Best Laid Plans (28 page)

He’d also pulled her credit report and a list of all the property she owned, and had started to run down her known associates. She owned the apartment building free and clear in her own name. A car—again, completely paid for—and a boat that was docked at Canyon Lake.

He ran businesses and other entities and almost shut down that avenue of approach. Then he ran businesses on Ramona Jefferson. The connection between Hill and Jefferson was extremely thin. Most people would assume they were different people. In fact, the chances anyone would connect the two were slim to none because—as a person—Ramona Jefferson had ceased to exist after the age of eighteen.

Ramona Jefferson existed on paper. It wasn’t easy to find, and Sean wondered if Mona Hill herself had created this paper trail, or if she had had someone do it for her. It was pretty damn good.

But he was better. Unfortunately, not all the records he wanted were online.

Still, he found an extensive trail of small entities that led him down a path to a company that held one property in Houston. The company was listed as a consulting company and had filed all the appropriate tax forms with a small income, but Sean immediately saw it for what it was.

Companies set up like this were generally laundering money. They took in reasonable fees, paid taxes, and reported properly, but would often have one large account that would buy property and other tangible items to hold and retain until the cash was needed. Then they’d liquidate, report, shut down the business, and have clean money.

But … there were no large accounts. The only large purchase was for a house in Houston that was worth just over half a million and bought eight years ago for less than half that.

The company paid a consulting fee to another paper company in the amount of five thousand dollars a month—almost identical to the fees the company took in. If Sean didn’t know better, he’d think that this was set up to keep a mistress. Buy her a house, give her an allowance, keep her beholden to her lover who was unwilling or unable to leave his wife.

Mona Hill was a girl. Didn’t mean she wasn’t keeping a guy—or a girl—but that would be unusual.

There were only minimal records on Mona Hill in Houston, and nothing before the age of eighteen. Ramona Jefferson was also difficult to track, and tracking juveniles was a lot harder—they usually didn’t have a paper trail, especially if they were on their own.

He considered the house in Houston. If he had the time, he would fly up there and check it out himself, but it would take all day, and he needed to finish his assignment with HWI and pick up Lucy later. Searching his contact file, he pulled the number for Renee Mackey, a longtime PI out of Houston. She was semiretired and Sean hoped she was around, because he didn’t have anyone else he could call locally.

“Yep,” Renee answered. Over the phone, Sean heard the long drag of a cigarette.

“Renee, it’s Sean Rogan.”

Renee barked out a laugh. Her rough, deep voice responded warmly. “How’s my favorite computer hacker doing these days? I heard you’d relocated to Texas. Following a girl. Way I remember it, the girls were always following you.”

“I’ve grown up.”

“She better be treatin’ you right.”

“More than right.”

“So I guess you’re not callin’ me to run a background check on the woman.” Another drag on the cigarette, or maybe it was Sean’s imagination. The woman was seventy and smoked a pack or three a day. Sean had met her years ago, while he was still in college at MIT, and his brother Duke had asked him to spend his summer setting up a complete security system—physical and computer—for a high tech company. Renee had been hired to do background checks. She was old school, Sean was new school, but they’d hit it off immediately.

“Though,” Renee continued, “I’m none too happy you’re livin’ a couple hours from Houston and you didn’t pop over to visit.”

“My loss.”

“It certainly is.”

He smiled. “You’ll never change.”

“God, I hope not. So this ain’t a social call. You want something.”

“I do.”

“I should be offended and hang up, but I love your voice.”

“At least I have something going for me.”

She laughed, a deep, genuine laugh. “You know I’m retired.”

“You’ll never retire.”

“Whadya want?”

“A house. Occupants. Anything you can dig up on them.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You know I pay well.”

“I don’t need the money.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t need the money so bad I’m willin’ to take a boring job. Tell me why.”

“Will you take it if I do?”

“If you tell me the truth.”

“Always.”

She snorted out a laugh. “What’s so important about the house?”

“I don’t know. A known prostitute—a madam, I guess you’d call her—owns it free and clear. It’s worth half a million.”

“Shit, I went into the wrong business.”

“I want to know who lives there, how long, what they do, a full rectal exam—without letting anyone know you’re looking.”

“You could do it from your computer,” Renee said.

“I tried. Everything is in this woman’s name. Mona Hill. That’s not even her real name, it was Ramona Jefferson. Mona Hill has a different social, but I know they’re the same person.”

“I trust your instincts, Sean. You know I’d do anything for you, sugar.”

“Likewise.”

She laughed again, then started coughing.

“Are you sick?”

“Naw, just smokin’. Shouldn’t laugh when I’m puffin’ away.”

He wondered about that. Seventy years old, fifty plus of those years a smoker, her lungs were probably black as night. But one thing he’d learned about Renee was that she did what she wanted when she wanted and damned be anyone who didn’t like it.

“You’ll do it.”

“You know I will. Send me what you have. I’ll get back to you in a day or two.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll thank me by hauling your ass up here and introducing me to your girl.”

“Hell, no. One night with you telling stories about me and she might run away.”

“Any girl who runs from you is a fucking idiot.”

“Love ya, Renee.”

“Right back at you.” She hung up.

Sean sent off the information he had on the property, then turned his attention to Mona Hill’s current residence. She didn’t have a large digital footprint—she was smart, he’d give her that—but she had a small one. And all it took was basic information for him to get what he wanted. He found her email address through one of her creditors, then backtraced it to find her internet service provider.

