Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six)

by Janice Thompson

  The logo “Free Credit Profile” lit the screen in a cyan blue. Underneath, the words, “Ever wondered how you can obtain a free copy of your credit report?” appeared. A detailed explanation of how to do so followed. Angel scrolled down, down, down, trying to take it all in. “Enter your social security number here. A free credit report awaits.”

  No way.

  Sure enough, Angel balanced some of the information against what she had read in the database and put it all together. “They’re getting social security numbers from the web too. This is huge.” Bigger than even Mr. Nigel knew. This could be the largest Identity Theft ring in Texas history. Her heart raced with a mixture of joy and excitement.

  12:24 p.m.

  Curiosity aroused, Angel searched for more. She signed online, using the same password: scamme.

  Just a lucky guess.

  As she attempted to access mail files, she ran into a small problem. An instant message from someone with the name ‘smarterthanu.’ The incoming ring nearly shot her out of the large leather seat. “Nick, is that you?” the message read.

  Angel’s hands shook. She tapped her fingers on the desk as she stared at the nameplate on the desk. Jim Cochran. “Guess we’ll have to start calling you Nick,” she mumbled.

  “Nick, you on?” Whoever it was, was mighty impatient.

  “Here.” She typed the words nervously, stopping once to correct a spelling error made with trembling fingers.

  “Listen, I need a favor.”

  “Yeah?” Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, making it difficult to concentrate.

  “Check our card stock supply, will you? I’ve got over 200 orders this afternoon and these guys are in a hurry.”

  200 orders? For what? She contemplated her next question. If answered, it could lead police directly to the bad guys. “Where do you say you are again?”

  “Outside immigration. I told you that before I left this morning. You all right, man?”

  “Yeah. Just tired,” she typed. “Hang on a minute.” She looked around the office for card stock but couldn’t find a trace of any.

  “No card stock,” she typed.

  “Figures. I’ll stop by the Office Supply on the way back. See you in a few minutes.”

  A few minutes? She glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time. When she looked back up, he had signed off.

  12:29 p.m.

  Angel went back to the task at hand, quickly accessing the “old mail” files. Most of it appeared to be junk mail, but she finally stumbled across a gold mine—hundreds of emails from Internet users, all with personal credit card information attached. Why? Why would they so willingly give up private information?

  She scrolled through the “sent” mail, startled to find one common piece of mail that had been sent out to over a thousand Internet users. She scanned it, barely able to believe what she read. “Your Internet Account Information needs to be updated.” I’ve gotten these, myself!

  “A…A…Choo!” After a quick dab with the tissue, Angel continued to scroll through the letter. “The credit card you used to sign up for this account is either invalid or expired. The information must be reentered to keep your account active.”

  That would explain the hundreds of responses they had received.

  And hundreds of credit card numbers they had obtained. Angel glanced back through some of the responses, gathering names and then did a “search” of the database to match names. “Bingo.”

  12:37 p.m. Better hurry.

  She pulled the writeable CD from her purse and popped it in the CR-ROM drive. Nothing happened. On her computer at home, a blank CD always opened the software on its own. But not here. Frustrated, Angel began to tear through every software program she could find. There were a couple of unfamiliar ones on the computer, but none seemed to be related to the mysterious drive.

  Does this thing even have a CD burner? She looked over the machine. Fortunately, all of the necessary hardware was there—but no software to operate it. She quickly raced across the Internet, looking for a trial version of the software she used at home.

  12:46 p.m.

  By the time she had the software downloaded and installed, Angel felt as if she would be sick. She quickly began to burn files, dragging several hundred megabytes worth to the CD. She would have to look through it all more carefully when she got back to the office. Right now she had to…

  A sound at the door shot her out of the leather seat. “No!” They’re back. God, help me! She quickly shut the computer off and ran toward the back office. Where do I go? She attempted to open a closet door in the far right corner of the room. Locked. No, not locked. Just stuck. Slightly. She gave it a hard yank and the door opened with a penetrating squeak.

  Angel slipped inside the shadows of the small closet, at once butting up against a piece of machinery just as she heard the front office door opening. She leaned back against the metal monstrosity, heart racing madly.

  Only then did she realize she had left the CD in the computer.

  No time to worry about that now. She tried to make out the voices of the men. From this distance, they were difficult to understand. She reached for her cell phone to dial KPRC. Mr. Nigel will know what to do. She stared in silent disbelief at the phone reality set in.

  Battery. Dead.

  Now she could make out the voices.

  “What do you mean you talked to me online? I’ve been out of the office over an hour.” Mr. Cochran’s voice. Or rather, Nick’s voice.

  “No way, man. I’ve got the card stock right here. I bought it because you told me we needed it.”

  “We’ve got a closet full of the stuff.”

  “I’m telling you—” Angry now, the men were easier to hear, though that didn’t pacify Angel much.

  “What have you done to my computer?” When Angel heard Nick’s incensed words, she felt as if her heart would plummet to her toes.

