‘‘You’re a bunch of male chauvinist pigs.’’
‘‘But I’ve got a nice ass.’’
I rolled my eyes. ‘‘I meant’’—exaggerated sigh— ‘‘don’t you have to go to college once in a while?’’
‘‘It’s summer vacation.’’
‘‘It is?’’
‘‘Yeah. August. Hot as hell. No school.’’
‘‘Then don’t you have a job?’’
‘‘From what I hear, keeping an eye on you is forty-plus hours a week.’’ He raised his bottle and saluted me from the chaise next to mine. ‘‘I’m applying.’’
‘‘You’re annoying,’’ I told him, clinking bottles.
‘‘Didn’t take you long to figure him out,’’ Connor said, coming onto the deck still dressed in uniform.
‘‘Hi, honey, how was your day?’’ Ryan asked.
Connor reached over and took the beer from his hand, draining it and handing the bottle back. Ryan took it reflexively. He shook his head and got up to disappear into the apartment. Connor kissed me once, twice, three—
‘‘Get a room,’’ Ryan said, handing Connor a beer. ‘‘So we’ve been recapping the visit so far. We’ve got the dead guy, Grandma’s ring, Siobhan’s breakdown, and the SEAL team assignments. And then there was nearly getting caught having sex in the hallway.’’
I slapped a hand against my forehead. ‘‘Brain cramp. What was I thinking?’’ I drank deeply. ‘‘It hasn’t been our best week.’’
Connor smiled. ‘‘It had its moments.’’
I tried to do stern. ‘‘Do you ever stop thinking about sex?’’ I turned to Ryan. ‘‘Does he ever stop thinking about sex?’’
‘‘No,’’ they said in stereo.
‘‘Family trait.’’ Connor shrugged.
‘‘High sperm count,’’ Ryan agreed.
I laughed. ‘‘Honesty. I admire that in people.’’
Connor leaned close enough so only I could hear. ‘‘I have plans for you.’’
His breath tickled my cheek. I could feel the warmth of his lips near my ear. So his one-track mind wasn’t such a bad thing.
‘‘What do you have in mind?’’ I whispered.
He leaned closer. ‘‘I want to see Shamu.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘That’s what I want to do this afternoon. Pretend you don’t have a job I hate and play tourist.’’ He kissed my neck. ‘‘Play with you.’’
It was . . . I don’t know . . . normal. No chase scenes, no family angst, just Connor, Ryan, and me playing tourists. Eating too much. Getting sunburned. Pretending. I offered him my hand.
‘‘Sea World it is,’’ I agreed.
‘‘Not me. I don’t do that kiddie stuff.’’
‘‘C’mon, Ryan. It’ll be fun.’’
‘‘It’ll be an afternoon spent watching you covered in whale spit and fraternal drool. Pass.’’
We parked in Balboa and walked. It was at least ninety degrees, and my curls clung to my temples. Connor put sunblock on my nose. He held my hand and pulled me around like a schoolkid on a field trip.
‘‘So what are we going to do about Jack? How deep do you think he’s involved?’’ I asked.
He shrugged.
‘‘You’re right. Let’s talk about something else.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ he said.
‘‘Go ahead,’’ I said.
‘‘What do you want to talk about?’’
‘‘I don’t know. Pick a subject.’’
This ought to be good. On the one hand, we had the manipulative, ring-wearing former fiancée. On the other, we had the secret job. Then there was always his bank balance.
‘‘I’m better responding.’’
‘‘Tell me something I don’t know. Tell me about your parents. How did they meet?’’
We moved over to the edge of a pool where sea lions were swimming and sunning. A redheaded girl about five years old smiled at Connor through a chocolate mustache. He flirted back. The girl lit up, laughing, before clinging to her mother’s leg and hiding her face.
‘‘She dumped a blind date for him.’’
‘‘For who?’’
‘‘My father.’’
‘‘You’re kidding?’’ That didn’t sound like his elegant maternal unit.
‘‘No. Her godmother set it up. Grandma Gertie.’’
