“No such luck. They work. And I will forever treasure them because they remind me of you at your funniest.” He’d changed into tailored shorts, a polo shirt, and topsiders. He’d even combed his hair.
Jackie wolf-whistled. “You look stylish. What’s the occasion?”
“We’re about fifteen minutes from Baltimore. I try to look presentable when pulling in for a discreet mooring.” Brandon scanned the horizon as if looking for a direction sign.
“I suppose I should change too, eh?” Jackie mumbled.
“It’s back to reality, I’m afraid. I’ve got some things to deal with tonight and tomorrow morning. Can I see you tomorrow night, though?”
Jackie’s heart sank. The comfortable domesticity and unending conversations had grown on her. “What kind of things?”
Brandon reached out and took her hand. “Loose ends to tie up, including reporting those creeps who tried to take us out yesterday.”
Reality. Brandon’s job demanded his time. So did hers. Her job. Her mind swirled and her heart beat fast. The landlord wanted rent. Her empty bank account felt like a noose around her neck.
She headed into the cabin to find something she could wear home. She didn’t even have shoes. She faced an adult version of a college girl’s walk of shame. The T-shirt and sweatpants from last night with a pair of ultralarge flip-flops would have to do.
Brandon slowed the boat as they approached Fell’s Point dock. The brick warehouses, chic boutiques, restaurants, and condos were stacked tidily like Legos. Faded red brick contrasted with modern stainless steel balconies and window frames.
“Why are you mooring at Fell’s?” Jackie asked.
“I know someone with a private slip. Should provide me with a little more discretion than the Inner Harbor. Plus, it’s closer to your place.”
Jackie scrunched up her face at him. “How do you know where I live?”
Red seeped up his already sun-kissed cheeks. “I guessed?”
“I keep my home address private. Did you spy on me?”
“Maybe.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say that was creepy.” She had little room to criticize, as she’d been snooping around his entire life for weeks. His photos covered her conference room table.
Brandon maneuvered the boat expertly into the slip with little help from Jackie. For the last twenty-four hours, he had talked only to her. Hearing his crisp and authoritative voice speaking on the radio made her stomach squirm. His cell phone rang repeatedly.
He answered some of the calls, shooting back orders. The expensive clothes and fancy watch reminded her that he lived an entire life of which she’d never been a part.
Would she ever?
As he was shouting at someone on his cell phone, Jackie decided to make a hasty exit. She’d been gone for a day. Marilyn was probably having kittens. Something niggled at the back of her brain.
Shit.
The judge had ordered a reply to a motion in a small employment discrimination matter. Tomorrow.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She gathered her briefcase and clip-clopped off the boat. The big sandals flapped ridiculously against her feet and the dock’s wooden slats.
“Hey, Jackie, where are you going? Wait,” he said and then returned to his caller, “Listen, I’ll call you back in five. Gotta run.”
He trotted behind her and grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”
“I need to get back to my office, so I thought I’d just—”
He slid his hand around her waist and pulled her close. He kissed her hard; he conquered her mouth, his lips rough against hers.
He gave her a small shake. “Don’t ever go without saying good-bye. Ever.”
Ever.
Their future seemed solidified in Brandon’s view. Was life as simple as he and Marilyn professed? Her brain refused to process that question.
She let out a small sigh and gave Brandon a quick smile. “Tomorrow night?”
With a soft, familiar kiss on her forehead, he said, “Tomorrow night. I’ll call you. Can I get you a cab?”
“No. I could use a walk.”
With a wave, she turned and headed for home. Her phone was dead. Checking messages led the to-do list she compiled in her head. Call police regarding shooters. File motion. Check in with Simon. Follow up with Shifflett in Charlottesville.
Trust Brandon?
Her heart seized.
Business first, love later.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jackie unlocked the door to her loft and braced herself. Although spacious compared to the little sailboat, her apartment smelled stale instead of breezy and fresh like the open boat. Clothes, papers, and pens littered the living-room-kitchen-dining-room area. She’d been in a rush to leave the previous morning and hadn’t cleaned. Dirty dishes spilled out of the sink onto the postage-stamp-size counter.
