51

MediBridge resided in a midsize building in Bakersfield. The receptionist was cheerful. The decor was a mix of bright orange and teal that gave the visitor the impression that the place was crisp, the business intelligent.

Jim leaned over and gave the receptionist his best smile. “Do you have pictures of your employees on your website, miss?”

She straightened her headset. “We do.” She held up a finger. “Mr. Layton, some people from the FBI are here to see you.” She paused to listen. “I’ll tell them.” She disconnected the call with the push of a button. “He’ll be right here.”

Ava moved closer. “Can you show us a picture of Maria Callas on the site?”

She typed away and then turned the screen in his and Ava’s direction. A professional-looking photo of Sophie Ryan Evers took up the left half of the screen. Her credentials were listed on the right side. It was a boring picture. Hair pulled back so you had no idea how long it really was. Beige suit, white shirt. Not like the yellow she was wearing when she came to him and started this ride. But it was definitely her.

Ava asked, “That her?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His stomach did a little flop. His brain immediately supplied the memory of the night in Texas.

Before he could get too worked up, a man came striding into the reception area in a very expensive suit. Jim was familiar. He’d seen plenty such on the big-time players on the Strip.

He greeted Ava first. “I’m Dave Layton. How can I help you?” Dave was typically handsome with a tight jaw and stubble just enough to make him look rugged. His fake, overly white smile and surgically perfect nose made Jim immediately think car salesman.

Ava was on her feet, showing her credentials and giving her name. Her suit was looking a bit better than it had that morning, but this guy and the receptionist had both out-labeled her for sure. Not that Jim gave a rat’s ass about fashion. He didn’t. In his business he would often use clothes to get a read on a person. See what they thought of themselves. How they wanted others to see them.

Jim was still in jeans and a black T-shirt and didn’t care what anyone thought of his fashion sense.

“We’re investigating a case and think one of your employees might be able to assist us,” Ava stated as matter-of-factly as possible.

Dave’s expression faltered for an instant. “Wow. The FBI? Really?” He glanced at the receptionist, who was still listening even though her head was facing the computer screen on her desk.

“We should pop into a conference room.” He gestured through the glass doors separating the reception area from the rest of the business and led them to a small conference room with a table that would accommodate eight attendees.

They all stood. He took a position at the far end of the table.

“Tell me about Maria Callas,” Ava said before he had a chance to ask her any questions.

“What about her?” He crossed his arms. Defensive.

“Where does she live?” Ava kept her arms limp at her sides. Relaxed.

He huffed. “Not sure how much I can divulge about her, you know, legally.”

“I assure you that, legally, you can tell me her home address and her phone number.” Jim wasn’t sure that was true. But the FBI had more leeway than regular Joes thanks to the national security umbrella of changes.

“Not sure I want to.” Dave was trying for tough, but he just looked smug. Jim wanted to punch this guy right in his perfect nose.

Ava strode over to him, stopping right in his face. “If I want to, I can charge you with interfering with a federal investigation, Dave.”

Something told Jim that Special Agent Webb was not impressed with the pretty boy in the expensive suit.

“Harboring a fugitive.” One side of her lip rose as if she were thinking hard. “Maybe even accomplice?”

“Hey!” Dave put his hands up as if to surrender and took two steps back before his butt hit the wall. “Not so fast. I’m just saying that HR might not like me giving out personal information. What’s this really about anyway?”

“National security. Can’t tell you.” She opened her jacket. “Now am I arresting you, or do you have the information I’ve requested?”

“I have her number on my cell, but I’ll have to get the address and shit.” He dialed the speakerphone on the table. “Helen, I need Maria Callas’s records in first floor, conference two, ASAP.” He hung up after the woman confirmed the request. “So really, Maria is my best salesperson. Brings in about seventy million a year. Is she in trouble?”

Jim ignored the last part. “She works commission?”

“Oh yes.” He grinned. “And she’s good.”

“You sell hospital supplies?” Ava asked.

“No.” Dave’s face lit up. “Software that integrates all systems in the hospital. Accounting, ordering, inventory, HR, even patient care and records. A portal. One-stop shop.”

“But she’s in hospitals all the time?” Jim asked.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

So she had plenty of access to drugs, assuming she had the talent to get by security. But then again she’d gotten by a cop and federal agent in the safe house and evaded getting caught for about umpteen murders.

Dave continued, “She travels all over the world visiting potential clients. She’s gone all the time. I’ve only seen her in person maybe five times.”

A woman knocked on the door. Another young, pretty, upwardly mobile person stood on the other side of the glass.

Dave opened the door for her and she beamed her whitened teeth at him. “Here you go, Mr. Layton.”

“Thank you, Helen. That will be all.”

She hesitated after seeing the strangers in the room with her personnel file.

“Really. I have this.”

She backed out.

He opened the file. “Breckenridge.” He made a surprised sound. “I didn’t realize that. Strange, she never said she lived up there.”

Jim figured it wasn’t so strange at all. Lots of ski cabins up there. Lots of privacy to do whatever she wanted.

He read off the address. Ava typed it on her phone. Jim memorized it.

Dave also rattled off her number. Jim would remember that too.

“Her area code is Bakersfield?”

“Yeah. Company phone. Company car.” He shrugged. “You make the sales she does, you get all the perks.”

“How much you figure she earned last year?” Jim asked.

He looked up at the ceiling as if to add in his head. “Can’t remember exactly. Probably close to a million.”

Well. That was certainly enough to bankroll all her activities. “And she works her own hours?”

“I thought you said you wanted to talk to her as a witness. This sounds more like she’s in trouble for something.” His bright smile was gone, replaced by tight eyebrows that were also perfectly shaped. Jim wondered if he had them tweezed.

“If she calls, please don’t tell her we were here, Mr. Layton. That would be grounds for charges. You understand?”

Dave nodded, his smugness exchanged for a hint of fear.

Ava handed him her card. “You keep the conversation to whatever normal business you’d conduct and then call me if she calls in.”

“Is Maria in trouble?”

“You could say that.”