Underpaid, overworked prosecutors counted on SFI to be rock solid on the witness stand.
This thief was one of their own, and had broken their code and endangered the path of justice. She would get back every dime she could lay her hands on and then she would present the culprit and the cash to Tamara Sterling on a silver platter.
“Another red?” The steward paused next to Tamara’s seat with the napkin-wrapped bottle in one hand.
“No—not a good idea.” She was depressed enough as it was 33
to be heading for home without accomplishing one useful bit of work. She’d had just enough time at her hotel this morning to shower and change, only to get a call from the SFI local office head that the meeting had been canceled. She’d turned around, checked out and headed back to the airport. At least she’d managed to get on a slightly earlier flight.
“It’s twice as powerful at altitude,” he admitted. “Can I clear away your dinner then?”
She nodded and turned her attention back to the reports she’d carried all the way from Seattle. Reading them would be something useful for the time she’d wasted on this trip. She hated flying coast-to-coast in less than twenty-four hours.
At least she would see her own bed before midnight. The New York office manager, Hank Jefferson, had been equally appalled that Tam had wasted the trip, and he’d promised to get to the bottom of it. They both hoped it wasn’t a case of the client deciding to sleep in on a Saturday morning instead. Weekend meetings usually meant something serious was suspected.
Somewhere over North Dakota she initialed the last report and slid it into her briefcase. Nothing but reports, meetings and more reports leading to more meetings. She liked running her own firm, but in the most perverse way, she had been almost relieved to find an investigation right under her nose, and had at first thought she could run it all by herself.
Not that she was glad there was an embezzler on their staff.
But once her initial disbelief had eased, she’d felt the old and familiar thrill of a puzzle to solve. Now she delegated puzzles to other people. She didn’t miss working for the Feds, but she missed the thrill of seeing if she could outwit a criminal on a one-to-one basis.
You’re not a kid anymore, she told herself, and you’re pushing forty. You have responsibilities. You love this work. If only she’d get a good night’s sleep she knew she’d feel better in the morning.
Her depression led from one bleak thought to another. Had Nadia’s laugh on the phone been the last pleasant thing she could remember? She could still hear it. She would have eventually 34
recognized Nadia, she was certain, but hearing that unforgettable laugh in an English class in college had made her scan the rows of the lecture hall until she found the source. Nadia had recognized her, too. They hadn’t become the best of friends, but there were binding ties that had nothing to do with friendship that they both respected.
She closed her eyes and saw Ted’s face in the Student Union Lair, that night fifteen years ago when he and Nadia had met.
One-of-a-kind love story, that one. She’d known Ted from mutual computer science classes. He’d taken one look at Nadia and it was all over. His eyes were mirrors of his every thought.
Nadia had tossed her hair back with a look that said she knew he was already hers. “Tam, seriously, how did you not mention that such an attractive man was in your classes?”
“I’m not on Tam’s radar,” Ted had said.
Nadia had laughed, showing off that lovely voice. “Well now you’re on mine.”
Just like that, and three months later they were married.
They credited Tam with their introduction. Nadia had made sure that Tam caught the bouquet, but fifteen-plus years later that magic hadn’t happened. She’d rarely gotten to a second date and never to a sixth. Not being able to talk about her work limited the conversation. A few women understood that it wasn’t lack of trust, but the rules. Most, however, failed to make another date.
One woman had summed it up with, “If I’d wanted a mystery for dinner, I’d have ordered a book.”
She let her gaze drift over the clouds outside the airplane, exhausted and worried. Clouds shaped like horses and dragons, angels even, failed to distract her until in the depths of one she saw Kip Barrett’s eyes, full of conscious intent and disciplined fervor. She liked that trait in people. It would have been fun to work with her on this mystery, to see how her mind worked out the complexities.
“Would you like anything else before we land?”
Tam couldn’t hold back a startled gasp.
The steward looked chagrined. “I’m sorry, I woke you just as 35
you were dozing off, didn’t I?”
“No... I was just daydreaming,” Tam said. “I’m fine.” Tam handed her empty water cup to him and realized he was leaning a little closer to her than duty called for.
“Do you live in the Seattle area?” At her nod, he went on,
“Maybe you could recommend a restaurant or two? I’ve got an extended layover and I’ll be on my own.”
Oh, please, she thought, do I really have to come out at 38,000 feet? Fortunately, a sharp downdraft, followed by a crash from the galley, sent the steward scurrying up the aisle. When he came back, Tam’s eyes were closed.
She wished the sleep weren’t feigned, but she was too caught up in brooding for the comfort of sleep. She wondered if Kip Barrett was making progress. She ought to have asked explicitly for her to contact her with a progress update tomorrow, even if it was a Sunday.
By the time her plane touched down at SeaTac it was close to midnight. Groggy from lack of sleep, Tam nevertheless had made up her mind. The office should be quiet on a Sunday with only the people on deadlines working. She’d sleep in, then take the stack of approved reports into the office. If the coast was clear she’d do a little poking around. It would beat sitting on her hands and wondering if Kip Barrett was getting anywhere.
36
Chapter FOUr
Kip was weary from the long drive home, but still refreshed enough not to think a short stop at the office late on a Sunday afternoon much of a burden. There would only be a few people around and she wanted a peek into a couple of the accounting files, if she could get access to the area.
The accounting floor of the SFI offices seemed deserted when she peeked through the safety glass alongside the door from the elevators. She swiped her ID card through the magnetic reader, entered the access code she used for the doors on her own floor and got a green light to enter. It had been a risk—if she’d been red lighted it might have generated an error message to building security. If challenged, she’d been planning to claim being too tired not to realize she wasn’t at her usual floor. They did all look a lot alike. Flimsy, but nobody had a reason not to believe her.
37
She could point out the visible dribble of coffee across the front of her sweatshirt as testimony to her fatigue.
When this was all over she’d point out that she—and everyone else with no relationship to accounting—ought not to be able to enter the area. That green light had been too easy, which didn’t seem right.
She had her hand on the accounting file room door before she realized someone was already in there, moving quietly. Just as she was moving quietly. A suspicious person would call it furtive.