11

Sorry to delay the meeting.” Connor directed his comment to Dev and Cal as he shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it on an empty chair in the Phoenix conference room, and took a seat.

“No problem. Sounds like you had a busy morning.” Cal opened the file in front of him, clearly ready to get things moving.

“Yeah. Where were you going in such a rush an hour ago, anyway? You almost mowed me down in the hall—and got a shirtful of coffee as a souvenir.” Dev lifted his mug.

“Unexpected meeting.”

“Must have been urgent.” Dev eyed him over the rim as he took a sip.

Connor uncapped his pen and shuffled through his notepad, searching for an empty page as he debated how to respond. His impromptu meeting with Kate hadn’t been urgent; he could have emailed her Elaine’s age-enhanced photo and they could have discussed next steps by phone. But after zero contact for three days, he’d wanted to see her—and delivering the photo in person had given him a quasi-legitimate excuse to do so.

A tidbit he had no intention of sharing with his partners.

He settled for a one-word reply. “Important.”

“A new development in the little-boy case? You’ve been pretty closemouthed about it this week—and about your client.” Dev waggled his eyebrows.

“As a matter of fact, there has been a development I want to discuss with both of you.” Connor sent him a disgruntled look, then transferred his attention to Cal. “I don’t want to take over your meeting, though.”

Cal waved his concern aside and closed his file. “We can add an agenda item. My stuff will keep till the end. Besides, I’m interested in an update too.”

Connor riffled through his briefcase and pulled out the folder containing his copies of the three photos he’d left with Kate, giving his colleagues a rapid-fire briefing on the progression of the case over the past few days. At the end, he opened the folder and spread out the fuzzy mall photo and the best of the shots he’d taken of the little boy at the daycare center. “And here’s the age-progressed photo Elaine sent me this morning.” He turned it over and placed it next to the other two.

Both of his partners leaned forward.

“Wow.” That from Dev.

“I think you’re on to something.” Cal examined the photo for another few seconds, then leaned back. “I assume, based on this and the other suspicious circumstances your client mentioned, you’re moving forward with a full investigation.”

“That’s the plan.”

“This thing could get hairy.” Dev continued to study the photos. “If this kid is your client’s son, we’re dealing with some serious crimes here. Kidnapping might be the least of them.”

His partner didn’t have to spell out his inference. They were all wired to draw the same conclusion: given Kate’s insistence that her husband would never have removed his life vest—yet had been found without it—murder was becoming a very real possibility.

“I think we’re all on the same wavelength.” Connor tapped the pictures back into a stack and returned them to the folder. “But until we have more than circumstantial evidence, we’re not going to get any support from law enforcement.”

“Might be illuminating to do a thorough background check on this Sanders guy.” Dev doodled a series of concentric circles on the pad of paper in front of him.

“First item on my agenda. I’m going to put Nikki on it too.”

Dev scowled. “There goes my filing. Down to the bottom of the priority list again.”

“I could ask her to do that first.”

“Nah.” Dev waved the offer aside. “The pile in the corner isn’t ready to topple yet. You can have her for a day or two.”

“Thanks. If we get red flags on this guy—and my gut says we will—I may need you both to help me out with some pretexting or interviews or even some travel.”

“Is your client on board with spending those kinds of bucks?” Dev added a bull’s-eye to the center of the middle circle.

“Yes. She’s been living with doubts for three years. She wants this thing fully investigated.”

“Then we’re all in.” Cal folded his hands on the file in front of him. “The hottest assignment we have right now is the executive protection gig we’re going to talk about in a minute. Other than that, I think the cases Dev and I are dealing with have some flexibility in terms of timing.” He deferred to the other man, who nodded. “Anything else we need to talk about today on this?”

“No.”

“Okay. Keep us in the loop. Now let me bring you up to speed on the logistics for the protection gig.”

