Final Deposit (3 page)

S
ammy strutted up to Lindsey and rubbed against her legs. She picked up the cat and held him against her chest, staring at the empty cabinet. Nothing made sense. Not the missing curios. Not the pile of collection notices. Nothing.

She put Sammy down despite his protests and shut the cabinet door. She crossed the room to her father's desk. Two wooden file cabinets stood beside it, a glossy-leafed spider plant perched on the closest one. The other was covered with a half-dozen photos, mostly of her—one of the hazards of being an only child. Her first birthday…Disneyland when she was eleven…high-school graduation…standing in front of the Eiffel Tower while on vacation in France…the last family picture taken before her mother died…

She bit her lip and stared at her mother's familiar smile. Her father had always claimed she and her mother could have been sisters with their curly blond hair and matching wide smiles. She stared at the photo. What would her mother do if she were here right now? Rush to the hospital to demand an explanation from her father? Or sort though his desk for answers?

Lindsey pressed her hands against the back of the rolling desk chair, wishing her mother were here. She sat down and pulled open the middle desk drawer. Half a dozen black pens lay side by side next to a neat pile of paper clips, rubber bands, Post-it Notes and a stapler. The left-hand drawer had hanging files. Hesitating slightly, she flicked the tab of the first file. More than likely, her father would have a few choice words for her if he knew she was perusing his desk, but she felt she had no choice. The answer had to be here.

She scanned each file folder. Appliance manuals. Car-service records. Investment figures. Receipts, warranties and phone bills. She tugged the drawer open farther to get to the back. Tax papers. Travel brochures. And…bingo. A fat folder all the way in the back revealed a three-inch-thick, rubber-banded batch of letters from collection agencies.

Nausea washed over her as she dumped the file onto the floor, slid off the sandals she had borrowed from Sarah and slumped down onto the carpet cross-legged beside them. She pulled out one of the folded pieces of correspondence to scan the contents of the letter. “You currently have an outstanding balance”…“Our policy requires all balances be paid in full”…“Please remit payment within ten days of receiving this letter…”

The next dozen envelopes revealed more of the same. Follow-up letters, threats and carefully chosen words of intimidation. Halfway through the pile the news got even worse, if that were possible. “We have initiated legal action and are preparing a lawsuit…”

A lawsuit?

The air rushed out of Lindsey's lungs, and she fought to catch her breath. It was one thing to deal with the ramifications of possible identity theft, but a lawsuit? How could her father have let it come to this? For thirty-five years, he'd worked as a project engineer with a large oil company and brought home a good living. His investments had grown steadily throughout the years, giving him enough for a comfortable retirement. Now his retirement was in danger. Why hadn't he told her about this?

Lindsey worked to fight the growing queasiness. Whatever was happening to her father had gone beyond a few late payments to a credit-card company. Had he gone to the police or hired a lawyer? The process might be slow, but surely he had enough evidence to verify his innocence while the issue was being resolved.

Unless this
was
his fault.

No. That was impossible. Lindsey stuffed the last notice back onto the pile and slipped the rubber band around the envelopes. There was no dismissing the fact that her father was in serious financial trouble, but it couldn't have been his fault. She reached into her pocket and fingered the business card Kyle had given her. He'd said to call if she needed something.

The wooden clock sitting above the fireplace mantel chimed midnight, serving as a reminder that it was too late to ask for a favor. Besides, he'd already done enough for her by leaving the wedding reception early to drive her to the hospital. Maybe tomorrow, when things didn't look so bad, she'd call him and ask for his advice.

Sammy was standing in front of his bowl at the far side of the kitchen, demanding his supper, when her cell phone rang. She jumped up and grabbed it out of her bag, terrified that it was the hospital calling to tell her that her father…

“Hello?”

“Lindsey? This is Kyle.”

“Kyle?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Hey. You should be sound asleep by now.”

“I know I shouldn't have called so late, but I was worried. I didn't wake you, did I?” he asked.

“No. It's fine. I'm glad you called.” Sammy brushed up against her legs impatiently. “I'm at my father's house.”

She pressed the phone against her shoulder as she crossed the kitchen and bent down to pick up Sammy's bowl.

“Is your father all right?”

“I think he'll be fine.” She put the bowl on the counter, opened a can of cat food and spooned the pâté-like substance into the silver bowl. “They're still running some tests, but we should know more tomorrow. At least he's stabilized.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

“Me, too. The only thing is…” She hesitated as she put Sammy's bowl on the floor. “You deal with identity theft in your company, don't you?”

“Sure. I'd say a good ten to fifteen percent of our clients are dealing with compromised finances.” There was a pause on the line. “Why do you ask?”

