A Good Kind of Trouble (A Trouble in Twin Rivers Novel Book 1) (8 page)

"Did you see that?" she asked Lindsey.
 

"Yes, Emily's calling 9-1-1," she said, glancing between the parking lot and the motorcyclist. If she sprinted toward the parking lot now, it would only draw attention. Where was Ben?
 

"You know what, the police are going to take too long," the woman said. "Andrew, Douglas—stay here with these ladies. I'll be right back."
 

She dropped a backpack to the ground, unzipped a pocket and pulled out a high-end digital camcorder. Then she began running toward the motorcycle and the soccer field, while the other moms cheered her on.
 

"Oh, no!" Lindsey said. "No, that's a bad idea! She could get hurt."
 

Her stomach flipped at the thought that she had brought the danger to this safe place. She kept the brim of her baseball cap low, uncomfortable in the crowd of about six women and twice that many children, all of whom were watching the unfolding drama on the soccer field.

A murmur of outrage built among the adults. "That jerk. Children play here," Emily said. "What is he thinking?"

"He's going to tear up the soccer field," another woman said, her hands on her hips. "Go get him, Sarah!"
 

Lindsey watched as the woman with the camera stalked the bike messenger, heading right toward him with the camera trained on him. With her free hand, she waved overhead.
 

"Get away from here, you jerk!" she yelled. "There are children playing here!"

The motorcycle slowed, then made a wide turn and accelerated, the back wheel fishtailing in the grass. The bike bucked and went down sideways, scraping across the ground with a whine. The rider scrambled to his feet and righted it, limping until he jumped back on and raced away, crossing the soccer field again and kicking up turf as the bike shifted gears. The moms cheered. Lindsey exhaled, unaware until then that she’d been holding her breath. Sarah filmed the motorcycle until he was out of sight, and then jogged back to the crowd to collect her sons.

"He's not going to get away with it," she said. "I have a friend at Channel 4 and I'm sending him this video."

"Good idea," Lindsey said.
 

A flash of dark blue caught her eye and her knees nearly buckled with relief when she recognized Ben behind the wheel of the Jeep. "There's my husband, I've got to go. Nice meeting you, Emily."
 

She jogged toward the car, and Ben opened the passenger door for her as she approached. He barely waited for the door to close before accelerating.
 

"Slow down," Lindsey said. "Children play here."

Ben glanced at her, but slowed the car. "What the hell just happened?"

On the playground, the moms were still chatting in a circle, gesturing toward the soccer field. She smiled at her allies.
 

"I got some unexpected assistance.”

Chapter Seven

"Duck down," Ben said, scanning the street outside the park for any sign of the dark SUV that had been trailing Lindsey. No one was behind them and it appeared that she had eluded the men.

Lindsey slid down the seat until she was below the window, then looked up at him with wide eyes. "Am I crazy?"
 

"No, you're not crazy," Ben said, turning the car onto a busy boulevard and merging with the evening traffic. He drove along wide shady streets through residential neighborhoods until he was comfortable that no large SUVs were behind him, then navigated side streets toward his condo.
 

His phone rang, startling him. He reached for it, only to find it had slipped onto the floor. Lindsey handed it to him from her position nestled under the dash, and when their hands touched, he felt hers tremble. He answered the call, fumbling with his headset until he could hear Dave's voice.
 

"What's going on?" Dave asked. "Sharon said you took off out of the office like a bat out of hell. Kathleen's having a fit because she came home and Lindsey's not there."

"I have Lindsey, she's safe," he said. He gave Dave a brief description of what happened at the park. "Sorry, man, but Kathleen's car is still there."

"No problem, we'll get it later," Dave said. "Do you think she's in danger?"
 

"I don't know," Ben said, eyeing his passenger, who was watching him closely. "I think she should stay at my place tonight."

"Good plan," Dave said. "By the way, we just got a call from the newspaper's in-house counsel. She's a piece of work, isn't she? Laura Petrie? Are you kidding me?"
 

"Yeah, I know. I met her. And it's Lara, not Laura."

"Whatever. They're going to pay for your time in court and to escort Lindsey back to the paper. But nothing more."
 

"Are they going to provide protection for her?"

"No..." Dave said, his voice trailing off.
 

"What?"

"If you know any good employment lawyers, you might want to recommend one to her."
 

"Oh," Ben said.
 

"She doesn't know they’re letting her go," Dave said.
 

"Gotcha," Ben said, stealing another glance at Lindsey and giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He promised to have Lindsey call Kathleen later and disconnected the call.
 

The gates to his condominium complex slid open and Ben breathed a little easier when they closed behind him. He slowed the car to watch the traffic on the other side of the wrought-iron fence, but didn't see any familiar cars cruise by. The SUV and the motorcycle must have called off the stalking for the night.
 

"You can get up now," Ben said.
 

"I don't think so," Lindsey groaned, trying to pull herself out of the well under the dashboard. She had wedged herself in pretty good.
 

He parked the car and came over to assist her, mindful of her injuries.
 

"Dave and Kath will take care of Steve tonight," he said. "Just in case your friends at the park trace the license plate to the Hogans, you should stay here tonight."

"Why here? Why not a hotel?"

"Because you'd have to pay with a credit card, which can also be traced."
 

"Why do you think the guys chasing me have the resources to conduct those types of traces?" she asked.
 

Ben didn't answer, just grabbed her bag and led her to the front door. What was he going to tell her? Until he had more evidence, he didn’t want to alarm her. But she was smart—she may have already made the connection between her stalker and the contracts in her bag.

"It's not fancy, but you'll be safe here," he said, opening the door to reveal the sparsely decorated living room.
 

Lindsey stood in the center of his tiny living area. The real estate agent had called the space a "great room" without a trace of irony. It was functional, it fit his budget, and was close to the office. It was barely a step up from his university dorm, but it would do for now.

