by G. K. Parks
I smiled warmly and stood up straight. “Sorry, I get a little obsessed with things sometimes, and when you said the furniture was stolen, I wondered if you knew who took it or considered taking legal action for damages. Do thefts often occur in this building?”
Lem shook his head, suddenly more concerned with scaring off a potential renter than wondering why I was being so nosy. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“That’s good.”
“Are you interested?”
“It depends. How long is the lease?”
“We rent on a monthly basis.”
“Great. I’ll take it.” The asking price was $800. Considering it was smaller than Martin’s walk-in closet, that seemed steep. But with real estate, it was all about location. And since it was Noah Ryder’s last known location, that made it valuable, at least to me.
Lem was pleasantly shocked. After a lengthy elevator ride, he let me into his office. It was twice the size of 39D. It had a tiny love seat and a television. A row of grey, metal filing cabinets lined the back wall and part of the side wall. A large, cluttered wood desk took up the rest of the space. I sat across from Lem in one of the two chairs while he went through the cabinets in search of the records for 39D.
While he was searching, I scanned the documents on his desk. “When was the last time someone occupied that unit?” I asked. “The last time I rented office space, I kept getting the previous guy’s mail. Just wondered if that might happen again.”
“I think it’s been empty for a while. I’m not entirely sure. I’ve been ill, and I had a temp covering for me. She wasn’t exactly the best at keeping records.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He pulled out several files, one specific to that property and the rest were boilerplate rental agreements, information on the security deposit, a detailed list of fees, and parking information.
I looked down at the official documents. Cross said he’d cover expenses, and in the event Ryder left prints or some sort of evidence in the office, this would give us access. I didn’t think we’d find anything, but I had to be sure. “Is it possible to have the locks changed. I’ve had problems with break-ins in the past.”
He marked the signature box on the rental agreement and handed me a pen. “I can have someone from maintenance change them while you look that over.”
As soon as I was alone, I rifled through the filing cabinets. Lem labeled everything by unit, and I pulled out the binder for 39D. The info I wanted was right on top, and I took photos of each page. The signature said Noah Ryder. Obviously, the grifter wanted a trail in the event Klassi checked into him before forking over the cash. On paper, Noah Ryder looked legit. Somewhere in the details, we’d find the man behind the mask. I just wondered if that would happen before Ryder disappeared for good. Perhaps it was already too late. He’d stolen Klassi’s money a week ago. He could be across the world by now.
“Here’s that key,” Lem said, disturbing my pessimistic thoughts. Quickly, I signed the page and handed him the agreement. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”
“Just a month.” I wrote out a check and put it on his desk, hoping it wouldn’t bounce. “Do you need a reference?”
He shook his head. “You’re not going to be here long enough for that. Assuming your check clears, we won’t have a problem.”
Eight
“Did you forget something?” Kellan asked, entering my office.
“I don’t think so.”
After renting the office space, I sent a team of Cross’s crime scene techs to analyze every inch of 39D, met with Klassi to officially acknowledge that I was taking his case and convince him to agree to Cross’s terms, and spent the rest of the day doing research. The information Noah gave Lem was bogus. Noah’s listed home address and telephone number tracked to a Chinese restaurant, and the account number from his check led to an empty bank account. Cross’s experts were tracking the details on the account, hoping it would lead to something usable, but I hadn’t heard back from them.
“Shouldn’t you have gone home by now?” I asked.
Kellan laughed and eased into one of my client chairs. “Hi, I’m Kettle. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, shit.”
He smiled. “There it is.”
“I completely forgot I promised you lunch.”
“It’s okay. I’m easy, just as long as you’re up for dinner and drinks.”
I flopped back in my chair. “Sure. I’ll meet you downstairs. I just need to make a quick call.”
Kellan raised an interested eyebrow. “Ooh, did you actually have a date? Why don’t you have him tag along? I’d love to meet him.”
“There is no him. I just have some follow-up to do before it gets too late. I’ll be down in a sec.”
“Fine.”
Once he was gone, I closed my office door, dialed Martin, and organized the paperwork neatly into a file that I placed inside my top drawer. “Hey,” I said as soon as he answered, “did Klassi follow through?”
“Yeah. He’s out.”
“You sound relieved.”
Martin hesitated. “I didn’t appreciate his cavalier attitude toward making money by gaming people. That isn’t someone I want on the board of my company.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to get you roped into this.”
“Lucien’s elated. He’s funding the investigation.” I glanced down at the reimbursement check. Ten minutes after I handed the receipt over to accounting, I was issued a check. “If we recover Don’s stolen funds, we’re looking at a seven-figure payday.”
“Shit,” Martin dragged out the word. “Shouldn’t you be overjoyed?”
“I’ll let you know. There’s something odd about the situation, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on it.” I could practically hear Kellan tapping his foot thirty floors below. “Anyway, I promised a colleague lunch, but with the way my day went, it’s turned into dinner. And I still have a few things to finish up here, so I’ll be home late.”
“You are staying at our place, right?”
“Yes.”
Martin’s tone relaxed. “I’ll see you later. Enjoy your dinner.”