As Cal launched into the details about travel arrangements, agenda, and equipment for the upcoming three-man job, Connor did his best to switch gears. Considering that their Fortune 50 executive client was planning to travel to a world economic conference in New York despite receiving death threats, this was a high-risk job—one he should be spearheading, given his background. If Cal hadn’t offered to do the heavy lifting, he wouldn’t have been able to give Kate’s case the focus it deserved.

This strategy session, however, required his full attention and detailed input. Time to put the compartmentalization skills he’d learned during his Secret Service years into action.

Unfortunately, they were proving elusive today, thanks to two big distractions: Kate—and his growing suspicion of murder.

Kate.

Murder.

Those two words in the same sentence didn’t sit well.

So once this meeting was over, he’d start digging—deep—into Greg Sanders’s background. And if he uncovered any credible evidence that the man had been involved in foul play, he was going straight to the FBI.

In the meantime, he intended to keep Sanders in his sights. Because from all indications on that surveillance tape, his subject had spotted Kate—and made a concerted effort to elude her. Meaning there was a strong possibility he knew who she was. And if he did, if he was culpable of serious crimes, he’d be nervous. On guard. Perhaps ready to flee.

But even if the man ran, he’d find him—whatever it took—and do everything in his power to restore to Kate the son she’d given up for dead.

“Would you like a soda or a cup of coffee or tea?” Kate spoke over her shoulder to the woman who was following her down the hall to her office, trying to psyche herself up for the last appointment of the day. Always a challenge when her energy was lagging, but more so on a Friday that had included an adrenaline-laced visit from Connor and a startling age-progressed photo.

“No, thank you.”

“If you change your mind, just let me know.” Kate entered her office and gestured toward the casual seating area, bypassing her desk. Since her new client seemed on the nervous side, better to make things more sociable on this initial visit. They could get down to serious business next time.

The woman chose a comfortable upholstered chair. Kate took the one at a right angle to it and opened her notebook. Although she’d already reviewed the basic information sheet the woman had filled out after making the appointment, she scanned it again, giving her client a moment to get comfortable and relax. In view of the fact the referral had come from Sarah, this woman had probably also been a victim of domestic violence—and would spook easily.

“So, Diane, you’ve decided to reenter the job market?” Kate smiled at the blonde woman.

“Yes.” She laced her hands into a tight knot on her lap.

“And you found me through Sarah.”

“Yes. She said you did a great job for her.”

Kate leaned back, keeping her posture open, friendly, approachable. “Nice to hear. And I’ll do my best to help you find a position that’s a good fit too. Why don’t you give me a little background on your work experience and tell me some of the things you enjoyed most about your favorite job.”

The going was slow at the beginning, with Diane offering abbreviated answers and shying away from any personal revelations. The woman gauged her words. Watched for reactions. Kept her arms crossed tight against her chest.

In other words, she had serious trust issues.

Not surprising, if she’d been a victim of abuse.

Still, this was the kind of challenging client Kate found most rewarding—once the barriers were down and they began working together. But it was going to take awhile to get there with Diane.

Half an hour into their conversation, however, the woman began to loosen up. She uncrossed her arms. The stiff line of her shoulders eased. She began to give more detailed answers. And she mentioned her previous difficult domestic situation.

The trust level was building.

Now they were getting somewhere.

Forty-five minutes in, after Diane hinted at the abuse—and the toll it had taken on her self-esteem—the woman teared up. “Sorry. I thought I was over crying about the bum.”

“You’ve only been out of the relationship a few months. Hurts like that don’t go away quickly.” Kate handed her a box of tissues and touched her arm. “Are you sure I can’t offer you a soda or a cup of tea?”

“You know . . . if it’s not too much trouble, tea would be nice. Just the plain black kind. I never developed a liking for the fancy stuff, no matter how often Rich told me my tastes were too plebian.”

“I’m a plain black tea person myself. In fact, I’ll join you. Give me a couple of minutes and we’ll finish up for today while we sip a cup.”

