“Right,” Gabe got to his feet. “Publicity would be a disaster. If our identities as secret agents were exposed, it would ruin any chance of us helping you out with future undercover work.”
Lillian was almost to the door. “Wouldn’t want that.”
“True,” Arizona said. “Never know when we might have to call on you two again.”
She knew that something was bothering Gabe. The amusement that had carried him through last night’s investigation and this morning’s debriefing with Arizona had vanished. When she had called him to suggest a walk on the beach a short while ago, he had agreed, but she could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere.
He had met her at the top of the beach path. She had noticed immediately that the cool, remote quality was back. At least she had finally figured out that the withdrawn air did not automatically indicate major depression or burnout. It meant that he was doing some heavy-duty thinking.
At last. Progress in the quest to understand the deeper elements of Gabriel Madison’s enigmatic nature.
He moved easily beside her, his jacket collar pulled up around his neck, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. She recognized this brooding mood, she suddenly realized. She had experienced it often enough herself. It came upon her at times when she was struggling to find the key to the inner vision of a picture. She wondered why she had never understood the similarity before.
She did not try to draw him out of whatever distant space he was exploring. Instead she contented herself with setting an energetic pace for both of them. The tide was out, exposing small, rocky pools. She picked a route through the driftwood and assorted debris that had been deposited by the last storm.
Gabe did not speak until they had almost reached Eclipse Arch, the rock monolith that dominated the beach.
“How well do you know Flint?” he asked without any preamble.
The question took her by surprise.
“Anderson?” She came to a halt. “Not well at all. He moved into the same office building in Portland about six months ago. Like I said, we had some conversations of a professional nature. That’s about it.”
“You told me that he wanted to buy your matchmaking program.”
She shrugged. “And I explained to him that it wasn’t for sale.”
“Maybe he figured he could get it another way,” Gabe said.
“What other way is there?” Then it hit her. “Good grief. You don’t really think Anderson would try to… to steal it, do you? But-”
“I checked with the college public affairs office this morning. There is no conference of any kind scheduled at Chamberlain this week or next. Flint lied when he said that he was in town to attend a professional seminar.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
She started walking again, mulling over the possibilities. “Okay, maybe he made up the story about being here for a conference. I can see where he might have followed me to try to talk me into selling him the program. But it’s hard to envision him actually breaking into my apartment and the cottage.”
“Why? You’ve got something he wants. You refused to sell it to him. In his mind that might not leave a lot of options.”
“Yes, but-” She trailed off, trying to sort out the logic. “Anderson is a sex therapist, for heaven’s sake.”
“He hasn’t been one for long.”
That stopped her in her tracks. “I beg your pardon?”
“After I called Chamberlain, I talked to some people I know in Portland and went online for some research. The institution that issued Flint’s professional credentials is a mail-order outfit.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a paper mill. You pay them money, they give you a fancy piece of paper.”
“In other words, his credentials are bogus?”
“Let’s just say that his alma mater is not real rigorous when it comes to academic standards.”
She thought about the women she had seen in Anderson’s waiting room. A shudder went through her. “Talk about a lawsuit waiting to happen. And I thought I was on dangerous ground.”
“Funny you should mention the wordlawsuit.”
“Why?”
“Turns out that Flint reinvented himself as a sex therapist after he got into legal troubles in his former profession.”
She groaned. “I’m afraid to ask but I can’t help myself. What did he do before he went into the field of sex therapy?”
“He headed up a consortium that invested heavily in some Internet ventures that disappeared into thin air.”
“Are you telling me Anderson is a complete fraud?”
“No. From what I could learn this morning, it appears that no one has as yet managed to prove that. Flint appears to have a talent for staying inside the gray area between legal and illegal activities. But a guy like that might not have any qualms about trying to steal a computer program.”
“Great.” She took her hands out of her pockets and spread them wide. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“I think,” Gabe said, “that we should have a conversation with J. Anderson Flint.”
The motel was typical of many that dotted the winding coast road that led to and from Eclipse Bay, a little down at the heels and mostly empty at this time of year. The rooms all opened directly onto the outside sidewalk. There were three cars parked in front of three doors. Two of the vehicles were mud-splattered SUVs. The third was a sparkling-clean late-model Lincoln.
Gabe brought the Jag to a halt at the far end of the parking lot and studied the blue Lincoln.
“What do you want to bet that’s his car?”
Lillian followed his gaze. Tension angled her shoulders.
“If you’re wrong, this could be a little hard to explain,” she said.
“I told you to let me handle this on my own.”
“I can’t do that and you know it. Anderson is my problem.”
“Correction.” He cracked open the door and got out. “He’sour problem.”
He closed the door before she could argue.
She emerged from the Jag without another word. Together they walked to Number Seven.
Gabe knocked twice. Anderson opened the door immediately. He wore gray trousers and a blue sweater that matched his car and his eyes. He did not look at all surprised to see them standing outside his room.
“I wondered when you two would get here,” he said.
