Armed With Steele

by Kyra Jacobs

  “Also, see if you can get your hands on any of these market analysis reports from MCG. Find out if they’ve given Maxwell anything more than lip service.”

  Where the hell was I going to find something like that? I tried to think of a good place to look. Ran a hand through my hair. Got my fingers stuck again.

  When was I going to learn?

  “But who’s doing all of this? I mean, they’re signing in as Grace on the computer, signing her name on the print outs, signing Michael’s as well...”

  Nate shrugged. “Maybe it’s a copy.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, of his signatures. You can’t be the only one with access to a scanner. And it wouldn’t take much to scan the invoice, copy and paste his scanned signatures, and then reprint the whole thing. Hell, they could have done it ages ago. Who’s going to question something with Michael Frankston’s signature on it?”

  “True. But it can’t be our cleaning guy—he wouldn’t have access to the computers.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It’s not like no one’s ever hacked into a system before.”

  I considered that. Shook my head. “Hacking is one thing. But knowing their way around the financial system, and shuffling invoices through the paper trail at all the right times? No, no way it’s him.”

  “Okay, so maybe Mr. Phillippe is just one piece of the puzzle. Maybe he has a partner on the inside, one who’s familiar with the system. Maybe they’re splitting the money.”

  I looked out the windshield toward Maxwell. “But how do we find them?”

  “You got an employee listing in that pile of notes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Let me have it. While you’re visiting with Grace, I’ll see if I can’t find a connection between Marcus and your coworkers.”

  I fished the list out of my folder and handed it to him. He jotted down a few notes, and I got distracted by the way the tendons in his lean forearms moved with each stroke of his pen. The temperature in the car seemed to rise.

  “Hey, Nate?”

  He looked up, pen still on paper, and met my gaze. “Yeah?”

  I suddenly knew exactly what I wanted, and felt zero guilt in my decision. But we had a pit stop to make along the way. A promise was a promise.

  I leaned over so that my mouth was beside his ear. Ran my tongue along his lobe, then whispered, “Drive.”

  Chapter 30

  I peeked into Grace’s room a short time later and spied her staring out the windows. She looked…down. I hoisted my bag full of goodies higher onto my shoulder and rapped on the doorframe. “Anyone home?”

  “Just us invalids.”

  “Everything okay?” I asked as I crossed the room to give her a hug.

  Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “Yeah. Just…frustrated.”

  “About what?”

  She balled her hands into fists. “I…I can’t do much of anything by myself yet. Why the hell is it taking me so long to recuperate?”

  “Grace, you just woke up! It’s going to take some time.”

  “I know,” she said, tearing up, “but I want to go home. I want things to go back to the way they were.”

  The floodgates opened. It broke my heart to see her cry. I reached into my bag and retrieved a few tissues—good thing I’d come prepared.

  “Come on, now,” I said, handing her one. “Crying won’t get you anywhere. Where’s the Grace I know? The one who never lets life get her down? The one who wouldn’t leave home without looking like a million bucks because you never know what opportunity you might stumble into?”

  She sniffled. “Ha. Yeah, look where the last opportunity got me.”

  I smiled at her. “Well, silly, you’re not supposed to jump on those types of opportunities.” A grin peeked out from under her wet cheeks, and I knew the worst was over. “Now, how about we do something fun tonight. Something that doesn’t require us to be out, or home.”

  “Like what?”

  I pulled a mascara wand out of my bag. “How about a make-over party?”

  By the way her entire face lit up, I knew we had a winner.

  * * * *

  “Wow, Grace, you look…amazing. Just like the old you.”

  She reached up and ran a finger over her left brow. “Really? I’m sure these need some work.”

  “Nah, you’re perfect just like that. So perfect, in fact, that I’d hate for just the two of us to see such a work of art.”

  “Jessica Ann Hartley,” she said, eyes narrowed, “don’t even tell me you did all this just so I’d be presentable for a visitor.”

  “Nah.” I waved a hand to dismiss her accusation. “I did this to cheer you up. It was just an added bonus that Nate was in the area and asked if he could stop on by.”

  “What? Now?” If Grace’s legs had been fully functional, she’d have been out of that bed and running for the door. “Oh my God, look at me! And this awful…gown.”

  “I’m sure you look about a million times better than the last time he saw you.”

  “That may be true, but I still don’t think I want him to see me like this. Can’t you just tell him—”

  “Hello?” Nate’s deep voice rang out from the doorway. Grace’s eyes widened to the size of large marshmallows.

  “We’re in here!” I patted her hand, then stood to greet Nate. “Grace, I’d like you to meet Officer Nathan Steele. Nate, this is Grace. Awake.”

  He extended his hand out to her. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  It took Grace a second or two to stop gawking and take his hand. “Nice to meet you, too.” She looked over and gave me an approving look.

  I winked back.

  “I want to thank you, Officer—”

  “Nate. I know I’m in uniform, but please, just call me Nate.”

  A grin crept onto her face. “Alright, Nate, I want to thank you for…well, for finding me. And making sure I got to the hospital okay.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome.”

  She studied his face for another moment. “Something tells me this visit wasn’t totally for pleasure.”

