Ellie Ashe - Miranda Vaughn 02 - Dropping the Dime (17 page)

I swallowed hard and stared up the empty staircase. I was really going to do this. I was going to break into someone's office. My feet were frozen to the floor, preventing me from taking that first step, from crossing that line.

"Miranda, I have to prove I'm telling the truth."

Kathryn's whispered plea tugged at my heart. I knew that feeling, all too well. Yes, Kathryn had kept information from me. But I believed her when she said she had nothing to do with the money being siphoned out of the business. I also believed that when the FBI figured out that Kathryn had lied to them about the KAL investment, they'd suspect her in the break-in, the embezzlement, and any other crimes they could pin on her.

Nodding, I fingered the lone key in my hand then tightened my grip around it.

"Alexi and I will keep Mr. Leonidis busy and make sure he doesn't go upstairs. Good luck."

She crossed the room and exited through a side door, and still I stood at the bottom of the flight of stairs, staring into the passage to the second floor. With a sigh, I slipped off my shoes. My feet sank into plush carpet, and I ascended in silence to the second floor, carrying my shoes.

The hall was empty, lit only by the wall sconces, which emitted a low glow every ten feet. I made my way to the office at the end of the hall, gripping the key so tight it bit into my sweaty palm.

The door was locked as Kathryn predicted, and I half expected an alarm to sound as I slipped the key into the lock and felt the tumblers give. Holding my breath, I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was silent and dark. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, locking the door so my breaking and entering wouldn't be interrupted.

I crossed the room slowly so I wouldn't trip over any furniture. I wasn't sure how I was going to snoop without turning on a light. Would that attract attention from below? I fumbled with my small clutch purse, which was so thin it only held my cell phone and a lipstick. Using my phone's flashlight app, I swept the room with the tiny ray of light.

It looked like a typical home office, a contrast to the oversized grandeur I'd seen downstairs. Bookshelves, a large old-fashioned desk, an overstuffed chair and ottoman in a corner with a reading lamp. I turned my attention and my weak flashlight beam back to the desk, the light illuminating a path across the thick carpet.

If the information I wanted was in this room, it would probably be in Mr. Leonidis's desk. I moved quickly toward the desk, wanting to wrap up this ridiculous mission as quickly as possible.

The faint sweep of light crossed the tidy desk then beyond and reflected off two small orbs, glowing in the flash of a second.

A pair of eyes. Eyes staring directly at me.

I stumbled backward, a scream trapped in my throat. My phone slipped out of my hand and bounced on the carpet, the light bouncing off the ceiling and providing enough ambient light that I could see the creature in the corner.

A stuffed boar's head, mounted on the wall.

Damn it.

I turned off the light and took several deep breaths to bring my nerves under control.

"This is stupid," I whispered.

The rattle of the door sent my heart into overdrive again, and I froze, my stocking-clad feet rooted to the floor.

"Are you in there?" I heard Sarah's whispered voice through the door.

I let out a long breath and hurried to let Sarah in, then closed the door behind her. This idiotic promise to Kathryn was going to kill me dead at the tender age of thirty-two. And worse, I could picture my headstone.
Died of acute stupidity
.

"Where were you?" I hissed in the quiet room.

"I couldn't get away from Jane. I think we're going to lunch next week."

"Sweet Jesus, Sarah. She thinks you're an opera singer. How long can you keep up this pretense?"

"Until I have to sing. By the way, when we get this done here, I need to find a different exit. Jane keeps dropping hints about some aria that I perform perfectly."

Lovely
.

I knelt behind the desk, tugging at the drawer pulls while Sarah checked out the filing cabinet behind the massive leather executive chair. Simon Leonidis wasn't the most organized person. I thumbed through a deep drawer of paperwork that was stacked into one of the side drawers of his desk. Random receipts dating back a few years were piled in no apparent order. An invoice for holiday cards from two years ago. A brochure for a cruise of the Greek Isles. A bill for a veterinarian.

A vet? God, don't let him have a dog
.

I closed that drawer and turned to the other side. This drawer was deeper and the file folders were on end, which made snooping so much easier.

