by Lee Winter
“Who else then? Who else had the ability and the access?”
“I asked Jarmal the same thing. And he said they’d narrowed it down to five guys with the ability to do this before they heard about Jon. So it came down to Jarmal and his boss, plus two green college grads in the IT department. No one thinks it’s the two kids.”
“That’s only four,” Lauren said. “Who’s the fifth?”
“Oh.” Barry shrugged. “The governor’s chief of staff. Jason Maynard.”
“The chief of staff?” Ayers repeated. “Since when would any political advisor know how to crack bank accounts?”
“He had a career change from IT not long back. But our culprit didn’t just know how to crack systems,” Barry said. “He had to know which government account had a hundred large ones sitting in it and how to get around bank passwords to pay those businesses and so on. And he had to hide all the login times, prevent any red flags from going up, and delete the trail. And the backups.”
“What about the fax number?” Lauren asked curiously. “On the order request forms. Was that number tracked anywhere?”
“Never heard about any faxed forms.”
“Three businesses were sent faxed job orders on state letterhead. And then some meatheads in suits went around asking them to cough up that paperwork—with attitude.”
Barry stared at her. “Okay, now that is some weird shit. And, come on, Freeman’s team don’t have a knuckle dragger among them. Besides, even if any of them managed to find an ounce of menace, they wouldn’t want to mess up their hair for TV.”
“Maybe they outsourced,” Ayers suggested.
“Thugs “R” Us?” Barry snorted. “Su-ure. Seems unlikely. And if you’re saying the orders were done via fax, it’s likely a long dead number by now. Our guy is way too smart to leave such an obvious trail back to him.”
“True,” Ayers agreed. “And by the way your chief of staff sounds suspicious.”
“Why?” Barry asked curiously.
“He’s the odd one out. Everyone else who could have done it is working in IT. It seems curious that a political advisor knows how to do any of this.”
“Jarmal says he’s not that good though,” Barry argued. “Having the basic ability and actually being skilled at it are not the same. There’s a reason he had a career shift to something he had a talent for. Besides he’s a bad fit for this, same as Jon. His life will be hell when this story gets out. And his job is at risk if Freeman loses the next election. So, again, no motive.”
“Why didn’t they call the police on Sands?” Ayers asked. “If they truly believe he did it?”
“He went missing before they could call anyone. I think it suits them not to right now. Given Jon likely didn’t do it, and the police would come to the same conclusion, this way the political advisors won’t have to admit to Freeman they have no clue who actually did this.”
“Then whoever pulled this off must be delighted to have all fingers point to Sands,” Lauren said.
Barry looked glum. “Don’t remind me. Damn it. I shouldn’t have dropped him in it. But I had no idea what would happen.”
His hand fidgeted with the car door. “Okay. That’s it. That’s all I know.” He got out and slammed the door.
“Wait!” Lauren wound down her window. She scrabbled through her bag. “Don’t you work in accounting?”
“Yeah. Why?”
She pulled out the Booze, Booze, Booze paperwork and held it up. He pulled it through the open window and examined it intently.
Lauren tapped a mystery line of numbers.
“Is this what we think it is?” she asked. “A big freaking arrow pointing to the account the money was taken from?”
He stared at it curiously. “Well it’s definitely a government account.”
“It is?” Lauren said. “You recognize the account?”
“No. But it’s the pattern. Look—RF814. Those three numbers denote the department, and the rest of the numbers relate to the specific account it’s from. But the big giveaway is the two letters next to it.” He tapped the “RF”.
“What do they mean?” Lauren asked.
“All our government accounts are color-coded to make it easier for the number crunchers. It’s so we can find and group things at a glance.
“So green is for school constructions. That gets a GF code, for green files. Blue is roads and bridges. That’s BF. Orange is office supplies. OF. Purple is social security. PF. Never seen an RF before though. It can’t be a very active account.” He shrugged. “But I’d guess you’re looking at the red files.”
“Which department are the red files in?” Lauren asked. “Do you recognize that from the rest of the numbers?”
He shook his head, but Lauren saw the fear. He licked his lips.
“Sorry,” he said. “And you never got any of this from me.”
He handed back the paperwork and turned to go. But instead of moving, he stood in the semi-darkness staring at his shoes—ill-fitting, off-white sneakers. Probably not even his.
His face twisted around just enough for them to see it.
“Look I don’t know what any of this other crap has to do with my friend. But just remember this one thing—Jon’s a good man. He’s decent. Okay? And you two can make this right. Find him. For Della and Fee.”
He shuffled into the shadows and disappeared through one of the doors.
* * *
Back at the hotel, Ayers headed straight for her room and said nothing when Lauren trailed in right after her.
“So what now?” Lauren asked, not entirely sure why their conversation had dried up to almost nothing since leaving Barry.
Ayers barely looked up, her fingers flying over her cell phone.
“I have to make some calls. Find out if anyone’s heard of the red files. I know a DC guy who works on the line items on budgets there. Maybe I can figure out which department has the red files. Even if it is some unofficial Nevada-specific coding thing, people talk. Compare notes. It’s a long shot, but still.”
She was calling then; not making eye contact with Lauren. The very vision of a professional.
