Miranda Vaughn Mystery 01.00 - Chasing the Dollar (15 page)

At the end of the hundred-foot building, the path opened up, widening to about ten feet wide. Bill
's hand gripped my elbow painfully as we passed a wide opening, a metal grated door open halfway.

"
Keep going," Bill hissed, as I peered inside, hoping to see someone.

The room, a bare storage area, was dark and empty. We passed the door and continued toward the other end of the dark path, where I could see cars zip past on a busy boulevard.

Where was Jake? Was he able to follow Bill's car?

I stumbled over a stray piece of wood, nearly falling as Bill yanked me along with him.

"Hurry up!" he snapped.

I looked up, annoyed, and saw a man behind Bill, whose attention was focused on me. At the sight of the familiar face, I gasped and stopped in my tracks.

"Hello, Miranda."

I still didn
't believe my eyes, but he still stood there even after I blinked several times. Bill whirled to see who I was looking at, raising the gun as he turned.

My throat constricted, and my mouth went dry. A million questions raced through my brain, but I could barely get out one word.

"Dylan."

He gave me that grin that used to melt me, but the expression didn
't reach his eyes.

Bill gripped my arm hard and started pulling me back down the alley, toward where we had come from and away from Dylan.

"You son of a bitch," Bill said, his voice shaky. "God damn you. You have it, don't you?"

"
Have what?" Dylan asked, walking toward us as Bill backed down the alley forcing me with him.

"
The flash drive, the backup," Bill said.

Dylan shook his head, that grin still on his face. Bill stumbled, nearly knocking me over, as Dylan slowly stalked us. I could feel the fear coming off Bill
's body in waves. Even considering our past, I would normally run to Dylan. I had trusted him once. But Bill's fear was primal and contagious, and there was something about Dylan's expression that made me uneasy.

"
I don't have it," Dylan said.

"
Then, why are you here?"

"
I have another key," he said with a smile.

"
There is no other key, you moron," Bill spat out. His hand gripped my forearm so hard I thought he might break it. I twisted to get away from him, but his grip was strong.

"
Sure there is," Dylan said. His stride lengthened, and his pace picked up.

Bill shook his head, his eyes focused on Dylan.
"No, there can't be. I had the only copy of the accounts and the pass codes. And I have Miranda."

"
And so do I." Dylan's smile chilled me. I realized that he was looking beyond Bill and me. I turned.

And saw Katrina Lore, looking more like me than I did at that moment. Her blond hair fell straight to her shoulders. She wore a simple white sleeveless blouse and a pair of light pink capri pants, and she looked like a well-heeled tourist—except for the silver handgun in her right hand.

Well, crap.

"
Miranda, sweetheart, I need you to cooperate with me."

Dylan
's voice and the condescending tone set my nerves on edge. The fact that his fiancée was holding a gun on me didn't help, either.

"
I am not your sweetheart," I said.

He smiled and reached behind him, pulling a handgun from his waistband.
"That may be. But I need you to work with me."

"
Go to hell."

For so many reasons
.

"
You'll cooperate with me, Miranda. If you don't, I'll make sure that every cartel member in Latin America has Marie's address."

A chill ran up my spine at the threat.

"He's bluffing," Bill said. "Dylan doesn't deal with people like this. He doesn't get his hands dirty."

"
You're an idiot," Dylan said. "Who do you think brought the Latin American clients in? Tim and I did that. Tim's locked up safe now, but I need that money moved, or we're all dead. You got it, Bill?"

Bill stayed silent, and I watched my former fiancé with a new horror.

"You did this," I said, as the reality of my situation hit me full on. Dylan and Bill were desperate. They were dealing with bad people. Very bad people.

"
Yeah, well, I didn't start it," Dylan said. "I just expanded the program to new regions. Now get over here."

"
We don't need her, Dylan," Katrina said from behind me. "I can do this."

I refused to turn back and look at her, just kept staring straight ahead at Dylan. The pieces fell into place. I thought about how Katrina had changed since I
'd seen her last—the hair color, the clothes. Dylan had been grooming her for this. Literally grooming her. I felt sick.

"
No, this is better, Kat," Dylan said. "This is much better."

"
But I have a passport."

God, she was whiney.

"A fake one. This is the real deal. The real Miranda Vaughn. She'll be the one who moved the money. And took it for herself."

Katrina was close behind me, and I heard her exhale in frustration.

"You did this," I said again, watching Dylan's face. "You set me up."

