Chapter Seven

At lunchtime on Thursday, her nineteenth day in Palm Beach, Faith slipped onto the local network, managed to get access to Victor’s terminal, and looked through the history of his recent Internet searches. He’d visited the websites of several yacht brokerages and two different real estate agencies specializing in Cayman Islands properties. She filed the information away in a corner of her brain. His searches were understandable for a man with the resources to purchase a boat or home in the Caribbean, but inputting criteria, viewing videos, and bookmarking seemed out of character for someone with a reputation for being less than tech savvy.

She wondered if he was pretending to be old-fashioned, but she couldn’t fathom a reason for anyone to present that façade to the world.

Shutting down her wormhole into Victor’s computer, she Googled detective agencies New York City. The search returned over two hundred thousand items. The first ten pages of responses listed over a hundred and fifty names. Overwhelmed, she stared at screen after screen, huffed out her breath, and raked her fingers through her hair. How in the world was anybody supposed to know who would be professional and reliable?

She sat back and chewed the inner edges of her lips. She needed help. Steve Zurich was the logical solution.

After securing her computer and locking her office, she left the building. She strolled past the messenger service with a streaking fox logo on the door and the branch bank on the corner, then around to the far side of the block. Stepping out of the flow of foot traffic in front of an insurance company, she pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number for Steve’s office.

“Zurich.”

“Hi, Steve, it’s Josie. Josie Ashland.”

“Hey, Josie. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you can recommend a good investigator in New York City, someone reliable who could go to the Bureau of Public Records and do some research.”

“I can put you onto someone. What do you need?”

“Victor Telemann applied for a marriage license up there twenty-three years ago, but I can’t find out if he actually got married, or if he did, when he received a divorce decree. The information is too old to be online. I need an investigator who can go to the archives and dig through the microfiche records.”

“Interesting.” The pitch of his voice dropped and the tempo slowed. “I found something like that myself. What date and names were on the license you found?”

“Ruby Swain, November third, nineteen ninety-one.”

“That jives with my info,” he said, his voice more confident. “Tell you what. I’ve got a buddy who lives in Jersey. I’ll have him shoot into the city next week and see what he can dig up. He’ll be hourly. I’ll have him fax the bill to my office.”

“Okay. Let me know what he finds.”

“I’ll email you a report of my recent findings later this morning. Nothing much of interest.”

She sighed, beginning to suspect nothing would be his perpetual report. Hiring an investigator had seemed like a smart idea at first, but now she was starting to wonder. “Keep trying.”

“Will do.” He disconnected.

Faith disconnected too, and as she stuffed her smart phone into her purse, she bumped a newspaper box. She glanced down, and her gaze landed on a sidebar headline: Panda Births Have Zoologists Giddy.

Finally some good news. Maybe at least one species could be saved from extinction.

Eager to read the full article, she dug for change, and bought a copy of the paper. Then she grabbed a ham and cheese sandwich and a small bag of chips at a nearby deli, and rushed back to her office. She’d only been gone fifteen minutes, and the rest of the floor was still deserted.

Rousing her computer from sleep mode and entering her password, she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she could finally get some private time to review Victor’s recent emails without worrying about interruptions.

While she waited for her program to execute and download copies of the messages in Victor’s inbox, she ripped open her chips, unwrapped her sandwich, and took a bite.

“There you are.”

Her heart jumped. She jerked her eyes toward the door.

Ronnie crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head as he stepped inside.

Oh, crap. Victor’s emails. Her finger flew to her kill key.

For some reason, the system was sluggish. A second passed. Two.

Three long strides and Ronnie was next to her desk. Fear rippled down her spine. She stared at her monitor. Change. Come on, damn it, change. An eternity dragged by with the world in agonizing, stomach-churning slow motion. Then zip, the screen display vanished and a data-entry form appeared.

She made a show of swallowing her bite of sandwich while she searched for her voice and wished her heart would go back to beating normally. “Hey, Ronnie. How are you doing?”

The food crash-landed in her stomach. Had he seen the list of emails in Victor’s inbox as big as life on her monitor? Was she in deep doo-doo?

“Good. Hungry,” he said. “I was going to drag you out to lunch, but I see you’re prepared to barricade the world and keep working.”

She chuckled, but it came out too high-pitched. Her cheeks felt like she was standing too close to a roaring fire. “Sorry. I would have waited if I knew you’d be coming by.”

