Into the Whirlwind (23 page)

“Now that you mention it, I remember seeing something on the History Channel about that. When the Nazis left the country just before the fall of the Third Reich, they took boatloads of priceless art with them. They took money, diamonds, gold, wealth stolen from the Jews and the people in the countries they occupied. Some of them became extremely rich.”

“That could fit. Still not sure how the Nazi angle plays into this. Hell, maybe it doesn't.”

Reading his frustration, she reached over and squeezed his amazing bicep. When the muscle flexed as he made a turn, her stomach melted. Wow, the man was definitely equipped to push her hot buttons.

“We know a lot more than we did,” she said, forcing her mind back where it belonged. “We just have to keep looking.”

He cast her a glance and smiled. “You're right. Maybe your dad can help.”

“That's what you want to ask him about? You think he knows something about Nazis in Argentina? Because I don't think he does.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I want to know if he pissed off some megabucks dude bad enough to want revenge.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dirk drove down the long, curved driveway that led to Edwin and Patsy O'Brien's luxury home in the exclusive Highlands area of Seattle. Some of the houses he had passed were over-the-top palatial, fifteen-thousand-plus square feet, with views out over the Puget Sound.

Dirk knew house values. Buying, remodeling, then reselling homes was a major part of his income. As he pulled up in front of the house, he figured the big white colonial on a couple of manicured acres was worth three to four million, depending on the market.

Expensive, but not over the top for a guy who could raise ten million in cash in three days. His respect for O'Brien crept up a notch.

As Dirk turned off the engine, Edwin stepped out on the porch. He was wearing comfortable khaki chinos, a forest-green sweater, and a pair of scuffed brown loafers.

Dirk and Meg both got out of the Viper. Meg waited for Dirk to round the hood and together they walked up the curving brick path to the house.

“Come on in,” Edwin said warmly, reaching out to shake Dirk's hand. “I was hoping you'd bring Meg along. We don't get to see her enough.”

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “If Charlie and I were here every day it wouldn't be enough for you.”

Edwin laughed and Meg smiled. Dirk thought how lucky she was to have a family who loved each other so much. As a kid he had longed for even one parent who loved him.

“Where's Mom?” Meg asked as her father led them into the house.

“She's at a committee meeting for the Heart Association. She'll be sorry she missed you. The good news is she made those coconut macaroon cookies you like.”

“Yum,” Meg said, grinning. “I love those.”

Dirk's stomach growled as the aroma of coconut and vanilla drifted out of the kitchen, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all day.

“They smell delicious,” he said.

Edwin led them through an interior that was very traditional, with paned windows, hardwood floors, white walls, and molded ceilings.

The living room was off to one side, a cream sofa and chairs on a textured throw rug, brass lamps on the walnut side tables. A small, tidy stack of
Architectural Digest
magazines sat on the walnut coffee table.

As Edwin led them down the hall toward his study, Dirk caught a glimpse of a very modern kitchen with white cabinets and white-and-gray granite countertops.

“Beautiful home,” he said.

“Thank you. It was built in nineteen twelve, but it was remodeled before we bought it. We did more work ourselves.”

“Nice job. It looks brand-new.”

They went into the study, which also had molded ceilings. A manteled fireplace was set into one wall. The room had an old oak desk and lots of bookshelves. On a coffee table in front of a navy blue plaid sofa and matching chair sat a silver tray stacked with cookies, a carafe of coffee, and white porcelain mugs.

“Help yourself.”

Both of them dug in, Dirk grateful for something to fill his stomach, then he and Meg sat down on the sofa while Edwin took what appeared to be his favorite overstuffed chair.

“So what can I do for you, Dirk?”

Dirk set his half-empty mug down on a coaster on the table. “You're aware Raymond Neville has left the country?”

“Yes, the FBI has been keeping me informed. I presume you're still working the case.”

“That's right. At the moment, I'm following a couple of leads, trying to find the man Neville worked for.”

Edwin frowned. “I thought Raymond Neville was the man behind the kidnapping. You think he was working for someone else?”

“Neville was known as The Fixer. He was well paid for getting jobs done. So, yes, I think he worked for someone with enough money to afford his services.”

