Tam was early to the office in spite of a night too late with a little too much wine, talking shop with Diane and uselessly spinning her wheels about the cancellations from clients that were plaguing all of their offices.
She knew the moment she opened the door to Mercedes’ sanctum that something was wrong. Mercedes had an odd look on her face as she spoke into her phone.
“There is no comment at this time. I will give Ms. Sterling your message. I’m not going to speculate on when that might be.” She listened as she gestured at Tam to linger. “I’m sorry, I’m not going to speculate on any of your questions. I must return to my work now. Yes, I wrote down the number.”
“What the heck was that about?” Tam watched as Mercedes mimed wiping her hands of something smelly.
“That was a reporter with that sleazy gossip show SLY. They want confirmation that you flew all the way to New York to have breakfast with Wren Cantu.”
“Who?”
“I looked up the name while we talked.” Mercedes glanced at her monitor. “Some lesbian supermodel, all the hot topic in New York, I gather.”
Tam blinked. “Huh?” She looked at the door, Mercedes’ desk, the carpet. She appeared to be in the universe where she belonged. “I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. But they knew you’d been on flights there and back and they knew which ones. Well, they knew the return flight you’d been booked on, but not the one you actually took.”
“I spent five hours in the Admiral Club at JFK waiting to jump flights, using the wireless.”
“I know.” Mercedes gestured at the phone. “Do you want me to call them back? This snotty guy said they tape in less than thirty minutes for tonight’s program. Haven’t you seen it—bunch of people with no life except chasing celebrities sit around and make snide comments they think are clever. The kind of people who see a celebrity woman eating a hot dog and joke about oral sex. And they call it journalism.”
“I don’t have a clue how my name has been linked into this. This isn’t how I planned to start my day.”
“And Hank Jefferson called twice.”
Tam headed for her office. “I’ll take care of this reporter, then call him back. Would you let him know?”
She took a moment to compose her thoughts, then dialed the number Mercedes had written down. She introduced herself to the man who answered the phone, then asked, “Can you provide me with some assurance that you represent this program?”
He rattled off credentials and with a few quick Web searches she decided to believe he was who he said he was. Even if he wasn’t, she wasn’t going to tell him anything useful.
“So my source tells me that you flew to New York last Friday on a red-eye, had breakfast with Wren Cantu, then flew home later that day.”
“Not to insult Ms. Cantu, but until my assistant gave me your message I’d not heard of her and to my knowledge I’ve never met her.”
“So you deny that you flew to New York last Friday—”
“I deny knowing Ms. Cantu. Since that’s what you’re inquiring about, I’ve answered your question.”
“So you didn’t have breakfast with her?”
“I don’t know her.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It does. It’s called a logical chain of events.”
“But I can still say you didn’t deny having breakfast with her.”
“Are you in the habit of having meals with people you don’t know and have never met? I’m not.”
“So that’s a denial of having breakfast with her?”
“Asked and answered. Unless you have a different question, I’ll go back to my work now.”
She had no sooner hung up than Mercedes buzzed to say that Nadia Langhorn was on the phone. Tam sighed and took the call.
“Ted’s got the flu,” Nadia said. “Since we were all together last night I thought I’d check on you. Thank goodness it’s the flu and not food poisoning.”
“Ouch—that’s a little cold, and from his wife, no less.”
She laughed. “Just being pragmatic. Can you imagine, all those clients sick from the food?”
“Okay, I grant you that. If Ted must be sick, I’m glad it’s the flu and not food poisoning too. I’m fine. Haven’t heard of anyone else with it, either.”
“That’s a relief then. Do you have time for dinner with me tonight? He’s such a bear when he’s sick and I could use a quiet meal. You don’t chatter. I’ve always liked that about you.”
“You make it sound tempting,” Tam said, recalling her after-work hope to meet with Kip. Even though Nadia could be wicked and fun, Kip was her first priority. Just business, she hastily added to herself. “I’ve got way too much work. A dinner meeting is tentatively scheduled on a new case. I couldn’t.”
