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Authors: Karen Sue Burns

Tags: #romance, #romantic suspense

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BOOK: In Hot Pursuit
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“Sorry, trying to keep your spirits up. I realize HCU has a rough road ahead.”

“You can say that again. I'll do whatever I can to help Scooter. He may not be boss of the year but he deserves my support.”

“Good for you,” Ruthie said.

“I wonder who really did it. The thief had to know a wire transfer was ordered along with all its details.” Quinn drummed her fingers on the granite counter.

“Exactly, and you know what?”

“What?” Quinn said.

“The thief had to know how to change those details.”

“Damn, we're smart … unless some hacker in cyber space got lucky.”

“Not likely,” Ruthie said.

“Okay then, that means everyone at HCU, First National, the Bridge Foundation and their brokerage firm is a suspect.”

Ruthie finished off her wine. “Look at it from the bright side. The more suspects there are, the less chance of the thief being you.”

Quinn threw a dishtowel at her.

Ruthie left after a cup of coffee, a brownie, and a good laugh. Quinn turned on the dishwasher then headed upstairs to bed. After washing her face and donning a cotton nightgown, she climbed in bed and clicked on the television. The glare of the local news cast shadows across the bed and she snuggled in a pillow. A story about the upcoming hurricane season nearly put her to sleep. Then she heard “Houston Cullen University” and rolled back toward the screen.

The newscaster stood in front of Brennan Hall on campus and provided the bare essentials of the theft. No one on campus was interviewed. Quinn didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Sure seemed like the theft of $25 million from a local institution would generate more interest from the media.

She clicked off the TV, rolled over, and punched the pillow. Damn, what a lousy day. Would the police eventually find the Gregory James email? Would Scooter or the police actually consider her a suspect? Well, hell, she'd prove them all wrong.

$ $ $

Scooter called mid-morning on Saturday. And bless him, he didn't mention yesterday's chewing out but he did say the Detective Phillips had contacted him and the police now considered the loss of the $25 million a crime. Quinn agreed to meet him at the office on Monday morning. He would need her around for moral support.

After loading the dryer with towels, she left for a noon kickboxing class at the local Sugar Land fitness club. The club bordered the Southwest Freeway on the edge of the Sienna Colony Shopping Center. She parked on the freeway side, a minor miracle for a Saturday, then stepped on the sidewalk and stopped. What the hell was this? Exiting through the mall doors were Bill Jenkins, the VP of development at HCU and Rebecca Holland, holding hands. He must have returned to Houston last night.

Bill disengaged his hand when he noticed Quinn.

Rebecca spoke first. “Hi, how are you?”

“Hey y'all, didn't expect to see you in the suburbs.” Her curiosity was sparked instantly as neither Bill nor Rebecca lived in Sugar Land.

Bill lifted a shopping bag. “We picked up some donor gifts from a specialty shop in the mall. Looks like you're on your way to the fitness club we passed.”

“Kickboxing.” She glanced at her watch. “I'm late. I'll see you on Monday.”

“Enjoy your class.” Bill pulled Rebecca's elbow and they moved to the parking lot.

Rebecca turned to look Quinn as she walked away. Their eyes met, then Rebecca grinned.

What was that about?

TWO

Monday, 7:16
A.M.

The office was quiet when Quinn arrived early Monday morning. After loading the coffee pot, she settled at her desk for an email check. The Texas section of the
New York Times
daily news link included an article about HCU — “Houston Cullen University Discloses Theft of $25 Million Gift.” Dr. Arnold, the HCU president, had wasted no time in issuing a press release once he returned to Houston. Quinn agreed that going public sooner rather than later was a good strategic move. She tapped a red pen against the desktop. Being honest showed they weren't hiding anything and should make their donors happy.

She scrolled through the remaining messages, replied to a couple and deleted the rest. Grabbing a mug off the credenza, she headed to the coffee bar. She poured a cup, leaned against the counter sipping the coffee, and considered the obvious.