“Oh right,” Lauren said, backing toward their adjoining doors. “Well, I, too, have, um, important calls to make. Many, ah, sources to tap.”
Ayers glanced at her, cocked an eyebrow skeptically, and then dismissed her as she focused on her call. “Ray? Catherine Ayers. Yes, yes, a very long time. How’s Jenny?”
Lauren backed out and closed the door. She kicked off her boots, sank onto her bed, and flicked through her phone’s database. Sure she had sources. Sure she was just as effective as Ayers at this stuff.
She rolled her eyes. Sure she felt like a little kid with her toe in the dirt next to someone who seemed to know everyone in politics.
Her thumbs stopped scrolling, and she picked a number and stabbed it. It answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey Mariella.”
“Lauren!” She roared her delight down the phone. “How’s it going, sweetie? I got your email! My god, Nevada with the Caustic Queen? All your limbs still intact?”
“At last count.” Lauren chuckled.
“Any strange sensations? Dizziness, vomiting?”
“What?”
“Well, just checking she’s not poisoning your food. I know what your mutual history is. It pays to be prepared.”
“Come on, she’s not as bad as that,” Lauren protested. “Under all the claws and sarcastic crap, I mean.”
Silence.
“Mari?”
“All right, Lauren King, you’ve clearly been wandering around in the desert too long. Are you keeping hydrated? How long have you been suffering from this delirium?”
Lauren huffed. “Oh, ha ha. Just, I mean, seeing her work close up, she’s not all bad. She knows stuff. And a lot of people.” She tried to keep the insecurity out of her voice.
“Ahh,” Mariella said knowingly. “Feeling a little wanting next to the Washington wonder?”
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“Maybe a little,” Lauren admitted.
“Ah. It’s hard being the junior member,” Mariella sympathised. “But remember one thing—once upon a time Catherine Ayers was you. Just starting out, fresh-faced, knowing nothing about anything. She has fifteen years on you in political experience and ten in years. Of course she knows things you don’t. But she was young once, too.”
“That’s hard to picture. I mean really, really hard. I think she was just hatched fully formed in perfect Armani suits designed to highlight her banging body and bad attitude.”
There was a breathy inhalation from the phone.
“You think Catherine Ayers has a banging body?” Mariella asked curiously.
Shit.
“No.” Lauren squeaked. “Ah…”
Wait. Did she?
She frowned.
“And just how much of this banging body have you seen?” Mariella asked with deceptive lightness.
“None of it!” Lauren protested, askance.
“But you’d like to,” Mariella said silkily. “Am I right?”
“That’s…ridiculous! Why would I want to go anywhere near her?”
“Because she has a banging body apparently,” Mari said. “Which, I do concur, sweetie, she does.”
Lauren wondered what on earth had possessed her to match wits with one of the smartest people in LA. She closed her eyes.
“This subject is closed. Moving on.”
“Fine, fine, subject closed,” Mariella said in a way that clearly meant they’d be discussing this all too soon for her liking.
“What will we talk about? Work? Do you want to know which teenage monster I’ve been stuck babysitting now? Let me just say three things—bikini line, Disney channel, and Instagram.”
The adjoining door vibrated with a knock and opened.
“Hey,” Ayers said as she stuck her head in. “Sorry,” she added when she realized Lauren was on the phone. “You’ll never believe what’s happened now.” She flicked a gaze back at the cell. “One of your many sources?”
Lauren threw her a withering glare as Ayers laughed and closed the doors behind her.
CHAPTER 9
Walking the Line
Ayers glanced up as Lauren joined her in her room. She indicated the TV with a jerk of the remote control she was holding.
“Look.”
Lauren sat on the end of Ayers’s bed and watched as a reporter finished up her news story. They were panning around a waterway that looked vaguely familiar before rounding on a white SUV parked on the edge of a lake.
The reporter said to the camera, “Once again, the Douglas County Sheriff has identified the abandoned SUV as belonging to a forty-one-year-old Nevada state IT employee who was reported missing a week ago from his temporary home in California. A spokesman for LA’s missing persons unit tells me they hold grave fears for his safety given the state of his mental health.
“No police divers have yet been authorized to conduct a search of Topaz Lake for reasons our Channel 2 news sources would only say was a bureaucratic gray area. But what we do know is the abandoned vehicle and its immediate surroundings are being treated as a potential crime scene. We’ll keep you updated as we get more. Back to you, Lisa.” She gave a sunny smile.
Lauren glanced up at Ayers questioningly.
“They said earlier that police are trying to figure out whether there’s foul play at work, an accident, or—and this was the main subtext—Sands deliberately drowned himself.”
“Oh no,” Lauren whispered. She looked at her watch.
“Too late to check it out now,” Ayers said. “We need to get there early tomorrow though. First thing.”
“Poor Della.” Lauren stared vacantly as the news switched to an enthusiastic report about the Reno Bighorns.
“They haven’t found a body,” Ayers offered. “But, yes. Poor Della.”
“What do you think that bureaucratic gray area is?”
“That is curious.”
“Damn,” Lauren muttered. “Would it be asking too much to start solving a few of these mysteries?”
