by Nic Tatano
“Hey, couldn’t do it without you.”
Special Agent Sean Willis had worked with me over the years on a handful of stories, and I liked him because he understood my job and that one hand washes the other. I gave him tips, he gave me exclusives. He was a Fed who knew the value of sometimes looking the other way and occasionally bending the rules. Willis was about forty and resembled an accountant, slender with thinning brown hair, a weak chin, and deep set hazel eyes. Of course he worked in the white-collar division, so he didn’t resemble the usual linebacker types that often seemed to be favored by the Bureau. But he wore the traditional dark suits, white shirts and muted ties that didn’t attract attention.
Frank tapped on the open door, walked in and closed it behind him. “Agent Willis, nice to work with you again.”
“You too, Frank.”
“So what’s the deal on the deal?” asked Harry, using one of his favorite phrases as everyone took a seat.
Willis pulled a small notepad from his inside jacket pocket and flipped it open. “Well, we set up surveillance in the post office yesterday, with cameras in the lobby and one pointed right at the post office box in question. But the lobby is a long way from the box, so the main camera is on the box. The postmaster has been briefed and we’re going to have an agent behind the box and one near the boxes posing as a customer sorting through his mail on a table. The checks will be wrapped with a rubber band, though one of the envelopes is bogus and contains a GPS in the event he should get away. But he won’t. There’s only one way out of the building and we’ve got that locked down.”
“I’m just hoping he shows up tomorrow,” I said.
“Oh, he will,” said Willis. “Would you leave that kind of money hanging around in a post office box?”
“No way,” I said. “What time does the mail get sorted?”
“It’s all out by nine thirty at the latest,” said Willis. “When it’s sorted the clerk turns on a red light above the boxes to let people know the mail has all been delivered. Our cameras will transmit a signal to our surveillance truck across the street. Frank, it’s the usual set-up where you can plug directly into the live feed. You’ll need two record decks. And we’ll be recording anyway, so you have a backup just in case.”
“Terrific,” said Frank. “That worked great the last time.”
“Now,” said Willis, “as soon as the mail is picked up, we’ve got six agents in place to arrest him. Belinda, we’ll take a little time reading him his rights before we walk him to a car to take him in. That should give you guys enough time to get your gear, get out of the van and get some video, ask a few questions.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
“So what’s the penalty for something like this?” asked Harry.
“A very long time in federal prison,” said the agent. “At least twenty-five years, maybe more.”
“So any idea where the money is?” I asked.
“We traced last month’s cancelled checks and found out this morning they were all cleared at the bank across the street at the same time. The funds were then deposited to an account with an electronic link to one offshore. Both accounts are still active.”
“So they’re making a deposit and sending the money out of the country,” said Frank. “Makes sense.”
Willis nodded. “The minute the checks clear, the cash gets transferred. The account here is registered to a bogus name and address, and we’re waiting on a call back from the offshore bank.”
“Any chance you can get the money back?” asked Frank.
“There will be a lot of red tape, and it might take a while, but probably. Of course, there’s no telling how much the thieves have already spent. We don’t even know how much has been stolen, for that matter. Our forensic accountants will be working on that, and they might have to go back a few years. Meanwhile, we found bugs in Councilman Jagger’s office and on his cell phone, which we’re leaving in place. We don’t want the thieves to think we’re on to them. We assume there are at least two people, maybe more, with someone in the bank and someone working in the Councilman’s office. It has to be an inside job since there’s no possible access to the computers that control the pension fund from outside the office building.”
“How many people have access to those computers?” asked Frank.
“Supposedly half a dozen, but it wouldn’t be too hard for someone to hack into them from inside the building if they knew what they were doing.”
“How’s Councilman Jagger?” I asked.
“A little shaky, but he’ll be okay. We have an agent in the office today and tomorrow posing as a consultant who will be spending a lot of time with him.”
“Why not keep Jagger at home if someone’s threatening him?” asked Harry. “Let him call in sick.”
“We don’t want anything out of the ordinary,” said Willis. “It has to look like a normal day since we think someone’s on the inside. We don’t want to spook them. If they get out of the country, they could clean out the offshore account and be gone forever. So, any other questions?”
“I do get an exclusive with the guy after you book him, right?”
“Absolutely. That’s assuming he hasn’t lawyered up and will talk to you. We’ll wait on the press conference until six-thirty, after your newscast is over.”
“Thank you,” said Harry. “I appreciate that.”
“Least I can do for such a great tip. Listen, if we take these people down, we’re talking tens of millions of dollars you’re saving the city.” Willis got up and we all followed. “Belinda, you and Frank meet us at my office at seven-thirty, and you can ride with us.”
“Thank you, Agent Willis,” said Harry. Willis nodded and left the office. “So, assuming your thief is of the incredibly greedy type and is eager to pick up his mail, we should have this story in the can for tomorrow night.”
“We can only hope,” I said. “Harry, you can’t tell anyone about this until they catch the guy.”
“Not even the producers,” he said. “Don’t worry, Cupcake, everything stays in this room.”
