Secretive (8 page)

Before she stepped into the pub, she looked behind her, scanning the street, which wasn’t packed, but there were enough people that she couldn’t be absolutely sure he wasn’t there somewhere. Nico had left the restaurant, and their table was empty. She located her scarf, which had slipped to the floor behind her chair, and made her way back to the street. She walked in the opposite direction, pausing to look in shop windows occasionally. Despite the gray day, she could see reflections in the windows. She was facing a display of Christmas party dresses when she saw the man’s silhouette in the reflection. She moved to another shop. The display of goods for sale didn’t even register; all she saw was the familiar outline mirrored in the window.

She watched for a moment. The man was turned away from her, looking into another shop window. She chewed on her lip for a moment. She could run, try to lose him, but if it was Sam...she let her scarf, which she’d been holding, slip to the ground. As she whipped around to pick it up, she got a good look at the man.

“Sam!” she called as she snatched up her scarf and dodged across the street. She watched him, sparing only a quick look at the traffic, and saw a flash of astonishment that he quickly masked with a smile.

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“Z
OE what a pleasant surprise,” Sam said as she reached him.

“I don’t think it’s much of a surprise. You’re following me. Why?”

“Following you? What are you talking about? I have a meeting in half an hour. I’m just killing time until then.”

Was she wrong? Impulsively, she took a stab in the dark. “Like you were killing time earlier near the Leicester Square tube station? Like you just happened to be on the same flight to London as I was. That’s a lot of coincidences.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she mentally second-guessed herself. She could almost hear Helen’s voice saying,
don’t rush to judgment
. Helen was all about measured, thoughtful decisions. Zoe wasn’t. She had a sinking feeling. If she’d walked on for a little longer, watched him a bit more, she might have seen him turn into a building for his meeting.

Sam looked at her for a moment, then threw up a hand. “Okay, look, you’re right. That is a lot of coincidences, but I’m not following you now.”

“Now?” She edged back a step. Was he FBI? Or—worse—was he working with the guys in the white van? What did she know about Sam, really? He paid his rent on time, spoke with a soft tone, and had gorgeous brown eyes. “You mean you
were
following me?”

Sam ran his hand through his hair. “Zoe, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

A fine mist sprinkled down, and the pavement began to darken with the moisture. Zoe took another step back. “Seems to be a pattern with you.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his expression wounded. “I didn’t think you’d even talk to me if you knew the truth.”

“So what is the truth now? You’re not really in the resale business?”

“No, that is the truth. I swear.” He extracted a business card from his wallet. “See? Completely legit.”

“Anyone can have business cards printed.”

Tiny droplets of water covered his hair and a few clung to his lashes. “Call the number on there. Go ahead. And, you can look up an article in
Entrepreneur Magazine
about me. It’s online. There’s a photo there and everything. I do own the companies. And, I work undercover a lot. All that is completely, one hundred percent, true.”

Those things would be easy enough to check...if she had Internet. She could look them up at the hotel. “What
isn’t
true?”

“It’s more an exception.”

“Go on.” People were picking up their pace, hurrying around them, as the drizzle thickened. Zoe pushed her ever-inflating hair behind her ears and raised her eyebrows.

“It’s about my mother. She invested all her retirement in GRS stock. I’m trying to find out what happened to it.”

It took Zoe a second to process his words. “This is about your mother?”

“Carolyn Clark,” he said with a nod. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he added hurriedly. “I can easily cover what she lost, but she’s proud and doesn’t want to take anything from me. I figured if I could find out where the money went...I could get some answers for her.”

“But the FBI is investigating.”

“Right. And how long has that investigation been going on?”

Zoe sighed. “I understand that point more than you know.”

“I keep telling her that there’s not going to be anything left for the investors, but she refuses to believe me. She is holding out, hoping that when the dust settles from the investigation all the shareholders will be reimbursed. You and I both know that’s not going to happen. If I can show her that the money is gone, then maybe she’d accept my help.”

“And you thought I could provide the answers to what happened to the money?”

He shuffled his feet slightly. “You seemed to be a logical starting point. You were married to Jack Andrews, you still lived with him when all the money went missing, and the FBI was interested in you—I read the papers. I know you went on the run with Andrews last spring. I figured you had to know something.”

“But I don’t,” Zoe said wearily.