I closed my eyes for a minute and tried to remember. ‘‘The left leaner.’’ We walked toward the otters.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Siobhan mentioned her. I think she meant liberal.’’
‘‘That’s Grandma Gertie. She set Mom up on a double date with a guy who went on to draft the subpoena for Jerry Rubin for the House Un-American Activities Committee.’’
‘‘Left-leaning Gertie?’’
‘‘The shock was supposed to make liberal lovers more appealing to my mother. Gertie’s, well, one of a kind.’’
I laughed. ‘‘What happened?’’
‘‘My dear mother set fire to the table.’’
I sucked in a breath, covering my mouth with a hand. ‘‘Oh, my God. Deliberately?’’
‘‘She denies that. According to her, her date was an octopus. When she jumped to her feet in protest, she tipped the table in this Italian restaurant in Georgetown. The tablecloth caught fire. My dad played the hero with a pitcher of water. Two weeks later they got married.’’
‘‘Impulse runs in your family.’’
He shook his head. The otters splashed him. I laughed. He wiped the spray away.
‘‘How many times do I have to tell you?’’ he asked. ‘‘It’s instinct. It’s certitude.’’
‘‘Nice one, double word score.’’
We moved on, drifting with the crowd. ‘‘Impulse or instinct, we get it right. My parents have been married forty-four years next month. They spent a decade getting to know each other, then had kids. They’re happy. They still like each other. Not many people get that.’’
‘‘You’re right. They do seem’’—I searched for the word—‘‘symbiotic.’’
‘‘Very nice.’’ He complimented my vocab choice.
I tipped my head and brought my shoulders up in an aw-shucks way, batting my lashes. His hand found the small of my back, then underneath my shirt. Just fingertips. Public place. It was sweet and sexy. In this mood he was irresistible. He kissed my nose. I Eskimo-kissed him back.
‘‘That’s a happy story.’’
‘‘Yeah. I guess. I never really thought about it.’’
‘‘Tell me about Ryan.’’
‘‘What about him? He’s great. I like him. He’s also a pain in the butt, but then, what little brother isn’t?’’
‘‘Pretend I don’t know anything about little brothers.’’
We entered the stadium and picked our way to a bleacher seat near the top.
‘‘He’s a lot younger than me, so we didn’t hang out much growing up.’’
‘‘What’s the deal between Ryan and Lily?’’
‘‘Loyalty. Ryan thinks I got shafted and isn’t shy about saying so.’’
‘‘You don’t think it’s more than that? Don’t you think he’s a little over-the-top when it comes to her?’’
‘‘For him, it was all her fault. He picked a side. But I know I wasn’t a great boyfriend.’’
‘‘Universal truth number four hundred and ten, Connor:Cheating isn’t about the person you’re with. It’s about the person you are.’’
He smiled, still facing forward. ‘‘That’s good.’’
‘‘True, too, but I stole it. You remember my next-door neighbor Russ?’’
‘‘Hard to forget Russ.’’
‘‘Well, he said it first. Actually, he said it, and then we painted it on the wall of the apartment he shared with a wandering boyfriend right before Russ moved out.’’
‘‘That sounds like him.’’
I nudged him, lowering my voice. ‘‘We used jack-o’-lantern orange. The no-good cr
eep is probably still trying to cover it.’’
He laughed, putting an arm around me. ‘‘Revenge is sweet.’’
We watched Shamu jump through a hoop, then take a fish from the mouth of his trainer. A wave washed over the edge of the pool, and a group of kids screamed and backed away, wiping at wet faces.
‘‘Ryan seems more than loyal,’’ I observed. ‘‘It’s more like rabid.’’
His body tightened. ‘‘He’s a good guy.’’
‘‘He’s a great guy. An amazing flirt. Very funny. If I were into younger men . . .’’ I sat up straight and turned to face him. ‘‘Wait a minute. Your parents got married after two weeks and they’re about to celebrate their forty-fourth anniversary.’’ I glared.
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘Crap.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Nothing.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘He wasn’t lying. The rat. Ryan was telling the truth. You’re younger than I am.’’
‘‘Don’t sweat it. I like older women.’’
Brat.