"Holy matrimony!" Sarah hissed behind me.

"What?" I whispered and turned to look at her. She was sitting on the floor, going through a file that was open on her lap. She looked up from the pages, her eyes wide.

"It's Ana Leonidis's divorce settlement."

"Sarah! That's not why we're here. Put that away!"

"You gotta see this. She's getting soooo much money!"

I paused over the drawer for about a second, but the lure was too much to resist. I crawled to Sarah's side. "How much money?"

"A million bucks a year."

"In alimony?"

"That's what it says."

The documents laid out in clear language that Mark Ramsey was to pay his ex-wife a million a year for seven years after the divorce was final, starting five years ago. Sarah turned the page, and I kept reading, glued to the legal papers like it was paperback novel.

"She keeps the house on Zeus Drive. He gets the condo in Capitola. She keeps two cars. He gets the loans for those cars. She keeps all the jewelry acquired during the marriage. He pays off her credit cards."

"Is it just me, or does that seem very one-sided?" I asked.

"She must have had one hell of a lawyer," Sarah said, turning the page again. "He was supposed to buy an annuity for the alimony payments."

A line was drawn through that clause and initialed by the two ex-spouses. "Why is it crossed off?"

She flipped to the back and saw an additional page. "His new employer, Hedgehog, is guaranteeing the payments as part of his employment package."

"This is all fascinating, but doesn't help Kathryn," I said, crawling back to the desk and continuing to look through Simon's not-quite-organized filing system. We needed to get out of here soon before someone thought to look for the Dutch-Chinese opera diva.

"I wonder if Mark Ramsey is still single," Sarah whispered.

"He must be making a pretty penny to be able to pay her a million dollars out of his annual salary," I said. "Oh, hey, I found something."

I pulled a folder for Acadia Street, Inc. out of the drawer and eyed the contract inside. It wasn't lengthy, maybe a half-dozen pages stapled together. I read it quickly then tried to get pictures of it on my phone. They weren't great, but I thought I'd be able to read it later. And it explained so much.

I slid the papers back into the folder and was sliding the papers back into the drawer when I heard the faint sound of footsteps in the hall outside.

"Oh, shit," Sarah whispered, gathering up the papers she'd been looking through and trying to put them back in the wide filing cabinet. I closed the desk drawer as quietly as I could, and the footsteps grew louder.

It was more than one set—a heavy thudding and a lighter footfall. Then giggling.

"Come here, you little minx," a man's deep voice said in the hallway. It was answered with a giggle.

God, please don't let that be Simon Leonidis. Or Kathryn. Or both.

I held my breath, frozen in place. The laughter grew then quieted, and the footsteps continued on past the office door. I heard a door close and then heard the thud of bodies falling against the wall behind Simon Leonidis's desk. Whoever had snuck upstairs was looking for a spare bedroom, not for Sarah and me. I let my breath out in a rush.

"Let's get out of here," I whispered, tidying up the files I'd shoved into the drawer so Mr. Leonidis wouldn't know we'd been there.

I'd just slid the drawer closed when I heard another sound from the hall. I froze and concentrated on the sound. The rattle of the doorknob sent my heart racing.

I moved quickly to the only other exit from the small room, the French doors that led to a small balcony. Sarah was already ahead of me, her shoes in her hand. The door opened easily, and a light breeze ruffled the papers on the desk. I hurried to straighten them, and then followed Sarah to the threshold.

The balcony was small and overlooked a side yard. The sound of the auction taking place in the back garden, filtered around the corner. We could stay hidden on the balcony until the office was clear, then it would be easy to sneak back into the party on the first floor and out of the house while everyone was distracted in the backyard.

I closed the door behind us and leaned up against the wall on the left side of the door, Sarah doing the same on the right side. After a moment, I heard a muffled sound from inside the office and slowly turned my head to look inside. I saw the sweep of a flashlight at the bottom of the door that led to the hallway.

A security guard?

Sarah hissed, and I looked over at her. She pointed to a trellis on the side of the balcony, then back at me. I turned and saw a matching trellis on my side of the balcony, too. I shook my head. I was not climbing down a trellis.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's bolted to the wall."