“Fine. Be that way,” Nadia said without rancor. “If you end up at a loose end, take pity on me.”
Tam sat for a moment, hand still on the phone. Right, just business to put a chance meeting with Kip ahead of a welcome diversion with a friend.
Quelling the sudden butterflies in her stomach, she called Hank back. She was so lucky in her colleagues. Hank was as devoted to the company as she was. The New York office was huge and growing every year, but the knack for managing and motivating people that she’d admired in him when they’d both worked for the FBI kept the chaos organized. He was far more subtle than most people expected. Like with Diane, it was a successful collaboration.
She must have sounded odd to him, because the first thing he said was, “Who already put salt in your milk? That’s my job today.”
She quickly explained about the gossip reporter.
“I know the Cantu woman—well, of her,” Hank said. “She was at the fundraiser we co-sponsored for the New York Public Library. We were introduced but I quickly knew I was not of consequence to her. You’ve been linked romantically?”
“Never met her.”
“I know. It’s just strange. And I doubt it’s a coincidence. Here the Journal isn’t jumping on rumors of client losses and staff leaving yet, but the scandal rags can’t wait to blog up you and a model.”
“I know it has to be connected. I just don’t know how. Anyway, why am I on your list this morning?”
“I’ve got a letter from our contact at Big Blue. The New York office is canceling our contract.”
“Big Blue?” Her fingertips went numb. “Some of the biggest corporate butt we’ve ever pulled out of the fire?”
“That Big Blue. I’ve worked with Avery Jessup for so long that I’ve talked him into dinner tonight. I want answers—this makes no sense to me. Nobody else will give me the time of day. It’s like SFI suddenly has bad breath.”
“Diane says the other offices are having cancellations too. We think there’s a rumor about us circulating.”
“What does Ted think?”
“Good question. I think if he’d heard something he would have said something, though. He’s got the flu. I’ll ask him, though.” She could ask Nadia to relay the question, but that would mean Nadia knowing more than she should about company business.
“Well, I think it’s a rumor. A rumor bad enough for someone like Avery to pull the plug on us without talking first. He’s a pretty straight-and-narrow guy, conservative. I’m shocked he wouldn’t at least call me first, ask a few questions.”
She ought to tell him about the embezzlement—just like she ought to have told Diane. But she would wait until she got the report from Kip tonight before doing so.
“I appreciate what you’re doing, Hank.”
“Hey, don’t thank me yet. Besides, your ass is my ass. Okay, plus fifty pounds.”
Tam didn’t know how she could laugh, but picturing Hank’s broad-shouldered ex-football physique compared to her too-tall, too-thin frame struck her funny bone. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
“Always have been, boss. I’ll call you later.”
* * *
Kip sat up with a gasp. A page of Buck’s reports was stuck to her cheek. She’d fallen asleep at the table. She could have sworn she heard her bones creak as she peeled the paper off her face.
The days of all-nighters and bouncing to a class to ace a test were behind her, obviously. She felt a hundred years old as she loaded the stacks of printouts into her satchel.
She had no idea what she was going to do about Tamara Sterling. About anything.
Not the least bit refreshed by a hot shower and a triple-shot mocha, she arrived at her desk to find a note from Emilio asking her to spend an hour with a colleague tracing a transaction through a series of banks and accounting codes. The projected hour became three. By the time she felt as if she’d found her feet for the day it was pushing noon and her stomach wanted lunch. She told it to shut up.
How was she going to make any kind of report to Tamara if she believed Tamara was a viable suspect? She had to deliver on promises to her client, but in doing so she could be telling key investigation points to a suspect. Or believed that Tamara had secrets of her own, and somehow Kip was part of keeping those secrets intact? She had never been in this position before. People higher up than her usually dealt with the rocks and hard places.
She threw herself into more exhibit checking and labeling. Following the same procedures, over and over, might clear her mind. But no matter how many case files she looked at and numbers she printed, she couldn’t forget for more than a minute that Tamara Sterling was expecting to hear from her by the end of the day.
