by Nancy Radke
“Good morning,” he said, giving her a welcoming nod. “You ready to go down?”
“Yes.” She threw back the covers with a smile, sparking an answering glow from him.
She started to hop downstairs, but he gave her a lift, seeming to enjoy swirling her up in his arms. “You’re featherweight, a little bird.”
She hung on, finding his vibrant personality contagious. Usually self-reliant, she abandoned her independence in response to his openhearted manner. Besides enjoying his arms around her, it’d be rude to demand he set her down. It might put a damper on the thoughtfulness, the welcome charm he exhibited.
As a flower opening to the sun, her heart opened to him. He treated her like a princess, like someone of value for herself— and that was very precious to Angie. Her parents had both begrudged their “own” money being spent on food, utilities, rent, or Angie’s gymnastics.
Still, nagging in the background were statements he had made, such as, “I never trust anyone.” Did he really trust her? These thoughts marred her joy as she arranged the white comforter around herself on the couch. Next he brought her coffee in one hand and an ice pack in the other.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the silently proffered cup. It had been a long time since someone had performed this simple act of courtesy toward her. She had stood alone, not realizing she had missed anything.
With quick but careful hands, he arranged the ice pack over her injury. He had already started a fire in the fireplace, its cheerful warmth and color radiating throughout the room, its blaze matching Angie’s leaping spirits.
“Much better,” he said.
Uncertain what he meant, she smiled at him, eager to share her happiness. “It’s the job,” she explained. “It’s like having Christmas and birthday combined.”
More than that, it was the assurance of future days, working with him. If able, she’d have jumped to her feet and done back flips all around the room, arms outstretched, pouring out her joy. She felt alive with energy— vibrant, intense, and renewed through the lifeline extended to her by this quiet young man.
His approval shone back, the laugh wrinkles deep in his freshly shaven face, one hand needlessly adjusting the ice pack. She met his open smile with one of her own. How wonderful everything had turned out.
“Welcome to my home, Angie.”
The statement, simple and sincere, struck her as the nicest thing he could’ve said. He must no longer doubt her. Not knowing what to reply, she answered with a simple “Thanks.”
“Did grandfather wake you?” he asked, gesturing toward the clock.
“Not during the night. I was too tired to hear anything.”
“He takes getting used to. My sister’s idea.” He shrugged. “When I’m working, I lose track of time. Don’t eat or sleep. Can you cook? We’ll take turns.”
“Yes, as long as you don’t expect anything fancy.”
“Fine. I don’t like food disguised. Or chattering women.” He paused, relaxed within himself, the stillness not uncomfortable. “You’re quiet— we should work well together.”
“What exactly do you do?” she inquired, as he took the chair opposite her and stretched out his legs.
“I’m a combination detective, trouble-shooter and consultant. I help businesses secure their computers from theft. If I can’t solve their security problems with what’s available on the market, I design something that will.”
She sipped the coffee, now cooled down enough to drink. “And those CDs last night— they held security-type programs?”
“Yes. I spent weeks setting them up.”
“And the one missing?”
“Stolen.” He rubbed his hands across his eyes. “A security system designed solely for MXOIL.”
“I’ve heard of them.”
“A cracker tried to access their files three nights ago, but couldn’t get past the levels of security. He needed the information encrypted on that CD, but I doubt if he actually stole it. They don’t do physical theft. He might buy it from a thief, though.” Ryan frowned, then nodded. “Yes, that’s a possibility.”
“How do you catch a cracker?”
“They leave fingerprints such as personality quirks and false names. I thought I’d isolated some patterns on this one, but when I sent the info to a person who keeps track of the known hackers, he found no one who matched. So I’ll try again.”
After checking his watch, Ryan removed the ice pack. “Like to shower and wash up?” he called back as he returned it and her empty cup to the kitchen.
“Love to.”
“The pipes are wrapped with heat coils, but they’ve frozen before. So shower while you can.”
“Water pipes?”
“Outside. They run alongside the dock and come in next to the boat. They’re prone to freezing.”
Once again she got a lift upstairs and had to resist the urge to lay her face alongside his with its pleasing aroma of spicy after-shave.
He set out a large towel, then put a plastic chair in the shower for her and told her to take as long as she wanted— which she did, reveling in the soothing spray. It felt wonderful to scrub and soak up the warm water and then scrub some more.
She emerged with the light lit in her eyes, sparkling back at herself in the bathroom mirror. Not even the pain in her ankle could diminish her delight. Angie felt the same elation she had experienced during her first Olympics.
Dressed in her gray wool skirt and slightly wrinkled white blouse, she looked much less a waif of the storm and more like a confident working woman. Or at least so she hoped.
She dried her short hair, then found some fresh gauze and wrapped her ankle, something she had done countless times as a gymnast. Of course it had to be her weak ankle, the one which had never quite recovered from a poor dismount off the uneven bars.