“Tomorrow I expect you to be ready and waiting at eleven forty-five. The gang’s going to Mertha’s.”

Her reply was automatic. “I have a lot of work to do. I might be too busy.”

He wagged a finger side to side in rhythm with the shake of his head. “No excuses. If I didn’t see you wearing different clothes every day, I’d half believe you were living here. Lighten up, girl. It’s a job, not your life. Or at least I hope it isn’t.”

Deciding he hadn’t seen Victor’s emails or he would have mentioned them by now, she breathed a sigh of relief. This time she was safe.

She smiled, warmed by Ronnie’s sense of caring. She needed to be friendly and socialize if she was going to uncover any information. “Okay. Tomorrow. Mertha’s.”

He leaned over and peered at the data input form on her monitor, then scanned her desk. “What are you working on that’s so fascinating?”

All the blood drained from her face. Was she in fact safe? “Ah, nothing much. Just the website design.”

“I can do a basic WYSIWYG page, but programming in HTML is above my head. You must really know your way around the bowels of the computer system though.”

She shrugged and eyed the doorway. Should she bolt on the pretense of rushing to the ladies’ room before he asked about the emails and her world came crashing down? “Pretty much.”

“What do you think? Is Emmeline’s the kind of place where the boss snoops into our emails and keeps track of how much time we spend online browsing porn sites and Facebook?” He stole a chip from her bag, popped it into his mouth, and gave her a penetrating look as he chewed.

Relief gushed into her chest. He hadn’t seen Victor’s emails. He was thinking about something else.

She considered the question, and it sparked a flurry of ideas. If a boss could watch employees, why couldn’t an employee watch the boss? If she installed a monitoring software package like WorkControl on all Victor’s accounts, she could record the sites he visited when he surfed the web, track his keystrokes, and sift through his email for keywords without the risk of detection she was facing now. Once she cracked his cell phone, she could use the kind of position-tracking software employers installed on company cars to download his GPS records and recreate a map of his movements.

A tingle of excitement ran down her spine as she filed the plan away for later and pulled her attention back to Ronnie’s original question. “From what I’ve heard of Victor Telemann, I doubt he’s computer savvy enough to monitor anyone.”

“He could have someone doing it for him. Someone who knows her way around a computer system.”

She met his eyes, saw a question in their depths. Damn, she’d missed the subtext to their conversation! Her curiosity flared. “Okay, Ronnie. Spill it.”

He cocked a brow. “Rumor has it you’re doing more than building a website in here. I heard you’re snooping into everyone’s computer use.” He gave that a half a second to sink in, than asked, “You’re not a spy for Victor, are you?”

A laugh burst from her lungs but caught and twisted in her throat. It formed a hard knot and sank, free-falling toward her stomach. Had someone else detected her hacking? How long did she have before reports of her activities reached Victor?

Struggling to keep her expression neutral, she dismissed the question with a wave of her hand and put a note of disbelief in her voice. “No. Of course not.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t think so. I imagine the rumor was started by some insecure, jealous bitch trying to turn people against you.”

“Who’d be jealous of me?” she said, forcing herself to chuckle along with him. “I’m not anything special.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Lots of these women would love to have even half your style, looks, brains, and confidence. Some of them probably consider you a threat because they seem so pathetic in contrast.”

What? She’d always felt everyone else was self-assured, and she was the only one intimidated by others and wracked by monstrous self-doubts. But if his theory about her coworkers feeling inferior was true, maybe she wasn’t so different after all. She felt a momentary sense of comfort. You’re not a spy for Victor, are you? Yikes. Her mouth went Sahara dry.

“Seriously, Ronnie, who’s saying what about me?”

He shrugged and sounded apologetic. “I don’t want to name names and cause animosity. It was just something I heard batted around at the water cooler and figured I should mention. Don’t let it bother you. I’m sure the person who suggested you were a management mole will realize she’s wrong once she knows you better.”

“I don’t want people distrusting me. I mean, I need to ask a lot of questions to do my job, and if people are afraid to tell me anything, I can’t be effective.” And I’ll never find out the truth about my father.

“It’s the number of questions that have people wondering. Throttle back for a while.”

If her inquiries about Victor and the business had sparked the rumors, then Ronnie was right. She needed to be more subtle and come up with other ways to find information.

“I guess I should. Thanks for the heads up, Ronnie. I appreciate your honesty.” She bit on her bottom lip. Too bad she couldn’t be honest with him in return.

