Deadly Alliance (3 page)

Finn said, “Ugh, sorry.”

“That’s when I get the jump on you.”

“Papa, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Your business is killing you, right?” Papa gazed out the window. “The rest of the day will be sunny.”

Finn asked, “Great. The sun came out. You keep your yard as clean as a whistle. Maybe rake a few leaves? At least get out on the front porch.” Finn placed sugar packets on the side table.

The man who’d raised him adjusted prongs of his nasal cannula. “Sugar, thanks.” His voice warmed as he studied his face. “Son, you look star-struck. Is it a woman or have you found a solution to the big drain?”

Finn edged onto a chair opposite his dad. “Both. I hired Lester’s former girlfriend. If anyone knows about the drain, it’s Amy.” The cash loss and looming financial ruin was his life. At his wit’s end, Finn made up for losses by putting in his own savings. He gave himself a mental atta-boy for questioning her abilities. She didn’t need to know she’d passed Rosenberg’s accounting test with flying colors.

“Not fair-haired Amy from Long Beach!” Papa’s expression bordered on dreamy.

“That’s the one.”

“At office parties she sat by me. I told her all I knew about Gray’s Peak and the old Cougar Trail. She’s a hiker. Pretty blonde. Wholesome girl.”

“
She does nice things. I’ll give her that.”

Papa’s emphysema made it hard to mingle. “Was it true about Les?”

“You mean the bit about him streaking through the office nude? Yes.”

“Cocky bastard.” Papa snorted with a wheeze. “Funny as hell.”

Embarrassing was more like it. “When working late,” Finn said, “Les made a habit of flashing through the office.”

“Stark naked, laughing at his reflection in the windows? Wowza!” Papa wasn’t Les’ only admirer. Conservative Arrowhead residents had found Les’ capers sidesplitting.

“Wild,” Finn said, “but he turned on an aura of trust.”

“Les-talk was as solid as bedrock,” Papa agreed. “Crooked though, the way he’d maneuvered expenses in his favor. He cheated the IRS.” He sighed.

Finn said, “He’s a Kelly.” Until lately, he’d dismissed Les’ gang connection to the Waterfront Roaches. Years ago, Boss Aidan Rourke, his mother’s second husband, had invested in their company.

Papa said, “Amy never struck me as a cheater.”

Finn wasn’t sure. “Think of it this way. A poor girl takes up with a rich guy. Classic.”

“Nice girl took up with a bum, I’d say.” Papa reached for the curtain string and pulled open the pleated drapery. Sun peeked through clouds. “After your mother took off, do you know what bothered me the most?”

“What, Papa?”

“Missed pillow talk. You know, conversation.” Tears formed in his dad’s eyes.

“Are you sleeping okay?” Concern coursed through his brain. “Maybe you need a woman’s companionship.”

“I tried dating. Just never fell in love again.”

“Mom never looked back.” It was as if she had dementia. Married to Rourke and soon saddled with additional offspring, she resided in an over-sized villa in Beverly Hills.

“Enough of that topic.” Finally, Papa looked up. “The bullets to Les’ brain plucked him of everything he was. He never spoke again.”

“During his surgery,” Finn said, “news seeped out. He and Amy weren’t together.”

“Yet she took care of him.” Papa’s comment came out of the blue.

Finn didn’t know his dad mulled over the similarities. “Physically, Les was there.”

“Where the heck was his family?” Papa asked.

“Les’ parents drove up from Los Angeles once.”

“When?” Papa asked.

“Before you moved here. Anyway, Amy phoned me. I joined them over at their condo.” Finn recalled the scones and tea she served. After seeing Les that way, he switched to whiskey and water.

Papa cleared his throat. “Whether his parents were there or not, it made no difference to Les.” He coughed. As soon as his breathing evened out, he said, “One of these weekends we should visit the Kelly family.”

“That’s a promise,” Finn said. “I’d like to check up on Les’ twin brother.”

Papa nodded. “I remember Liam, severely autistic.”

“To the point of nonverbal.” As a kid, Finn had looked past Liam’s ceaseless rocking and flailing arms to see intelligence. “I want to see him most of all. Remember how he liked to feed the swans?”

“Liam was a sweet boy, but started running away. Did you know? By now he’s in a group home for adults.” The older man said, “I’ll do some phoning.”

“You’ll find out where he is?”

“Yup,” Papa said.

Finn’s gaze connected with his dad’s, and he took comfort in it.

