Risky bargain, p.4
Risky Bargain, page 4
"That's a rough call," he said, having made those notifications before. They were always tragically sad. "Do you know where Mr. Stedman lives?"
"In an apartment in Redondo Beach, but he's not home. I stopped there on my way into the office. He didn't answer the door or the phone. I don't know what's going on, but we are looking for him. Mr. Richey told me to leave no stone unturned."
"So, you've been in touch with Mr. Richey?"
"Of course. We've been talking most of the night."
Interesting that Richey was talking to his employees but not calling the FBI back. But he pushed that thought away, wanting to make the most out of this conversation.
"Can you tell me anything about Mr. Stedman?"
"I don't know a lot. He started working here three months ago. He's twenty-eight years old and is an ex-Marine. He was working as a bouncer at a local bar before this. He's been reliable until now."
"I understand that Mr. Richey is an ex-Marine. Did he bring Mr. Stedman on board?"
"I don't think so. He hires a lot of ex-military men, but he doesn't know all of them."
"If you hear from Mr. Richey again, can you tell him I need to talk to him?"
"I will let him know. He's really worried about Spike. I know he'll want to do whatever he can to help. Is this the best number to call you on?"
"It is. Thanks for your time." As he set down the phone, he stared at the computer, thinking that Stedman was in on it, or he'd run scared when he saw what was happening. But if he had just run because he was afraid, why hadn't he surfaced? He had the same question about Spike Cabot.
Turning his attention back to the screen in front of him, he ran down the rest of the list of vendors. The service providers included a florist, a photographer, two valets: Connor Swanson and Brad Allen; the caterer, Marguerite DeLeon; her nephew Enrique DeLeon; and servers Carly Taylor and Anne Sanders.
His brows knit together in a frown. "Where's Kat Parrish?" he muttered.
"Are you talking to me?" Bree asked from the next desk.
"No, sorry. I'm looking at the vendor list, and I don't see the server who was in the hallway where Hartley was shot. She's not on this list." He remembered the uneasy look in Kat's blue eyes, the wariness to her answers, the desire to leave the scene as soon as possible. Had he made a mistake in letting her go?
He scrolled through the rest of the list, his discomfort growing when he got to the attached head shots of the waitstaff that had been provided to security. Anne Sanders was Kat Parrish. "Damn," he muttered.
Bree got up and came over to his desk. "What's going on?"
He pointed to the photo on his screen. "That woman is listed as Anne Sanders, but she told me her name was Kat Parrish. She lied to me, or she lied to them."
"That's interesting."
"I need to talk to her."
"Do you want me to go with you?"
"No. I've got it."
"In that case, I'm going to the hospital. I want to speak to the victims, see if the shooters said anything when they came in the house."
He nodded as he got to his feet. "That's a good idea. We'll meet up after."
"She gave you a fake name. Do you think her address is real?" Bree asked.
"That I can find out. The police gave her a ride home last night."
He felt a surge of adrenaline. It wasn't the lead he'd been expecting, but in the absence of anything more concrete to go on, it was something worth following up on. If she lied about her name, what else did she lie about?
Chapter Three
Kat didn't sleep at all. She finally rolled out of bed around nine on Saturday morning. She took another shower, her second since getting home the night before. She couldn't shake the creepy feeling of being covered in blood. She'd thrown the blouse into the trash and taken it out to the can behind her apartment building, wanting to get as far away from it as she could. But getting rid of her top hadn't done anything to dim the memories.
After dressing in jeans and a tank top, she walked into the small kitchen and made coffee. She didn't know what to do today. She'd had so many plans leading up to last night. That's all she had been able to focus on.
She supposed she could work. Her gaze moved to the sketchpad on the table, but she wasn't sure she could look at the drawings she'd done the day before. They would only remind her of Cabot, of the company, of her real job, a job that could very well be in jeopardy now.
Her biggest fear in taking the serving gig was that someone at the party would recognize her and call her out, but that hadn't happened. She'd just been a server, an invisible person providing drinks and appetizers. Now, she was one of a handful of people who had survived a horrific home invasion. She didn't know what kind of scrutiny that would bring, but probably more than she wanted.
She'd been willing to risk her job to get information on Audrey, but she could very well end up with no information and no job.
The doorbell suddenly pealed, and she jumped to her feet in alarm. It was too early for anyone to just drop by. Her heart pounded furiously against her chest. She was terrified to open the door and scared that if she didn't, someone would burst in, someone with a gun, someone who wanted to finish what he'd started the night before.
Unlike Cabot's big house, her small one-bedroom apartment offered nowhere to hide and only one way out. There was no window to a fire escape, and she was on the third floor, too high to jump.
The bell rang again.
She tried to think logically. A shooter wouldn't just keep ringing the bell. She made her way out of the kitchen and into the living room. Barely breathing, she walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. At the sight of Agent Lucas Raines, she felt a mix of emotions. He wasn't here to kill her, but she doubted he was bringing good news.
He knocked, and she jumped back.
"Open up, Kat. I know you're in there."