"Make yourself comfortable," Ben said, dropping her messenger bag on the counter that separated the small kitchen from the not-much-larger living area. Why had he brought her here? With their history, they certainly weren’t friends. Barely acquaintances, who had once spent a fun hour making out in his car. Plus, she was technically a client, so there was that whole complication. On the other hand, there weren’t really any other options and she would be safe here.
 

“This is nice. Have you lived here long?”
 

“A couple years,” Ben said. He walked the few steps to the narrow kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure, that would be nice,” she said.
 

He grabbed two bottles of beer and held one up for her approval. She nodded and smiled. He opened her beer and handed it to her.
 

“Thank you.” She took a long drink. “And thank you, again, for helping me.”
 

He nodded and drank deeply.
 

“Are you sure you don’t mind me staying here tonight?”
 

Her green eyes were troubled, her brow furrowed. She set the beer on the counter and her hands fidgeted. She began shredding the bottle’s label.
 

“I have a spare bedroom,” he said. “I’ll go pick up your bag from Dave’s, if you’re comfortable staying here alone.”

She nodded and raised her chin. “I have some work I can do. I’ll be fine.”
 

Despite the bravado, her shoulders were tense, squared off as if ready to face the next challenge. He reached over to take her hand, to still those frantically worrying fingers.
 

“About those contracts you have…” he said.
 

Her head jerked up and her eyes widened. “You read them?”
 

“Lindsey, do you have any idea who you’re messing with?”

Lindsey's mind raced as she stared at Ben’s serious expression. Who was she messing with? What did that mean?
 

Ben moved away from the kitchen and opened his briefcase, withdrawing the proposed bond contracts for the Twin Rivers arena that she had been trying to decipher.
 

"Um, no?" she said. Her throat closed and she struggled to get her voice above a whisper. She sank into the couch. "Is it the mob?"
 

She'd seen movies. Wasn't Jimmy Hoffa rumored to be buried under a... stadium? Oh crap, what had she gotten herself into?
 

"No," Ben said, sitting next to her on the couch. "It's worse."

"Who?" Her heart was pounding—partly due to his serious tone, but also because he was so close she was having trouble catching her breath. She needed to get over this attraction to someone who clearly didn't feel the same way.

"EFB, Inc."
 

"Wait, who?" His tone implied this was very serious, but the name meant nothing to her.

"Everett, Forrester, Binder, Incorporated. EFB, Inc.," Ben said. "Also known in the financial industry as Evil Fucking Bankers, Incorporated. It’s an investment house. They sell bonds to finance municipal projects."

"Like stadiums."

"Especially stadiums. They've handled a lot of those deals in the past decade and made a killing at it."

Bankers were stalking her? That didn't make sense.
 

Ben leafed through the documents. "Here," he said, leaning in to show her a contract. It was one she had glanced at, but put away until she could find someone to decipher the terms. Maybe Ben could do that. He was a lawyer.

"Do you know how much money they make on these sales?" Ben asked, turning his attention from the papers to her. Her throat closed up as she looked into his eyes and she willed herself to speak.
 

"A lot?" she squeaked.

"More than that," he said.
 

"But why would I be messing with them? I'm just trying to figure out what the arena is going to cost the taxpayers. It's all public."

"It's all public. And it's all hidden in plain sight," Ben said.
 

She watched him sort the papers into piles on the coffee table. "These are contracts for the bonds that the city will sell to finance the stadium. EFB will issue the bonds. Investors will buy the bonds, which promise a certain interest over a set period of time."
 

Lindsey nodded. She understood how municipal finance worked, but she enjoyed hearing him talk so she didn’t interrupt.
 

"The problem is that these bonds are linked to other city contracts with EFB, and those are not included here. So, here—" He pointed to a dense clause in the middle of a page and Lindsey leaned closer to look. "This says, basically, that when this other round of bonds is issued on the other project, these bonds, the stadium bonds, will be refinanced with EFB at a rate to be determined."

"Is that like an incentive?" Lindsey asked. "Like refinancing at a lower interest rate?"

"Not exactly," Ben said. "More like a consolidation loan, rolling all your credit cards into one loan payment. But at a rate that doesn't necessarily match what the city will be paying the initial bond investors."

Lindsey sighed. She should have majored in economics.
 

"Look at it this way. The city promises to pay three percent on the bonds. Investors buy bonds expecting a three-percent return."
 

She nodded.
 

"But EFB is proposing a synthetic rate swap," Ben said.
 

Lindsey rubbed the growing ache at her temple. Sometimes her job was so boring. There were reporters out there right this minute, dodging bullets, navigating war zones. Then there was her.
 

"And I can see I just lost you again." The leather couch creaked softly as Ben settled his broad shoulders against the cushions. His leg brushed against hers. Two layers of clothing separated them from actual contact and still, the touch made her heart leap. She struggled to focus on the details of what Ben was telling her.

"EFB is proposing that once the city does two major bond financing deals—the stadium and this other project—that the city then refinance both of them, through EFB. But it's not exactly a refinancing, because the city will still owe the bondholders the three-percent return. It's more like a loan from EFB, where the city delays paying back the bonds."
 

"But the city has to pay back the bonds eventually," Lindsey said.
 

"Yes, but this would push the repayment out for years. Maybe fifteen or more."
 

Lindsey nodded. "Enough for the current city council to be able to leave office without having to raise taxes to repay the bonds."
 

"Exactly," Ben said. "This also appears to have a built-in mechanism for unlimited rate-swap deals."

"So it could go on indefinitely?"

"No. The bill has to be paid," Ben said. "But EFB will make millions, probably tens of millions, every time the city opts for a rate swap."