Searching for Secrets (16 page)

She glanced sideways at him, and tried to measure his frustration level. On top of the most recent experience at her apartment, neither of Chas' former housemates remembered seeing Freddy with Chas Johnson. Christa wasn't sure if they would have owned up to it if they had. They both appeared agitated by the visit, and it hadn't helped that Kirk had stared at one of the women so intently. Though Kirk had said the women were probably nervous because they had some marijuana somewhere in the small apartment, Christa thought it was more than that. What she didn't know.

Just like there was no way to prove anyone had been in her apartment. It only added another layer to the sense of victimization welling within her. She wasn't about to let the drug dealers get to her. She'd show them.

But, how? It was 8:30 in the evening and except for Hattie Isbell they'd been stonewalled. At least they knew they were on the right track. She envisioned a math teacher creating a word problem that involved a formula. Number of attempts on your life divided by the number of hours in a day equaled the proximity to the bad guys.

The back seat of the police car was separated from the front by bullet-proof glass. Not wanting to look like a criminal on the way to the lock-up, Christa had climbed into the middle of the front seat where she now sat between the two men. She leaned lightly into Kirk, glad that he was on her right side and the cumbersome cast didn't get in the way. The car was warm so his jacket sat on his lap. She could feel his muscles under his shirt, and wished she could rest her head on his shoulder. It was going to be tough to sleep again tonight.

"Frances and Amy are staying in their old neighborhood, aren't they?" Hadley asked, interrupting the silence. "You want me to swing by and see them?"

"No thanks. I'm afraid anyone who leaves me and goes over there might be followed. I'll call her from the hotel."

Kirk resumed staring out the window and Christa leaned toward him again, but the spell was broken. Kirk Reynolds' only concern was protecting his family. Sure, she was part of a very intriguing case, but that was it. Plus, he didn't want anything to happen to her when she was working with him; the last thing he needed was more guilt.

WHAT COULD THEY HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR IN HER APARTMENT? They had the hard drive, and Kirk could think of no reason why the drug dealers, or whoever they were, would need anything else in Christa's home. Did something make them think she had been able to print the file that described the contents of their bank account? He couldn't see how. They'd bought the new computer, but that meant nothing. Freddy, or whomever, knew hers was gone.

Kirk glanced at the woman sitting beside him. Christa had leaned close to him for a time. He had enjoyed the feel of their arms touching and had gently sniffed her hair when he turned to speak to Hadley. If only he could put her out of his mind.

AFTER THEY HAD WAVED GOOD-BYE to Hadley and checked into the adjoining rooms, Christa proposed they eat there as well. For all they knew, the men who had apparently picked the lock at her apartment could have followed them to the hotel. But in case they hadn't there was no sense advertising their whereabouts.

Christa could hear Kirk talking on the phone in his room and assumed he was letting Frances know he was all right. There was a loud knock on her door. "Room service," the young male voice said. For a moment Christa hesitated. She looked through the peep hole at the pimpled face of a thin boy who looked to be no more than sixteen. A bit young for a drug dealer, she thought.

She almost didn't remember to sign the room service bill with her alias--Kathleen Swanson. Christa had been surprised at how easy it was for Kirk to convince the desk clerk to accept credit cards that bore their own names but have the guest register bear others. Iowa City was still a small enough town that the innkeeper took a local cop at his word. What was Kirk's name? Carl Daugherty.

The dinner smelled terrific, and Christa was starved. She rapped on the door that connected the two rooms and announced that it was time to eat.

"Be right with you," Kirk responded.

They ate for several minutes in companionable silence, which Kirk finally broke. "I'm looking forward to a cold...hot shower tonight."

Christa looked at him for a moment, uncertain if the cold shower had been a Freudian slip. "Feeling especially grimy, are you?"

"Very funny. Just a little sore from yesterday’s accident."

"To say nothing of this afternoon's roll on the car hood," she added. Kirk merely nodded and took another bite of the roast chicken he had ordered. "I think," Christa continued, "that tomorrow we ought to see what kind of information we can get from Heartland National Bank."

