Betrayed (7 page)

Elena moistened her dry lips. “What information? What are you talking about?”

“I don't know what it is. I only know it's my ticket to freedom.”

She tried to take in the reality of what he was saying. “You're asking me to steal something that belongs to S&D?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “No.”

“Then what?”

She heard the exasperation in his voice. “Just find where Blake put it, and give it to me.”

“Alesandro, you know I can't do that.”

“You want me to get beat up real bad? Maybe killed?”

“No. Of course not. But I thought this was about not getting arrested.”

“It is. It was.” He made a low sound. “The bastards set me up. They can turn me in to the cops, or they can make me wish I was in protective custody.”

She gasped, trying to understand but not really getting it.

“Think about helping me. But don't think about it too long because I don't have much time.”

“What if I get caught?” she blurted out.

“Blake took the information months ago. They won't link you to him.”

“What you're asking could get me fired.”

“They won't know you did anything.”

She couldn't believe he'd said that so casually. He was asking her to do something immoral, and he wasn't worried about it at all.

“I'd better go,” he said, standing up abruptly.

She jumped out of her chair. “Wait, you can't just drop something like that on me and leave.”

“I have to go. They could be tracking me. I have to keep moving.”

He strode out of the dining area, down the hall, and out of her apartment, where he carefully closed the door behind himself.

She stood, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to try and ward off the sudden chill that had gripped her body.

When she looked at the food still on the table, she knew she couldn't choke down another bite. Mechanically, she picked up the dish, carried it to the sink and scraped the rest of the meal into the sink, then ran the disposal and washed the mess away. Looking back at the table, she saw the glass of ginger ale she'd set in front of Alesandro and poured that down the sink, too, then stood with her fists clenched.

Damn him.

It was easy to get rid of the evidence that he'd been in her apartment, but not so easy to figure out what to do.

For a split second she thought about calling Shane Gallagher. He'd know how to handle this. But then she'd have to explain about her brother's gambling and about what he'd asked her to do.

Not stealing, he said.

She didn't know if she agreed with that interpretation, but whatever you wanted to call it, it was wrong. And she didn't even know if her brother was lying. He said he wanted the information from S&D to settle a gambling debt. But that might not even be true. It might just be a story he'd told her.

She pounded her fist against the counter, hating Alesandro for putting her in this position.

***

Shane knew if he went home and tried to relax, he was only going to let the scene with Elena and her brother keep spinning around in his mind. Instead he stopped for a small pepperoni pizza and took it back to the S&D office to eat at his desk.

While he ate, he checked his email. There was a message from Max reporting that Jed Lansing and Roy Newman were both on record as complaining about not getting adequately compensated for new products they had developed for S&D. Did that mean one or both of them would be willing to get back at Kinkead by stealing from the company? He didn't know, but it left him with a feeling of relief. Maybe it was one of them—and not Elena.

The sound of footsteps in the hall made him switch from Max's message to a Google search of camera equipment that he could put on the screen if needed.

Glancing at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, he saw that it was nine thirty. Late for someone to be in the building, besides the security guards.

When he looked up, he saw the bulky form of Bert Iverson standing in his office doorway.

“You're working late,” his second-in-command said.

“I could say the same for you.”

“I had a few things to finish up.”

“Me, too.”

“I was about to leave. Then I saw the light on in here. You need any help?” Bert asked.

“No. You go on home. I'll be leaving soon.”

He watched the big man head for the elevator, then reread the email from Max on Lansing and Newman.

Next he checked their office emails, looking for patterns that would clue him in to suspicious activity. When he found none, he went back to another office email account—that of Elena Reyes. At first he found nothing interesting. But when he scrolled back to a year ago, he stared at the screen. There had been a fair amount of correspondence between Elena and Arnold Blake.

A lot of it had been work related, with the new employee running questions by the old hand. She could have mentioned that at lunch. She could also have mentioned that Blake had sent her jokes and asked for advice on puzzles that he was working on. He'd called them SIMon Sez. There had been quite a lot of back and forth between them, so she'd known Blake better than she'd let on.