Edwin seemed to mull that over. “Go on.”

“Your company mostly does business in the United States, right?”

“That's correct.”

“Neville landed in Buenos Aires and disappeared. One of the men killed in the shoot-out was born in Argentina and worked there until recently. I need to know what connection you have to that part of the world.”

“Our holdings are almost wholly American. We do own a small private jet service that provides international travel between Canada, the US, and Latin America, but that's about it.”

“So there's no one down there who might have a reason to want revenge? No one who might have a personal vendetta against you?”

“No.” Edwin sighed. “I wish I could help you—you have no idea how much—but I'm still not convinced the kidnapping had anything to do with me, aside from the fact the kidnappers knew I had the money to pay the ransom.”

Dirk smoothed his fingers over his mustache down to his jaw. “All right, forget about revenge. Do you know any big-money players in Argentina or anywhere in South America? Someone you might have met? Someone who came here and you played golf with? Had dinner with?”

Edwin started shaking his head. “I've never done business with anyone from Latin America. Aside from our interest in Fly Private Jets, I have no connection at all. And Burton-Reasoner only owns thirty percent of the stock. We're really not that involved.”

Dirk sat back on the sofa. He'd been so sure there was some sort of connection. Now it looked as if they'd reached another dead end.

He glanced over at O'Brien, saw his thick, red eyebrows draw together. “What is it?” he asked.

Edwin's gaze met his. “I don't know anyone from that area, but now that I think about it, I recall Jonathan saying something about a banking deal he was working on a few years back that involved a billionaire from South America.”

“I remember that, too,” Meg said. “He was really excited about it. He saw it as an opportunity to expand the bank's customer base.”

“We never looked into Hollander,” Dirk said darkly. “We were following leads that led us in a different direction. Could have been a big mistake.”

“I don't think Jonathan ever mentioned the man's name,” Edwin said, “or if he did, I've forgotten.” He glanced over at Meg. “Do you remember, sweetheart? I believe at the time the two of you were still married.”

Meg shifted to the edge of the sofa, her fingers curling around a navy plaid cushion. “You can't think Jonathan was involved in his own son's kidnapping? He's never been much of a father, but I can't believe he would do something that could get his son killed.”

Dirk felt an unexpected shot of jealousy. “You were only married to the guy a couple of years. How can you be sure what he might or might not do?”

Meg looked crestfallen. She swallowed. “Maybe you're right,” she said softly. “I never really knew him.”

Feeling like a jerk, Dirk reached over and caught her hand, laced her fingers with his. “Hey . . . even if Jonathan's involved—which at this point we have no real reason to believe—it has nothing to do with you. None of what happened was your fault, baby. None of it. Okay?”

Gratitude swept over her features. She looked up at him and nodded. “Okay.”

Her dad flicked him a glance that might have held approval. He turned his attention to Meg. “Sweetheart, do you remember Jonathan saying what kind of business the bank was doing for the man in South America? He talked about work sometimes. He talked about banking when we were at the golf course. I'm sure he must have done that at home, too.”

“He liked to talk about his job. Being president of the bank. He thought it impressed me.”

“Did he mention who he was dealing with in South America?” Dirk asked.

“I wish I could remember. I was about to file for divorce so I wasn't paying much attention. I know it had something to do with shipping. Goods coming into Seattle from out of the country.”

“Perhaps it was something to do with a letter of credit,” Edwin suggested. “A document from the bank guaranteeing a buyer's payment in full would be a necessary part of that sort of transaction.”

“I remember him saying the man was a multibillionaire. Jonathan was always impressed by men of great wealth.”

“I need to talk to him,” Dirk said, standing up from the sofa.

Meg stood up, too. “I want to go with you.”

Dirk ran through the scenario and nodded. “All right. Might be better if you were there. We'll talk to him together, but not yet. First I want to know everything I can find out about Jonathan Hollander.”

* * *

The afternoon was slipping away. Dark clouds hovered over the city, a portent of rain. But the streets were still dry as the Viper rolled down NE 8th Street in Bellevue, where the office of Brodie Operations Security Services, Inc., was located.