Papa’s lungs rattled with each breath. “Aren’t you glad you taught me how to text?” The grin on his lips spoke of his capacity for jocularity. Papa stood, and the men hugged, patted each other’s backs, and then split apart.

“Can I do anything for you before I leave?” Finn asked.

Papa nodded. “Rip the cover off my National Geographic. It’s sturdy enough.”

“Sure,” Finn said, all too familiar with his dad’s scheme to move Sweet Pea’s leavings from his yard to Dolly’s front steps. The operation required finesse— moving it without disturbing its shape. “Papa, it was dark last time.”

“Yup, and that night a star was born,” Papa said. “You sneaked out and made the perfect transfer.” Mick really wanted him to do it.

“Where’s Dolly?” Finn asked.

“Riding the senior van to the store.” Papa crinkled his nose. “Well then?”

Finn nodded. “It’s an honor to be chosen for this task.”

“You’re about to win another medal.” Papa looked at him with genuine pride.

How often did Finn do something simple, but greatly rewarding? The only negative consequence would end up on the neighbor’s shoe. His dad beamed, and Finn relished the rush it gave him.

Papa said, “I like kidding Dolly. She’s way too full of herself.”

Finn pictured the fashionable elderly woman with a mane of white cotton who rocked hot pink lipstick. “Sweet Pea sure as hell won’t tell. Dolly doesn’t know it’s us, right?”

Papa chuckled. “She wouldn’t make brownies for me if she did.”

“One of these days she’ll shove them up your ass,” Finn said. His dad’s system for having fun occasionally backfired.

“I’m one lucky papa.” His laughter filled the room. “Until next time, son.”

Heading out, Finn waved with the magazine cover. In spite of their tight bond, he didn’t always agree with Papa. His father saw good qualities in women while Finn prided himself on channeling his sixth sense. He let suspicion be his guide.

Dog that he was, chasing after Les’ bone, Amy might be sniffing along the same trail.

Chapter Three

Amy reacted to the soft swish of Finn’s closing door by plastering a smile on her face and standing tall. She marched her forms to Brooke’s desk.

“Good timing, he’s back.” Brooke reached for her paperwork. “I’ll drop these on the head of all things accounting.”

“Great.” Amy admired easy-going Brad Rosenberg. “I appreciate your work with the interview process, Brooke.”

“You’re welcome. Hardly anyone notices. Go ahead and give his door a rap.”

Amy rapped just once before twisting the knob. “You’re in your skivvies.” Seeing him in his boxers was a gut-punch. She inhaled a breath and nudged the door shut with her back.

He slipped behind his desk and
narrowed his eyes at her. A sexy smile showed on one side of his mouth.
“You knocked. Did I say, ‘open?’ ” He looked darn incredible.

With the scorch of embarrassment, Amy realized she was just standing there.

“Relax. I’ve got one up on you. Remember New Years, five years ago, in the closet with Les? There you were, commando.” Finn chortled with a slap to his knee.

A shallow gasp escaped her lips. “Guess we weren’t as discreet as I’d thought.” She sighed.

He threw out both arms. “Relax. We both knew Les. He cracked the door at some point.”

“Jeez, let me die.”

He dropped his arms to his sides. Palms forward, he lifted them. “Look, I’m okay. You’re okay. Awkwardness is now diffused.” He dropped his shoulders to pull up black slacks and then buttoned up a gray, oxford shirt. Fiddling with the sleeve, he wore power inside and out. He watched her as if he knew he gave her soft tingles.

“Fine,” she said, and he was right. Her bodily reaction didn’t make sense, and she stiffened against it.

“You’re a bit on the defensive.”

“I suppose I am.”

He gestured for her to sit in the chair opposite him, and she fell onto the seat, almost missing it.

As a clothing designer, she noticed apparel. He had impeccable taste. “Hugo Boss? I admire understated elegance.” Finn’s appearance mirrored his clients’ taste. During vacations at their second homes in Lake Arrowhead, they golfed, sailed, skied, and invested.

An eternity passed before he said, “Except for basic hellos and goodbyes, you and I rarely conversed. Where were you at office parties?”

“In hen groups, mostly,” she said. “We discussed clothing topics. Or I’d seek out interesting people. Your dad knows all the mountain trails.”

The way his gaze lingered on her mouth before returning to her eyes stroked heat down to her toes. “My dad used to hike up to the year-round creek.”

“He explained the route. It leads to an amazing hot spring.”

“Up there, he didn’t swim in his underwear.”

“Skinny dipping?” Something weird happened to her again. Was it fear or was it want? “I’m not the fashion police. Truly.”