***
I was anything but relaxed as I got ready for my date. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. One more night and then cut Scott loose if he doesn’t get with the program. Wing Girl has been patient enough with him. Why in the world would she stay with a guy who may or may not be good in the sack but she won’t know that unless she walks down the aisle? That’s a pretty big risk.
The answer is an old one: the heart wants what the heart wants.
But sadly, when it came to love, my heart suffered from an irregular heartbeat and I’d been wondering if someone needed to hit me with the romance defibrillator and yell, “Clear!”
I waited for Scott to pick me up, excited to see him for the first time in two weeks. I’d missed the great rapport we had, how we seemed so perfect together and have everything in common.
And yet one concern kept sneaking past the rose-colored guards in my brain, asking the question that’dw been driving me crazy. The question, and this may surprise you, is one that has nothing at all to do with sex.
Why didn’t Scott offer to take care of me when I was sick?
I know, I know, I was probably worrying about nothing. Maybe he was working, maybe he had to travel, maybe he had to see an important client and didn’t want to get the flu. But Ariel was right to ask about it. He didn’t even offer. And the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me.
That little red pennant kept trying to sneak up the flagpole, but those rose-colored guards kept getting in the way when sensible girl tried to raise it.
Meanwhile, there was the other question. What did Scott want to talk about tonight? It sounded important, he sounded as though I’d like it. Was it an engagement ring? An offer to elope? How would I answer if he’s going to propose? (No frigging clue.) Would he finally throw his religious beliefs to the wind and take me? Inquiring minds want to know.
My locomotive of thought was interrupted
by the doorman’s buzzer telling me Scott had arrived. The rose-colored guards declared martial law, and every concern went sailing out the window while I went flying out the door.
His face lit up as I emerged from the elevator. He moved quickly across the lobby toward me and gave me a strong hug, nearly lifting me off the floor.
“Wow, I missed you too,” I said. Apparently absence had made his heart grow fonder. Hopefully something else, too.
He broke the embrace and took my hand, then led me to the door, seemingly out of breath and in a hurry. “Two weeks is too long.”
“Agreed.”
“You look like you’re feeling fine now. You over the flu?”
“Pretty much. But I was miserable for a few days.” I wanted to add, “And you didn’t even offer to come by and give me a back rub or make me some chicken soup,” but I caught the words by the tail.
“Well, glad you’re better tonight since I have to fly out tomorrow night.”
“Again?” I asked, as the driver opened the door for me and I started to get in.
“Just for two days, then we can spend the whole weekend together.”
“I’ll clear my calendar,” I said, as he slid in next to me and the driver shut the door.
***
Scott ordered dessert for both of us and handed the menu back to the waiter. “So I’ve been meaning to say you’re looking especially beautiful tonight. As opposed to your everyday stunning version.”
I couldn’t help but feel special. The restaurant was as romantic a place as you could imagine. Candles provided the only illumination in the room. The light seemed to dance in the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling every ten feet. A piano player offered soft instrumentals, which added to the relaxing mood. The waiters were all outfitted in white tuxedoes, some busy preparing flaming desserts tableside. The patrons were dressed to the nines. I thought back to my pre-makeover days and could only imagine how I would have stuck out had I worn what Ariel called “the Hillary Clinton fall collection” to a place like this.
Scott seemed to glow, as the flicker of the candlelight reflected off his tanned face. “You’re looking very handsome yourself. As opposed to your everyday good-looking version. And this is such a nice place.”
“Glad you like it. I must say, Belinda, you look really … upbeat. I mean, for someone who just got out of a sick bed.”
“Well, I had cabin fever today after being cooped up since Thursday, so it’s like being sprung from prison. And I’ve got some really good stories going.”
“That’s great. By the way, I did have a pension expert look at those documents and he couldn’t find a thing wrong with them.”
I wanted to tell him I was about to break that story, that all his experts were wrong, that he was wrong, but I figured, why make the guy feel bad? “Well, thanks for trying.” Besides, he’d be surprised enough tomorrow night when he saw my story.
“But I’m not giving up yet. I’ve got another guy who’s a whiz with that stuff. Smartest guy I know. He’s looking at it now and said he should be able to get back to me on Wednesday.”
Okay, enough with my story. I’d waited through soup, salad, been through a veritable armada of forks. It was time. “You said you had something important to tell me. Something that I’d like?” I raised both eyebrows.
“Well, actually two things. First … ” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a large flat black jewelry box and slid it across the table to me. “I spotted this on my last trip and thought it would look great on you. Just a little something. I figure I know you well enough that you’re not going to think it’s too forward of me and go running away.”
The box was too big for an engagement ring, but hey, I wasn’t complaining. I lifted the box, opened it, and my jaw dropped as I saw a huge deep-green emerald surrounded by diamonds on the end of a heavy gold chain. “Oh, Scott, it’s gorgeous.”
“It matches your eyes.”
Now I’m not an expert on this stuff, but the thing had to be four carats at least. “I’m certainly not going to run, but it’s too much, really.”
