Storm Warnings
Page 24
McPherson’s left arm was still tightly clamped against Elisa’s throat. Nudging her with the gun barrel, he inched toward the incriminating shoes. “Not yet. I told Heather to stop taking chances and get rid of her. Elisa was a walking time bomb. But would Heather go ahead and do it? Hell, no. But I’m not going to prison because that silly bitch was a coward.”
Elisa took a measure of comfort from the fact that Heather hadn’t wanted to harm her. If she’d gotten her hands on that disk earlier, none of this would have transpired.
Storm stepped toward them, and McPherson shoved the barrel tighter against her flesh. “Don’t! I’m warning you, Doc, one more move like that and your girlfriend is history.”
“Let her go, McPherson. You have the disk. Take one of Carey’s boats and you can be long gone before the cops arrive.”
McPherson laughed. That same vile chortle she’d heard in the swamp. “Nice try, but no dice. As long as she behaves herself, this little dancer is going to be my Get Out Of Jail Free pass. Now keep out of our way.”
Yanking his forearm even tighter across her throat, he growled, “Let’s go. This way.”
Elisa gagged from the lack of oxygen, and he eased the pressure slightly. Forcing her feet to move, she allowed him to guide her toward the archway. But she couldn’t go with him, wouldn’t go. She had no doubts that the moment he felt safe Brian McPherson would eliminate any loose ends—namely, her.
Slumping, so that he would have to support her entire weight, she waited for her opportunity. She couldn’t move her head, but she could sense Storm following her every move with his eyes. Elisa knew she had to act before Storm allowed his fury to blind him.
The others had huddled together against the far wall, paralyzed by fright.
Just as they reached the doorway, McPherson glanced over his shoulder, dividing his attention for an instant, unwittingly releasing the pressure on her throat. Knowing this might be her only chance, Elisa feinted downward, breaking his hold, then spun around.
“Wha—?” McPherson’s reactions were fractionally slower than hers, and that was all the advantage she needed.
Raising her good leg, Elisa flexed her toes, incredibly strong toes from years of carrying her body weight, and kicked upward. She caught Brian under the chin. The clunk of her foot striking bone echoed in the silence.
At that instant, Storm sprang forward. Wrapping his arms around McPherson’s waist, he threw the large man to the ground. The Beretta went skittering across the hardwood. Both men scrambled for the weapon.
Storm’s fingers were almost touching the cold steel when McPherson grabbed his ankle and slid him backward over the slippery floor. Kicking furiously, he had almost escaped his grasp when the larger man ducked his head and bit deeply into the flesh on Storm’s leg.
Yowling with pain, Storm redoubled his attack. But McPherson managed to touch the hatched grip of the gun, and sent it skidding farther away.
Elisa wanted to jump in and help, but was afraid of adding confusion. Storm’s pant leg was hiked up, and blood was oozing from the vicious bite mark. She had to help-somehow.
Then she remembered that they’d brought a fearsome equalizer.
Rushing into the hallway, she grabbed the twelve-gauge from its hiding place in Miriam’s umbrella stand and dashed back to the parlor. “Stop or I’ll shoot, McPherson.” For emphasis, she pumped the shotgun.
Storm had been right. That deadly sound would stop any man in his tracks. McPherson hesitated just long enough for her to cross the short distance and prod him in the back with the barrel.
Rolling over, Storm fished the Beretta from under a table and rose to his feet. “It’s all over, McPherson. Get those hands in the air. That twelve-gauge has a hair trigger and Elisa’s a little nervous.”
McPherson’s hands shot into the air, and the room broke into chaos.
MIRIAM HAD FETCHED a length of clothesline and Hank had tied his indignant former friend into a kitchen chair. The sailor in the group, Carey Howard, had double-knotted the rope. McPherson wasn’t going anywhere.
Nor was he willing to spill his guts. He kept demanding his rights, but David Welton patiently explained that they were civilians, and Miranda rights only applied to government-sanctioned authorities. He was under citizen’s arrest and had no rights until turned over to the police.
Elisa knew the moment the police arrived McPherson would scream for a lawyer. He knew enough about the law to refuse to answer any questions. She doubted they’d ever know the real story.
Holding the bright blue disk in her hand, Elisa sighed. “If only we knew what Jay was trying to tell us.”
Mark Bowman stepped forward. “If you want to retrieve some data off there, I can probably help.”
“You can?” Elisa’s eyes widened in amazement. “But we don’t have a computer. And I thought you owned a restaurant.”
Mark chuckled and took the floppy. “I have a laptop in our room. Everybody uses computers, Elisa. Come out of the Stone Age. Tracking food, sales, supplies, payroll—you name it, my computer does it for me.”
Betty rushed upstairs and retrieved her husband’s laptop. It took him a while to understand Jay’s system, but between what he found on the disk, and what Elisa and Storm had already put together, they were able to piece together a viable scenario.
With McPherson’s help, Heather had been skimming money from Jay’s securities clients for several months. McPherson had set up a program that she used to transfer funds to a dummy account set up in his name. Because they kept the account on Jay’s books, when he ran his totals, the final sums had always been right.
In a short period of time, the cyberthieves had managed to accumulate over a quarter-million dollars in the dummy account. McPherson had warned her not to get greedy; it had almost been time to transfer the money to an offshore account and move on. He would leave a computer trail that pointed to Jay Morrow as the culprit.
