by Meryl Sawyer
They’d both used tracking chips when they’d worked for the DIA. A tiny chip a little bigger than the head of a straight pin had contact glue on one side. It could be attached—unnoticeable—to an article of clothing or jewelry. Wristwatches were a favorite place to conceal a chip, because people took them off only to sleep.
“I have contacts and money. I can get a monitor and several tracking chips.”
He didn’t add that he had lots of money. Not only had his grandfather left him a chunk, he’d spent little of what he’d earned. Being conservative by nature, he’d invested in bonds, not stocks, and his money had grown.
He was prepared to use it all to help Taylor.
“I want to chip several people besides Taylor. In her case, I want to know where she is should anything happen. With the others, I want to know where they’re going.”
“Others?”
“Trent, Raoul, Jim Wilson.” Shane paused, then added without thinking, “Doyle Maxwell.”
“No women?”
“Odds say it’s a man.”
“Women are becoming more aggressive all the time. Once you could bet your life the killer was male. Not anymore.”
Shane rocked back in the office chair and studied the ceiling. “Sophie Maxwell struck me as weird. Taylor told me she seemed unbalanced at the funeral. She went on and on about Santería.”
“What about Doyle’s wife?”
Shane knew Vince had his eye on Brianna. “A long shot. Not worth wasting a chip on her.”
“Okay, so who is going to sit around and watch the tracking monitor?”
Shane knew this question was coming. The chips required a tracking device with a screen similar to a radar screen. Someone had to watch and record the movements of the people electronically being reported by the tracking chips.
“I’ll pay for two employees whose job it’ll be to watch the screen and record where everyone goes around the clock.”
Vince nodded. “It’ll be great when we’re making enough money to hire more people.”
The fledgling company had a small office with a secretary in a rundown area of Coconut Grove. The computer security field was very lucrative, and they stood to make a good deal of money once they were established.
Thinking of the cost-cutting they’d done made Shane question Vince. “Did you sweep this place?”
“No. Why would I? We don’t have the equipment. I didn’t think it was necessary. The problem is with the computers.”
“I’m wondering if someone bugged these offices. That’s how he’d know Taylor didn’t take the pipe bomb seriously. She thought it might have been a mistake.”
“So he sent the note.” Vince arched one eyebrow. “I think it’s someone right here who doesn’t need a bug to know what’s up. Either that or someone here tells everything that’s going on.”
“You mean Raoul Cathcart?”
“Exactly, although I wouldn’t rule out the brother.”
Shane wouldn’t either. “You know, the computer problem might not be related to the murders at all.”
“You may be right. Hank Olfeld should be back any day. When he cracks the code, we’ll know.”
“Let’s sweep the place anyway. I’ll buy the sweeper. We may need it later for another job.”
Vince agreed, and Shane gave him a credit card to purchase the sweeper. He didn’t want to leave Taylor—even if Doyle and Trent were here—unless he had no other choice.
Shane hadn’t told Vince what he’d found when he’d hacked into the family’s bank records. It was illegal, but Shane wasn’t above doing something illegal to save Taylor.
He hadn’t told Vince about Paul Ashton, either. Vince was as close to being a friend as he’d had since college, but there wasn’t any reason to tell him about Ashton.
Chapter 27
Taylor looked up as Shane knocked on the open door of her office and said, “Got a minute?”
“Sure. Come in.”
“Let’s go up to the dining room. I need to grab a bite.”
She started to protest because she was swamped with Maxx sales reports to review, but decided against it. Shane wouldn’t interrupt her unless it was important.
Out in the hall, he whispered, “I just heard from the police. The only prints on the note and envelope are mine.”
“I expected as much.”
To her dismay, Taylor’s voice broke slightly. She hadn’t thought she’d be this disappointed, but she was.
Shane put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let it upset you. This guy’s clever, but he’ll make a mistake.”
They walked in silence up to the third floor, where the executive dining room was located. Shane selected a seat at a table next to a wall-mounted stereo speaker.
“I wanted to talk to you away from your office in case someone is recording our conversation,” he said, after they’d sat down. “I’ve sent Vince to buy an electronic device that detects bugs.”
“Bugs? You mean someone’s listening to us?”
She couldn’t imagine it, but then she never expected a killer would stalk her.
“Possibly. I got to thinking. The pipe bomb didn’t frighten you. It pissed off—sorry—upset the killer, forcing him to write the note. How did he know you weren’t frightened? Either he’s someone close to you, or he’s listening.”
What he said made sense. She hadn’t believed the pipe bomb had been meant for her, and she’d said so.
To just a few people.
“The note said ‘Every waking moment your killer is watching you.’ That might mean he’s planted some devices. Otherwise, it’s impossible to keep track of what I’m doing all the time.”
“We’ll know soon,” Shane said with what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. “Vince should be back within the hour.”
“If the place is bugged, can’t we find the recorder? Doesn’t it have to be nearby?”