“Not for someone like you. You’re worth it. Besides, one of my clients owns a jewelry company and he gave me a good deal on it. Please, Belinda, I want you to have it.”
“Oh, what the hell!” I pulled it out of the box and handed it to him. “Put it on for me, will you?”
He took the necklace, got up, and moved behind me. I couldn’t contain my smile as I held up my hair and he clasped the necklace behind my neck. A few older couples sitting across from me stopped to watch and smiled, obviously impressed with the way I was being treated in such a classic, old-fashioned manner. I felt the emerald land just north of my cleavage and looked down. “God, this thing is gorgeous. Thank you so much.” Playing hard to get seemed to have its benefits. Thank you, Mrs. Baymont.
“You’re welcome,” he said, sitting down. “You’ve been so patient putting up with my travel schedule.”
“And you’ve been patient with me when I need alone time.”
“I think every woman needs that from time to time.”
“Well, this is a wonderful surprise. You thought I’d like it, ha! What woman wouldn’t like it?”
“That wasn’t the surprise I was referring to.”
But wait, there’s more. And behind door number two …
“I’ve been thinking a while about this, and I’ve made a decision regarding my religious beliefs.”
It was all I could do to stop myself from leaping across the table and taking him right there on the restaurant floor.
A sheepish grin grew on his face. “I think it’s time. For, you know.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Look, the way this relationship is going I know it’s an awful lot to ask a woman to take such a big leap. And I want you to be sure. Because … I’m already sure about you.”
“Scott … I don’t know what to say. When—”
“Well, if you don’t mind skipping the movie, I was thinking you’d look great right after dinner in nothing but that necklace.”
***
As far as I was concerned, the Town Car couldn’t move fast enough as it headed for my apartment. My heart raced like a trip hammer as everything around me disappeared.
Except for Scott.
I’d role-played this in my mind dozens of times. What I’d wear (though apparently now it would be nothing), how I’d try to be patient and lead him since it would be his first time. How I’d ravish him the second time. Wondering if he’d mind being tied to the bedposts the third time.
And I remembered his exact words from moments ago. “It’s an awful lot to ask a woman to take such a big leap … ” Such a big leap could only mean one thing.
I mentally started a wedding guest list—
The ringing of his cell phone interrupted me.
He answered it, listened a moment and his face dropped.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He put up a finger, listened for about thirty seconds, nodded and said, “Okay. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
Oh, shit. You gotta be kidding me.
He ended the call. “That was my sister. It’s my father … ” His voice cracked. “He, uh, had a heart attack and it doesn’t look good.”
“Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry. Where is he?”
“Upstate. It’s about a four-hour drive unless I can catch a flight. Belinda, I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Drop me off and go. I’ll be waiting when you get back. I’m not going anywhere.”
He kissed me on the cheek. “This is why you’re so special.” He leaned forward, told the driver he might be in for a long night and sat back as we pulled up to my apartment.
I leaned over and hugged him. “Hang in there. Call me when you know anything.”
“Okay,” he said. His eyes were moist. I opened the door myself, got out, shut it, then watched the car and my perfect night speed away.
CHA
PTER TWENTY ONE
The stakeouts you see in the movies and on TV are nothing like real life. In Hollywood, cops sit in a car for two minutes and the bad guy emerges. In real life, you can sit for hours, drink gallons of coffee and have your joints stiffen to the point you feel like you’ve slept on the floor. All this until your target appears … if he ever does. In my experience, stakeouts are a total bust half the time.
I personally hate them. Stuck in a news car for hours on end, often with no decent food or bathrooms nearby, and no room to stretch, is not my idea of fun. It’s like spending a day in the middle seat on a cross-country flight. However, we were reasonably sure our thief would appear shortly after the mail was delivered. And if I was gonna be stuck on a stakeout, the FBI surveillance unit was a lot more appealing than a news car.
It was outfitted like a television satellite truck, a long trailer equipped with monitors, wireless microphones, phone-tapping equipment, and other stuff you see in James Bond movies. Some legal, some not. I could look the other way as well as anyone when it comes to catching the bad guys. They’ve also got comfortable chairs and Agent Willis is known for having good coffee and decent food on hand for his crew.
There were two other agents besides Willis in the truck, one monitoring audio and another techie manning the video equipment that was keeping everyone connected. Frank had recording decks plugged directly into the feed coming from the post office, so he could jump out of the truck with his camera when the agents brought the bad guy out. I was in a swivel chair next to Agent Willis in front of the bank of monitors as we were both locked on the video feed. As you can imagine, watching static shots of post office boxes for a couple of hours was riveting.
By eleven I was getting frustrated and stood up to stretch. The mail had been out since nine, a little earlier than usual according to the postmaster. There had been a few close calls with patrons visiting boxes next to 504, one of the largest boxes, which was at the end of a long hallway, but so far the mountain of envelopes remained inside. At one point a little old lady with a huge shopping bag and a walker headed toward 504. Willis gave everyone a standby with “possible suspect”, which gave all the agents a good laugh as she ended up at 502.