  Nate looked over at me. “Boy, you weren’t kidding.”

  Grace’s right eyebrow rose. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you’re very good at reading people,” I said with a chuckle.

  She crossed her arms. “Uh-huh. Well you go ahead and ask me your questions, then I’ve got a few of my own for you.”

  Nate’s jaw dropped open.

  “What? Don’t think you can start dating my best friend without me knowing anything about you. And you sure as hell better be treating her right.”

  A grin formed on his face as he pulled the black notepad from his belt. “Fair enough.”

  They spent the next few minutes going over everything Grace could remember from that day. Which, as we’d expected, wasn’t much. When Nate paused to review his meager notes, I jumped in with a question I’d been dying to ask for weeks.

  “Grace, you sent me a text as you were leaving work that day.” I dug my phone out and pulled her message up on its screen. “Something about having a bizarre run-in with MF...do you remember what that was about?”

  Grace pinched the bridge of her nose. “Run-in? Let me think for a second. Sorry, everything’s just so foggy… I remember packing up my stuff, trying to call Jess. Jess didn’t answer…”

  And Jess still feels guilty as hell about that.

  “Then I headed out to my car, but, hmm. Something. I…I forgot something. What it was, I can’t remember.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I headed back inside, but when I got to my office, the door was open. And I remember thinking that was odd, because I usually shut the door behind me when I leave. So I stepped inside, and there’s this IT guy sitting at my machine, clicking away in some program. He minimized whatever was on the screen before I could see it, though.”

  “Do you remember who that person was?” Nate asked.

  Grace narrowed her eyes. “Matthew
Findley. What a jerk.”

  I worked to keep my expression neutral. “Why do you say that?”

  Color washed over her face. “Matthew’s been known to corner women in the stairwell. And the elevators. He’s such a pig.” Before I could ask, she added, “He’s never gotten a hand on me, but he’s said some things in passing that I didn’t much care for.”

  “He does sound like a pig.” I clenched my hands into fists behind me. If he ever so much as looks at Grace wrong in front of me, I swear I’ll break that pretty boy nose of his. “Did he tell you why he was at your computer?”

  Grace squinted her eyes. “Yeah, something about a software update they tried to install remotely but my computer threw an error, so he had to come upstairs and do it himself.”

  It wasn’t the exact story Vanessa told me, but since she wasn’t a very technical person it’d be hard to prove whether or not the story circulating was a lie.

  “Then what?” Nate asked, pen poised over his notepad.

  “Um, let’s see. He told me why he was there, I said okay and reached out for my notepad. Oh, that must be what I’d forgotten—my notepad. I carry that thing with me everywhere. Couldn’t believe I’d forgotten it. Then I headed back out to my car, texted you.” She pointed in my direction. “And headed for home.”

  “And you don’t remember anything about the accident? Or what you might have seen last?” Nate asked.

  Grace squinted out across the room. “No, not really. I mean, every time I try to remember, all I see is a big blur of dark red.”

  Nate and I exchanged a quick glance. The maroon van.

  * * * *

  “Did you find anything?” I asked as Nate drove us home.

  He shook his head. “No connections between the employee listing you gave me and Marcus. But your boy does have a lengthy rap sheet.”

  “You never mentioned that before!”

  He cast me a quick glance. “Was hoping I wouldn’t have to. I ran everything locally when I was stuck in Angola, watching for him to leave his apartment the other day. Several counts of possession with intent to distribute. Pleaded for a lesser charge the first time, did six months the second.”

  “Possession of what?”

  “Cocaine.”

  “Oh crap. Why couldn’t we be dealing with some young dope head?”

  “Because you don’t seem to be that lucky.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. Me and my bad luck. I decided to change the subject and try to forget about Marcus whatever-the-hell-his-name-was for a while. “So, where am I staying tonight, anyway?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t go back to your place, if that’s alright with you.”

  Not my place. That left his place or Charlie’s. I reached over and set my hand on his knee. I had said I’d try to make tonight up to him. “Should we stop at your place, maybe?”

  “Yeah, poor Brutus is probably dying for some attention.”

  “And you?” I inched my hand a little further up his leg.

  His blue eyes flashed to mine. “I’ve been dying for weeks now.”

  I left my hand on his thigh and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Then it’s high time I saved you.”

  The nice thing about riding in Nate’s cruiser was the fact that he could drive fast without worry of getting a speeding ticket. He had us to his place in record time. Had Brutus leashed, outside, and pottied in record time, too.

  Once we were inside, Nate hung up Brutus’ leash then turned to me. A storm of desire brewed beneath the surface of those deep blue eyes. “Now, where were we the other night when we were so rudely interrupted?”

  I put a finger to my chin, pretending to have to think back.

  As if. I’d replayed that scene in my head a hundred times since. “Well, for starters, the lights were off.”

  He reached out and flicked the hall light off, his eyes never leaving mine. My pulse began to race.

  “Yeah, like that. And…I was over here.”

  He closed the distance between us in two large steps and had me pinned against the wall once more.