"It'll be tough. Banks guard their customers' privacy." He took a deep drink from the tall glass of milk. "I'm hoping I can use my badge to at least get a name." He glanced at the clock, and Christa wondered if her company was so boring that he was contemplating how quickly he could get back to his own room.

"They'll never give it to you. I've been thinking of a sneakier route."

"No way." Kirk shook his head firmly. "If we get it that way it may be inadmissible as evidence."

Christa pondered that for several moments. He was probably right. She knew from Trevor's mortgage banking experience that no bank would divulge information to her deliberately. Still there had to be a way to get at least enough information quickly to give them a much-needed lead on who would have access to the money in the account. If it turned out to be Freddy, it would just add to what they knew and the police could get a formal search warrant later. "I'm sure you're right," she said, still thinking about her earlier thought that she might get to verify the account number by making a deposit.

"Could I get you to make a recording of that?"

Christa looked at the glint in Kirk's eye and decided she needed to move a little farther away. She had to fight her growing attraction to the man sitting casually across from her on the sofa. She got up and moved to the window, which overlooked the main business district of downtown Iowa City. "Half of me is glad that I live in such a quiet place. The other half would like to be in the middle of all this activity." And active it was. Even at 9:30 at night on a cool evening there were several groups of people, mostly students she supposed, talking to one another. Through the window of a nearby fast food restaurant she could see people of all ages eating and laughing together. Why couldn't she make casual friends that easily?

Kirk came and stood by her, and Christa felt herself stiffen. He reached around her to pull the curtain back a little more, and his hand seemed to caress her hair. "It looks like a certain amount of fun down there," he said. His hand moved to her shoulder and Kirk gently brought Christa around to face him.

Christa looked into his brown eyes. It had suddenly gotten much warmer in the small hotel room, and she wished she could open the window. Kirk touched her cheek and moved closer. It would be so easy to step into him, to feel his arms envelop her, to feel the crush of his firm form against hers. Christa stiffened as he put his arm behind her back and drew her closer.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked softly. "I'd never hurt you."

He might not mean to hurt her, but Christa didn't think there was room in Kirk's life for any women besides Frances and Amy. She didn't want to compete with them for his time. She wouldn't let herself get swept off her feet by Kirk Reynolds.

Gently he pulled her toward him and she felt her resolve melting. Maybe just one kiss. His arms were strong and the kiss that began as a gentle exploration of each other's lips quickly grew more intense. Kirk's arm tightened and Christa was crushed into his chest. She wrapped her good arm around him.

Kirk pushed his hips into hers and Christa felt him swelling as she moved her hand down his back. His own traveled down to her hips and pushed, gently at first, then harder, until she felt as if they were one being in motion rather than two.

The jangle of the phone came through the open door from Kirk's room and they both jumped. Abruptly, Kirk pulled away and moved quickly to the other room. Dazed, Christa sat on the edge of the bed. Who cared about the damn phone? She heard him give two clipped comments and hang up the phone. At least he had told the caller he didn't want to be interrupted. She smiled in anticipation.

The smile faded as he walked back into her room, wearing his jacket. "I'm sorry, Christa. Duty calls." With that, he left.

NOT EVEN THE PAIN KILLER she took before she climbed into bed helped Christa sleep. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. He'd been gone for two hours. Christa sat up and looked at her left arm. Their run-in with the speeding van had made it throb more than it had for the last couple days. That was probably half the reason she was tossing and turning. She padded across the deep-pile carpet to the bathroom and took a long drink of water.

The sound of laughter below took Christa to the window. She perched on the edge of the desk, which sat by the window, and looked down on the bricked pavement below. All of the small stores were dark now. A young couple strolled, shoulders almost touching, down the sidewalk, pausing to look in the window of a bakery. Lights dimmed in the fast-food restaurant; soon even that night-owl location would be empty. She stared idly at the last two customers to leave. The man and woman were deep in conversation, oblivious to the world around them.