“Only if we’re dealing with a rank amateur, which I doubt. The newer devices send a signal that can be picked up a mile away. Our chances of finding the laser disk recording the conversation are zilch.”
She gazed across the empty dining room, her mind drifting from their conversation to last night. It was hard to believe this masculine, totally in control man was the same guy who’d been so tender last night.
He’d told her he was crazy about her. She’d been so surprised she hadn’t known what to say.
This morning she’d tried to concentrate on the sales reports. She’d even attempted—yet again—to unravel the mystery of who wanted her dead.
But she couldn’t help pondering her relationship with Shane.
When she was with Shane, her heart swelled with a feeling she thought had died forever. She’d missed caring about someone and having a man care about her.
Not just any man, but a man like Shane.
Someone you could trust.
Trust with your life.
“Shane …” she began, then didn’t know quite what to say.
“Yes?”
“About last night …”
“What about it?”
Just say it, she told herself. “I didn’t know what to say.”
She took a deep breath. “After Paul disappeared, I never thought I’d care about another man. I was wrong. I care about you very much.”
He gazed at her with a look as soft as a caress. Skimming his fingers across her cheek, he said, “I meant what I said last night. I’m crazy about you.”
He lowered his mouth to hers. She kissed him, her eyes wide open. There was more she needed to say.
“Shane, I was in love and when Paul vanished, my life seemed … empty. It hurt so much I could hardly function. I don’t want it to happen to me again.”
She hesitated, then added, “I like you. I care about you, but I’m not going to fall in love with you.”
“Okay, I—”
“There you are,” called Vince. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
He handed her a note
. She held it so Shane could read it, too.
Your office is bugged.
A chill of apprehension waltzed up her spine.
Vince went over the room with a device that appeared to be a small hand-held microphone like singers used.
“Nothing here,” he announced when he finished.
“Did you check any of the other offices?” Shane asked Vince as he sat down at the table with them.
“No, I thought we should discuss it first. Taylor’s office was empty. I closed the door so no one would see me.”
“Where’s the bug?”
“In the telephone.”
Shane turned to Taylor. “It’s the number one hiding place.”
“I left it there.”
“Good. Let’s sweep the other offices tonight after people leave. I don’t want anyone else to know about this except us.”
“Why are you leaving the bug there?” Taylor asked.
“We can feed the killer the info we want him to have.”
Taylor had an idea. “I could act as if I’m going to be alone somewhere. He’ll take the bait and come after me.”
“Not so fast,” Shane said. “I hate putting you at risk.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Vince said. “You and I could cover her.”
“Let’s take it one step at a time. First we sweep the other offices.”
“What about my apartment and yours?” Taylor asked.
“We’ll sweep everything, including our cars.”
Shane stood with Vince in the hall outside Taylor’s office, where the hidden listening device couldn’t record what they were saying. It was early evening and everyone had left Maxx except for the three of them.
“I’ve checked your apartment and what’s left of Taylor’s,” Vince told him. “Nothing’s there. The office building is clean except for Taylor’s office.”
“Interesting. The killer definitely targeted her and no one else in the family unless her mother’s place is bugged.”
“We’d need a really good excuse to get in there to check.”
“Maybe Taylor could find out when her next doctor’s appointment is.”
“Do you really think it’s necessary to sweep her mother’s house?”
“Damned if I know. This whole thing has me strung out. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Did you get anywhere checking on Caleb Bassett?” Vince asked.
“Yes. He worked for American Mutual Insurance until five years ago when he filed a disability claim, saying he’d hurt his back. It’s just about the oldest scam in the world.”
“Where was he working then?”
“Elmira, Louisiana. It’s upstate near the Arkansas border. I called the agency where he worked and found a very helpful woman who sounded as if she was eighty years old. She said he was a bachelor who lived alone. The local ladies considered him quite a catch.”
“Interesting. Renata wasn’t around then.”
“Apparently not. I described her to the woman at the agency. She didn’t know her, but it’s hard to say for sure without going there and interviewing people.”
“When did he leave Elmira?”
“About six months after he filed the first disability claim with the state. He picked up his next payment in New Orleans.”
“You’re thinking he met Renata there, and she told him the story about being adopted?”
“Seems likely. New Orleans is a magnet for weirdos, grifters, and deadbeats as well as artists and musicians. We know Bassett had a daughter at one point, but we don’t know where she is.”
“Do you think she could have been Renata?”
“Possibly, but I doubt it. I think that woman is married with six kids and living near where she grew up.”
Shane was very familiar with the statistics. Rural Southerners rarely moved more than fifty miles from where they attended high school.
“I agree. Most fathers wouldn’t sit around doing nothing while their daughters worked as strippers.”
“And did tricks on the side.”
“You’re throwing a lot of money at this,” Vince said. “Is it worth it to pay someone to go there and investigate?”
Shane had considered this earlier. “No. I don’t see how it matters. Renata is dead. Does it make any difference if Bassett adopted her the way he claims, or if she was merely some woman he met in New Orleans?”
