In a Heartbeat (34 page)

“Yeah, I’ve been getting the same.”

“I sent Raymond out to check on her. She shouldn’t be alone. You know, nothing like this ever happened to her before you came on the scene.”

“If you think I’m responsible in any way for—”

“I don’t know what to think. I just know nothing better happen to my little sister or someone’s gonna pay.”
Click.

Stephen’s threat made it perfectly clear who the
someone
would be.

Hank replaced the receiver. Not that he blamed Stephen. He had a powerful urge to do bodily harm as well. He just didn’t have a face to connect to his brutal punishment. Stephen was right about one thing.

Angela shouldn’t be alone.

“Mr. Renard, I was just coming to see you about—”

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“Later, Cathy.” He grabbed his coat and headed toward the door. “I don’t know if I’ll be back this afternoon. If it’s an emergency, leave a message on my machine.”

* * *

“Raymond. What are you doing here?”

“Stephen asked me to deliver this.” He held up the suitcase her mother had used on her Florida trip. “And he wanted me to stay so you wouldn’t be…alone.” His gaze crawled the length of her, lingering, assessing.

Angie suppressed a shudder and reached for the suitcase. “Thank you for bringing this, but you don’t have to stay. It really isn’t necess—”

With a sharp twist, he jerked the suitcase back, causing her to practically wrap herself around him to keep her balance. She glanced up.

A sickening smile curled his lips. “Stephen said you’d be difficult. He said I should insist.”

She straightened without the suitcase, her ankle complaining from the awkward twisting. “Come in, then.”

He passed her in the entry way and she glanced longingly at the crisp, clear day, hesitant to close the door.

“You should lock it,” he said behind her. She looked at him, confused. “The door. You should lock it. There’s lots of crazies out there.”

And how do I know you’re not one of them?
She purposefully left it unlocked.

“This is a nice hiding place, Short Stuff.” He dropped the suitcase on the sofa before walking across the room to the sliding glass door. “Not a lot of unnecessary clutter. Not a lot of froufrou plants.” He pushed back the heavy drapes as if he owned the place, then peered out into the yard beyond. “I almost feel that I’ve been here before.” He spun on his heel to face her. “There’s a name for that, isn’t there? When you feel like you’ve been somewhere before.”

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“Déjà vu?”

“That’s right. Déjà vu.” He smiled as if she had solved one of the world’s great mysteries. She supposed the expression was meant to be flattering, but it made her…uncomfortable. He took a few steps closer. “I experience déjà vu with people sometimes, as if I met them in a dream, or in another life. Does that ever happen to you?”

“I suppose it happens to everyone. That’s why there’s a name for it.”

She felt the tabletop behind her, searching for a book or some heavy object to discourage him from coming closer. Her hands came up empty.

He stood no more than an arm’s length away.

He laughed. “How true. But I’m particularly interested in you. Do you ever feel you’ve met someone, say like me, before? Especially in light of…”

He dragged a finger slowly down her chest, tracing the scar beneath her too thin shirt.

She shuddered, pushing his finger away. “Stephen shouldn’t have told you about that.”

“I understand. You’re uncomfortable that I know these things.” His eyes gleamed.

Stepping around him, she crossed the room, anxious to put distance between them.

“Aren’t you the brave one?” he said, nodding to the sliding glass door.

“I heard someone took a potshot at you last night. You’d make a great target through that window.”

She yanked the drapes shut. “You’re the one who opened them.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” At least he looked contrite.

“Why do you suppose someone wants to kill you?”

She almost missed it. The slight curl of his lip, the spark that lit up his eyes. He was enjoying this! She took a few steps back.

“I’m fine here by myself. I think you should leave.”

“But your brother insisted that I stay. I’m your protector. You should be grateful.” He walked into the kitchen and began to inspect the contents of the cabinets. “Coffee?” he asked.

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“I’d be grateful if you left.” She walked to the front door. “I’ll explain everything to Stephen.”