Lillian looked at him unhappily. “We came to talk to you, Anderson.”
“Obviously.” Flint held the door open. “You might as well come inside. I trust this won’t take long. I’ve got a meeting with Marilyn in an hour.”
Lillian entered the room warily. “A meeting?”
“I’m going to be taking over as her campaign manager.”
“I don’t understand.” Lillian hesitated for a moment. “You’re taking Claire’s place?”
“Marilyn made her decision last night,” Anderson said.
“Is that what she was doing?” Gabe moved into the small room. “Selecting a new campaign manager? I wondered.”
“Save your pathetic little jokes for someone else.” Raw anger sharpened the lines of Anderson’s face. He closed the door with sudden force. “I don’t have time for your crude humor.”
“Congratulations, Anderson,” Lillian said quietly. “I didn’t know you were interested in politics.”
“I wasn’t until I met Marilyn.” An odd light appeared in his eyes. “It’s obvious that she needs me.”
He means it, Gabe thought. What the hell was going on here?
Lillian watched Anderson closely. “Why do you say Marilyn needs you?”
“She’s a brilliant candidate but it’s clear from the way she fired Claire Jensen on impulse that she lacks maturity and experience. I can bring those strengths to her campaign.”
“I see,” Lillian said.
Gabe leaned against the closed door and folded his arms. He took stock of the room. From t
he thin bedspread to the faded flower-print curtains, it fit in with the rest of the establishment. A bit on the seedy side. He had a hunch it was not a J. Anderson Flint kind of place. But, then, Flint hadn’t had a lot of choice when it came to accommodations here on the coast. Too bad Dreamscape wasn’t up and running. Hannah and Rafe could have made some money off him.
“If you’re going to join Marilyn’s campaign, can we assume that you’ll be giving up your practice in Portland?” Lillian asked.
“Yes, of course.” Anderson sounded impatient.
“What about your clients?” Lillian said. “Are you just going to abandon them?”
“There are other sex therapists. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
“Probably no worse off, at any rate,” Gabe said.
Anderson scowled. “There are priorities here. The transition to a new campaign manger has to be made without delay. Any loss of momentum at this juncture could be disastrous for Marilyn.”
“Sure,” Gabe said. “Gotta have a seamless transition. I understand that. Hell of a sacrifice on your part, though.”
“Marilyn’s candidacy is far more important than my personal business affairs.”
“If you say so.”
“She has a great deal to give to this country.” Anderson’s rich voice was laced with what sounded like genuine fervor. “I can help her achieve her full potential.”
“Your patriotic duty to get her elected, is that it?” Gabe asked.
Anderson’s expression tightened. “I don’t have time for this. There’s no point expecting you to comprehend what’s at stake here. Let’s get down to business.”
Lillian cleared her throat. “We didn’t actually come here to talk about business.”
Anderson made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know why you’re here. You came to bargain for access.”
Lillian looked baffled. “Access to what?”
“To Marilyn, of course.” Anderson did not look at her. He kept his attention on Gabe. “We all know that when she’s elected, she’ll have a great deal of power. You want me to guarantee that you’ll have access to her, isn’t that right, Madison? A man in your position likes to have friends in high places.”
Lillian stared. “You don’t understand.”
“Of course I do.” Anderson flicked a quick glance at her. “What’s the matter, didn’t Madison tell you how he intended to use those pictures?”
“But we don’t have any photos,” Lillian said. “Marilyn took the camera, remember?”
“Don’t give me that crap. I know you had two cameras last night.”
“Why do you say that?” Gabe asked.
“You were too quick to turn the first one over to Marilyn when she demanded it.” Flint moved his hand in a small arc. “There’s only one reason why you would do that. You knew you had backup.”
“That’s not true.” Lillian was indignant.
“The double-camera routine is as old as the hills.” Anderson cut off her protest with a patently bored look. “It buys the photographer some time to escape an unpleasant confrontation. The victim thinks she’s confiscated the incriminating film and doesn’t realize until too late that there is another set of photos.”
“You sound familiar with the technique,” Gabe said.
“I didn’t tell Marilyn because I knew it would upset her. Now that I’m her manager, it’s my job to handle this type of incident. I certainly don’t intend to allow her to be destroyed by the same type of cheap blackmail that ruined her husband’s campaign.”
“How dare you imply that we would do something like that?” Lillian was furious now. “We didn’t come here to blackmail Marilyn.”
Anderson paid no attention to her. “Just tell me what you want, Madison, and I’ll see to it that you get it, provided that you destroy those photos.”
“What we want,” Gabe said evenly, “are some answers.”
Anderson’s brows came together in a puzzled scowl. “Answers to what?”
“Did you break into Lillian’s apartment in Portland?”
For an instant Anderson appeared frozen in place. Then he came up out of the chair. He was practically vibrating with outrage.
“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“To look for her computer program,” Gabe said. “You can save the act. It’s good but it’s not that good.”
“I did not break into her apartment.” Each word was pronounced with unnatural precision.
