Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by Andrea Kane

  “Okay.” Castoro’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Let’s start simple. Just what’s publicly available.” A few seconds passed. “Looks like Paterson’s an average Joe with a house and mortgage. Nothing too exciting. Now let’s wake up the feds and some IT security weenies. Hacking time.” He fired up some programs and responded to their prompts, gaining access to the restricted systems. “Here’s something interesting. He’s an IT guy. And his employer is the US Antidoping Agency.”

  Blake swore again, turning his back to the group and glaring out the office window. “If he’s being paid off, it must be to relay advance information on event testing.”

  “Yup,” Monty agreed. “That way whoever’s paying him will know which events need fixing. It’s a different kind of hands-on approach. Very clever. There’s no need for James to take drugs. Instead, he makes sure others take them, at just the right time and place. I’ll bet if we check, we’ll find a few of his closest competitors were disqualified for drug usage—even though they probably swore they never used.”

  “If you’re right, then Wednesday’s accident at Wellington was rigged,” Blake said woodenly. “Which would fit your theory that James set up the whole extortion scheme.”

  Monty nodded, turning his attention back to the accounting pages, this time with a new slant in mind.

  “What’s this horse farm in Uruguay?” he asked, jabbing his finger at the page. “There was a payment made to them this week.”

  “That’s one of the farms my grandfather deals with. They sell him sperm specimens to inseminate his mares.” Blake gave a baffled shrug. “But those are legitimate transactions. So why pay them from a secret account?”

  “Additional business,” Jenkins muttered.

  “Maybe conducted by an additional person,” Monty concurred. “Someone who’s paying off an illegal debt.”

  “What kind of debt?” Blake demanded.

  “I can’t answer that. But I’ll bet James can.”

  Blake made a frustrated sound. “We’ve got to strong-arm the bank,” he pronounced. “We need confirmation of James’s connection to this account.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. The bank won’t reveal that information.” Monty pursed his lips. “We’ll have to dig it up through another, more subtle source. A source who’s got immediate access and an emotional in with James.”

  “Devon?”

  “Yeah. Devon. My daughter’s going to be a busy girl tomorrow night.”

  CHAPTER 22

  The telephone woke Monty up.

  He jumped to his feet, dropping the notebook he’d had on his lap onto the floor. Papers spilled everywhere, and he swore as he stepped over them to scoop up his office phone.

  “Montgomery.”

  “You sound worse than I do,” John Sherman informed him. “Once you solve this Pierson case, it’s time for a vacation.”

  “Hell, yeah.” Monty rubbed his eyes, blinking as he glanced around the side of his house that served as his office. “What time is it?”

  “Ten after four. P.M., if you need to know.”

  “I’ve been staring at the same page for the past three hours. I’m beat.” Stretching, Monty got his bearings. He planted his hip against the desk and turned his attention to the conversation. “What’s up?”

  “Raymond Carlburgh wants to see you,” the other PI said. “He sounds like hell.”

  Carlburgh. He was the pathetic rich guy whose wife was banging her boyfriend like there was no tomorrow.

  “Why? Did he walk in on them?”

  “No idea. He sounded pretty out of it. All he said was that he wanted a meeting with you ASAP, complete with report and pictures. He tried your cell. When he couldn’t get through, he called me.”

  “Great.” Monty massaged the back of his neck. “The shit’s hitting the fan here. I can’t break away.”

  “He’s expecting you tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Neither is he.”

  Monty sighed. “Fine. Have his chauffeur drive him here.”

  “No can do. He says he’s too sick to leave the house. You’ve gotta drive up to Scarsdale.”

  That was odd. Being a pain in the ass was out of character for Raymond Carlburgh. He was usually dignified and patient. Something must have really freaked him out.

  “Yeah, okay,” Monty agreed. “I’m heading up to my daughter’s place tomorrow. Carlburgh’s mansion isn’t too far out of my way. Do me a favor. Get his file together. I’ll swing by and pick it up first thing in the morning. And call Carlburgh back. Tell him to expect me around nine.”