He gave a slight shrug, his expression unchanged.

"Didn't mean to cause you any trouble, Miranda. You were merely convenient."

I swallowed hard at the betrayal. Of course it was Dylan
. He'd known everything about me—he had access to my entire life. We worked together. We practically lived together. He knew I had signing authority on other Patterson accounts. How hard would it have been to use that information on illicit accounts?

How had I not seen it? How had I loved him?

A sudden sharp pain in my side brought me back from my self-pity as Bill grabbed me around the neck and jammed the barrel of his handgun into my ribs.

"
I swear to God, I will shoot her."

"
Bill, I have a back-up," Dylan said, nodding toward Katrina. "If you shoot Miranda, Kat's going to walk into that bank a block away and transfer the money."

Dylan kept his gaze on me as Bill dragged me in front of him, keeping me between himself and Dylan. If Dylan was concerned for my well-being, he was sure good at hiding it.

"Yeah, but you said it yourself. It's better to have Miranda do it. Less risk of getting caught, right?" Bill said. His voice portrayed his panic, as did the increasing grip on my upper arm.

"
So what do you want, Bill? You want a cut? Is that it?"

Bill gave a derisive snort and pushed me another few feet ahead.
"A cut? Fuck you, Dylan. I'm not risking my life to take a few crumbs."

I stumbled and nearly fell, but Bill pulled me up and pinned me to his body, using me as a shield. If either Dylan or Katrina shot at Bill, the bullet was very likely to hit me.

How had this happened? How did I end up here, where everyone had a gun except me?

Bill
's body tensed, and he went still. I twisted and saw Katrina behind him, her gun against the back of his head.

"
Let Miranda go," Dylan said softly. He focused on Bill with a cold intensity. "Let her go, and you can walk away. You won't have any money, but I won't say anything about you being here. You can start your life over. Just not in the same style to which you've become accustomed."

Bill shook his head and whimpered, the gun in my ribs shaking. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. How would Aunt Marie be notified of my death? Would Jake identify my body? Take my remains back to
California?

The pressure in my side let up, and I opened my eyes. Bill held the gun up and pointed it away from me.

"Fine, okay, take her," he said, pushing me forward and away from him. I stumbled a few feet at the sudden release and rested my hand against a large metal trash bin against the side of the building. "You're of limited value, sweetheart. Once he's done with you—"

"
Throw down the gun," Dylan said, pointing his firearm at Bill. "Do it now."

I felt exposed, between Bill and Dylan, both armed. I took a couple steps toward Dylan, keeping an eye on his right hand, which held the black handgun, as I edged toward the corner of the trash bin. When I reached the corner, Dylan reached out and grabbed at me, but I dodged him, slipping past his arm and into the corner where the trash bin met the concrete wall.

Bill's words echoed in my head. I knew he was right. Dylan's plan to have me walk into the bank and transfer the funds didn't end with me walking off into the sunset. Once he was done with me, I would be a liability. He could go back to California with Katrina, continue his career at Patterson. But for that to happen, I couldn't exist.

As soon as there was an opening, I would run for the end of the alley. I only hoped that Katrina wouldn
't risk firing at me if Dylan was in the alley, too.

"
Where did you put the account information?" Dylan asked, motioning at Bill with the gun.

"
It's in my office," Bill said.

I crouched down lower, leaning against the metal bin. This made Dylan have to split his attention between me and Bill.

"What the fuck, Bill? You didn't take it with you?"

"
It's not my fault!" Bill's voice was agitated and high-pitched. "You think I got a chance to pack up my office before the operation was shut down? I was escorted out of the conference room. I didn't even get to go back to my office."

"
God damn it," Dylan hissed. He ran his left hand through his hair. "Okay, okay. We just have to get back there and get the information. It's got it all, right?"

"
Yes, yes," Bill said. "It's all there."

"
Where's the laptop?"

"
In the bottom of the harbor," Bill said. "I told you, it wasn't safe to keep it. I kept a backup."

Dylan glared.
"Is there a code? Did you encrypt it?"

"
What? When would I have had time to do that? This was a last minute decision. I couldn't reach you."

This explained so much. Patterson must have either uncovered the in-house scheme and shut it down to avoid criminal prosecution, or gotten wind that the bank
's illegal profit-making scheme was going to be busted. Either way, it sounded like a sudden decision.

"
Okay, fine. Katrina and I will go to Macau and get it. Where is the backup?"

"
I told you, it's in my office."

