Wrong Place, Wrong Time (19 page)

“What was that?” Devon finally managed, running a shaky hand through her hair.

“I’m not sure.” Blake’s tone was husky, his expression as clouded as hers. “But whatever it was, it was about to move to my bedroom.”

“I know.” Devon wasn’t surprised by the realization. What surprised her was her reaction to it. “I don’t do this,” she supplied inanely.

“Yeah, I guessed. For what it’s worth, neither do I.”

She stepped backward, trying to put what had just happened into perspective. “Things like this don’t happen. Not in real life.”

A corner of Blake’s mouth lifted. “Apparently, they do.”

Unacceptable. Especially in light of what she was trying to accomplish for Monty, and for her mother.

“I’d better get home.” Devon blurted out the first mundane thing she could think of. She followed it up by glancing at her watch. It took three tries to actually make out what the dial said. “It’s almost one o’clock.”

Blake nodded his agreement. “I’ll get our jackets.”

“No.” Devon stopped him. “Just get mine. I’ll grab a taxi to Grand Central and take the train.”

“Not at this hour, you won’t. I’m driving you home, as planned.” Blake frowned, waving away the refusal she was about to utter. “Look, I understand you want to be alone. You’re freaked out. So am I. We both need space. And you can have yours —
after
I drop you off.”

He looked freaked out, too. And preoccupied as hell.

Idly, Devon wondered if the lip-lock they’d just shared had screwed up his agenda as much as it had hers.

“Okay,” she replied. The truth was, she was too frazzled to argue. Talk about complications. She’d just entangled herself in a huge one.

The problem was, she didn’t know if she really wanted to break free.

SALLY’S CALL CAME as promptly that night as on the two previous nights.

“Okay, now this is overkill,” Monty announced into the Bat Phone. “Plus, you tipped your hand. Punctuality’s great, but no one times their calls down to the second. You’re doing this to get a rise out of me.”

“Is it working?” Sally’s voice was stronger and clearer tonight.

“Sure is. My tail’s between my legs.”

Her laughter brushed his ear. “Now
that’s
an image. Anyway, no tail hanging necessary. Just a simple confession. Admit you’re lousy at time management. That’ll be enough to make my day.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll hire a different PI.”

Monty chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain. But, okay, I suck at time management. Happy?”

“It’s a start. Now tell me you’ve made some progress on figuring out who Frederick’s killer was.”

The banter vanished. “Some. I had an interesting talk with Louise Chambers today. She’s a real barracuda, and an operator. Wanted to know if I could be objective about Frederick’s murder, since the two of you were involved.”

A long pause. “Was she asking because she wanted to know how deep that involvement ran, or because she thinks I killed him?”

“In my opinion? She was trying to tip the scales in her favor. It didn’t work. I’m staying in her face. I don’t trust her.”

“You think she killed Frederick?”

“I doubt it. But I’m not ready to write her off as a suspect. She was tight with Frederick. Now she’s sniffing around Blake. The whole thing smells rotten.” Monty contemplated his own words. “Did Frederick ever mention Louise?”

“Not to me. I knew they had some kind of relationship. But whether it was all business, or business and personal, I’m not sure.” Sally hesitated, and Monty could picture her forehead creasing in thought. “I keep reviewing the day before the fire in my mind. The drive up was pleasant; no red flags. Frederick was himself. But later, as the evening wore on, he got quieter, more pensive. I assumed it was a reaction to my ambivalence. On the other hand, maybe it was related to whoever ended up killing him.”

Monty couldn’t bite back his question. “What ambivalence?”

“Oh, come on, Pete.” A sigh. “I don’t need to spell it out for you. Being up at Lake Luzerne was a lot harder than I expected. I guess I’m not as mature as I gave myself credit for.”

“When it comes to Lake Luzerne, neither am I.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m going to turn in now,” Sally said at last. “I’ll call tomorrow. Hopefully, you’ll have made a breakthrough. The sooner I can get back to my life, the better.”

“I’ll bust my ass to make that happen.”

“I know you will.”

Monty’s grip tightened on the phone. “Good night, Sal.”

“Good night, Pete.”

He stared reflectively at the phone before punching it off. He wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon.