As the workday ticked toward its end, she knew she had to contact Tamara. If Tamara was guilty, she’d find her failure to get in touch suspicious. If she wasn’t, she’d find it incompetent.
At five minutes to five she called the private voice mail number written on Tamara’s business card. She hoped she sounded brisk, and not freaked out, as she left her cryptic message. “I would like to get together and share details. This evening, if you’re free. You have my number.” She hoped any colleague nearby would presume it was a date of some kind.
There was no immediate return call, so at six thirty she packed up her things and headed for home. What she was going to do there she hadn’t a clue. Her empty stomach wanted a big, fat slice of pizza with two inches of gooey cheese and pounds of pepperoni, but her brain sent back queasy signals at the mere thought. She’d open a can of soup at home.
She had just unlocked her front door when her cell phone rang.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner,” Tamara said in her ear.
“Not at all. I haven’t had a chance to start it,” she responded. “It can wait, depending on your schedule. I think it would be better to meet in person.” It was the truth, even if she did experience a swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was just nerves, she told herself.
“I have a thought, if you’ll take pity on me,” Tamara said. “I haven’t had lunch or supper, and dinner last night was those dreadful hors d’oeuvres that would be dinner if you had fifty of them. If I don’t eat I won’t be able to listen to a word you say. If you’ll let me order us dinner—”
Kip cut her off, surprised to be laughing and horrified to be pleased. “Dinner I don’t have to make sounds too good to be true. Where should I meet you?”
“I have a sailboat docked at Gas Works Yacht Club. Just give your name to the attendant who’ll tell you where to park.”
Kip was momentarily delighted…to be on a boat, even one docked, was a thrill. Her delight was short-lived. Down girl, she told herself. You are meeting a client. Your boss’s boss’s boss. A suspect. Someone who might not be who she says she is.
She sedately agreed to be there in a half hour. A handful of almonds quelled her stomach, though every time she thought of asking Tamara “So who are you really?” she felt nauseous.
The weather had remained clear and sunny throughout the day, but the temperature had plummeted as the sun had set. She changed into long underwear under jeans, thick socks and deck shoes, and a tightly knit shepherd’s sweater. Traffic on the George Washington Bridge was light so she arrived on the north side of Lake Union a little early. She scooted into Il Pattiserie for a couple of slices of their Triple Sin cake. She hoped Tamara liked chocolate. If she didn’t, then that was another tick mark in the “bad guy” column for her.
She was shimmying out of the tight parking space before the irony of repeating “This is not a date” to herself and at the same time singing along with a silly love song on the radio hit home. You are making a report to her and investigating her at the same time. Don’t forget, she scolded herself. This was a business dinner and a chance for her to further the investigation. Whether the client/suspect liked chocolate was irrelevant. Tamara was not good-looking, her touch had not thrown Kip into a panic, and for all Kip knew she already had somebody in her life, like Diane Morales, in defiance of company policy. She could be a fraud, a cheat and a liar.
There, she thought, that was better. Cheat and liar.
With a firm grip on her nerves she turned into the marina parking lot and was directed to Tamara’s berth. There was no sign of Tamara as she walked down the floating pier toward the lithe sailboat. The graceful vessel—20-24 footer she guessed—gleamed with white paint, teak decking and sails wrapped in dark green. The polished brass of the porthole frames glinted like pure gold in the last of the autumn sunlight. The Emerald Petral was lovely.
Cheat and liar… The refrain was getting weaker.
“Ahoy, captain,” she called.
There was a muffled reply and then Tamara came up from below deck. A worn University of Washington sweatshirt and jeans accented her angular hips and shoulders. “I was just setting up the table downstairs, but the wind has died. Can you manage sitting up here if I switch on the deck heater?”
“I can handle it if it gets chilly, but the night air is perfect right now.” She let the Il Patisserie box dangle into her view. “Dessert,” she said.
Tamara smiled at her with a relaxed blink. “I hope there’s some chocolate in that bag.”
Kip’s heart went thump-thump-thump, stupid heart, no brains at all, unreliable, foolish thing. Her voice sounded unnaturally high as she said, “Absolutely.”
