by Snow, Nicole
“Hunter?”
“Josh?” I sense the unease in him. “What the hell are you doing here at this time of the morning?”
He takes a stack of papers out of the copy machine.
“Working.” He hands me the papers. “I made these for you.”
“What?” I glance at the top one. It's a screenshot of a website or something.
Josh removes the originals from the top of the machine, slides them inside a large manila envelope, and then nods toward a door on the other side of the room. I follow him.
“Is this your office?” I ask once we enter. It’s the size of a broom closet.
Barely enough room for a desk and a chair.
“Home, sweet home.” He drops the envelope on the desk.
“It doesn’t even have a window,” I say. “Jesus, they put you up here? In a management role? This far from the rest of IT? There have to be other spaces in this building. Better offices. Real offices.”
“Well, the space doesn’t really matter.” He points to the papers in my hands. “I talked it over with Stacy...and if this gets me fired, so be it.”
I blink. My heart starts pounding faster.
“What are you talking about?” I look him over, wondering if this is some kind of odd joke, but I can tell he’s serious. “Fired? For what?”
He nods at the papers in my hands. “I was going to drive these over to your house this morning, after we talked on the phone. Would've already been there waiting if the snow wasn’t so bad.”
I glance at the top sheet again. “What is all of this?”
“That’s the website of the company you're outsourcing most of your IT to.”
I recognize the name now. Octavian Analytics.
The same place I signed an eye-popping check to and handed off to Sloan.
Josh clears his throat. “So...do you know who owns it?”
I shake my head. “Sloan hired them. He handles most of that. Perhaps I should've looked, but I've been a little preoccupied. What's wrong?”
Josh nods. “Yeah, Sloan...” He leans back against the wall.
“Look, Mr. Forsythe. I’ve only been here a short time, but what I saw in the first few days made me real suspicious. I didn’t act on it until yesterday, after I'd done my homework, and knew something weird was up. I got my IT training in the military. US Army. Had to do my time to pay for college. That’s where Sloan got his training, too, right?”
I nod. “Marines. Just like me. That’s why I hired him, to oversee security, among other things.”
This is too familiar after everything that just went down with Wendy. I sense the animosity and I don't like it one bit.
Fuck.
I know Sloan can be an asshole, a huge one, and more than one person has quit over the years thanks to him, but he’s had my back and I have to have his.
“A lot's changed in the last fifteen years, since Sloan had his training. Hell, a lot's changed in the last five years, since I had my refresher on encryption. It’s an ever-changing field, and you've gotta keep up constantly.”
I shake my head, wondering why he's so nervous.
“Where are you going with this, Josh?” I know it’s somewhere, and I have a wicked feeling I’m not going to like it.
“There's no easy way to say this.” He leans forward and taps the paper in my hand. “Screw it. That website’s a fake. Everything, Mr. Forsythe. The reviews are fake, the address is fake, the phone number's fake, too. The names and people listed are fake. The only thing real about that company is the bank account receiving the checks.”
My gut feels like it just took a knife. The same sharp, searing burn I felt in my knee all those years ago, after I caught hot metal in an ambush.
“You have proof of what you're saying?” I growl, my eyes fused to his.
He points at the papers again. “It’s all there, Hunter, including the routing numbers. I spent yesterday gathering information. Couldn't believe what I found. I only had to hack into one computer, one private server, but it just kept coming. Found it all. The way he’s been letting people in. The kickbacks he’s getting, transferring money from the corporate accounts to this one, apparently based in the Virgin Islands. Oh, it’s hidden, so it would've been real hard to find for anyone not trained with See-Clear.”
Tension turns my neck to stone. See-Clear.
That's our security clearance management system built on one used by the military.
Fuck me, this is bad.
No wonder – no fucking wonder – Sloan never liked to hire anybody with veteran’s status in IT. Always insisted the fresh meat out of the tech schools were better.