Chapter Sixteen
‘‘Hello, John Doe.’’
I stared at the screen. The cursor blinked rhythmically. I was drinking my morning coffee. Connor had made a pot before he left. Very domestic.
Balboa Park. Two p.m. Five-five. One twenty. Curly dark hair and blue eyes. I looked down. Blue T-shirt. Jeans. I hit send.
He’d offered the meeting and asked for a description by e-mail, calling himself lostboy81. Lost boy. Maybe con man would have been more accurate.
I dialed the phone. ‘‘Bank of Puget Sound, Ted Singh speaking.’’
‘‘Mr. Singh, this is Sara Townley of Abercroft, Hamilton, and Sterns.’’
‘‘Ms. Townley, how good to hear from you. Do you have an update for me?’’
‘‘Yes, sir. I have a lead on the man I believe gave the interview with Henry DeVries. I hope to meet him today. Have you changed your mind about having the police question him?’’ I sipped coffee. I felt a little sick thinking about turning over a dog lover to the cops, but he was a probable felon.
‘‘There has been a development, Ms. Townley. The account has been resolved.’’
‘‘Resolved, sir?’’
‘‘The line of credit has been repaid in full.’’
Oh. ‘‘Then the case is over?’’ Fine. I could stop feeling like scum for parting a nice dog from her master, and move on to learning the McNamara family handshake.
‘‘No. We would still like you to meet with this man.’’
I leaned back in my chair. That didn’t seem right. Why would the bank want me to continue? They got their money back. ‘‘To what end, Mr. Singh?’’
‘‘We would like you to question him on how he managed to access our client’s personal information.’’
‘‘I’m sorry, Mr. Singh, but I don’t understand. I assumed you confirmed that all remaining accounts were legitimate. Has there been another attempt to access customer accounts from this direction?’’
‘‘No, no, nothing like that. It’s routine.’’
I waited. He didn’t expound. Not that clients were required to share their internal thought processes with me—they weren’t—but this wasn’t tracking.
‘‘Routine, sir?’’
‘‘For our internal review. We would like to test our procedure. Determine if this could have been avoided.’’
‘‘Avoid what? The client paid the money, right?’’
‘‘I have already given my new direction to your firm, Ms. Townley. I would appreciate your updating my colleagues in the La Jolla branch two days from now. You will be dealing with Mr. Philip Carson.’’
‘‘Certainly, sir.’’
He hung up without saying good-bye. I checked my e-mail. There it was: new instructions from the senior associate assigned to the bank’s account. Continue to pursue all leads to make personal contact with the individual who claimed to be Charles Smiths during an interview with Henry DeVries. Fully debrief said individual to determine access to personal information and/or banking procedures to determine if process improvement is recommended. Expenses preapproved through end of week. A client who wanted to leave their lawyers on the clock. Curiouser and curiouser.
I got up and took my coffee and the DeVries transcript to the patio. It was a spectacular day. Cobalt blue sky, warm breeze off the water, perfect. Unless you were Henry DeVries.
I leaned on the railing. I leaned farther. They were standing less than twenty feet apart. The man and the dog. I couldn’t really tell from this distance, but I’d bet five bucks their brown eyes held the same intensity. I lifted my cup in salute. Blue, from his position lounging against a building, lifted a paper cup in return. I wondered why he was watching me from across the street. They were busted. He could annoy me from inside the condo.
Pavarotti turned his head toward Blue. Then she looked back at me and was gone. I guess she thought I only needed one babysitter at a time. Well, if the man was going to waste his time loitering outside Connor’s condo, I should find a use for him. The rental car was giving me black lung, and I wanted to try to find Charles Smiths today. I’d researched the property records online—San Diego county was very progressive—and found a house in the name of a holding company owned by a limited liability company owned by a trust whose beneficiary was none other than Charles Smiths.
I grabbed the paperwork off the printer in Connor’s office and headed out.
‘‘Mornin’,’’ Blue said as I approached.
‘‘Why didn’t you come in?’’
He shrugged.
‘‘You know we’ve met, right? That I can pick you out of a lineup? That you’re a huge guy hanging out in one hundred and ten degrees?’’