“I think someone stole my father's identity. It's the only explanation I can come up with for what I've found,” she said, feeling a wave of guilt for sharing her father's secrets.

In any other circumstances, she'd be thrilled to talk to Kyle, but at the moment, she had the strong urge to hang up. Saying it out loud made it all too real.

“Tell me exactly what you found,” he said calmly.

Lindsey drew in a steadying breath. “My father was worried about his cat, so I promised I'd drop by the house. On my way in, I checked the mail and found letters from a collection agency.”

“Anything else?”

“I found more notices in his desk. At least two dozen letters from several agencies.” She picked up the dishrag and began wiping the already spotless countertop. “And there's more.”

“Tell me,” he said.

“My mother has a collection of limited-edition porcelain figurines worth quite a bit of money. She's been collecting them for years.” She glanced at the empty cabinet across the room. “They're all missing.”

“Could your father have sold them to pay down his debt?”

“It's possible, but it doesn't fit.” She dropped the rag into the sink, then slid onto one of the bar stools at the end of the counter. “My father's a miser when it comes to money. He's never late on credit-card payments. In fact, he refuses to use credit in most cases. I can't even see him having debt, never mind selling the curios to pay it off.”

“You mentioned how he'd been depressed lately. Could it be he's overspending online, or maybe gambling?”

“Gambling? I don't know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. This couldn't be happening.

“Lindsey, I know it's a sensitive topic, but it does happen. Spending money online becomes addictive. And it's a way to bury the pain of loss.”

Lindsey couldn't even respond. Was her father spending his retirement money online to cope with his grief? How could she have missed this?

“I'm sorry,” Kyle said. “I know it's none of my business.”

“No, it's okay.” She rubbed her thumb against her temples and took another breath. “I'm scared, Kyle. There was even mention of a lawsuit in one of the letters.”

“I know it's frightening. Especially if it is identity fraud. I can't do much tonight, but with a few more details and your father's permission—”

“I'm not sure he'll give you that,” she said, looking at the stack of letters on the floor.

“You have to know that admitting what's happening is often the most difficult step,” Kyle continued. “It makes a person feel out of control. Vulnerable. And the solution isn't always easy. Trying to clear his name will be time-consuming and tedious. He'll need you more than ever to deal with the cleanup.”

“What if it
is
his fault? What if you're right and he's taken up online gambling and bought a yacht off eBay or…or a time-share in Tahiti?”

His laugh made her smile. “Let's find out what the damage is first. Then we'll worry about the solution.”

She knew she shouldn't be dragging him into this situation, but she didn't know who else to turn to. She picked up her car keys off the counter and fiddled with the key chain. “I'm sorry to dump all this on you, Kyle. I'm sure you didn't have this conversation in mind when you called.”

“I was thinking of something more along the lines of asking you to dinner, actually.”

Her smile widened. “Dinner would be nice, Kyle. I—”

Lindsey was interrupted by the violent sound of shattering glass.

She jumped from the bar stool and spun around. The metal handle on the back door shook. Someone was breaking in.

K
yle drove as fast as he could without risking getting pulled over. Lindsey's directions had been surprisingly simple, a blessing considering he knew his way around Dallas about as well as he knew his way around the kitchen. With any luck, he should be there in the next five minutes.

Except five minutes might be too late.

He pushed the redial button on his cell phone but she still wasn't picking up. He'd told her to get out of the house through the front door and wake up one of the neighbors while he called 911. He glanced again at the clock on the dashboard. The police should be there by now.

God, please don't let anything happen to her.

He couldn't help but wonder if the break-in had something to do with the pile of collection notices she'd told him about. What exactly had George Taylor gotten himself involved in? The bottom line was that the circumstances were no longer a threat only to him. There was a good chance his actions had put his daughter's life on the line. Kyle knew Lindsey wasn't someone who would back down from a situation just because things got rough. But he had a feeling things were going to get even rougher.

His tires squealed as he took the next exit too sharply, and skidded to a stop at the light. He pounded the steering wheel out of frustration, wondering if he should ignore the red light. Another car idled beside him, but other than that the road was quiet. The digital clock announced another minute had passed. The light turned green. He slammed his foot against the accelerator and shot through the intersection. Now all he needed to do was to find the third street on the left.

The area quickly transformed from strip malls and late-night diners to residences. Stately oak trees, merely shadows in the pale moonlight, lined either side of the winding road. He passed the first left. It couldn't be far now.

The piercing shrill of a siren tore into the quiet of the late night. Kyle glanced in his rearview mirror, jerked his foot off the accelerator and pulled to the side of the road. Strobing red lights pressed in behind him.

