Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  ****

  Bonnie waited for Mr. Brewer to call her into his office and rake her across the coals for looking at unauthorized files, but the day passed without a summons. Other tasks demanded her attention, and by the end of the week, her tightly wound nerves had relaxed. When Mr. Brewer walked by her office and gave a friendly wave, Bonnie she realized maybe the vice president hadn’t viewed her firm response as insubordination.

  And then she started to get mad.

  What had the visit in David Bentley’s office been about? If he were truly concerned about her behavior, he would have followed up with her supervisor. Was it his practice to intimidate women as a power high? Sexual misconduct? Had he treated other employees the way he had treated her? Had they cowered and given in to his thinly veiled threats?

  For what purpose?

  Bonnie stood and walked to Mr. Brewer’s office. Since he’d passed by only a few minutes before, she knew he hadn’t settled down to work yet. His door was open, and he sat at his desk sipping from a coffee cup. Bonnie knocked on the frame.

  His eyes met hers over the ceramic rim, and he sat the cup down. He waved her into the room. “Good morning, Bonnie. What can I do for you?”

  Bonnie entered. “Hi, Mr. Brewer.” She stood behind the chair in front of his desk. “I met David Bentley earlier this week. He called me up to his office.”

  The man shook his head. “Who?”

  “David Bentley. Vice President of Security.”

  He drew his head back, his quizzical expression appeared genuine. “There’s not a Vice President of Security.” He turned to his computer and moved the keyboard close to the edge of the desk, his fingers moving over the keys. “David Bentley. David Bentley. I’m not finding him.”

  That can’t be. Bonnie had found him immediately in the staff search. Bonnie walked around to the corner of his desk so she could see his screen. “But you know him.” The screen showed no such person was in their database. How could that be? Did Mr. Brewer’s computer have a filter her computer didn’t have?

  He shrugged his shoulders. “If I’ve met him, I don’t remember it.”

  “He called you during our meeting. He called you ‘Charlie’.”

  “Well, there’s a clue right there he doesn’t know me. Nobody calls me Charlie and gets away with it.”

  “Not even the VP?”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Of Security? Uh-uh. We have a Vice President of Investments, a Vice President of Services, and a General Vice President. The Vice President you met is of Practical Jokes. You surprise me. I wouldn’t think you’d be gullible enough to be taken by anyone around here.”

  “I’m not usually. Who would do such a thing?”

  “Jason in the mail room? He thinks everything is so funny.” The older man huffed. “He ever comes within fifty feet of my office with another whoopee cushion, I’m having him escorted off the premises permanently after I wipe the floor with him.”

  Bonnie grimaced. She’d never been a big fan of bathroom humor.

  Mr. Brewer sat back in his chair. “You don’t think it was a scam, do you? Did they ask for information on anyone?”

  Bonnie shifted in her chair. “Not any personal information, no.” She didn’t want to volunteer that the imposter VP had questioned her about looking at unauthorized files.

  “Odd. Well, let me know if it’s something we need to follow up on.”

  Bonnie nodded. The mystery churned in her mind. “Thanks. I will. See you later.” She walked out of his office and headed toward her own workspace. Sitting down, she typed David Bentley’s name in the database. Nothing. How could that be? If the staff listing no longer indicated him as a Vice President, then did he still have his office? Only one way to find out. She closed her screen, logged off, and marched toward the elevator. Pushing the up button, she crossed her arms over her chest, and her anger returned billowing into a mushroom cloud. If this was some practical joke, it sure wasn’t funny. When the doors opened, she stepped inside and pressed the top floor.

  Executive offices.

  When the doors opened again, she stepped into the carpeted hallway and down to the office she’d been to previously. The door was locked, and the holder—which had held a sign identifying the office as belonging to David Bentley—was missing. Bonnie walked down the corridor and found three more closed doors, all with vacant holders. At the end of the hallway was the Vice President in charge of investments. Bonnie looked inside the open doorway. A man sat at the desk typing on a computer keyboard. He stopped and looked at her. “Hi. May I help you?”

