Kiss of Death

by Meryl Sawyer

  “It’s me,” Adam told her. “Must have been my imagination. The parked car is empty.”

  “Great. I’ll see you later.”

  She hung up and finished putting the clothes in the shopping bags. Her cell phone was on the nightstand next to her bed. She hadn’t taken it with her because her only purse was too big and clunky looking for the outfit. The LCD display indicated she had voice mail.

  “This is Betty Spirin,” the voice said when she pressed the message button. “My daughter’s been in an accident. I have to go to L.A. immediately. Grey’s had his dinner. I need you to walk him tonight and again first thing in the morning. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what’s happening.”

  The woman sounded nearly hysterical. Whitney could only imagine how frantic she must be after learning her daughter had been in an accident. Whitney had never walked this particular pet but did recall Miranda telling her about a dachshund named Grey Poupon. The dog was a regular and Miranda had given Whitney the key to his home. It was on the key chain at the bottom of her purse.

  She consulted her BlackBerry and found additional information. She’d remembered correctly. The dachshund lived in a condominium complex not too far away. A quick check of her watch told her it was just after midnight. The message had been left a little before five. The poor animal needed to go out immediately.

  Whitney changed into jeans and threw on a T-shirt. She knew Adam wouldn’t want her to leave, but she didn’t have any choice. He would be gone at least an hour and by then Grey might have an accident. She thought about calling Adam but decided to leave a note instead. With any luck she would be home before he returned.

  THE SECOND ADAM SNAPPED his cell phone shut, it buzzed. “Yeah?” he said, expecting it to be Whitney. Instead it was Max Deaver. “Working a little late, aren’t you?”

  Max chuckled. “Banks are just opening in Zurich. Diamond traders are busy in Antwerp. London’s setting the price of gold. Paris—”

  “Okay. I get the picture. It’s morning somewhere just like it’s always five o’clock somewhere.”

  “True, but I’m not kidding about banks opening in Zurich. There’s been another transfer of funds.”

  Adam groaned. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope, but this should make you happy. The funds have been transferred to pay off debts against the property you and your uncle owned as joint tenants.”

  It took a second for Deaver’s message to register. “What in hell?”

  “Don’t know. The money’s coming from a numbered account.”

  “Is it one of my uncle’s?”

  “Not unless it’s one I didn’t come across when I was checking.”

  Adam pulled into HiTech’s parking lot and stopped the car. “What do you make of this?”

  “Haven’t a clue, man, haven’t a clue. I thought you might have some idea.”

  “Could it have been something my uncle set up before he died? You know, arrangements can be made with banks to transfer funds on certain dates. Hell, every credit card company in the world will be happy to zap money out of your checking account on a specified date.”

  “It’s possible,” conceded Deaver. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  Adam thanked him, hung up and sat in the car, thinking. He’d been stunned that his uncle had made him joint tenant of several properties. Then Calvin Hunter had saddled those properties with debt. He must have known Adam didn’t have the capital to repay those loans. Before he died, Calvin had set up a payment schedule.

  “What’s up?” Adam asked Tyler when he walked into the command post adjacent to HiTech’s offices.

  Tyler was sitting beside Butch at the post’s computer terminal. Red lights on the screen indicated the stations where guards were still working. Most closed at midnight while a few remained open until one-thirty.

  Tyler stood up. “Let’s go into my office.”

  Adam’s sixth sense had kicked into gear the moment he’d heard Tyler’s voice on the phone. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Quinten Foley sitting in Tyler’s office when they walked into the room.

  “I trust I didn’t take you away from anything too important,” Quinten said in a general’s imperious tone.

  “Not unless you count my girl.” It was obvious that Tyler’s father didn’t give a damn about Whitney. He would have walked straight out the door except for all the hard work Tyler had done while Adam had been overseas.

  “I needed to talk to you tonight.”

