by Meryl Sawyer
Adam looked up from the computer analysis of security equipment that he’d been reviewing. “Come in and shut the door.”
“Uh-oh. Sounds serious.” Tyler closed the door, then sat in the chair beside Adam’s desk. “What’s up?”
“The guard at Ocean Heights walked off his post last night. I—”
“I know. Sorry about that. Doesn’t happen often.”
“Shouldn’t we have guards on call?”
Tyler smiled sheepishly. “It’s hard on that shift, but I think I’ve got it worked out.”
“Good.” Adam didn’t ask any more questions. The guard business was Tyler’s baby. He’d developed it and worked with the accounts. “You were right about corporate security. We would need a lot more capital.”
“It might be possible later,” Tyler replied, but he didn’t sound all that interested.
“I have another idea. We could go for it right now.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Protecting buildings and offices has become a huge business since 9/11, right? I’m not talking about security personnel. I’m referring to security barrier systems like concrete barricades.”
“Gotcha. We’ve had people call to see if we have things like that in stock.” Tyler nodded slowly. “We might be able to move in that direction.”
“I’ve located a company up north that makes swinging security arms like the ones we already have at guard kiosks and parking garages. Instead of being the lightweight type we use now, these are reinforced steel. They can stop a five-ton truck going seventy miles an hour. No one can just barrel in and blow up a building.”
“That’s really impressive.” Tyler thought a moment. “If the arms are so much heavier, the motor that lifts them will have to be more powerful. It would mean changing our existing motors and buying new ones. I’m not sure homeowner associations—”
“I was thinking of businesses and the military installations around here, not gated communities.”
“Doesn’t the military have their own contractors?”
“Yes, but a lot of them have been diverted to Iraq. There’s a serious shortage here,” Adam replied. “I think we should start with bollards.”
“What are they?”
“Knee-high cement posts that prevent cars or trucks from driving too close to buildings. There’s a new type that can be temporarily removed if someone needs to access the building to move in or out or install large pieces of furniture or equipment.”
“Okay. I know what you mean now.”
“I’m going to start right away by getting us certified and arranging for security clearances. Could we use your father for a reference?”
Tyler cleared his throat, then replied, “I’m sure he’ll agree. We actually had breakfast together, and he mentioned your uncle. I guess they met in Istanbul sometime last year. My father put some of his business info on your uncle’s computer because his wasn’t working. He’d like to retrieve it, but I told him the computer had been stolen. Any chance there’s a backup disc somewhere?”
“I doubt it. I’ve been checking all the software the burglars left behind. There isn’t much. What they did leave seems to be just discs for software installed on the computer like QuickBooks and Excel.”
“Could you keep looking?”
Tyler sounded a little anxious. Adam knew his friend’s relationship with his father wasn’t very good. Obviously Quinten Foley must be upset about the theft and pressuring his son. “Sure. I should finish going through his office tonight—” he thought about Whitney “—or tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”
“Great. I’ll—”
The buzzer on Adam’s phone interrupted them. He picked up the receiver.
“There’s a Max Deaver here to see you,” Sherry told him. “He says it’s important.”
“Thanks. Send him in.” Adam hung up. “I’ve got to talk to this guy. Let’s touch base tomorrow.”
Tyler nodded and left without another word. The forensic accountant hired by the attorney handling Calvin Hunter’s estate entered Adam’s office as soon as Tyler left.
“Hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I have a client in the Halstrom Building next door.”
“Not at all.” Adam waved Deaver to the seat Tyler had just vacated. “What’s up?”
Deaver sat down, his expression grave. “I’m still chasing your uncle’s offshore accounts all over the place. It’s a first-rate shell game. Best I’ve seen since I’ve been in the business. He might have had a pro help him.”
“Really?”
“It’s very likely. Most guys who show dogs wouldn’t—”
“Remember, my uncle was in military intelligence before he retired. He might have learned these maneuvers in the service.”
“It’s possible.” Deaver shifted in the chair. “That’s not what’s bothering me. Yesterday, twenty-five thousand dollars was withdrawn from one of his offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands that I did manage to locate.”
“How could that happen? I thought you needed the account number and a password.”
“You’re right. That’s exactly what’s necessary. Someone knows about this account. Whoever it is has his special password, too.” Deaver leaned forward slightly and his tone became even more serious. “As far as I can tell, that Cayman account is the end point of the shell game. It was harder than hell to find. Your uncle deliberately shifted all his money around and around so that it would be nearly impossible to discover where it was.”
“Yet someone has found it.”
Adam stared out his window at the ocean in the distance. The late-afternoon light reflected off of it like a mile-long mirror. “I can’t find any of his account numbers. They don’t seem to be listed on anything in the house. Of course, it was burglarized. The account numbers and passwords might be on his stolen computer.”
“Could be, but it wouldn’t be a very smart move for a man in the intelligence field. People tend to write down passwords and hide them. With an estate this large and complicated, the access numbers might be in code or something.”
“Whoever withdrew the money knew exactly where it was.”
“That’s the only explanation, and if they were testing, as I suspect, they now realize the password is correct.”