“And what about her cottage here in Eclipse Bay?” Gabe said. “I assume that was you, too, but I’ll admit that incident is a little confusing because of the assault on Arizona Snow.”
“I don’t even know anyone named Arizona Snow,” Anderson gritted.
“Maybe that was an unrelated event, after all,” Lillian said to Gabe.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t get past the coincidence thing.”
“Coincidences happen,” she pointed out.
Anderson swung around to face her. “Stop it. Both of you. You can’t make false accusations like this. You can’t prove a damn thing.”
“You’re right about not being able to prove anything,” Gabe said.
Anderson settled himself, relieved. “I knew it.”
“That’s why we came here instead of going to the cops. Of course, if you’d rather we went to Marilyn, we can do that. She might be interested to hear about your legal problems back in the days when you were selling online investments.”
Shock flashed on Anderson’s face. “Marilyn would never listen to you.”
“Don’t bank on it,” Lillian responded. “She and Gabe have a history. They go back a long way, I think Marilyn would listen to him if he told her that he didn’t believe that you were a good choice for campaign manager.”
“You can’t do that,” Anderson stammered. “You have no right. Nothing was ever proven.”
“All we want is confirmation that you went through Lillian’s things looking for her matchmaking program,” Gabe demanded.
Anderson abruptly turned away toward the window. He gazed bleakly out at the motel parking lot.
“I did not break into Lillian’s apartment or the cottage,” he said eventually, again enunciating each word with care.
“Let’s not quibble over the details.” Gabe watched him closely. “Maybe you didn’tbreak into her apartment. Maybe you let yourself inside with keys that you either duplicated from her key ring or conned out of the housekeeping staff or the manager.”
Lillian flashed him a startled look. Her mouth opened but she closed it quickly without saying a word.
“The cottage was a problem,” Gabe went on, “because you didn’t have a key so you had to pry open the door. The second time you smashed a window. By then you had heard about our theory that Lillian was being stalked. Word of that kind of thing gets around fast in a small town. You trashed her studio hoping to keep us looking in that direction. You didn’t want us thinking there might be another motive for the break-ins.”
“I am not a stalker.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Gabe said. “But I think it’s pretty clear that Marilyn can’t afford to be connected to a campaign manager who goes around imitating stalkers. Or one who breaks into apartments and cottages, for that matter. Bad for the image, you know.”
“It’s a lie. I didn’t trash Lillian’s studio. You can’t do this to me.”
“All we want is the truth,” Gabe said.
“Damn it, I won’t let you ruin this for me.”
Without warning, Anderson spun away from the window and flung himself at Gabe.
“Anderson, no,” Lillian called. “Stop. This won’t solve anything.”
But Anderson was beyond reason. Gabe managed to sidestep the initial charge but Anderson wheeled with startling speed and came at him again. This time Gabe found himself trapped in the corner, the television set on one side, a lamp on the other.
He took the only way out, going low to duck Anderson’s swinging fist. Anderson’s hand struck the wall where Gabe had been standing a second earlier. A shuddering jolt went through him. Gabe heard him suck in an anguished breath.
He caught Anderson by the legs and shoved hard. The momentum toppled both of them to the rug. They went down with a stunning thud, Anderson on the bottom. He struggled wildly, fighting back with a reckless fury, completely out of control. He hammered the floor with his heels and managed to slam a fist into Gabe’s ribs. He twisted violently, trying to lurch free.
Gabe finally pinned him to the rug, using his weight to force him to lie still.
Trapped, Anderson stared up at him. Gabe felt him go limp as the hurricane of violence dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared.
“I don’t want her hurt, do you understand?” Anderson’s voice was ragged. “I’ll do whatever you want-just don’t hurt her.”
“Listen to me, Anderson, no one wants to hurt Marilyn. We just want the truth.” Gabe tightened his hands on Anderson’s shoulders. “Tell me about the break-ins.”
“All right. Okay. I did go into Lillian’s apartment. But I didn’t break in, damn it. I went in with the cleaning people.”
“It was that easy?”
Anderson nodded. “It was that easy. Just told them I was there to check out some electrical problems. People trust you when you wear a uniform with your name on it.”
Lillian moved closer. Gabe sensed the shock that gripped her. He caught a glimpse of her hands. They were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. But her voice was surprisingly steady.
“Did you want the matchmaking program that badly, Anderson?” she asked. “I told you, it wasn’t magic. Just a standard personality inventory analysis program that I used together with a dose of common sense.”
Anderson looked up at her. “It wasn’t the damned matchmaking program I wanted, you little fool. It was the data on your clients.”
“Myclients.”
“Don’t you get it?” He made a disgusted sound. “Hell, you really don’t know what you’ve got, do you? Don’t you have any concept of what that client database is worth? You’ve got detailed background information on some of the wealthiest, most successful, most powerful people in the city. Hell, in the whole damn state.”
Dawn in Eclipse Bay eb-2 Page 24