"Just wait," I hissed back.

"It's taking too long," Sarah whispered. "Someone could see us up here."

I shook my head, but she tossed her purse and shoes over the balcony and onto a patch of grass below. I knew I wouldn't be landing as softly if I were to jump there.

"Come on," she said, hiking up her dress. She climbed up and over the railing in a smooth movement, gripped the trellis and started descending to the ground. Within a few seconds, she pushed off the wall and joined her purse and shoes on the grass below.

"Come down, it's easy." Her voice floated up to me. When she did it, sure. I wasn't even comfortable standing on the balcony. It was probably ornamental, not for actual use. I held my purse and shoes close to my chest.

"I'll wait until it's clear and just go back downstairs," I whispered, then turned and saw the sweep of the flashlight again.

Oh damn. Oh crap
.

I leaned over and saw Sarah standing below the trellis on my side of the balcony. I put my fingers to my lips. She motioned frantically for me to climb down.

After a minute, I peeked around the corner again. The room was still dark, so I figured whoever was patrolling the upstairs hall had moved on. I grabbed the doorknob and went to enter the office, but the handle was stuck.

No, not stuck.

It was locked.

Oh, damn it all to hell.

I peered into the dark yard looking for any trace of Sarah.

"Where are you?" I said, my voice hovering just above a whisper. There was no response in the darkness. All I could hear was the sound of the auction continuing in the garden around the corner of the house.

I leaned over the left side of the balcony and studied the railing that Sarah had used so easily. She was slightly shorter than me, and naturally petite, but it wasn't the difference in our size that concerned me. She was also a former dancer who was light on her feet and well, coordinated. I, on the other hand, once tripped over an orange traffic cone in an empty parking lot.

Walking across the small balcony, I could see that the other side wasn't much better. This one did seem to have a more established and woody plant growing up the metal grid. Maybe that would give me something else to hold on to when I used it as a ladder, or at least make it less likely that the trellis would separate from the wall while I was on it.

Following Sarah's lead, I threw my shoes and purse to the ground then pulled my dress up enough to let me climb over the railing. I extended a foot and felt the rough wood of the vine through my stockings. I pushed off the railing and grabbed the trellis with both hands.

It felt sturdy. At least, it didn't sway or groan under my weight. I made a mental note to keep up the morning jogs. They seemed to be paying off.

Slowly, I lowered my left foot and tried to find a toehold in the vine. All I found was a sharp point that pierced my big toe like a needle.

"Ow!" I yelped.

The window to my right lit up as someone inside turned on a light. It was the room where the amorous couple had gone earlier. I held myself still and turned so I could see in, but there were sheer drapes obscuring the view. Hopefully, that meant whoever was in there couldn't see me, either.

I tried to find another step, but everywhere I tried to find a safe place felt like a cactus was climbing the trellis.

"Damn it," I hissed, as another needle stabbed my foot.

A movement in the window caught my eye and I could see the blurry outline of a couple, up against the wall, making out like teenagers. The man had his back to me, and all I could see was his white shirt and his dark hair and a woman's hands gripping him. If she were to look past him and out the window, she might see me, clinging to the side of the house, peering through the second-floor window. Though odds were low that she'd look up. She seemed busy.

I started to feel like a voyeur as the couple continued their groping, but it's not like I could go away. I glanced toward the balcony and wondered if I could swing back to it and get back over the railing without falling and breaking my neck. That was unlikely—there wasn't much to hang on to. And then what? I was still stuck outside the office.

The other problem with the window was the light. It spilled out, and I no longer felt like I could hide in the dark. Someone walking around the corner would definitely notice me stuck like a barnacle to the side of the house.

"Ah, yes, I see the problem."

At the sound of the man's voice coming from below, I twisted myself around. Quinn Bishop stood below me, his hands on his hips, Sarah at his side.

"Jesus, Miranda! Why did you come down this side?" Sarah asked.

"It looked sturdier," I hissed.

"The other side was clematis," she said. "No thorns."