“Okay then, I’m off in search of sustenance. See you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” She waved and watched him leave.

Her shoulders slumped under a ton of discouragement as soon as he was out of sight. Damn. First Steve and now this. Every time she thought her information gathering was on the right path, she bumped into another complication.

At home later, she prepared a cheese omelet and a pot of herbal tea, then settled down to read her newspaper. The panda babies were healthy, and their births reminded her of Josie, whose delivery date was drawing ever closer.

Trying to shake off her suffocating sense of loneliness, she searched the newspaper for another interesting story. More deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq. Politicians fighting in Washington. An exposé of corruption on a nearby suburb’s city council.

An exposé. She sat up straighter. Bingo. That would be her Plan C.

She would search the local newspapers and TV stations and identify an investigative reporter who might be interested in a story about a rapist who was freely walking the Palm Beach streets.

…

The next afternoon, the group lunching at Mertha’s seemed infected with a case of TGIF. Twelve forty-five came and went, but the rowdy conversation continued. Faith concentrated on not asking questions and kept one eye on the clock. Trying not to appear aloof or unfriendly, she pushed away her empty plate and ordered an iced tea refill she could sip and use as a prop.

Her gaze traveled around the table following voices from speaker to speaker, analyzing faces, trying to see behind the smiles. How many of these people had been gossiping about her? Was one of them capable of inadvertently scuttling her plan to make Victor face justice? Was there a single person among them whom she could trust?

She remembered Ronnie’s remark that whoever had suggested she was a spy would realize she was wrong once she got to know her better. Fat chance. If they got to know her better, they might find out her secrets, discover she was a fraud. Guilt reared its ugly head again, grinding her nose in the reality that she was alone. She couldn’t let anyone in this crowd know her better. Not even Ronnie. Anything any one of them discovered could put her at risk, could allow Victor to stay free.

Laughter erupted at a remark from Ronnie, but she’d missed what he’d said and covered her ignorance with a smile. The topic was dating and sex and, reluctant to draw attention to herself, she squirmed and shrank into her chair. She had no funny stories to contribute and felt a keen sense of being an outsider peeking into the lives of happy, normal people. People who could joke about their misfortunes with sex.

The extended lunch finally broke up at one fifteen. As relieved as a felon on parole, she hustled back to her office while half the others were still waiting for their change. Plopping down at her desk, she dove into her program code with a vengeance. Work was simple and logical. Work kept her loneliness and guilt and shame and nagging questions at bay. Work could fill the agonizing gaps in time when she was stalled in finding the answers she desperately wanted but, at the same time, was terrified to hear.

The next time she looked up, Kent was standing in her doorway watching her with a keen, unnerving gaze.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit in a gorgeous slate gray. His shirt was one shade lighter, his crimson tie the bright spot. With one hand in his slacks’ pocket and an enigmatic smile on his lush lips, he looked like he’d just stepped from a men’s fashion magazine, so suave, masculine, and sexy her toes curled. Why was it that every time she saw him her pulse pounded wildly?

She moistened her lips and tried to sound nonchalant. “Hi. How long have you been there?”

“A couple minutes. I was watching those cute frown lines you get when you’re concentrating and the way you twist your mouth when you’re thinking.”

She felt flustered. Was her face turning red? “It’s not fair to sneak up on people.”

He stepped into the office. “Why? Do you have something to hide?”

The question socked her in the stomach. Had he heard the rumors about her spying too? She picked up a pen and chuckled, then scribbled a couple words of nonsense on a scrap of paper as an excuse to keep her eyes downward. She put down the pen and drew in a deep breath for composure. “Me, something to hide? No, my life is an open book with a boring plot. There’s nothing worth hiding.”

His eyes sparkled demonically. “Maybe we need to do something wicked so you’ll have a deep, dark secret.”

She thought of her parentage. Being conceived during a rape was a dark enough secret, and her genes might already be wicked. “No thanks, I’ll stay dull.”

“I hardly find you dull. In fact, I’d like to spend more time with you. Would you like to go to the jazz festival in the park tomorrow?”

Her heart fluttered in delight. He seemed like a nice guy and going with him would be fun. As she was about to say yes, reality hit her. Going would be too dangerous. They’d be together for several hours. He could discover she was an imposter. Knowing what was at stake and what had to be done didn’t make saying no any easier. Disappointment weighed heavy on her chest. “I’m sorry. I have other plans.”