  “You got it.”

  Monty hung up and went back to his notes. He had a half hour before Devon arrived. They had a lot to go over.

  In the meantime, something was still bugging him. It had been since his meeting with Blake. Until now, he’d been too preoccupied with the file Castoro had uncovered to give it much thought. But he needed to see if his suspicions had merit.

  Backtracking to his notes of a few days ago, he found the interview he was looking for and sought out the inconsistency.

  It didn’t take long to find it.

  THE FRONT-DOOR buzzer sounded.

  Startled, Blake sat up. He’d been flopped on his living-room sofa, polishing off a second glass of bourbon and scratching Chomper’s ears. Now Chomper was scrambling up, barking excitedly and making a beeline for the door.

  Blake blinked back to awareness. The living room was dim, and shadows stretched across the walls. Sometime between when he’d arrived home and now, the sun had set.

  He glanced at his watch. Six thirty-five.

  Again, the buzzer sounded, this time more insistently.

  “I’m coming.” Blake stumbled to his feet and made his way through the foyer. He was still half out of it from his thoughts and the bourbon. He rubbed the back of his neck and opened the door.

  “Hi.” Devon was standing outside, shivering, her hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket. “Bad time?”

  “I…No.” Suddenly wide-awake, Blake blocked Chomper from lunging outside to greet Devon. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice greeting.” She glanced pointedly into the hall.

  “Sorry.” Blake stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

  “Thanks.” Devon hurried in, wrapping her arms around herself as she stomped on the mat, kicking snow off her boots. “It always feels ten degrees colder in the city than in the suburbs. Which is pretty bad, considering it was twelve degrees when I drove out of the clinic’s parking lot, and ten when I left Little Neck. Plus, now the sun’s down. So it’s like Iceland out there.” She stooped down to rub Chomper’s snout and ears. “Hey, boy. At least you’re happy to see me.”

  “I’m happy to see you, too,” Blake said. “Just surprised.”

  “So I gathered.” Devon rose and unzipped her parka. “Tell you what. Hang up my jacket, pour me whatever you’re having, and I’ll tell you why I’m here.”

  One dubious brow lifted. “You want straight bourbon?”

  “Yuck. No.” Devon shuddered. “How about a Thoroughbred Cooler?”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Your bad.” Devon’s eyes twinkled. “Opening a restaurant chain called Chomping at the Bit, and you don’t know what a Thoroughbred Cooler is? Looks like having a party animal for a big brother trumps having a family in the horse business.” She handed Blake her parka. “It’s bourbon, sour mix, and orange juice, plus a dash of grenadine, lemon-lime soda, and ice. A lot more palatable than straight bourbon. Think you can manage?”

  A wry grin. “I can try.”

  “Good.” Devon ran her fingers through her hair and headed toward the living room. “Were you asleep?” she asked, glancing around the semi-darkened room.

  “Nope.” Blake walked in behind her and flipped on a light. “I was thinking.”

  “From what I heard, you have a lot to think about.”


  Blake studied her face. “You saw your father.”

  “I just left his office. He filled me in. You must be reeling.”

  “Did you drop by to check on me?”

  “In part, yes. From what Monty said, you had a rough day all around. Some disturbing revelations implicating your family and an inquisition from my dad. Lucky you.”

  “The inquisition wasn’t bad. At least I understood where it was coming from. But the rest…” Blake blew out his breath. “Speculating that a relative of mine is into something criminal is one thing. Having the reality shoved in my face is another. And murder? That’s unfathomable. I feel like a stranger in my own family.”

  “It’s not your whole family, Blake,” Devon reminded him. “It could be just one person.”

  “Yeah. The person you’ll be alone with tomorrow night.”

  “That’s not a concern. Monty will be right outside.” Devon sat down on the rug near the fireplace. Chomper plopped down beside her, his snout in her lap. “How about a nice, warm fire.”