Finished, she opened the bathroom window a crack, letting in fresh air, and peeked out at the houseboats surrounding them. A boat bobbed next to each, including Ryan’s, but the covering snow kept Angie from seeing what kind he had. A solid blue sky backdropped the scene, fresh out of the paint box with no subduing hues mixed in. Gulls circled overhead, their high-pitched cries accenting the moment. She stood still for several seconds, breathing in the fresh air.
Hearing Ryan’s voice, she closed the window and went into the hall.
“Don’t worry, Scott,” he said. “I’ve got things well in hand.” He looked up from the phone as she hopped to the office door. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Don’t worry? Why? Because Ryan could keep tabs on her, the witness? Or was it the suspect who was being kept close at hand?
Ryan pushed back his chair, walked over to where she stood, and looked her up and down. He nodded. “Better.” He motioned towards the stairwell with his hand. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Okay.” She wanted to ask him what he had meant just now, talking to Scott, but didn’t know how to form the sentence to keep it from sounding wrong.
He dished up a man-sized breakfast, eggs, hash browns, toast and strawberry jam.
“You’re going to spoil me, you know.”
“You’ll stand for it,” he replied, and poured some coffee, then set to to eat his own meal.
When they finished, he picked up a blank notebook. “Now, tell me about those men, how they walked, talked, what they said. Anything.”
Using her hands to emphasize her words, Angie set about describing the scene. “I had just put the blanks on Mr. Sunderstrom’s desk when I heard them open Patti’s outer door. I didn’t have any time, so I dove under the desk. I could only see their shoes.”
“Describe what you can.”
“One had a raspy voice and brown shoes with scuffed toes. He sort of wheezed before he spoke, like he had difficulty breathing. I figured he had a cold, or maybe asthma. They mentioned that Patti had talked to the other one. She actually called him by name, but I can’t remember it.”
“Try.”
“I think it started wi
th a “T”... and had three or four letters in it. Tim or Tom or something like that. Todd? I can’t remember.”
“Leave it for now. The brown shoes. Hard-soled?”
“Loafers.” She remembered clearly. “Not suede, although they were stitched like moccasins. You know, a half-circle around the toe area.”
“Keep going. Anything else? Pants color?”
“Brown shoes had brown pants. Dark brown. And Shiny Toes had on black bat-wings— with pinholes. Black pants.”
He wrote it down, then poured some fresh coffee. “I wonder if they took anything else.”
“They didn’t spend much time in the office. They didn’t open the safe, just grabbed the CDs on the desk and left. Which made me very happy. A spider had joined me under that desk.” She shuddered, remembering.
“What kind?”
“I didn’t ask. It looked huge. As big as a quarter.”
He chuckled. “Was it hiding, too?”
“You can laugh, but it came nose to nose with me. If it had moved any closer, I’d have screamed, robbers or no.”
“It just sat there?”
“No. It left when I blew on it.”
“Good.”
She watched him write in his notebook. He’d never know how close she came to lifting the desk off the floor when that spider ran next to her. Luckily it came out the other side before she did. “When the men left, they turned out the lights. I waited for a minute and gathered my things to leave. Then you opened the door— “
“Kicked it open.”
“Was that what you did? No wonder— “
He stopped writing to look at her. “Did I hurt you? Your head?”
“My shoulder took most of it. My head got a good whack on the side. It’ll be okay.”
“Sorry. I imagined an armed man inside.”
She nodded. She could understand that.
“Repeat Patti’s conversation, please.”
“Okay. I didn’t hear the first part. She was already talking when I came in. It sounded like boyfriend-girlfriend talk. You know, sort of chummy.”
“What did she say?”
Angie told him as well as she could. The conversation had shocked her, so the first part remained a blur, but the rest stayed quite clear.
“Patti said she’d leave her door unlocked for this guy, and that the CDs were worth millions. Evidently he had gotten into trouble, because she said she wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. And, uh, she said you wanted them brought to the airport. That’s why they had been set out.”
* * *
Ryan jotted down Angie’s account. Had Patti truly been in on the robbery? Along with her boyfriend, Ted Fairweather? And how did Angie know about the airport if not from overhearing Patti? Had he or Scott mentioned it? He couldn’t remember.
Patti talked so much, Angie could’ve picked up the name last summer. Or, Patti could’ve been talking to her boyfriend on the phone when Angie entered, but not discussing a potential robbery.
Ryan circled the initial “T” with his pencil, careful not to add his own interpretation to Angie’s memory by writing down the whole name. Even he had heard Patti jabbering about Ted. He mustn’t condemn Patti just because he wanted Angie to be innocent.
And yet, when Angie looked at him with her clear gaze and flashed that gamin smile, so generous and unassuming, he couldn’t imagined her guilty of anything. How could so much innocence shine from an impure source? The tired girl of the previous night had bloomed into a lovely young lady.
He liked the transformation even as he regretted it. The more beautiful she became, the harder time he’d have staying objective.
Women were deceptive— he had learned that the hard way. Everything in him demanded he trust Angie, whom he barely knew, and suspect Patti, whom he knew quite well— or thought he did. He wondered how much he had imagined and how much was fact. He could be projecting his own images onto Angie, the way he had done with Kathleen, blinding himself to her true nature.
