“You’re under investigation for embezzlement,” he said grimly, retracting his hand. There was no use beating around the bush. This next bit of information was bound to test her fortitude, but she deserved to know what was happening. “They also want to question you about something else.”
“What could be worse than embezzling?”
“Murder.”
Beth felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. “Murder?”
She went cold, gripped by an icy paralysis. While she suspected the thugs from Cayman Holdings, Limited were on the wrong side of the law, until now, her part in this business had been on the white-collar-crime side of events. If anything, she thought they’d try and frame her for the money laundering; she never considered they’d frame her for murder.
“Who?” Her hands and lips had gone numb, and she struggled to form words. “Who do they think I’ve murdered?”
“They don’t think you murdered him. They just want you for questioning. Sam Cross.”
“The chief financial officer?” She rested her head in the circle of her arms. “We were just joking about all the graphs in his PowerPoint.”
Only moments before she’d been feeling sorry for herself. She’d spent the past few hours retracing all the steps that had led her to this place. She’d thought of all the ways things might have turned out differently. She’d second-guessed every decision she’d made since deciding to become an accountant. All of that paled in comparison to the news of Sam’s death.
Her life was in danger, but she was alive. “He wasn’t involved. Why would they kill him?”
“We won’t know anything for certain until we comb through his financial records.”
“I already did that.” Her focus sharpened. “You can’t honestly believe he had anything to do with the money laundering?”
While Sam had the means and opportunity, he lacked a motive. She’d scoured his transactions and discovered nothing out of the ordinary.
Corbin’s brow furrowed. “We can’t rule out anyone at this stage. Someone is slamming the door on this business by eliminating anyone with knowledge of the transactions. Who brought you in to do the audit?”
“Matt Shazier, the CEO.”
“Not Cross.”
“Nope.” She shook her head, as though warding off the grim news. “I don’t believe Sam was involved. He filed his receipts by date. There’s a picture on his desk that was taken several years ago, and he’s wearing the same tie he wore yesterday. That is not the sort of man who launders money for terrorists.” Stars swam at the corners of her vision. “He had a son going to UCLA. Sam was so proud of him.”
In the picture, Sam was holding his son’s hand while the boy clutched the ribbon end of a balloon. He’d never risk becoming involved in something that jeopardized his family.
“College isn’t cheap,” Corbin said, more to himself than to her.
“That’s why people work overtime and take out loans. They don’t get involved with a terrorist.” No matter what Corbin thought, she didn’t believe Sam had anything to do with anything illegal. Another horror occurred to her. “What happened? How did he die?”
Her stomach churned. The terror from the parking garage was fresh. She couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering.
“He was shot late yesterday afternoon.” Corbin studied her face. “Close range. His death was instant. He probably never even saw what was coming.”
“Wait, what...?” The news had fragmented her thoughts into a thousand tiny shards. “He was killed late yesterday afternoon? Why do they suspect me? I’ve been with you the whole time.”
Corbin quirked an eyebrow. “I’m aware of that.”
A waitress appeared at the end of their table, her dirty blond hair caught in a ponytail.
Attempting to maintain an air of calm indifference, Beth ordered a soda and declined anything to eat. The waitress tapped her pencil against her pad and glanced between them. She appeared to suspect something wasn’t quite right about the new diners, but she wasn’t commenting.
When she left, Beth said, “I have to go back. I have to clear my name.”
Her stomach pitched. She was a cop’s daughter. She knew how this worked. She’d be arrested for purchasing the false identification. At the very least, they’d drag her name through the newspapers. Her professional life was over. No one wanted an untrustworthy accountant on the payroll. Especially a forensic accountant with a rumored history of fraud.
“We’ll clear your name later,” Corbin said. “It’s too dangerous to go back now.”
“But—”
“The police are putting the pressure on you.”
Beth groaned. “It’s working.”
“They want to see if you’ve got anything to do with an embezzling scheme.”
“Embezzling?” She suddenly grew light-headed. “There’s no embezzling. That’s ridiculous. This is about money laundering, not theft.”
“I think these guys have someone on the inside.” Wouldn’t take much to grease a few palms and weight the narrative toward Beth’s guilt. “Embezzling is easier to sell in the press.”
“The press?” she repeated, her voice weak.
Her plan had been deceptively simple and clear. Deliver the evidence and remain out of sight until the indictments made the news. The more steps she put between the evidence and the source of information, the safer she was. She hadn’t anticipated a false murder charge along with an accusation of embezzling.
Corbin tightened the bandage on his arm, and she caught herself. His face had taken on a waxy appearance. He’d been wounded. His coat was too dark to discern the amount of bleeding, but this wasn’t the time to sit around and feel sorry for herself.
She’d have to trust that God had a plan for her in all this.
Focusing on his injury and their next step took her mind off the problems awaiting her down the road. “We need to bandage your arm and get some rest.” The adrenaline was wearing off, and her eyelids drooped. “We can’t sit here forever. Where do you suggest we go next?”