“Good,” Tamara said as she disappeared down the hatch. “The harbor restaurant only had coconut-lemon something. I’m sure it’s quite good, but it’s not chocolate.”
Kip set down what she was carrying. She attributed the slight sense of vertigo she felt to the mild drift of the boat against its moorings. Cheat and liar… Nope, that wasn’t working at all now. She felt a flutter of panic as she called down, “Can I help?”
Tamara handed up a picnic hamper emblazoned with the port’s coat of arms. “Would you like wine?”
“I really don’t drink,” Kip said. She’d never acquired a taste for it, and her father’s problems had only made her more of a teetotaler.
“I should drink less than I do. Can I interest you in some hot cranberry juice?”
Kip wrinkled her nose. “That sounds a little weird, but I’m willing.”
Tamara looked over her shoulder from the steps. “Trust me.” She disappeared into the galley.
I do trust her. Kip froze as the unbidden thought sank in. She knew she had to fight it. She knew she shouldn’t trust anyone she was investigating. She knew better.
Feeling on autopilot, Kip set out the dinner—it looked like chilled salmon filets in a light orange sauce. When she sniffed the contents of a bowl of linguini salad her stomach did a little dance. Seed rolls and butter were at the bottom of the box, but after she lifted them out she found a tray of antipasto. Mortadella, salami, tapenade… Mmm.
She heard Tamara emerge onto the deck. “This all smells delicious.” She warily accepted the steaming mug and cautiously sipped. Her eyes widened.
“Like it?” Tamara was warming her hands around her own mug. “I find it very refreshing and it chases away colds.”
Kip nodded and sipped the hot cranberry juice again. It was like a tart, sweet tea. “It is refreshing. And unusual. Thanks.”
Tamara pressed the deck heater’s ignition lighter and a soft glow suffused the table, followed by a wave of heat. “I hope the food is up to their usual high standards. I just told them to double the fresh catch order.”
She does this often, then. Kip felt a wave of disappointment, then mentally booted herself. This is not a date, you dope! “I was just hoping you wouldn’t think I was a pig if I helped you devour every ounce.”
“I am hoping you’ll be as devoted to enjoying the dinner as you are to your work.” Tam’s tone matched the twinkle of good humor in her eyes.
Kip was glad the low light hid her blush. Stop flirting, she told herself and she turned her attention to the meal.
They made short work of the food while they bantered back and forth about sailing experiences and favorite meals. The salmon was obviously freshly caught and Kip’s tongue wanted to melt from the exquisite parmesan garlic sauce on the linguini salad. It had real Greek olives stirred into it. She’d forgotten how good they were. Her daily cuisine was boring, she realized. Boring because she didn’t spend any time planning it. She made a mental note to put more energy into her menus in the future, then glumly erased it. Sure, she told herself. You’ll have time for that just after this case is over, and then you’ll get another case and you’ll be right back to eating out of boxes and buckets.
Tamara restacked the dishes and bowls in the hamper and Kip handed her one of the takeaway containers of Triple Sin cake.
“We really shouldn’t,” Tamara said. She peered at Kip’s slice. “How come I get the smaller piece?”
Kip grinned—who knew that Tamara Sterling could pout? “Big baby. Here.” She lifted the chocolate curl from her slice and put it on Tamara’s. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” Tam’s smile was open and for just a moment Kip saw a woman who could relax at the beach or set out for a day’s sailing just because the lake was beautiful. “You’ve been very kind. I was starving and in a lousy mood. This has been very relaxing.”
Kip tried to strike a light note. “It’s all part of the service.”
“No, it’s not.” Tamara looked at her seriously for a moment, then stared down at the cake. “I’m sure… You must have other places you’d rather be. People you’d rather be with. I appreciate your giving your time to me.”
Kip didn’t know what to say. She could hardly tell her boss’s boss’s boss she hadn’t dated anyone in months and months, nor would it sound right to say she lived for her work. “You’re welcome,” seemed the only correct answer.
