Betrayed (6 page)

“I'm guessing they don't have the same dishes in San Marcos,” he said.

“No. They weren't into sandwiches at home. More like meals based on rice and beans. Sometimes with meat. Chicken or fish.”

“And not canned tuna fish, I'll bet.”

He was trying to make her relax with the small talk, but she wondered if she'd ever be able to relax around him.

“No. I got to like it at school. Imitating the other girls in the cafeteria.”

“You went to school around here?”

“Yes. In Germantown. It was a good place to grow up.”

“Why did you like it?”

“There was a mix of people. I could fit in.”

“What did you do for fun?”

“Sky diving.”

He blinked.

“That was a joke.”

“Right.”

“I liked to read.”

“What?”

“Everything. Mystery. Science fiction. Romances. What about you?”

“I was more into sports. Depending on the season. Football. Basketball. Baseball.”

“I did that too. I was on a softball team.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She laughed. “I was a good pitcher.”

He gave her a considering look. “You?”

She managed a mischievous smile. “I don't look like a pitcher?”

“I'll take your word for it,” he said with a grin. “And you stayed in the area after high school.”

“My family's still here. I didn't want to move too far from them, in case my parents needed help.”

“They're getting old?”

“They're still doing all right.”

“But you worry about them?”

There was a lot she could say. She settled for a little nod.

“You've been at S&D a while.”

“It's a good working environment.”

She had let him lull her into letting down her guard, but the relaxing small talk ended abruptly with his next question.

“Do you know about an employee in the IT department who was murdered?”

Elena's hand tightened on the sandwich, squishing the bread, and she deliberately eased her grip as tuna salad oozed out from between the slices.

“You mean Arnold Blake?”

“Yes. Any insights into what might have happened?”

“You're the security chief.”

“It was before my time, and the police don't have any leads.”

Her mouth had gone dry, and she took a sip of tea. “I didn't know him well,” she managed to say.

“Did he seem suspicious to you?”

That might be an opening to say something about the emails Arnold had sent her. But then what?

“No,” she responded as she turned her sandwich in her hand, wishing she could get up and walk back to work. Shane Gallagher had put her on edge as soon as he'd started talking to her today. Then he'd fooled her into relaxing before springing a question about Arnold Blake. Or maybe she shouldn't put it that way.

Maybe he saw that he'd spooked her because he leaned back in his chair, focusing on his sandwich for a while and eating some of the potato salad. She took some of the salad, too.

She finished most of her sandwich, saving the edges of the bread. She was annoyed with herself for acting nervous around him. He didn't know about her damn dream. And she wasn't going to talk about Arnold Blake.

Arnold had been in his early sixties when he died. He had been friendly to her when she came to S&D. She'd thought of him as a mentor because he'd shown her the ropes in the IT department. And she'd come to him with questions when she was finding her way.

He was married, and she had no intention of getting involved with him outside of work. But he'd started a correspondence with her that wasn't strictly work related. He'd sent her little jokes, and he'd been into puzzles. He was designing them, calling them SIMon Sez, and sometimes he'd run answers by her. But that was about as far as it went with them.

Because her mother had made her superstitious about discussing the dead, she didn't want to talk about any of that with Shane. Instead, she walked to the edge of the lake and broke the bread crusts into pieces, throwing the bits into the water. The mom duck paddled over, and the babies followed. Smiling, she fed the little family, watching them scrabble around for the food.

Shane came up beside her, and to her relief, he didn't ask any more questions about Blake.

“You like animals?”

“Yes. That's one of the things I miss in the States. There were lots more animals around back home. I loved to watch the babies with the mommas.” She looked at her watch. “This was a nice break, but I should get back to work.”

“I'm sorry if I kept you from something you needed to do.”

“It's fine. I'll just stay a little late.”

“Sorry,” he said again.

The conversation had petered out. For a little while, she'd felt closer to him. Now she reminded herself that she had no business thinking about him as anything but the company chief of security. They drove back to the S&D building without speaking.

