But no, she’d found the little bug. Found it and stashed it.
That she’d led him to the area’s best fine-liquor store while she was at it…
Okay, that was the part that made him smile.
Made him remember, too, their scotch tasting—his surprise that she knew the formal details, his response to the sensual nature of her delight in the taste of it.
Maybe she’d meant to evoke those memories…maybe not. No assumptions either way.
And he had no idea where she’d take the scam from here. He was within yards of the bug, but couldn’t find it without engaging in some decidedly suspicious activity outside a liquor store in one of the better parts of town.
He’d given her his number. He’d have to hope she used it.
And that was the part that annoyed him.
Or maybe it just frightened him.
He thought about it another moment. Karin on her own against Longsford plying a scam was one thing, but this time the scam was only the means to an end. She was two layers undercover, and she was up against a high-profile player who’d been preying on little boys for years—and a man who killed children wouldn’t stop at killing a woman. Not even the most clever, determined woman with whom Dave had ever butted heads.
Yeah. It definitely frightened him.
Regardless of what she’d told Longsford, Karin had no appointment with the printer the next morning. She called Longsford’s secretary and set up lunch, and then spent her time at the Kate Waller Barrett Branch Library, saving photos off the Ranchwood Web site and pulling the information together in a rough flyer that included the number for the Florida cell phone Dave had sent to Kimmer Reed.
And then she found herself a park bench out in an overcast, rain-spitting day and called the Florida number herself.
The woman who answered the phone was breathless, enough so Karin paused a moment before asking to speak to Kimmer Reed. And then, before the woman could tell her it was a wrong number, Karin quickly added, “This is Karin, Dave’s friend. I’ve got some background info you’ll need to hold your cover.”
Kimmer’s breathing was already settling down. She said, “Don’t mind me, I was on the treadmill. Why did you call the dedicated phone?”
Karin winced. This one was on top of things, all right. She decided then and there that the only way to go was the truth; gut instinct honed by a lifetime of practice told her she couldn’t play this woman. “I don’t have your number,” she said. “Dave and I are still working separately. He probably mentioned that.”
“Not in detail. I know he’s worried sick about you. From the sounds of it, I understand why.”
If he didn’t want it this way, he shouldn’t have made it impossible to trust him.
Totally ironic, considering he was the honor-bound rescuer and she was the one who so comfortably hovered around the line between wrong and right and, by his definition, probably crossed it on a regular basis.
But Kimmer was waiting, and Karin said, “I know what I’m doing.”
Only the faintest of hesitations, and Kimmer said, “Yes, I see that you do.” Before Karin could make sense of that, Kimmer added, “Okay, I’ve got something to scribble with.”
“You’re representing Ranchwood Acres,” Karin told her. “You’ve got three hundred acres of prime land southeast of Okeechobee, and you want a million dollars for it. That’s well under the going rate for one-acre parcels. You’re willing to do private financing with a thirty percent down payment—and if you can sneak in a snide remark about keeping it out of the hands of the Florida Conservation Coalition, that would be perfect. The land has limited access due to the whole swamp thing, but play that up as a plus—it’s exclusive, private property. You acquired it with the idea of selling it off into ranch-size estates, but one of your other projects in development has run into a cash-flow problem and when I said I’d hunt up an investment buyer for a piece of the pie, you went for it. A note of desperation—but like you’re trying to hide it—would be good there.”
“I can do that,” Kimmer said, so matter-of-factly that Karin immediately believed her. Unlike Dave, here was someone who could spin a convincing story.
Good. Karin found herself relaxing. “If he pushes beyond that, I think you should contrive for an interruption of your choice. I’m going to try to nudge him into calling during our lunch meeting today, so I should be there to pick up wherever you leave off.”
“I can do that, too,” Kimmer agreed. “You have timing on this lunch?”
“One o’clock.” Karin checked her watch, alas, not a Tiffany’s. “Will that work for you?”
“My flight’s not till later in the day,” Kimmer said. “We should be good.”