“Is there anything I can do to stop that person from withdrawing any more money?”
“You could contact the bank. As heir to his estate, they might put a hold on the account, but it’s unlikely. Secret accounts often have partners who wish to remain anonymous. Banking establishments honor those relationships.”
Adam thought for a moment. “It seems to me that I read somewhere that secret partners in Swiss accounts are often terrorist groups.”
“Exactly. Legitimate organizations or individuals deposit money in Swiss accounts, then funds are withdrawn by God-only-knows-who. That’s why the Swiss have come under such scrutiny. Going into this, I doubted your uncle’s money would be in Switzerland. Too many prying eyes. He moved his cash from there to several other banks in the Maldives and Panama. They aren’t as closely watched by the Feds looking for the sources of terrorists’ funds.”
Adam thanked Deaver for his time and the forensic accountant left. Uncle Calvin had been a very secretive man. Adam couldn’t imagine him trusting anyone with such important information. The code must have been on his stolen computer. The thief or thieves had been after the code. It certainly explained why nothing else had been taken from the house.
Adam decided to talk to Quinten Foley. He might know something that would help. If not, whoever had the code could drain his uncle’s remaining assets. Then Adam would be left with his uncle’s bills and little money to pay them. He would run out of money in no time.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WHITNEY CHECKED HER cell phone, then put it back in her pocket. She told Adam, “I’ve never tried call forwarding before.”
“Trust me. It works. I use it all the time.”
They were on Adam’s patio watching
the sun set. Adam had phoned on his way home from work. He’d bought steaks to grill and ingredients for a salad.
“A prospective client called earlier to make sure I was going to be home this evening to discuss taking care of her dog. This will be the first client that I’ve gotten on my own.”
Adam finished lighting the grill and turned back to her. “What kind of dog?”
“A poodle. I think the owner is a foreigner. She said Fiona was a poo-dell.”
“Large or small?” Adam poured them each a glass of pinot noir.
“I didn’t ask. I assume small because you see so many of them, but it could be a standard poodle. She must have gotten my name from a client, but she didn’t say who.”
“Did you see an attorney?”
Adam’s tone sounded a little guarded. She wondered if he might be reluctant to pressure her. “Yes. Broderick Babcock is looking over the papers.”
“You saw Babcock himself? What about the honeymoon?”
She sighed. “There wasn’t one. Miranda made it all up.”
His eyes flared in disbelief, then narrowed while Whitney explained exactly what had happened at the attorney’s office.
“Babcock didn’t even know your cousin?”
Whitney shook her head. “I guess Miranda read about him or saw him on television. He’s a local celebrity.”
“Yeah, probably,” he replied, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“I wonder where she’s gone,” Whitney said. “Maybe something happened to her. Miranda might be in danger—”
“When people disappear like that they’re usually running from something or someone.”
“I don’t have a clue what was happening with her. I’ve only been here a few days. When I arrived, needing a place to stay, Miranda asked if I wanted to take over her business. She claimed to be leaving to get married.”
“What about her other relatives? She might be with them.”
“No. I’m her only relative except for some really distant cousins. Her parents were killed in an auto accident. If my mother hadn’t taken Miranda in, she would have gone into foster care.”
Adam touched her shoulder. His hand felt warm and reassuring. “It’s damn hard to disappear without a trace. I suspect your cousin will be easy to track down.” He stood up. “While the grill’s heating, let’s go upstairs to the office. I’ll get on my computer and see what I can find out.”
Whitney followed him up the wide curved stairway. Jasper scampered along beside him. She kept Lexi, Maddie and Da Vinci with her on leashes. After last night, she wasn’t taking any chances. She had to wait at the top of each step for the smaller dogs to scramble up beside Lexi.
Inside the wood-paneled office, Adam went to a laptop computer that was already open on the desk with a screensaver of crashing waves on it. Jasper hopped up onto his lap. Whitney settled into a chair next to the desk and the dogs clustered around her feet.
“At work we use Total Track. It’s a service that collects personal information like credit card activity, bank accounts, court records and DMV registrations. Let’s see what it has on Miranda Marshall. Does she have a middle name?”
“Leighton.” Whitney spelled the family name Miranda’s mother had given her cousin. “Isn’t a lot of this information private?”
“It’s supposed to be, but in this computer age, there’s virtually nothing that’s totally confidential. The Total Track guys got into the business by going to courthouses every day and recording info that was public record. Court records like DUIs and even prison sentences aren’t entered into a computer every day. Understaffing is common and it can be weeks before they input the info. Total Track immediately chases down those reports and sells their service. It’s expensive but it became a hit right away. A lot of smaller police departments use them because they don’t have the manpower to keep up with all the information that’s out there.”
“I see.” Whitney wondered what info they had on her.
“Okay. Here’s your cousin’s screen.” He glanced over at her. “She has two credit cards and they’re paid off. No activity on either one in three weeks.” He touched another key, then frowned at the screen.
“What is it?”