  Tyler shrugged and smiled apologetically at Adam. He couldn’t be angry with his friend. What would it have been like to grow up with Quinten Foley? Adam had been lucky. His dad had always been there for him. It had been over three years since his death but Adam still missed him.

  Adam pulled up a chair. “You couldn’t discuss this on the phone?”

  “You know how my father is,” Tyler told him with a touch of sarcasm. “Phones can be tapped. Anyone with the right equipment can listen in on cell calls.”

  “Okay, I’m here. Shoot.”

  Quinten Foley frowned at his son. “I need to have a private conversation with Adam.”

  “Fine with me. My girl’s waiting for me, too.” He left, shutting the door behind them.

  “I had a few thoughts about the disc I’m missing.”

  Adam was too pissed to ask a question. How could a man treat his own son like a scumbag? Why did Tyler take it?

  “Calvin may have transferred it to another format,” Foley said. “That’s why we couldn’t find the disc.”

  “Such as?”

  “Another type of disc, or it may even be disguised as a book. It might even be in some unusual place like the freezer.”

  “There was nothing in the freezer except Rocky Road ice cream. I ate it.”

  “It’s possible it’s disguised as a music CD in his car.”

  Under his breath, Adam cursed himself. He’d neglected to inspect the CDs in his uncle’s car. When Quinten had first come looking for the disc, Adam had told him some of his uncle’s financial records were missing. He didn’t say he believed it was a single line of information containing a bank code. For all Foley knew, Adam was after reams of paper. He didn’t trust Foley enough to tell him the truth. He hadn’t confided in anyone—not even Whitney.

  “Did you search the discs in the sound system around the pool?”

  Aw, hell. Screwed up again. He hadn’t played the music outside and didn’t even know where the CD player that serviced the barbecue and pool area was located.

  “I’m positive the info is somewhere in the house or car. Those are the only places it could be.”

  Adam thought a second. “What about the plane he leased or the villa on Siros?”

  “We’ve checked. It’s not at either location.” A cold smile played across his lips. “We’d like to thoroughly search your uncle’s home.”

  Adam’s thoughts whirled inside his head like the Milky Way. Who searched the plane and villa? “It’s my home, too. Check the records. We owned it jointly.”

  “I have. That’s why I’m asking your permission to allow experts to thoroughly go over the home first thing in the morning.”

  “Why the rush?”

  “There’s info on the disc that I need now,” Foley replied, but there was something about the way he said it that made Adam suspicious.

  He opened his mouth to tell Foley to go to hell. On the way over here, he’d decided to take Whitney to Cancún. There was a good chance they’d find Miranda there. If not, a little vacation couldn’t hurt them. He decided not to shoot himself in the foot. He’d had absolutely no luck locating the bank code he needed. Why not let the pros give it a try?

  “Okay,” Adam replied slowly, as if he were reluctant to go along with this. “I’ll need to be present.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I—”

  “Then I won’t grant access.”

  “All right, all right. First thing in the morning. It won
’t take my boys more than an hour or two—tops.”

  FROM A ROOM DOWN THE HALL, Tyler listened to every word. He’d been testing a new gadget. It was a pricey Mont Blanc pen fitted with a microphone the size of a pinhead. It transmitted everything said within a ten-foot radius to a receiver concealed in a deck of playing cards. The receiver was so powerful that it could be located anywhere within a half mile of the pen.

  What was on the disc that was so important to his father? Why did Adam insist on being present? Maybe Adam wanted to make certain his father’s men didn’t remove anything. That didn’t make sense. The pros his father would use wouldn’t be common thieves. He was missing something here.

  Then the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle in his brain suddenly fell into place. His father must have been in business with Calvin Hunter. He thought a moment. It could only have been weapons. His father was supposed to be a consultant, but that must have been a cover story.

  Tyler couldn’t help wondering if money might be hidden somewhere in Calvin Hunter’s home. That would account for Adam’s interest. The disc provided an excuse to search. After all, his father worked with private militias as well as foreign governments on weapons deals. So had Calvin Hunter. They could have been paid “off the books” in gold or even diamonds.

