“Pretty much that way. I was more familiar with Todd’s friends than anything else,” she said. “I believe I met your son at some of the fraternity functions,” she said to Pratt. “But he wasn’t one to hang out at the fraternity house much at all. Ironically, I might have known him best in those days. He was in at least two of my engineering classes.”
“Really? Electrical? Civil?” Tibbet asked.
“Structural and electrical.”
“Ah. Interesting. So, Mister Pratt, do you have any reason to believe these two employees that were fired might want to hurt any of these people? So far we’ve found no connection to Mister Peterson. He was gone before the woman was hired.”
“Not that I’m aware, Detective.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t think I’ll need to speak to your son, but if I do, I’ll call over, set something up. Ms. Hagen, I think the department will probably send you some kind of official apologies for the lapse in the computers, but I’ll say it for them. It was inexcusable and, since it may jeopardize our case, it sucks. So, I’m damn sorry.”
“Thanks, Detective. I appreciate it. I hope my bosses will, too.”
“Yeah, that’s not right. Jameson, you ought to fix that for her, for sure.” He prodded the sore spot Paul was feeling. “Harassment and all.”
“I’ll follow my client’s wishes on that one, but yes, she has a case.”
“There you go. Haul ’em into court, Ms. Hagen. You’re the victim here as far as I can see.” He closed his notebook and rose. “Nah, keep your seats. I’ll see myself out.” He was almost to the door when he paused, looked back. “Ms. Hagen, did Mister Pratt Jr. ever ask you out?”
Everyone froze and looked at Torie. “Yes, he did. I was already dating Todd, so I declined.”
“And later?”
Torie hesitated, and for the first time looked to Paul for guidance. Damn. He nodded.
“Yes, after Todd and I broke up, he asked me out several times.”
“And?”
“I wasn’t ready to date. I declined again.”
“Interesting,” Tibbet muttered, and walked out the door. A faint, “Thanks for the coffee, Mister Pratt,” was his parting shot.
The detective had been to see Torie again. It was insulting. How dare the man get so close? And he’d heard from his little sources that they’d arrested that woman from records, as well as someone from the computer division at Pratt. Wasn’t that an ass-kicker? The woman might—no, it wasn’t her. She was too malleable, her tits were bigger than her brain. Besides, he knew where she had been.
But the other one. The techie. No wonder the files had dissolved into a puddle of nothingness. Between them, the morons had taken his careful tampering, his brilliant program, and turned it into a visible cancer, a blight.
He snarled. They had to be dealt with. If they told the police they hadn’t tampered with the files, then his IPO might give him away. Someone might remember him.
Not good.
To add to that insult, Paul Jameson was still walking. His shot had missed, and he’d nearly been caught. His heart still raced at the thought of the shouts, the lights, as the police revealed their presence.
He’d been watching so intently for the departure of the bodyguard, he’d missed the fucking cops.
But Luck had saved him. She was finally on his side.
He swung the gimbaled chair from side to side, listening to the air swish. It mesmerized him for a moment, breaking the spell the anger had built.
He took a deep breath, let it out. He had to plan, shift his priorities. The two idiots who’d damaged the systems at Pratt needed to go.
Then, he’d get back to Paul, and then, to Torie.
Ah, Torie.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m not going.”
“You are if I have to dope you and drop you off,” Pam insisted later when Torie told her of the new development.
“I don’t think he meant it, Pammie. He’s a lonely old man.”
“Oh, add influential, rich, and interesting.” She paused, fork buried in salad. “Please tell me he’s at least interesting.”
“Of course, and he’s older than my father would have been.”
“Not bad, really.”
“It’s not a date, Pam.”
Pam rolled her eyes. “The salad, you goose. It’s not bad, as in pretty good, which means you should eat the chicken in it, instead of tossing it around with your fork. Besides, you need the protein—we’ve got shopping to do.”
Torie grinned at her enthusiasm, but resolved not to be steamrollered. She would not be going to the partner’s dinner as Mr. Pratt’s date.
“Now, it’s already settled,” Pam continued. “You need to party, girlfriend. You need to get out, forget about all this mayhem stuff, and get drunk. You’ve got cab fare and a new hotel room, okay? All you need is a dress. That we can fix. Miss Pam, she has her ways.” Wiggling her eyebrows, she continued to eat. Before Torie could protest once again, she changed the subject. Typical Pam tactics.
“So, let’s talk cars. Big or little?”
“Medium”
“SUV or sedan?”
“SUV, I guess, or something like the small Jeep. What do they call it? The Liberty?”
“Well, we are in the home of liberty, so that fits,” Pam joked. “Regular or hybrid?”
“Hybrid, if we can get one that’s cool.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah, and big enough to handle the dogs.”
“You sure you want to take on that mammoth masquerading as a dog?”
Torie grinned, felt her heart lighten at the thought of Bear. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll change his name to Woolly Mammoth, or Woolly for short.”
“Ha! That’s good. So, we’ll hit car shops and talk about the house, okay?”
“About that…” Torie pulled out her notebook, flipped pages, and handed it to Pam.
“Damn, girl,” was all Pam said as she began reading.
They talked about the house as they finished lunch. Torie had decided it was time for a complete life change. She was going to fix her house, but the more she thought about the rental in Darby, the more she thought she might buy it.
Once she fixed her current house, it would sell easily. Society Hill was a favorite of young married yuppies and professional singles alike. With two dogs, she needed a yard like the first one on Bodia.
By six, she called a halt to the car shopping. They’d been to five dealerships, in between stopping to see Carlos and making a trip to the vet to visit the fast-recovering Pickle.
“I surrender,” she said, pretending to wave a flag. “Pam, I’m dying here. I have to have food.”
“Just one more. I wanna drive the Mercedes SUV. The shorter one.”
“Who’s buying this car, you or me?”
“You, but I’m the one having the fun here, I can tell,” Pam teased.
Her phone rang and she jumped, snatching it up to look at the caller ID. Her face betrayed the answer. It wasn’t Dev.
“Hey,” Pam answered with none of her usual bounce. “Got it, thanks!”
“No word then?”
“None.” Pam’s bright façade fell and Torie saw the hurt, worried woman underneath. “That was just a vendor.”
“Hey,” she murmured. “He’s smart and strong. He’ll be back.”
“Did you call his, I mean your, grandmother?”
“Great-grandmother, but yeah. I called.”
“And?”
“Nothing. I got the machine.”
“Oh.”
Into the silence, Torie’s phone rang. She, too, looked at the caller ID, but not with Pam’s enthusiasm. “Paul.”
“I’m right here for you, babe. Go for it.”
“Hello, Paul.”
She closed her eyes and listened as he asked where she was, when she’d be back, what she was doing. As if he really cared.
“I’ll be back to pick up my things. Is eight o’clock convenient?”