by Kayt Miller
Deciding to put the box back, I pull the drawer open a bit further, preparing to set it back into the drawer when I see one. A thumb drive sitting in the back corner like a lonely girl at a school dance. “Thank god,” I whisper. I reach in and wrap my fingers around it, pulling it into my tight grip.
That’s when I hear it. A deep voice. A man’s voice. “Miss Palmer?”
Shit, I’m so busted.
Chapter 6
Ian
“Miss Palmer?”
I’ve been watching the little minx since she entered the stairwell on the main level. We’ve got cameras in three out of four emergency stairwells. The fourth set has cameras installed. Unfortunately, due to some building electrical issues, they won’t go live until next week. Staring at the security monitor in front of me, I watched the door open as a blonde woman in heels and a tight little skirt stepped through. I recognized her almost immediately in spite of the terrible wig and glasses she’d donned. I’d know those legs anywhere. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“Who?” asks my partner, Jason.
I realize I said that loud enough for him to hear and that’s not a good thing. “No one.”
With a deep chuckle, Jason asks, “One of your hook-ups, boss?”
Jason is my subordinate. One I spend way too much time with. He’s twenty-six and clueless about everything except computers. I should just say yes to get him off my back. “Yeah.”
“Jesus, dude. You sure get around for an old guy.”
Old guy? I’m forty-one. The prime of my life. My sex drive is more potent now than it ever was in my twenties. Hell, I had no idea how good fucking could be until my late-thirties. Not until after Catherine, but that sob story’ll have to wait. Right now, I’ve got to go talk to my little interloper.
“Be back later.”
“Sure thing. You want me to keep keepin’ on?”
Keep keepin’ on? What is this, the seventies? “Yeah. Keep an eye on the party. That’s your focus.” If his eyes are on that, and only that, he won’t get his nosey ass involved with what I’m about to do. “Back in a while. Going to walk the perimeter.”
“Right on, Ian.”
Jesus.
I step out of our makeshift office on the thirteenth floor and consider taking the elevator down to eleven but that’d be too noisy. I opt for the set of stairs next to the elevator, the one without functioning cameras, and walk quietly down the two flights.
I think I know where she’s going. The question is why?
On eleven, I step out into the semi-dark offices of Heart & Sole Shoes, my current employer. My company, Phoenix Cyber Security, has been hired to consult on the recent embezzlement of just north of a million dollars. Money they’re convinced Miss Palmer stole after discovering discrepancies in her customer invoices. According to the CFO, Miss Palmer created several dummy companies that billed H&S. She then paid those companies money that was funneled into accounts set up in her name.
The thing is, my gut tells me she didn’t do it. Not only that, the reaction on her face when they told her about the missing money was authentic. You can’t make that shit up. As a trained behavioral analyst in my previous career, I can read people. Not only was Miss Palmer shocked and surprised, the employees in the room, one in particular, were especially nervous. My eye is on that person, not pretty little Agatha Palmer. The moment out on the sidewalk, when she looked me in the eye with her own pleading gray ones, only reinforced it.
Another discordant point to that entire meeting was the fact they told her there was only one hundred thousand missing. That was Garlock’s idea. They hired us to find the money and we’ve only been able to locate a small portion of it––so far. We’re still searching for the other nine hundred thousand. Drake Garlock is convinced she’s got it somewhere. So, now we’re holed up in an office on thirteen spending our days watching a wall of monitors while Jason does his nerd thing attempting to find out where she, or someone else, squirreled away the rest of the money. Whoever took it knew how to hide their tracks. I only have theories right now. That’s one reason we installed cameras in all of the communal spaces, the stairwells, and around the office. Whoever did it will make a mistake at some point. They always do.
Garlock gave us sixty days to find the remaining cash before he presses charges against Agatha Palmer. Yeah, that’s the other thing. The reason they told her it was just over one hundred thousand? So, they could charge her later for the additional monies. It was a dick move on Garlock’s part, but it wasn’t my place to argue. She signed that non-disclosure agreement, which was actually more of a confession, without reading it. I wanted to step forward and whisper in her ear, read what you’re signing. It’s another reason I decided to work to clear her name. The real embezzler would never have signed a damn thing.
The first day or two after her firing, I did background checks on Agatha.
Agatha Palmer
Age: 29
Height: 5’5”
Weight: 153
Address: 166 S. Navajo, Page, Arizona
Property Type: Own
Payment amount: $598 / month
Driver’s License State: Arizona
Title: Accountant
Annual Income: $45,986.00
Years at H&S: 8
Marital Status: Single
Children: None
Criminal record: None
Social Media: Facebook, Snapchat, Twitter
That check included her family, her bank account, and I staked out her house for a few nights. I learned a lot about her. I know she’s twenty-nine years old, has four sisters, one father (a widower), and no pets. Her credit is very good; she owns her little house and a small car, and she’s got only one good friend, Camille, who also works here. Agatha graduated from Arizona State University with a degree in accounting and has since earned her Certified Public Accounting degree.