I grabbed my bag and went downstairs to meet Kellan. As predicted, he wanted to go to the Mexican place down the street. It was a warm night, and most people were seated on the patio. Kellan and I remained inside with the more docile crowd. He ordered a few tequila shots and dug into the basket of chips.
“Are you sure you don’t want one?” He held a shot glass in my direction.
“Not my thing.” I took a moment to breathe. “What does Cross have you working on?”
Kellan downed the shot and reached for another. He let out a tiny growl. “CryptSpec.” He tipped back the next mouthful and reached for a lime wedge. Cringing at the sourness, he put the finished lime in the glass.
“I thought we finished with CryptSpec.”
Kellan shrugged. “You did. The security team did, but the police investigation has raised new questions. Mansfield wanted us to check everything again.” He looked apologetic. “It seems pretty cut and dry to me. Ian Barber took suspicious payments and had access to the stolen programming.”
“Does Cross think I missed something? Does it have anything to do with Stuart Gifford?”
Downing the last shot, Kellan reached for the chips. “You know Lucien’s stance on murder investigations.”
“We avoid them, but he assigned you to poke around. Why?” It didn’t make sense, and then I remembered what Heathcliff said about Gifford’s reason for being at CryptSpec. The suspicious payments into Barber’s account could have been from his side business, removing ransomware. Maybe he wasn’t the corporate spy.
“Barber’s suing for wrongful termination, so Mansfield wants to make sure we did everything right. Since Gifford was killed the same morning Barber got booted, it draws a lot of things into question, which probably have nothing to do with the job you did. I think it was just bad timing.”
Leaning back in the chair, I cursed. “What’s happened at CryptSpec since Friday morning?”
Kellan gnawed on another tortilla chip. “It’s hard to say. The police have barred us from interfering and have questioned most of the employees. I can’t get access. I don’t think you missed anything. I told Lucien that, but he just wants us to be thorough.”
“When you do speak to Barber, you should ask where the payments came from. I couldn’t track them. They were cash deposits he personally made. Initially, I assumed it was what the competition paid him for CryptSpec’s secrets, but maybe I was wrong.”
“Barber was, is, disgruntled. That was obvious from his evaluation reports and outbursts during meetings. CryptSpec’s security footage even caught a few arguments he had with Mansfield over his paycheck and value at the company. His personality fits the type. Barber thinks he’s smarter than the rest of them and wanted to prove it. Your conclusions are valid.”
“Except there’s a side hustle.”
Kellan rubbed a hand down his face. “You never made any mention of it.”
“I didn’t know about it at the time.”
“That was three days ago. What changed?” A knowing look erupted on his face. “That’s what the police uncovered in regards to Gifford’s murder.”
“I don’t have details, just that some guys at CryptSpec are repairing computers on the side.”
“That doesn’t sound particularly lucrative. There are a million repair shops that do the same thing.”
“Like I said, I don’t know much, but it has something to do with ransomware. People will pay just about anything to save their precious files.”
“Even if Barber made his money doing that and not by copying the company’s code, those are still grounds for termination. CryptSpec employees are prohibited from working on other projects.” Kellan stopped eating, his mind working on the facts despite the three shots of tequila. “And it paints Barber as a possible murder suspect, if Gifford was there to have his computer fixed and threatened to out Barber to Mansfield.” He reached for the laminated drink menu tucked behind the napkin holder. “I’m gonna need another drink because tomorrow morning I have to tell Lucien we’re dropping CryptSpec and the reason why. He is not going to be pleased.”
“Just blame me. I’m sure Cross will see this as my fault anyway.”
“Well, you are quite friendly with several police detectives. Not even Renner’s that nice to them, and he used to be a cop. You ever hook up with any of them? That O’Connell guy or what’s his name, the one working Gifford’s case?”
“Heathcliff.” I shook my head. “I don’t play where I work.”
Something about Kellan’s expression told me he didn’t necessarily believe me. “Mai tai?”
“I don’t want a drink.”
“Tonight, we need a vacation from work. Bahama mama?”
“What?” I tilted my head to read the description. “No, I need to stay sharp. I have to check the want ads when I get back to the office.”
“Come on, Alex. Dinner and drinks. You agreed.” He continued reading. “Skinny martini?”
“Just drink enough for both of us. I have work to do.”
He rolled his eyes. “So do I, but it’s going to wait until tomorrow.” When the waiter returned with our meal, Kellan ordered a pitcher of coconut rum mixed with some pineapple and lime juice. A few minutes later, the concoction was placed in the center of the table with two glasses outfitted with tiny umbrellas.
“I’m not drinking that,” I protested, even as Kellan filled both glasses to the brim. “What happened to fearing I had an addictive personality? Now you’re pressuring me to drink. Is this high school? Are you trying to get me drunk? Are you hoping to take advantage?”
He chuckled. “Sorry, sweetie, but you’re not my type. And since you don’t have a problem, what’s the harm?” He took a sip and dug into his mushroom and chorizo quesadilla. After a few bites, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell Lucien when you found out Barber might not be the mole?”