Josh lays a hand on my shoulder. He's trying to keep me from falling over, probably, but I have to fight every instinct not to punch him in the face. Even though he may have just done me a bigger favor than anyone.
“Sloan Morgan's been robbing you blind, boss. I'm sorry.” Josh's whisper is like needles in my ears. “Has been for years. It's bad. Not so much that it put the company in any financial jeopardy yet. He’s smart. Knows you would've caught on to it a long time ago, but I believe it was catching up with him. The shell company, that was new. And the breaches, the Virgin Islands account, the shell company...I think he was planning to take a fortune and run off with it.”
My fucking heart won't stop. It keeps pounding like a hammer in my chest, so hard it shakes my bones.
I’m having just as hard a time hearing this as I had about what Cory did. My blood chills. “How far back do these records go?”
“I only went back several years. There’s more than enough proof there.”
“Can you go back further?”
He shrugs. “Sure. I think. Let me –”
My mind is spinning. “I need everything. All twelve years, back to the old branch in California.”
Josh nods. “We’re all connected by the same intranet. It might take a while, but nothing's ever gone forever, even if it takes some digging.”
“Get on it, Josh. Whatever it takes, I want to know.”
I’m so pissed. So royally wounded, so enraged, I damn near pull the door off its hinges while wrenching it open. “And get the fuck out of this broom closet! Tell them you need a better space, my orders.”
I pull out my phone and stab at the contacts with Sloan’s name, storming down the hallway.
“Hey, Bud. Kind of early for you, isn’t it, Sunshine?”
Same old Sloan.
Only, it isn't.
I don't know this fucking thief I've trusted for years, this bloodsucking freak I gave everything.
Trusted with my company. Trusted with my house. Trusted with my secrets.
Trusted with my son.
It's amazing I can even speak with my whole world caving in. Confusion beats a raw, violent pulse in my head, the same nonsensical question echoing over and over again.
Why?
Why did you do it, you fuck? I gave you everything! Why, why, why?
“Hunt? Did I lose you?” The concern in his voice grates on my nerves, but I tell myself to listen to his side of the story before going completely ballistic.
His side. Whatever the hell that is.
“Where the fuck are you?” I snarl. “We’re supposed to be having a meeting this morning.”
“I’m...out of town. I had to bounce. Something came up. Listen, I’ll be back –”
“Get your fucking ass back into town. If you were ever my friend, my brother...you'll do it now. Pronto!” I hang up and throw the phone at the ground, then slump against the wall.
It's a good thing I buy industrial strength cases, or it'd be blown to pieces.
How did I let this happen?
Does it even matter? I have to put a stop to it. Now.
And make sure Landmark isn’t in jeopardy. By the time eight o’clock rolls around, I already have times set up to meet with every department head to get a complete rundown on where the company is sitting.
By noon, my nerves have
settled some, knowing Landmark is in good standings all the way around.
Josh was right. Sloan’s smart. He’d have known better than to do something drastic I would've caught.
He hasn’t shown up yet, of course. Nor is he answering his phone.
Does he know I’m on to him? Is he on his way to some godforsaken country where I'll never find him now?
There’s not going to be a rock he can hide under by the time I'm done. That’s for fucking sure.
I’m pissed, furious, gutted by this betrayal.
When he came to work for me, he was living in his car. His goddamned car.
A worn-out Ford that had two different colored doors. Life hadn't been kind to him after the Marines, but we stayed in touch. We played pool and drank beers. He heard everything from Cory and me when Landmark was born.
Cory...was anything he said about you even true?
Nothing makes sense anymore. I'm so lost, it kills me.
I meet with Josh again, go over every scrap of intel he uncovered.
It’s damning. To Sloan.
Three o'clock rolls around, and I still haven’t heard from him. I'm about to lose my mind if I can't track him down, or maybe I'll hit something until I break my hand.
“Is there any way he'd know you pulled up this information?” I ask Josh.
