Collision Course (9 page)

Next, he
hacked through the first of the firewalls again and opened the Funda files he’d
been working on before his wild ride. Then, fueled by the hot, fresh coffee, he
went over everything again, detail by detail, trying to follow the financial
transactions and identify both donors and recipients. He had to run each
interior file through decryption programs, which took time, something he didn’t
think he had much of. Plus, he couldn’t sit there staring at the screen, while
the strings of numbers scrolled past him. To give the appearance of actively
working he began constructing a report to include everything he knew about BGE
and what led him to trace the files.

His
process was slow and methodical, uncovering each bit of information, as an
archeologist exposes antiquities in a dig, one item at a time. Even the small
amount of information he’d already retrieved sickened him.

By noon,
he’d managed to get through the majority of the Funda files. Deciphering the
first five, he discovered a sophisticated system of money laundering that
defied detection unless someone knew to look for it. Thank god he’d taken a
course in his master’s program on how businesses launder money and how it
affects the economy. It made spotting it and following the threads easier than
he expected. And while still a dragged out process, the more he worked at it,
the more the familiar tricks came back to him.

Opening
a blank document, he created a chart to help him trace the funds in the
Foundation account. Company A bought a building from Company B with cashier’s
checks. Company B then obtained the money for repairs, maintenance, whatever,
from Companies C, D, and E. Some of them were even under the BGE umbrella,
giving them large infusions of cash. The other firms made substantial
philanthropic contributions to organizations like the Nicholas Funda
Foundation. The Foundation funneled the money to the overseas banks Bennett
held a controlling interest in. At first glance, one would think the funds were
for the construction of schools or hospitals or to support food programs.

But a
careful search of the Internet turned up nothing on the companies listed.
Neither they nor any of the recipients seemed to exist. Studying the areas of
the world to which the money had been diverted, one could reasonably to assume
the funds were used for drugs, illegal arms, control of Third World countries….
And who knew what else. What he needed were specific names to go with the distributions.
They had to be in there somewhere, although Trey had a feeling they were
protected by yet another code. He’d have to dig much deeper and see how hard it
would be to get in. It was possible yet another firewall protected them.

Going
further into the structure and trying to decipher the additional embedded codes
might be more than his skills could handle. Maybe he’d leave Funda for a moment
and start digging through one of the other special accounts.

When he
took a break for lunch, he shut the programs down and turned off the computer.
Would he even be able to eat, the way his nerves were jumping around and with
the sick feeling gripping him? Still, he needed to quit for a while. He flexed
his cramped fingers to restore circulation. Rubbing his face, he realized he’d
been sweating despite the air conditioning. Unplugging the laptop, he carried
it with him on a hurried trip to the men’s room to wash up and cool off. No way
could he leave it sitting there for someone to grab.

The
waitress was standing by the coffee bar when he headed back to his booth.

She
quirked an eyebrow at him. “You write in the men’s room, too?”

“What?”
He made himself breathe and relax. “No, of course not. But you have to be
careful about leaving things around these days.”

A spark
of anger gleamed in her eyes. “I can assure you, Mr. Buck, the people who come
here are honest. And we always keep an eye on things for them, if they take a
break.”

“Thanks.”
His fingers tightened on the laptop. “I’ll keep it in mind.” He dug up a smile
from somewhere. “I think it’s time I ordered lunch.”

“Yes.”
Sarcasm hung heavy in her voice. “Writing must make you hungry.”

She took
his order, still unsmiling, and in a few minutes brought his club sandwich.

“Thank
you.”
Be pleasant, but distant.
Then his next words blurted out before
he could stop himself. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Terrific.
Now she’d ask for his. He’d been doing a good job avoiding just this.

He
relaxed a little when she said, “Casey. My folks have owned this place for
ages.”

“And you
work here with them?” He didn’t know why—maybe some invisible vibe reaching out
to him—but he had the feeling someone like her would have more opportunities
available.

“More
like I work
for
them.” The smile didn’t seem quite genuine.
“I’m…examining my career options. Kind of like rearranging priorities.”

Interesting.
Sort of what he’d said to her. Except he doubted if her crisis came anywhere
close to his.

“Well,
Casey, I apologize if I seemed rude before. I’m a stranger here so…” He let the
words trail off.

She
nodded but the stiffness seemed to ease from her body and she actually grinned
at him. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m
fine. Thanks.”

“You
should get up and stretch once in a while,” she cautioned him. “Go someplace
besides the restroom. Too much sitting without a break is bad for the
circulation.”

“Yeah?”
He let his gaze roam the other booths. “I see a lot of other people who haven’t
moved. Do you warn them, too?”

“Absolutely.
Sometimes they even listen.” She turned away from him. “Well, shout out if you
want something.”

She
moved down the rows of booths and tables, checking on her customers. Something
about her intrigued him, something besides the unexpected sexual sizzle
exploding between them earlier. Trey had been attracted to women before, but he
didn’t remember anything hitting him quite so hard. As if two magnetic fields
were drawn together instead of pulling apart. Of course, it had to pop up when
sexual attraction didn’t even make the list of things he needed. When
distractions could cost him his life.

He
booted up the computer again and opened the last file he’d been working on. As
he studied the screen in front of him, a tiny finger of cold snaked down his
spine. If he’d been afraid before, now he felt real terror. As he dug more deeply
into Bennett’s files, he became much more dangerous to the man and his
associates. He wasn’t dealing here with your average crooked people; they were
beyond evil.