Kate exited the office, closing the door behind her. It had been a productive session so far, and Diane Koenig showed a lot of promise. She was smart, articulate, and had a dormant sense of humor, based on a few of her comments. Hooking up with a loser like her ex-husband had derailed her, and she needed some help to get back on track, but she’d find the resources she needed to do that at New Start. Kate would see to it.

As she entered the small kitchenette and set about brewing the tea, she couldn’t help but compare the men some of her clients had married with the PI who’d visited her this morning.

What a contrast.

But Diane would get through her ordeal. She’d taken constructive steps to turn her life around. And now that they were on their way to establishing a relationship of trust, Kate was certain Diane’s experience at New Start would be a life-changing one.

Easing back in her chair, Diane rotated her neck to loosen the stiff muscles, took a deep breath, and let go of the last of her tension. This meeting hadn’t been nearly as hard as she’d expected.

Thanks to Kate Marshall.

The New Start director was every bit as nice as Sarah had claimed. Sympathetic, attentive, thoughtful—and best of all, nonjudgmental. Of course, given the organization’s mission and the many clients who came from difficult backgrounds, she’d probably heard every story in the book. One more woman who’d let herself be used by the man who’d professed to love her would be nothing new for the group’s director.

Yet Kate had made her feel unique, special . . . and as if her future mattered to her not just as a counselor but as a person.

If her compassion was an act, it was Oscar caliber.

Somehow, though, Diane didn’t think it was. Kate seemed genuine in her commitment to helping others improve their lives. Her passion about the organization’s mission had come through loud and clear at several points in their conversation.

Feeling more relaxed by the minute, Diane rose and stretched. Thank goodness she’d followed through on Sarah’s recommendation and contacted New Start. With Kate in her court, she had a feeling she’d be getting her life back on track sooner than she’d expected.

Flexing her shoulders, she strolled around the office. After forty-five minutes hunched in a chair, it was nice to get the blood flowing. A few circuits should help relax the kinks in her back too.

On her second lap, she stopped beside Kate’s desk and leaned over to read the small plaque. The serenity prayer? That was a disconnect. Kate didn’t strike her as the type who would easily accept that things couldn’t be changed—not without first making a heroic effort to change things she thought needed changing. And that was an excellent lesson to take away from today’s session. She, too, was done accepting the status quo. This meeting was her first step in a brand-new direction.

As she straightened up and started to turn back toward the seating area, her jacket caught the edge of a manila folder and sent it shooting toward the floor.

Heart tripping into double-time, she dived for it, praying Kate wouldn’t return until she’d deposited it safely back on the desk. The last thing she needed was to have the counselor think she’d been snooping.

Although she managed to grab it before it hit the floor, a photograph of a child slid halfway out.

A child who looked a lot like Todd.

File in hand, Diane stared at the half image. Then, with a glance toward the door, she flipped the file open so she could see the whole thing.

Definitely Todd.

What in the world was Kate Marshall doing with a picture of Greg’s little boy?

Voices spoke in the hall, close to the office door, and she pushed the photo back into the file, dropped it on the desk, and dashed back to her chair.

Five seconds later, Kate entered with two ceramic mugs. “Would you like sugar or cream?”

“No, thank you.” She took the mug, wrapping her hands around it to warm her cold fingers as she tried to make sense of what she’d just seen.

Failed.

Nor could she ask about the boy without revealing that she’d been prowling around Kate’s office.

Fifteen minutes later, when Kate stood to signal the end of their meeting, she had no recollection of drinking her tea—though the mug was empty—nor what the two of them had talked about since the New Start director had returned.

“Diane . . . is everything okay? You got very quiet toward the end.” Kate took the mug from her fingers, concern softening her features.

No. Things weren’t okay. This puzzle was driving her crazy.

“Yes.” She stood too. “I just . . . got distracted. I have a lot on my mind.” Like what the connection could possibly be between Greg and Todd and Kate.

“All right. I’ll walk you out, and Nancy can set up a convenient time for next week.”