Christa did a double take. Duty calls. That fiend. Kirk Reynolds put his hand on the young woman's shoulder and she looked up at him. Ogled was more like it, Christa thought, bitterly. As they approached the pool of light offered by a street lamp, Christa got a better look at the woman. She was one of Chas Johnson's former housemates. As she watched, Kirk pulled her to him and hugged her. So, everybody's wonderful brother and uncle couldn't wait to score with the little college girl. With a flourish, Christa shoved the curtain across the rod. To think she'd been in his arms such a short while ago. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling nauseous.

CHRISTA AWOKE JUST BEFORE SEVEN the next morning feeling lethargic. It was probably the pain medicine she had taken, she told herself. The image of Kirk and the young woman--was her name Sherry?--flashed through her mind and she sat up. She knew one thing; she wasn't waiting around her for Kirk Reynolds to set the day's schedule.

The only other place to look was the bank. Kirk might have to abide by laws that said police could not gain unauthorized access to bank records, but Christa didn't. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and was pleased that her arm, so sore the night before, no longer hurt as much. As long as the bone was pain-free, it was just a matter of keeping the dumb cast dry. She showered hurriedly and threw on her cranberry knit pants and the matching pullover top. Not very dressy for doing business at a bank, but at least she could get the top over her cast.

Christa eased the door to her room shut, careful not to attract Kirk's attention. Not that he would be thinking about her when he has a co-ed to flirt with.

It was only 7:40 and the bank didn't open until 8:30. Christa would get some breakfast at the bakery near the bank and be there when the doors opened. She walked quickly, head bent, staying close to the storefronts. She wanted to blend in with her surroundings, wanted to stay away from Fast Freddy and his ilk.

She walked briskly on the brick walkway, glancing left and right. As she got to the corner she looked up to see the gold dome of the Old State Capitol glinting in the morning sun. The workers must have just removed the scaffolding, used to rebuild it after a fire. Seeing the rejuvenated dome gave made her feel more positive. She had to help put Freddy and whomever else out of action. It was the only way Amy would be safe. And you, too. Nothing wrong with a little self-preservation here.

The bakery was packed with people stopping in on their way to work to pick up pastries or eat a leisurely breakfast. Christa ordered French Vanilla coffee and a croissant and sat at a table not far from the door that led to the small kitchen. She didn't know anyone here and had not expected to. Teaching brings you in contact with a lot of people, she thought, but most of them only come up to your shoulder.

She felt envious of the people who darted in and out, often stopping to talk to someone at one of the tables. Christa decided she felt out of sorts because meeting Kirk had reminded her how much she wanted to have friends, to find a partner to spend her life with. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. So you can't trust Kirk Reynolds. You can make more friends.

In her head, she went over the scenario she would employ with the bank. Depositing the money in the account would not be difficult, presuming she and Kirk had decoded the computer file correctly. If not, some lucky person would have $200 of her hard-earned money. She fingered her bank card in the pocket of her pants. She would use the ATM machine in the bank lobby to withdraw her own funds. The trick would be keeping her left hand covered by the bulky burgundy sweater. She couldn't afford to have people notice the cast. Couldn't afford to do anything that would call attention to herself.

It was just after 8:30 when Christa put aside the newspaper she had attempted to read. The bank was two doors down from the bakery. Christa withdrew her funds and made her way to the table that had blank deposit slips. The tough part would be writing the account number on the slip without using her left arm to hold onto the paper as she wrote. She wrote the numbers very deliberately--account number 694281, and $200 to deposit.

Christa observed the four tellers for several minutes. Three of them worked quickly and with a sense of self-assurance about their duties. The fourth took longer for even the simplest transactions, and twice turned to a supervisor for guidance. Christa squinted slightly. Under the placard which bore her name, Joyce Bronson, were the words "teller in training."

There were three people in line, and Christa knew there was no way to time it so she had Joyce. But, she could fake it. Her turn came, and the teller free was the one Christa had dubbed most efficient. Christa nodded toward Joyce. Quietly, she said, "I'll wait for my friend." The teller nodded, and the woman behind Christa stepped in front of her.