Meg had never been there, though Val had told her the office was really nice, very masculine, with lots of black leather and chrome, nothing at all like the shabby rooms in old detective movies Val had imagined.

As the car pulled into the parking lot behind a two-story, freestanding brick building and Dirk turned off the engine, Meg's thoughts turned to the reason they had come.

“You don't really think Jonathan was involved in the kidnapping, do you?”

Dirk turned in the seat to face her. “We need information. Jonathan Hollander might be able to give us something we can use.”

Meg wasn't sure what Dirk really believed, but for Jonathan's sake—and her son's—she hoped her ex wasn't involved.

They crossed the lot, shoved through the back door, and Dirk led her into the office. Dark gray carpet, sleek black leather and chrome, masculine and tasteful, just as Val had said. A “No Smoking” sign rode above the door to what appeared to be an employee lounge so there were no ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts.

Some of the desks had file folders stacked on top. Apparently Dirk's was one of them. He walked over and checked his in-box, sorted through a couple of notes he found in the tray, then set his hand at her waist and guided her toward the stairs.

In a glass-enclosed office, a heavyset woman with very curly platinum-blond hair worked behind an array of computer screens. She rose from her chair, grabbed her purse, and was heading for the door as they walked in.

“Bad timing, hot stuff,” Sadie said. “I was just leaving.” She flashed Dirk an evil grin. “Don't try to stop me or I'll have to hurt you.”

Dirk laughed. He tipped his head toward Meg. “Sadie Gunderson, this is Megan O'Brien.”

“It's nice to meet you,” Meg said.

Sadie eyed her with a trace of disdain. “The redhead. I know who you are. I'm glad your son is okay.” Apparently it was the warmest greeting the woman could muster.

“Thank you for everything you did to help us find him.”

Sadie just nodded, a look of warning in every glance she cast Meg's way. Clearly she was protective of Dirk.
Don't hurt my boy again,
that warning look said.

Meg wanted to tell her that she planned to do everything in her power to keep all of them from getting hurt, including herself and little Charlie. But now wasn't the time for that conversation.

“We've got a new player in the game,” Dirk said. “Jonathan Hollander, Meg's ex-husband. I was hoping you'd take a look at him, see what you can find out.”

“You think he's connected to the kidnapping?” Sadie asked.

“Could be. Apparently he's had business dealings with someone from South America. That could connect him to Neville and Bremmer.”

“Seattle's a very international community,” Meg defended, unable to stop herself. “Jonathan works with people from all over the world.”

“It's a long shot, I'll admit,” Dirk said. “Hollander's the president of Seattle State Bank. Not likely he'd be involved in kidnapping his own son, but—”

“But it'd be good to know his personal financial situation,” Sadie finished.

“Exactly,” said Dirk.

Meg flashed the woman a glance. Could Sadie really look into Jonathan's finances? Meg wanted to ask, but she wasn't that dumb.

Sadie remained standing, the strap of her purse slung over one hefty shoulder. “You should have run him before,” she said to Dirk, casting Meg another dark look, as if she were the reason for the lapse. “The husband is always the first suspect in a domestic crime.”

Dirk was nodding, not happy to think he might have overlooked something inportant. “You're right. We were following the leads we had. They got us to the lake, but then Neville got away. Now we're trying to figure out who hired him. South America figures in somehow. Apparently Hollander had dealings with some billionaire businessman down there. I need to talk to him, but I want to know as much as I can before that happens.”

“I'm happy to help—you know that. Unfortunately I'll be out of town for the next few days. I'm going to a beautiful resort in the San Juans, completely out of cell phone range—a break I completely deserve.”

“No question of that,” Dirk said, though Meg could read his disappointment. “What's the occasion?”

“My daughter and her husband's tenth anniversary. The whole family's going.”

“Sounds like fun,” Dirk said. “Promise you'll check out Hollander as soon as you get back?”

“I'll get on it first thing. It might take a little time, but I'll stay on it till I have something.”

“Thanks, Sadie. Have a great time on your trip.”

Sadie nodded and headed for the door.

“Nice to meet you,” Meg called after her, but only got a faint grunt in return.

They headed downstairs.

“Sadie can do that?” Meg asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “She can hack into Jonathan's bank accounts?”