Play Dead (17 page)

“Something the matter?” she asked in a ragged whisper.

“We could lose Surf’s Up,” he replied in a low voice taut with anguish.

His words caught her off guard. “What?”

“You heard me. We could lose everything Dad—” he inhaled a sharp breath “—and your mother built.”

Her pulse began to beat in double-time as his statement registered. “Why? How? Isn’t the court overseeing the probate?”

“Sure the court is in charge—so to speak.” A bitter laugh erupted from his pursed lips. “But we’re running the company. They’re just trying to decide its value so they can settle the estate and scarf up the state’s cut. The economy tanked our profits just when we were set to take off.”

“You mean the container you’re—we’re sharing with Laird?”

His expression darkened, and she sensed bad news coming. “We’re not sharing that container. It’s all ours. Not that we could sell all those boards in this economy, but with them impounded we can’t even try.”

We? She wanted to scream at him. Their father had warned about cheap imported boards. He’d made Surf’s Up’s name on custom boards from his own molds. They didn’t have enough stores to sell half a container of inexpensive boards in a great market. What was Trent thinking?

“We need cash—now—to meet payroll, pay for shipments, rent. You name it.”

Her chest felt as if it would burst, but she couldn’t yell at Trent. It was clear how devastated he was. Trent had a family depending on him. She’d anticipated this discus
sion all night, but in the various scenarios she’d envisioned this had never occurred to her.

She’d believed if she met with Trent face-to-face she would know if he had been involved in the destruction of the trust and—possibly—the car bombing. Now she could see that Trent was distressed about his mistakes. He wasn’t out to get her. His concern was the company.

“What can we do?” she asked.

“W
HAT CAN WE DO
?”
Trent replied. “Good question. We need money so I met with Laird McMasters this morning. He’s agreed to help, but he wants part of the company.”

Hayley groaned inwardly. She’d known Laird since high school when he’d moved to Newport Beach. He was smart—attended his father’s alma mater, Yale—and charismatic. Girls adored him. Except Hayley. They’d gone out several times when she’d been younger, but she’d never felt comfortable with him. Then she’d refused to date him despite persistent calls.

When he’d left for Yale—with a big send-off party—she thought Laird would stay back east after graduating. But he hadn’t. He’d surprised everyone by coming home and opening a surf shop.

What was that all about? everyone wondered. The guy didn’t surf. He was a golfer and his father was a real estate developer who also loved golf. All the big names in the business, from Hurley to Quicksilver and, of course, Surf’s Up, had been founded by surfers.

She had to give Laird credit. He’d learned the business and become successful. She’d been with her father when he’d met with Laird to discuss importing surfboards together. Laird was ambitious. Maybe a little too ambitious. He was willing to cut corners to make money.

After she’d broken up with Chad, she’d again gone out with Laird. She was older now; he no longer intimidated her the way he once had. Still, she didn’t enjoy his company and stopped dating him. Maybe she’d been too upset by Chad’s betrayal to take an interest in any man. She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t regret her decision.

“Are you comfortable with Laird?” she asked.

“No. Are you?”

She couldn’t help giggling at Trent’s candor. He’d never liked Laird. She couldn’t imagine him
wanting
Laird to be a partner. The situation must be truly desperate. “No, but do we have another choice?”

Hayley hadn’t looked closely at the books. She should have. There was no excuse for not checking. That had been her mother’s job. With her death, Hayley should have been more hands-on.

Instead, she’d turned inward and focused on her art. She cranked out surf designs that were little more than a recycling of earlier work. Her only innovation had been with the MMA line.

She’d believed Trent was more business savvy than her father, whose interest had been limited to custom boards. Trent had been very involved, but obviously not cautious, as he should have been.

“I’ve tried everything,” Trent assured her. “Banks aren’t loaning to retail operations right now. Private equity has dried up.”

“Can’t the court—”

“I asked. Raising money isn’t their job. Unless you count raising money for the state in a probate.”

Hayley thought of all her parents had built, their lifetime of happiness represented by Surf’s Up. She recalled the years she’d spent at the shop, running up and
down, trying on equipment and clothes. She’d suffered her own insecurities, but it was about as happy a childhood as she could have known. To lose it or have it taken over by the likes of Laird McMasters seemed like an insult to her parents’ memory.

“Didn’t Laird offer to buy Surf’s Up once before?” she asked, recalling what Ryan had told her.

“Yeah. How did you know?” There was an edge to his voice now.

Hayley shrugged as if she couldn’t recall. “What did you tell him?”