Then again, neither would Sally.

MONTY’S CELL PHONE rang.

He fumbled for the alarm clock on his night stand, and squinted at it. Three forty A.M. Shit.

It wasn’t the Bat Phone, so it wasn’t Sally. And Devon had checked in around two. So who the hell was it?

He snatched up the phone and punched it on. “Montgomery.”

“It’s Edward Pierson.” The older man’s voice was shaky. “He called.”

“Who did?”

“That son of a bitch who’s blackmailing me.”

Monty was suddenly and completely awake. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

“He told me to wire two million dollars to an account in the Cayman Islands. He gave me the number — and twenty-four hours. If I don’t come through, the people I care about will start getting hurt. The last part’s a direct quote.”

“How did you respond?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t have a chance. He hung up.”

“You got this call at home. Interesting.”

“Why? Where else would he call at three thirty in the morning?”

“That’s not the point. It’s a snap to reach you at Pierson & Company. The number’s listed. Your home phone’s not.”

“Well, apparently he got it.”

“Actually, I’m wondering if he already had it. That would level the playing field in terms of where he called.”

“You think it’s a close acquaintance?”

“You tell me. Did you recognize the voice?”

“I couldn’t. He used one of those voice scramblers.”

“No surprise.” Monty’s wheels were turning. “Did you hear any background noise? Anything that might tell you where he was calling from?”

“A couple of honking horns.”

“Car horns or truck horns?”

“Car, I think.”

“What about road noise? Could you tell if the vehicles were traveling at high speed or low? Zipping along quietly, or rumbling heavily?”

“What difference does any of that make?”

“The difference between a city and a highway. Eighteen-wheelers make one kind of racket. Manhattan taxis make another.” Monty paused. “I’m assuming you didn’t tape the call?”

“I wasn’t expecting it, so no. The letter came to my office. I assumed he’d continue to contact me there. If he had, I would have been ready for him.”

“We’ll put a wiretap on your home phone. Not that it’ll do us much good. If he’s using a voice scrambler, he’s probably taking other precautions to make sure he can’t be made. Like a convenience store cell phone with prepaid minutes, cash and carry.”

Edward blew out a frustrated breath. “Twenty-four hours. Damn. There’s no way I can liquidate two million in assets fast enough.”

“Even if you could, you don’t know if that’ll make the extortionist shut up and go away. He could try shaking you down for more. Remember, once you pay him, you’re his.”

“So what do you suggest I do?”

“Go through the motions. Start liquidating. If this person is someone connected to you or your company, he’ll be paying attention, and it’ll appease him. Also, expect him to contact you late tomorrow to make sure everything’s set. I’ll prep you for that call. In the meantime, I’ve got Jenkins coming in at eight and Blake giving us access to your computer systems at eight thirty. I’ve got a day to dig around. I know what to look for. So does Jenkins. As for your family, I’ll make a few phone calls and arrange for added security to protect them. Stay calm. We’ll get the guy.”

“We better. Before he gets someone else I love.”

John Sherman, PI, was shaving in the bathroom of his apartment in Astoria, Queens, when his cell phone rang.

He tossed down the razor, patted his face dry with a towel, and flipped open the phone. “Sherman.”

“Boy, do you sound out of it. You must have just woken up. Work or a woman?”

Sherman grunted. “Gimme a break, Monty. What woman would put up with my hours? I’m out of it because you dumped a whopping caseload on me. I spent all day yesterday on follow-up, and all night tailing that rich broad and her boyfriend to see if your hunch about them was right.”

“And?” Monty queried. “Did you see anything?”

“Just a few sex moves even
I’ve
never dreamed up. Unfortunately, now that I learned them, I don’t have time to try them out.”

“Forget it, Sherman. The woman’s a contortionist. If you tried any of her moves, you’d be stuck in that position for life.”

Another grunt. “You’re probably right. Anyway, I’m on them like tar. If they’re planning anything more than a screwing marathon, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks. Listen, I know I left you with a full caseload. But before you head out now, do me one favor. Call the precinct. See who’s got time in their schedule for a security gig. It’s for Pierson, so the money’s good. Starts tonight. Ends when I solve this case.”

