Miranda Vaughn Mystery 01.00 - Chasing the Dollar (8 page)

They were all empty.

The plaque on the door of the corner office said it belonged to Vice President Bill Macias, and my fingers trembled a little as I turned the knob. Like the rest of the floor, it was empty. But unlike the other offices I had poked my head into, there were papers strewn everywhere. One wall was bookcases with long filing drawers beneath them. Several of the drawers had been pulled out and left open, the contents stacked on the floor haphazardly.

I approached Bill Macias's desk, a sense of foreboding flooding my body. His desk sat near the wall of windows. It was a massive wooden desk, an old-fashioned style that matched the built-in bookshelves and coordinated well with the Persian rug. The whole room had the feel of an antique library, not an investment analyst's office. The room was in such disarray that I expected to find a body on the other side of the desk, but there was nothing there but a large leather chair, resting on its back. I pulled it away from the desk and poked through the desk drawers. I had no idea what I was looking for—a forwarding address, maybe?

With a sigh, I looked around the empty room. This was not what I expected to find. What was going on? There was no indication downstairs that the energy group had moved or closed. But the twenty-first floor where Martin and other
"front office" wealth managers worked had seemed rather sparsely populated, too. This floor, though, was sinister in its silence and in the manner the office had been closed—as if a fire alarm had been pulled and no one on the
twenty-third floor returned after the drill.

A soft ding sounded and my heart stopped. I froze and listened to the sound of footsteps on the marble floor. Crap. It was probably security, wondering what happened to the visitor who was expected in Mr. Winthrop
's office. I clutched my purse to my chest as the footsteps ceased. That could mean that the person walked the opposite direction from where I was. Or that he was heading down the carpeted hallway toward me.

I stepped out of my shoes and crouched behind the desk, crawling into the knee hole. I exhaled slowly and tried to control my pounding heart. I couldn
't see if anyone came into the room, so I listened for any sound that might tell me when it would be safe to emerge from my wood-paneled cave. I hoped that whoever it was would glance around the room and not see me, and then leave.

In the silent room, the only sound I could hear was my heartbeat, which sounded like it was echoing through the empty halls. Then I heard it, a slight creak and then the sound of footsteps, the whisper of shoes against the carpet. I held my breath and stayed as still as possible.

The footsteps were closer, and I peeked down at the two inches of clearance under the desk. I couldn't see a damn thing. Not even a shadow. I'd have to lay flat on the floor to see anything, and I didn't dare move. Then the toe of a man's shoe appeared, and I heard the sound of items on the desk being moved just over my head. I pulled my knees closer to me and took slow and shallow breaths. I closed my eyes. How was I going to get myself out of this mess?

The sounds stopped, and the shoe moved out of my line of sight, and I heard the sound of drawers opening. Not in the desk, though. The other person in the room must be looking through the drawers in the built-in bookcases.

Wait. Why would a security guard be rifling through filing cabinets?

Before I could dwell on that, I heard the footsteps near me again. I held my breath and looked skyward, as if God would help me in my predicament. As I did, I saw something on the underside of the desk, way back from the opening I
'd crawled through. I reached up and touched it and traced the packing tape that secured a flash drive to the wood. My fingernail found the edge of the tape, and I slowly tugged, but the crinkling of the cellophane tape was louder than I expected. I froze, and then slowly drew my hand back, closed my eyes, and prayed that the man in the room hadn't heard me.

No luck.

A strong hand gripped my upper arm and yanked me out from my hiding place. I smacked my head on the underside of the desk before emerging into the brightly lit office. I fought back, struggling against the man who ripped me from my hiding place, but he pinned my arms against my sides and pushed me against the wall of bookshelves.

"
I don't believe this."

At the sound of the man
's voice, I looked up.

And into the eyes of a very angry FBI agent.

Jake Barnes's fingers dug into my upper arms, and he had me immobilized against the bookcase.

"
What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was low, almost a whisper. An angry whisper.

I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
"Me? What are you doing here?"

My own whisper was more a furious squeak, like a cartoon mouse. He growled and let go of my arms, but didn
't answer.

"
Stay quiet," he said.

"
Why?" I hissed.

"
We're not alone."

The thought that there was someone else on the floor hadn
't occurred to me. I had seen no signs of life since I entered the floor. But as soon as he said it, I listened and heard it. A faint sound, shoes on carpet perhaps. It was coming toward Bill Macias's office, from the opposite direction of the lobby.

Jake pushed me toward the desk.
"Hide."

I crawled back into the knee hole of the desk. Again, I could see the faint outline of the flash drive taped under the desk, and I wanted to grab it, but I didn
't want to rustle more than necessary. Instead, I held my breath, waiting to hear the inevitable sounds of Jake Barnes being confronted by the building security officer.