She turned the bolt and then opened the door. As she looked into his green eyes, she saw anger and determination. There was a stubborn lift to his chin, and her heart sank. "What do you want?"
"Let's start with your real name. Kat Parrish or Anne Sanders?"
Her stomach twisted. He'd caught her lie. She should have figured he would. "It's Kat," she admitted.
"Let me in. We need to talk."
Their gazes clashed. She wanted to slam the door in his face, but he was a federal agent, and she didn't think it would work, anyway. He wasn't going to leave. She'd probably be better off talking to him here than getting dragged down to some interrogation room. She opened the door.
As he walked into her apartment, his sharp gaze noted every detail. She didn't really care what he thought about her cluttered but cozy space. She'd made the most of it with a very limited budget. It was warm, colorful, and vibrant. Most importantly, it was home, and it was all hers. The job at Spy Maker Games had allowed her to finally live alone: no annoying roommates coming in at all hours of the night, no bathroom to share, no worries about the hot water running out in the middle of a shower.
He turned to face her, his perusal of her living space apparently over.
"Did the caterer know your real name?" he demanded.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest, feeling intimidated and unsure, which were not feelings she liked to have. While he looked tired, there was also an energy emanating from him that told her he would get the truth. He was going to know all her secrets, and that was terrifying.
"Well?" he pressed.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. She had to tell him something. It should be the truth. "I told Marguerite my name was Anne Sanders. She didn't ask for ID. She just took my photo and sent it to the security team." She paused. "After the shooting, I slipped up. When the officer asked me my name, I forgot to say Anne Sanders."
"Who's Anne?"
"No one."
"Why did you lie?"
"The reason I lied has nothing to do with what happened last night."
"I'll decide that. Answer the question."
She decided to stall. "Do you want some coffee? I just made some."
"Answer the question, Kat."
"It's complicated."
"Then you better start talking."
She shifted her feet as she tried to figure out her best play. But she couldn't see herself talking her way out of the lie. Finally, she let out a breath of resignation. "I work for Spy Maker Games. I'm an entry-level employee in the art department."
Surprise moved through his gaze. Apparently, he hadn't gotten too far in figuring out who she really was.
"Why did you want to work as a server at the party?" he asked.
"I thought it might be my only chance to speak to Mr. Cabot."
"About what?"
"My friend disappeared last Monday after she went to talk to him about some problems with the game."
"What do you mean, she disappeared?"
"She sent me a text saying that she had to leave town for a while, and I shouldn't worry. I shouldn't talk to the police or anyone else at the company. I texted back with a million questions. She never answered."
"It sounds like she wanted to be on her own."
"No. My friend's mother is dying. Audrey has been by her mom's bedside almost every day for the last three months. Now, she's suddenly on a vacation? It doesn't make sense. Her mom hasn't heard from her, nor have her mom's doctors. I think something happened to Audrey."
"I still don't see why you had to talk to Cabot."
"Audrey also works at Spy Maker Games. She's a psychologist, and employees talk to her about their problems."
"She went to speak to Cabot about someone's problems?"
"Yes. She told me that there was trouble in the company, and Mr. Cabot needed to know what was going on. She went to meet with him on Monday night at seven. I got a text from her around eleven p.m. that evening. I spent Tuesday texting Audrey and waiting for an answer, but nothing came. I went to see Audrey's mother on Wednesday morning, and she was crying. She was worried, too. She said Audrey was supposed to visit, but she hadn't come. I had a bad feeling. I tried to talk to Mr. Cabot on Wednesday afternoon, but I got turned away by an assistant to his assistant."
"That's when you decided to crash the party."
"Yes, one of my friends at the company works in event planning. She gave me the name of the outside vendors. I approached Marguerite, and she agreed to hire me for the night."
"Was that friend Natalie Jordan?"
"No, it was someone who works for Natalie."
"It was lucky that the caterer needed a server at such a late date. What are you leaving out?"
She hesitated, seeing the skepticism in his eyes. She didn't want to get herself into more trouble than she was already in, but she'd gone this far; she might as well go all the way. "It wasn't lucky. I got the servers' names from my friend, and I approached one of them, pretending to be calling for Marguerite. I told her that the job had been canceled, but I'd keep her in mind for next time. I then left a message for Marguerite under the woman's name, saying she couldn't make it. Once Marguerite was down a server, it was fairly easy to sell her on myself."
"You're very clever."
"I was determined to find a way into Mr. Cabot's life. I wanted to know if he'd talked to Audrey, what they'd said, if he knew where she was."
"So, you don't even know if your friend actually spoke to Cabot or not?"
"I don't know for sure, but I assume so."
Lucas stared back at her, assessing her answers. "The wine—you spilled it on purpose, didn't you?"
"Yes. I was running out of time to get him alone."
"You are a resourceful woman. Do you ever take no for an answer?"
"Not when the stakes are high. Anyway, it didn't work. I got waylaid by Marguerite and then by Mr. Hartley, who wanted to know why I was in the hallway. Then the shots went off. You know the rest. I could have been killed. I still can't believe how close I came to dying." Her stomach grew queasy as the horror of last night washed over her once more.