Could the puzzle stuff be some kind of code he was sending her? Why? And a code for what?

Shane made note of the puzzle queries and saved them into a work file.

Then he pushed his chair away from the desk and leaned back with his hands laced behind his head.

Was he looking at evidence of suspicious behavior on the part of Elena and Blake? Or was he looking for more reasons to question her? Translated—spend time with her.

With a snort, he shut down the computer and got up, thinking about his next move in the game they were playing. Or maybe he was the only one actually playing, and she was perfectly innocent.

But he knew that he couldn't stay away from her. She might be a suspect, but it had been a long time since he'd found a woman so appealing. Maybe it was the combination of innocence and strength he sensed in her. Or was he making up the innocent part?

He'd asked her to lunch. What if he asked her to dinner?

Would she go with him? Or make it clear that there wasn't going to be anything personal between them?

Elena called a car-repair service the next morning, took a cab to work, and met the auto mechanic in the S&D parking lot. She'd expected that he'd have to tow the car away, but after looking under the hood, he fiddled with some stuff and told her to try and start the car.

It started right up, and she was grateful that the problem had been easy to solve.

“You had a couple of loose spark plugs,” he said.

Not knowing much about cars, she answered with a small nod.

“Kind of an uncommon problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn't usually happen spontaneously.”

When she didn't answer, he asked, “Could anyone have fooled with your vehicle?”

She felt the hair at the back of her neck bristle. Why would anyone fool with her car? But she only answered, “I don't think so.”

Of course, Shane had fiddled with her car, she reminded herself. But that was only after it wouldn't start.

Still, the mechanic's assessment was unsettling.

Could someone have arranged the incident? And why?

She flashed back to a few days ago when she'd thought she'd seen a car following her. Was this related? And were there security tapes that showed what was happening in the parking lot? It crossed her mind to ask Shane—or was that a good idea?

She hadn't intended to get involved with him again. In fact, she'd intended to stay away from him for a lot of reasons, including last night's talk with her brother, which she was trying to push to the back of her mind.

But her life had a way of changing rapidly these days, starting with the hostage situation in the personnel department. That had thrown her into contact with Shane. The next day he'd asked her to lunch. And today he came to her office again.

She looked up in surprise when she saw him.

“I was wondering what happened with your car,” he said in the deep voice that set her nerve endings tingling.

“It's okay.”

“What was wrong?”

“The mechanic said it was loose spark plugs. He said that was unusual.”

He kept his gaze on her. “Do you have any reason to think someone could have…tampered with your vehicle?”

She'd wondered the same thing, but she only said, “I hope not.”

“I've been thinking about you,” he said. “Not just because of the car.”

“I have, too,” she heard herself say, then blushed furiously. “I mean—about you.”

“I was hoping we could go out to dinner,” he said.

She had wondered if he was going to make another move. She'd thought she'd make up an excuse if he did, but she heard herself saying, “All right.”

“Are you free tonight?”

“Yes.”

His face lit up like he'd been worried about her answer, and she had the feeling that this wasn't all that easy for him, either.

“What's a good time for you?”

“Maybe seven.”

“I'll pick you up at your apartment.”

As soon as he walked away, she had the impulse to call him back and say she'd changed her mind. But she didn't do it. What was she supposed to say—that she'd remembered a previous engagement?

Besides, she was in a mood that felt strange. Perhaps even unique. She'd focused on her career goals for so long that maybe she'd forgotten the reason for them. What was the point of getting ahead in the world if your life was all work and no play? Hadn't she imagined that she'd get married some day and start a family? And raise her children differently from the way her parents had raised her.

She pulled herself up short. Shane Gallagher had asked her out to dinner—and she was already entertaining fantasies about marrying him.

