Taking Stock (32 page)

Jean-Claude unbuckled his holster and raised the .45. The bead drifted on and off the dark outline at the back of the house. The man was big and muscular, like the man in Marcus’ office earlier. Across the field, he was entirely blocked out when viewed through the sight on top of the barrel. Jean-Claude couldn’t hit him at this range; he might not even hit the house. The shot would give away his position, but it would give Vincent a few seconds warning. He eased the weapon down. Vincent would have to get out of this himself.

Jean-Claude climbed for higher ground as the men entered the house. He squeezed between two large rocks that would provide excellent cover no matter which angle they chose to attack from.

The man at the back door burst inside. If Vincent was still half asleep and tiredly watching the driveway he’d have no chance.

A sharp crack echoed from the house.

Vincent wasn’t holding a gun. He’d be face down on the floor with a pool of blood gathering where his face met the wooden planks.

Jean-Claude lay wedged into the rocks afraid to move, waiting for the assault and wondering why the assassins had come so far for him. He pulled himself higher over the rough surface for a better view. He watched with his face pressed against the rock as the men emerged from the back of the house and stood together on the grass. One of them talked into a palm-sized phone and tucked something into his jacket. Jean-Claude guessed it was the envelope he’d given Vincent hours earlier.

The silhouettes lacked detail in the faint morning light, but one was much broader than the other. They couldn’t have followed them from the bank. Marcus must have told them where Vincent lived. Jean-Claude wished he’d shot him when he had the chance. His heart thundered as he forced himself to lay still and quiet, watching the men and planning tactics to defend himself.

The first man folded his phone and the two of them retreated back around the house and disappeared. The engine of the Mercedes started, barely a whisper across the field. A faint cloud of dust rose as they sped away. They weren’t even going to look for him.

Bob Hicks followed
Eric
a into the elevator and the two parted to opposite sides of the car as the doors closed. His eyes trailed the fringes of her skirt and on down to her heels. She hadn’t worn a skirt to work since her original interview sixteen years ago. She certainly hadn’t chosen this outfit for Bob’s benefit, yet she didn’t give him the sneer he normally would have earned for such obvious gawking. After watching her parents’ marriage disintegrate
Eric
a had never sought a man’s attention. At thirty-four she realized for the first time that a turning head wasn’t something to be feared. It was actually affirming, especially from a good looking twenty-something. Her visit to the Turners’ had changed her. She wondered how long it would take Gregg to notice.

Bob walked off the elevator with his head over his shoulder. He narrowly missed one of the columns in the lobby and
Eric
a chuckled as the doors closed. She wanted to follow him and visit Gregg, but she didn’t want to add to the rumors that had been swirling around them for years. They were going to kick into high gear as more people saw them together, but it didn’t matter anymore. They were a couple. They should have been years ago. A delighted reflection faced her from the shiny panel.

She strode to her office two hours later than usual, looking and feeling like a new woman. Not one person noticed. Heads were down and fingers were poised on keyboards in every cubicle she passed. Brad was still on vacation for another day, but tight deadlines pervaded.

Forty-two emails waited in neat ranks, payment due for three days off. A dozen voicemails begged a quick response. She was going to suffocate under a never-ending string of questions from people desperate for help with whatever minor technical glitch was bogging them down. She longed for the pressure to create, the pressure to deliver the impossible, but Brad would never let her feel that pressure again. Not here.

Her hard-driving approach had caused problems with bosses before, but it was different with Brad. She’d worked her heart out, kept her mouth shut and still Brad had fought her from day one. Surely her mother was wrong. Whatever his reasons for antagonizing her, it wasn’t her fault. Not this time.

Gregg’s problem was the biggest challenge that faced her.

Both Gregg and Sarah were convinced it was serious. A dozen people had seen Brad shred Gregg’s documents, but only Brad knew why he acted the way he did. Being Marty’s brother-in-law put him beyond the reaches of HR. He could do what he liked. What would Marty do if he knew how much damage Brad had caused around his company
?
Maybe telling him would change things. Not likely. Going to Marty would only push the conflict between them to the next level. One of them would have to go and the odds said it would be her. She hated the work Brad was giving her so much that she was willing to take the risk. Ousting Brad was her new mission.

She shuffled through one pile of folders then another. Her research was gone. It had been the last thing she worked on before leaving with Gregg for the weekend. She knew she’d left it on top of the stack, but spun to search the filing cabinet anyway. Years of project reports and notes on various technologies crammed the drawers. The folder wasn’t among them and it wasn’t on her desktop where she’d left it. Only Gregg and Sarah cared about this problem and neither of them would take her research without asking.