But a few days before the planned transfer, Jay must have noticed something in the books that worried him. Heather had overheard Jay talking on the phone to a consultant, an accountant who specialized in finding “discrepancies.” He would be in the office in two days to start.
Panicked, Heather had phoned McPherson to come to New York to speed up the transfer. They’d been in the office that Friday evening. Jay had been gone most of the afternoon, so she’d thought he’d left for the day; she’d known he had plans with Elisa for a late dinner.
Brian had still been downloading information he needed to complete the offshore transfer when Jay walked in and caught them. They’d overwhelmed the slightly built securities broker and tossed him out the window.
Elisa assumed they’d chosen that method because it was quick and expedient and could be made to look like suicide. She could well imagine Heather’s surprise when she’d strolled into the office, almost catching them in the act.
The kicker was that Jay had suspected Heather all along. His other co-workers had been with him for years; Heather was the only new element with access to his computer. While waiting for the accountant’s report, he’d taken the precaution of freezing his accounts. The numerical sequence code needed to reopen those accounts was on that blue disk.
So after committing fraud, theft and murder, Heather and McPherson had been no closer to the money than they were in the beginning. They’d had to have that disk.
Carey leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his lean face a study of rapt attention. “But I don’t understand why you suspected McPherson in the first place? I mean, without the information on this disk, what made you suspicious?”
Elisa shrugged. “Several small things. First, his friendship with Heather, of course. But that gash on his forearm really raised alarms.”
Miriam frowned. “Why?”
“He said he’d cut his arm at home, but the bloody towel came from this hotel. Of course, he could’ve taken a…souvenir sometime before, but when Hank found that broken window in the basement, it all fell together
. McPherson cut himself breaking into the hotel. He grabbed one of Miriam’s towels so he wouldn’t drip blood all over the place.”
Storm, who’d been helping fit the pieces into a coherent puzzle, picked up the story. “They thought Jay might have gotten the disk to Elisa. By Heather’s attaching herself like a limpet, she would know if Elisa’s memory returned. If she knew anything about that night’s events, Heather would have been the first to know. That’s why she was in no hurry to eliminate Elisa. Too messy. Too many coincidences to explain.”
Elisa grimaced. “Thanks. I’m so glad that I was too much trouble to kill.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her silky black hair. “Me too, Princess, me too. But what I don’t understand is how you got hold of McPherson’s shoes. I’ve been with you every minute, and there was no way you could have gone to his cabin and snooped around until you found them. It’s not like he was staying here at the hotel.”
In reply, she disappeared from the parlor, returning in a few moments. She held up her hands. One contained an empty bottle of black shoe polish and the other a bright orange flask of fingernail polish. “Sorry, David, your new running shoes were about the right size. So I gave them a quick going-over with the shoe polish and, thanks to Heather’s rather flamboyant taste, added her nail enamel. And voilá! The incriminating evidence.”
Storm burst out laughing and bundled her in his arms, swinging her around until she called for mercy. “You are one fantastic woman, know that, Princess?”
“Mmm. Just keep telling me that.”
“That was quite a chance you took. What if he hadn’t taken the bait?”
Elisa shrugged “I know that a guilty conscience makes a person susceptible to accepting blame for almost anything. I was counting on Brian’s guilty conscience.”
THAT NIGHT, they lay on the floor in Storm’s cabin, watching the log crackling on the hearth. It was too warm for a fire, so they opened all the windows and doors. Atmosphere, according to Storm, was far more important than comfort.
“You’ve taught me a lot these past few days, ’Leese.”
Uh-oh, here comes the old brush-off. She took a sip of wine to camouflage the sudden brightness in her eyes.
“You’ve taught me it’s time I stopped feeling sorry for myself and got on with my life.”
A life without me.
“But I’m not ready for New York yet. I’m thinking about going into private practice. What are you thinking of doing?”
Storm was a louse, but he was still a nice guy. He wanted to make sure she would be all right before he dumped her. How thoughtful.
Elisa shrugged “I guess I’ll go back to Los Angeles, maybe open a ballet school.”
He leaned back and toyed with a strand of her glossy black hair. “Good idea,” he said thoughtfully. “Or…or you could come to Baltimore with me. I’ve been thinking that modified ballet dancing might be just the thing to help disturbed kids regain their self-esteem. It certainly helped nail a murderer. What do you think—like to move to Baltimore?”
Elisa’s heart sang with joy, but her old, fearful self wouldn’t quit. She’d never been to Baltimore, didn’t know a soul there.
Storm lightly yanked on her hair, demanding her attention. “Come on, ’Leese, follow your own prescription. Take a chance. Live dangerously. Live with me. I’ll keep you on those lovely toes.” For emphasis, he hauled her into his arms and settled his warm, enticing lips on hers.
He was right, she thought, just before her thoughts faded to visions of stars and moonbeams. Baltimore was a good town. She’d meet people, nice people. After all, Storm would be there, and she knew him. And she had definite plans to keep him busy, for years and years to come.
eISBN 978-14592-6849-4
STORM WARNINGS
Copyright © 1997 by Judith A. Lind
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Table of Contents
Cover Page
Table of Contents
Except
Dear Reader
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Copyright