That was certainly getting ahead of herself. But she wanted to spend time with him, and there was nothing wrong with doing it. Yesterday she could have told herself that and believed it. But then her brother had shown up and asked her to do something so totally at odds with her moral code that she could hardly wrap her head around it. And now she was going out to dinner with the head of security?

She forced thoughts of her brother out of her mind and focused on work until she left the office promptly at five. She rushed home, where she took a shower, brushed out her hair, and stood in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear. She should have asked where they were going. Then she'd have a better idea of what outfit to choose. Not something she wore to work, she decided. Instead she picked a royal-blue sundress she'd bought on sale. It was almost the color of the blouse Lincoln Kinkead had given her. And that had looked good on her.

As seven o'clock approached, she stood in front of the mirror, wondering if she should change into something more buttoned up. When she heard a knock at the door, she knew it was too late for second thoughts.

She walked down the hall in the wedge sandals that she'd chosen to go with the dress, then looked through the spy hole before opening the door.

Her heartbeat picked up as she saw Shane standing there, even though his image was distorted by the lens.

When she opened the door, her breath caught. Obviously he'd done something similar—gone home and changed into an outfit that he hadn't worn to work. In this case, it was a blue-and-white-striped, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark slacks.

They stood looking at each other for a long moment, each of them seeming a bit uncertain.

“Nice dress,” he said. “The blue looks great on you.”

“Thanks.” She turned back to get her purse and a shawl, in case it was chilly in the restaurant.

“Where are we going?” she asked, as he led her downstairs to the SUV.

“I made a reservation at the Fire Station. I guess I should have asked first.”

“I haven't heard of it.”

“It's a fun place in Silver Spring. A combination restaurant and brew pub in a former firehouse that's almost a hundred years old.”

“That does sound like fun.”

They drove to the restaurant, which had been remodeled into a bar and two-story dining area. Instead of a podium, there was a desk made from the front of an old fire engine. A statue of a Dalmatian dog sat on the floor beside it.

“I asked for a table upstairs where it's quieter,” Shane said as the hostess led them past a bar where the lights in the barrel-vaulted ceiling kept changing color. They ascended a set of wide steps with openwork metal railings to a large balcony room overlooking the main floor.

As Elena had at lunch, she ordered iced tea when the server asked what they wanted to drink, and Shane got one of the beers on tap.

“They make great battered onion rings,” he said. “We could share some for an appetizer—unless you don't like them.”

“I do,” she answered, thinking how strange it was to be sitting here with this man. She'd known her parents wanted her to marry someone who'd come from San Marcos. She'd never explicitly said no, but she knew that wasn't what she was picturing for herself. She wanted to be in the mainstream of American society, with… She stopped herself from finishing the thought, then looked up and found Shane watching her. What was
he
thinking about
her
? Was he thinking relationship? Or was he going to start asking her about Arnold?

She ordered seafood risotto for dinner, and he ordered a rare rib-eye steak.

“How are things at work?” he asked as he sipped his beer. Was he being casual, or was he probing?

“Good. There's nothing urgent on my desk right now,” she answered. “How about for you?”

“I'm settling in.”

The onion rings arrived, and they each reached for one. When their hands collided, they each drew back quickly.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“I think we're both hungry,” she said, then wondered if the words had a double meaning. Focusing on the rings, she took a couple of bites.

“These
are
good.”

“You told me you like reading. What else do you do for fun?” he asked.

“You already saw my apartment. I like going to garage sales and picking up finds. I guess that goes back to my roots, where you always bargained in the marketplace.” She took another bite. “What about you?”

“I guess I'm a movie buff.”

“Action adventure?”

“Only if there are characters I can get into.”

“Did you see
Avatar
?”

“Yeah, I liked the way they translated traditional values to that planet.”

“Pandora,” she supplied. “I loved the way the good guys won—and they weren't the humans.”

“Yeah. What's your favorite music?”

“Well, I don't understand why people think rap is music. I like the oldies. Creedence Clearwater Revival.”

He hummed a little of “Proud Mary.” “How did you get into that?”