They were silent for a few minutes, savoring the cake. Finally, all the chocolate licked from her fork, Kip reluctantly reached for her paperwork.
Tamara sighed and got up to bring a deck lantern closer to the table, adding to the soft glow from the deck heater. “I suppose we should get down to business.”
Kip passed her a single sheet of paper. “These are officially the affected accounts and the amounts missing as of Monday.”
She went very still. “Six million nine. How?”
“It’s all being done in concurrence with pre-authorized transfers and the next one is Friday. We need to move fast because—”
“Because a lot of thieves leave town when they hit a major milestone. The perp could be aiming for seven million—but it could also be ten million.”
Kip nodded. “Our thief started small only two months ago, just after our last quarterly audit. In the last four weeks, the amounts have been larger. If I were them, I’d be alert for investigation and ready to leave at a moment’s notice. And I’d have already picked a day to leave anyway, whether it appeared anyone suspected me or not.”
“So how are the transfer orders being sent?” Despite the lantern’s glow, she couldn’t really see Tamara’s eyes, but the tone was overly nonchalant.
Kip had had a lot of experience making cogent presentations. She took a calming breath, hoping it would save her now. “As you know, a number of our largest clients pay their retainers on a quarterly basis. The financial firms in particular pay by pre-arranged wire. The wires come into several sweep accounts. Four times a month there are transfers out of those accounts. Most of the balances are transferred to payroll accounts for the California, New York and Illinois payroll systems. A variety of other payments are made to the overhead accounts at the various offices for premises expenses like rent. Our malpractice insurance premium gets paid that way as well.” Tamara probably knew this, but the background was important.
Kip absently scratched behind one ear. “Our thief apparently knows all of these details. He or she simply adds another destination account on to the instructions to transfer money to an account we don’t control.”
Tamara had been leaning back in her chair, but now she sat forward, bringing her face into the light. “That’s pretty sophisticated computer work. Not many people could do it.”
“I know.” Kip desperately tried to appear nonchalant, as if she didn’t have a reasonable investigator’s suspicion that the woman across the table from her could be the mastermind. “It’s easy to cover up if you can doctor the bank statements. It’s equally easy for me to discover it. But there’s no paper trail other than the statements.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I at first. But I can only come up with one explanation,” Kip said. “If this was being done the usual way, which is falsified paperwork, the paperwork we sent to the bank, with the extra instructions, would be in our files. But our paperwork is fine.”
“So why is the bank processing the extra instructions?”
“I think because computers do what they’re told.”
Tamara took a deep breath. “Someone’s hacking into our instructions before they hit the bank? I did the protection system myself and… Let’s say it’s nearly impossible. Those systems are tight.”
“Tighter than a bank’s own security protocol?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well, there’s only two explanations,” Kip said slowly. “If it wasn’t done on SFI’s mainframe, then it was done on the banks’ systems.”
Tamara was shaking her head. “That seems equally impossible.”
“Yes,” Kip said, nodding. “I know. But I checked a few of the SFI mainframe files. It wasn’t that hard to open them for reading only.”
“You didn’t find the originals,” Tamara said confidently. “Those were copies and meant to be accessible.”
“Well, if those are valid copies, our ledger files appear intact and unedited. I’m not an expert, though.”
“I’d be able to tell,” Tamara said. “Damn—my day is incredibly busy tomorrow and I won’t get the chance.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Kip said sharply.
“You want to call in someone else to do it? I wrote the safeguards myself… Oh. I get it.” Her face was like stone. “Later someone might say I used the opportunity to erase my work.”
Kip could not stop her lips from trembling. She felt like she was riding a seesaw blindfolded, up and down with no ability to predict or control the motion. She believed Tamara and her heart—stupid thing—sang. Then she thought Tamara was guilty and she ached with betrayal. Up and down, up and down, with the ground never under her feet.
Tamara was looking at her questioningly. “Do you think that’s what I meant to do?”
Kip lowered her gaze to the bleak landscape of papers. “We’re looking for someone who can do the impossible on a computer. I don’t think it would look good at all for you to go—”
“Kip.”