I blushed, feeling sheepish. To hide my embarrassment, I took a sip of the rum punch. It wasn’t bad, but it would have been better if I was drinking it on a beach with Martin. “My mind’s been on other things, and until you mentioned the possibility that I got it wrong, I never actually considered it.”
Kellan snickered. “It’s because you’re that good. It is highly improbable the great Alexis Parker could be wrong about anything.”
“Hardly.”
However, he was buzzed enough at this point to continue the jabs. “No, seriously, you solved what was considered an unsolvable case at Cross Security. And Lucien’s been kissing your ass ever since.”
“Are we talking about the same Lucien Cross?”
“Yes.” Kellan gave me a look. “Are the two of you boning?”
“God, no. Is that what people think?” From the look on his face, I was pretty sure the idea had just come to him at the spur of the moment, but I didn’t like it.
“You have to admit our boss treats you differently than everyone else at the office. At first, I thought it was because you were new. He tends to break all the newest hires of their bad habits and makes sure they know how things are done at Cross Security, but you’ve been around for four months. He’s obsessed with you.”
“Any idea why?”
“Sex. Money. Sex and money.” Kellan finished eating. “Except you said you aren’t screwing. So money?”
“Cross obviously has plenty of that.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want more.” Kellan gave me another look. “Rumor has it you have a whale on the hook.” I didn’t say anything, but Kellan was an astute investigator. He could read between the lines. “You’re lucrative for business, so Lucien wants to keep you happy. That’s what this is. You’re his ticket to the golden goose.”
I shook off my annoyance and dug through my wallet for some cash to cover dinner and drinks. Kellan Dey might be easy, but he definitely wasn’t cheap. “Thanks for covering for me on Friday, but had I known Lucien was so pliable to my whims, I wouldn’t have bothered asking for the favor.”
“Jeez, Alex, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just want to know what the deal is.”
“Sure, no problem.”
He stood up, and we made our way to the door. “I’ll walk you back to the office and grab a cab from there.”
“I’m okay. Can you get yourself home?”
He snorted. “When I was undercover with the DEA, I regularly drank a lot more than this. I’m fine.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Are we good?”
“Right as rain.”
He nodded, but I wasn’t sure he believed me. He stepped down from the curb and hailed a cab. In moments, a taxi stopped in front of us. He bid me good night, and the car drove off.
The office was only a few blocks away. The walk would give me time to clear my head. Honestly, I was annoyed, bordering on angry. I might have botched an investigation, which pissed me off. Seeing Stuart Gifford get killed also pissed me off, as did dealing with Don Klassi. Okay, so maybe the problem wasn’t figuring out what made me angry since everything was making me angry. The real kicker was Kellan’s questions about Cross. That bothered me more than anything else.
I never wanted special treatment. Never. Not here, not with Martin, and not at the OIO. But Kellan was right. Lucien did treat me differently, and I knew it had a lot to do with Martin. I just wasn’t sure what to do about it. Working for someone like Cross wasn’t what I wanted to do when I left the OIO, but I could barely make ends meet running a solo P.I. gig, which didn’t leave me with much of a choice.
A rustling sound caught my attention. I continued walking, focusing on the reflections in the windows I passed. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Glancing behind me, I saw several people moving in the same direction, but no one was paying an inordinate amount of attention to me. They didn’t appear threatening. Yet, the hairs at the back of my neck prickled. An alleyway was coming
up on my right, and I slowed, carefully approaching the opening.
When I got to the mouth, I turned my head and peered into the dark, prepared to fight or run, but no one was there. I was on edge. It was probably a result of my mental irritation. Sighing, I continued toward the office. A few steps past the alleyway, the shrill sound of a car alarm caused me to turn around. That’s when he struck.
Nine
My temple collided with the brick wall, but his grip remained firm on my upper arm. He spun me around. This time, turning me to face him. He slammed my back against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. The knife against my neck was ice cold, sending a shiver through me. There was no space between my skin and the razor-sharp edge. One wrong move and I’d be dead.
“Scream, and I’ll slice your throat,” he growled. His voice was husky and deep.
I didn’t dare take my eyes off of him. Surely, someone would notice us. He pulled me into the alley, not far from the mouth. People were walking on the street. Someone must have seen what happened.
He stepped on my feet, using his weight to keep me from moving. A dark mask concealed his face, making every detail about him impossible to determine. The first thing he did after shoving the knife against my throat was yank my purse off my arm and toss it away. It disappeared into the dark abyss. Obviously, this wasn’t a mugging.
Pressing against me, he cautioned a glance at the street. The moment someone walked by, he pushed harder on the blade, reminding me to keep quiet. I did as he wished.
For what felt like hours, he held me against the wall with his body and the knife. Once he was convinced the coast was clear, he turned his focus to me. Now that he had me, he seemed unsure how to proceed.
“What do you want?” I hissed, contemplating how to subdue him without dying in the process.
He was calm. He didn’t hurry or rush, nor did he act excited or aroused by the impending violence. He had complete control. He planned this carefully with no chance of failure. No surprises. Whatever was about to happen, he orchestrated. And he was confident. Too confident.