The large, spacious office was practically deserted. The only people left were the two of them. John Reardon was the chief accountant for the San Francisco branch of the nationwide private company Delilah had come to audit.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s not sleeping in your own bed, that’s what does it, right?” John sounded sympathetic.
“At least they put me up in a corporate apartment rather than at a hotel. I don’t get disturbed by the housekeeping staff.”
True, she was staying in a comfortable condo which belonged to the company, but what did it matter when she couldn’t sleep anyway? Before her trip to San Francisco she’d never had any problems with insomnia. On the contrary, she was known for being able to sleep wherever and whenever she put her head on a pillow. It didn’t even have to be a pillow.
Delilah rubbed her eyes then looked at her watch. It was past nine o’clock. She felt almost guilty having stayed so late. John had insisted being there as long as she was. He didn’t want to leave her alone at the offices. She guessed he didn’t trust auditors not to snoop around. He got that right. Not that she’d call it snooping since she had all the authorization she needed. In fact, she had very specific instructions.
She wasn’t just here to audit the branch office of the company, but to investigate some irregularities. Delilah was sure John had no idea about this. He’d been told that it was merely one of the usual audits Headquarters performed regularly.
“Sorry, John. I’m sure you’re ready to go home.”
She turned to him. Leaning against the edge of one of the desks, he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. His gray suit seemed ill-fitting, and the collar of his shirt looked frayed. He was quite tall and decent looking for an accountant. Boring, bland, but not ugly.
He probably didn’t appreciate having to stay at the office this late. Well, she was beat anyway, so maybe she should call it a day, even though she knew she would probably toss and turn all night no matter what.
“Ready?”
A flicker of relief appeared in John’s eyes when she nodded. It took him all of two seconds to slip into his jacket and grab his briefcase. He sure was in a hurry to get out of there. She couldn’t blame him. He had a family waiting for him. And what did she have to go home to? It wasn’t even home.
Not that home would have been any more welcoming than the corporate apartment. Nobody was waiting for her. No man, not many friends—not even a cat or a dog. After this assignment was over and she was back in New York, she’d go out more and date. That was the plan. It was an excellent plan, one she’d made during every one of her out-of-town assignments and then promptly dismissed when she’d returned home. This time she meant it, though. Really.
But for now, all she wanted was to get some takeout and go to sleep. John was kind enough to direct her toward Chinatown where she could pick up some food on her way back to the apartment. Even though she’d been to Chinatown before, her sense of direction was much less developed than her head for numbers. During the day she normally managed, but in the dark she turned into a lost cause when it came to finding her way.
It had started drizzling, and she didn’t want to hang around too long. She ducked into the first Chinese restaurant she encountered. The place was virtually empty.
The woman at the entrance attempted to show her to a table, but Delilah waved her off.
“Just takeout, please.”
The hostess handed her a menu. Delilah scanned it quickly, trying not to let her fingers linger too long on the sticky plastic cover. The menu presented too many choices. How many different ways could you cook beef? Beef with bamboo shoots, beef with mushrooms, spicy beef. Enough already. She would play it safe.
“I’ll have the Mongolian beef with brown rice, please.”
“Brown rice takes ten minutes.” The Chinese woman was as friendly as a viper and just as pretty. If she thought Delilah would change her mind to white rice with her look, she was out of luck.
“That’s ok. I’ll wait.”
Delilah sank onto one of the red plastic chairs near the door. This business trip was her first to San Francisco. As an independent contractor, she normally performed special audits up and down the East Coast and rarely travelled further afield.
When the head office’s regular statistical checks had revealed that certain ratios in the San Francisco branch were off, they’d decided to use somebody who hadn’t had any prior contact with the West Coast staff and hired an outsider. It was smart. Auditors could become too cozy with the staff they were auditing. A regular change of auditors was generally a good idea.
If anybody could find out where the problem was buried, it was Delilah. Her specialty was forensic accounting. It wasn’t quite as exciting as police work, but it was probably the most exciting field in the accounting world, if there was such a thing. An oxymoron to some, but not to her. And besides, she was making a very decent living as an independent consultant.
This investigation should not present itself with too many difficulties. Certain ratios between assets and depreciation were off the charts and suggested that either somebody was completely incompetent or was trying to cheat the company. How, she didn’t know yet, but she would find out soon.
Delilah was tired and knew she needed a good night’s sleep, but she also dreaded going to bed. Some of her old nightmares had come back again and mixed with new ones. She hadn’t had any in a few months, but upon her arrival in San Francisco a few days ago, her bad dreams had started to reappear.
They were normally always the same. The old French farmhouse they’d lived in over twenty years ago when her father had taken a two-year overseas assignment as a visiting professor. The lavender fields surrounding the property. The crib. The silence. And then the faces of her parents. The tears on her mother’s face. The pain.
But this time the dreams had blended into other, more incomprehensible ones.
The Victorian house looked foreboding in the heavy rain. Light came from one of the windows; other than that it was dark. She ran faster and faster. Toward the house, to safety. She didn’t dare look behind her. He was still there, still following her. Hands clamped over her shoulder. Then suddenly her fists pounded into a heavy wooden door. Something gave way. She stumbled forward and fell. Into warmth, softness, safety. Home.
“Mongolian beef, brown rice.” The woman’s voice pierced through the recollection of her dream. Delilah paid her tab and took the food. She stopped dead at the door.
Damn!
It had started raining in earnest. She had left her umbrella in the apartment, thinking she wouldn’t need it today. Instead of opting for her trench coat, she’d only put on a light jacket. Well, that turned out to be a bad choice.
Everybody had told her how unpredictable San Francisco weather could be, and now she would find out for herself. The weather report had indicated no rain until the weekend. Could she sue the weatherman? Probably not.
She had no choice but to brave it. Delilah knew she wasn’t far from the apartment, only about three blocks. Staying close to the buildings, she started running along the sidewalk then made a turn into the next street, and another one a block further. The apartment couldn’t be far now. She looked around, but in the heavy rain she couldn’t recognize anything. Was it another block more?
Her clothes were already soaked, and she would have to jump into the shower to get warm again. Where the hell was she? She turned another corner and found herself on a small side street. It didn’t look familiar at all, but that wasn’t her biggest problem, neither was the relentless rain. The problem was the guy coming toward her. Even though she couldn’t make him out well, she would bet her retirement fund that he wasn’t there to lend her an umbrella.