  He toyed with the idea of going in and looking himself. After all, he had been a detective. Nah, he decided. If Adam had searched the home, the disc—or whatever—wasn’t easy to find.

  He heard the men standing and shut off the receiver by pressing a microdot on the phony pack of cards. He sprinted out the side door and raced to his car. He was out of the lot before the men emerged from the building.

  This crap with his father had made Tyler think about money. A lot of money. His father could live another twenty or even thirty years.

  Granted, Tyler was making decent money, but Holly deserved the best. He smiled to himself, thinking about Adam’s comment. He did have a woman he was interested in. Holly needed to know as soon as possible.

  Tyler tried her cell number again but it immediately kicked into voice mail. He’d lied when he’d said Holly was waiting for him. They’d had an early dinner, then she’d claimed female problems were bothering her. She’d gone home. Tyler had picked up a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. He’d taken them to her walkup flat in Coronado but she wasn’t there.

  Where the fuck could she be? Why would she lie? She couldn’t possibly have another guy. No way. She spent too many nights with him.

  He needed to present her with a whopper of a diamond. Once they set a date to be married, he would feel better. Not even his frustration with his father could bring him down then.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “HEY, CUTIE.” The dachshund scurried up to Whitney, tail wagging. “Grey, right?” She dropped to her knees and held out her arms. The little dog leaped up and licked her chin.

  She stood, Grey in her arms, and flipped on a few lights. “Let’s see if you had an accident that I need to clean up.”

  “Good boy,” she told the dog after she’d inspected the small, neat condo. “No accidents. Let’s take you for a walk.”

  The dachshund lived in an upscale condominium complex not far from Scripps. If Whitney recalled correctly, Betty Spirin worked at the Scripps Institute of Oceanography. Whitney walked down a path illuminated only by low-voltage lights scattered among the plants bordering the walkway. Hadn’t the moon been shining when they left the restaurant? She was positive it had, but in early summer a layer of marine clouds inched in at night, lingered, then became the morning fog that beachgoers called “June gloom.”

  The note she had on her BlackBerry said “back,” which meant the best place to walk Grey was in the back of the complex. She headed in that direction, deciding there must be a common area behind the warren of condos. As soon as they were off the walkway Grey lifted his leg on a low-hanging bush.

  “You really had to go, didn’t you,” she said, careful to keep her voice low. Very few lights were on in the complex at this late hour, and she didn’t want to disturb the residents.

  Grey finished and scratched the grass. Whitney led the dachshund toward the rear of the condominiums. The dog probably would do something more serious. She’d left her purse in the condo, so she double-checked the pockets in her shorts to make sure she had a plastic bag for a pickup.

  Whitney slowed as she approached the rear of the complex. Security lights illuminated the building but five feet beyond was cloaked in deep shadows. She looked up again. Nothing but a black anvil of a sky.

  Grey trotted forward. Obviously the dog had been here many times and knew his way. A sense of foreboding prickled at Whitney. Mercy, was she jumpy. She’d been nothing but raw nerves since the fire.

  When she’d left the house, she’d checked for the car Adam had seen minutes earlier, but it had vanished. For some reason that bothered her when it shouldn’t have. People came and went all the time. On the way over, she’d kept checking her rearview mirror. She’d spotted several cars but none of them appeared to be following her.

  Near-death experiences caused anxiety, she decided. Adam had retreated into a shell after nearly being killed. He was just now emerging. It was no wonder she was upset. Someone wanted Miranda dead and that person was still out there.

  “Grey, how are you, boy?” A tall man appeared out of the darkness.

  Whitney nearly jumped, then managed to steady herself. It was only an elderly man walking his dog.

  “Where’s Betty?” he asked.

  The neighbor had a Golden retriever that some people might have mistaken for Lexi. But this dog wasn’t very well groomed. Tufts of fur grew out from between the toes of her paws. A definite no-no with Golden owners. The unwanted fur collected dirt that could be tracked into the house.

