Worst Date Ever (Scandals #3) (2 page)

I was right behind them and once outside, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. 

“Crap, that Harley is destroyed,” Reno exclaimed.

“Michael?” Christopher asked the man who was trying to stand.  His expensive designer jeans were shredded, although it was difficult to say what was factory issue and what had been torn by sliding across the concrete.  His helmet was still spinning against the front of the building, apparently having been ripped off his head.  A tuft of his black hair still clung to the inside of the bright orange headgear.

“You’ve got to help me!” Michael screamed in desperation, turning to look over his shoulder with terrified eyes.

“What’s going on, man?” Christopher asked.

In the distance the sounds of police sirens were getting closer.

Michael staggered toward us.  “I swear…I didn’t kill her!”

CHAPTER TWO

“Reno, can you and Dallas get his bike into the employee lot around back?  Killeen…Tulsa help me get Michael into the conference room.  Pam, bring the first aid kit.”  Christopher took charge, and everyone scrambled to obey. 

Dallas and Reno pulled the crippled, crumpled Harley to an upright position and muscled it in a sort of crab-walk toward the side driveway that led to the back of the building.  Both of its tires were flat and the handlebars were bent at an awkward angle, making forward movement difficult.

Christopher held the door open as much as possible as I practically pushed Michael through the small space.  As soon as we were on the other side, I looped my arm around his waist to steady him and, with Christopher on the man’s other side, we guided him across the lobby and down the hallway to the conference room. 

We eased him slowly onto a chair.  He was clearly very shaken up.  Blood was running down his cheek and all the skin had been stripped from his left arm, so it, too, was oozing blood.

There were footsteps running from the back and soon Reno and Dallas joined us in the conference room, having parked what was left of the Harley behind the barrier of the six-foot tall brick wall that protected our back lot from prying eyes.  “No one can see it unless they fly over,” Dallas reported.

“Thanks guys,” Christopher said as he studied Michael.

Pam ran into the conference room with the first aid kit.  She set it on the table next to Liberty who immediately opened it and began digging through its contents.  “I’ve got the maintenance guy on speed dial…this door lasted over a month.”  Pam disappeared around the corner as she returned to her desk to get the door replacement underway.

“Do you know what you’re doing Liberty?”  I asked.

“I worked with the guy who provided all the medical treatment on the farm.  He was a retired veterinarian, but he could handle almost anything.”  She shook her head and grimaced.  “I was his helper, but I never set bones or did stitches…which I think you’re going to need for that cut on your cheek.”

“I can’t go to the hospital right now.  They’ll arrest me,” Michael protested. 

“We, at least, have to clean it or it’s going to get infected,” Liberty told him as she took out a brown bottle and some cotton balls from the kit.

“Great…do whatever you need to do,” Michael struggled to speak.  “I can’t breathe!”

“Probably some broken ribs, but it’s a good sign that you’re not spitting up blood.”

Liberty poured hydrogen peroxide on a large cotton ball and gently dabbed the area around the deep cut on his cheek.  “I used to take care of boo boos on The Farm…this is going to burn a little,” she warned as she moistened another cotton ball and touched the open wound.

“Fuck…!” Michael yelled, and his head jerked back.

Liberty flinched and pulled back.  “You really need to get to the emergency room and have them irrigate these abrasions.  There’s some gravel buried in there that I can’t get out.”

“Let us take you to the hospital, Michael,” Christopher tried to persuade him with a balance of empathy and authority. “We’re talking about your face, dude.  You don’t want to look bad for the cameras.”

Michael grimaced, but he shook his head emphatically.

“No…no way.  I gotta tell you what happened before they arrest me.”

“Arrest you?  What for?”  Christopher asked.

“Killing my girlfriend.”

“You have a girlfriend?”  Christopher was more shocked by that fact than by Michael being accused of killing her. “When did you get a girlfriend?”

“About three years ago.  Nobody knew…well, now the cops know…and you guys…and the whole world will know once this hits the news.”