I also know she likes pizza. A lot. I know she was holed up in her house for days after her termination. Instinct also told me that if she’d taken that money and she thought she’d gotten away with it, she’d have packed up and flown off to someplace like Tahiti. But she didn’t. She ordered pizza and drank too much wine. (Don’t ask me how I know that. I’m not always proud of my methods.) From her behavior alone, I knew she was depressed. Experience told me she’d been set up to take the fall.
As quietly as possible, I make my way to her former office. I can’t think where else she’d go. I know she didn’t forget anything. We went through her office with a fine-toothed comb. There was nothing out of the ordinary there. Just manuals, memos, and customer files. She had no evidence of the phony invoices, which wasn’t surprising. When I hear a filing cabinet drawer slide open, I know my instincts are spot-on. She’s in her old office. As stealth as I can be, I step toward the opening of her former cubicle. I scan her office quickly, finding her leaning into her top filing drawer cabinet. I quickly take her in, head to toe, and internally groan. The woman is sexy as hell. Her legs look amazingly curvy and long for such a petite woman. The tight skirt only accentuates her assets.
I shake my head to help me focus. I watch her reach in and pull out a folder, setting it on her desk. Next, she opens the second drawer, again, reaching inside. She pulls out a small plastic box, one I’d searched as well but found empty. I watch as she opens the box, peers inside, and slumps in defeat. She’d expected to find something inside? As I was about to speak, I watch her start to replace the box and then stop. She quickly reaches into the drawer, a small gasp exiting her mouth. She found something. Something I must have missed. As she starts to retrieve whatever it was, I take that moment to speak. “Miss Palmer?”
She shrieks as she jerks her head to look at me. With a voice so nervous it quivers, she asks me, “Am I under arrest?”
“No. I’m not a cop.”
In a whisper, she asks, “You’re the one who escorted me out, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not a cop?”
“I used to be.”
“How did you know I was here?”
I ignore the question for the time being. “Why are you here, Miss Palmer?”
“You’re not going to bust me?” she asks, overlooking my question.
“No, Agatha, I’m not going to arrest you. I don’t have that kind of power.” I chuckle.
I think I may have surprised her saying her name as I did because she’s silent for a moment. She must not think it’s funny because she’s not laughing. Hell, she’s not even smiling. If I had to bet, I’d say that wetness gathering around her eyes means she’s the opposite of laughing. “Please don’t cry. Just give me whatever you took from the file drawer and you’re free to go.”
“No.”
“No?” I arch my brow. That response was unexpected.
“No. I need it.”
“Why? It’s company property. It’s stealing.”
She scoffs. “It’s not company property. It’s mine. I paid for it.” I arch a brow. She must know why because she adds, “I didn’t take that money.”
When her hand moves up to the wig, I expect her to adjust it but instead, she pulls it off. Her strawberry blonde hair is smooth and pulled tightly into a knot at the base of her head. Looking down at her hand that’s fisted around something small she continues, “These are my files.”
“Files? What kind of files?”
“Why should I tell you? You’re just going to pull me down to the station.”
“I told you, I’m not a cop.”
“What are you then? A private dick?”
A cough escapes me. “A private what?”
“A private detective.” She rolls her eyes and mutters, “Everyone knows what a private dick is.”
“I’m not a private detective. I work for a security company.”
I watch her closely as she visibly stiffens. “Again, why should I tell you anything? You were the one who dragged me out of here. You work for Drake.”
I step closer to her. I’m not sure why I feel the need to comfort her, but I have the overwhelming sense that I should reassure her. “I believe what you said the day you left.”
“Left? I was fired. Escorted out. I didn’t just leave.”
“I stand corrected.” I smile down at her. God, she’s pretty. “The day you were fired, you looked me in the eye and told me you were innocent. I believed you.”
I can practically see the wheels turning in her pretty head. “You did? But not anymore?”
“I still do. Now tell me what you have in your hand.”
Sighing, she leans back until her ass is on the edge of her desk. “I told you. It’s just my files.”
“What files?”
“My files. My invoices. I always saved my work. I always backed everything up in case something went missing.” She rolls her eyes. “Or wrong.”
“You saved all of your invoices? All of them?”
“Well, I did. Most of the thumb drives are gone. I found one at the back of the drawer.”
“That’s what was in the box?”
She looks surprised at the question, but she answers anyway. “Yes. Five years worth of saved invoices. Gone. This one—” she brings her hand closer to her face, “—is all that’s left.
I step back from her, placing my arm on the top of the cubicle wall. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you save invoices?”
She shrugs. “I just do. Or did. When I paid a bill, I saved a copy of my invoice to my desktop folder. Every Friday afternoon, I’d drag the files onto the external thumb drive. It’s just an OCD habit.”
Running my hand through my short hair I turn to face her. “Can I see what you’ve got?
“Why? You can’t do anything.”
“I think you’re wrong about that.”
“Why should I believe you? I have no idea who you are or why you’re trying to ‘help’ me.” She uses her fingers to emphasize the word help.
