Burned Hearts (29 page)

“Ari, I need to speak with him.”

“I agree. But let's make sure we have all the facts first.”

I didn't blame him for being disturbed by the turn of events, this unexpected twist of fate. But this wasn't just anyone we were talking about—it was Ethan. Dane's best friend. His mentor. His business associate.

The godfather of his son.

I knew Dane was one to confront adversity head-on, not beat around the bush. But I was nervous about this new anomaly.

Ethan being that anomaly.

“Can we maybe just take a peek at what's been hiding in Switzerland?” I asked. “You know, get a little ahead of the curve, if possible?”

Dane clearly didn't see a problem with that. He crossed to the wall by the fireplace and removed an original van Gogh. He worked the combination to the safe I had no idea was concealed behind the painting, pulled open the door, and handed over the laptop.

“You want
me
to check it?”

“An objective third party.”

Intrigue trilled down my spine.

No, I shouldn't still get a kick out of the Lara Croft stuff. But I did.

I sat at my desk and he gave me the password,
bagan
. Standard fare for him. It was German for “to fight.” Also the origin of his last name, Bax.

Not having any idea what we really trolled for, I asked, “Did you take note of how many files you had before locking this thing up?”

“Six hundred and seventy-two.”

“Wow. Way to pin it down. Okay.” I accessed the Documents folder and scanned it, then checked the number of files saved. I frowned. “Sure it wasn't more like five hundred and twelve?”

“No,” he said in his confident tone.

I glanced at him. “You don't have to be right on the money, Dane, but we should be in the same ballpark.”

With a shake of his head, he repeated, “Six hundred and seventy-two.”

My stomach churned. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“There's only five hundred and twelve now.”

“What?”
He strode toward me and leaned over my shoulder. “No, Ari. Check again. I made sure I knew how many files I'd downloaded before I put it in the safe-deposit box, not long after Vale had kidnapped you.”

“Dane, one hundred and sixty files are missing.”

I shoved back my chair. He stealthily moved out of the way.

“Take a look for yourself,” I said as I gestured toward the computer. Then I circled the desk. “What might have been on there that has now disappeared?”

“I'm not sure. I told you, I arbitrarily collected information that just seemed reasonable to privately document. But it was bits and pieces here and there. Nothing I'd ever pulled together for a big picture.”

“And nearly two hundred files were deleted after the indictments and Bent's suicide? Before the trials even began?”

“That's impossible,” he said. “Locked up in Switzerland, remember?”

“Right.” I frowned.

“Except…” Dane pushed back my chair and vacated it, then said, “Take a seat.”

I didn't question him, just did as he asked. “What now?”

“I didn't need all this information for the trials. The evidence I'd gathered and handed over to the FBI, beyond e-mails, was sufficient to show what was happening with Hilliard, Avril, Casterelli, and Wellington. Even the admiral.”

“So why send Ethan for this?”

“Just in case.”

“Well,
just in case
isn't necessary, so we're kind of chasing our tails, right? It doesn't really matter what's on this hard drive—or not.”

He nodded. Paced. Nodded again. Then stopped in front of my desk and flattened his palms against the polished wood. He gave me a steady look as he said, “Check for deleted files.”

I opened the recycle bin. “Empty.”

“How else, on a PC, would we know when someone last accessed this hard drive?”

“I'm not sure there's any bearing whether PC or Mac based, but…” I investigated the restoration date, were we to reset to the last period the hard drive had been backed up.

I stared at the date and my frown deepened.

“Ari? What is it?”

“It's—I don't know. Weird.” I shook my head. “Two days after Amsel was born.”

Dane's brow dipped.

I said, “You stayed at the retreat with me. Kyle was there, too. Amano and Rosa came back here. That's when Ethan dropped off the hard drive.”

Something foreboding flashed in Dane's eyes and, before he even asked me to see if I could discern who'd last accessed the database my fingers were already skating across the keyboard and alternately clicking the mouse.

But there was nothing to share with him. No evidence Ethan had even logged on.

And for that matter …

“Dane. Ethan is your closest friend. Your mentor. Not a suspect.”

“No.” He shoved away from the desk. “Not a suspect. What the hell is wrong with me?” he mumbled, and walked the office in frustration.

I kept up my search for good measure, though we both knew Ethan was not a rabbit to chase. Someone else was. We just didn't know who.

As I scanned the hard drive and then pulled up the Computer function, I fought for a viable option to offer Dane. The best I could say was, “This is a dead stick. There's absolutely nothing here. No leads, no nothing. I can't even—” I stalled out mid-sentence.

“What, Ari?” Dane demanded. “What is it?”

“I don't know,” I repeated. “Hold on a sec.” I stared at the screen as he came around to stand behind me, peering over my shoulder again.

“Something caught your attention.”

“Yes. This.” I pointed at the icon on the screen. “Devices with removable storage.” I clicked on the official-looking shield with initials in the center of it and a new page came up with
Encryption Launcher
stamped across the top.

Dane asked, “What are we looking at?”

“It's a program that launches an encrypted, password-protected thumb drive.”

“I don't have one of those.”

“We should definitely get you one, then. For all this top-secret stuff you collect.”

“I'm officially out of the spy business, remember?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Because I'm willing to bet that Ethan has an encrypted thumb drive and used it with your computer.”

“Ari.” There was a hint of warning in his tone.

I knew I was about to cross a line. Again, this was Ethan we were talking about. Dane trusted him above all else—with the exception of Amano.

Still, I flashed Dane a look that I hoped conveyed
my
confidence in what I was doing.

I explained, “What happens when you use one of these storage devices is that you plug it into the USB port and the program automatically downloads so that you can put in a password and move files onto the external drive—without them ever hitting your recycle bin, so you don't really know what's been copied over. Or removed.”

