Accomplice

by Kristi Lea

  Noah's stomach lurched at the word “booby” and he laughed out loud in surprise. Cole elbowed him hard in the ribs and he jerked, his shoulder giving a twinge of pain.

  The woman smiled, her shrewd eyes glittering with amusement. “No pun intended. What I mean is that most devices encrypted with a system like this has one or more bad passwords built in. Once you enter one of them, the media will corrupt itself or simply wipe itself clean. In fact, I'm beginning to fear that it has already occurred with this memory card. The only thing we have been able to extract so far is this gentleman's picture. Of course we were careful to work only with a copy, and to preserve the original, so if we stumble upon a trapped password, we don't risk contaminating the evidence ourselves.”

  Noah sighed. “I see. So what you are saying is there’s nothing here?”

  She shrugged. “I make no promises. Our progress so far has been slow. With most encryption schemes—online passwords, smart cards, the like—then our experts can break in within a few minutes to an hour. We have been working for over twelve hours so far, and this is the best we have done. If you have a witness that has the right password, then we could move faster.”

  “Yeah. That's the trick, huh.” Noah muttered.

  “Either that or the key.”

  Both men’s heads snapped up. Cole spoke first. “Key?”

  Sally nodded and switched her display to a 3-D rendering of the necklace. She spun the virtual image around on the screen, rotating it to a spot under one of the side stones.

  “This is where we pulled the memory chip from that has our photos. But see this notch here?” She zoomed in. “There is additional memory stored inside the settings of the stones. The lab techs were able to dismantle it, but the chip isn’t complete. We were able to read the bytes off of it, but it is gibberish. See, there’s a mark right there. The memory card has a companion. Another card that acts as a key.”

  “Like one of those puzzle lockets that little girls wear,” said Cole quietly.

  Noah raised one eyebrow.

  “What? My niece has one that’s a little heart shape that says BFF, and she gave the other half to some other kid. She was in tears last weekend because the other brat gave it back. She’s a ten-year old drama queen.”

  Sally smiled. “That’s a pretty good analogy. We are theorizing that the key to reading this secondary card is stored somewhere else. Another piece of jewelry. Or maybe the other necklace—the one that was stolen. That missing piece may contain the key to reading the data.”

  “Great,” said Noah flatly. “We either need the password or the missing necklace.”

  “Probably both.” She seemed to ignore his sarcasm. “Either way, this has been one of the better puzzles we’ve tackled in a while.”

  Cole clapped Noah on the back, before he could make another retort. “Glad to share, Agent Jones.”

  The partners walked in silence back to Cole’s car while Noah’s thoughts churned. They were so close he could almost smell the smoke from Charles Kingsbury’s cigar. If only Jess had given him more to work with. If only he’d been able to convince her to stay.

  If only he hadn’t promised to let her go.

  “So,” said Cole.

  “So,” echoed Noah.

  “Too bad we can’t ask Mrs. Kingsbury about her husband’s passwords.” Cole turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life.

  “Too bad.”

  “And too bad we have no leads on the thief.”

  “Yup.”

  “Damnit, Noah. You can’t keep doing this.” Cole ground the words out between clenched teeth.

  Noah raised an eyebrow.

  “Holding out on me. Withholding information. Trying to be Mr. Super Agent and going it alone. The stakes are too high. You’re going to get someone killed.”

  Noah opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it. His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. Alone. Dead. Just like his father.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cole made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a growl. “All I want is to see justice served. And right now, it looks like either Jessica Kingsbury is the key to some government cover-up, or else she is having a joke at our expense. Be my partner. Let me help.”

  Noah could feel the anger simmering in his gut. He did trust Cole to do his job and see justice served. That was the heart of the trouble. What if serving justice meant convicting Jessica of blackmail, or worse.