"Why didn't you go to the police?"
"Because they wouldn't have done anything. Audrey left me a text that she was leaving town. They would assume she'd told me the truth."
"Why did you use the fake name?"
"I didn't want the caterer or security or anyone on the events team to see my name and wonder why a low-level employee was trying to get into the boss's party."
"You didn't tell your friend who works in event planning? Wasn't she at the party?"
"She wasn't there. She's in an entry-level job, too. She does all the grunt work. Her boss and her boss's boss handled the actual party."
"What do you do at the company?"
"I'm an artist. I draw scenes for the games."
"Really? I thought that was all computer generated."
"Some of it is, but Cabot likes to use real art along with the computer-generated graphics. It makes the games more realistic. He wants the players to feel like they're in an alternate universe, fulfilling their missions, battling evil, the whole deal. Anyway, that's it. That's the end of the story."
"No. That's the beginning. I'll take that coffee now."
She frowned, wishing she hadn't made that offer, but Agent Raines was already heading toward the kitchen. She followed him into the room and grabbed two mugs out of the dish rack. While she did that, she saw him pick up her sketchbook.
"That's not really for anyone to look at," she said, but he was already flipping through it.
"These are good, very detailed."
"You're not big on privacy, are you?"
"Not with people who lie to my face," he returned.
She set his mug on the table, then sat down. "I was thinking about telling you last night, but I was upset, and I just had to get out of there."
He put her sketchbook down and sat across from her.
"I have creamer if you want it," she said.
He took a sip. "This is fine."
"Have you located Mr. Cabot?"
"No."
"I would have thought you'd be deep in ransom negotiations this morning. Why are you here? What's going on?"
"Nothing yet."
"Maybe Mr. Cabot got away. He was a soldier and a spy. He's extremely fit. He's borderline Superman."
Lucas gave her a faint smile. "Big fan, huh?"
"I like the company he's built, but I don't know him. Aside from last night, I've only seen him on video during company-wide chat sessions. During those meetings, he comes across as a man who can't be stopped, who gets whatever he wants. He's a rainmaker. His confidence is over the top. He makes people believe the impossible can happen. That makes him a very dynamic leader. I'm sure others in the company can give you better information on him than I can."
"I'll be talking to everyone I need to."
"Maybe you should get to that."
"Eager to get rid of me?"
"I have nothing else to offer."
"Actually, you do."
His words surprised her. "What?"
"Tell me about Audrey."
"What do you want to know?"
"Where did you meet her? How long have you known her?"
"We met five years ago. I was volunteering for an art program that connected troubled kids to art, and so was Audrey. She didn't have as much of an interest in the art as she did in the kids. She'd lost her younger sister years ago, so the kids were a replacement. So was I. We started spending time together outside of the volunteer program and became good friends. She's seven years older than me, and she loved to give me advice. She's the one who told me about the job at Spy Maker. She referred me and it was an amazing opportunity."
"When did she tell you that there was trouble at the company?"
"She first mentioned it about three weeks ago. She was working late a lot, and she said that one employee she was talking to was having a really hard time with some moral questions. She was trying to help him through the situation."
"Is that what her job is?"
"She does all kinds of counseling. She's there to help people work on their mental health."
"But almost a week ago, after allegedly talking to Spike Cabot, she went on an impromptu trip, destination unknown. Can I see the text she sent you?"
"Sure." She got up to retrieve her phone from her bag, then she brought it back to the table. She flipped through her messages. "This is it. As you can see, I'd sent her a half-dozen texts before this one came in."
Agent Raines took her phone and read the message aloud. "I'm fine, Kat. I have to leave town for a while. It's important that you stay silent. Don't talk to anyone about the company or me. I'll be in touch when I can." He lifted his gaze to hers. "It doesn't sound like she's in trouble."
"It does if you read between the lines. Why didn't she want me to talk to anyone? To stay silent? That's not the way we talk to each other. We're never that formal. You can look through the messages above that one. We don't use formal punctuation."
His gaze narrowed. "You don't think she's the one who sent the text?"
"I don't know. Maybe someone forced her to send it. My gut says she's in trouble. And like I said, her mom is sick. There's no way she just stays away without talking to her." She gave him a pleading look. "Can you help me find her? Maybe she knows something about the company, about Mr. Cabot."
"You should have told me this last night. You should have been honest. You do know it's a federal crime to lie to the FBI, don't you?"
"I didn't lie to you; I lied to Marguerite. She's not an agent."
"That's a technicality."
"Then technically, I didn't commit a crime."
"You used a fake name for the job."
"She didn't ask for my ID. She just took my word for it. I was a good server until I spilled the wine on purpose. You said yourself that maybe I saved Mr. Cabot's life because I got him out of the living room."
"You're very good at spinning things in your favor."
He didn't know how good she was, but it was a skill she'd learned a long time ago. She could take just about any fact and use it to her advantage. That had helped her survive her childhood. "Will you help me find Audrey?"