She had to look at her. She could not trust her. “We’re looking for someone who can break into a bank computer, find the legitimate transaction entered properly and append an additional line of instructions. Without setting off alarms and without messing up the processing totals.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No,” she said softly. “I didn’t.”
In the soft lantern light, Tamara’s eyes were oceans deep, unreadable. Kip knew it wasn’t the same with her. She could not find The Stare, could not even blink and look away.
“You’re a good investigator,” Tamara said finally, and she finally broke their intense gaze, leaving Kip feeling as if she had nevertheless disappointed her. “Since I know I’m innocent, however, you’ll have to excuse me if I proceed on that basis.”
Kip didn’t respond to that comment. Instead she said, “There’s a further complication.”
Tamara pursed her lips and looked at her through lowered lashes. “How does this get more complicated?”
“So far, I’ve listed thirty-five destination accounts. This is a talented thief, so those accounts are likely already closed, making the traces complex.”
She sighed again. “I can’t believe this is happening at SFI.”
“Even the best of people can be tempted.”
Tamara shook her head. “No, the best people aren’t tempted, and they can’t be bought. If I didn’t believe that, I’d close up shop tomorrow.”
Kip said quietly, “I believe that too. But we have both worked cases where people thought above suspicion gave in to the lure of money. Sometimes for a loved one’s sake. Sometimes for all the best reasons to do a wrong thing.” She wanted to ask Tamara if she had a reason like that, but couldn’t make herself do it.
“For love and country,” Tamara said, her face turned again toward the shadow. “McVeigh truly thought he was saving America when he blew up all those people in Oklahoma City.”
There’s something she’s not telling me, Kip thought. A secret—like so many she’s keeping, apparently. “Patriotism can be played out in the strangest ways, yes.”
“Your grandfather was a patriot.” She seemed almost relieved to shift the topic.
“He was,” she agreed. “Loyal to the office of the President, therefore to the Constitution. Like something out of a Jimmy Stewart movie.”
“Did you know that even a sophisticated data search doesn’t turn up your service file?” Tamara asked the question casually, but the hand on the table was tensed.
Kip bit back a gasp of anger. “You had no right—”
“I hate mysteries,” she said.
“Why I left the Service has nothing to do with working for you.” Kip stood up, clenching and unclenching her fists.
Tamara looked up at her. “I thought you personally had some sort of indiscretion and I got cold feet. So I checked you out on my own this afternoon. I have to know how far I can trust you.”
Kip’s heart was pounding. “I think that stinks.”
“How many innocent people do you investigate before you find the guilty one?” She was standing now, slowly moving to her side of the table.
“Dozens. And it stinks, too. I don’t like probing into people’s lives when they’ve done nothing wrong. Ted Langhorn and Diane Morales have done nothing to deserve my prying through their financials. Besides, I’m not a suspect being investigated. You were just curious.” Her voice faded away as she considered that she was, once again, not using the wisest tone with her client.
How ironic, she thought. I don’t know if I can trust her, and yet it stings to know there was a moment when she didn’t trust me. Maybe, her devil’s advocate argued, she checked up on you to see if you could be bought.
“I’m trusting you with everything that matters to me,” Tam said quietly. “I’m sorry I blurted it out like that. I did feel guilty afterward.”
Kip swallowed noisily. “We’re even because I don’t know how to tell you all the little things I know about you that you probably wish I didn’t.”
Tam’s expression clouded slightly with wariness. “Such as…?”
There was nothing for it. “Nobody knows where your adoptive parents were born. The data on your passport application can’t be verified. There’s no record of when you immigrated to the U.S. And so on.”
Tamara’s breath caught—it was almost a gasp. “How…?” She pressed her lips together, staring at Kip intensely.
She felt ensnared by Tamara’s eyes, but her fight-or-fly instincts weren’t engaged. She was terrified, but not because she felt in physical danger. “I hired some very good help who suggested that Tamara Sterling was a cover.”