“How many guys do you need?”

“Plenty. There are four generations of Piersons to protect.”

“I’ll get on it now, and call you back.”

IT WAS 9 A.M., and already eighty degrees in Wellington.

Soon thousands of people would be arriving at the winter festival, eager to watch the competitions, shop, or catch a glimpse of the rich and famous.

James rolled over in his bed and plumped his pillow. No riding today. Not for him. He was a mess. The necessary arrangements had been made. Now it was just him, his family’s lavish Wellington hacienda, and the central air-conditioning. A welcome reprieve from crowds, kids, and pressure.

Tonight, he’d call Devon. He’d be feeling better by then. His grandfather would be pissed as hell, but he’d get over it. No way she’d blow his concentration. If anything, she’d be a great picture to hold in his mind when he won.

Frowning, he wondered if Blake had made any inroads with her by now. Well, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it from here.

Actually, that wasn’t true.

He reached for his cell phone and called FTD.

“ANYTHING?” MONTY LEANED over Alfred Jenkins’s shoulder as the accountant studied the computer monitor. He’d been closeted in Frederick’s office for four hours now, poring over months and months of business records. And Monty had popped in three times already.

“Still no red flags.” Jenkins shook his head. “The guy looks clean. He’s got some hefty corporate credit-card bills, but that’s not unusual. Especially if he was the kind of CEO who schmoozed people over expensive meals and high-priced wine.”

“Great.” Monty grimaced.

“Hey, I’m just getting started. There’s a lot of territory to cover here.”

“In other words, chill out.” Monty stretched and headed for the door. “I’ll check in with you later.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you will.”

Monty stepped into the hall and practically collided with Philip Rhodes.

“Oh…excuse me.” To say Rhodes was flustered would be a gross understatement. “I need a file from Frederick’s office. Is it off-limits?”

“Only if it involves accessing his computer.” Monty kept his expression and tone nondescript. “I’ve got someone working there.”

“Doing what?”

“Just some routine accounting stuff. Go on in and get what you need.”

Rhodes looked ill. “Thanks.”

DEVON WAS RESTLESS.

It was a little past noon. The hustle-bustle at Creature Comforts & Clinic had reached a midday, midweek lull. Devon’s morning appointments were finished, as was the surgery she’d performed on Rocky, a boxer with a disk problem. She’d checked her schedule, only to find that her afternoon was quiet.

The truth was, she didn’t want to run into Blake when he came out of Chomper’s obedience class.

She poked her head into Exam Room 3, where Dr. Joel Sedwell was finishing up with a long-haired tabby kitten who’d been abandoned and was now a permanent resident of the clinic.

“Joel? Any problem if I run out for a few hours? I want to ride up to my mom’s house and check on the animals. If I leave now, I’ll be back in time for the late-day craziness.”

“No problem.” Joel nodded, simultaneously scratching the kitten’s ears until it purred. “Any word from your mother?”

“Nothing since she called my dad on Saturday.” Devon hated lying, especially to the senior partner she so admired and who’d given her the chance of a lifetime. But there was no choice. Her mother’s safety was at stake.

“Get going,” Joel urged her. “That way you’ll avoid rush hour and be back before dark and before those winding roads become icy.”

“Thanks.”

Devon left the building. Before climbing into her car, she scanned the parking lot. No sign of Blake’s silver Jag. Maybe he’d already left for Manhattan.

She turned her key in the ignition, pulled out of her parking spot, and drove around to the exit.

She was just about to accelerate onto the road when she spotted Blake in her rearview mirror. He was walking through the parking lot, leading Chomper along by his leash.

Puzzled, Devon stepped on her brake and waited, watching Blake stride purposefully toward the row of cars she’d just scrutinized. Had she missed his?

He stopped beside a black Mercedes sedan, unlocking the door and opening it. He waited until Chomper had jumped in. Then he hopped into the driver’s seat and backed out of the spot.

Something made Devon wait until she’d gotten a full view of the vehicle. When she did, her eyes widened in surprise. It didn’t make sense. But it required a proactive move on her part.

Accelerating into traffic, Devon punched a few buttons on her cell phone, until she’d initiated a call to: “Monty’s cell.”