“I know that now. I was afraid if I told you about my mom losing her money—that it was the reason I’d made contact with you...well, I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me.”

“Let me get this straight. You moved to Dallas and opened a branch of your business there, intentionally renting an office from me, so you could meet me?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. We were getting nothing out of the FBI, and you’d been involved with Jack Andrews. I figured you had to know something. If I got close to you...I might be able to get the inside story. But once I got to know you, I realized you weren’t involved.”

His face looked so earnest, but she wasn’t about to be sidetracked. Those years in the reality entertainment industry had given her a wide streak of skepticism. “So, back to my original question. Why are you following me? If you think I’m not involved, then there’s no reason to tag along behind me, much less follow me to London.”

Sam looked even more miserable. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not like that. It really was a coincidence that we were on the same flight, and I do have business here. In fact, I have a meeting in,” he paused to check his watch, “fifteen minutes. Please don’t let my initial misguided beliefs ruin...whatever this is between us.”

“We don’t have anything between us.”

“But we could.” He leaned in. “You know it’s true. Please, let me take you to dinner. Don’t ruin what could be the best thing that ever happened. Someday we’ll laugh about this.”

Zoe stared at him. “No, I don’t think so. That’s too many lies.” She pushed by him in the direction of the tube, then stopped and turned back. He still watched her. “No need to follow me. I’m going to my hotel.”

She made straight for the tube station, anger and—yes, she could admit it to herself—hurt that he had an ulterior motive in wanting to get to know her gave her a burst of energy and pushed away the lethargy from the jet lag.

The streetlights had come on and it was fully dark now. The drizzle transitioned to a light rain. She pulled out her umbrella and joined the crowd of workers heading home, her umbrella bumping along in the tide of umbrellas above the pedestrians. She didn’t look behind her until she reached the Underground. She paused inside the doorway and shook the raindrops from her umbrella, watching commuters stream into the station. No tall, silver-headed guy with brown eyes in sight. She thought about the flight, Sam’s earnest face as he talked about them being more than friends. She made a little growling sound, and a woman who was coming into the station gave her a look, then moved quickly by her.

As she turned to go to the platform, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered it, expecting to hear Sam’s voice. It was a male voice, but the guy had a British accent. “This is Dave Bent for Jenny Singletarry.”

“Oh, hello,” Zoe said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t get my message.”

“Got it right here. You want an interview?”

“Er—yes.” Zoe figured she had to keep going with the lie until she was actually face-to-face with the computer guy.

“I have an opening next week. Tuesday at ten.”

“Oh. Well. I’m only in London for a few days. Would it be possible to meet soon? Say tomorrow?” Despite Nico’s thought that Bent wouldn’t be able to help her, Zoe wasn’t about to give up on him. She’d take help from anywhere she could find it.

“No. Unfortunately that’s impossible.”

“I’d really hoped to speak to you as soon as possible.”

“Well, unless you can be here in fifteen minutes, you’ll have to wait until next week.”

He was probably joking, but Zoe said, “I can do that. I’ll be right over.” She hung up before he could protest. She stepped outside, unfurling the umbrella as she moved against the crowd and quickly retraced her steps to the street where Dave Bent had his office.

Inside his office, the reception area was empty. “Mr. Bent?” Zoe called, looking into the office behind the receptionist desk where a man was zipping his coat. She recognized him from his pictures. He’d gained some weight, but still had the goatee. “You’re here.” He didn’t sound thrilled to see her. “I can give you ten minutes.” He waved her toward his desk.

Zoe perched on the edge of a chair that was filled with papers, notebooks, and magazines, hoping she didn’t set off an avalanche. Bent moved a laptop case off sheaves of paper covering the desk to the floor and plopped into his chair, still wearing his coat.

She decided to cut to the chase. She licked her lips. “I’m not a reporter. My name is Zoe Hunter.”

He gazed at her a moment, then reached for his laptop bag. “In that case—”

“Please hear me out. I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say. I figured an interview request was the best way to see you.” Zoe felt a prick of guilty conscious. She had lied, exactly what Sam had done. She pushed the thought away to consider later. “I read about your work with the police, how you’ve played a big role in finding cyber criminals.” She figured flattery couldn’t hurt.

