Catnapped

by Gabriella Herkert

  “That’s not what I said. I have experience. You don’t.”

  “You can always go home.” I peeked around the building, staring at the glass doors of the building across the street. I could see the security desk in the entry, but I didn’t see a guard.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” He leaned close, his body against my back, his voice a whisper in my ear.

  “First rule of reconnaissance: Don’t get caught.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “I’m not kidding, Sara. It’s impossible to control what happens after you get caught. And it tips the bad guys off to your strategy.”

  “Don’t get caught. Check.” I grinned. The adrenaline from this spy stuff was perking up my mood. The security guard came back into view, and Connor checked his watch.

  “You’ll only have ten minutes, max. You’re sure there’re no cameras?”

  “Yep. Morris bought fakes and put them up, but everyone knows they’re just props. Office theft didn’t drop either. I lost a bag of Snickers every week for a month. People can be so evil.”

  “Even without cameras, people can return to an office unexpectedly at any time. Watch for that. And the cleaning woman. She’s enterprising. Watch for her, too. Do you have your key?” Connor lacked a chocoholic’s innate empathy for my loss.

  “It’s a code. One-two-three-four.”

  “What a bunch of morons. Typical, though.” Connor pulled me back behind the shield of the building. “Most people have the security sense of a chicken crossing the road.”

  I laughed. “Sometimes I forget that you don’t actually know them.”

  “I guess one code works for everybody?”

  “All for one and one for all.”

  “Good. That means they aren’t tracking who comes and goes by when the codes are entered.”

  “So what if they were?”

  “Remember rule number one?”

  “Don’t get caught. Right.” I winked at him. “I remember.”

  “What about the computers?” Connor asked, winking back.

  “What about them?”

  “Are they networked together?”

  “Yes, but I already tried to access the information on Millicent and Masterson. They’re password-protected.

  And we know the hard copies are missing. Morris might have them in his office, but it’s probably locked. Really locked, I mean, not just coded. Even if he had a code, I’d bet he’d be as big an idiot as Masterson and never actually use it. Keys are probably more his speed.”

  “Could we stay on task, here? Does your boss have a secretary?”

  “Elizabeth the Evil.”

  “It’s probably in her desk. Is her office locked?”

  “It’s not a real office, just a sort of waiting area outside Morris’s office.”

  “Good. Check under the phone, her coffee cup, in the desk drawer. It may be pushed out of sight or mixed in with the paper clips. Try not to think too hard and you’ll probably find it.”

  “I’ll do that.” I poked him in the chest.

  “Once you’re in the office, close the door and lock it.”

  “Yes, all-knowing one.” I did a half salaam in his arms.

  “It’s important, Sara. Don’t forget the dead guy. I’d hate for that to happen to you.” He kissed my nose. “At least until you change your will.”

  “Needless to say, I’ll rush right off to do that. I’m ready.” I shifted from one foot to the other. Between Connor’s proximity and the thought of breaking into Morris’s office, I tingled all over.

  “Look for your boss’s password first.”

  “We’ve been over all this. The password means we can try to hack in without having to be in the office.”

  Connor rested his hands on my shoulders. “His password’s probably in plain sight. Check his calendar and his computer screen. He might even have preprogrammed his password into his computer. Try that last, though. It could take a while to find the files in the computer, and you won’t have much time. Remember that first rule.”

  “I know, I know. Don’t get caught. Still, it would be safer if I just take the computer disk.”

  “What disk?”

  “Every client is supposed to have a master disk with all their documents since we had this big computer crash last year. There were things that couldn’t be recovered, and it caused all kinds of havoc. If I find the file, I find the disk.”

  “Don’t take it. Copy it.”

  “Which is why I brought this.” I pulled a blank disk from my jeans pocket with the flair of a magician producing a rabbit. “I’m ready.”

  “If you’re stopped, act like you have every right to be there, but don’t overdo it.” He tightened his grip on my shoulders.