  “I never touched it. I know how you feel about that.”

  “You loaded software on my computer? What’s your problem?” Dead silence permeated the dark closet for a moment or two, and then Angel heard shuffling in the front office. Muddled voices now.

  “I told you they were on to us, Nick. I’ve been feeling it for days.”

  “Well, someone’s messed with my computer, and I seriously doubt it’s the cops. Why do you always have to lie to me?”

  “The F.B.I., man. They’ve hacked our computer. That must’ve been them talking to me online while ago.”

  “Is this their CD, too?”

  “I never saw it before, Nick. I swear…”

  Angel shook her head, completely defeated. Only then did the tickle in her nose present a problem. She fought against it. Tried everything to stop it. In the end, she had to give in to it.

  “What was that?” The voices moved her way. They were in the room now.

  Muffled voices. Shuffling. Muffled voices.

  She heard them open the closet on the other side of the room. In an act of sheer desperation Angel plummeted out of the closet and sprinted toward the front office. Nick turned and called out just as she reached the computer. There the CD-ROM drive stood open, with the evidence still right there, within her grasp.

  And grasp it, she did.

  With the CD firmly clutched in her right hand, Angel slipped out the front door of the office. She felt Nick’s breath hot on her hair but continued to run. If she could just make it to the elevator, she would be safe. She turned back for one quick look.

  From out of nowhere he came.

  Peter Campbell.

  My angel!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Angel, stop!” Peter reached out to grab Angel, though she startled at his touch.

  “I can’t. Not right now.”

  From down the hallway, a tall man with dark hair raced toward them. His movements confirmed Peter’s worst fears. Angel had obviously been caught in the act of stealing. But what had she taken this time?

  “Peter, let me go.
” Angel twisted loose from his grasp and headed for the elevator. She pushed the button repetitively and bounced up and down on those squeaky white tennis shoes as she waited. In her hand she clutched a CD of some sort. Not much of a find, if that’s all she had managed to lift.

  He turned his attentions to the tall man, who fought to catch his breath as he approached. He looked agitated. Then again, who could blame him?

  “It’s okay,” Peter whispered. “I’ve already called the police. They’re probably waiting downstairs right now.”

  “You did what?” The fellow’s expression changed immediately.

  “This will all be over soon.” Peter patted him on the arm. At least he had managed to really help someone in need this time. The man’s neck began to turn red. He slapped himself in the head and sprinted back toward the office.

  Odd reaction.

  The elevator door opened with a ‘ding’ and Angel dove inside. With an outstretched arm, Peter held the door. “I want to help you, but first you have to help yourself,” he explained. “That’s all anyone is asking.”

  She shook her head and shoved the CD into her purse. “Peter, what are you talking about?”

  He grew increasingly more frustrated. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, and it’s about time you came clean, Angel.”

  “Came clean?” She glanced at her watch. “Just let me go, Peter. Please. I have work to do.”

  “It will take work to make all of this right again. But in the end it will be worth it all.”

  She shook her head once again. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. But standing there all day with the door open won’t accomplish anything. Come with me. Please. I need help.”

  Those were all the words he needed to hear. He practically leapt into the elevator alongside her. Angel slumped against the wall, drawing deep breaths.

  “What were you doing in that man’s office?” He looked her squarely in the eye.

  She countered his stare. “Working. But my job’s not done yet. So as soon as I get downstairs, I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Angel, you can’t. It’s not that easy.”

  “Nothing about this has been easy,” she said. “But it’s almost over now. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it for days, but I didn’t know if I could trust you. I thought you were on their side.”

  “I am on their side. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

  The corners of her lips turned down and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. “You’re what?”

  His heart twisted. “Why do you look so surprised?”

  “Don’t I have a right to be?”

  “Not. . .not really.” Surely she knew he was a Christian. He had made that very clear days ago. A Christian would have to side with those who were in the right, even if it meant hurting her feelings.

  Her face turned pale and she took a step away from him. “You? You’re the trash guy?”

  Well, yeah. “I thought we had already established that.”

  “But I mean. . .you’re working for them?” Tears dotted her lower lashes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand, and then gazed into his eyes with the look of one who had been betrayed.

  “I want to help them,” he said. “But I want to help you too.” Couldn’t she see that?

  The elevator door opened and a lobby full of people stood before them. Peter looked around for someone, anyone, in a Galveston police uniform. No one. Angel raced toward the back door, shoes squeaking against the tile floor once again. Peter reached to touch her shoulder. “Stop, please. Let’s talk.” She kept walking.

  When she spoke, her words were rushed, breathless. “We can talk. Just not here. Not now. Come with me and I’ll explain everything.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Off the island. Into Houston.” She headed for a familiar silver sports car.

  No! Not this again. He wouldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t. “I can’t let you take that car.” She pulled a set of keys out of her purse. Where did those come from?