  “And…”

  Nate’s lips found mine and silenced my commentary. He chose instead to write an entirely different script. One that involved fewer remaining articles of clothing in the hall, had me begging for more as he carried me to his bedroom, and ended with us entangled beneath his dark sateen sheets, satisfied and trying to catch our breaths.

  And that was only Act One.

  * * * *

  I floated into my office just before eight the next morning to find another piece of fan mail peeking out from beneath my keyboard.

  Last chance. Resign by 5:00, or someone will get hurt.

  Had I not been in the mood I was in, those words might have sent me running out the door. Or at least inching toward it. But not today. Today it didn’t bother me in the least.

  I was in love. And I was one very satisfied woman.

  Michael was to be out at least part of the morning, so now would be an opportune time to go to the storage room and make copies of the Morrisson invoices. Vanessa was on the phone as I passed by the lobby. No worries about her interrupting me today. She jumped a little when she spotted me. I gave her a small wave, and continued on my way. It was tough not to stop and stare, though. She looked even more ragged than the day before, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible.

  Vanessa had opted for a pair of black slacks instead of her usual fitted skirts, and traded her four-inch heels for a pair conservative flats. She did have on a cute, ruffly top, but her array of gold and gemstone jewelry had gone from slim to none. Not even a pair of earrings adorned her ears. And her hair! Her usually-enviable locks were pulled back into a messy bun, and a halo of fly-away hairs crowned her head.

  I got to the storage room, pulled out the Morrisson file, and tucked it under my arm. There would be no sloppiness today, no missteps. The department copy machine sat unused a few doors down the hall, which allowed me to run the entire stack through in one fell swoop. I had the files back in the storage room before anyone would have ever known they were missing.

  When I got back to my office, I pulled the door shut behind me. Set all nine of the MCG invoices from this year out on the table, and looked at Michael’s signatures on each. On the two invoices with Grace’s forged signatures, and the ones paid before Grace started with the company, Michael’s signature was in black ink. But on invoices with Grace’s actual signature, he’d signed in blue.

  I ran my hand over the documents, and felt no indentation in the paper from the signatures. Upon taking a closer look at his signature, I spotted small black flecks around it on the paper. Not something made by a computer or the signee—more like the kind of mark you’d see on a photocopy.

  Nate was right—Frankston’s signatures had been electronically forged. But by who?

  I sat there, puzzling over that dilemma, when my cell phone buzzed.

  “Hello?”

  “Jessica! Oh, thank goodness you’re alright!”

  “Uh, yeah, Mom. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, dear, I left a message on your phone last night. And you never called me back. You always call me back.”

  “You…left a message?” I stared out the window in my office and tried to come up with something good to cover up the fact that I hadn’t slept in my own bed last night. Or been alone. “Oh! You know what? We had a power outage last night.”

  “You lost power? Last night?”

  “Yeah. I overheard the neighbors saying a squirrel got tangled up in the wires. Only knocked out power for a few homes, probably didn’t even make the news. But you know how those silly electronic answering machines are. You lose power and bloop! there goes all your messages.”

  I put my head in my hand. These lies were getting easier and easier to come by. I wondered for the first time how hard it was going to be to break this new habit of mine.

  “Oh. So how long were you without power?”

  “A few hours. So
, was there something specific you called about, or were you just checking up on me?”

  “Checking up on you? Now, Jessica, you’re a big girl. You don’t need me checking up on you.”

  “So the answer was yes, you were just checking up on me.” I shook my head and glanced down at the stack of invoices spread out before me.

  “Wel—”

  “It’s okay, Mom. I love you, too. Hey, since I’ve got you on the phone, have you ever heard of Morrisson Consulting Group? Or Steuben Environmental?”

  “Hmm. That first one doesn’t sound familiar. But Steuben Environmental is who cleans our church. I think it’s owned by Marcus, something-or-another. Such a nice man. Only charges the church a fraction of his usual rate. Re-stripes the ball diamond once a week for the youth group, too.”

  Her words hit me like a punch to the gut—knocked the winds of logic clean out of me. Nice man? Re-striping ball diamonds? Didn’t sound like anyone who would run my best friend off the road. Or be stealing money from Maxwell. If he wasn’t charging the church full rates, I doubted his business was in the red. And if he wasn’t in the red, why would he be embezzling?

  When I didn’t answer, my mother prompted, “So, why do you ask?”

  “They’re who we—” I caught myself before admitting it’s who we used at work. “Saw an advertisement for, this week. Grace and I need to get our carpets cleaned.” I pictured Brutus and his puddles of slobber, then shivered involuntarily. “We thought about giving them a try.”

  “I’m not sure if they do residential cleaning, dear. But you can always give them a call. Oh! That’s Betty at the door. She’s early for Bridge. I’ll have to call you back later, dear.”

  I hung up and rubbed my temples. Too many questions and not enough answers. I needed to find that first domino. The one that would set the rest into motion.

  But nothing on my desk jumped out as being The One, so I decided to check into one last thing—the market analysis reports from MCG. Only, I still didn’t know where they were stored. Or what they even looked like.

  And then it dawned on me—I didn’t need to know what it looked like. Because I knew someone who did. Someone who saw every piece of mail that came in and out of this place. I flipped through the employee phone directory, picked up the phone, and dialed.