"I probably wouldn't have chosen the bougainvillea, myself," Quinn said. I could hear the barely suppressed laughter in his voice. "But either way, let's get you out of this."

Quinn took off his tuxedo jacket and handed it to Sarah, then gripped the side of the trellis and tested it with one foot, then another. It didn't give, but my grip tightened, waiting for the feel of the structure pulling away from the wall.

"Shame those stockings are getting torn up," he said, his voice low.

He could see right up my dress from where he was. I let go of the railing with one hand and reached back, gripping my dress as my face flushed hot with embarrassment. From his vantage point, he could probably see the garters and then some.

"Hey! You're supposed to be rescuing me, not peeking up my skirt."

He laughed. "I can do both."

I felt his warm hand on my foot, and then he eased it down several inches to a safe landing spot.

"There you go," he said softly. "Bring your other foot down here."

I stepped down with the other foot and let him place it on a smooth part of the vine. Two more gently guided steps and I glanced back and saw that I wasn't as far off the ground any longer.

Quinn pushed himself off and stood below me.

"Let go."

"No." I wasn't that close to the ground.

"I'll catch you."

I let out a long shaky breath and pushed backward, falling.

Into Quinn's arms.

His arms were strong and tight around me as he set me back on my feet. I swayed, and he steadied me with his hands on shoulders. "Are you all right?"

His eyes were concerned now, no longer amused by my predicament. I nodded and pulled away, then hobbled over to my shoes, my feet still smarting from the bougainvillea thorns.

"Is there anything else I can do for you ladies?" Quinn asked, shrugging back into his jacket. He looked so handsome in the formal wear, yet so different from how he looked in Rob's office or at the ranch. Then, he'd looked rugged and casual. Now, polished and cultured. Truthfully, though, Quinn Bishop could wear a paper sack and still be the best looking man in the county.

"Nope, that was it," Sarah said, picking up my purse from the lawn.

"Thank you," I said, holding my shoes in my hand.

He gave me that crooked grin and shook his head. "Try harder to stay out of trouble," he said, then walked back toward the party.

"He didn't even ask why I was stuck on the side of the house," I said to Sarah as we walked in the other direction, toward the front yard and the valet parking stand.

"He probably didn't want to know," she said, fishing the valet ticket from her purse.

An hour later, I was sitting on the couch in my apartment above Aunt Marie's garage, my feet up on an ottoman and a glass of wine in my hand. The stockings were, as Quinn had lamented, trashed. I undid the garters, rolled them down my legs, and tossed them into a trash can by my small desk.

While Sarah rummaged through my refrigerator, I flopped backward on the couch. "I don't think I'm cut out to be a spy."

Sarah returned with a beer and a slice of leftover pizza.

"Yeah, I gotta agree. You are definitely not spy material," she said then took a big bite of the cold pizza. She washed it down with a large gulp of beer. "But I rocked it."

She settled into the matching loveseat across from me and gave me a grin. I rolled my eyes.

"You almost had to sing an aria."

"
Almost
," she said, her smile smug. "That's the key."

I took a sip of the cold beer and sighed. "At least we accomplished the mission, and I didn't break my neck."

"What were the papers?"

I pulled my phone out of my purse and flipped through the photos I'd taken. "They looked like loan agreements."

I forwarded the photos to my email address then turned on my laptop so I could view them better. While we waited for the computer to boot up, I changed into a pair of worn yoga pants and a soft T-shirt. I settled into the couch with the laptop and opened the photos to examine them.

Sarah plopped next to me, still in her cocktail dress. "What do we have?"

The first page of the contract filled the screen. "It's a loan agreement between Simon Leonidis and Acadia Street, Inc. And it's for a whole lot of money."

"How much?" Sarah leaned closer.

"Oh, wow. It's for thirteen-million dollars and change," I said.

I opened the rest of the photos and scanned them quickly.

"There's nothing illegal about a loan, right?" Sarah asked.

I shook my head and scanned the last page. "No, nothing. This is a private loan, and the rates and terms are spelled out. It's notarized and signed by the parties."