  Angel shot a nervous glance up to the fourth floor before she answered. “Peter, you’re talking crazy.” She pushed a button on the remote and he heard the locks click. “Hop in.”

  “I’m not getting in there and you’re not either.”

  She climbed into the car, ignoring his pleas. “Peter, I don’t know what your problem is.”

  “Don’t do this, Angel.” He stood beside the car as she climbed in the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. She turned it and the engine started with a gentle hum.

  “I’m telling you, I know what I’m doing.” Desperation filled her eyes. “But I can’t make you come with me. And after what you had to say in there, I can’t even trust you, anyway.” She slammed the door and backed out of the parking space.

  Peter watched, mystified, as she pulled out of the parking lot. The silver sports car very nearly struck another vehicle as it entered Tennyson Towers. A Galveston police car. He waved his arms and attempted to flag the officer. He pointed down The Strand in Angel’s direction. The patrol car came to a stop beside him.

  The officer rolled down his window. “Can I help you, Sir?”

  The overpowering smell of cigarette smoke wafted out, and Peter began to cough. “Yes,” he said, as he fought to catch a breath. “I’m the one who called.” He forged ahead. “The girl I told you about—the one who’s been stealing from the offices here—she just took off in that silver sports car. The one that almost hit you.”

  “Stolen?”

  “I. . .I think so.” He shrugged. He had no way to prove that, but it just made sense.

  “You got the plate number?” The officer reached for a notepad.

  “No. Sorry.”

  “I’ll need a full description of the vehicle, then.”

  Peter spent the next five minutes giving the officer as many details as he could recall. Then he described Angel. Again.

  “This is really not that big of a deal.” The officer snapped his notepad closed. “Someone is bound to come out of the building eventually looking for that car. I’m sure they’ll call us. When someone has been victimized, they always call, trust me.” He thanked Peter for the information and reached for the gearshift.

  “You’re not leaving, are you? I have a witness upstairs who can give you all the information you’ll need to nail this girl once you track her down. If you’ll come with me.”

  With a grunt, one of Galveston’s finest pulled into a parking space and exited the car. “I hope you know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sir, I’ve got this coffin nailed shut.” Peter escorted the impatient officer up to the fourth floor and rapped on the door of Anderson’s Advertising Firm. When the tall fellow answered, relief washed over him. Everything would be solved momentarily. “The police are here,” Peter explained. “They have a few questions about the girl.”

  “The girl?” The gentleman’s eyebrows elevated slightly. “What girl?”

  What was wrong with this guy? And why did he look so nervous? “The one you were chasing down the hall a few minutes ago.”

  The officer cleared his throat as he pulled out his pen and notepad once again. “We’ll need a list of everything she’s stolen.”

  “Stolen?” The tall man looked stunned. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  ***

  Angel cried all the way to Houston. With the traffic jam on I-45, she had plenty of time to empty herself of emotion. Her tears were a mixed bag of relief and sheer frustration. She had managed to get the necessary evidence to crack the case, even sparing her own life in the process. But, Peter. He had confessed to working with those awful men. How could she have been so wrong about him?

  She allowed herself to play back through the conversations over the past few days as she searched for clues, flaws in his characters.

  Nothing. Unless you counted the weird incident at his house that night.

  And the
part where he leaned over to whisper something into Nick’s ear just now.

  And the part where he showed up, coincidentally, at the dumpster that first day to rescue her. If all that’s true, then why did he take me to lunch? The answer smacked of painful truth. He was already on to me. He knew why I was there. They sent him to keep tabs on me.

  The more she thought about it, the more obvious it became. Peter Campbell presented himself as a model citizen, but that was clearly just a cover. On the inside, he was just as evil as those men upstairs. His crooked smile and dimples were all part of a bigger plan of deception. Danger and evil lurked behind his bright blue eyes.

  Shame washed over her as Angel acknowledged her vulnerability. Once again, she had been taken. Mr. Nigel was right. Her journalism professor was right. They were all right. She had a good, long cry over the whole mess and her mind wandered further. If he’s really as awful as I think he is, then everything—everyone—has been part of it. That means his parents were in on it too.

  She tried to think back through the conversation at their home. Donita Campbell was just a little too stiff, too perfect. Her husband—if he really was her husband—wasn’t a very good actor. He hadn’t impressed her much. And that other fellow, Branson Starr. What kind of name was that? Completely contrived. I can’t believe I fell for it.

  Just like I fell for Peter.

  The truth of her feelings came from out of nowhere. The reason this hurt so badly, the reason she felt it so deeply, was because she had given a piece of her heart to Peter Campbell. Her angel was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She began to cry in earnest.

  Maybe the whole thing had been a lie. Maybe that house in Broadway was purchased with dirty money. Maybe… Her mind raced. All sorts of scenarios lit her imagination on fire. Of course, Branson had offered to drive her home. Peter’s family had probably set that up. She struggled with the truth of that revelation. They knew where she lived. Angel immediately recognized the danger she had put her family in.