  “Consider it done.” Blake flipped the wall switch, and the flames licked to life. “The wonders of gas. Should I make you that drink?”

  “I have a better idea. Let’s open a bottle of wine and order a pizza with everything on it.” Devon tilted her head. “I promise not to eat more than half.”

  “That’s a relief.” Blake’s lips twisted into a grin. “And here I thought I’d have to fight you for a fifth slice. I appreciate your restraint.”

  She smiled. “No problem. Although restraint isn’t what I had in mind—at least not this minute.”

  Her tone was teasing. But her meaning was clear.

  The mood in the room shifted abruptly.

  “Is that so?” Blake asked, sexual tension crackling to life.

  “It’s so.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Can you handle it?”

  “Definitely.” Blake’s gaze swept slowly over her, his eyes darkening. “Just tell me this—when do I have to have you home by?”

  “Breakfast.” Devon leaned back on her elbows. “Merry’s feeding the pets. Monty’s got an early-morning client meeting. If he shows up at my place early, Lane will entertain him—and tie him up with duct tape, if necessary.”

  “Your brother’s resourceful,” Blake replied, still studying her heatedly. “Remind me to thank him.”

  “Thank me instead.”

  “My pleasure.” Blake pulled off his sweater and tossed it aside, lowering himself onto the rug beside her. “You know, this day is turning out a lot better than expected.”

  “I thought you might feel that way,” she murmured, unbuttoning her blouse. “Of course, I still expect to be fed.”

  He took over the unbuttoning job. “It’s early.”

  “That’s true.” Devon lay back, feathering her hair out around her. “On the other hand, I skipped lunch. I’m pretty hungry. And if we push dinner off for a while and I exert tons of energy, I’ll probably be ravenous. I might eat a whole pie myself.”

  Blake was making quick work of the rest of their clothes. “Tell you what. I’ll be a sport. I’ll spring for two pizzas.”

  Devon’s smile was pure seduction. “That’s all the incentive I need.”

  AN HOUR LATER, they were wrapped in blankets, munching on pizza and sipping wine by the fire.

  “Now this is what I call a great end to a day,” Devon announced between bites.

  “Better than great.” Blake caught her hand, brought her palm to his lips. “You’re exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” Her lips curved. “The funny thing is, I didn’t plan this part. It just sort of happened.”

  “That’s the best way.” Blake kissed her bare shoulder. “You said you wanted to talk. I assume it’s about the deleted file.”

  “Specifics of it, yes.” Sobering, Devon stared into her glass. “Lawrence Vista,” she clarified, not mincing words. “Turns out I met him. Twice, as a matter of fact.”

  Blake’s brows rose. “When? And where?”

  “This week. At your farm.” She elaborated on her two encounters with Vista. “He seemed uneasy. Especially after I told him I was a veterinarian. I assumed it was a question of job security, that he felt threatened by the thought of your grandfather hiring the competition. But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he was afraid I’d pick up on something. I have a trained eye. If he’s involved in something illegal to benefit James, and that something is medical, I might very well notice it.”

  “Did you?”

  Devon shook her head. “I wasn’t looking. This time I will be.”

  “This time?”

  “Yes. I’m taking Monday off. I’ll be driving up to my mom’s house. After that, I’ll go by your family’s place and look for Vista. Hopefully, he and his truck will be there, and we’ll have a talk. Maybe there’s a tie-in between him and that Uruguayan horse farm. If not, I’ll have something else to check out. I’ll poke around the stables if that’s what it takes.”

  Blake shook his head, his eyes narrowing in thought. “There’s a snag to that plan. My grandparents are up at the farm. They’ll be there through midweek. Which means James will probably stay up there while he’s home. It also means that there’ll be business meetings going on, and Pierson staff members will be zipping in and out all day. It’ll be too hard for you to get to Vista—at least without a deluge of questions.” A pause. “I have an idea. But first things first. Tomorrow night, I want you to tell James about us.”