Brad’s reaction to this problem had been over the top. She’d never told him she was working on it, but if he’d taken the folder, it wasn’t petty trickery. Mr. Johnson’s ire, Brad’s raving assault on Gregg, and the contradictions within the data added up to something more than any of them knew. Sarah had good reason to be excited. It was no accident that her notes had disappeared a second time. This was no software bug. Brad was hiding something – something huge. This was her chance to repay him for years of torment.

She picked up the phone to call Sarah. She was abrupt and gung-ho, but Sarah wouldn’t come into her office and take her work. She might have the authority, but she wouldn’t have the guts, not after a few weeks on the job. 

Eric
a dialed Gregg’s extension, but hung up before it connected. She hopped off her chair and headed downstairs to feed the rumor mill.

Standing outside Gregg’s cube, Jane Wheeler gave
Eric
a a smile that said she’d heard the news and she approved wholeheartedly.
Eric
a turned and tapped a short fingernail against the aluminum trim of Gregg’s cubicle. She examined her fingertip while she waited, resolved to let her nails grow to a more elegant length, maybe even paint them. Gregg didn’t seem to mind them as they were. All smiles, he finished his call quickly, his eyes surprised by her outfit. 

She stepped in when he took off his headset, landed her hands softly at his waist and angled her lips up to meet his. She caressed his soft lips long enough that work in Jane’s cubicle came to a stop. Gregg slowed to pull away twice before she finished. When they faced each other from inches away, Gregg gushed over the change.

She eased her fingertips up toward his pecks and withdrew a foot away. He stood stiffly at his chair, his head barely visible above the cubicle wall, his body awaiting her command.

“This is a nice surprise,” he said.

“I was going to call, but I couldn’t resist sneaking down for a visit.”

“No need to sneak.” He indicated the chair next to his and tilted his head in Jane’s direction. She rolled her chair forward out of sight.

Eric
a didn’t have to look to know she was watching. She pulled herself up on the desktop and waited for him to settle back in his chair, tense about how much or little he should be looking at the leg draped off his desk.

She dangled her black heel toward the knee of his khakis. “Relax, will you
?
” She leaned in toward him. “I came to chat about that problem you brought me a couple weeks back. Remember the Johnsons
?
”

“You kidding
?
I have shredder nightmares.”

“I made some good progress last week, but I can’t find the file. You didn’t borrow it, did you
?
”

He looked offended. “I wouldn’t. You didn’t lose it twice
?
”

“Definitely not.”

The protective look he had the night of the break-in was back.

“You think Sarah would take it without asking
?
”

“Doubt it.” Gregg’s eyes darkened. He sensed it, too. There was more to this than a computer glitch, but with so many ears on the other side of the cubicle wall, he couldn’t say so.

After a long silence she leaned in close as if she were about to kiss him goodbye. “It’s not a mistake,” she whispered.

“What
?
”

“It’s not a bug.”

“Can you prove it
?
”

“No. But it makes sense, doesn’t it
?
Brenda
n’s too sharp to enter the transaction two hours late. Johnson knows when he called. The phone records prove it. Someone’s mucking with the data and I think we both know who it is.”

“You can’t believe that.”

“Who else could it be
?
”

“He doesn’t need money. His family’s got more than God.” 

“Not his family, his sister’s family. Who knows what he’s got
?
”

“No way he blows a sweet gig like this for a few thousand bucks.”

“He got a few thousand from Hank Johnson. We’re talking millions.”

Gregg’s eyes widened, disbelieving, locked on hers. He shook his head a few times, fighting the logic, but eventually it overtook him. “What if you’re right
?
Are you safe up there
?
”

Eric
a’s proof was gone and even if she had ironclad evidence, the decision was Marty’s. He couldn’t fire his own brother-in-law, never mind prosecute. It would be easier to shoot the messenger. She needed to rebuild her case and when she brought it, she’d better not face him alone.

“We need help,” she said.

“Sarah
?
”

“She thinks I’m the devil. Mostly because she has the hots for you.”

He smirked.

“I’d rather start smaller.”

“Who then
?
”

“Stan Nye.”

“C’mon. The guy’s an idiot.”

“Maybe. But he’s on the IA team and you know where he stands.”

“You want me to go up there with you
?
It might take both of us to wake him up.”

“Not yet. I’m going to re-create my work from last week. I want something that will light a fire under him.”

“No one can light a fire under Stan Nye, not even you.”

“We’ll see.”