  “Me? I don’t overdo things.”

  “This from an acknowledged bigamist.”

  “That was Russ. I can’t be held accountable for him.”

  “Whatever you say. Just stick to the game plan, okay?”

  “Aye-aye, Cap’n. Shall we synchronize our watches?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Connor glanced at his wrist anyway. He kissed me on the forehead and pushed me toward the sidewalk. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Connor had been right: Morris was obnoxious, but not security-conscious. The key to Morris’s office was in Liz’s front desk drawer beneath a Vogue magazine. I pulled it from its hiding place, only to have it bang against the metal drawer handle. The clang seemed amplified and I froze, straining to hear the guard’s footsteps. Several long moments later I released the breath I was holding. I walked to Morris’s office door and let myself in.

  I continued to use the flashlight, afraid the desk lamp would be seen under the door. Morris had never struck me as a driver on the technology superhighway, so I started with his desk. I lifted the blotter and shone the flashlight underneath. It was too easy. I spotted a small sheet of paper neatly printed with Morris’s log-in, password, and key code. Like taking candy from a baby. A stupid baby.

  The top drawer wasn’t locked. Apparently my boss thought a locked door was adequate protection. It wasn’t his fault. He’d never met Connor. The center drawer held paper clips, staples, and pens, all carefully arranged in neat compartments. It’s anal precision gave me the willies. I stuck a yellow Post-it note to the blotter and used Morris’s engraved silver pen to write down the password information.

  The rest of my boss’s desk was a revelation. A worn deck of cards, a doodle pad with really bad art, a dog-eared copy of Playboy, and an enormous bag of Gummi Bears. Resisting the urge to help myself to his nutritional supplements, I slid the drawer closed.

  The lowest drawer held the mother lode. I slid into Morris’s leather chair and let my fingers do the walking. I jumped to the M section. No Millinfield file. I pulled a bulky folder marked MASTERSON and another labeled MASTERSON ENTERPRISES from the drawer and placed them on the desk. I glanced at the clock. Five minutes left. I flipped open Masterson’s personal file.

  The folder was divided into sections. I started with general information: name, address, date of hire, Social Security number. I scratched another note with the facts. I added Masterson’s Social Security number and date of birth. Another glance at the clock had me flipping pages.

  I moved to the section marked ESTATE PLANNING. Masterson’s will was loose on top. Dozens of pages. I started rifling through them, trying to glean the bottom line without reading through all the legalese.

  Identification of family. Both sons were listed. I laughed softly to myself before smothering the sound. For reasons well-known to them, I make no provisions in this will for either of my sons. Succinct. I liked that in disinheritance. I wondered if they knew.

  Specific bequests. Finally, I was getting somewhere.

  To my personal assistant, Millicent Millinfield, I leave my best wishes. So, Millicent hadn’t hit the lotto. So much for her female charms.

  To my valued friend and
associate Mitchell Burke, I leave the sum of one million dollars in recognition of his contribution to my success. Wow. Talk about your bonuses. Maybe he knew where the bodies were buried. I added his name to my note.

  I skipped past two more pages of nominal gifts to servants, friends, and colleagues. Ah, here we go. The payoff. Soap operas should have plots this good.

  I leave the balance of my estate, both real and personal, to my former business partner, Henry Jepsen, in memory of all he has done for me.

  Holy cow! Jepsen. I reread it, sure I had gotten it wrong. Why would Masterson leave everything to Jepsen? Jepsen was suing. Had been for months. It didn’t make sense. Then again, maybe Masterson had the will drafted before the big fallout. Jepsen couldn’t possibly know. If he had, he would have found a way to collect. I swallowed hard. Maybe Jepsen did know. How long had it been since anyone had seen Masterson? Jesus. Maybe the guy hadn’t pulled a Howard Hughes; maybe he’d done a Jimmy Hoffa. I flipped to the last page. Unsigned. A new will. Did Jepsen know about the will? Did he think Masterson had signed it?