  ***

  In hindsight, driving across the U.S in a Greyhound bus seemed wonderfully luxurious compared to retracing the path in the back of a windowless van that smelled of motor oil and dried venison blood. “Yes, Deer” read the side of the vehicle, which Wilson’s goons had obviously acquired from a game processing service.

  With her hands alternately cuffed to a seat, or behind her back, or—the worst—to a hook mounted above her head, she was rarely comfortable enough to doze. Her shoulders ached, her feet fell asleep, her head pounded, and her stomach threatened to heave. And the way Harry, the younger and pudgier of her two captors, looked at her—especially with her hands above her head and her breasts thrust outward like a bad parody of a centerfold pose—made Jessica go numb with fear.

  The other man, Earlin, was an older black guy with balding gray hair and crooked teeth who paid her less attention than he would a suitcase thrown in the back of the van. While Harry took every opportunity he could to “help” her stand up and to “guide” her to restrooms, with knuckles that brushed at her breasts and fingers that slipped to her thighs at every opportunity, at least he brought her food and let her relieve herself on their infrequent stops. Relieving herself generally involved a bush alongside a ditch. Gas stations had too many witnesses. Too many cameras.

  That she was still alive surprised her. That no one had seriously hurt her—outside of the bruises to her wrists, or the chafing of the gag they kept tied around her mouth—was a miracle. The nagging thought that they were saving her for a far worse fate terrified her.

  ***

  Inside the dance club, a bass-heavy beat thrummed in time with strobing black lights, alternately hiding and revealing fluorescent splashes in the carpet, the walls, the clientele’s clothing. Noah tucked his head down and wove through the crowds that fringed the packed dance floor. He got a couple of second looks—all from the men—and would swear someone grabbed him on the ass as he passed. The attention was unnerving.

  Noah spotted Lindsay at the bar, with a tall glass of something bubbly and a relaxed set to her shoulders as she chatted up the bartender.

  Noah slid into the barstool beside her and asked for a beer.

  “Hope you didn't have any trouble finding the place,” she said after a long slow draught of her beverage.

  Noah shrugged and accepted a frosty bottle from the woman behind the bar. The bartender eyed him up and down, threw Lindsay a pointed look, and sauntered off toward a collection of empty glasses at the other end of the counter.

  “I'm sure it’s amusing the hell out of whoever is tailing me.”

  She sat forward and set her glass down with an audible thunk. “Shit. Are you really being followed?”

  Noah took a drink of his beer, letting the question dangle from her lips like a cigarette. “How were the Caymans?”

  Lindsay narrowed her eyes at him, a small wrinkle appearing above her brow. “How is Jessica?”

  He grinned. “I love a good game of Twenty Questions. How about this one: Mind telling me why I’m here?”

  She jerked her head towards the dance floor. “Because you’re looking for Mr. Right?”

  Noah considered the top of his beer bottle and tried to piece together the puzzle that was Jessica’s head of security. Lindsay was clever enough to both blend into the background and jump into center stage whenever Jess needed a decoy. She was, according to the short bio Cole had put together on her, an excellent marksman. Left the Marines quickly, but with an honorable discharge. The
re were rumors that she had an affair with a married superior—a woman. Her exact living situation was a little sketchy for about two years after that. She was picked up once on suspicion of prostitution, but no charges were ever filed. And then she ended up on the Kingsbury payroll.

  “What is with the attitude? Are you worried about Jessica or jealous that someone else might be taking care of her?”

  She shook her head, eyes hidden in the shadows. “She’s not my type. And you’re not hers.”

  Noah stood to leave. “I’m done here.”

  “I know who took the necklace.”

  He sat. She swirled the dregs of alcohol in the bottom of her glass. The silence between them stretched on while the music changed tempo from the incessant pounding to something a little slower, more sensual. The colored lights changed from greens and yellows to purples and blues.

  Finally, she downed her drink. It rattled just a bit as she set it down. “I want police protection.”

  “Tell me who it is first.”

  “But--”

  Noah held up a hand. “I am still on medical leave officially. I can call someone else.”