“It might. Taylor seems to think her mother may leave Bassett some money. If we could prove he wasn’t the man who raised Renata, she wouldn’t leave him anything.”
“There’s a reputable firm in Montgomery. I—”
“Hire them. I’ll pay for it.”
“I promised my mother I’d stop by to visit her,” Taylor told Shane. She was tired and wanted to go home, but she needed to see her mother.
“No problem. We’ll swing by there.” Shane smiled at her, and she perked up. “Find out when Caleb is taking your mother to the doctor again. We’ll sweep the house when she’s gone.”
Caleb Bassett answered the door when they arrived at her mother’s house and rang the bell.
“Howdy.”
Caleb waved them in with a hand clutched around an old-fashioned glass. Amber liquid and ice clinked against the crystal. Johnnie Walker Blue Label, no doubt.
“How’s my mother?” Taylor asked.
“Doin’ good. She’s out by the pool. We’re barbecuing ribs.”
Ribs? Her mother never ate ribs. They were greasy and unladylike to eat.
“There’s plenty for the two of you.”
If Caleb still blamed her for Renata’s death, he didn’t sound like it now, she thought. He almost seemed … friendly. Scary.
“We have plans,” Taylor fibbed. They’d discussed going to Wok on the Wild Side for sushi but hadn’t actually decided. “I just want to see my mother for a minute.”
“Sure thing.”
They followed Caleb out to the pool area, where the barbecue was located. Her mother was lounging on a chaise, a mint julep in one hand.
“How are you feeling?” Taylor asked.
“Pretty good. A bit tired. That’s all.”
Taylor tried for a smile, thinking her mother looked bleary-eyed. If she was just tired and not in pain, why was she taking so much medication? The answer, of course, was Caleb Bassett.
“When do you see the doctor again?” Shane asked.
“Tomorrow,” Caleb answered.
“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked.
“Nah. I’m taking her,” Caleb said from the nearby barbecue grill where he was turning over a rack of baby back ribs.
“I want to take you,” Taylor told her mother.
“No, honey. Don’t leave work. They’ll just draw some blood and run the usual tests,” her mother said. “Afterward we’re going to see Ridley Pudge. I need to straighten out my will.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Taylor saw Caleb smiling as he slathered barbecue sauce on the ribs. She had the sinking feeling Trent was correct. Caleb Bassett, by claiming to be Renata’s adopted father, was going to inherit some of her mother’s money.
“Never try to be a hero, Shane. It won’t work.”
He stared into the darkness, thinking, planning.
“Shane Donovan thinks he’s going to be Taylor’s hero. But he’s a sorry excuse for a hero.”
The air was swirling with no-se’ums. Again. Did they ever go away? he wondered. Cicadas and grasshoppers chirped in the sawgrass nearby. Time to step inside where the air conditioning made life in Miami bearable.
Of course, there was no place like Miami. The Sunshine State’s best known city. A city with lots to do, hot night clubs, sexy women.
Anyone could disappear in Miami.
Anyone.
“The note got to Taylor. Scared the piss out of her. Now she knows she’s going to die.”
It was important she realize what she was dealing with—even if he couldn’t allow her to know who planned to kill her.
Let the cold, macabre reality of her peril sink into her pretty head.
“Taylor will die. She just doesn’t know where or when. And her hero can’t save her.”
This will be her defining moment, he thought. Death defines a person in a way that life never can.
Chapter 28
Doyle knew it was futile to argue with Brianna when she’d made up her mind about something. They were selling the house. Who needed a big, expensive home when it was just the two of them?
“I’m going to work at Miami Spice,” she told him over coffee at breakfast. “I’ll earn a lot on commissions.”
“You don’t have to work. We’re not that hard up.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I want to work. I need to contribute to this marriage. I’ve played around too long as it is.”
God, he loved her. He’d do anything for her.
“Sophie called yesterday,” she said.
His ex never called, and hearing she had made the sweat rise up on the back of his neck.
“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“I didn’t want to spoil our evening.”
They’d driven down to Key Largo and had a picnic on the beach. Watching the crabbers and mullet fishermen in the nearby mangroves had been more fun than he would have thought. The sunset had been spectacular.
Best of all, Brianna didn’t insist on making love. She’d understood when he’d told her that he didn’t need sex all the time. All he needed was her.
“What did Sophie want?”
“She accused me of using Santería to get you away from her. She says she’s put a hex on me, on the whole family.”
“Oh, Christ! Why now? Why after all this time?”
Brianna’s blond hair swung from side to side as she shook her head. “Who knows?”
“You don’t take that black magic stuff seriously, do you?”
Brianna gazed at him and didn’t say anything for a moment. “Santería is more like white magic. They wear white robes when the santeros—priests—perform the rituals. “Castro has a babalauo—high priest—that he consults daily.”
Doyle chuckled. “Nancy Reagan used an astrologer.”
“It’s not the same thing,” she replied, totally serious. “Now, Macumba is an evil form of Santería. It’s black magic.”