  I flipped another page. Beneath the loose will was another will fastened into the file. I turned pages frantically. The kids. There it was, the residuary estate in equal shares to his children. I turned to the last page. Signed two years ago. Jesus, he was getting ready to cut them out of the will. All he’d have to do was sign the new will and Stewie and Bud were out millions. Did they know? That couldn’t be good.

  “Tick-tock,” Connor remarked from the doorway.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The internal scream started at my toes and slammed upward like a runaway train. I tried to rise, only to bang my thighs hard on the wooden desk and slam abruptly back into the chair.

  “Jeez, Connor. You scared me half to death. Next time make a noise or something,” I hissed, my pulse pounding, my breathing shallow.

  “What is the first rule of reconnaissance, Sara?” Connor stepped into the room and silently closed the door behind him.

  “You’ll never believe this. I read the will. Both wills, actually. Masterson is getting ready to cut his kids off without a dime. Guess who hits the jackpot? You’ll never guess, so I’ll just tell you. Well, as long as you promise not to tell anyone else. My boss would kill me. So who do you think it is?” I paused for dramatic effect. “Jepsen. The scumbag business partner gets it all.” My words tumbled out on top of one another. I searched his face for a reaction. His expression never changed. He walked to the far side of the desk before planting a hand on either side of the file and leaning forward until his face was inches from mine.

  “Don’t get caught.”

  “What?”

  “The first rule of reconnaissance is don’t get caught.”

  “I know, I know, but I haven’t finished.”

  “That’s what the disk was for. Copy your files and let’s get out of here. I figure we have about two minutes before the cleaning lady comes in.” He turned and stalked back to the door, standing on the hinge side of it with his back to the wall, his head tilted as he listened.

  “It doesn’t matter. She’ll never come in here. This office was locked.”

  “She’s enterprising. Now get moving.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” I opened the file and pulled the disk out, slipping it into the computer. I clicked the computer on, and the whirring motors seemed deafening in the quiet of the room. Probably panic giving the hum a symphonic quality. I punched in Morris’s password, remembering at the last moment that a professional such as myself wouldn’t use her own code on a covert mission like this one. It’d be a good way to get fired. I clicked with the mouse, copying the files into a temporary folder.

  “She’s on the floor,” Connor murmured.

  I was sweating, fumbling as I tried to hurry. I copied the files onto my floppy and yanked it from the drive. I clicked, waiting interminable seconds while the computer shut down.

  “She’s next door.”

  I glanced up. Connor was still, his head now turned away from the door toward the wall. “We’re trapped,” I whispered.

  “Finish.”

  The hourglass icon still blinked steadily on the screen. A muffled clang came from the outer office. I stuck my foot out and turned off the system at the surge protector, stuffing the disk into my pocket and jamming the file into the desk. Connor made the universal hurry-up gesture, his attention once again trained on the door. Oh, my God. There was a scraping sound at the door as someone worked the lock. I snatched the flashlight and the note and leaped from the chair, clicking the room into total darkness. I raced toward Con’s outstretched hand, his hard pull slamming me into his chest just as the door opened, shielding us from view.

  Soft, off-key singing preceded the sudden beam of the overhead light. I scrunched my eyes closed, wet pants and unemployment imminent. The chair creaked, a drawer opened, and my neck and back tingled in reaction. Shudders made their way through my body as Con tightened his hold. He used the pressure of his arms to shift me an adrenaline-jolting inch. He had an eye pressed to the crack between the door and the jamb. I was on the verge of ignoble downfall by cleaning staff and he was playing peekaboo. Another drawer opened before I heard a sigh. The singing stopped and was replaced by the distinct sound of chewing. Chewing. Damn. My missing candy bars. Did no one respect the bounds of professionalism anymore?