He nodded and she continued, “I’ve been caught up in some cyber crime—I didn’t take any money or do anything. In fact, I know so little about how these crimes are committed that I want to hire you to prove that I’m innocent.”

He tilted his head to the side, and his thick brown hair drooped down over his forehead to the edges of his circular glasses. “And how would I do that?”

“By finding the money that’s disappeared from an account. If you can find it—it’s not going to be in any account I own—that would clear me, and then the FBI would leave me alone.”

He picked up a piece of paper and began to fold it. “Tell me more.”

By the time Zoe had finished explaining her situation, Bent had turned the paper into an origami crane. He set the crane on a stack of paper as he asked, “You think Costa is behind the money transfers?”

“I don’t know. It seems possible he could be involved.”

Bent shrugged. “There are many people who could have done it.”

“What are you saying? That it’s a hopeless case?”

“No, just not to jump to any conclusions. Costa and your husband’s past association, as you so vaguely put it, may be nothing more than a coincidence.” He scooted his chair closer to the desk. “I’ll need all the information you can give me about the accounts.”

“So, you’ll look into it?”

“Yes. What are the account numbers?”

“What about your fee?” she asked warily.

He pawed through the papers on his desk. “If I find anything, I will charge you. My secretary will handle the paperwork tomorrow, give you a contract to sign, all that sort of thing. Account numbers?”

Zoe pulled out the file folder and consulted a page at the back where she’d jotted down all Jack’s account information, glad she’d kept a copy of it for herself. She’d found it in Jack’s things before the multiple searches of his part of the house. She read the first numbers off to him then looked up to find him sitting perfectly still with his eyes closed.

At the pause, his eyes popped open. “Go on.”

“Don’t you want to write this down?”

“No need. Continue,” he said as he closed his eyes again.

“All right.” Zoe read off the string of numbers.

She finished and Bent nodded. He reached for his laptop, his thick bangs falling over his glasses. He brushed them out of his face as he came upright with the laptop. He set it up on his desk, powered it up, and then began typing. After a few minutes, Zoe shifted in her chair and said, “Umm, did you have any other questions?”

He glanced up at her. “You’re still here? I’ll call you if I find anything.”

“Oh. Okay.” Zoe stood. He was already focused on the computer screen again, his fingers tapping away. “Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”

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T
HE pictures came as attachments to an email. Anna was glad Costa was on the phone and didn’t notice her intake of breath. Checking his email was a routine part of her job, but she didn’t recognize the name of the sender. The subject line of the email was blank, so she’d clicked it open and found the thumbnails of three photos attached to the email. Even in the small pictures, the red hair was unmistakable. Zoe Hunter.

Anna’s back was to Costa. She squashed the urge to look over her shoulder at him. He was still on the phone, his voice carrying through the open door that connected their offices. She was careful not to move as she studied the pictures. The first photo showed Zoe Hunter coming out of a London Underground tube station.
What the hell was she doing in London?

Anna downloaded the first photo and checked the larger resolution. It was definitely the Hunter woman. A date stamp at the bottom corner showed it had been taken only a few hours earlier. She closed the photo, mentally cursing Wade.

The old wooden floorboards creaked behind her. Anna swiveled her chair smoothly to Costa. “Ernesto called while you were on the other line.” She motioned to her monitor. “And these came in. Should I forward them to you?”

If Anna hadn’t known him so well she would have missed the narrowing of his eyes. He was angry. “Yes,” he said casually. “But there is no rush. Take care of this first.” He handed her a note and returned to his office, closing the door behind him.

She waited a beat, then hurried to the double-sided fireplace on the connecting wall. It was large enough that she could have stepped inside it without ducking her head. Costa’s voice was muffled, but she could still make out a few words. “...don’t care...told you...not through Anna.”

Anna wasn’t surprised that he had kept something from her. She knew he kept lots of things from her. She moved across the room, avoiding the noisy floorboards as she swiped her phone off the desk then hurried to the narrow window and opened it.

A gust of frigid air engulfed her as she leaned out to get a signal on her cell phone. The thick walls were terrible for reception. Within seconds, her ears, fingers, and nose tingled with the cold.

When Wade answered she said, “What happened?”

“Nothing. We’ve been sitting here on her house all day. She hasn’t gone anywhere. Just debating about going in to get her. Do you think we should?”