Her stomach growled. Although pastries comprised their own food group and the sticky buns from the morning had tasted heavenly, Jackie required substantial food. She stood in front of the refrigerator with the door open and surveyed the options. The cool air wafted out in a foggy condensation. She resisted the urge to shut the door, noting that although she did not work for the power company, she did pay the bill, and she was damned well going to stand with the door open if she wanted to.
Three sticks of string cheese and a minibagel were all that was salvageable from the fridge, however. Standing there wasn’t going to make food appear. She peeled the wrappers off all three pieces of cheese and gathered them up with the bagel and headed to her bedroom for a shower.
The answering machine blinked. Nibbling cheese, Jackie hit Play.
Beep
. “Jackie, this is Marilyn, where are you? Call me.”
Beep
. “Hey Jackie, Simon O’Malley here. Tried you at your office and on your cell, but no answers. Sorry to bug you at home, but call me ASAP.”
Beep
. “Jackie, Marilyn again. We’ve got a problem with the discovery documents. Where are you? Call, please, any time, any number.”
Beep.
Fuzzy static and incomprehensible men’s voices followed by a car door slamming, then silence.
Beep.
“Jackie. It’s Gary. Call me. Please. It’s urgent. I, uhm, well—” Silence.
Gone for twenty-four hours and suddenly she was Ms. Popularity. Why in hell was Gary calling? She shuddered. His voice had once turned her on but now creeped her out. The hole inside where she held a love for Gary Stone had shrunk in the last year, but his panicky voice niggled inside her. She picked up the receiver and punched in the first six digits of his number. No. Gary was in the past, finally. She hit the End button on the phone and let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Call Marilyn. Marilyn picked up on the first ring at the office phone.
“Jackie,” Marilyn’s voice boomed through the receiver, “where in God’s name have you been the last day?”
“Calm down, Marilyn, you’ll lose a hairpin or something,” Jackie said over her assistant’s hysterics. “I’m fine. I’m at home getting ready to come into the office. I’ll explain everything when I get in. What’s so important, anyway? I also had a message from Simon.”
“The Boyers Report”— she paused, her sigh audible— “and the data you took to Boggs’s office are missing.”
“What? How is that possible? Didn’t you save a copy to the system?”
“Yes. But it’s gone. I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve been combing through the files and can’t find anything. Simon doesn’t have it in the stuff we transferred over to him either.”
Jackie pulled the receiver away from her head and swore under her breath. “What about Boggs? He made a copy.”
“This is terrible, but Professor Boggs’s office was broken in to last night. Unfortunately, he was working late and the criminals not only stole a bunch of stuff from his office, but they beat Boggs pretty badly. He’s in the hospital.”
“Oh shit. Have you talked to Simon?”
“Yes, he’s been trying to reach you too. Where
have
you been? Did you know Brandon Marshfield has been missing for days too? What’s going on here?”
“I have to go. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Jackie was in no mood to begin the explanation of yesterday’s and last night’s events. She could handle facts, but the squishy, emotional stuff made her head throb.
Although the shower never got truly hot, the tepid water’s cascade rinsed off the grime accumulated over the last day. Her mind was cottony from lack of sleep and too much sugar and caffeine. How had this case morphed from a simple investor dispute to burglary, assault, and attempted murder? Even if her theory was correct and she, or rather, Simon, could prove the fraud, why would Ashe resort to hard-core violence?
Surely Brandon wasn’t involved. After all, those guys had shot at him too. Or had they? Were they just after her?
She needed to get into the office. A flip of the wrist and the shower was off. After she toweled off, she ran her fingers through her hair, and a film of slick conditioner coated her hands. She’d forgotten to wash that out. The shower was now ice-cold too.
“Ugh,” she screamed and threw the closest thing, a bottle of shampoo, across the room. It ricocheted off the wall and took out the glass shade on the wall sconce.
“Damn it.” How much would it cost to fix that?
Dressed, but hair still wet, although clear of conditioner, Jackie opened the medicine cabinet, found the bottle of ibuprofen, and opened the cap. The white bottom of the bottle stared up at her.