By now
he’d figured out the path the funds took through various banks as each
transaction unfolded. In the Funda Foundation’s accounts, alone, he found he
could follow the trail from buying drugs to selling them to wholesalers, using
the income to purchase arms and distributing them to a Third World country in
revolt. With a handsome payment, of course, either from the man in power or the
rebel leader, depending who’d contracted for the goods. It seemed Bennett and
his friends didn’t care as long as the cash ended up in their hands.

Verifying
Bennett’s fingerprints were on everything was primary, as well as confirming
the identification of the people he dealt with. At the moment all Trey’s
suppositions were based on what he’d discovered. He had to keep going until he
had enough information for the government to move against him. You didn’t go after
Charles Bennett without a ton of proof. Not when the man was on a first name
basis with the president and contributed to every major philanthropy.

Trey
took two breaks during the afternoon, aware of Casey keeping a casual eye on
him. Had he given off some kind of signal to activate her radar? He tried to
banish her from his mind but found it damn difficult. Her light scent lingered
in his booth, and her smile made his dick remind him how long it had been since
he’d had sex. The stupid organ refused to realize that until the danger passed
he’d positioned sex at the bottom of his to-do list.

Focus,
dipshit. Focus. Your dick won’t do you much good if you’re deader than a
doornail.

She
thought it weird he always took his laptop with him, but no way could he leave
it unguarded. Even if he closed it down each time, he feared Bennett’s men
would walk in, see him and grab the laptop at their first opportunity.

If
they don’t grab me first.

Each
file he opened led him to another, and then yet another. His hacking skills
were as sharp as they’d once been. By the end of the day, he had a pretty good
picture of where the money for Funda came from, how it got there, where it went
and its use. He had to assume the names were as fake as the companies, but by
overlaying the activities over news reports he dug up, he could pretty much
figure out what name belonged to whom. And he’d barely finished one account.

I
should be doing this in a dark cave hundreds of miles from anyone. Except, of
course, they don’t have Wi-Fi in caves.

When the
booths around him began emptying, he checked his watch. Six o’clock. While
people were filling the restaurant side for dinner, the customers in the coffee
house area were leaving, most likely heading home for dinner.

I
should leave, too, or I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe pick up a pizza
on the way to the motel.

Tomorrow,
he’d return, establishing a pattern for himself. After three or four days, he’d
become a fixture, like everyone else. He hoped.

“Leaving
for the day?” Casey picked up the empty mug and the detritus from his table as
he slid out, the laptop under his arm.

“I think
I’ve taken possession of your booth long enough for one day.” His mouth curved
in a smile. This time he didn’t have to force it. She was easy to smile at, even
under tense circumstances.

“No
problem.” She waved at hand at some of the others who were gathering their
things. We’re used to people camping out for the day. Very few places in
Connelly have Wi-Fi yet.”

He
raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised in this day and age.”

Casey
shrugged. “I suppose. But we’re sort of off the grid here. The closest digital
supplier is so far away at the moment, it would cost a fortune to get them to
come here. We have it and so do the local ranches, but that’s it.”

“How is
it possible any of you have it?”

“The
STA.” She laughed when he stared at her. “Satellite Telecommunications Act.
Funded in part by the government so us folks in the middle of nowhere can get
on the web like you city people.”

“Then
why doesn’t everyone have it?”

She gave
a careless shrug. “It was created for ranches, farms and businesses. We’re the
only business who took advantage of it, because we knew it would be a big
draw.”

“Thank
the government for me.” He took the bill she handed him then opened his wallet
to leave a tip on the table.

Casey
closed his fingers around it and pushed his hand away.

“Consider
the service free. I’m hoping you’ll put me in your book.”

“Thank
you. But the book might not turn out well.”

“I’ll
take my chances. See you tomorrow.”

In his
truck, he closed his eyes for a moment and leaned against the headrest. Casey’s
image wavered in his brain, her smile like a blaze of sun. He could still feel
the touch of her fingers against his, hear her low, musical voice. And the cute
exchange of words as he left.

Was she
flirting with him?

Was I
flirting with him? Surely not. Just trying to make a new customer feel at ease.

Yeah,
right. Tell that to someone who believes it.

Casey
slapped the cleaning rag onto the surface of the table with more force than
necessary and wiped with rapid circular motions. There had to be something
wrong with her. She didn’t need to be playing games with a total stranger. Her
history reflected poor judgment where men were concerned, at least on an
emotional level. But the
zing!
snapping between them every time she
approached his booth both irritated and intrigued her.

Maybe
he’d change his mind about writing his book here. Decided Connelly turned out
to be too much of a hick town for him. Maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t show up.
Casey had mixed feelings about that and a good part of them had nothing to do
with sex.

An
unmistakable air of tension surrounded him, even when he joked with her. The
warnings flags waving at her the moment he walked into the Half ’n Half were
still there. He didn’t even make a trip to the men’s room without taking his
laptop, as if held some kind of state secrets. Back to her first thought about
him—on the run from someone. Or some
thing
.

So
what? It’s not your problem.

But old
habits died hard. If he had trouble on his tail, she’d like to find a way to
help him. Not because he was incredibly sexy, although she’d be lying to
herself if she denied it. No, the old protector mode that had sent her first to
the feds and then to the military had kicked in again. Help those in trouble.

But
getting him to talk about his demons might be an impossible task. And if he
did, then what? Did she honestly think with her martial arts and two guns, she
could protect him?

Depends
on what’s out there.

Casey
gave herself a mental shake. She had to stop talking to herself. It was a good
thing the dinner crowd kept her too busy for any more internal conversations.
When most of them had left she’d gone home, changed clothes and shown up for
her shift as a volunteer deputy. When she walked in, it surprised her to find
the sheriff himself sitting at a deputy’s station, tipped back in a chair,
booted feet up on the desk.