Flight?
“But what if—”
“Once I’m back on the ground, I’m fair game. Multitasking is no biggie.” Kimmer’s shrug all but came through on the line. “Listen, don’t worry about it. It’ll work. And I owe this one to Dave. He really came through for me last year.”
Great. Mr. Rescue, coming through for everyone but himself. Because in the end, he was the one who’d made this harder. But Karin cleared her throat, expressed her thanks, left her cell number with Kimmer and hung up to head back to the hotel to put on her Maia Brenner suit.
Once she’d gotten back to the hotel room she decided to check in with Amy Lynn, but no one picked up. Not unusual. But given their last conversation…
She dialed her own number and punched in the answering-machine code, then hit the option for new messages only.
Gregg Rumsey’s voice blasted out at her loud and clear; she had to fight to keep from pulling the phone away from her face in pure revulsion. “Dammit to hell, Ellen, you’d better fucking call me before this day is out! I know those busy-bodies came here by way of Barret Longsford, and they’re in the way of my work. You find a way to call them off, or I’m heading east my own damn self to take care of things. This isn’t the way things work in this family!”
Sure they do, stepdaddy dearest. He just wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of the inconvenience.
“Call me!” he barked, and slammed the phone down.
Karin did the same, flinging the cell phone into the bed pillows hard enough that it bounced high and came to a spinning halt in the middle of the bed. “Stay out of it!” she snarled at him.
For she had no answers that would satisfy him, and he was the only person in her life who had a chance of fingering her for Karin even over the phone. He’d wait not even a moment before calling the police to let them know she was still alive and ripe for their attention to the warrant. He wasn’t a man to forgive a grudge; he hadn’t even made contact with “Ellen” at Karin’s apparent death.
And still…it had to be done.
In spite of what she’d recently told Amy Lynn, Karin knew well enough that Rumsey wouldn’t hesitate to show up on Ellen’s doorstep. Then he would scam Amy Lynn—honest, gullible Amy Lynn—into offering up all the information he needed, things she’d think insignificant. Enough to let him know that something wasn’t quite right with Ellen. That his phone call verifying his dead daughter’s identity after the crash hadn’t quite been enough.
She couldn’t have that. Not now, not ever.
And that meant pulling off the biggest scam of her life. For her life. Calling Gregg Rumsey and convincing him she was Ellen.
Too damned bad she had such a distinctive voice. Nothing like Ellen’s.
Saint Gelasinus, let this be the best acting I’ve ever done….
She didn’t have to look up his cell number. She’d had it memorized since he got it, burned into her brain and not likely ever to go away. She took a deep breath, putting herself into an Ellen frame of mind. Those final days in the car…it was all she had to go on. In truth, it was enough. Rumsey didn’t know just who Ellen was; they hadn’t spoken in years. He just had to believe she wasn’t Karin.
She punched in the number and scowled at her shaking finger. Get over
it!
“Rumsey!” He answered short and sharp, and she knew she’d interrupted the middle of some early-morning wheeling-dealing. Probably something to do with stolen goods; he never showed that sharp side of himself to his marks.
She made herself hesitate. And then she offered, “It’s Ellen.”
“Ellen! What the hell are you doing, sending trouble my way? You weren’t worth shit in the family business, but you damn sure ought to know better than that.”
Hello to you, too, Rumsey. “I’m sorry,” she said, and kept her voice soft. If he could hear her tension, maybe he’d interpret it as anxiety. “It’s a misunderstanding. I just called because…I wanted you to know. I’m taking care of it, really.” She couldn’t remember using more restraint, keeping the crack of assertiveness from her normally husky tones. Back off, Rumsey. I’m dealing with it.
“You damned well better be dealing with it. If I have to come straighten things out…”
More restraint, letting him trail off unchallenged instead of interrupting his last word. “Please,” she said, and made her voice worried like Ellen’s had so often been. Work it all the way through…he’ll hear a scowl in an instant. “You know I don’t want that. Please don’t go to that trouble.”