‘‘You suggestin’ I’m not invisible?’’
‘‘No. I’d never do that.’’
He sipped his coffee. Iced. His only concession to the heat. Personally, I felt like my scalp was on fire. ‘‘You busy?’’
‘‘Remote surveil.’’
‘‘Right. Well, how remote is remote?’’
He smiled. Wicked grins must be navy-issue. ‘‘What have you got in mind?’’
‘‘A road trip. I’ve got an address I want to check out.’’
‘‘And you’re signing up to have me bird-dog you?’’ He shook his head. ‘‘What’re you up to?’’
‘‘Connor talks too much.’’
‘‘We gettin’ arrested?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Too bad.’’ He took keys out of his pocket and pointed toward his shiny SUV. The car beeped.
I gave him directions. He didn’t chat. He didn’t play the radio. The truck silenced all the sounds outside the vehicle. I couldn’t hear him breathe. I might have gone deaf. I was going to wait him out. People always filled silence with chatter. It was a great interrogation technique. I would stay completely quiet and he wouldn’t be able to take it and he’d tell me things. About Connor. Things I didn’t know. Real insights. The kind of things only a best friend would know. The sort of stuff that would take me years to find out for myself. He’d tell me. He wouldn’t be able to take it. The void of sound would crack him.
‘‘So, how long have you known Connor?’’ I asked.
No reply.
‘‘It’s just that you guys seem like best friends or something. You probably know him pretty well.’’
Silence.
‘‘He tell you anything about me? Other than that I needed a keeper?’’
Nothing.
‘‘Do you suffer from transient muteness?’’
‘‘No.’’
He pulled next to a curb and turned the truck off. He removed a black nylon case from the glove compartment and put it in his pocket. ‘‘Ready?’’
‘‘Sure. I’ve got nothing else to do. I’m just sitting here talking to myself.’’ I got out of the truck and stood on the curb, waiting for Blue to join me.
‘
‘House is a block down on the right,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m point, which means you stay behind me. You end up in front of me, I pick you up and carry you out.’’
‘‘Like I’d let you.’’
He stepped closer, blocking out the sun. He was bigger up close.
‘‘You’re point,’’ I conceded.
There was a privacy fence and the front gate was locked. There was a bell. We rang. Once, twice, three times. No sign of movement. Nothing.
‘‘This is probably the wrong time, but I should mentionthat I can’t get caught. My boss doesn’t want me actually approaching Charles Smiths. He made kind of a point of it.’’
Blue looked at me. ‘‘Don’t worry about it. If we get caught, Con will kill both of us before you get fired.’’
‘‘Comforting,’’ I told him.
The neighbors had a hedge that proved prickly but not obstructive. We circled to the back, and Blue took two steps and was on top of the fence. He reached down and pulled me up like a doll. We hit the far side together. His shirt rode up and I saw the gun.
‘‘We don’t need a gun.’’
He put a finger to his lips.
‘‘We would have knocked on the front door if the gate hadn’t been locked.’’
He tapped my lips.
‘‘Fine,’’ I whispered.
He rolled his eyes.
The house was nice but not spectacular. The windows on the ground floor were shaded. The doors were locked. The grass was mowed but dry.
‘‘Doesn’t look like a millionaire bachelor pad, does it?’’ I asked.
No reply. Shocker.
Blue climbed on top of the fence at the side of the house where the wood ran close to the eaves. He stayed low on the roof and moved toward the back of the house, peering into windows. He dropped from the roof and landed on the grass next to me, rolling and getting to his feet in the same motion. A giant Nureyev.
‘‘Anything?’’ I asked.
‘‘Nothing. Time to go.’’
‘‘We haven’t learned anything yet.’’
He repeated the over-the-fence maneuver and we were once again whacking our way through the hedge.
‘‘I would enjoy partnering on these little adventures more if you didn’t think you were the Sphinx.’’
He walked fast. Maybe not fast, but his legs were long and it seemed like racing to me. When we were back in the SUV, he pulled away from the curb and headed out of the neighborhood.
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