  “No.”

  The word was too sharp, too shrill. The noise cut through the music, earning them a couple of curious stares, and another pointed look from the bartender.

  “Sorry. I don’t...I won’t…It’s like this. LAPD is useless. One of your FBI pals…Cole…I think he was OK. At least I don’t think he was crooked, but--”

  Noah sighed. “Don’t finish that. Cole is a good guy. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “If you say so.” She looked unhappy.

  “I do. Now what do you know?”

  “The security codes. I went back through all of the logs around the time of the burglary. Every time someone tried to enter an off-limits area, the computer records it. Every time someone types in the wrong PIN number, the computer records it.”

  “Your sworn statement said there was nothing there. Our own analysts came to the same conclusion. There weren’t any failed attempts at accessing the office or the studio.”

  “The system has a handful of master codes. Pin numbers that have the highest level of privilege.”

  Noah shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “Your statement said that too. You gave us a list of them. The master codes belong to you, Jessica, the late Charles Kingsbury, Brandon.”

  She smiled. “Exactly. Those codes allow the owners to go anywhere, open anything without alerting security. They can even set up new codes, for when new staff is hired or someone leaves.”

  “But those codes were all accounted for. None of them were in the house that weekend. Charles is dead. Brandon Kingsbury has a solid alibi at a golf tournament—including press coverage before and partying after. It is a three-hour flight to LA. There is no way he could have made it into town, stolen the necklace, and left again. Which leaves just you and Jessica.”

  “Yeah.” Lindsay looked unhappy. “And I was with her at the spa. The hotel has records. The jet’s flight plan is all logged. Besides, why would she steal her own necklace?”

  “Oh, I can think of a few reasons,” said Noah dryly. Insurance fraud, blackmail, to cover her tracks before she disappeared into oblivion.

  Lindsay’s eyes flashed. “Don’t even think it. The master codes have one other privilege that can be really useful. We can create new master codes in the system.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. “Who? How? When?”

  “On a whim, I tried looking back at old backups of the logs. There are too many staff coming and going and the security system wipes out old logs after a couple of months to save space. But the changes in master codes don’t happen that often, so they don’t get cleared that often. Brandon set one up well before Charles died. Bastard had been planning something for over a year.”

  Shit. “Stay here, at this bar. Don’t let your friend down there out of your sight and don’t leave here without me.” He motioned toward the bartender.

  “She’s not—“

  Noah held up a hand to cut her off. “Look, I was followed here by someone, and my money’s on Brandon Kingsbury. As soon as they see you, they will know what you found. I’m calling for backup. If you promise to trust me, I promise to get you out of here in one piece.”

  Lindsay’s eyes widened and her knuckles tightened around her cup. She nodded in agreement.

  Ice formed in the pit of Noah’s stomach and the wound on his shoulder itched as headed for the only quiet spot he could think of: the john. He punched Cole’s number into his cell phone while the stalls of the men’s room rattled with the bass of the dance music outside.

  “Tell me your guys aren’t following me,” he said without preamble

  Cole voice sounded groggy. Or maybe angry. Hard to tell. “My guys aren’t following you.”

  Noah swore. “For once I hope you are lying.”

  “Cross my heart. Why? Do you want someone to follow you?”

  “No time to explain. I need you to pick me and a friend up from a bar. Now.” Noah glanced over his shoulder as the bathroom door opened and a young guy in shiny silver pants swaggered in to the row of urinals.

  “Jessica?”

  “No. The body double.”

  Cole whistled. “Does she have intel?”

  Shiny Pants was zipping up now, and Noah tried to cover his mouth with his hand while he spoke. “Yes. Are you coming or not?”

  “Already in the car. Give me the address.”

  Noah rattled off directions while the other man took his time lathering his hands in the sink. The guy shut off the water and turned around as Noah snapped his phone back into his belt clip and went to leave.