She was out of her league. While she’d rather handle the situation independently, Corbin was currently the expert on covert ops.
The kitchen door swung open, and Corbin whipped around. Her heartbeat jerked. One of the cooks they’d seen earlier appeared, an enormous tray of nachos balanced on his outstretched hand.
Corbin’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Both attacks took place in sparsely populated locations. Tweedledum and Tweedledumber aren’t taking big risks. I think we lost them, but I don’t know for certain. I’m not taking any chances. We find a crowded, well-lit hotel and spend the night. We can reassess in the morning.”
“Reassess? What exactly does that mean?”
“We dump everything now and start over tomorrow. Phones, clothing. Everything. They were tracking us, and we need to make certain we’ve lost them. I’m guessing they got to your phone at work, but we start over. Just in case.”
Fatigue and stress were making her cranky. “How exactly do we make sure we’ve lost them?”
“We’ll find someplace that’s crowded with a lot of security, and make sure we don’t have a tail. Once we’re squared away, we can travel. For now, we make sure we’re not isolated.”
“Okay, okay. We find a crowded hotel for tonight, and a crowded place to see if we’re still being followed tomorrow. What about the Mall of America?”
“Too many places to hide. Too many exits. We need crowds. But we need them spread out. Like a sporting event.”
The waitress set down their drinks. Beth reached for enough money to cover the bill, and then she added a generous tip. The waitress perked at the sight.
Beth assumed her most engaging smile. When seeking information, it was always best to flatter a local. Another tidbit of her dad’s wisdom. “We’re visiting f
rom out of town, and we don’t know much about the area. Your city is absolutely charming this time of year. Are there any events around town that might be interesting? Sporting events or something like that?”
The waitress wrapped one finger around the wispy end of her ponytail. “There’s a hockey game at the arena tomorrow night. The Rangers are playing. I’m going this morning to get some autographs. There’s also a harvest festival just north of town. It’s quite an event. There’s a corn maze and everything. My boyfriend and I are going next weekend.”
“Thank you,” Beth said. “That’s exactly the sort of event I’m looking for. A harvest festival sounds like fun.”
The waitress turned from the table before speaking over her shoulder, “Try the mini donuts. They’re the best. But be careful in the corn maze. I got lost for an hour last year.”
Beth flashed both thumbs. “Will do.”
Corbin held his ice-filled cup to his bruised chin. “Nice work.”
The timbre of his warm, deep voice sent a shiver of awareness through her.
Pulling up a map on his phone, he said, “I’m guessing the visiting hockey team will stay at the convention hotel.” He clicked through a few more screens. “Looks like they have available rooms. I’ll order an Uber.”
“I got rid of my phone.” Beth narrowed her gaze. “What about your phone?”
“Fine. If it makes you feel better, we’ll ditch both our phones. We can pick up a couple of burners in the morning. Anything that might have been compromised has to be ditched.”
“They can’t have gotten to my bag. I left it at the train station.”
“Would you rather be safe or dead? Nothing that’s been out of your sight. The bag was out of your sight.”
She huffed. “Fine.”
She retrieved the zippered makeup pouch with her cash and fraudulent identification, along with the small, framed picture of her father. She hesitated only a moment before stuffing the picture in her pouch. On their way out, she dumped her backpack and extra clothing in the trash bin. The frugal part of her mourned the waste, but at least she’d traveled light.
There wasn’t much to throw away.
“What now?” she asked.
Corbin’s expression shifted.
As the waitress passed them in the opposite direction, he caught her attention. “My wife’s ex-husband has been harassing us.” He indicated the front of the building. “If anyone comes asking, you didn’t see us, all right?”
The waitress cantilevered back, gazing toward the front of the bar, then straightened and gave Corbin an admiring glance.
She turned toward Beth. “There’s an exit through the kitchen that leads to the alley. You’re better off with this fellow, sugar.”
“Yep,” Beth replied. He’d probably arrest her before this was all over, but right now, he was the only person in this mess who wasn’t trying to kill her. “I sure am.”
SIX
An hour later, the car delivered them to a downtown hotel near the convention center. Corbin had refused Beth’s insistence that he visit a hospital or urgent care. Instead, they’d stopped at a drugstore along the way. Though his jaw was bruised and his arm bleeding, he wasn’t injured otherwise. There was no need to make a fuss.
The most humiliating part of the evening had been letting Beth check them into the hotel room. Using her fraudulent identity, she’d booked them two adjoining rooms.
Corbin didn’t bother hiding his scowl throughout the proceedings.
There was nothing in the Homeland Security handbook about letting the suspect in custody use an illegally obtained fraudulent identity to secure lodging, but he was fairly certain that sort of thing was frowned upon.
The hotel clerk flicked a glance between the two of them while his fingers tapped across the keyboard. Corbin softened his expression. No need to look like a menace. They’d call the police on them if he didn’t get hold of himself.