“Meet me tomorrow.” I pull a business card out of my inside jacket pocket. I hold it out to her and she takes it. “Away from here. I’ll tell you what I know. After that, you can decide if you want to trust me or not.”
She rolls her pretty eyes, but instead of speaking, she just looks at me.
“All I ask is for you to meet with me once. You can make up your mind after that.”
“Where do you want to meet?”
“Your house on Grandview Avenue.”
She stands upright quickly, her eyes as round as saucers. “My house? You know where I live?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she says, too loudly.
Stepping toward her, I place my palms on her upper arms. She stiffens at my touch. “Shh, you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.” Sliding my palms down her arms, then up again, I do my best to ease the tension I feel in her body. “I did my homework. Yes, I know where you live. If you don’t want to meet there, name the place.”
“Fine. Sadie Cakes Bakery on North Navajo.”
“Your sister’s bakery?”
Her eyes bulge a little larger than before, “Yes. M-my sister’s bakery.”
“I’ll meet you there. Does ten work for you?”
“Ten. Yes.”
“Now, put that terrible wig back on and take the northwest set of stairs. There are no cameras working in that stairwell.”
“Cameras? There were cameras?”
“Yes, but don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of the footage. But, get going.”
“Right. Thanks, Mr. um…”
“Ian. Just Ian.”
“Ian. Thanks.” Sliding the wig back on her head, she moves out of the office, and down the dark hallway toward the stairwell.
I watch the door until I know she’s gone. Quickly, I step toward her filing cabinet to search her drawers one more time. I’m going to kick my own ass for missing that thumb drive. As I exit her office, I pick up the folder she left on the desk and head back up to thirteen.
Chapter 7
Agatha
I high-tail it down eleven flights of stairs so fast I nearly fall off my heels a couple of times. I’m not sure why. I know that man, Ian, isn’t following me. The question is, why isn’t he following me? He seems to be playing some kind of game with me. Either that or he was honest up there. But I can’t think about what happened upstairs right now. No, right now, I need to get the hell out of here before someone else sees me.
On the main level, I stop at the exit door, place my ear against it, and listen for voices or footsteps before stepping out into the hallway. When I hear nothing, I relax enough to catch my breath and use the sleeve of my blouse to wipe the sweat from my brow. I straighten my wig again and push the door open. The hallway is clear, so I quickly walk to the catering area. People are still busy working. I see they’re plating up dessert now. I move around the perimeter of the space toward the back door.
I’m about to be free and clear when I hear, “Abby?”
Shit. I slowly turn to see Beth approaching.
“Oh, hey,” I say, doing my best to act nonchalant. From the look on her face, I’m guessing she knows I’ve been MIA.
“Look. I have no idea what the hell’s going on with you tonight. I know you don’t work for me because I do the hiring, since it is my company.” She raises an eyebrow. “Here.” She pulls a business card out of her pocket and hands it to me. “If you ever want a job, for real, call me. I was impressed with your work.” She turns away, then back. “At least the parts where you were actually working.” She smirks.
I stare down at her card. “Thanks.”
I turn to go when she adds, “If you come into the office and fill out paperwork, I’ll pay you for tonight.”
Looking up, I see Beth wink at me. “Thanks, Beth.”
“No problem. See you Abby.” She says my fake name with emphasis. She knows. Damn, she should be a sleuth too.
I race the two blocks to my car, slide inside, and start
it up. Tearing out of my parking spot, I refuse to think about anything until I’m home. I need to work through all of this and I can’t do that and concentrate on my driving. It’s not safe.
“What do you mean he wants to help you?”
I’m talking to my baby sister, Violet. I could talk to my other sisters too, but Violet is the only other one that isn’t going to judge me. The other three siblings tend to overreact especially about something as stupid as what I did last night. Yes, Violet and I are very different, but she gets me.
“He said, and I quote, ‘I believe what you said the day you left.’”
“Did he say why he believed you? Does he have proof that someone else took the money? Is he going to tell Drake Gargoyle?”
I let out a surprised laugh. I have always referred to Drake Garlock as Drake Gargoyle with my sisters because a) he looks a little like a gargoyle with his big ears, slumped shoulders, and ever-present snarling expression, and b) because he’s passed me over for promotions three different times, each time promoting a man with less experience and even less degrees. Keely calls him a misogynist, but I’ve got no evidence of that. I just don’t think he likes me.
“I don’t know if he’s got proof, Vi. I’m supposed to meet him at the bakery tomorrow at ten.”
“In the morning?”
“Yes, of course in the morning. Sadie Cakes isn’t open at night.”
“You’ve got a key. The question wasn’t completely off-base.”
“True.” We all have keys to Sadie’s bakery––just in case. “Are you working tomorrow?”
Violet helps Sadie out from time to time. She likes decorating cakes and Sadie gives her free reign to design and decorate whatever she wants. I think it’s Violet’s creative outlet. “I can be. I don’t have class until later in the afternoon.”