The woman sat back with a look of mild surprise before one side of her mouth curled into a snide smile.
“Whoa, Mrs. McClaine. You sound unhappy.”
“Don’t come at me with that holier-than-thou crap. I have no idea where you got the idea I or anyone at my foundation has been involved in insider trading, but it’s as far from the truth as you could get, and I expect a full retraction in your sordid rag tomorrow morning.”
“Or…?”
The woman was baiting her. Elizabeth wanted to slap that smug look off her face. Instead, she said, “Or I promise you, I will be taking legal action.”
Far from backing down, Jennifer Reels’s grin widened. “Ah but, Methinks thou dost protest too much, Mrs. McClaine.”
“Meaning what?” Elizabeth responded, knowing full well that the quote was intended to humiliate her.
“Meaning I have solid evidence that you knowingly bought shares two years ago in a venture you had a personal interest in. So, before you go running off to your lawyer, I suggest you think very carefully about what’s going to come out of the woodwork in the wake of a full investigation.”
Elizabeth felt her lower lip tremble. She sputtered a few opening responses, then said, “Are you blackmailing me?”
“Blackmail is a very dirty word, Mrs. McClaine. And I would not call this blackmail in any sense. You see, I want nothing from you. All I’m looking for is the truth.” That shark-like grin again.
Openly fuming now, Elizabeth spoke between clenched teeth. “You think dragging the name of my foundation through the mud for a two-bit story is truth finding? I’d like to see your evidence of this…so-called insider trading.”
Just as she had earlier that day, Jennifer Reels leaned down and removed a single file from the briefcase on the floor next to her. With an aura of smugness surrounding her, she opened the file, spun it on the table, and slid it across to Elizabeth.
Sitting on the other side of the table, Elizabeth felt her heart thud once in her chest and her cheeks flare red.
What the hell has she found?
Already feeling sick, Elizabeth drew it towards her and scanned the files. They were copies of her share certificates for several companies she’d been advised to invest in over the years. These proved nothing. In a flash, that illness in the pit of her stomach turned to relief. Without wanting to show her hand too soon, she looked up and straightened in her seat.
“Where did you get these?”
“Oh, didn’t you know? This is all public information, Mrs. McClaine. You just gotta know where to look.”
Elizabeth shoved them back. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Ms. Reels. And as for that retraction, I’ll send you a draft of what I’d like to see in it. You’ve wasted your time.”
As she went to get up to take her leave, Jennifer Reels pushed the papers back across the table again. “I’d suggest, Mrs. McClaine, that before you go off half-cocked, you take a good look at these papers.”
Straightening with her purse tucked under her arm, Elizabeth cast the woman a withering glare, then dropped her eyes back to the documents on the table.
Jennifer smiled up at her. “Like I said, Mrs. McClaine…Elizabeth…may I call you Elizabeth?” Her tone was mild, patronizing.
“No, you may not.”
“That’s a pity. But before you charge off to defend your honor and waste your lawyer’s time, can I just point out a few notes of interest?” She angled her head. “Just bear with me a moment.”
They locked eyes for a moment. Elizabeth felt a flash of sweat bead her brow. Whatever this woman had in that file—whatever she’d found—Elizabeth didn’t want to see it. All she wanted to do was flee. But something in the woman’s manner twisted that knife of terror into her chest. Wisdom from years of dealing with politicians and all the hangers-on had taught her never to back down; never to run. First find out what the angle is, what’s to be gained, and who stands to benefit. So, with her nostrils flared in fury and fear, she stepped closer to the table and passed a bilious eye across the files. As she did, Jennifer leaned across and pointed to the top certificate.
“You recognize this one?”
“Do you think the money we have in our trust just sits there doing nothing? For your information, we invest it. We make it work for us. That’s how we generate more funds for our clients. As for Peyton Healthcare Training, they provide training for caregivers. They’re a small company that bid for our funding and won. What of it?”
“So, you’re admitting that you pay them? Through applications by clients to your funding scheme?”
It was a trap. Elizabeth knew it. But she had to know.
“Just get on with it, Ms. Reels. What are you driving at?”
“So, I suppose you’re going to tell me that you no idea that Peyton Healthcare Training is a subsidiary company of Aden Falls Corporation? And that your big announcement in July this year…” She paused to lift out and unfold a newspaper clipping which she held up like a kid at show-and-tell. “…praising Payton Healthcare for their successful bid to supply client assessment services exclusively for your foundation had nothing to do with the sudden rise in share value for Aden Falls?”
That news hit her like a hammer to the chest. But how was that insider trading? How could it be?
Time to call the woman’s bluff. Elizabeth held her eye, lifted her head and squared off to her.
“Ms. Reels, I still don’t see what my investments have to do with anything.”
The reporter arched one eyebrow in surprise. “Again, bear with me a moment, Mrs. McClaine.” She lifted the top certificate from the pile, swiveled it with two fingers, and pushed it across to Elizabeth again. “Are you telling me that this next certificate with an investment amount of fifty thousand dollars in Aden Falls Corporation—the very corporation your father-in-law does construction for, the very same corporation that claims funding via Payton Healthcare from your foundation—can’t be considered insider trading?”