  Bonnie stepped into the room. “Hello. I’m looking for Mr. Bentley’s office. I thought it was on this hallway, first door on the right?”

  His eyebrows went down quizzically. “I don’t know Mr. Bentley, and those offices are empty. The only people on this side of the floor are my boss, Felicia Stover and Becky Ross and Louis Fitzpatrick who are the chief investment officers. It’s pretty quiet up here otherwise.”

  “I was up here Monday morning in a meeting with a man who told me he was the Vice President of Security.”

  “On this floor?”

  “Yes. Just down the hall.”

  “Monday we were at a stock holding workshop in Pittsburgh. There shouldn’t have been anyone up here.”

  “May I use your phone? I’d like to call security.”

  Chapter Three

  He nodded, and Bonnie placed the call. Twenty minutes later, Steven Preston, one of the security guards, stood next to her in the office where she had sparred with Mr. Bentley. The room was completely bare. No furniture. No computer, even the curtains were missing. If this were a prank, it sure had been an elaborate one.

  “I know this is the office where I was,” Bonnie insisted. Just to be sure, Steven had unlocked the two offices next to this one. They all appeared the same. Vacant.

  Steven cast her a look of pity. He obviously thought she was crazy.

  “I don’t understand it. Why would someone do something like this?”

  “No one could have gotten access to these offices without security knowing about it,” Steven said. “Especially to move furniture. Are you sure you have the right floor?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Bonnie placed her hands on her hips in frustration. Grrr. The officer flicked his eyes at her stance. She huffed and crossed her arms.

  “See, the thing about it is there isn’t a Vice President of Security. I mean, we have Sergeant Beam, but he’s—”

  “This man implied he was in charge of protecting the security of information. Like, computer files and such.”

  “Oh.” Steven reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad. “I can take a description of him, and we can be on the lookout.”

  Bonnie sighed. “I suppose.” She was pretty sure he was just placating her. Humoring the crazy woman in retirement systems.

  A few minutes later, she rode down the elevator to her floor. Anger whirled with confusion inside her head. Someone had lied to her, but why? If it had been a joke, the culprit hadn’t come forward. Was it to get information from one of her cases? That was the whole reason Marla had warned her….

  Marla!

  Was she trying to scare me into not hacking into any more files on her computer? Marla didn’t seem the type.

  But….

  Bonnie entered her office and stopped short. A man sat on the chair in front of her desk. Jet-black hair, cut close to his head and broad shoulders under a charcoal suit jacket.

  “Hello?” she asked as she walked around him and toward her desk. “I’m Bonnie Moore. May I help you?”

  He’d had one ankle crossed over the other, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was attractive; his prominent nose had a slight bump, giving him an edgy appearance that didn’t quite fit with the suit. And his dark eyes pierced her as if he had X-ray vision. He uncrossed his legs and stood up. Holding his hand out to her, he bowed his head, and his perfectly shaped lips crooked in a flirty smile. Something
familiar stirred in her. Had she met him before? No. She’d remember it. Him.

  “Mrs. Moore. I’m Brandt Sherrod. I believe you’ve been trying to get in touch with me.”

  Bonnie reached forward and shook his hand. His clasp was warm and firm. She stepped back and walked toward the door to close it. The gesture gave her time to recover her shock. He was here. He was really here.

  With the door shut, she turned around to face him. He watched her. That familiar feeling nibbled at her. It was more than just seeing his photograph at sixteen years old. “Have we met?”

  “Not formally, no.”

  Bonnie studied him, ignoring the pull of attraction. Oh, my gosh, he was good looking, but it was in a bad boy kind of way. That suit didn’t fool her.

  “What does that mean? Not formally.” Bonnie walked to her desk and sat down.