He pulled Hank’s professional quality butcher knife from a wooden block, obviously ignoring her not-too-subtle suggestion. Testing the point with his finger, he smeared the resulting bubble of blood between his thumb and his forefinger. A smile pulled at his lips. He never even flinched, Angie realized, alarms going off in her head.

The door opened behind her. She jumped, her hand instinctively covering her heart.

“You should keep this door locked,” Hank said, stepping over the threshold. “You never know…”

The rest of his words were lost as she practically leapt into his arms.

“Had I known I would get this reception, I’d have come back earlier.”

His voice warmed her ear and soothed her pulse. “Hi,” he said, facing the kitchen. “Stephen told me I’d find you here. Thanks for watching over Angie. I can take it from here.”

“I can stick around a bit. In case you need to leave or something. I can—”

“I said, I can handle it. I’m sure Stephen can use you back at Classic.” The stern rumbling of his words vibrated against her cheek, making her feel secure.

She didn’t turn to watch Raymond depart, even as she heard his footsteps approaching. She clutched Hank’s back tighter, wishing she could melt into him, hide within his bones.

“I’ll see you later,” Raymond said, passing her. She knew he hadn’t meant Hank. An icy tremor shook her spine.

“Are you okay?” Hank asked, pushing her back to arm’s length.

She shook her head. “There’s something about that man… I just don’t feel comfortable around him.”

“Well, he’s gone now. How about you sit down, and I’ll bring you a cold drink.”

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“No. I’m in the middle of a project. I’d like to see it through.” She walked back to his office, knowing he’d follow.

“What did you find?”

“You know how we talked about how someone might be scared that I was too close to something they didn’t want discovered?”

“Like the inventory in that warehouse on Ritchton Street?”

“Maybe…or maybe it’s something right under our noses.” She ruffled through a stack of papers. “I had Max fax me a copy of the testing we did on accounts payable, where we first encountered direct ships.” She handed the sheet over to Hank.

“So?” He glanced at the spreadsheet.

“First, I checked out the names of the companies sending direct ships to that warehouse with the Secretary of State. I could find a listing for all the vendors except one, Timone Industries. If the sample on that spreadsheet is accurate, Timone is the biggest supplier to the warehouse.”

“Timone… What do they sell?”

“According to their invoices, it’s some part with lots of letters and numbers.” Her voice rose in pitch. “The thing is, I don’t think they supply us with anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, Hank. The merchandise isn’t shipped to one of our warehouses, so there’s no receiving report prepared. So what if someone
said
they shipped merchandise but they really didn’t. Then, they send us an invoice…”

“A dummy invoice,” Hank supplied.

“Right, Hayden pays it and someone gets money for nothing.”

“Not a bad scheme.”

“An extremely lucrative scheme,” Angela modified. “Look at this.” She pointed to his computer screen. “Before I left work yesterday, I built this spreadsheet showing how much we paid to all the different vendors for the last three years, this year, and year-to-date.”

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“When did you do this? I’ve been asking for a similar report and was told Data Processing was still working on it.”

“All the information was in Hayden’s computer. You just have to know how to tap in to get it out.” She looked up at Hank. “Who told you data processing was working on it?”

“Tom Wilson”

“And who approves checks to Timone Industries?”

Tom Wilson. They both knew the answer to that one. “But the accounts payable clerks approve the direct ship invoices for payment.

Are you suggesting they’re in on this dummy invoice thing too?”

“All the clerks do on direct ships is match the invoice to the purchase order to make sure the stuff was ordered and the prices and quantities are correct. If everything matches up, they approve the invoice.”

“So the real perpetrator may not be Tom Wilson at all. It’s someone in the purchasing department.”

Angela recalled her interview with Pete Burroughs, the little man with the terminally ill daughter, and hoped she was wrong.

“What else have you got?” Hank asked.

“I searched property records for the owners of the Ritchton warehouse.”

“How do you know how to do all this?” Hank stared at her with a degree of awe.