The shock hit Elizabeth like a brick wall. For a second she thought she was going to pass out.
Nausea welled in her stomach, but she had to keep going; had to know. She stammered a moment, then gathered herself. “As I said, Miss Reels, my foundation invests widely. And I still don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
The woman let out a snide chuckle as she gathered the papers and put them back into the file. “You’re going to have to do better than that when the FBI come sniffing around. Shouting ‘I’m innocent’ doesn’t exactly fool them these days.”
Tucking the file documents and newspaper clippings into her briefcase, Jennifer Reels casually added, “By the way, this is just a heads up, Mrs. McClaine. I’m doing you a favor. Giving you time to get all your ducks in a row.”
“If you’re trying to insinuate that you’ve done this just so I can scramble to cover up whatever fake deals you’ve dreamed up, you can think again. I’ll expect that retraction on the front page first thing tomorrow morning. Or next time you see me, I promise you, it will be with legal counsel.”
And she walked out.
Outside in the car, Elizabeth gripped the steering wheel with both hands to stop them shaking. This had to be a mistake. There was no way she would ever put the foundation in such a position.
How could they have invested fifty thousand dollars in Aden Falls without her even knowing? Compared to the total asset fund of the foundation, it was a pittance. But that wasn’t the point. She was just wondering how this situation could possibly get worse, when her phone rang—Charles.
“Oh, yeah. That’s how,” she whispered. She steeled herself, and picked up.
***
The Associate
The story had been out less than an hour and already it had hit the headlines.
Of all the stupid things to do. He’d told her what he needed. A diversion, that was all. Easiest assignment yet, wouldn’t you think?
But no, that wasn’t enough. She’d started d
igging and gotten greedy, come back demanding more money, telling him she had others to pay. Now he had no choice. He had to take action. Before she let his secrets out and he wound up the next one found in a dumpster.
He got up from his desk and went to the door of his office, peeked out to ensure no one was around, then closed it. Back at his desk, he dialed her number and waited. With every unanswered ring, his heart beat faster. How could he have gotten into this mess?
After six rings, she picked up.
“I gather you’ve seen it,” she said without preamble. She sounded pleased with herself.
He modified his tone to sound equally impressed. “I have. We need to meet. I have one more thing I need from you.”
“More files? Another story?”
“Something like that.”
“You know this will mean more money.”
“You’ll get it,” he assured her.
He gave her directions, told her to make sure she wasn’t followed.
Then he hung up. Took the pistol from his lower desk drawer. And left the office.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DAY TWO—3:03 PM—LANEY
Even if Laney still had her cell phone, a number alone wasn’t going to be any help. So, instead of leaving, she’d sat back with her arms folded over her chest, watching the photographer’s store front from out in the parking lot.
No more than a minute later, the venetian blinds snapped shut across the front window and the sign on the door flipped to Closed.
A thin smile of satisfaction snaked across her lips. Her instinct had been right on the button. The guy was heading out. She had her next lead. She snapped her seatback upright and started up the car, drove out of the parking lot, and waited on the street.
Sure enough, a few minutes later a blue convertible pulled out with Pierre at the wheel, the slicked-over hank of hair immediately coming loose and trailing in the wind like a streamer. The car wouldn’t be hard to tail. All she needed to do was hang back.
She pulled out, watching him three cars ahead, turned left when he did, right when he did. When they hit a back street, he was certain to spot her, so she drove on to the next intersecting street and turned down, expecting to see him there.
Nothing. She slowed, turned into the street he’d gone down, and pulled over, checking the street front and back.
“Where the hell did you go?” she muttered.
After what felt like an eternity, she pulled out again, assuming she’d lost him. Then she picked him up in the street she’d crossed into. She followed him, traveling parallel to him one street to his left, dropping back every now and then so he wouldn’t pick her up at every intersection. After three more cross streets, she glanced across to see him pulling right. She slowed as he did and pulled over when his turn signal indicated a left-hand turn into the parking lot of a single store set on a scrappy lot way out in the boonies. The sign out front showed a computer and a cell phone, suggesting they sold or serviced both.
Laney cut the engine and sunk down, watching Pierre get out, glance both ways, and hurry into the store. She folded her arms, sat back and waited, wondering where Katarina could be now—hoping upon hope she was still alive.
How had she escaped them? And how had she come across the real Wendy O’Dell? Were they friends? Was Wendy dead?
Ten minutes passed. Each one felt like an hour. Laney glanced at her watch and huffed. Frustrated, she grabbed the jacket from the back seat, slipped into it, and pulled the hood up. She got out, locked the car, and casually ambled up the street towards the store. But just before she got to the door, she noticed the closed sign was up and the lights were off.
Pierre must have left with whoever was in the store. She turned full circle then walked quickly down the side of the store to find a second parking lot—a dust bowl surrounded by a chain-link fence with knee-high weeds growing up through it. No cars.
She’d lost her only lead.
Furious, she stuck her hands on her hips and scanned the parking lot. “Dammit!”
Now what?