“No!” The vehement refusal was out before Diane could stop it, and at Kate’s startled reaction she softened her tone. “I’ll get back to you after I look at my schedule. And I can find my way out. Thank you again for seeing me today.”

Without giving Kate a chance to respond, she took off down the hall.

At the entrance to the New Start suite, she paused long enough to glance back. Kate was watching her from the doorway of her office, mug still in hand, her expression suggesting she was puzzled—and troubled.

That made two of them.

And until she had a chance to decide what—if anything—she was going to do about her disturbing discovery, she didn’t intend to come back.

“Are you working late?”

Connor angled away from his computer, toward Nikki. “Yeah. You leaving?”

“Unless you need to me to stay and keep digging for info on Greg Sanders.”

“No. You sent me plenty of stuff to look through, and I’ve got a bunch of other leads to follow up on. Enjoy your weekend.”

“I will. Don’t stay too late. Remember, all work and no play . . .”

“Got it.”

“As if you ever listen.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s more to life than work, you know.”

With an effort, he kept his expression neutral. No one at Phoenix knew that was a sensitive subject for him—nor would they. His private business would stay private. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that. See you Monday.”

Pushing aside the unpleasant memories Nikki had stirred up, he refocused on the task at hand—until Cal stuck his head in the office door twenty minutes later.

“Burning the midnight oil?”

What was this, a conspiracy?

Once more he swiveled toward the door. “It’s only five-thirty. And who are you to talk? I don’t see you rushing out, either.”

Cal strolled in and sat in the chair across from his desk. “Moira’s got a meeting with a source for an investigative piece she’s developing. We’ll be eating a late dinner. Very late.” He did a slow survey of the littered mahogany expanse in front of him. “Given the disreputable state of your usually pristine desk, I’m guessing you had a busy afternoon. Find anything interesting on Mr. Sanders?”

“Interesting would be an appropriate word.” He rolled his chair closer to the desk. “You want the skinny?”

“Or the fat. I’m in no hurry.”

“Bear in mind, I’m just getting started. It took a while to piece together his social security number, but once we had that, we got all the basics through our favorite proprietary databases and information brokers.” He tugged a sheet of paper from a folder. “Sanders was born in Cleveland and lived there his whole life—until three years ago.”

Cal lifted an eyebrow. “Significant number.”

“No kidding. He has a high school education and spent his career in the construction industry until five years ago, at which point there’s a break in employment. Three years ago—the magic number again—he moved to Philipsburg, Montana.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bustling municipality.”

“More like the middle of nowhere. Population is under a thousand—almost more elk than people, and that’s not much of an exaggeration. And based on his Montana P.O. box address, my guess is he didn’t even live in town.”

“Perfect place to disappear.”

“You have a suspicious mind.”

“Inquiring. Your man have any run-ins with the law?”

“Nope. He’s clean, as far as I can see.”

“Married?”

“Was. His wife, Jennifer, died almost six years ago. Nikki dug up the notice in the local paper. No cause of death was noted, but donations to the American Cancer Society were requested in lieu of flowers. The write-up also mentioned she left a husband and a son named David.”

Cal frowned. “How old is your client’s son?”

“He’d be almost seven now.”

“If Sanders’s wife was battling cancer, it’s not likely she had a child in the last year or two of her life. So assuming the kid your client saw is Sanders’s actual son, he should be at least nine or ten.”

“I thought the same thing. Except some kids look young for their age.”

“Maybe.” Cal crossed an ankle over his knee and laced his fingers over his stomach. “So when did Sanders show up in St. Louis?”

“March. He’s back in construction again.”

“What did he do in Montana?”

“An excellent question. It’s on my list.”

Cal stood and stretched. “Why do I think you’re going to be putting in some long hours this weekend?”

“Because you know me too well?”

“Because you hate unsolved puzzles almost as much as I do. In your shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.” He strolled over to the door. Turned. “If you need me to pitch in, call.”