“What’s this asshole got on you, anyway?”
“On me?” She pretended confusion, even as she realized…he’s buying it. He’s actually buying it. Somehow it made her pulse pound even faster. “Nothing. He’s just a guy who doesn’t want to admit we’re not dating any longer. That’s all there is to it.”
Rumsey’s voice turned solicitous. “You want some help? I can deal with this for you. In fact, I like the sound of that. It’d damn sure get him off my turf sooner than if you handle it.”
The sly bastard. He wanted nothing more than to get Ellen under his thumb again and maybe scam Longsford while he was at it, dumping the mess on Ellen’s head on his way out. But she made herself pause once more, as if she was considering it. Then she said, “He’s loud, Gregg. He doesn’t like to be pushed. He’s just as likely to switch his attention from me to you.”
Magic words, that threat to Rumsey’s little world. And words that would ring true. She had no doubt he’d checked into Longsford’s background and already knew just the kind of man Longsford was. If he was smart, he’d hear the unspoken possibility—that she would be unable to keep Rumsey’s secrets once her stepfather came to Longsford’s focused attention.
Solicitousness gone, Rumsey turned brusque again. “Deal with it, then,” he said. “Deal with it now. Or I’ll have to buy myself a plane ticket and deal with it in person, and I don’t think things will turn out well for you if that happens.”
Karin took a deep breath. She managed to make herself sound tremulous near the end, knowing he’d hear it. “I will,” she said, and if her voice was shaky, it was through the effort of holding herself in check. Keep it together, Karin. You’re almost there. “I promise,” she told him, and shifted to a pleading note. “Taking care of this is the most important thing in my life right now. I can do it. Okay?”
Swallow it…swallow it…
“You’d better,” he said, and hung up.
Karin scowled at the phone again. A good, hard scowl, one that made her face hurt. A sudden tremble made her sit down, and in the next moment she pondered a dash to the bathroom, not even sure she could make it in time to suit her roiling stomach. She wanted to bail out here and now. If Rumsey truly became involved, she’d not only lose the chance at Longsford and her own second start—third start, this time—she’d likely lose her freedom altogether.
But the reasons she was doing this…they all still mattered.
So she kicked a pillow around the room, uttered an explosive curse at it, and turned away to prepare for the day. Right now that meant getting ready for lunch at the Med Grille, Longsford’s restaurant of choice.
Karin threw on the jacket-and-slacks outfit. Because she wanted Longsford to see that she had her mind on practical matters, she made no effort to dress up her cast.
She made it to the flower shop as Bill arrived with the classy Caddy, but when she opened the door she found herself near to gaping at the large wicker basket on the seat. A spray of fuchsia orchids leaned over the end, and flawless pears and apples were tucked in among chocolate-covered nuts, assorted cheeses—and a familiar-looking flask.
She guessed that Dave had found the tracker.
“I wish I could take credit, miss, but this fellow came into the office this morning and—”
“That’s fine,” Karin murmured, reaching for the note taped to the back of the flask. “I know who sent them.”
As Bill closed the door behind her, she unfolded the note to find a few words in Dave’s slanted, spiky script. If you need me… She leaned back in the seat with a sigh, not sure what the warm spot in her chest was all about. If you need me…
He had to know she’d ditched his bug, whether or not he’d actually recovered it. And if he’d tracked her down enough to get this basket in place…
She checked the basket over for one of the little tracers. Finding nothing, she looked out the back window, hunting for any sight of his distinctive sedan. That she saw nothing gave her little comfort. If he’d tracked down the limo service from their encounter the previous afternoon, he could easily have followed the Caddy from a safe distance and Bill, the dear man, wouldn’t have had a clue.
She resigned herself to the possibility. As long as he didn’t interfere. As long as he didn’t spook Longsford.