Trent lifted his brows and blew out an exasperated breath. “I said you didn’t want to. I was too chicken to tell him that I was hoping one of the big guns would buy us out for more than he was offering, so I blamed it on you.”

He wasn’t lying, she thought. This was what Ryan had told her. “You never mentioned anything about Laird or hoping anyone would buy us out.”

Trent slowly shook his head. “It was a crazy time. Dad had just died and the economy hadn’t tanked. I don’t know what I was thinking. But today Laird’s hurting for money just like the rest of us. He has enough to see us over this hump but not enough to buy us out. It’s partners or nothing.”

Nothing, Hayley silently vowed. At least Trent was being up front with her, and she knew how he felt. Their parents’ deaths had thrown everyone into a tailspin. Out of nowhere, the answer came to her. “I could ask Aunt Meg to help us out.”

He stared at her in utter disbelief. “I thought you wanted out.”

“I do, but…” She realized this meant her art career
would go on hold again. “I can’t let Laird McMasters take over. And that’s what he’ll do. I know Laird. He won’t be satisfied until he’s running the whole show.”

“You’re right. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Hayley gave him an encouraging smile. They were in this together. How could she have thought he was behind the attempt on her life or had concealed the existence of the trust? That left Farah and Cynthia. One or both of them were behind this.

“Do you think your aunt will help?” His mood seemed suddenly buoyant and she knew that she had let him carry the burden of the store alone too long.

“She might. I’m going to ask her right now.” She rose to leave, then remembered the reporters. “Is the side door to Peet’s still working?”

“A
RE YOU SURE YOU
want to do this?” Ed Phillips asked.

They were sitting at Java City, having coffee and muffins while Ryan waited for Hayley to contact him. She’d been in the shop, which was less than five minutes away, for a long time now. It had been over an hour since she’d sent him a text message saying Trent hadn’t come into work yet.

He’d met Phillips and discussed Hayley’s situation. Phillips was blown away by her unexpected reappearance, but he let it go. The FBI had been pulled off the case. With the AFT, DEA, Homeland Security and the local agencies still involved, the director thought the FBI could be put to better use.

“Yes. I’m sure I want to resign. I’ve written the letter already, I just need to see Dawkins in person to tell him.”

“What are you going to do?” Phillips asked.

“I’m planning on joining a friend’s computer se
curity firm. Corporate work mostly. It’s right here in Orange County.”

“They could use you in Quantico.” Ed finished off his coffee-cake muffin.

“I know.” Ryan couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty. The Bureau had trained him and now he was bailing when he could be of real use. “I’m up for a promotion and you know that means a transfer.”

Phillips smiled blandly. “So?”

“I don’t want to go back there. My father’s not well. He’s all the family I have. I need to stay close to him.”

Phillips nodded. “I didn’t realize. I certainly understand.”

“I’ll be working on stopping botnets.”

“Say what?”

Sometimes Ryan forgot three-quarters of the people he met used computers but didn’t know squat about how they operated. “Botnets. Masses of computers like yours or your kid’s that are secretly hijacked. Hackers send messages through those computers without the owners ever realizing it. Those messages can send spam or denial of service attacks that overwhelm Web sites.”

“Ya mean like what happened to Twitter a while back?”

Ryan nodded and swigged the last of his coffee. “Exactly. So much traffic is sent to a site that it shuts down. Denies service. Not a major problem if you’re Twitter, but if you’re a bank or brokerage or business, it can be a disaster.”

“Jeez-a-ree. Terrorists or spies could also use it.”

Ryan put down his empty cup. “That’s what I want to stop. I’ll be willing to consult with the Bureau and just charge a base fee, but I’m not moving back east right now.”

“Think you can solve the problem?”

“Not really. The true problem is the Internet was de
veloped as an experiment by the military. It wasn’t perfected, but it was so good that business latched on to it. And it took off big-time. The infrastructure supporting the system hasn’t had an upgrade since the mid-eighties. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Russia and a buncha’ those ‘stan’ countries have packs of hackers sitting all day trying to tap into the Pentagon’s system.”

“I know. It’s a huge problem for the government, for business. And getting bigger every day.” Ryan grinned at Ed. “Of course, you’ve never forwarded a chain letter e-mail. Have you?”

“Naw. Hate those things.”

“Even if it’s a good joke or supports cancer awareness or recognizes the importance of God and it comes from someone you know?”

“Well, I mighta,” Ed admitted. “Some jokes are just too good.”

“That’s another part of the problem. Chain messages often have hidden tracking cookies. It gives the original sender a whole new list of e-mail addresses for spam or a botnet.”