Development hated her and the theft could end up being a disaster for HCU. She had proper accounting controls in place, so she had no idea how the theft could have occurred. What that might be, she had no freaking clue.

On the way back to her office, she decided to check on the newest addition to the accounting staff who was alone in the accountants' office.

“Good morning. I suppose you've heard the news,” Quinn said.

“Sure did, on the Saturday evening news. Wow, twenty-five million dollars.” The new accountant was young and still learning her job.

“I agree. It's hard to believe.” She sipped the coffee. “I think we should verify that no other gifts are missing, even small ones. I need to review all the gift analyses through April. How far have you gotten?”

“March,” the newbie said.

“Great.” She was surprised and relieved at the progress. “Have you found anything that doesn't look right?”

The newbie pulled out a green pressboard file, rifled through it, then selected a single sheet of paper and placed it in the center of her desk. The paper was a printed schedule with columns of dates, names, and dollar amounts. Pointing to it she said, “I can't locate the matching cash receipts for these gifts recorded by Development.”

The dollar amounts ranged from five-hundred to twenty-thousand dollars. Quinn recognized the names of consistent HCU donors.

“The gift dates go back to January, about the time your predecessor left.” Quinn studied the schedule. It showed gifts recorded but no cash and a dollar total of sixty-five thousand dollars. Coincidence? “May I have this copy?”

“Sure, I'll have April done by tomorrow. I'm faster now that I've figured out the process.” She chuckled and handed Quinn the schedule.

“You're doing a great job. It takes time to learn the steps. Email the updated list once it's finished.” Quinn gave her a thumb's-up, then returned to her office.

The first task was to email Rebecca concerning the gifts on the schedule. She hoped Rebecca might feel some pressure to continue to be cooperative, considering the theft of the $25 mil related directly to her department. Quinn typed the newbie's list and pointed out that the Finance Office hadn't been able to match Development's input of gifts with bank deposits. Would Development be reversing the gifts, or did she possess additional information? No screwing around, were they legitimate gifts? Where was the cash?

She clicked send and the phone rang. Scooter summoned her to his office. She slurped coffee, realigned her new energizer bra, and gathered her usual red pen and spiral notebook.

He wasn't alone. Detective Phillips lounged at the small conference table, chewing on a coffee stirrer. Was he there to question her?

Scooter waved her into the office. “I'm sure you remember Detective Phillips from the other night.” Scooter's face appeared flushed, no doubt his blood pressure was rocketing. She didn't want to heighten his stress level so she'd be on her best behavior.

“Good morning, Detective Phillips.” She plastered on a nervous smile.

He smiled, sort of, the left corner of his mouth moved upwards, revealing a dimple. He nodded in her direction.

She joined them, ready for the detective's interrogation. Sitting across from him, she placed her hands in her lap. No need for the two men to witness the tremors.

“As you can imagine, there is a considerable amount of detailed work in getting to the bottom of this theft.” Scooter stared at Quinn as he spoke. “We feel it would be in our best interest to have someone familiar with University procedures to work directly with the police. Dr. Arnold and I have thoroughly discussed this.” His gaze moved to an empty clay bowl in the center of the table. “We both believe you are the most logical choice. You know both the treasury side and the gift side.” His focus turned back to Quinn and his head bobbed. “We expect you to be our point person with the police.”

Point person! He thought she was a damned hunting dog? Wait, the detective wasn't there to question her? Relief rolled over Quinn … whew and thank you, lord. Maybe this could work to her advantage. Keeping up with their activities would help with her own investigation. If she solved the theft, she'd be the toast of the University, prove that the Gregory James email was bogus, and maybe, just maybe, Scooter would realize she was a team player. Fine, she'd be the HCU point person — woof, woof.

“Of course, I'll help. What exactly does a point person do?”

“Mr. Taylor, I'd like to answer that.” The detective folded his hands on the table. “Miss Wells, I need to understand all there is to know about these donor gifts. Who, what, how, in one word — everything.”

“I'll do whatever I can to assist you.” She had to play nice so she could pump him for information on his investigation.