“I’m going to make some more calls then turn in. Let’s reconvene in the morning. See you first thing.”
Lauren felt an unexpected stab of disappointment. She realized she’d had come to enjoy Ayers’s company over meals.
“Okay,” Lauren said. “What time do you categorize as ‘first thing’ anyway?”
“Dawn.”
“I’ll set my alarm for crazy o’clock,” Lauren said, trying not to grit her teeth. “Terrific.”
“We could make it earlier if you prefer,” Ayers suggested, eyes glinting. “If you wanted to hit the gym first, for instance.”
“No, no,” Lauren said hastily.
“Until dawn then,” Ayers said and snapped off the TV. She looked up and caught Lauren’s gaze. “Good night, Lauren.”
She smiled, without the smart-ass attitude this time, and Lauren’s breath caught. It was only when she got back to her room that she remembered what she’d just agreed to.
Dawn. Oh crap.
* * *
Room service experienced alone was a sad affair, Lauren decided. She chewed unenthusiastically on her hotel-issue burger and fries, propped up in bed as CNN droned in the background, and wondered who Ayers had to call that was important enough to skip dinner with her. Lauren stopped chewing.
It was not like Ayers was that close to her family by the sound of things. And she’d just been left by that asshole closet-job who Josh was panting over. So no way in hell was she calling Tad.
At the thought of Josh, Lauren reached for her cell, accidentally spraying fries across her bed. A Facebook update greeted her the moment she switched on her phone. Her eyes froze.
Joshua Bennett has changed his status to In a relationship.
There followed a series of photos of her colourful neighbor draped all over the silhouette of a certain wannabe actor. Nothing of Tad’s face showed, but she easily recognized him. She stared at the images in disbelief. Josh hadn’t even waited two days. He’d looked her dead in the eye and promised not to lay a finger on the cheating creep.
Lauren stabbed his number. It rang five times and then clicked to his voicemail. Well, that was new. Josh always took her calls. “Josh!” She growled into the voicemail recording. “You promised! I have to see photos of you on that douche’s lap while he’s feeding you ice cream? You hate ice cream! You always say it goes straight to your thighs! Or had you forgotten? Like the promise you forgot you made to me only two days ago? Damn it! It’s a good thing I like you! Now call me back!”
She hit End Call with a dissatisfied grunt and tossed her phone on the bed.
Her thoughts immediately turned to the woman in the next room. How humiliating for Ayers.
Should she even tell her? Hold up the world’s most saccharine photos on her Facebook feed and say “Oh hey, check out what your ex of two days has been up to. Along with my best friend and multiple full-fat dairy products.”
Lauren shuddered. Nope. No way in hell was she having that conversation. And it didn’t matter that Tad was single now. It went to his character—or lack of it. This showed what he was prepared to do and who he was prepared to use in the process. How could Josh not see that?
She flopped back on her bed with an aggrieved sigh only to find something squishy under her arm. Cold fries. Coated in ketchup.
She glared at the ceiling.
Of course.
She heard a muted laugh through the adjoining door and snapped her head toward the sound. Ayers? Laughing? Who on earth with?
She jumped out of bed and crept over to the door, trying not to feel the least bit guilty as she pressed her ear to the crack. More laughter. Light and amused. The genuine kind, too. The indistinct words were one-sided, so Ayers was definitely on the phone.
Lauren strained to hear some clue as to the caller’s identity and heard Ayers start to say goodbye. Her voice was louder, as though she was walking t
oward the door as she did so.
Lauren bolted back to bed and threw herself on it. Soggy fries trampolined haphazardly up from the bed and rained down on her like piñata candies.
“Shit!”
She almost bit her tongue out when she realized she’d blurted that out loud.
Ayers’s murmurings halted abruptly. Lauren hastily scrabbled around and snatched up the remains of her meal in case Ayers poked her head in. She flung fries back on the plate. Then she cranked up the volume on CNN to give the impression of being wholly involved in earnest, serious news-type matters. Like the absolute professional she was. A professional who didn’t listen at doors to colleagues in order to figure out who was making them laugh.
Lauren glowered as she stared unseeingly at something on budget cuts. Oh no, she wasn’t tragic at all.
* * *
A trickle of sweat made its way down Lauren’s neck, and she swallowed, only to discover that her mouth was bone dry. She lengthened her stride, her breathing choked and irregular. It felt useless. No matter how fast she pushed her exhausted body, it still wasn’t enough.
He was much closer now. It was so quiet the only sound she could hear was the thudding of her heart, her rasping intake of air, and his labored breathing. She saw a shaft of light around a corner, a flash of shadow, and she bolted.
She threw herself around the bend, her thighs straining with exertion, only to almost collapse to her knees at the sight she was confronted with.
White, blinding fear lanced through her. She was too late. She watched as the fleeting shape she’d been trying to reach, to save, went down in a terrified scream underneath the shadow. The agony of the woman’s cries dug and clawed at her.
She tried to cry out. No sound. Lauren tried to get nearer, to haul him off her. Every time she was within finger’s reach, he was farther away somehow.
And then she felt it. The presence of a second man, even closer than the first.