“No.” He shakes his head. “No way. And I haven’t told anyone, not even Stacy. I told her I’d discovered something dire you needed to know, and that it might get me fired. That’s it.”
“Okay. We'll wait a little longer and keep searching. See if he shows up, if he wants to confess. Listen, until I figure out how I want the rest of the company to know...I’d appreciate it if this stays between us.”
I’m torn. Sloan’s been there for me for years.
If he gives me the truth, or turns his thieving ass in, he will give me answers. There has to be a reason he’s done this. More than just money. He knows I’d have given it to him in a heartbeat, whatever the fuck he needed.
It doesn't make sense.
“Of course,” Josh says, adjusting his spectacles.
I stand. “I have to go pick up Wendy and Ben.” I hold out my hand. “Jesus. I don’t even know what to say to you, Josh. Thank you, for one. If you hadn’t...” My voice chokes off. I don’t know what to say.
There are no words when you find out the man who saved your life, who's been part of your family, is a devious, backstabbing rat. And for no good reason.
He shakes my hand while saying, “If you hadn’t hired me, if you weren’t dating my wife’s cousin? It's nothing but coincidence. Life’s made of them. Things that just randomly happen.” He shrugs. “That’s all it is. I'm just glad it wasn't worse.”
I leave a few minutes later, and while driving down roads that have finally been plowed, my mind isn't on Sloan.
It’s on Wendy. Life's been a series of mind-numbing coincidences since I met her.
Good ones. Ones that have, step by step, brought me out of a dark past that doesn't even seem real anymore.
Before her, every time I took a step forward, something pulled me back.
Now that I think about it, Sloan was behind it.
It was always him, pulling me back. Even the nannies he’d hired for Ben. Toxic distractions he knew I'd never get too wrapped up with.
Christ. No wonder he’s so pissed about Wendy. She’s the first good thing that's happened to Ben and me in forever.
Thinking of her, I stop at a corner drug store to pick up some milk like she'd asked after cooking us a mean pasta carbonara last night, the meal we had with Landon before he headed home.
While I'm there, I grab another box of condoms. Or two.
Hell, I contemplate buying a whole case, but not today. Then I smile, thinking how whenever this evil shit blows over, the first thing we're doing is having the talk. I'm gonna sit her down and find out what she needs to let me have that sweet pussy raw.
The sweet, sexy relief fades from my head when I'm on my way out.
A car pulls in next to me and a man climbs out at the same time I do.
We both pause, looking each other over. I don't know why, but I swear to all that's holy I've seen him before. Years ago. Another time and place.
He's an older, balding man with features like a mole, especially when he squints. “You look...very familiar to me, but I can’t quite place you. Wait. Aren't you –”
I don't let him finish. His heavy accent gives him away.
“Lavrov.”
“Yes? And you are?”
Talk about fucking coincidence. I'm snarling, storming around his car, and I grab the front of his coat, shoving him against his driver door. “Where the fuck is Sloan? Did you put him up to this? Are you the asshole behind the hacks, fresh from Moscow?”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender, weirdly calm. I relax my death grip, just enough so he can speak. Well, and so I don't get arrested for assaulting a man outside a goddamn drugstore.
“I don’t know any Sloan. You seem terribly confused.” He frowns. “Although that name is vaguely familiar...”
“Vaguely?” Testing a theory that sputters in the back of my mind, I ask, “What about Cory? Cory Forsythe? Did you know him?”
“Forsythe...oh, yes. I had a patient named Cory Forsythe once. Very long time ago.”
I’m not sure if it’s the word patient, or his icy, but non-threatening manner that has me easing my hold on his coat, and then letting it go completely. I let his feet touch the ground, sighing.
“Yes, Cory and Juno, and you must be...what was his name? The brother?” He shakes his head. “That was so sad. So tragic. I was at their funeral.”
“Shit. The funeral. That's where I remember you...” Confused, I ask, “How was Cory your patient?”