“Stay confined to a bed for years on end and see how proficient you become with a keyboard and a modem.”

“So what did you find?”

“It’s a real estate company, Truman and Gabriel Real Estate. They own lots of property in that end of town.” She picked up the phone and stared dialing.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Stephen? Yeah, it’s me. I wonder if you can do me a favor?” She made a face into the receiver. “Hank’s here. He sent Raymond back a few minutes ago.” She paused, listening to her brother. She frowned. “No, www.samhainpublishing.com 259

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Hank didn’t tell me about the brakes. Listen, I need you to check something out for me. Can you find out who’s renting a warehouse from Truman and Gabriel Real Estate? Yeah… The address is 2633 Ritchton…

2633, right. And Stephen? Be careful, okay?” After a moment, she hung up and glared at Hank.

“You didn’t tell me my brake lines were cut.”

“Does it make any difference at this point? Why do you think Stephen can find out who is renting that warehouse?”

“Stephen keeps telling me that when you own the biggest limousine service in town, you make lots of contacts. He comes in handy sometimes.”

The phone rang. Hank picked it up on the first ring. “Hi, Cathy. No, it’s okay. I told you to call me if…” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Isn’t there anyone else there who can handle it? What happened to Wilson? I see. Okay. I’ll be there… Tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes… Okay… Goodbye.”

Hank looked at Angie. “I hate to leave you here alone. Especially, now that we’ve narrowed down the target of that bullet. But I have to go back.”

“Be careful. Just because they’ve concentrated on me, doesn’t mean they won’t turn their attentions on you.”

“That’s true. I hadn’t thought about that.” He slipped on his coat.

“Hank. Is she worth it?”

“Who?”

“Elizabeth. Is she worth putting your life in danger?”

“I didn’t come here for Elizabeth. She was just part of the deal. I came here to clear my reputation and pay back my family. Are you asking me if they’re worth it?”

“No. I already know the answer to that one.”

“Okay then, lock up behind me. Don’t let any strangers in here. You know where to reach me if you need anything.”

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* * *

“Angie, you won’t believe who’s renting that warehouse.”

“You’re calling from the limo, aren’t you?” Angie replied. “You keep fading in and out.”

“I’m on the highway, must be those overpasses. Listen, I talked to my contact and the company paying the rent checks is Timone Industries.”

“Timone?”

“Yeah, I asked for an address and she said the checks only list a P.O.

Box. Does that help?”

“That’s great, Stephen.” She wrote down the mailing address that he gave her, knowing full well it would match the address on the invoices.

“Thanks. I’ll get right on it.”

She had hoped Stephen would uncover a person’s name and a real street address. But that, she supposed, would be too easy. Fortunately, while she waited for Stephen’s call, she had gone ahead and done some investigative work on Timone’s post office box.

Post office boxes were located all over town, anywhere from supermarkets to satellite post office branches. She used the Internet to discover which post office would deliver mail to Timone’s address. Then she called that post office to find the location of the box. In this case, the box was located inside the post office itself.

Now, how to discover the people behind Timone. If, as she suspected, Timone was a fictitious entity and the owners were connected to Hayden, then she should be able to recognize them if she could just flush them out. Right now, the only physical information she had on them was the location of their warehouse and their post office box.

“How do I know when they’ll go to the post office?” she asked the computer screen. “What would they go there for?” She glanced at the spreadsheet lying next to the computer. The answer was obvious.

“Money. They’d go to pick up checks.”

Her fingers raced across the keypad.
Thank you, Hank
, she thought as his access code opened the accounts payable files. There might be a www.samhainpublishing.com 261

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pattern to the payment schedule for Timone. If she could figure out when a check would be mailed…

“Well, duh…” She stared at the computer screen. Unlike the rest of the vendors, Timone’s invoices were paid immediately. That alone should have raised a red flag. She scanned the list of payments. The last check was cut…yesterday. “Oh my God,” she said, staring at the monitor. That check should be waiting in the post office box right now.