  Brandt followed suit. “You sent me an email.” He crooked his head; a sparkle of humor lit his gaze. “I admire your tactics though I should admonish you. Duping on old woman so you can troll the contacts on her computer seems unethical.”

  Bonnie’s heart raced. “Excuse me?”

  “My Aunt Louise. You visited her and found my email in her contacts on her computer.”

  “Is that what she told you? What must she think of me.”

  He sat back, his dark gaze assessing her. Bonnie kept eye contact as long as she could stand it, knowing he was attempting to…what? Intimidate her? No. It was more like he was working out a solution to a math problem written on a white board. She focused on her garbage can at the side of her desk and gasped.

  That’s it! She had seen Brandt before right here in this office. He’d worn a custodian uniform and had a bald head. Now his hair was short but not that short. How had he managed growing it back in less than a month? And why had he been dressed as a custodian? Had he been checking to see if she were legitimate?

  Or was he actually a custodian impersonating Brandt Sherrod so he could receive a big fat check from the Commonwealth of Kentucky?

  “Is there something wrong, Mrs. Moore?”

  Play it cool. The best way to do that was to give her hands something to do so he didn’t notice how bad they were shaking. She opened a drawer in her desk and withdrew Delores Park’s file. Another drawer for a pen. Picking up her glasses, she slipped them on and opened the file folder. She glanced down at the acquisition form she’d placed there and then over the frames at the man sitting in front of her. “We didn’t have an appointment. How did you get up here?”

  “I’m a ninja. But I suppose you already know that.”

  The pen she had been holding clattered to the desk, and she picked it up. “You don’t look like a ninja.”

  “Met a lot of us, have you?” His voice was soft as if he were sharing a secret.

  Bonnie ignored the tingle, which skittered down her spine. “I’ll have to see some identification.”

  He blinked at her. “Why?”

  “I will need proof of your identity as well as a valid social security number before”—Bonnie carefully worded her statement in case he wasn’t Brandt Sherrod—“we can proceed with our business.”

  “Well, that could be a problem since I don’t have any such identification.”

  “Driver’s license.”

  He shook his head, a smile curving those lips.

  “You don’t drive,” she said in disbelief.

  “Sure, I drive. I just don’t have a driver’s license, per se.”

  “Driving without a license is against the law, Mr. Sherrod.”

  “I didn’t realize you were with the Department of Transportation.”

  She tilted her face more so she could glare at him. “Fine. Social Security card then.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  She looked down and placed her finger on the form she’d copied from Marla’s file. “Everyone has one, and the one on your tax form is not valid.”

  “The thing about SSNs is they’re a lot harder to manufacture than they used to be.”

  She couldn’t believe he’d said what she’d just heard. Was he crazy? “What?”

  “The information age makes my job a real pain in the butt. It used to be, you could make up a name and that was good enough. Now you have to write a whole biography of a fictitious person to make it believable.”

  “You’re not Brandt Sherrod who was a foster child of Delores Clarkston Park?”

  “Her name was Delores Cyndale Park, but good try.”

  “Mr. Sherrod, you realize you are talking to an agent of the Commonwealth of Kentucky. I have the authority to begin proceedings to put you in prison for defrauding the government.”

  “For what? You’re with the Teachers Retirement Systems. You can’t arrest me for not claiming a benefits check.”

  “I’m talking about your tax form.” Bonnie didn’t really have the authority to do anything about him giving false information about his taxes, but Marla did.

  “I’ve paid all my taxes.”

  “According to you. I cannot substantiate anything you’ve claimed on your form.”

  “If the Commonwealth had a ninja form, it’d make things a lot easier for me.” His eyes twinkled in merriment though his expression gave nothing away.

  “This isn’t a joke.”

  “Really? I guess I need to work on my timing.”

  Bonnie glimpsed his smile before he contained it. She tutted and shook her head as she pushed the paper across the desk to him. “There is no Bellini, Kentucky, nor could I find a Benjamin and Associates Consulting.”