The clerk was sharply dressed and thin with skin that mirrored the mahogany countertop and a high forehead above his sharp eyes. “Checkout time is at eleven. There’s a complimentary breakfast served from six to nine.”
Corbin glanced around the lobby. Knots of people laughed and talked, their chatter echoing off the high ceilings. “Is it always this busy?”
“Folks are in and out all night. Especially when the Rangers are in town. You’re four floors up, though. You shouldn’t be bothered by the noise.”
Corbin was reasonably certain they’d lost the two men, but he was operating with an abundance of caution. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” Beth said, grasping the key cards.
Corbin exchanged a glance with Beth as they crossed the lobby. “If those two goons don’t like crowds, we picked a good hotel.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she muttered noncommittally, stifling a yawn. As they stepped onto the elevator, she searched his face. “You look ill.”
“I’m fine.”
He’d already made enough mistakes. He refused to show vulnerability around her. She deserved to feel safe. He’d been viewing Beth as the perpetrator and not a target. He’d adjusted his thinking.
At least there’d be an APB out for the two men now. That call had been made.
Beth jabbed the button for the fourth floor twice more in a futile attempt to speed up the ride. Not that he blamed her. He feared if he didn’t sit down soon, he was going to fall down. But after everything that had happened today, he wasn’t letting Beth see him as weak.
He rested his uninjured shoulder against the fake cherrywood wall of the elevator and stared at the poster of a grinning hotel employee plastered to the door, the seam cutting neatly down the middle of her face, widening her nose.
Beth followed his gaze. “What were they thinking?”
Corbin smiled. “It’s gonna get worse when the door opens.”
With her guard down, there was an alluring, engaging quality about Beth that sent warmth radiating through his chest. Nothing with this case had gone as planned. He’d become accustomed to a certain level of predictability. He’d become accustomed to trusting his instincts. Beth had him second-guessing everything. When she’d purchased a false identity, he’d made an assumption.
His feelings for her had clouded his thinking. Believing she was guilty had put some distance between them. Distance he obviously needed.
They reached the fourth floor, and the bell sounded. The smiling picture on the door split in two.
They both laughed and the tension of the past few hours seeped from his bones, leaving only weary resignation. He couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t undo his mistake. He could avoid making more. Beth was part of the case. She was off-limits. Since she didn’t appear to return his regard, staying away should be easy.
Their footsteps were muffled over carpet patterned in rust-colored geometric shapes. Decorative sconces cast star-shaped patterns over the dappled wallpaper.
She glanced at the number on the door and paused. “I’m 404, and you’re 406.”
He clutched his room card, his hand hovering over the handle. “You all right for a few hours?”
She’d had an eventful day, to say the least. According to his many army debriefings, she needed time alone to process the events. Whatever that meant.
“I’ll be fine.” She glanced at the bag dangling from her fingertips and jolted. “I almost forgot. I bought us a couple of toiletry sets from the drugstore. There was a male version and a female version.” She plucked a plastic, floral patterned bag from the sack. “This one is mine.”
“Thank you.” He hoped there was a razor in there. His chin itched. As she stifled a yawn, Corbin looped the bag over his fingers. “Then everything else in here is mine?”
“Yep.” Her nostrils flared, and she fought back another yawn. “The medical supplies and stuff.” She waved her card
before the lock and waited for the click, then toed open the door. “It’s nearly 2:00 a.m. I’m so tired, I’m afraid I’m going to start hallucinating. Don’t worry, though. I have a little stamina left. Give me a minute, and I’ll come around to bandage that for you.”
Corbin shook his head. “I don’t need the help. Thanks, anyway.”
“It’s no trouble.” She retracted her foot and closed the distance between them. “I don’t mind.”
“You’re exhausted.” He stepped into his room and faced her. “Get some rest.”
As gently as he could, he let the door close. It wasn’t her responsibility to care for him. The responsibility rested the other way around.
Corbin staggered back a few steps and collapsed on to the bed. He splayed his arms and stared at the ceiling. The next few hours were going to be the true test. Short of locking her in the neighboring room, he was at a loss.
Would she stay, or would she run? He was one man operating alone. He was wounded. If he turned her over to the police, she’d be targeted with the false embezzling charges. If he turned her over to the FBI, they’d dangle her as bait—neither of which seemed any safer than what he was offering. At least this way they were operating off the grid.
Until the email arrived, everything was speculation. Her story seemed far-fetched, at best. Even to him.
The ceiling wavered, and his vision blurred from exhaustion.
“Fine,” she called through the door. “Die in there for all I care.”
“Good night, Beth.”
He didn’t have much at stake. Just his entire career.
* * *
Beth stepped back and huffed. She did care. She cared very much.
Grumbling, she returned to her room. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she paced before the two double beds.
She glanced at her bag and did a double take. How were they being tracked? Corbin was convinced she was the cause—albeit unintentionally. He’d insisted she abandon her belongings, but she hadn’t gotten rid of everything. She’d been so certain of herself—what if she was wrong?
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