“And if it was, it’s blown.”
Kip nodded. She ought to be on alert. Tamara could snap her neck and toss her overboard with no one the wiser until at least morning, perhaps longer. Nobody knew she was even here. But her body refused to feel threatened. What could it possibly know that she didn’t?
“What do you think?”
That I don’t know and it’s killing me, Kip wanted to say. Instead, she spoke another truth. “I don’t know what to think.”
“It concerns what some might think an odd matter, but I will say it’s very, very private.”
“Who were your adoptive parents, then? Their last name wasn’t Sterling.”
“No. But then as you’ve guessed,” Tam said coolly, “they didn’t exist.”
She drew in a sharp breath with a needle of anxiety jabbing under her ribs. “I truly don’t understand.”
Tamara shrugged. “I’m surprised to learn that my passport didn’t pass close scrutiny. It used to. I’ve been Tamara Sterling for twenty-five years. Who I was before that really doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”
Kip blurted out, “I can’t clear you as a suspect.”
Tamara’s answer was a quiet, “I know.”
“I want to.” She admitted it before she could stop herself. “I do believe some people are above temptation.”
Tamara nodded. “I know you do. You’re like me. You know yourself. You know if you’re above temptation other people can be as well.”
Kip had to lower her gaze. There was a flare of something in those gray eyes that was too dangerous and she could no longer ignore the warning alarms in her head. Her arms were trembling with the effort it took to keep them at her sides. A good investigator always stood in the middle of the evidence. Leaning too soon one way or the other was a sure way to lose her balance. It was too soon and too risky to lean.
“Kip?” Tamara took a deep breath. She had been calm only moments before, but now tension was written all over her body—shoulders bunched, nervous flexing of her fingers. “Do you really think I’m guilty?”
The abrupt question startled Kip out of her reverie. Her heart told her to say no, she didn’t think she was guilty. All the earlier camaraderie they’d shared during dinner was gone. You fool, Kip railed at herself, you fool. She felt her Secret Service mask descend on her face. “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”
Tamara finally said, “You’re tough, Kip Barrett.”
“I have to be.”
She shifted again out of the light. “All day, every day?”
Kip found herself missing the feeling of Tamara’s gaze on her. The feeling that Tamara wasn’t telling her something relevant was pronounced. She got to her feet and gathered up her papers. “I don’t know what to do next. I need to directly gather the keycard user data, which I can’t do without your help. And you can’t help. I think no matter what I do, I’m going to tip off the thief.”
Tamara was silent. There were too many shadows, and not just because of the low light. For the first time, Kip felt a shiver of physical fear whisper over the back of her neck.
She needlessly added, “Lots of puzzle pieces but not enough to see any kind of picture. There are things I just don’t know.” She let the unspoken question dangle in the air.
Finally, turning away from the railing, Tamara said, “I might be able to add some pieces to the puzzle. I’m not sure they fit at all. And I have no proof for any of it but my own word unless we bring in some of the other directors.”
She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.
“For the last three weeks we’ve had an unusual number of potential clients cancel pitch meetings, including one that looked like a sure thing. Big rush, secret meeting—canceled without explanation. It’s happening in all of the offices. The office directors are looking into it. This morning we lost the standing contract from the New York office of a major client. I expect to find the same for the office here any day.”
Kip considered the information. “A rumor do you think?”
“Yes, Diane and I thought so.”
She disgested the casual intimacy of “Diane and I” and refused to let it unsettle her. “It’s almost as if…” She paused, not wanting to sound stupid.
“As if what?”
“Well…” She swallowed and summed up her thoughts. “Embezzlement is theft. But we both know that theft is sometimes motivated not by greed but the desire to steal from a particular person or company. If this was about money alone, someone with that kind of talent could go after an oil company, grab seven hundred million, not the penny ante quantities in SFI’s accounts. If it’s not about money, then it’s directed at SFI for other reasons. An attack.”
Tamara cocked her head. “These rumors certainly feel like an attack. But why?”