“I can’t remember any more. They didn’t talk long. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Follow through. “
“We need to call the police.”
“I already have.” He had contacted Eric Hayes, a detective friend, while Angie took a shower. Eric would write up a short report and then go about his business, confident Ryan could investigate this.
Angie showed no particular alarm in the fact, although she did look down when he mentioned the police, so he really couldn’t tell. Kathleen used to do that to him, hiding her eyes. He had thought she was shy. She wasn’t.
Disturbed by his thoughts, he stood up, gathered the dishes together, took them to the sink, and dumped them in.
“Can I help?”
“No.”
“I feel so useless.”
He glanced back at Angie, seeing the frustration on her face. He could’ve told her that she didn’t need to help. Just her being here was enough for him.
He turned on the hot water, did a quick soap and rinse. Company. The companionship of a woman meant life to a man— the loss of it like death. Angie’s presence banished the emptiness of his house, adding a new dimension to it. But he didn’t want to tell her that. Not yet.
He left the dishes on the drain rack to dry, and pointed upstairs. He enjoyed carrying her and welcomed the opportunity.
They spent the next hour in his office with Angie sitting in a reclining chair, icing her ankle at twenty-minute intervals. Ryan sent an e-mail alert to all his clients, asking each to arrange an appointment to update their systems.
Then Ryan phoned Scott with the latest information. “What do you know about Patti’s boyfriend?”
“Not much. I met him once. Why?”
“He may be our man.”
“Highly unlikely. He didn’t seem like much to me. I doubt if he’s got the courage to jaywalk.”
Ryan chuckled at Scott’s illustration. “You can never tell. I’m wondering...” He paused, trying to form his suspicions, and Scott, impatient as usual, barked his question.
“Well? What?”
“If this had anything to do with the, uh, earlier cracker attempt. Since that’s the only CD missing.”
“MXOIL?”
“Yes.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
Ryan wrote MXOIL? on his notepad and circled the name. Was Ted involved with them?
“Next time I see Patti, I’ll ask her about Ted,” Scott said. “She’ll open up to me.”
“Good.” Scott had a way with women. He could be very charming when he wanted to be.
Hanging up, Ryan accessed his company’s records and opened the personnel files. Patti had used Ted Fairweather for an emergency number. Ryan printed off her page, folded it up and put it in his pocket. Next he wrote Ted’s number on a scrap of paper, then picked up his office phone and carried it and the paper scrap over to Angie.
“Call this number. If a man answers, ask if he’d like to win $50 answering a quiz question.”
“And if he agrees?”
“Ask him... uh, the name of the speech Lincoln gave at Gettysburg.”
“You want him to answer?”
“Yes. Tell him he’s won, then get his name and address. The main thing is to keep him talking until you know if he was at the office or not.”
Dialing the number, Angie ran through her spiel for the man who answered.
“I can’t tell,” she said, hanging up and handing the headset back to him. “I don’t think it was either one of them. Certainly not the raspy voice.” She shook her head, clearly disappointed. “The guy knew the answer but refused to give his name. Should we notify the police?”
“The police are busy. They’re glad to leave one to me. We’ll start an evidence file.”
“I hope the roads get cleared soon. Shelly’s husband said I had to get my things... today!” She glanced anxiously at the clock. “Oh no!”
> “Today it is.”
“How? That hill we came down last night...”
“Four-wheel drive. And a shovel. If we can’t get the car out, we’ll use my boat to go to the Kirkland marina and take a cab from there.”
He sprung to his feet, pointed to her ankle. “Finish icing that while I dig out.” He left Angie in his office, grabbed a coat and small shovel and went out to his car.
A thick blanket of dazzling white covered everything, a picture-postcard of what Seattle didn’t usually look like. Ryan spent several minutes brushing off the snow. Next he dug around the tires and chained them up. On the way back he stopped to borrow a cane.
He hadn’t planned to walk up silently behind Angie, but she stood with her back to him, reading his notes.
She’d had to walk clear across the room. He could think of only one reason why she’d have done that. He felt as if someone had slammed him with a rifle butt.
6
Angie yanked her hand off Ryan’s notebook, picked up his coffee cup, and hopped over to where he stood in the office doorway. Any excuse she gave would sound weak. She had been reading his notes, although unintentionally.
“I’m sorry. I just—”
He took the cups and the ice pack from her and walked down the hall, stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back.
Angie felt compelled to try again. “I went to get your empty cup,” she explained. “And I tend to read anything I see. I’m sorry if I— “
“‘s okay.” He turned and clomped down the stairs.
It wasn’t okay. Otherwise he would’ve let her hold those items and carried her down. The cozy atmosphere had crashed— sort of like finishing a good routine, hoping for high nines and seeing fives and threes. She went into her room and retrieved her purse, then hopped to the stairway, vowing to never again go near his desk— unless he called her over there. Sitting on the rail, she balanced easily and slid down to where he stood.
He helped her into one of his heavy coats. Handed her an old cane. Shook his head at her shoes, woefully inadequate for the snow.