She carefully set the bottle down on the vanity and pinched the bridge of her nose. “God, I’m going to reach for the Tylenol. I’m begging you for it not to be empty.”
The bottle was chock-full. “Yes,” she hissed with a pumped fist.
Her office was only five blocks from her loft. Usually she walked or rode her bike, especially on nice days like today. However, being surrounded by her car provided the sense of security otherwise lacking in her life right now.
At the office, she took the stairs two at a time. The elevator was undergoing maintenance. Again.
Marilyn stood poised at the open door like a Manhattan doorman awaiting visitors to a fancy hotel. “Oh, Jackie”—she fell out of her stance—“you’re safe. Thank God.”
Jackie bolted straight into her office.
Marilyn followed and hovered in the doorway. “I think I’ve figured out what happened to the data.”
Jackie’s fingers flew over her keyboard, logging into the system. With a few clicks, file names filled the monitor. An unusual number of accesses had occurred during the nighttime over the past week. Jackie said, “Yeah, me too; someone has gotten into our system. Look at all of these accesses.”
Marilyn pursed her lips. “Yes, I’m afraid I haven’t been vigilant in checking that.”
Jackie’s head pounded like a bass drum. She pressed her hands onto desk. Tension traveled up through her arms to her shoulders. “This is unacceptable. Are you sure no one had the administrator codes?”
“No one had them except you and me. I swear.”
Jackie rose and stomped toward Marilyn. “That’s impossible. What is going on? You know I suck at the computer thing. That was your job. I trusted you.”
Marilyn took a step back. “This was not my doing. Someone broke into the system.”
Jackie ran her fingers through her hair while she paced back and forth. Although Simon was in charge of the case now, Jackie had been legally and ethically responsible for the information prior to it being sent to the new attorney. The key information disappeared under her watch. That meant she could be liable for malpractice.
She’d already tossed aside a career-making case. A malpractice action would deep-six her law career for sure. “I need the truth. Who had the codes?”
“No one. What’s wrong with you?” Marilyn stepped closer to Jackie and reached out.
Jackie backed away. The last few weeks, her life had spiraled out of her control. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with me? Are you out of your freaking mind? Who, Marilyn? Gary? Are you spying for Gary? You’ve been loyal to him all along, not me. Like all those years you watched him seduce me. Did you ever warn me? No. You just protected him and all his lies. This is just an extension of all that isn’t it? Isn’t it?” Her voice escalated to a screech.
From her cheeks down to her chest, a heat burned her skin.
Trust.
This was what trusting someone got you.
Screwed.
The pounding in her head intensified. She hated herself for trusting. Hated herself even more than the vision of Marilyn feigning disappointment.
“You’re wrong,” Marilyn whispered. “I would never betray you.”
“Leave me alone.” Jackie waved her out and turned her back.
“Jackie North, when will you ever trust someone other than yourself? Life is not solely yours to control.”
A soft pad of footsteps echoed behind Jackie. The sound of drawers opening and closing followed. The front door shut.
Jackie squeezed her eyes tight against the blinding headache. Emptiness tugged at her gut. She smothered the rising guilt. She needed to call Simon and fix this mess.
It didn’t take long to confirm with Simon O’Malley that the critical data from the last production of documents was missing. Simon had already contacted Gary Stone, who was allegedly out of the office. Gary was often conveniently out of the office or in a meeting or on the phone with an important client when he wanted to avoid a conversation. Well, at least dealing with Gary was Simon’s problem now.
She needed to secure the computer system before any more files disappeared, although Jackie suspected that whoever was breaking in to the system had gotten what they wanted.
If Marilyn was behind the break-in, she’d need to disable her access to the system too. Although she knew her way around the various office software products, the network and Internet remained a magical mystery to Jackie. She headed to Marilyn’s work area to see if there were any manuals.
Neatly lined on the shelf behind Marilyn’s desk were ten binders relating to the computer system. Jackie groaned, her thumbs pressed to her temples to block out the throbbing pain in her head.
“Think, North, who do you know who knows computers?” Her fingers drilled harder into her temples.
“Max,” she exclaimed. “He’ll know what to do.”