“Nope, you’re a fashion designer.” A corner of his mouth twitched, and for the space of a heartbeat, everything in his office faded except this man.

“Thank you for remembering.” Drat, she was a mess, craving touch while facing fear.

His eyes focused somewhere in middle distance and then back to her. “You’re the little design engine that could.”

“I think I can, I think I can.” She loved that story. “Don’t worry. It stays in my sewing room.” She tried to watch her breathing. It seemed too loud, and yet if she didn’t breathe, she’d pass out.

“It’s all good.” Back to all-business, Finn furrowed his brow.

“At my second interview,” she said, “I met with your accountant.” She wasn’t sure about the chain of command. “Will I report to Brad Rosenberg?”

“I’m your boss. I might deliver instructions through Brad, but you’ll answer to me. If you have any questions, approach me. Anything else?” he asked with slight impatience.

“Just one thing.” She met his gaze, about to deliver a crafty reason to postpone his canning of her. Braced for a fat turn-down, she said, “If you fire me, I want a month’s pay.”

He blinked. “Why request that?”

“What happened to your last bookkeeper?”

“It’s confidential.” He furrowed his brow. “How is your work ethic?”

“If I don’t understand something, I ask. I work harder than the high-IQ people you might know. I try to like everyone, and I’m a team player.”

“In other words, it’d take murder for you to hate someone.”

“Something like that,” she said.

He creased his brow. “I’ll meet your conditions if you meet mine. Before quitting, give me a month’s warning. You’re bringing your sportswear company back to life.”

“Fair enough,” she said, but his words, back to life, made her think the opposite. Lester’s open casket was a mistake.

“We’ve got a deal.”

Ignoring the constriction in her chest, she handed him the manila envelope. “This popped up like an evil Jack-in-a-box.”

Pushing a pile of papers off to a corner, he asked, “Photos?” Taking the envelope with both hands, he dumped the contents onto his massive desk.

“There’s just one photo, Lester’s, on a fake driver’s license.” She rose from her chair and pointed to it.

Finn grabbed the license and brought it close to his eyes. “Les’ photo carries the name of Edward Smithson. Les and I bought this man’s company, Edward Smithson Incorporated.”

“His, rather Les’, California license with the hologram passes for genuine. Not that it makes you feel any better.” Seeing Finn stoop over it, she empathized with his anxiety. Pain deepened across her forehead.

“When and where did you find this stuff?” Lowering his chin, he regarded her beneath his arched brows.

“Last night in my sewing room,” she said. “I decided to look in one of my pattern files. Found this between sizes six and eight.”

“Not in the home office, then?” he asked.

“Correct,” she said. “I’d gone through all the paperwork there.”

“What the hell? Your slick boyfriend misfiled this on purpose.”

“Les or someone else. He had some visitors.” As she pictured rough people she didn’t know, she tried to slow her agitated heart by taking deep, long breaths.

“Visitors,” Finn said. “What were they after? Did he say?”

“Les lacked cognitive ability to talk.” Amy thought for a minute. “Until I found this envelope, I imagined Les was blinded by headlights, caught in gang crossfire. Now I wonder.”

“Sad.” He shook his head.

“Whose eye for his eye, tooth for his tooth caused him to lose a cheek and the left side of his brain?”

“Les suffered a fate worse than death.” he said. “Not quite comatose. Did he respond at all?”

She said, “He’d return a hand squeeze now and then.”

Finn said, “He had parents. They didn’t step up.”

“They wanted to institutionalize him.” The pang in her heart came over her like a gigantic cold wave. “We were friends at that point, not lovers.”

“Caretaking takes its toll.”

“A person can lose every shred of ambition.” She twisted her hands on her lap as she recalled forgetting where she’d put her cellphone, her tablet, or why she’d entered a room.

His eyes had the cast of the lake just before darkness. “Guess you’re dusting yourself off. Still hiking?”

“Sure am.” Nothing suited her better. “Which reminds me, I found a map. Can you ask your dad to decipher it?”

“He’d like that. Plenty of time on his hands,” he said and then looked at the envelope’s contents spread on his desk.

Seconds ticked by. “Everything inside is odd.” She was about to pick up the checkbook. “The imprint is not the company name, Edward Smithson Inc.” They reached for it at the same time and found themselves holding hands instead. She withdrew hers, and he frowned as if it never happened.

“Difference is slight. Takes a discerning eye.” He jutted his bad-ass chin. “Instead of Edward Smithson Inc., it’s a personal account of Edward Smithson.” He went for the checkbook again and waved it in a rash gesture. “Same bank, different routing number.”