  Brandt returned her stare but said nothing.

  “Well?”

  “You’re mistaken. Benjamin and Associates exists, and it is in Bellini.” His tone was convincing. Confident.

  “Where is Bellini? This zip code has a letter in it. It’s fabricated.”

  “It’s manufactured, not fabricated. There’s a difference.”

  Bonnie watched him looking for a chink in his confident armor. “Who manufactured the zip code? You?”

  “No.” He shrugged as if unconcerned. “I assume some government agency assigns the zip codes. I’m a ninja. I only do secretive operations.”

  “You’re delusional. Bellini, Kentucky, doesn’t exist.”

  “Sure it does. You go up sixty-four and take a left at Winchester.”

  “This is ridiculous. I just want some type of identification so I can give you your check. If you’re Brandt Sherrod, you ought to be able to prove it.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Bonnie took off her glasses. “Well? What do you have to say to that?”

  “I don’t want the check. I only came here today because you seem so determined for me to have it.”

  “Your foster mother named you as her beneficiary…if you are indeed Brandt Sherrod.”

  “You doubt me. I wonder why.” He stood and walked over to the wastebasket, peered down in it then turned to her. He crossed her arms over his chest. “Ah, I see.”

  “What do you see?”

  An expression of approval on Brandt’s face warmed Bonnie’s insides. “You figured out where you’d seen me before.”

  Bonnie didn’t answer. No telling what information he had combed through, including information about Mrs. Park. Brandt laughed, a low chuckle, which made her toes curl in her pumps. Oh, he was slick.

  “You impress me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had experience in espionage.”

  His arrogance curdled her stomach.

  “I live in the real world. I don’t play games, and I don’t go through other people’s trash.” She picked up the telephone and dialed. “Hello, security? This is Bonnie Moore. I think you need to come up here. We have a…” Bonnie glared at him wondering how she should identify him. He smiled at her as if he were enjoying her loss for a word. “Trespasser.”

  She hung up the telephone and steepled her hands attempting to show a calm she didn’t feel. Who was he really?

  He sat down and leaned
back in the chair, a pleasant expression on his face. Was he, too, presenting a façade he didn’t feel? She’d just called security for goodness’ sake.

  “I just called security.”

  “I heard.”

  “They’re on their way up here.”

  He nodded, his dark gaze caressed her. Not a creepy kind of look. One more of appreciation.

  “It seems like you’d want to get out of here quickly. Don’t you realize you’re in trouble?”

  “Only a guilty man flees, and I’d hate to deprive myself of your company, Ms. Moore.”

  He’d switched from a married title to Ms, reserved for women’s libbers and divorcees. He must have noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring. Instead of focusing on that, she decided to focus the other part of his statement. “I don’t like insincerity.”

  “May I take you out for coffee?”

  Bonnie sputtered. “What? No.”

  “You don’t drink coffee?”

  Bonnie stood and marched across the office. She opened the door and stood at the threshold. She studied the back of his dark head. He hadn’t turned around to see what she was doing.

  “Diet Coke? Even though it seems a shame to have a fountain drink without a meal. Perhaps lunch.”

  Bonnie bristled. Was he suggesting she was overweight? “Why do you assume I drink diet cola?”

  “There’s a case in the corner there, partially hidden by the plant.”

  She turned to see if indeed he could spot her case of cola from his vantage point, or had he been snooping another time while impersonating the custodian?

  No. There was the case next to her potted plant.

  “If you’d agree to a glass of wine, we could have dinner.”

  He knew.

  Somehow he knew she was divorced. He probably thought she was lonely and hard up. “You want me to have dinner with you.” Disbelief colored her tone so that the question sounded more like an accusation. “You’re unbelievable. Any business I may have with Brandt Sherrod will appropriately occur in this building.”

  He moved the chair a bit, angling it toward her. “I accept.” His eyes flicked beyond her, and Bonnie looked and saw Steven and Luke, the security guards, approaching.