“
Yow-zer.
That’s butt-ugly. Guess I’m not forwarding anything.” He finished his coffee. “Are the Bureau’s computers safe? I’m told they are.”

“Yes. They’re encrypted. That means they’re harder to hack into—but not impossible. I’m looking forward to working on this exclusively.”

Phillips smiled. “And here I thought you were quittin’ because you’d fallen for Hayley Fordham.”

It was all Ryan could do not to flinch as if he’d been slapped. “You’re good. I’ll give you that. How did you know?”

Phillips shrugged and ran a hand through his shaggy salt-and-pepper hair. “Your father, her aunt. You askin’ about the plane crash that killed Hayley’s parents. Her turning up, saying she’d been alone in some guy’s place before she came to the police. I figured she contacted her aunt, met you and somethin’ else went on before she came to the police.”

“You’re close. Real close. I did know she was alive.” Ryan decided to leave it like that. He trusted Phillips, but thought it best if no one knew the facts. “But she’s not the reason I’m resigning. I’ve been thinking about it. Now’s the time—while my father is still alive.”

“Okay by me.” Phillips stood up. “I contacted the Bureau. They’re looking at several pieces of the wreckage from the crash that killed the Fordhams. The whole shebang was in a warehouse in Riverside. When I get a report, I’ll call you.”

Ryan rose, glancing at his watch. What was keeping Hayley? “I owe you.”

“Don’t worry. When I need a computer guy, I’ll call you.”

Phillips started to walk toward his car, but Ryan stopped him, saying, “I know why you haven’t gotten rid of your accent.”

“Get out!”

“Jist so’z ya’ know,” he mimicked Ed. “You didn’t want to be promoted. You like living in L.A. You don’t want to go back east any more than I do.”

Phillips aimed a finger pistol at his head and fired. “You got me!”

F
ARAH WAITED AT A SMALL
table on the sidewalk outside Café Panini for Trent. He’d called her and insisted she
meet him as soon as possible. He’d said not to come to the store because of all the reporters. She watched him drive up in his sleek Porsche and let the valet take the car.

“What’s happening?” she asked the second he sat down.

“Hayley came to see me.”

A wave of apprehension swept through Farah, heightened by the troubled expression on her brother’s face. “She’s not in hiding?”

“Nope.” Trent signaled the waitress for coffee and Farah nodded that she would have the same. “She thinks it was a mistake. She assumes she’s safe.”

For a moment, she was too surprised to do more than nod. “Hayley was never the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”

“No. That was you.” Trent’s words were laced with sarcasm. “You were always the smart one.”

“So you couldn’t tell me this over the phone? You had to drag me all the way here?”

“I don’t trust phones. They’re too easy to bug.”

The waiter appeared and they both ordered turkey paninis. Farah waited until the girl had left before speaking. “There are parabolic microphones that can pick up conversations from waaay off.”

Trent leaned closer, whispering, “That’s why I wanted to come here. I checked on the Internet. Heavy background noise like waves and—” he gestured toward the cars streaming by on the Coast Highway “—traffic sounds make it impossible to hear if people are speaking in low voices.”

Farah though her brother was becoming increasingly paranoid, but then he’d never been really brave. Oh, he thought he was so macho for his high-flying skateboard tricks and riding monster waves, but when it came to real courage, he was a zero.

“Hayley hasn’t a clue,” Trent told her, his voice still pitched low. “She’s going to ask her aunt for the money to save Surf’s Up.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No way. She doesn’t want Laird McMasters to get a piece of dear ole Dad’s business.”

Farah’s body vibrated with silent laughter and she put a hand over her mouth. It was a moment before she could ask, “How did you manage that?”

Her brother flashed a Cheshire cat grin. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a better actor than I ever imagined. Son of a bitch! I was so surprised to see her that I didn’t know what to do.

“I hugged her to buy time, then thought what would I do and say if this had been you back from the dead. I went with it. All tenderness and astonishment. It worked. I even managed—hell knows how—to tear up. She bought it and I took it from there.”

Farah decided she should have given her brother more credit. She might have it over him in the brains department but he had the same intuitive way of reading people that their mother had. And fooling them.

“Great. You’re the best.” She toasted him with her water glass. “I guess you’re thrilled to dodge Laird—again.”

“You got that right. He’s gonna be pissed. He’s always wanted to get his hands on Surf’s Up.”

“What if Hayley can’t talk her aunt into loaning the money? That old bat didn’t make millions because she’s dumb.”

“True, but she has a soft spot for Hayley.”