“There’s a body?”

“At my lake house.”

“Down the street from our house?”  Christopher asked.

“The same.”

“Get Michael some water,” Christopher called over his shoulder.  Since I was closest to the mini-fridge, I took a bottle out and handed it to the man who gratefully twisted off the cap and took a big drink.

“So…what happened?”

“I had a houseful of bankers and investors over Saturday.  I’m trying to do an IPO on the agency.  Anyway, I went back to my condo Saturday night after they all left.  Tamara…my girlfriend couldn’t make it.  I didn’t really think anything of it because her mother has been going through chemo, so she’s been spending a lot of time with her.  Then on Sunday afternoon…”

“Yesterday?”  Christopher clarified the time line.

“Yes, yesterday, the phone rang and it was a Lakeway police detective…”  He frowned.  “I think his name was Conrad or Cooper or something like that.  The police were at my lake house and Tamara was found dead out by the pool.”

“But you said she wasn’t at your lake house.”

“Not for the meeting, but she came out later.  Apparently, there was a text message from me on her phone.  It said I wanted to meet her there because I wanted to break up.”

“You broke up through a text?”  Even Reno was offended by that. “Come on dude, that warrants a phone call, at least.”

“You do that shit in person,” Killeen added her voice to the conversation.

“I never sent her the text!” Michael cried out indignantly.  “The last thing I wanted to do was break up with her.  I was planning on asking her to marry me.”

“Then why did you send her a message?” Dallas asked.

“I didn’t.”  His pained expression was replaced by sincere confusion.  “I have no idea how it showed up on her phone as coming from me.” 

“Did anyone else have access to your phone?” Killeen asked.

“No, it was in my pocket during the meeting, then I plugged it in next to my bed because I was expecting Tamara to call me.”

“Y’all don’t live together?” Christopher had been making notes, and now he looked up expectantly.

“Not officially.  She has her own apartment.”  He shrugged.  “It’s in the same building as mine.  We were very careful to not be seen together too often, but most nights we were able to be together without it becoming public knowledge.”

“Apparently, someone knew,” Dallas pointed out.

“Someone who had access to your phone,” Christopher added, still not able to get past that piece of damning evidence.

“Spoof,” I announced. 

“Spoof?”  Michael and Christopher echoed in unison.

“Someone broke into an SMS provider and manipulated the sending phone number to be yours instead of the person who actually sent it,” I explained.

“SMS?”  Michael asked.

“Short Message Service…it’s how text messages are sent.”  This was a subject I was familiar with.

“Is it hard to do?” Christopher inquired.

“It’s not easy, but my computer class in high school figured it out.  Of course, the phone companies have been trying to block it, but there are always work-arounds.” All eyes were on me, which made me a little nervous.  I wasn’t used to being the center of attention.  “Can I see it?”

“What?” Michael asked.

“Your phone?”

Michael checked his pockets and groaned.  “Two cops stopped by my office to talk to me, but I could tell by their questions that I was the number one suspect and about to get arrested, so I told them I had to go to the bathroom.  I escaped out the back door, but I forgot my phone.  I’m sure they have it by now.”

I was disappointed to hear that.  I could have discovered so much if I could look at his phone.  “Did your phone show a message had been sent?”

Michael swallowed hard.  “Yes, it did.”

“Someone can force a spy app onto your cell phone, then send and receive text messages as if they were coming from or being received by your phone.”

“Really?”  Michael was horrified.

“Yep,” I confirmed. 

“But why didn’t I notice?”

“You wouldn’t unless you checked your old messages.”

“But can’t they track where it originated?” he asked.

“Not easily.  It pings the cell towers where you’re actually located.  And they can put a subroutine in the app that automatically deletes it after a certain period of time so there’s no trail.”

“Shit!  I’m screwed.”  Michael collapsed back against his chair.

“I need to get my hands on that phone…there are ways to bring back deleted files,” I told him.  “Do the cops have it?”