“Thanks,” she said as she got out at the front door and hurried back to her desk.

As soon as she was out of his sight, she was angry with herself for being so off balance. She wanted to be a normal, self-assured American woman. She'd reached that status in her work. Now she had to do the same with her personal relationships. But she didn't have a personal relationship with Shane, she reminded herself. Just a fantasy relationship. That silent observation made her snort.

***

Shane dragged in a breath and let it out as he watched Elena hurry into the building. She'd been on edge with him, and he needed to know why. Because she was deep into something illegal that she was afraid the security chief was going to discover? If that was the case, she could be in danger, which gave him another reason to find out what had prompted her reaction to him.

Or was he just looking for excuses to maintain contact with her because that's what he secretly wanted?

He spent the rest of the afternoon working on background checks, putting in extra time because he felt guilty about…something. He wasn't sure what.

Elena had told him she might work late, too. When he finally made his way down to the parking lot, she was standing beside her car, looking around with a disturbed expression on her face.

Wondering what was wrong, he hurried over. By the time he reached her vehicle, she was inside again, trying to start the vehicle, but the sound told him she wasn't having any success.

Leaning down, he rapped on the driver's side window of Elena's car.

Her head jerked up. When she saw it was him, she rolled down her window.

“Shane. What are you doing here?”

“I was working late, too. It sounds like you're having problems.”

She tightened her hands on the wheel. “My car won't start.”

“I can take a look.”

She gave him a grateful look as he walked around to the front of the vehicle.

“Open the hood release,” he said.

As he leaned in and looked at the engine, he could see her watching him through the crack between the hood and the bottom of the window. The worry in her eyes made his chest tighten because he was thinking this might give him an opportunity he'd been looking for. He clamped his teeth together as he reached to touch a few engine parts, then shook his head. “I guess I don't know what's wrong.”

“I'll have to call a tow truck.”

He looked around the almost empty parking lot. “It's late, and I don't want you hanging around here by yourself. I'll wait with you.”

He saw her consider the offer.

“I don't want to put you to any trouble. You probably want to get home.”

“Why don't you let me drive you home, and you can take care of the problem in the morning?”

She thought that over, then finally nodded, climbed out of her car, and locked the door behind her.

“Do you have a tissue?” he asked. To emphasize his problem, he rubbed his thumb across his fingers.

She was instantly contrite, making him feel even guiltier.

“You got your hands dirty. I'm sorry.” Digging into her purse, she found a tissue pack and gave him one. He wiped at his hands, but of course he couldn't get all the grime off.

“Where do you live?” he asked as they walked back to his car. Did he see a vehicle at the edge of the parking lot with its lights on? A car pulled the wrong way across several spaces. As he looked in that direction, the driver started the engine and drove off.

“Luckily, not far,” Elena was saying. She gave him directions to a downscale garden apartment complex only a few miles from the S&D office. “I probably could have walked.”

“Not a great idea.” As he turned into the complex, he looked toward the side of the road. “There are no sidewalks here.”

“There are—in front of the buildings.”

“Which one is yours?” he asked as he made the turn off the main road. He hadn't been to the location before, and he thought he'd categorize it as lower middle class. The yellow-brick buildings looked to be at least fifty years old, each with a metal balcony. Some had a couple of plastic chairs on them. Other balconies were obviously being used for excess storage. And some sported bicycles.

She glanced up, maybe judging his reaction.

“It's not fancy.”

“It probably doesn't matter once you get inside.”

She directed him to a building at one end of the complex. When he pulled up, she immediately reached for the door handle.

“Do you think I could come in and wash my hands?” he asked.

When she answered, “Of course,” he got the feeling that she wished he'd simply drive away.

Instead he turned into a nearby space and cut the engine.

They both got out, and she turned rapidly away, leading him toward the front entrance, where she stopped to get her mail, then took him up a flight of concrete steps to the second floor.