"
Where in your office?" Dylan's voice rose.

"
No, forget it. If I tell you, then you don't need me anymore."

"
You already told me it's in your office. I'm not the only one looking for it, you moron. Just tell me where it is, so we can undo this mess."

The money was stuck, I realized. Once he was kicked out of Patterson
's office, Bill couldn't access the account information, which meant he couldn't transfer the funds back to the original owners.

"
You got her now," Bill said. "You can move some of it."

"
Not enough," Dylan said. "We have a lot of business to take care of. A lot of clients depending on us."

My blood ran cold with his words. I knew what I
'd seen on that drive, and the numbers I saw were huge—hundreds of millions of dollars flowing in and out of the accounts. How many illicit clients were Bill and Dylan serving?

And how screwed would they be when they found out the FBI had already seen the files on the flash drive they were fighting over?

"Dylan, we have to get out of here," Katrina said. "Let's just go to the bank now."

Her voice sounded less confident.

"Sure, sweetheart," Dylan said. "Bill, give Katrina your gun."

"
No way!"

"
Just do it!" Dylan's face grew pink at Bill's refusal to comply.

"
So you can shoot me? Forget it!"

They were so involved with each other, I wondered if they forgot I was there, cowering behind the Dumpster. I stayed still as Dylan moved toward Bill, stepping just beyond the corner of the bin.

"Give me the gun, Bill," he said.

I looked to the side and saw his attention was focused on Bill, and gauged the distance to the end of the alley. About a hundred feet. Could I make it? Did I have a choice?

I pushed off the Dumpster and ran for the busy boulevard, ignoring the shouts from Katrina and Dylan behind me.

The sharp crack of a handgun echoed off the concrete walls, but I kept running. The thin soles of my sneakers slapped against the uneven pavement, and I heard the next shot hit metal, probably the trash bin, but I wasn
't about to turn and look. Shouts echoed down the alley, following me, and I focused on the corner where the sidewalk met the pockmarked pavement of the alley, beyond which I might be safe.

Another shot and a scream, a higher pitched voice. I pushed ahead, the alley ending in just a few more steps, and heard the heavy steps behind me.

No!
I reached the corner and grabbed at the building, propelling myself around the side, stumbling with the momentum of my sprint, and out of reach of any stray bullets. The sidewalk was nearly empty, and I wondered if anyone even heard the gunshots. I continued to run, still trying to outpace the footsteps behind me.

I ran blindly, panicked, unsure where I was going. Ahead, I saw the red traffic light and the speeding cars in my path and turned right at the intersection, hoping against hope that no one tried to sneak past the red light. At the other side of the street, I ran flat out for another two city blocks before daring to look behind me.

No one was following, and I let my pace slow slightly, looking back every few feet for any sight of Dylan or Bill. This was a busier area, and I tried to blend in with the growing crowd, but as far as I could tell, I was the only blonde on the street.

Now if only I could remember where my hotel was, maybe I could find Jake and just go home.

What was I thinking trying to force an international bank to do anything, let alone transfer a large sum of money? I was an idiot to think I could pull this off. Now how was I going to get out of this mess? All I had was my passport and four high-limit credit cards that would be cut off in a few weeks when I wasn't able to make the minimum payments.

And where was Jake, anyway? If he was looking for me, how would he even know where to find me? If I could get back to the hotel, I could wait there until he returned. It was the best plan I could come up with, so it was going to have to work.

I stopped at the curb and waved toward a taxi then remembered that I had no cash on me. I stepped back, unsure of what to do and heard someone call my name. I turned toward the voice and saw Dylan—a tall, blond figure striding toward me, a half a head taller than everyone else on the street.

Without thinking, I ran in the opposite direction, right into traffic. The squeal of the taxi
's brakes filled my head, and I jumped, expecting the next sensation I felt to be the car's grill taking out my legs. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the impact, but it never came.

Instead, there was the sound of shouting and in the middle of that, I again heard my name.

"Miranda!"

Dylan
's shout followed me as I bolted again, away from him and toward the other side of the street.

Ignoring the stares of other drivers and the irate yelling by the taxi driver, I wove through the stopped cars until I reached the curb and ran toward the corner. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew that I needed to get away from Dylan.

I turned down random streets and up alleys until I was fairly certain I'd shaken him, and slowed slightly to a jog. My heart was racing, both from fear and exertion, and I had a killer stitch in my side. If I survived this, I promised myself, I would take better care of myself. Go jogging, at least once in a while.