Then I went back to the first page and blew the page up to fill the screen. Though blurred, the terms were spelled out simply and clearly. But I still had to read them several times before the numbers sank in.

"This is terrible," I whispered.

Sarah squinted at the screen. "What's wrong?"

"These terms. The interest rate is way too high. And the repayment terms are unconscionable."

Simon Leonidis borrowed a huge amount of money at excessive rates from a private party. I flipped back to the last page of the contract and looked at the signature line.

"Who is James DeLaurentis?"

Sarah choked on her beer. "You mean Jimmy DeLaurentis?"

I shrugged.

"Jimmy 'The Ant' DeLaurentis?"

I shook my head.

"The mobster? The Vegas crime boss?" she asked, incredulous.

"Sorry. Don't know of him."

"You need to watch more true crime TV."

"No. Thanks. I've lived enough true crime."

"Jimmy the Ant is no one to do business with. Terrible reputation," Sarah said, shaking her head. "He tried to go legit with a casino in Reno. But a couple of years ago he got caught up with some bad associates, and the gaming commission yanked his license."

"Why do you think he's loaning money to Simon Leonidis?"

It was Sarah's turn to shrug. "Don't know. But I wouldn't want to owe him a dime."

"Maybe it was the timing. In 2008, the banks weren't loaning money to anyone. Maybe it was the only place Simon could get a loan," I suggested. "We should talk to Kathryn about it."

And Jake, I thought. I'd have to double-check the records, but I was certain that the payment schedule matched the transfers that made Kathryn suspicious.

"So, if this loan is legal, then Simon's not doing anything wrong," Sarah said, stretching.

"Yeah, we can call off the FBI and the IRS," I said, sinking back into the couch. "It was all a misunderstanding. No need for them to dig into Kathryn for trying to frame her boss or worse."

"Or into you."

"Right."

Sarah nodded and leaned back. "Well, good work then."

I nodded. As long as no one asked how I came to learn about the legal loan, it was a nice resolution.

"Are you staying here tonight? I can grab some blankets for you."

Sarah shook her head. "I need to get my mom's car back to her or apparently it turns into a pumpkin," she said with a grin.

Yet she made no move to leave just yet, and I got the feeling she wanted to talk. I turned toward her. "What is it?"

"What is going on between you and Quinn?"

I closed my eyes and leaned back, kicking my feet up on the coffee table. "Nothing."

"You're not attracted to him? Not even a little?"

I was a terrible liar, so denying that would be futile. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about Quinn, and it wasn't something I wanted to explore with Sarah. I knew her position on the subject. But I hadn't really let on how deep my feelings for Jake were, and how much his sudden and unexplained absence had hurt.

At the same time I knew she was right, that it was time to move on. But then there was that kiss last night.

Her hopeful expression greeted me when I looked at her. "Quinn's really great," she said.

"I know. I just don't know him very well," I said. Or anything about his past. Like, was he a minor drug dealer or a huge drug trafficker? And why, if he was either of those things, did everyone want me to go out with him? Everyone but Jake, at least.

"You'll get to know him," Sarah said, as if it were settled. She stood up and stretched and yawned. "Now I'm going home."

I stood and followed her to the door, locking it behind her. The adrenaline from our near miss on the balcony had finally worn off, and the beer had relaxed me. There was still one thing I had to do before I could go to bed. I picked up my phone and dialed Jake's number.

And got his voicemail.
Damn.

I left a message for him, asking him to call me because I had some information about Kathryn's case. Then I finally stretched out in my bed, my eyes heavy and my muscles sore and my head full of thoughts of the two men I felt pulled between—the FBI agent and the convict. My body relaxed. It felt like I had just started to drift off when a loud ringing snapped me out of my deepening stupor.

I sat upright, disoriented at the noise, then realized it was my phone. I fumbled in the dark to grab it, answering it without looking at the caller ID.

"Miranda?"

I blinked in the dark at the voice on the other end. "Jake?"

"Are you awake?"

"Yes, sure." My heart thudded, and I wasn't sure if it was in response to the surprise call or the surprise caller.