“Yes, they took it when they came by my apartment to tell me about…”  He choked up and dropped his head before finishing with a whisper, “…Tamara.”

“Can they prove you were home all night?  Did they find the murder weapon?  Is there a motive?” Christopher peppered Michael with questions.

Michael shook his head.  “After my advisers left, I went home, grilled a steak and watched a movie.  They didn’t mention a weapon.”  He frowned.  “I don’t even know how she died.  They didn’t tell me.  And as for a motive…I certainly didn’t have a reason to kill her.  She was the love of my life.”

“Had she pissed off someone else enough for them to want her dead?” I asked bluntly.

Again, he shook his head.  “Not that I know of.  She got along with everyone.  My God, she was a hospice nurse.  People loved her.”

There were a few moments of silence as we all processed what we had heard.

“I guess the next question would be…who have you pissed off?” I dared to ask.  It seemed the most logical next assumption.

Michael snorted.  “I’m in the business of making people happy…not angry.”

“What is that?” Killeen asked.

“I opened the Linked dating site about six years ago.  You’ve probably heard our logline…
It’s time you found the love of your life.”

Killeen nodded.  “I heard about that at ASU.  You own it?  It must be worth a fortune.”

“I’ve done okay,” Michael answered modestly.

Dallas joined in.  “One of my friends hooked up with someone through your site.  They’re getting married next month.”

“Like our ads and TV spots say
Connect with anyone, anywhere at any time
.”  Michael’s already pale face blanched even whiter.  “I guess I can kiss that all goodbye. Even if I don’t get fried in the electric chair, my business is ruined.  I was just getting past that other thing.”

“What other thing?”  Dallas voiced the question we were all thinking.

Michael looked to Christopher who explained, “About a year ago, there was a rash of stolen identities that were traced back to the dating service.  Michael hired us to help him find out if it was internal or coincidence.”

“The lousy insurance company that carried my errors and omissions and data breach policies dropped me after their investigation, even though nothing was ever proven.  They were convinced it was an inside job…not a hacker.” 

“And?” I prompted, my curiosity piqued at the possibility of a security breech.  Cyber security was the main focus of my degree.  It didn’t take a genius to see that that was going to be one of the most in-demand careers for many years to come.

“We couldn’t prove or disprove that it was internal,” Christopher told us.  “But neither could the FBI.  Michael stepped up and offered to cover the cost of providing identity protection services for everyone as a goodwill gesture.”

“It was the least I could do to try to neutralize all the bad publicity,” Michael added.  “Until then, we had one of the best reputations in the business.  We’re pretty selective about our clientele and we do very detailed background checks.  Every potential client is thoroughly vetted.”

“So, you had a lot of personal information on everyone who signed up?”  I asked the obvious.  “Credit and debit card numbers?  ACH info?  DL and social security numbers?”

“All that and their last two addresses, place of employment, bankruptcies, foreclosures and, of course, any marriages or divorces,” Michael added.  “We wanted our people to feel secure…ya know?  No one could go into a relationship claiming they were rich or financially stable when, in fact, they weren’t. There were no serial spouses or con men.  Open kimonos, as our Japanese clients say.”

“How many people got hit?”  I was more excited about the security issue than the dead girlfriend.

“Only about a dozen, including my attorney…but he doesn’t count.”  Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to find a position that put less pressure on his ribs.  “I still don’t know how it happened, but I can’t believe any of my staff would do something like that.”

“How many employees do you have?” Killeen asked.

“Counting me?  Three.”

“Only three?  I’m surprised an organization that size could run with that few employees,” Dallas commented.

“I wanted to keep it lean so not many people would have access to all that personal information,” Michael explained.  “We hire outside agencies for the advertising and events, but they never see our files.  Once our clients are processed, all the work is done by the computers.  We’re projected to bring in over $100 million this year.”

“That’s $33 million per employee,” Dallas let out a low whistle.  “Those are super margins.”