  “Don’t be in such a rush, big boy. I can be your body double.” The man ran his tongue over his lips and arched one eyebrow.

  Noah considered him for a long moment. “You know, you have a point. You want to earn a quick hundred bucks?”

  The man’s eyes travelled slowly down Noah’s front, lingering a long while at his belt. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “For you, baby, I’d do it for fifty.”

  Noah reached for his belt, a plan forming in his head. “Great. Take off your pants.”

  Chapter 20

  “Were the handcuffs really necessary?” Noah lifted up his bound wrists and rattled them towards the driver of the LAPD squad car.

  Lieutenant Thompson tossed him a look in the rearview mirror. A smirk, probably, though Noah couldn’t make out the other man’s features through the night shadows and the bulletproof glass that separated the backseat from the driver.

  “Standard procedure in a drug bust. Our narcs don’t complain. If they don’t get cuffed like everyone else, then their cover gets blown. I didn’t realize you feds had different rules. You sure have different taste in clothes...”

  Noah sat back, a half grin on his face as he glanced at the shiny silver pants he wore. He almost relaxed as they rode through the streets of LA on the way to police headquarters. His plan had gone off without a hitch. True, the guy in the men’s room actually pouted when he realized that Noah wanted to buy just his pants and not what was in them. But he took the cash, Noah’s own plain khaki’s, plus with an extra two hundred bucks, and happily left by the rear door.

  Noah had time to return to Lindsay’s side at the bar and take only a couple of sips of his beer before Cole and the LAPD burst in, sirens blazing, and flipped on the search lights. Dancers halted mid-gyration on the dance floor, and panic ensued as cops with dogs poured in and began confiscating purses and wallets and searching pockets and other assorted hiding places.

  After reassurances from Noah, Lindsay allowed Cole to cuff her and put her in the back of another squad car, while Thompson grabbed Noah.

  “Your partner didn’t give me a lot of details about the operation tonight. Did you get what you needed?” asked Thompson.

  Noah looked out the window. “For now. We appreciate your help.”

  “No prob
lem. The prosecutor’s office will be busy for months handling all the arrests.

  “So, is standard procedure to book me, too?”

  “If I were the fashion police, I would say yes.”

  As Thompson led him through the police headquarters to his office to give his report, Noah ignored the curious stares of the late-night staff. Damned pants weren’t just ugly, but they chafed at his crotch and pulled uncomfortably around his thighs as he climbed the stairs.

  After hearing Noah’s re-count of Lindsay’s news, Thompson leaned back in his chair and tucked his hands behind his head. “Are you sure your witness will testify?”

  Noah shook his head in the negative. Even if she were willing to sit in court, Lindsay was too valuable to his own case. “Does she have to? Your guys and mine have access to the same data. What if the discovery came from within your department? Cop’s intuition?”

  Thompson gave Noah a hard look. “I’ll be frank with you. I know there’s more going on here than some missing diamonds, and I know you feds aren’t sharing everything you know. One of my guys got his head bitten off by your boss, Cutlass, last week at our joint task force meeting. I’m not asking you to share anything that would jeopardize your case, but I ask that you tell me anything critical to mine.”

  Noah pressed his lips into a firm line. The whole thing came down to trust. How far did he trust Thompson? So far, the cop had been nothing but cooperative, nothing but frank.

  But on paper, so was Cutlass. He was an arrogant asshat with a shitty temper, but Noah had no hard evidence that the man was breaking any laws. Still, he didn’t trust Cutlass, and couldn’t trust Thompson with his unfounded suspicions. The only two people he trusted right now were Jessica and Cole, and he was more and more convinced that Jess herself was guilty to some degree in helping Kingsbury with his blackmail schemes against the Senator and his lover.

  What he didn’t know was where Brandon Kingsbury fit in to the picture. He was already embroiled in a legal battle to wrest the Kingsbury fortune away from Jessica—including the stolen diamonds. Why break into to the house and risk jail time when he could sit back and let the courts decide?