Countless minutes passed, and I finally heard Jake
's whisper.

"
It's clear." His hands reached down, and he helped me out, more slowly this time. "We've got to get out of here."

I scrambled for my shoes under the desk, and as I did, I reached up and yanked at the piece of tape, my fingers closing around the plastic case and keeping it hidden in my palm. I planned to stash it in my purse, but as I emerged from the desk, I saw Jake holding my bright blue clutch. I turned away, resting my closed fist on the desk to steady myself as I slid my feet into the shoes. Still holding my purse, Jake walked to the office door and peered down the hall. While his head was turned, I shoved the device into my bra.

He looked back at me and nodded toward the hall. "Let's go."

I shook my head.
"No. I'm not going anywhere with you."

He stared at me like I was out of my mind.
"Look here, Ms. Vaughn. You're trespassing in a closed office. In a foreign country. You really want to try and explain that to the local authorities? Or the security personnel working for your former employer?"

He had some good points, but I wasn
't convinced that it was a better idea to go off with an FBI agent who had already arrested me once.

"
What are you doing here?"

He shook his head, his lips compressed in a line.
"Let's catch up later."

The soft ding of the elevator announced that we weren
't going to be alone for long. I moved toward the door. I'd take my chances with the U.S. authorities on the trespassing charge. The devil you know, and all that.

We hurried down the hall in the opposite direction from the lobby, and I followed Jake blindly, hoping he knew where he was going. I knew there was a staircase that linked the three floors, but it was near the internal elevator that had brought me to this floor. Jake turned down a hall that appeared to end, and I nearly stopped, but he reached back and grabbed my hand, pulling me into a darkened room. It had been a break room, and there was still the scent of stale coffee in the air. I heard a soft click as Jake locked the door.

He looked around the dimly lit space, pulled me to the corner and opened a door marked "supplies." We barely fit into the tiny space, and I was petrified that we would knock something off the shelves or kick a mop bucket. He closed the door and moved us so he was between me and the door.

I heard the sound of the break room door rattling, then the jingle of keys and the door opening. Jake
's arm tightened around me, and I could feel his breath on the top of my head. The footsteps on the tile floor drew closer. I closed my eyes waiting for the door to the closet to be yanked open, but nothing happened. I opened an eye and saw a brief flash of light at the edge of the door, probably a flashlight being waved around the room. Then the door closed firmly, and the footsteps faded away. In the distance, I could hear indistinct voices.

"
Wait," Jake whispered in the dark.

He still had his arm around my shoulder, and I found myself nearly wrapped around his body. Not like there was anywhere else to go in the small closet. But that didn
't quite explain how my leg came to be wrapped around a very solid thigh. In any other circumstances, I'd be completely embarrassed by the full-body contact. At the moment, though, I had too many other concerns competing for room in my head—were we going to be dragged out and tossed onto the street? Arrested? Shot? Why was the FBI here? Were they following me? And if so, why?

Jake slowly and quietly turned the knob and opened the door, letting in the weak light from the break room. The room was empty and quiet, and I loosened my grip on him. He stepped out of the closet, and I followed. He turned and pointed at my feet.

"Take off your shoes," he whispered.

I didn
't ask questions, just did what he said. We made our way across the room, the smooth floor cool under my bare feet. At the door, he put a finger to his lips, and I nodded. He again paused, then quietly cracked the door and listened.

In the distance, a door slammed, and he looked back at me.

"How did you get up here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"
The elevator from the twenty-first floor," I answered, keeping my voice low.

With a nod, he opened the door wider and taking my hand, pulled me into the hall. He closed the door quietly and keeping a grip on me, led us back toward the reception area. I pulled back, afraid to head toward the noise we
'd just heard.

He shook his head.
"Come on."

The lobby was silent, and we crept past the empty reception desk, toward the elevator that had brought me to this eerie office. Then Jake pulled me past the elevators and the door to the staircase that led to the two other Patterson floors, and then down another hall. I barely breathed as we moved quickly toward a door that appeared to be the emergency exit.

Jake put a hand on the doorknob, looked down at me and gave a quick nod toward the door. He pushed it open, and I cringed, waiting for a shrieking alarm. Nothing happened. He ushered me into the narrow staircase and closed the door quietly behind him. I barely heard the click as the metal door met the frame.

Quickly, we started down the stairs to the twenty-second floor, then to the twenty-first floor. I paused, but he yanked my hand again, and we continued down. By the
fifteenth floor, I was regretting my lax cardio regimen. Jake, though, seemed to handle the quick descent without any heavy breathing.