“Good. And call me Roddy,” the detective said. “I'd like a tour of the Finance Office and an overview of the University's gift process.”

“Scooter, I'll show Roddy around the office. Also, I'm flexible about working this week.”

“Thanks. Your number one goal is to help the police with their investigation.” Scooter's obvious relief at her agreement pleased Quinn. It felt good. To be honest, she wanted to find the thief before Scooter had a stroke. As his subordinate, she'd be out of line in telling him he should see a doctor, but he should.

Roddy stood. “Are you ready?”

She rose and moved to the doorway. “It's time for the ten-cent tour.”

She heard his footsteps behind her as they moved down the hall. The next problem was to ditch him, without him becoming suspicious. She had some poking around to do before becoming the perfect point person.

“How many people work in the Finance Office?” he asked.

“Let me think.” She counted noses on her fingertips. “Thirteen.”

“Small office. Anyone who doesn't fit in with the group?”

Didn't he have a better question? “Yeah, me, I'm the odd ball, too smart for my own good.”

She paraded through the various points of interest, introducing Roddy to the treasurer, to the student counselors, and to the procurement staff. She managed to keep her mouth shut as well, offering no extraneous information.

The last leg of the tour led to her office. Roddy plopped in a guest chair and she sat behind her desk, ready for his questions.

“Fire away. What do you need to know?” If Quinn were asking the questions she'd want to know … well, never mind, this was his show.

“What's your favorite brand of food?” he asked.

“Brand? You mean like Mexican or Italian?”

“Yeah.”

“Mexican, I suppose.”

“I'm hungry. Let's get lunch.” He stood, waited for her to follow. She remained in her chair.

“Detective — ”

“Roddy.”

“Roddy, we can talk here,” she said.

“I'm hungry. Let's go, my treat.”

Could she say no to a free lunch? They left even though it was barely past eleven o'clock. She figured a one-hour meal wouldn't be so bad and maybe she'd learn about all the evidence and clues thus far discovered by HPD.

They agreed on Café Taco, a trendy Mexican eatery a few blocks from HCU. Although the food was delicious, it wasn't a favorite of Quinn's. During her divorce, she learned her ex-husband would meet his girlfriend of the month at the restaurant. She told Ruthie that the frozen margaritas inspired extra-marital sex — molto spicy.

The waiter arrived as soon as they were handed menus. Within ten minutes, she eyed a taco salad and Roddy, beef fajitas.

Quinn swallowed one bite of salad before the questions began. Detective Phillips wasn't a man to waste time.

“Tell me about the Bridge Foundation.”

“Don't know much. They've made small and large gifts to HCU over the past few years. None of the checks bounced. That's about it.”

“I need more detail. Have you had contact with anyone at the foundation?”

“No one, other than Logan Rice the other night. The development office deals directly with donors.” She wanted to find out what he'd learned about the theft since Friday. The best way to get him to open up was to play it smart and help him along.

“Perhaps it would help if I explained the process to you.” Although she offered a clarification, her brain groaned in protest. This had to be the thousandth time she'd explained the gift process. With a new audit staff every year and Scooter's lousy memory, she labeled herself a talking monkey, babbling accounting procedures.

“Good idea. Fire away.” Roddy was one agreeable cop.

“This is the short version.” She took a sip of iced tea, gathered her thoughts.
Keep it simple
. Her monologue began as though she were training a new accountant.

He interrupted her immediately.

“I need to know the whole process. Don't worry about it being too detailed. I took a year of accounting in college so I know a debit from a credit.”

A man intimate with debits and credits — a dream come true.

“You asked for it. I won't short you on the details,” she said.

“Start.” He stuffed a flour tortilla filled with beef, onions, and cheese into his mouth.

After a calming breath, she once again launched into training mode.

“As you already know, the development office is responsible for soliciting donations from individuals and organizations. We receive gifts as cash, checks, a stock certificate, and once in a while a work of art or real estate. And, on occasion, a wire transfer. We — ”

BOOK: In Hot Pursuit
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