“A good location,” he remarked. “I mean, better than the basement for safety—and not so far to climb as to the top.”

“But I do sometimes hear people in the apartment above me walking around.” She gave him a quick smile. “And of course, it's possible a guy on a rope could swing down from the room above and crash through the window.”

He laughed. “Yeah, but unlikely.”

After unlocking the door, she switched on the light, and they both stepped inside. She walked a few paces away as he looked around, then breathed out a small sigh as he made a professional judgment. If she was pulling in extra money because she was stealing information from S&D, it didn't look like she was spending it on herself.

The furnishings were inexpensive, probably even secondhand. Some of them were like the furniture he'd rented for his own apartment. But there was really no comparison. He hardly noticed or cared about his surroundings. She obviously wanted to make her living space into a real home, and she'd worked hard to do it on a budget. She'd found some unusual pieces, like the carved sideboard, and added a lot of touches, like bright throws and pillows that gave the place an unexpected warmth.

But he wasn't simply admiring the decorative effects. He was also looking for a place where he could leave the bug he'd been carrying around, thinking he'd use it if he got the opportunity. He might have put it in her office at S&D. But he hadn't thought there was much chance she'd talk out of turn there. Her apartment was a much better bet.

Elena saw him taking the place in, and the expression on her face told him that she cared what he thought about her efforts.

“This is charming.”

“Thanks.” She raised a hand and let it fall back to her side. “I'm paying off some student loans. The decorating style is early cheap.”

“But you've done a good job with it. It looks like you have a flair for design.”

“Thank you,” she said in a low voice. He was fairly sure she wasn't comfortable with him being there. And he was thinking that the sooner he left, the better, before he did something he shouldn't. And what would that be, exactly? He managed to keep his mind from going there.

He held up his still-dirty hands. “Which way to the bathroom?”

“Down the hall.”

He looked in the direction she'd indicated, still thinking about the bug in his pocket. If he got her to fix him something to drink, he could probably plant it then.

“Do you have a rag I can use?” he asked. “I don't want to get grease on your towels.”

She brought him a piece of terrycloth, then left him alone to soap his hands.

He looked around while he worked on the grime. It was a standard apartment bathroom, but she'd given it a lot of personality—with a rainbow-colored shower curtain and small ceramic figurines on a wicker shelf sitting on the toilet tank top.

He got most of the grease off and wrung out the towel, then draped it over the edge of the tub.

He was just fumbling in his pocket for the listening device when a loud rap at the front door made him go still.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was after seven. So, who was dropping in on Elena this evening? Not someone with a key.

He heard her walk to the door and hesitate a moment before opening it. She stepped rapidly back as someone barreled into the apartment.

A sharp male voice spoke. Shane could tell by the inflection that a question was being asked. But he didn't know what the guy had said because he'd spoken in Spanish.

Shane stepped out of the bathroom, still listening to the Spanish conversation and picking up only a few words here and there. He arrived in the living room to see Elena confronting a dark-haired man who looked to be in his early thirties. His narrow lips were set in a grim line, and his angry, deep-set eyes were focused on her.

When he saw Shane approaching, he turned his attention to him and switched to English that was much more accented than Elena's.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Who are
you
?” Shane countered.

The guy's hands went to his hips in an aggressive stance. “I said who are you? And I'd like to know what you're doing here.”

Elena answered quickly. “This is Shane Gallagher. He works at S&D. My car broke down, and he gave me a ride home—after he tried to see if he could fix the car. He got his hands dirty under the hood, and he came in to wash them.” She looked from the newcomer to Shane and back again. “Shane, this is my brother, Alesandro.”

Neither of them said, “Glad to meet you,” but the brother relaxed a fraction.

“I was just leaving,” Shane said, wishing he had an excuse to stay for a few more minutes. He hadn't accomplished his main mission in coming here, but it was instructive to observe the relationship between brother and sister. The guy seemed overprotective. Or was “protective” the right word?