“Thanks, but you’ve put in plenty of hours this week already prepping for the security gig. Enjoy your time with Moira.”

“Count on it.” Without further delay, he disappeared down the hall. A few moments later, the back door opened, then clicked shut.

He was alone—as he would be for the rest of this Friday night and the empty weekend stretching ahead.

But perhaps his solitary status might change once he wrapped up this case and could think about elevating Kate’s position in his life from client to date to . . . something more down the road.

Meaning he needed to focus on the case—and outline a course of action.

Connor picked up a pen and made a quick list of questions he needed answered. Some he could take care of through information brokers or public records. Others were going to require ear-to-the-phone and feet-on-the-pavement work—plus a fair amount of pretexting.

But it would have to be done carefully. Tipping off Sanders that PIs were on his trail could sabotage the investigation.

For tonight, he’d see what else he could turn up on the Net about Greg Sanders.

A discouraging half hour later, Kate’s number flashed in the digital display on his phone.

A perfect way to end his day.

After returning his greeting, she got straight to business—and it was clear from the frustration in her voice that she wasn’t smiling. “I wasn’t sure I’d catch you before you left, but I wanted to let you know I’ve been trying to fax this police report ever since I got home twenty minutes ago. I know we couldn’t live without our electronic gadgets, but thanks to days like this, for me it’s a love-hate relationship. As long as you’re still there, would you like me to drop it off? I’m not that far away.”

He angled his wrist. Six-ten. Dinnertime, as the rumble in his stomach reminded him. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No. I started trying to fax this as soon as I got in the door.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and have dinner? I can swing by on my way home and pick it up. I’ll be leaving soon, and a small detour your direction won’t take that long.” Besides, it would give him a chance to spend a few minutes in her company—an appealing fringe benefit.

“You probably haven’t eaten yet, either.”

“No.”

“Well . . .” Pause. “There’s a great Chinese takeout place down the street from my condo. It’s my typical end-of-the-week dinner treat.” Another pause. When she continued, her words came out in a rush. “If you’d like to share some Mongolian beef or sweet-and-sour chicken, I’d be happy to order extra as a thank-you for making a special trip tonight—and for all the effort you’ve put into this case so far.”

She was inviting him to share her dinner?

Nice—even if he couldn’t accept.

Could he?

While he wrestled with that dilemma, his mouth began spewing out words. “That would be great. Better than eating alone, especially considering the dire state of my fridge and freezer. But why don’t you let me pick up the food on my way to your house?”

So much for his stoic, hands-off professionalism.

“No. I want this to be my treat. What time do you think you’ll get here?”

As soon as possible?

Uh-uh. Better to sound a bit less anxious.

“How does six-forty-five sound?”

“Fine. I’ll see you then.”

They ended the call, and Connor leaned back, shaking his head. How did Kate consistently manage to short-circuit the left side of his brain? He should have refused her invitation. A handoff of the police report would have taken no more than thirty seconds and was far more prudent than spending an hour or two in her company.

Yet hard as he tried, he couldn’t muster up one iota of regret.

This was going to be the best Friday night he’d spent in a very long while.

Swinging back to his computer, he tried to focus on one of the links Nikki had sent him as the numbers on the digital clock atop his credenza advanced with the speed of molasses. But he finally gave up and shut down. He was tired and hungry and preoccupied—thanks to a beautiful blonde with amazing green eyes—and he could miss some important piece of information if he continued. Tomorrow, he’d start fresh.

In the meantime, he’d enjoy tonight.

After retrieving his jacket, he flipped off the lights and headed toward the back door to set the security alarm, developing his strategy for the evening as he closed up shop for the night. He’d stick to business as much as possible, perhaps take a cursory look at the police report, ask a few questions. That would put a professional spin on the dinner. Other than that, he’d keep the conversation simple, light, and impersonal.

He’d also keep his distance.

And if he adhered to those rules, what could possibly go wrong?