, the fuzzy silhouette of a person appeared briefly on the curtain and just as quickly vanished.

My legs seemed to melt from underneath me. I glanced back at the door again; yes, I’d bolted it. But with terror mounting, I remembered: I’d opened the back door earlier—the one off my bedroom. And I hadn’t locked it.

I launched myself away from the counter, pushing off with my hand, and nearly hurled my body into the bedroom. I’d left one light on in there, the one on the bedside table, and I could see the back door. It was closed. Yet I could sense a presence on the other side.

I lunged toward it. The bolt was like the one on the other door. I fumbled with it clumsily, but finally I shoved it into the slot.

I hurried back into the great room. Phone, I commanded myself. I upended my purse until my iPhone bounced in its rubber case onto the coffee table. I snatched it and tapped 911.

“What is your emergency?” the operator said.

“Um—” I ran back for the magazine with the label, blurted out the address, and told her there was a prowler.

“Is the house secure?”

“The doors are locked. I don’t know about the windows.”

“I’m dispatching the police. I need you to stay on the line with me until they arrive.”

“Just tell them to hurry,” I begged. “
Please
.”

Outside I heard another sound, a scrape of shoe on pavement. On the pool deck.

“The person’s still
here
,” I whispered hoarsely.

“The police are close. Continue to stay on the line.”

There were no sounds after that. Just my heart pounding in my ears. Finally, I heard the police car, its siren screaming in the night.

“The police—they’re here,” I said to the operator. “Tell them I’m in the guesthouse. With the lights on.”

A minute later, there was a sharp knocking and a voice calling, “Police.”

I unbolted the door and opened it a few inches with the chain on. Two cops were standing there, an older woman and a younger guy, both with their guns drawn. I undid the chain and flung open the door.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Just scared.”

“You reported a prowler?” the woman said, holstering her gun. She was about forty, with black hair peeking out from under her cap. Her name tag said Orsini.

“Yes, I saw the person’s silhouette in the window.”

The two cops exchanged a look.

“What?” I asked.

“There was a car taking off just as we approached,” Orsini said.

“You saw it come out of the driveway?” I asked. I hadn’t heard a vehicle.

“It appeared to be parked along the road, just by the start of the driveway,” she said. “Dark, could have been a luxury vehicle. We dispatched another patrol car to try to find it, but it’s going to be tough without a license plate number. What about the main house, is anyone up there?”

I explained, stumbling over the words, that I was a houseguest, Bettina was in the city, and the housekeeper apparently didn’t live in.

“Does anyone else know you’re staying here?”

“A work colleague. He was here earlier—we had a few things to go over. But he left almost thirty minutes ago.”

“Maybe he came back,” the young cop said.

“He wouldn’t sneak around that way,” I said.

“We’ll take a look around and be back in a minute,” Orsini said.

While they were outside, I snatched my laptop out of my tote bag and checked the train schedule. The last train was leaving for Manhattan in two minutes. Shit, I thought.
I can’t stay here
. Should I hire a cab to drive me all the way back there? But then I’d be facing the press again.

I looked up as the door swung open.

“The ground’s dry, so unfortunately, there aren’t any footprints,” Orsini said as the two reentered the house. “There’s no one around now.”

“I don’t feel safe here,” I said. “But I don’t have any way to get back to the city.”

“We just came on our shift, so we’ll keep an eye on the place tonight,” she said, her face sympathetic. “I don’t think the person will be back. We had our lights flashing, and I’m sure he saw us coming.”

“He?” I said. “You could see the driver was a male?”

“No,” she said. “That was just a manner of speaking.”

They checked the windows and the rear door before they left. As soon as I’d let them out, I threw the bolt and dragged the dining table in front of the main door. Then I scrambled into the bedroom and shoved a bureau against the door in there.

It’s almost funny, I thought. My life goes to hell, and now
this
. The top I was wearing was damp, and I peeled it off, replacing it with another from my duffel bag.

One option I had was to spend the rest of the night in a hotel, taking a cab there. But not only would it be pricey, I also might be recognized, resulting in the press being tipped off. I mulled over what the cops had said. There was little chance of the prowler returning, knowing that the police had been alerted. I decided to tough it out and stay.

But there was no way I was going to bed. I dragged a pillow and a blanket to the couch and set my phone on the coffee table, along with one of the fireplace pokers.

Should I call Bettina? I wondered. She would need to be informed. But it was after midnight, and I didn’t want to wake her knowing there was little she could do.

My brain was muddled from fear, but I tried to make myself think about what the cops had asked:
Who knows you’re here?
Bettina, of course. The housekeeper, Nancy. And
Maddy
, I remembered. I’d confided that I was staying at Bettina’s. She might have let the information slip, and it would have been easy enough for someone to track down the actual address.