“Fuck,” he mumbled.

Continuing, I told him, “When you're done, you eject the device. Now, if you do it correctly, shutting down the thumb drive through the icon option, I think the program goes away. If you just pull the device out of the USB port, the program remains installed.”

“As it currently is.” He straightened.

“Yes.”

I felt the rage instantly radiate from him but still jumped in my seat as he bellowed, “Son of a bitch!”

 

chapter 15

“This can't be right, Dane.”

He prowled the office once more. I didn't disturb the flight path, letting him mentally dissect this new twist for a few minutes.

When the suspense became too much to take, I asked, “What purpose would Ethan have for moving files from the hard drive to another external source?”

“Must've been something on the laptop that he didn't want me to see.”

“Are you suggesting he spent the entire trip back from Switzerland going through all that documentation you'd collected and somehow felt threatened by some of the information?”

“I can't think of a better explanation.” He gazed unwaveringly at me. “Can you?”

My spirit sank. What could Ethan possibly be doing behind Dane's back?

“Obviously,” Dane said, “Ethan is keeping things from me. Like knowing my father.”

“That is odd, I'll admit. Questionable. Once again, what purpose would he have for not mentioning it when you first arrived at Harvard?”

“I can't think of a single reason. So my father was a Yale man. That wouldn't have any bearing on why he wouldn't tell me they'd met seventeen or so years prior to me showing up on the Harvard campus.”

“No, it wouldn't. At least, not in my mind.”

Our eyes remained locked. I could practically see his brain churning. Likely, he thought back to the time he'd met Ethan, his years at Harvard with him, the business investments they'd shared, the secret society they'd served.

My brow furrowed.

“What?” Dane asked.

My lips pressed together as I contemplated that last little item—the secret society. I said, “The Illuminati faction he recruited you into was supposed to be a generational thing. No outsiders. And considering Bryn Hilliard is pushing eighty and his son, Vale, was never inducted in to take his place—”

“Because he proved to be a colossal idiot.”

“Right. Anyway, if there's no Hilliard to step in, Bryn remains a member. Unless Vale were to have a son who had some sense in his head. Then he could succeed Bryn. Is that all correct?”

Hypothetically, of course, since Vale was no longer alive to proffer an heir.

Dane said, “Yes.”

“So the rules of the society are finite? The exception being you?”

“The exception being me.”

“Hmm.” I mulled this over a bit further, then suggested, “Or not?”

His gaze narrowed. “You're not saying…?”

With a small shrug, I offered, “Is it possible that your dad was part of the society thirty years ago—and any of the members who knew kept it quiet and those who came into the society later, such as Qadir and Nikolai, never even met him? Never knew anything about him? Because, let's face it, the secrecy pretty much remained intact until I came along last year.”

“That's one hell of a conspiracy theory.”

I nodded. “Question is, why go to all of the trouble to hide your father's involvement? Why would Ethan and the others
not
want you to know your dad was one of them?”

“Ari, this is impossible. I trust Ethan. I've always trusted him.”

Unfortunately, I detected the broken conviction in Dane's voice.

“This is risky territory for us both, Dane. I understand that. But is it really so impossible to believe that he might know more than he's ever shared with you?” I challenged. “'Cause, honestly, a secret society is a pretty crazy notion unto itself. One that's turned corrupt—and that corruption is rooted deep … Well. I'd say there are no inconceivable theories.”

“I'm having trouble denying it myself.” The angst flashing in his eyes backed up his statement.

I opted to tread lightly with a tentative tone as I suggested, “Who's to say your father didn't know these guys were doing wrong and tried to stop them? Instead, they cut him out, as you did to them later on with 10,000 Lux? Vicious cycle to the extreme, sure. But nothing is impossible with these people. We've learned that the hard way.” I gave him a firm look. One that screamed,
They conspired to blow up a megaresort!

Dane whirled on his heels and stalked toward the fireplace, taking up his pacing with his hands on his waist. Tension and frustration permeated the room. My heart ached for him.

This was a monumental betrayal we might have happened upon. Not just another deception from the society members, but from Ethan Evans. Of all people.

And for that matter … “What if Qadir and Nikolai aren't on the up-and-up, either?”

He spun back around to face me. “Ari, Ethan is
not
a criminal.”

I didn't shrink away from his silent fury, understanding it wasn't directed at me. “You don't really know that for sure. Do you?”

His jaw clenched. I remembered the first time I'd met him I'd found that small gesture intriguing, desperately wanting to know the source of all his dismay. I was now wholly aware of that internal strife—and it deeply pained me.

Dane was a strategic sort, calculating when it came to risks and whom he could trust. There were very, very few people he'd let into his life. Very few he'd relied on or considered solid. He'd been a part of Ethan, Qadir, and Nikolai's pack since he was nineteen years old, when he'd been recruited. To learn twelve years later that those friendships and that tight camaraderie could be false, an intentional setup—that had to rip the rug from underneath him.

Once again.

So of course he'd be reticent to believe the worse.

Yet Dane was neither naive nor easily snowed. Therefore, I knew he'd evaluate every nuance and work it from every angle in his mind.

I felt compelled to help out. “Let's say, for argument's sake, that your father really was with the society three decades ago. How could we prove it?”

“Not via the Internet, that's for damn sure.”

I hadn't even been able to discern when Dane's parents had passed, let alone from what cause. I'd finally asked, when Dane and I had gotten a bit closer. A plane crash on their way back to Philly from a night at the Met in New York.

Contemplating this, I asked, “Your parents were the only ones on that plane, right?”

He eyed me curiously. “Yes. It was my father's Learjet.”

“Weather or mechanical problems?”

“Ari.” His emerald irises deepened in color. “You're going to your own dark place now.”