No, God. No…

His chest constricted. The ambulance shot by, casting eerie flickers of light across his dash. He moved back into the lane and picked up speed, waiting to see if it was headed for Lindsey's father's house. He tried to block the flood of images that flipped through his mind. What were the chances of her fending off an attacker before the police arrived?

The emergency vehicle whizzed down the road, passing Mr. Taylor's street. Kyle felt the rush of adrenaline shoot through his heart.
It wasn't her. It wasn't her.

Slowing down at the third turn, he swung a sharp left and began searching for the house. Thirty-three…thirty-five…He stopped two houses short of her father's one-story brick house and pulled his rented Mazda against the curb.

Please, God. Let her be okay.

He steadied his breathing. Half a dozen people stood talking on the front lawn, but the street lamp didn't cast enough light to clearly make out who they were. One or two officers and a couple of neighbors? Squinting in the darkness through the windshield, he caught a glimpse of Lindsey's pink dress and let out a sigh of relief.

Thank you, Lord.

He got out of the car and approached the scene slowly. The last thing he needed was to be marked as a possible suspect.

One of the officers stepped toward him and held out an arm. “I'm going to have to ask you to stop right there, sir.”

Kyle froze in his tracks, holding his hands away from his sides. “I'm a friend of Lindsey—”

“It's all right, Officer.” Lindsey came up beside the uniformed man. “This is Kyle Walker. I was talking to him on my cell when the attempted break-in occurred.”

The officer nodded and moved aside.

Kyle pulled her into his arms, overwhelmed with relief. Once again, his reaction to her caught him off guard, just as it had when he'd first seen her at the wedding.

He'd felt more like a college sophomore than a thirty-three-year-old. She'd been the reason he hadn't been able to fall asleep at the hotel, and he'd decided to take a chance and call her despite the late hour. Lucky thing he did.

The problem was, he hadn't planned on this distraction. Not this weekend. He needed to focus on his upcoming meeting with one of his biggest clients.

But no matter how busy things were, Lindsey's situation wasn't something he could dismiss. And neither was Lindsey.

Taking a step back, he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “You okay?”

“Yeah. The guy scared me to death, but he never made it inside the house.”

“You didn't try to play superhero, did you?” Kyle asked, looking her straight in the eye.

“Are you kidding?” She cocked her head and met his gaze. “I was heading for the front door before I hung up the phone with you. Unfortunately, I didn't make a very graceful exit,” she said, a tinge of mischief in her voice.

“What do you mean?” His interest was piqued.

“I smashed into my father's ten-gallon fish tank on my way out of the kitchen and knocked it over. Made enough noise to wake the dead.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, but apparently the crash scared away the would-be thief.”

“And the fish?”

She hesitated briefly. “Dumped them in the toilet.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Wait a minute. You did what?”

She shrugged, giving him one of her wide smiles. “What can I say? They're freshwater African cichlids from Malawi. My father loves them.”

Kyle didn't try to stifle his laugh. “But you stuck them in the toilet?”

“I know. It was a crazy, stupid reflex. They probably won't make it, but what else was I supposed to do?”

Two policemen stepped out of the house and took the steps leading down to the front yard. The tallest officer approached Lindsey, his fists planted solidly on his hips. “We're finished inside, Miss Taylor. Were you planning to spend the night here?”

“No, sir. Like I said, I'd just dropped by to feed my father's cat. Do you think it's safe to leave the house empty?”

“I'd board up the back window. That seems to be the only vulnerable place.”

“I'll help you,” Kyle offered. “Is there an alarm system in place?”

Lindsey nodded. “Yes, I had it turned off while I was inside.”

“More than likely the guy isn't coming back tonight,” the officer continued, “but you still need to alert the security company that the door was damaged. And make sure you turn the alarm back on when you leave.”

She stood beside Kyle as the four officers made their way to their squad cars and the lingering neighbors trekked across the lawn toward their houses.

A balding man with bifocals and slippers stopped on the sidewalk and then turned to address Lindsey. “I'll be back with the tank water in a couple minutes, Miss Taylor.”

Lindsey waved her thanks. “I appreciate it, Mr. Vasquez.”

“Tank water?” Kyle folded his arms across his chest.

“I can't exactly leave the fish floating in the toilet all night.” She grinned and her eyes sparkled in the yellow light of the street lamp. “He's getting a plastic bag filled with water from his tank so he can bring the fish back to his house.”

“That's a good idea,” he admitted.

“Why don't you come inside. I'll let you help me board up the window as long as you promise not to laugh at the ten gallons of water I dumped on my father's floor.”