Kip shrugged. “Thinking horses, not zebras, it’s aimed at you or SFI, which are sometimes one and the same. Lots of people would love to see our credibility jeopardized. We must have close to a hundred pending cases on dockets all over the country. A little high-end cybercrime combined with malicious gossip…”
Tam was nodding. “And presto! SFI isn’t the company it once was. We become the same pariah as an accounting firm caught faking its audits, then trying to testify to the veracity of our findings.”
“Exactly.”
“An attack.” Tamara nodded slowly. “They’d have to have an accomplice inside to doctor the statements.”
“And that could be nearly anybody. I think the security attached to keycards was tampered with.”
“Child’s play for this kind of hacker.”
The relief in Tamara’s voice was plain. Not a trusted, close associate. If a disabling attack by a hired gun was the why and who, Kip told herself, that meant who Tamara Sterling is, or was, really didn’t matter.
It did, though. It deeply mattered to her.
“The bank hacking—that’s not cheap or easy,” Kip pointed out.
“I can only think of a handful who could do it.”
“Including you?”
Tam stilled and drew back until her face was shadowed again. “Including me.”
For a moment there was only the sound of water lapping against the dock.
Finally, Tam asked, “Do you really still think it could be me?”
With all her heart Kip wanted to say no. But what did her heart understand? Nothing, that’s what. She had to do her job. Would Tamara Sterling respect anything else?
Her hesitation was her answer.
Her tone crisp and cold, Tamara asked, “Is that your full report?”
Kip returned the papers to her briefcase, feeling two inches tall. “That’s all.”
Tamara said nothing as Kip closed her case and turned to the gangplank. As she stepped over the lip to leave the deck, Kip skidded a little, nearly losing her grip on her briefcase.
Tamara steadied her with a firm grasp on her wrist.
“I’m fine,” Kip muttered.
Tamara’s words seemed wrenched from her throat. “I’m not.”
Kip gazed up at her, her breath coming in short gasps. There was no light in the gray eyes, only a dark hunger that both frightened and inflamed her. She could not want her and yet she knew she did. She looked down at where Tamara’s hand circled her wrist. It was a conscious decision to turn her palm over so she was no longer captive, and their contact was now obviously by her choice as well.
Her briefcase clattered to the deck as Tam pulled her close with a throaty groan. The strength of her grasp was surprisingly strong—Kip had the feeling Tam would have no trouble lifting her off her feet. The thought was forgotten as Tam’s rough gasp of surprise and desire was matched by her own.
She arched against her, heedless of the alarms that went off in her head. Her brain wasn’t in control anymore. Her arms wrapped around Tam’s shoulders of their own accord, and her mouth opened to the demanding pressure. The sweatshirt did not mask the pounding of Tam’s heart and Kip felt hers match the ever-quickening beat.
Kip groaned when they broke that long, incredible kiss, then she kissed her again, hard and quick. Tam’s hands were caressing her back and ribs as if she wanted to commit the feel of her body to memory.
This was wrong—her boss, it was wrong, a suspect, it was so wrong. All her hard-fought adherence to a code of ethics did not allow for this passion to exist, but it did. She buried her face in Tam’s neck as cool hands slipped under her sweater. She didn’t know how she could compromise herself this way and hope to have any honor left. She wanted Tam no matter what she might have done, yet having her was as painful as not having her. The Tamara Sterling that Kip wanted so badly to believe existed couldn’t respect Kip for this moment even if Tamara Sterling the woman was enjoying it.
Tam whispered, “Don’t cry,” before Kip realized she was whimpering. “I’m sorry. This was my fault.”
“It’s not just you,” she whispered. “But this isn’t going to happen.” She knew if they didn’t stop now she would be asking for more than kisses. The cold air chilled her tears on her lashes as she stooped to recover her briefcase.
“No, it isn’t.” Tam said nothing more.
She managed to stride down the pier, her head up as if tears weren’t again spilling over her cheeks. She even managed a mocking salute when she reached her car, not sure she had been seen. She could not make out Tam’s body in the darkness but her own body told her Tam was still there, still watching her.