She said, “The legendary Mr. Edward Smithson hasn’t walked these floors for many years.”

He slammed a fist on the pile of papers.

With a sudden weakness in her knees, thoughts came in her grandmother’s Scottish brogue about a rat making a mess. She tumbled back, dropped to a chair.

He swore and then threw up his hands.

“A rat,” she said, “but we don’t know who.”

Just across his desk, a scar over his lip made him appear dangerous.

Amy recoiled, slapped a hand over her heart and anticipated a hammering of words.

Finn threw back his head and whistled through his teeth. The sound caught her by surprise.

She spoke with care. “Someone siphoned money. An inside job hurts.”

“Hey, I’m grateful.” Silence stretched to an awkward length before he scratched his head. “I suspected a software attack.”

She’d heard of fraudsters who selected funds based on codes and then dumped them into the freezing waters of offshore accounts. “This is simpler. How long have you battled it?”

“Three damn years,” he said. “The company balance is down every month.”

“Ouch.”

“Every damn month, down ten percent.” he said. “You’ve figured out how the scam works.” His gaze traveled a path over her face.

“I think so. People don’t always write a complete name on a check. I’ve written checks to Arrowbear Light instead of Arrowbear Light and Power.”

“We’ve all used shortcuts.” After a loud, “Arhhh,” he gathered himself into his usual position. “In your case your payment would have made it to Arrowbear utility company. Otherwise, you’d have heard from them.”

Watching him rip a deposit slip from a checkbook, she said, “You’re giving me a demo.”

“Right.” He tossed it on the desk. “By using that, a client’s payment is routed to the fake account.” After presenting his example, he blew out a breath.

She understood the scenario. “Some clients were given bogus deposit slips.” Shaking off her blazer, she draped it over the chair.

Leaning toward the L-section of his desk, he fed his fax machine papers. “I’m sending the basics to Sheriff McGill. He’ll freeze the account. Within minutes.”

“He knows about your troubles?” she asked.

“I’ve kept him informed.” His voice turned silkier.

This close, she saw a scar slashing through his left eyebrow. The same angle bracketed his lip. He was on the pirate-side of handsome.

“Let’s do lunch. Go over preliminary results?” he asked.

Mutinous warmth flushed through her belly. She shut it down. “Lunch is too early for me. I’ll need the afternoon to collect data and run statistics.”

“Statistics?”

“I’ll use a statistical analysis program.” Amy said.

“Great. You’ll isolate accounts with the bogus slips.” He dropped a caring gaze on her. “Les is dead.”

“Which means,” she said, “someone else benefits.”

“For that someone, all will come crashing down. I expect repercussions.”

“That’s a somber thought.” Not having considered an aftermath, she crossed her arms. No one who’d visited Les had taken much notice of her. She wanted to stay obscure. Being part of the wallpaper had its advantages.

He made a neat stack of receivables and placed everything else in the envelope. “Amy. Thank you.”

Waving it off, she went for his stack of receivables.

He placed his hand over hers, and she didn’t pull hers back.

She laughed. “You look as sweet as a teddy bear.”

“A grizzly. I want to protect you.”

“Don’t worry. I tend toward invisible.” She willed her legs to move, but it felt like they were encased in cement. Would someone come sneaking into her sewing room?

* * *

Hours later, Finn straightened his spine as he listened to his new bookkeeper order Rosenberg around with the authority of an Army lieutenant. She spoke with confidence from her chair and waited for answers with intensity. Somehow she came across larger than her delicate self.

“Brad,” his pretty war buddy said, “I’ll need your password to access activity-to-date.” Her attitude wasn’t for show. Her curiosity propelled her to the depths of the drain. Heaven help those who lurked there.

“Sure thing.” Brad blew out a breath and scribbled his password on a sticky note. Handing it to her, he bent to her level.

She said, “I apologize for causing chaos.”

“No apology necessary.” Brad asked, “What are you working on?”

Jumping in, Finn said, “Comparisons, Rosenberg, that’s what she’s working on.” Unholy as she’d undoubtedly turn out to be, at the moment they were forged in combat. “Give her your full support.”

“Absolutely. Consider me your scaffold,” Rosenberg said, accepting his fate. “Excuse me, won’t you? I’m running payroll.”

Finn liked his head accountant. He was solid. Dependable. Not creative, but his easy-going manner was soothing. “Payroll. You’re a masochist.”