  Devon stopped eating. “Does that request relate to your idea, or is it just another burst of possessiveness?”

  “Both. Plus, it’s the only way you’ll retain credibility. What’s going on between us is out of the bag since Louise walked in and saw us together. You’ll have one shot at getting information out of James before he hears that you and I are involved. And that shot’s tomorrow night. He won’t have spoken to anyone yet. He’ll go straight to your place from the airport. Once your date’s over, someone will clue him in. Nothing this juicy stays a secret for long.”

  “That makes sense. How does it factor into your idea?”

  “It clears the way for it. I’ll escort you up to the farm on Monday. My family will have already heard about us from James, so it’ll seem perfectly natural. We’re in a new relationship. We’re both in the middle of family crises. We need to chill out. What better place to do it than the farm?”

  “I see your point.” Devon nodded. “And you’re also right about James. It’s better he hears about us from me. But not until after I finish delivering the script Monty’s preparing. I need to catch James off guard and get him to admit something.” Her brows knit. “It’s still hard for me to picture him as a killer.”

  “He probably doesn’t view himself as one. Remember, even if he’s guilty, he didn’t commit the crimes firsthand. He has an ironclad alibi for both the morning of Frederick’s murder and the night of Philip’s. He was in Wellington. So he’d have to have hired someone to do the dirty work. That way, his hands—and his conscience—could stay clean. Typical James—self-indulgent, self-serving, and cowardly.”

  Devon looked up from her wine. “You’re still hoping he’s innocent.”

  “I’m hoping a lot of things, and not counting on any of them,” Blake answered roughly. “Besides, I’ve got my own demons to fight.”

  “Your grandfather,” Devon surmised quietly. “It must be hard not sharing this with him.”

  “Hard? I feel like Benedict Arnold.” Blake shoved aside his food. “If James turns out to be guilty, it’ll destroy my grandfather. Then after that, to find out I betrayed him, too? I’m lucky if it doesn’t kill him.”

  “You’re not betraying him.”

  “Not in your mind. In his, I’m screwing my family. That’s the ultimate betrayal.” Blake blew out a breath. “Let’s not go there. Not yet. One step at a time.”

  Leaning forward, Devon lay her palm against his jaw. �
�I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m doing what I have to.” He met her gaze. “And tonight, I’m doing what I want to.”

  She understood. Tonight was for losing himself. For losing both themselves, in something that felt good and right.

  Her expression softened. “Does this mean I’m not getting a chance to polish off my third slice?”

  Blake’s hand slid beneath her hair, cupping the nape of her neck and pulling her closer. “You’ll eat it cold.”

  THE MAROON COUPE slid slowly by Blake’s apartment.

  Inside, the man punched up a number on his cell phone.

  “She’s still in there,” he reported. “A hundred bucks says she’s spending the night.”

  CHAPTER 23

  You have the plan down pat?” Monty demanded as he finished taping the audio transmitter to the small of Devon’s back.

  “Down to the last word.” Devon peered down the front of her sweater, checking to make sure the microphone was securely attached to the front clasp of her bra. “Are you sure this will stay put?”

  “Positive. Just make sure Golden Boy keeps his hands to himself, and you’ll be home free.” Monty straightened, tugging down the back of Devon’s sweater. “The receiver will be in my car. It has a built-in micro-recorder and incredible audio quality. No matter what room you and Golden Boy are in, I’ll hear every word you say. And if you need me, I’ll come running.”

  “I’ll be fine, Monty,” Devon assured him. “James isn’t going to attack me. And I’m not going to give him reason to. I’ll stick to the script. With any luck, we’ll have what we need in a few hours.”

  “You’ve become quite the pro.”

  Devon knew that tone. Her father wasn’t issuing a compliment.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “Only that your social life is certainly hectic these days. Filled with Edward Pierson’s grandsons.”

  “That’s the angle you told me to pursue, remember?”

  “I don’t remember telling you to make overnight house calls.”