Now he needed to cross from the gray area into the black.

He pulled out his secure laptop. It took him nearly an hour to tweak a virus he’d written long ago so that it could worm its way into Mona Hill’s computer and phone—wherever she checked her email. He had to be extremely careful so as not to alert the ISP that he was planting a virus. But one thing he’d learned in his years as a hacker was that businesses were looking for the big hack—the people and foreign governments who were looking to extract vast quantities of information like secrets, credit card information, political dirt. A small, targeted virus was far less likely to be detected. And if Sean’s was detected, it would send the ISP all over the world in search of a ghost. It wouldn’t be worth their time because nothing was being stolen.

He just needed to access Mona Hill’s computer. He’d much prefer to simply break into her apartment, but he couldn’t afford to get caught. This way would take longer, but it was much safer.

When he was satisfied that his virus would work as modified, he uploaded it through the ISP’s own web form. If they even noticed, they wouldn’t trace it to him.

Once Mona Hill checked her email from her computer, he would be able to remotely access her hard drive.

If she really did have the video of Lucy’s rape, he would destroy it.

Then he would destroy her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lucy and Barry arrived at Adeline Reyes-Worthington’s house just after ten that morning. Barry had called ahead to make sure she was there, and while her house manager or personal assistant or whatever she called Joseph Contreras had tried to put them off until later, Barry was firm.

When they were admitted through the gates, Lucy had the distinct impression that she was being watched. Though years ago she had thought the feeling, originally born out of violence, was paranoia, she’d grown to appreciate the instinct. She certainly didn’t dismiss it, so eyed the surroundings carefully.

“What are you doing?” Barry asked.

“There are armed guards all over this place.”

“Where?”

“Right inside the gate was the first one I saw, watching our car from behind the small grove of ash trees. Then two are by the house, they slipped around back when we pulled through. There’ll be another one, to the left, but I haven’t spotted him yet.”

Barry glanced in the rearview mirror and nodded. “I see the one by the gate. How do you know there’s another to the left?”

“I have good instincts when it comes to people watching me.” She didn’t care if he believed her, and she wasn’t going to explain why. Even she didn’t fully understand why—she was just relieved that she didn’t panic anymore when the sensation of being watched washed over her.

There was a car in the circular drive when they arrived. They parked behind it, and knocked on the front door.

Joseph Contreras, opened the door. “As the congresswoman said earlier, this is not a good time to talk.”

“And as I told you over the phone,” Barry said, “we need to speak with her now. We have news about her husband’s death.”

“You could have said that when you called.”

“I didn’t think that there would be a problem seeing her.”

Barry didn’t blink or defer, and Lucy had to admire his ability to command a situation.

Mr. Contreras hesitated only a fraction of a second before opening the door and motioning for them to enter. “The congresswoman is in a meeting. I’ll let her know that you are waiting.”

Lucy looked casually around, then whispered to Barry, “There’s another guard inside, dressed in a dark suit. He slipped down the hall when Contreras opened the door.”

“I caught that, too. Is that five?”

“That I’ve seen.” Or sensed. “Not government, because they would have answered the door if there was a legitimate threat.”

“And we would know. Congressional protection in the district falls under our jurisdiction.”

“Why does she feel she needs a private security force?”

“I intend to ask her.”

Mr. Contreras came through the foyer with two men, both dressed in lightweight suits without ties, appropriate for the warm, humid weather.

The shorter man was an attractive Hispanic male in his late thirties. The taller man looked very familiar to Lucy, but she couldn’t place him. She stared, trying to remember where she’d seen him. Six feet, sandy blond hair, light eyes—a bit husky, but not overweight. He worked out. No one introduced them, and both men left quickly.

Dammit, where had she seen him? It wasn’t recent, but she was usually very good with faces. Maybe he just seemed familiar because he reminded her of someone else.

Contreras didn’t say a word, but escorted Barry and Lucy back to the office with the large picture window overlooking the rose garden.

“Mr. Contreras told you that today isn’t a good day.” Adeline looked both tired and frustrated.

Barry said, “We have news about your husband’s death, and as a courtesy, we’re informing you first. However, if you would prefer to hear about it on the news, Agent Kincaid and I will leave.”

Lucy was surprised at the sharp tactic. Barry’s voice was calm and reasoned, but his words were certainly confrontational. It was a terrific approach, and she’d originally had him pegged as a less subtle agent. Which proved that you really didn’t know someone until you’d worked with them.

Adeline frowned, but sat at her glass desk. Interesting, considering that their first meeting had been less formal, on the couch.

Barry remained standing, so Lucy followed his example. Barry said, “As you know, your husband’s death was initially ruled as suspicious. The coroner’s office has confirmed that we’re now investigating a homicide.”

There was no reaction from Adeline. Either she was in complete shock or denial, or she already knew Harper Worthington had been murdered.

“Have you received any threats?”

“The Capitol Police investigate such matters. They haven’t found anything viable.”

“Then why do you have so many private security guards on your property?”

“I’m a federally elected official who has taken some unpopular stands. Just a precaution.”

“They weren’t here on Saturday.”

“Perhaps you didn’t see them.”

Adeline’s entire body was a band of tension. If she was wound any tighter, Lucy thought, she might snap and bounce off the walls.