  Connor craned for a better angle. I stiffened, grabbing at his shirt to keep him still. I lost my grip on the flashlight and it slid an inch, trapped between our bodies. I grabbed onto him, wedging the flashlight. Connor shifted, moving us an inch farther behind the door. I froze, peering up at him. The light went out and the lock clicked. She was gone. I sagged against Connor’s chest. He patted my back in soothing circles. I hugged him hard, relieved and grateful. He reached between us and pulled the flashlight free with a grin. The loss of adrenaline was like having my strings cut.

  “She should be gone by now,” Connor whispered. I stepped back, out of his arms.

  “Right. Let’s go home,” I whispered back.

  Getting out of the building proved to be a complete anticlimax. No confrontational security guards, no pilfering maintenance people, just quiet, empty hallways and an unattended security desk.

  We passed through the heavy glass doors and onto the street. Nonchalantly, Connor released my hand and threw his arm over my shoulder. We strolled to his rental car five blocks away. We got in the car and sat silently for a moment. I looked over at him and laughed.

  “God, that was fun.” Still laughing, I crawled onto his lap and kissed him.

  After a couple of mind-blowing moments, he pulled back.

  “Ten minutes. Isn’t that what we agreed on, Sara?”

  “Absolutely. Ten minutes. Maybe I ought to get a digital watch. Then I wouldn’t get confused by Winnie the Pooh’s hands.”

  He cleared his throat, unsuccessfully smothering a laugh.

  “It’s not like I was going over Niagara Falls in a barrel, Con. I was a couple of seconds late. Actually, the scariest moment was when you showed up.” I leaned back against the steering wheel, crossing my arms across my chest.

  He kissed my neck, just under my ear, and my train of thought derailed. He shifted me back into the passenger seat and started the car.

  I shook my head. “How did you know?”

  “Know?”

  “You knew how to get in before we even got there. Give.”

  He glanced at me and smiled slowly.

  “That’s what the debrief is for.”

  I giggled. “I bet you say that to all your partners. Oh, God, you don’t, do you?”

  “Can’t say it’s ever come up before.”

  I giggled harder. “Now, that is funny.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “So, how did you get into Morris’s office?” I rolled toward him, pulling the sheet up under my chin and propping my head up on my hand. Connor rolled toward me and mirrored my position except for the modesty of the sheet. Art. The man wa
s art.

  “Does it matter?” He ran one finger down the length of my arm, and my skin rippled at the contact.

  “What are you hiding?”

  “You’ll get mad.”

  “I will not get mad.” I was feeling so relaxed and he was looking so good, I couldn’t imagine ever getting mad again.

  He moved closer, putting an arm around me and nuzzling against my neck. I definitely didn’t feel mad.

  “Connor.”

  “I used my key.”

  “Your key? How did you get a key?” I pulled away, sat up straight against the headboard, and crossed my arms over my chest. “When did you get a key?”

  Connor rolled onto his back and sighed, closing his eyes.

  “Tonight.” He lifted his head and glanced at the bedside clock. “Last night, I guess.”

  “While I was taking the nap you insisted I needed to be at the top of my game?”

  “You’re mad.”

  “No kidding, Sherlock. How did you figure that out? And what was tonight all about? You get in a good laugh, Connor? Watch the little woman play detective?” I got out of bed and stomped to the dresser, throwing on a pair of worn sweats. When I turned back, he’d pulled on jeans and was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “I wasn’t laughing.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I wasn’t laughing.” He held his hands up in surrender.

  “Oh, and the cleaning lady. Let’s not forget the cleaning lady.” I was on a roll now. “Enterprising. Isn’t that what you called her?”

  “Sara, it’s not a big deal.”

  “How did you know she was enterprising? Or a woman for that matter?” I put my hands on my hips and glared.

  “Sara.”

  “How did you know?” I punctuated with dramatic pauses, my teeth clenched.

  “I followed her earlier.”

  “You followed her earlier. How enterprising of you, Connor. So you knew all along about her light-fingered tendencies and that even if she did see me, she wouldn’t be in a position to do anything about it.”