Shane didn't have much experience with cultures where the men ran roughshod over the women, but he had wondered if that was the case with Elena's family. She'd talked about them a little, but now he had a better idea of where she was coming from, as the phrase went.

The brother stepped out of the way, and Shane exited the apartment, hearing the door close firmly behind him. He had to fight the temptation to stay where he was and press his ear to the door to find out what was going to happen in there now. But he could picture Alesandro pulling the door open again and discovering the Good Samaritan was a snooper.

With a sigh, Shane walked rapidly down the steps and out to his SUV. Too bad he didn't carry around equipment like a directional mike. Of course, they had probably switched back to Spanish, and the effort would be wasted.

He looked up at the lighted window that he now knew was Elena's and waited a couple of minutes. Finally, he drove away, wondering why the guy had shown up in the first place. Had he followed them from work? Or was he just making a social call on his sister? It didn't exactly seem like it. He'd been angry or upset when he came in.

Shane thought about the two people in the apartment as he drove home. Elena spoke almost as if she'd been born here. Her brother, not so much. But he'd been older when his parents emigrated. That could have made the difference, or maybe he hadn't put as much effort into assimilation.

***

Elena stood facing her brother. He looked upset. Because of Shane, or was it something else?

“I don't like coming over and finding a guy in your apartment,” he said, switching back to Spanish.

There were a lot of things she wanted to say. Like—that's none of your business. Or—are you checking up on me? Or—how dare you decide who I can see. But she pressed her lips together. She'd been taught respect, and she wasn't going to throw that away because her brother was acting like a jerk.

Instead she said, “You haven't visited in a while.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she hoped they didn't sound like an accusation.

“Sorry. I've been busy,” he said in an apologetic voice.

“Did you eat dinner yet?”

He turned one hand palm up. “I'm fine.”

Maybe if he was referring to food. But from the tone of his voice, she thought that wasn't entirely true. Something was wrong.

To give herself a little breathing room, she asked, “Do you mind if I eat something? It's been a long day.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

She was glad for the chance to turn away from him as she opened the refrigerator and got out the dinner portion of rice, beans, and chicken she'd barely touched yesterday.

She covered the bowl with wax paper and put it into the microwave.

When she looked up and saw Alesandro watching her, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“You got any hard stuff?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Wine?”

“I don't really drink.”

“Yeah, right. Okay, you got soft drinks?”

“Ginger ale.”

He wrinkled his nose but let her put ice in a glass and pour some of the fizzing liquid over the ice.

He fiddled with the glass, then sat down at the table. When the rice dish was heated, she put a mug with water and a tea bag into the microwave.

She sat across from her brother and ate a few bites of her dinner, then glanced up as he shifted in his chair.

She could let this go on for a few minutes, or she could find out what was going on.

“Why did you come over?” she asked.

“I'm in trouble, and I hope you can help me,” he answered, surprising her with his bluntness.

Elena put down her spoon. “What's wrong, and how can I help?”

He gave her a look that said he wasn't happy about providing an explanation, but he knew she wasn't going to cooperate unless he did.

“I've gotten into some stuff I can't handle,” he clipped out.

“Like what, exactly?” she asked, feeling as though she were prying a piece of hardened gum off the bottom of her shoe.

“I was making a delivery.”

“At the rental car agency? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Not the car agency.” He stopped and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It's better if you don't know.”

She waited for more information.

“Someone's got the goods on me. They can have me arrested big time if they want. But they told me there's a way out. If you can get me some information from S&D.”

“What are you trying to say?” she asked in a voice that hardly sounded like her own.

He leaned across the table toward her. “There was a guy who died. Arnold Blake.”

There was the name again. She hadn't thought about Arnold Blake in months, and now both Shane and her brother had brought him up.

“What about him?” she managed to ask.

“He took some information from S&D. He was supposed to turn it over to a guy, but he didn't do it. That's how he ended up dead.”

“I don't understand. What do you want me to do—exactly?”

“Find out where he hid the material, and bring it to me.”