To her left was a set of three stairs leading to a back door. With no other options available, she made her way up and checked the lock. It was an easy one. Another glance around, checking the area. No one in sight, so she got to work on it.
It took less than thirty seconds to pop. But the instant she opened the door, an ear-splitting alarm went off like a siren, wailing loud and long while several red lights flashed through the store.
Knowing this area, Laney figured she had about fifteen minutes before the police arrived. That gave her plenty of time.
“Dumbasses,” she told the system as she moved through a tiny workroom and headed for the front counter.
The store looked typical of any backstreet computer stores she’d been in—several laptops chained to displays, cell phones on the walls with prices shown below. With a palm pressed to one ear to block the noise, she checked the number on the store phone. Same one Pierre had called. That confirmed she was in the right place. Next, she hit redial and checked the last call. It had been made three minutes previously—a Boston number. She made a note of it, slipped it into her pocket, and retreated back to the office, where she checked the time.
Thirteen minutes to go.
All at once, the alarm shut off and the store fell into silence. Her hand dropped. All she could hear was the residual ringing in her ears. No idea why it had switched off. It could mean the alarm was monitored. Any minute, security might call in. So she started at the top desk drawer and moved down, checking each. Nothing out of the ordinary. A quick glance out through the front windows of the store. No cars in sight. No one here. So she switched on the computer. The guy must have been in some hurry, because he hadn’t shut it down.
“Thank you, thank you,” she muttered as she hit the email icon and waited.
A flood of emails pinged into the inbox. As they did, a title snagged her eye—“Cleveland Assignment Completed.”
With her heart ratcheting up a notch, she tossed another glance at the front windows and clicked on the message. It was cc’d to four other recipients. Laney recognized one of the names and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
Contract Completed. Employee 634 terminated. Records deleted, was all it read. It had been sent by Julia Nosovich at Employment Pulse.
A knot tightened in her stomach. Nosovich—the employment agent—that was the one who’d referred Katarina to Sunny Springs.
She sat at the desk and typed “Katarina” into the search field in the email inbox. Seconds later, it came back with a list of emails, all containing a reference to Katarina. Most were advertisements. She added “Nosovich” to the search, and the list was pared down to a series of seven emails. Each was cc’d to the same four names. All replies from Julia Nosovich. One included an address she recognized—the house she’d just come from.
No wonder she’d found employment records at the house. Whoever Julia Nosovich was, she was running some kind of international recruitment agency out of that address. And from what Laney could see, the job prospects wouldn’t be every college girl’s dream.
If Katarina had been brought into the country under false pretenses, how did she wind up in Sunny Springs? And if she’d escaped, why not go to the police?
She deleted “Katarina” from the search bar and added in the word “recruitment.”
What seemed like a million emails popped up.
Same results for “Sunny Springs.”
There had to be something more specific.
On a hunch, she typed in the words “Sunny Springs + Boston.”
Another stream of emails emerged. Most were advertisements, so she added “Nosovich.”
Two messages came up in English. The first read:
Models and Actresses Wanted. Two-Year Contract. Guaranteed $US200,000 per year.
Two hundred replies.
All trimmed down to twenty-seven. All beautiful. One was from Katarina Novak. The last message w
as dated six months back.
Then, an address. Somewhere in South Boston.
She Googled it, then copied the address into Google maps.
Her gut told her that’s where Katarina was.
A nine-and-a-half-hour drive. She checked the time. It would be almost midnight by the time she got there.
So she grabbed a phone and charger out of the drawer, and left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DAY TWO—3:50 AM—ELIZABETH
Elizabeth walked straight into her office, dumped her keys on her desk, briefcase on the floor, then turned to Penny, who had followed her in. Before Penny could open her mouth, Elizabeth jumped in, counting items off on her fingers.
“Number one: Laney Donohue walks into Sunny Springs and takes Kimmy. Two: a dead girl turns up in the cemetery…” Noting Penny’s dubious look, she conceded the point, and added, “…a murder victim whose identity has yet to be established, I’ll give you that.”
“And may have nothing to do with anything.”
Elizabeth also let her have that one. “That’s entirely possible. Then three, Janelle Hooper tells us Laney is searching for one of the care workers from Sunny Springs, right?”
“Gotcha so far.”
“Four, I get some newspaper hack from out of the back of nowhere accusing me of falsifying documents. And what happens when I start looking into events at Sunny Springs? Whoa! Suddenly, I’m insider trading, and I’m all over the news.”
Penny dropped her gaze to the floor while she thought it through, then said, “Sheesh! Sounds like something out of a movie.”
Elizabeth pointed a finger at her to punctuate the point. “Exactly. So, what does all this tell you?”
Still frowning, Penny chewed a lip while she gave it some head space. “That…Laney Donohue found something? Maybe she doesn’t know it yet?” She lifted her shoulders briefly and gave Elizabeth an apologetic look. “Y’know, this hatchet Jennifer Reels is doing on you…” She hesitated, trying to frame the suggestion. “Have you even stopped to consider it may have nothing to do with Kimmy and Laney?”
The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set Page 71