“I am a psychologist.” He holds up a finger, fumbling for his wallet, and then hands me a business card. “I counseled Cory and Juno with their marital issues many years ago. I never forget a patient. The gift of photographic memory.”
Damn. I do remember Cory mentioning marriage counseling, and that it was working.
“They had a son, did they not? How is he doing? You adopted him, yes? I remember, I followed up on the case to see that the boy was in the proper custody.”
Lavrov's voice is so even, so neutral, it’s calming.
“Ben. He's good. He's still with me.”
“And you? Something is clearly bothering you today. This Sloan person you mentioned...” He nods, a frown pulling at his thin lips. “Ah, yes. That’s why it was familiar.”
I stand up so straight I think I'll snap my own spine. “Tell me, Lavrov. Please. Why?”
He sighs. “I guess in this case, this once, I can override the patient confidentiality...but you never heard this. Not from me.”
I nod. And wait.
He glances around. “His wife, Juno, she had a lover named Sloan. That bothered Cory. Tormented him a great deal. Especially when the same Sloan was a business contact. A professional contact he said he could not break. He said...it was a favor. To family.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
What else don’t I know?
“They were looking forward to moving here, to Minnesota. We talked about it a lot. In fact, I may have told him how wonderful the Twin Cities could be.” Lavrov pats his chest. “I’m from here. Since I was twenty and immigrated. Moved back to Saint Paul not long after Landmark relocated. I knew I'd follow the business of a very successful company, among many others here.”
I'm too stunned to move.
My phone goes off. I grab it without looking, knowing it has to be Sloan. I nod gratefully at Lavrov and walk away, pulling my phone out of my pocket.
It’s Ben.
I swipe the answer button.
“Dad? Dad, are you there?!”
My heart drops at the tremble in his voice.
“What’s wrong, son?”
“Dad...” He’s crying. Sobbing. Broken like I've never heard him.<
br />
I'm throwing myself into my driver's seat, struggling to even breathe, but I know I have to keep him talking. Damn it. Damn it, no.
“Ben, what’s happened? Talk to me.”
“He took Wendy. Sloan took Wendy. She...she didn't wanna go. I've never seen him so...so...”
My entire body goes rigid. “Where? When? What happened?”
“I don’t know, Dad. Why would he take her? Why would he be so fucking mad?”
He’s panicked, hurt. Crying so hard I can barely understand him.
He's hardly the only one shaken to his core. If I ever find Sloan again, I'll kill him.
I’m shaking so hard, I drop the keys. Fishing for them on the floor, I say, “Ben, son, listen to me. You have to stop crying. I know it's hard, but please...you have to remember. You have to tell me everything. Whatever you remember, very slowly.”
I hear him breathing. “I was in the back room after everybody left when he came, helping her with a cake. Wendy...she told me to get in the cupboard under the table. To not come out. No matter what. I heard Sloan’s voice. He was screaming at her. Yelling. Telling her she'd ruined everything. He was looking for me, too. Wendy told him I went home with Sammy and Will. Then he took her, Dad. I didn't listen. I got out after they were gone...and I saw his truck driving away. She was with him, and she looked scared.”
I shove the keys in the ignition. “When?”
“Just now, Dad. I got my phone and I called you.”
I pull into traffic, not caring who the hell I cut off.
“Listen to me, Ben. This is what you need to do. You make sure the doors are locked and call Will. Tell him what you just told me. Have him call the police. Give him a description of Sloan’s truck. And you listen to everything he tells you, son. Got it?”
“Okay.” His voice is so small. So scared. Like I haven't heard it since he was ten. “What about Wendy, Dad? You think...you think he'll hurt her?”
For the longest second of my life, I'm frozen. Then I press the hot, glowing phone to my ear and answer.
“No, son. Don't worry about that. I’ll get Wendy.”
17
Best Laid Plans (Wendy)