“She closed her Wells Fargo checking account a week ago and withdrew the three-hundred-and-twenty-seven dollar balance. Her car’s paid for and her other two credit card accounts at Nordstrom’s and Macy’s have been closed.”
“So all Miranda has is a little cash and two credit cards.”
“Looks like that’s it. But she hasn’t used the cards. Existing anywhere for a period of time on less than three hundred dollars is difficult.”
“She might have had more cash with her.” Whitney tried to recall exactly what Miranda had told her. “Some of her clients paid in cash. She told me to offer new clients a discount for cash.”
“If you receive cash,” he said, “and don’t report it, you keep those earnings off the IRS radar screen, but it’s illegal.”
“I know, but it means she might have more cash with her than it appears.” Whitney replied with a shake of her head. Her cousin had always been one to play the angles. “The question is, where is Miranda? And why did she just disappear?”
“From what you’ve told me, I suspect she had this planned for some time. She knows enough not to use her credit cards.”
“I think anyone would know that. Just watch television. The second someone goes missing, police look to see if their credit cards have been used.”
“True. Probably the best way to track her is to focus on the car. You’d be surprised how many fugitives get parking tickets or are pulled over for a missing taillight or some minor violation. It goes into the system and bingo—we know where they are.”
“If nothing happens, we may never find her.”
Adam shook his head. “Possibly, but I doubt it. It’s harder to disappear than you’d think.” He tapped a few keys on the computer. “I’m checking the Highway Patrol database. They gather all the information from local authorities for Homeland Security. Since 9/11, law enforcement has become very interested in all sorts of vehicles that could be used by terrorists especially since San Diego sits on the border.” He let out a low whistle. “I’ll be damned. A hit!”
She jumped up and looked over his shoulder at the screen. She saw a license-plate number followed by: Location—metered parking at Lindbergh Field.
“Miranda’s car is in the airport lot. She left it at a meter that’s expired. Does she have friends she might have flown to visit?”
She slowly shook her head. “Friends? I don’t know. Since she’s lived here from the time she was fifteen, you would think all her friends would be local.”
Adam picked up the telephone and dialed a number. “Gus?” he said after waiting several rings. “It’s Adam Hunter.”
She watched him while he listened to something Gus was saying. Then he said, “I need a favor. Could you check security lists at Lindbergh and see if a Miranda Leighton Marshall boarded a plane? If you find her name, let me know where she went.”
Adam’s voice was a low rumble that Whitney found very intriguing. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn’t help remembering last night. She wanted to be in his arms again, but she reminded herself not to rush things. Slow down. Her life was complicated enough with Miranda missing.
Adam listened a moment, then said, “Nah. I haven’t lost a girlfriend.” He winked at her and she couldn’t help smiling back. “Miranda’s family is worried about her. I told them I would check.” He listened again. “Thanks, Gus.” Adam gave him his telephone number then hung up.
“You think she left the country?” Whitney asked.
“That’s a possibility, since she doesn’t seem to have friends or relatives she could visit.” He logged off his computer, put Jasper on the floor and stood up. “If she bought a ticket, she had to show ID or her passport. It’ll be in the records. Gus will find it. He’s SDPD’s point man with Homeland Sec
urity.”
“I can’t imagine where she’d go,” Whitney said, bewildered.
Adam slipped his arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the room. “The grill’s ready. Those steaks are waiting. There’s nothing we can do until Gus checks and calls back.”
She maneuvered to avoid tripping over the three dogs on leashes hovering at her feet. “How long do you think that will be?”
“Gus said he has time tonight. He checks info that comes in from the border crossing with Mexico. It’s a slow night because it’s raining south of Tijuana.”
Whitney stayed in the kitchen to assemble the salad. It didn’t take much work. Adam had bought bagged lettuce, a tomato and a cucumber. He’d also bought blue cheese dressing. Not a fat-free choice but she guessed after his time in Iraq, he wasn’t counting calories.
She thought about the way he kept looking at her while he’d been on the computer and talking to his friend. When she’d first met Adam, he’d been so…so stoic. It was almost as if he wouldn’t allow anything to touch him. He didn’t want to be bothered to think or feel. Now he seemed to be coming back to life by degrees.
Had something happened to him?
She suddenly wanted to know everything about him. Her emotions had been chafed raw by her experience with Ryan. She hadn’t asked enough questions. She’d fallen for him and believed love could make up for the quirks in Ryan’s personality.
Ryan had been great in bed but he’d always been emotionally unavailable. She smiled to herself as she sliced the cucumber. “Emotionally unavailable” was a term she’d heard on some self-help talk show. The minute she’d heard it, Whitney knew it fit her husband.
He never shared his thoughts or feelings. Other than saying he was exhausted after his shift at the hospital or when he’d been studying, Ryan hadn’t expressed much about himself. She didn’t bother to wonder if he was different with Ashley.
Ryan Fordham didn’t matter to her any longer.
It was a relief to have him out of her life, she decided. As soon as Rod Babcock gave her the okay, she was signing those papers and closing that unhappy chapter of her life. She smiled inwardly and splashed a little dressing on the salad.