“What about tonight? Are you doing anything? We could grab a bite to eat then take in a movie.”

She knew she was making a mistake, but quickly rationalized accepting the invitation. Spending a little time with him was a logical move. She needed a source she could question without raising suspicion, and at the moment, he was her best prospect. As long as she kept up her guard and remembered to be Josie, a quick dinner then a couple hours in a movie theater where they couldn’t talk except in whispers would be safe and useful.

She squashed a twinge of guilt over her despicable motives and let a rush of happiness burst onto her face. “Yes, I’d like that.”

…

“What type of food are you hungry for?” Kent asked after starting the red Mustang.

“I’d love a pizza if that’s okay with you.”

“Then Mama Leoni’s it is.” He pulled from the parking lot and turned left. After all the nights he’d spent at the poolroom and bar next door to the restaurant in the past, following the familiar route again seemed like a journey home. “They have a fantastic tropical toppings pizza with pineapple and shrimp.”

“I’m more traditional. Could we order half with pepperoni, mushrooms, and lots of cheese?”

“No problem. We’ll get one of each.”

She flashed him a lopsided grin. “I figured you for something spicier than pineapple and shrimp.”

“Not tonight. They have a Mexican specialty loaded with hot peppers that scorches the roof of your mouth, but it takes about six pitchers of beer to keep the flames from shooting out your ears. It’s great if all you’ve got planned is a night of shooting pool at the dive next door, but not when you’re driving.”

The parking lot of the little restaurant hadn’t changed. He glanced at the entrance to the poolroom next door where he and Jack had spent many long hours in Jack’s bachelor days. As he steered Josie toward the restaurant entrance, Kent wondered if any of the regulars were hanging out by the pool tables betting on crazy shots and if the owner’s niece, Gina, with the long, shapely legs, was flashing smoky if-you’re-rich-I’m-available looks at a new target.

Josie paused and breathed deeply of the air inside the doors. “It smells wonderful in here.”

The waitress led them to a table near the front windows and laid out menus. “What can I get you to drink?”

“A Coke, please,” Josie said.

“A pitcher of Heineken, and an extra glass in case the lady decides to switch.”

The waitress left and Josie opened her menu. “The glass isn’t necessary. I don’t drink beer.”

“Would you like something stronger? TGIF and all that.”

“No thanks. I never developed a taste for liquor.”

Amazed at yet another unexpected aspect of her complex personality, he chuckled. “You obviously went to a different college than I did. My fraternity brothers and I had bottles stashed in every nook and cranny. We never had a shortage and partied almost every night.”

“What college did you go to?”

He bit back the truth. She might get suspicious about his identity if he admitted to four years studying business at Princeton or his grad work at Harvard. “University of Florida. Go Gators. What about you?”

“Virginia Tech.”

“Sorority?”

“No. I shared an apartment with my cousin and two other girls. We all had to work nights and weekends to pay our tuition. Our parties were rare, small, and bring-your-own-everything.”

The waitress came back with their drinks and took their orders.

When they were alone again, Kent got to work probing deeper into Josie’s background. “Wasn’t your family able to help with college expenses?”

He hoped for a clue about her financial condition that would reveal what she’d be willing to do for money. The time until she learned his identity was limited and passing quickly, and so far, he’d discovered very little useful in determining if she was a spy.

She looked down at the tabletop and fiddled with her silverware. “No. I got a small scholarship, but mostly I had to depend on a mountain of student loans. I’m still paying them off, probably will be until I’m ninety.”

Paying her student loans sounded admirable and honest. Maybe finances weren’t the right trail. “What was your major?”

“Computer Engineering.”

“Right. I remember you mentioning your friend getting arrested.”

“He was brilliant, probably would have graduated first in our class. But I learned a lot from him before he was expelled.” She sipped her Coke. “What was your major?”

“Nothing as challenging as computer systems. Just business.”

She gave him an understanding smile. “That’s not easy either.”

“I hung in there. The curriculum gave me a good background in finance and qualified me for my current job.”

“Did you get the job you have now right out of college?”

“No.” He spent a few minutes giving her a carefully edited version of his history. The year he’d spent on a grand tour of Europe became a short backpacking adventure. He skipped the lost years of idleness that he now regretted and described the route an average employee would have taken: an entry position then increasing responsibility.

“Emmeline’s is an interesting company,” she said. “Do you ever deal directly with Victor Telemann?”