At the
tenth floor, I stopped and doubled over. "Wait," I gasped.

"
No."

He reached for me, and before I could catch my breath, he swung me up and over his shoulder, and he continued down the steps.

"Jesus! That's not what I meant," I said, as my head bounced off his rock-hard back.

"
I know," he said.

"
Just put me down!" This was more embarrassment than one person could take in an afternoon.

"
No, this is faster."

Then he sped up, and we bounced the rest of the way down the steps to a set of double doors, where he finally put me on the ground. He opened the door and looked out and motioned for me. I was putting my shoes on and trying to regain my breath. Also, I was a bit dizzy from all the blood that rushed from my head.

"Are you trying to get arrested?" he asked, yanking me out of the building and into an alley.

I gasped and immediately regretted it. The alley smelled of exhaust and garbage that had been stored too long in the steamy, late-afternoon heat. Once outdoors, Jake headed away from the street, dragging me along with him. We ducked into another alley, rounded a corner, and he finally dropped my hand and turned to look at me. I took a deep breath and started to talk. I had a lot of telling-off to do.

He held up a hand. "Stay here. Do not go anywhere."

I shut my mouth, my brain still struggling to form words and thoughts after its recent jarring. He turned and ran down another alley, and I lost sight of him.

"Well, that's just great."

I had no idea what to do. Wait for Jake Barnes, who was almost certainly going to arrest me? Or take my chances with Patterson
's security guards?

As I hesitated, I heard a familiar sound. I turned to look behind me and barely caught the helmet Jake Barnes threw my way as he pulled up on a gleaming black motorcycle.

"Put it on, and get on," he said, sitting astride the bike.

I shook my head and took a step back, but he grabbed my arm and looked into my eyes. His anger was evident, but he tamped it down when he saw my fear.

"The people chasing us are going to take the elevator when they figure out we're no longer there. We need to leave now."

"
Who—?" I still struggled to form complete sentences, but he seemed to understand me.

"
Bad guys."

I took a deep breath, handed Jake my purse. He unzipped his jacket and slid the clutch inside, securing it against his chest. I exhaled and put the helmet on. Then I turned to the bike and paused. I was wearing a knit wrap dress and three-inch heels. There was no way to mount this machine without getting indecent about it.

He must have sensed my horror, because he looked away while I threw a leg over the leather seat. I wasn't even seated when he reached back and grabbed my thigh, pulling me snug against him, and gunned the engine. I clutched at his back and closed my eyes.

"
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this," I chanted. This would be a good time to pray, but God and I were not on speaking terms presently, so I settled for voicing my discontent.

"
Just hang on," Jake said, and the bike surged forward and shot out of the alley like it was fired from a cannon.

He didn
't have to tell me twice. I wrapped my arms around him and opened my eyes to see where we were going. The last thing I saw was the front door of the office building opening and a half-dozen blue-shirted security guards running out before I squeezed my eyes shut.

The bike weaved in and out of the stalled traffic, and the warm air brushed across my bare legs. I opened one eye and saw the blur of cars we were passing. I quickly shut my eye again and tried not to think about the fact that my last few minutes on earth were apparently going to be spent in abject terror.

Jake leaned into a curve and, as I was glued to him, I did, too. Sarah was never going to believe me when I told her I rode on a motorcycle. She'd been trying to get me to ride with her since we met. But I was sure the two-wheel contraptions would result in certain death.

I was more convinced than ever of that.

The bike leaned the other direction, and the driver and I moved like one. I tried to go to a happy place, but perhaps it had been too long. I tried to recall the warm kitchen at the Sugar Plum Bakery, Aunt Marie's family room with the plush loveseat under a bay window where I used to curl up with a book when I was a kid. Anything. Any place other than where I was.

"
Where are you staying?"

Between the helmet and the fact that my head was pressed tight against his back, I could barely hear Jake
's question.

"
What?"

"
Your hotel. Which one are you staying at?" he yelled back.

"
The Mandarin, by the harbor."

The bike turned, and we were on a frontage road that looked over a stretch of water. The air was cooler and cleaner here, with a breeze coming off the harbor. I realized that I had opened my eyes at some point and was enjoying the view. Except the part where the bike zipped in and out of traffic. That part was making me pretty nauseated.

"Keep an eye out for anyone following us."

The bike leapt forward, and I turned my head to look behind us, unsure of what I was supposed to look for. There was heavy traffic, but nothing that looked like a car full of private security officers hired by an investment bank.

If there was a threat out there, I didn't see it. Unless it was the one I was snuggled up against on a bike racing through Macau.