  “Betty will be back soon,” Whitney told him, even though she had no clue when the woman planned to return. Miranda had cautioned her not to give out information. Pet owners didn’t like anyone to know they were gone. Crime in the area wasn’t a problem, but it paid to be careful.

  “Good.” He squinted at her. “You’re not Miranda. For a moment, I thought you were.”

  “I’m her cousin, Whitney Marshall. I’ve taken over Miranda’s clients.”

  “Really? I saw her just a week or so ago. We always talked. She didn’t mention leaving.”

  You don’t know the half of it, she wanted to scream. “It was sudden.”

  “Well, be careful back there.” He pointed to the dark area that stretched behind them. “They’re retiling the pool. Some workman accidentally severed the electric line. Can’t see a dang-blamed thing.”

  “Thanks. I have my flashlight.” Whitney pulled it from her pocket. “Good night.”

  He told her good-night and walked at a leisurely pace in the opposite direction, the Golden at his side. Whitney switched on her flashlight. It cast a narrow tunnel of light on the ground nearby. A row of parking places marked Guests was along the back of the building. She’d parked on the street but made note of it for future visits. She swung the flashlight around and spotted the fenced swimming pool and adjacent greenbelt.

  Grey tugged on the leash. Obviously the animal had been here often enough to know where he wanted to go. The dachshund led Whitney down the asphalt drive toward the greenbelt.

  Suddenly, high-beam headlights flared on, blinding her. The driver revved the engine and the car shot forward—an explosion of sound in the stillness—hurtling directly at her. Whitney had a split second to act. She lunged to the side, yanking the leash and hauling Grey with her.

  Leaping from the pavement onto the soft surface threw her off balance. She skidded on the wet grass, stumbled, lurched sideways, dropped the flashlight, then looked back. There wasn’t enough light to make out more than a vague hulking shape. The car’s tires squealed as the driver veered hard to the left. She heard herself scream as she realized he was changing course to aim directly at her.

  If she didn’t run like
the wind, the car would mow her over in a heartbeat. Ahead and to her right was the flat greenbelt where she would be completely vulnerable. To her left was the large pool enclosed by a wrought-iron fence.

  Blood pounding in her ears, Whitney realized she was as good as road kill. On the verge of utter panic, a galaxy of options swirled through her brain in a nanosecond. There was only one way to save herself. If she could make it to the pool fence before the car hit her—she had a prayer.

  Just a prayer.

  Dragging the dog, she charged forward, arms pumping, legs moving faster than pistons. Grey’s piercing yelps of pain filled the night air. She tried to drop the leash, assuming the dachshund would be better off on his own, but Whitney had wound the leather strap around her palm and it was taut from pulling the dog.

  All she could concentrate on was reaching the fence. Had to get there. Had to. Had to. Had to.

  At her heels, she heard the ominous rumble of the car’s engine. Even though she wasn’t close enough to climb the fence, she launched herself at it, realizing this was her only chance. She smashed her knee against one of the fence’s wrought-iron bars. Pain shot down her leg, and she screamed. Grabbing the vertical bars with both hands, she managed to vault several feet off the ground. She hung on, scrambling upward, using her tennis shoes for traction.

  She grasped the top rail with both fists even though her arms were ripping out of their sockets. Poor little Grey was dangling from the leash, his weight tearing at Whitney’s arm and wrenching one shoulder downward. The dog’s terrified shrieks assured her that his neck hadn’t snapped. Whitney was alive but in excruciating pain and she couldn’t do a thing to help the little dog. Her heart lashed against her ribs like a caged beast.

  Hang on. Hang on.

  The car’s lights shone from behind her and illuminated a drained pool with tiles stacked around the sides. Heart pummeling, she wondered how much longer she could hold on to the fence before her muscles gave out. She ventured a glance over her shoulder.