Kip was a suspicious person. Her ex thought it was a character flaw, but SFI thought it a marketable skill.
She slowly pulled the door open, telling herself that her abruptly pounding heart wouldn’t be audible to anyone else.
Another inch and she would be able to see who was there. Maybe it was a staff auditor, catching up on a backlog. But maybe not.
Another inch... Quietly, quietly she told herself.
When she recognized the intruder her heart stopped but her mind did not.
Explanation one was that she was trying to help. And that was just not going to happen. Clients did not help SFI investigators.
It ruined the chain of evidence and muddied the clarity of the investigation. It did not matter that Tamara Sterling was more qualified than Kip was to handle the case.
Explanation two, and far more sinister, was that Tamara Sterling had hired her as a blind to cover up her own guilt. It had been tried before by clients who thought they were exceedingly clever. Sterling could be hoping to use Kip’s reports to determine how long she had until she needed to leave the jurisdiction.
She didn’t want to believe Sterling was the embezzler. It made little sense. But she hadn’t yet ruled it out. She watched, fighting an enormous sense of betrayal, as Sterling slipped a few pieces of paper into the inside pocket of her jacket.
She let the door fall shut behind her. The quiet click seemed as loud as a gun shot. Sterling whirled to face her.
She held out her hand. “I’ll take those papers.” Her voice was glacial.
38
Sterling started to put her hand in her jacket but Kip quickly added, “Hold the jacket out from your side and reach in with two fingers.”
A dull flush climbed slowly up Sterling’s throat. “I realize how this looks,” she said. She slowly and carefully removed the papers and then held them out.
Kip waited for her to say more. But instead of protestations of innocence and fumbling explanations, she said, “I’m starved.
Why don’t you update me over dinner?”
Kip couldn’t hold back a laugh of disbelief. “Do you really think I don’t deserve an explanation of why you’re here?”
The flush that had seemed to mark Sterling’s guilt faded.
Her mouth twitched to one side. “I know a restaurant that serves crow. Isn’t that what bosses who don’t believe anyone will do the job as well as themselves should eat?”
Kip thought she was making too light of what was a serious matter. But she’d humor her and see if she slipped up. The need to study Sterling as a suspect was her only motivation for a light tone and smile. “Do you like your crow baked or boiled?”
“Southern-fried, with Tabasco. Shall we?” She indicated the door.“Give me a few minutes to get what I came in for.”
Kip quickly photocopied the reconciled bank statements she wanted and slipped them into her windcheater’s inner pocket, alongside the papers Tamara had given up. Ninety seconds with a high-capacity disk in the PC connected to the mainframe gained her the cash general ledger. She knew it was encrypted, but she had a few guesses as to how she could read the data anyway.
She preceded Sterling out of the area and into the elevator. “An interim note to my client,” she said quietly. She tapped the disk in her pocket. “This was too easy for me to do. I expected to be locked out.”
“You’re right. When this is over, I’ll order an overhaul of our internal security. Maybe that’s been tampered with. Now let’s get out of here before someone sees us here—and together.”
39
Tam’s thoughts were in a whirl. Coming here and searching through the files after she’d turned the job over to Kip had been stupid. She was too tired and too hungry because her brain didn’t seem to want to work. Now the most important thing in the world seemed to be getting out of the building together without being seen. No matter who saw them it would start gossip, and gossip would reach the ears of their embezzler.
Just as she relaxed, the elevator stopped two floors down—
another SFI floor. She heard Kip mutter a four-letter word. Acting purely on impulse, she seized Kip, forced her into the corner and inclined her back as if they were in the throes of passion. It was a cheap, desperate move.
Kip fought her for a moment, then stiffened as the doors opened. Tam ran her hands over the faded sweatshirt, momentarily surprised at the well-developed muscles her fingertips encountered, muscles that yielded to softness at her ribs. She did her best to engulf Kip completely, hiding her from view. Better someone should think the boss was having a torrid affair than guess the truth. And she was pretty sure Kip couldn’t be recognized from this angle.
She heard the shuffle of papers and someone’s quick intake of breath, but not the sounds of someone entering the elevator yet.
For good measure, she pressed her lips to Kip’s.
A sardonic voice said, “I guess I’ll catch the next one.”
Damn, it sounded like Ted. But the elevator doors closed again and she and Kip were still alone.
About to voice an apology, she let go of Kip so she could check the floor indicator as they descended. She turned back to Kip. “That was a close—”
For the fortieth or fiftieth time, Kip said, “I’m sorry. It was 40
pure instinct. For a minute I couldn’t breathe—it felt like you intended to smother me.”
“Forget about it,” Tam’s voice was muffled by the ice bag Kip had produced from her medicine cabinet and filled with cubes.
The ibuprofen tablets she’d given her had not kicked in yet. “I should have known better.”
“I suppose it was quick thinking.” It sounded like a reluctant admission to Tam.
The doorbell rang.
“Saved by the bell,” Kip muttered.
She came back into the kitchen carrying a bag of something that smelled delectable. In spite of the raging pain in her face, Tam’s stomach growled.
“I must be alive. I’m still hungry.”
“Just keep the ice on it and chew on the right side of your mouth.”
Egg rolls had never tasted so good. Tamara munched gingerly on one, then said, “I didn’t realize you were a southpaw.”
“I’m not,” Kip said. “That was just my left jab.”
Damn her, but she sounded more than a little smug. She had seemed genuinely sorry that she’d nearly KO’d her. Now Tam wasn’t so sure. “Don’t do me any favors,” she muttered.
Kip paused with her chopsticks sunk into one of the containers. “Would you like a plate? Living alone has given me horrible manners.”
In spite of what felt like a broken jaw, she managed a smile.
So Kip did live alone. “I thought the point of takeout was no dishes.”
Kip extracted a water chestnut from the container and popped it into her mouth. After chewing thoughtfully, she said,
“Well, we’re in agreement on two things, then.”
She frowned. It made her cheek ache more. “What?”
“Not doing extra dishes and—” she enunciated very clearly,
“It’s really stupid for the client to try to help the professional she’s hired to do a job.”
Tam winced. If she’d stayed home and caught up on her sleep 41
she’d still have use of her right eye. “Actually, it’s three things we agree on.”
“What’s the third?”
“It’s really stupid to grab a woman in an elevator.” The memory of Kip’s body and the moments their lips had been pressed together had thankfully faded behind the throb of her eye.
Kip stopped in mid-crunch of a stir-fried string bean, then cleared her throat. She swallowed, then sipped some tea. “Well, if you’re unhappy with me now, wait until you hear my report,”
she told her quietly.