His brow furrowed. “What kind of deal is that?”

“One completely to my advantage.”

Kyle resisted the urge to push back a curl that had fallen from her pinned-up hair and now brushed against her cheek. If only she didn't look so appealing in her silly ruffled dress and bare feet. But instead of giving in to his impulse, he followed her up the front stairs.

His shoes squished as he stepped onto the soggy carpet. “I never would have imagined ten gallons of water could make such a mess.”

“Tell me about it.” She shook her head and maneuvered around the shattered fish tank into the living room. “I'll have to send for someone to dry out the carpet tomorrow.”

Except for the fish tank and a pile of glass beneath the broken windowpane in the back door, the house was spotless.

Kyle took in the details of the room. While everything was neatly kept, nothing looked new. Half a dozen framed photos on a file cabinet, a few healthy plants and a worn leather lounge chair and matching couch from another era, flanked by heavy wooden side tables. Even the television looked at least twenty years old.

He cleared his throat. “What did the police do while they were here?”

“Besides ask a lot of questions?” Lindsey pointed to the door. “I showed them where the guy tried to get in, and they dusted for prints. But I'm guessing the prints are my father's or mine—the burglar probably used gloves. And he never set foot inside the house, so they don't have much to go on.”

He studied the solid-wood door with its nine, etched-glass windowpanes on the top half. The pane closest to the door handle was shattered. The fact that the door had been locked with a key had probably been a deterrent. If Lindsey hadn't been here to scare him off, though, he would have found a way in eventually. But why? What had he wanted?

“Kyle?”

He turned to look at her. “What is it?”

She had a hammer in one hand and a half-dozen nails in the other, and she was staring at his feet. “I thought the chocolate-covered tux shirt was a unique fashion statement, but this…”

He followed her gaze. One brown shoe and one black shoe stared back at him.

“It's my fault once again, I suppose.” She let out a chuckle and handed him the hammer. “Have I thanked you for rushing to my rescue once again?”

He quirked his left brow. Was she flirting? If she was, he liked it. “I don't think so.”

“Then I should.” She glanced up at him beneath long, dark lashes. “Thank you. You don't know how much this means to me.”

Nothing like a beautiful woman to turn his world upside down in the course of an evening. “You know you're welcome.”

“I'll be right back. I think there's a piece of plywood in the laundry room that we can use.”

He watched her disappear around the corner. Washington, D.C., suddenly seemed a lifetime away.

He glanced around the living room again and his grip on the hammer tightened. Something wasn't right here. If George Taylor had been buying enough stuff to not only lose his entire life savings but unleash a pack of bill collectors, there was no evidence of the man's material indulgences. Everything in the house Kyle had seen so far was cared for but far from new. There were no fancy stereo systems, laptops or flat-screen TVs in sight. If anything, Mr. Taylor's surroundings corroborated Lindsey's descriptions of a thrifty and frugal man.

And there were holes in Lindsey's identity-theft theory. Mr. Taylor was an educated man. If he believed someone had stolen his identity, why wouldn't he have gone immediately to the authorities? It didn't make sense. Add to that the missing porcelain pieces and tonight's break-in—

“Kyle?” Lindsey's fingertips brushed against his sleeve.

She held out the board to him, smiling.

“Sorry.” He hadn't heard her come back into the room. He looked down at her, wishing they were standing here under different circumstances. This wasn't the way he wanted to get to know her again. “I was just trying to see if I could make sense of any of this. The collection notices, the missing curios and now the attempted burglary…”

Her smile disappeared. “Any theories?”

“At this point only conjectures. I'll need your father's permission to look through his financial statements and computer files.”

“Kyle.”

He swapped her the hammer and nails for the board and then set it against the door frame to cover the hole. “And I'm following you home when we're done here.”

“I know I asked for your help, but you don't have to do any of this. Just because we were friends years ago—”

“I might not have to, but I want to.” He pounded in the first nail. His gut told him this was something that went beyond an ugly case of identity theft. A vision of his brother lying in a casket flashed before him. There was no way he was going to let her handle this alone. “I want you to call me tomorrow once you talk to your father. With his help we can get to the bottom of this.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes, I do.” He turned to her and this time couldn't resist the urge to brush back the loose curl that rested on her cheek. “You know, you've hardly changed at all. I remember a beautiful young woman who cared so much for her parents that she left school to help them during a difficult time. Today, I see a woman who'd do anything for her best friend, including wear a pink ruffled dress she probably hates, with three-inch, back-breaking heels. And—” a blush spread across her face as he talked “—who'd risk her own life to save her father's beloved African cyclops.”