“Music was a way to understand America.”

“A good way. If you don't take everything you hear as gospel.”

She wanted to know more about him and asked, “How did you hear about the security chief job?”

He hesitated for just a moment. “Networking at a conference. I ran into Ted Winston, and he said he was retiring.”

Was that truly how he'd heard? Did that hesitation mean he had some reason to fudge his answer? But why would he?

“Do you think Bert Iverson was mad when he didn't get the position?”

He gave her a steady look. “I don't think so. Bert likes being number two and not having so much responsibility. Why do you ask?”

She took a bite of onion ring and swallowed, wishing she hadn't brought up the subject of the assistant security chief. Finally she said, “I was just wondering. I mean, if I'd been at a company for a few years and someone from the outside was hired for a job I'd been qualified for, I might be…”—she paused for a moment, then chose the word—“resentful.”

“He's always been helpful to me. In fact, he showed me the ropes when I came on board.”

“That's good.”

Shane shifted in his seat, and she knew her comment had made him think about Iverson—perhaps in a different light. “Did you hear anything about his being unhappy about my taking the security chief spot?”

“No. I was just relating to how
I'd
feel,” she answered, taking a chance and letting him know what her reaction would have been.

“Some people don't want added responsibility.”

“I like it when people rely on me.”

“Do you have aspirations to be head of IT?”

She gave him a startled look. “Me? I'm much too junior.”

“But you must have plans.”

“I always thought I'd work for a while—then get married.” She stopped short, wondering how that sounded on a first date. If this was actually a date.

She was glad when the server chose that moment to arrive at the table with their food.

The young woman set the risotto in front of Elena and the steak in front of Shane.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked.

“I think we're fine,” Shane answered and glanced at Elena for confirmation.

She nodded in agreement.

After she'd taken a few bites, he asked, “How's the risotto?”

“Good. Do you want to try some? Or is it lady food?”

He laughed. “I'm not one of those guys who won't eat quiche, and I like risotto, but not as a main dish. I'll see how it tastes, if you'll take some steak.”

They exchanged some of the food, both of them saying they liked the other's meal. Elena was thinking she'd never done this with a guy before. It was strangely intimate.

Shane cut a piece of steak and ate it before asking, “I was thinking about your car. Could anybody have disabled it to harass you?”

“Why would someone do that to me?”

He shrugged. “Well, you were on television. Maybe somebody made you a target because of that.”

“Does that make sense?”

“As much as anything else these days.” He kept his gaze on her. “Or is there someone who might have a more personal reason to go after you?”

She felt a little shiver climb up her spine. “I don't think so. Why would they?”

“Are you having problems with anyone at work? Or anyone in your family?”

The question came too close to home, and she wished he hadn't opened the subject. Could the car incident have something to do with her brother? And then there was that car she'd thought was following her.

“You're thinking about who it might be,” he said. It wasn't a question, but a statement.

For a split second, she thought about mentioning her brother. Then she warned herself that was a bad idea.

“It's nothing I want to talk about,” she said quickly.

“Okay. Forget I mentioned it.”

They finished their meal, and he asked, “Do you want some dessert?”

“I shouldn't.”

“The banana split is good.”

“What is it?”

“You've never had a banana split?”

“No.”

“The one they have here is half a banana, vanilla ice cream, caramel syrup, whipped cream. It's good. We could share one.”

“You're tempting me.”

“Then let's indulge.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

If she'd thought having a bite of dinner was intimate, sharing the dessert was a lot more so. Each of them dipping their spoons into the gooey concoction and taking bites, then coming back for more.

“This
is
good,” she murmured. “I didn't know banana and ice cream went so well together.”

“Way before your time—and mine—drugstores had soda fountains where they sold drinks and ice cream dishes. The banana split was invented by an apprentice pharmacist at a drugstore in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, in 1904.”

“How do you know?”

“I was curious about who came up with the idea and looked it up. You can find anything on the Web these days.”