Bill knew the Med Grille as well as he knew the rest of the town, and at ten minutes before the hour Karin found herself standing just inside the door, looking around with surprise. She’d expected Longsford to go for something posh and impressive—something on the ostentatious side. She hadn’t expected this airy interior with well-spaced tables, their black marble surfaces gleaming. A bar lined the back of the room and old movie posters dotted otherwise stark walls. At this time of day the light was mostly natural, pouring in from huge banks of windows along the south wall. At a table near those windows, a man stood, so strongly backlit that his features were obscured. But Karin already had a bead on the formal manner in which Longsford held himself, and she headed in that direction. It wasn’t difficult to thread her way through the tables to reach him, and by the time she sat down she’d been able to assess his company. Dave’s notes pay off….
The slight man who sat with his back to the window—strong nose, weak chin, losing the battle of the hair—was a man who’d been with Longsford for years. Not his official financial advisor—more like a jester in the king’s court. A man Friday who considered meeting Longsford’s need his priority, and not necessarily constrained by petty rules, morals or expectations. She got the impression the man probably knew just about everything of Longsford’s business over the years…if not anything about his unsavory obsession.
At least, that was what she’d gotten of him from Dave’s notes. Scribbled slashes of words, strong with his personality.
Another man stood as she approached, hovering behind Longsford’s shoulder. Karin’s casual smile of greeting froze for an instant; her stomach felt as if she’d just walked off the edge of a cliff and stood waiting for the solidity beneath her feet to dissolve as she plunged a thousand feet to her death.
It was one of the goons from her very first encounter, before she even knew who Longsford was or what he’d done or that he’d dated her sister. The ex-boxer. The one whose face she’d ripped open only a few days earlier.
It hadn’t been nearly long enough for his healing to begin. His eye socket hid behind a plain black patch; his nose and the features on the left side of his face were stitched, distorted and swollen. Even the right side of his face had swollen in sympathy, especially around the eye; she’d be surprised if he had a full field of view. He’s only got one eye, she told herself. Probably can’t see really well out of it. And you don’t look anything like you did.
Her fing
ers, lightly grasping the portfolio she’d brought along, subtly crossed one over the other. Saint Dismas, keep me safe….
But she was still smiling, and she held out her hand to shake Longsford’s even as she looked around the table to include the others in her greeting. “Gentlemen. Nice to be here.”
“How’d you hurt your hand?” the ex-boxer said bluntly, drawing surprise from Longsford. He squinted his one eye at her, confirming his visual difficulties. If he wore contacts, he couldn’t wear them right now, and there was no way glasses would fit on that swollen face.
Karin breathed a little more easily, and was able to keep her answer light in spite of his rude tone. “It’s a long story,” she said. “And an embarrassing one. Let’s just say it involves some stealth skinny-dipping, a slippery surface and towels that got blown away by the wind.”
For an instant, all three men froze. Karin kept her smile inward, knowing that they were visualizing the situation.
But the ex-boxer shook his head, almost defiantly. “I could swear I know her—”
“Yes,” Longsford agreed. “She looks like someone we both knew.”
“Not much,” snorted the man who hadn’t bothered to get up. “There is more to any woman than a mere general cast of feature.”
The ex-boxer snorted back at him. “Think you got a fancy turn of phrase, don’t you?”
Longsford spoke, short and sharp. “That’s enough. Diffie, I’ll catch up with you later. Let Landry know.”
Unhappy but accepting, the ex-boxer nodded, gave Karin another squinty look, and left without further comment. Longsford turned to her. “Please sit,” he said. “I’m sorry for the delay.”
“I’m Carl Rucsher,” the smaller man said as Karin sat, fending for her own chair. Their server had been hovering invisibly in the background, but now correctly assessed the situation as ripe for intrusion. She brought out a pitcher of ice water and left behind a basket of butter herb bread sticks, murmuring about returning shortly to take their orders.
“Carl is my long-term financial advisor,” Longsford told Karin as she picked up a menu. “Sometimes I think he knows more than I do about my business.”
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