His attention had wandered to the provocative curve of her chin, but at her mention of Victor, he snapped his mind back to his role as spy investigator. He was here to figure out her game, not fantasize about nuzzling the soft skin of her neck. His muscles tensed, but he shrugged and worked to keep his expression blank. “Some.”

“What do you think of him?” Her tone said the question was mere curiosity, but her blue eyes were stormy and contradicted her cool air.

The waitress hustled up to the table and placed the two steaming pizzas in the center. She arranged plates in front of him and Josie, said “Enjoy,” and rushed away.

“I’m starving,” he said, surveying the pineapple chucks and selecting a juicy slice. “But I doubt I can eat this whole thing. If you want to sample some, help yourself.”

“I may try a slice later.” She picked up the server and slid a slice of the supreme pizza onto her plate. Mozarella cheese stretched across the gap, and she twirled the strings to break them free. After she set down the server, her pink tongue licked a wayward strand from her fingertip. His pulse jumped at the provocative little gesture.

She glanced at him and their eyes collided. She grabbed a napkin and scrubbed at the finger she’d licked.

“So,” she said, “you were about to tell me what you think of Mr. Telemann.”

Stalling, he took a bite of his pizza and put on a thoughtful expression. What to say about Victor? Obviously not the truth. He couldn’t rant about the man’s overblown ego or the course language he used when alone with his family. Victor’s unfaithfulness to his wife was well known, but the fury that sparked in Kent’s gut even now was deeply personal and not the reaction of a simple employee. Whatever he said had to be vague and at a professional level or he’d be taking the chance of giving himself away. He swallowed and wiped tomato sauce from his lips.

“He’s a reasonably good businessman most of the time. A little too curt with employees. Far from my idea of a perfect CEO, but then he’s never asked for my approval.”

“What do you mean by curt with employees?”

“His management style is based on power and intimidation. I prefer a more relaxed atmosphere and a team spirit. It leads to better productivity.” She had a faraway expression, a cold, harsh look in her eyes that made him believe her questions had a personal connection. “Have you met him?”

She shook herself. “Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest and ran her hands over her bare forearms. “Is it chilly in here, or is it just me?”

Her face had gone three shades paler. Odd, he thought, wishing he could look inside her pretty little head and read her mind.

He debated making a provocative offer to share his body heat. With most women he would. But despite how the idea excited his imagination and quickened his blood, he decided, in Josie’s case, chivalry seemed more appropriate. Placing his napkin on the table, he stood. “I’ll run out to the car and get you my suit jacket.”

“No, please, sit down. That isn’t necessary.”

“I can’t sit by and eat while you’re uncomfortable. I insist.”

When he returned with his jacket, she leaned forward in her seat, and he draped it over her shoulders. His fingers brushed her hair then slid to her shoulder and smoothed the material. His thoughts drifted to caressing her more intimately. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you. It was probably just the ice in the soda.”

He forced his hands to his sides and sat, wondering why this woman seemed to draw him like a moth to a spotlight. What subtle magic made her more attractive and desirable than the beauty queens, party girls, and socialites he usually took home? Was it her lack of availability, the lure of her intelligence, or respect for her work ethic and struggle to support herself while going to school? Or was it her unassuming manner and the fact that she seemed totally unaware of her own beauty?

“I’m sorry I made you get up. Your food will be cold.”

He drank the beer in his glass and refilled it from the pitcher. “One more slice and I’m done anyway. I want to save room for popcorn.”

She shook her head and gave him an impish smile. “Do you always eat such nutritious meals?”

“Once in a while I go home and let my mother feed me. But when I’m on my own, I don’t sweat the whole food pyramid thing. Someday when my arteries are hard and my blood pressure is through the roof, I may regret my ‘bad’ habits, but I’d rather live for today, today. I’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.”

She laughed. “You remind me of my cousin —” She stopped abruptly, looked startled, and wet her lips, “Faith, my cousin Faith. That’s exactly her philosophy of life.”

He puzzled over the strange interruption. She’d acted almost as if she didn’t know her cousin’s name.

Before he could respond or ask another question, she lifted her arm, glanced at her watch, and picked up a slice of pizza. “We’d better stop talking and finish eating or we’ll miss the start of the movie.”

Sliding a slice of pizza on his plate, he released a long, slow breath. His instincts told him something about her wasn’t right, but hard as he tried, he couldn’t pin down what rang sour.