Stolen Secrets (2 page)

Ryan checked the stack of CDs again. No wonder Angie hadn’t touched the petty cash. The missing CD could be worth millions— if sold to the right person.

Would she have that kind of contact? Had there even been a robbery attempt? They only had Angie’s word on it, though she had moved the stack of CDs for some reason.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. The lights had gone off while he and Scott were in the parking lot, so maybe she had sent someone out with the CD while she gathered her things to follow. But why move the stack?

He replaced the empties on top of the cabinet, pondering his next move. The thief would get a big surprise, for when he tried to open that CD without using the installation disk currently in Ryan’s pocket, he would run into a Trojan horse. It would destroy his hard drive and the CD. Ryan smiled at the image that invoked.

To be extra sure, he must alert Jim Markum, the chief security officer at MXOIL. Jim needed to know.

Should he tell Scott? No... at least not until he cooled off. Scott’s first reaction would be to send Angie to jail. Ryan didn’t want that. He desperately wanted her not to be a thief, but with his luck with women, she could’ve masterminded the whole thing.

He’d keep an eye on her. Sooner or later he’d know the truth. Time had a way of answering all questions.

He walked back into the main office. Scott had the safe open while Angie sat on the rug, her face white and drawn, her hands clasped together.

“I’ll just check these." Ryan booted up the computer, all the while noting Angie’s reactions.

“I copied your titles over,” she said, looking pleased with herself, “so they’d think they took the correct ones.”

“What did they look like?" he asked.

“The men?” She shook her head. “I don't know.” She pointed toward Scott’s heavy oak desk with its solid front. “I dove under there. I could only see their shoes.”

“Did you see them, Scott?”

“Huh?” Scott shut the safe and spun the dial.

“Coming out of the elevator. The bell rang as I entered the stairwell. You must’ve seen who— ”

“Yeah. One of the secretaries from the fourth floor.”

Scott pointed at Angie. “I don’t think we need to look further than her. She’s the thief. I locked that door behind me. And Patti left just after I did."

"But I heard her— " Angie’s voice rose in protest.

"No one's been here. Just you. What's your name?"

"Angie Reid."

"Why did you break into my office?"

“I didn't.”

“You did.”

“The door was unlocked.”

“It wasn't. I'm going to call the police." Scott strode over to his desk and lifted the receiver.

"But I saved your CDs. Why won't you believe me?"

"Patti's worked here several years. I trust her."

Ryan wondered why Angie didn’t mention the week she had worked here. He replaced the last CD in its case. "Forget it, Scott. They're here."

“All of them?” Scott frowned, looking confused. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“That’s strange.” He looked more upset than relieved. “We only have her word that there actually was a robbery attempt. She could just be saying that to get our sympathy. What if she copied them?”

Ryan turned off the computer and glanced at his partner. “These can’t be copied. I put a Trojan Horse at the beginning of each one, with two levels of encryption. Nothing’s disturbed.”

Ryan put the CDs in his inner coat pocket and zipped it shut. Then he crossed the room to where Angie sat on the rug. He reached down and took her hand, then slid her sleeve upward, checking first one arm and then the other. She gazed up at him, her innocence shining out of the clear depths of her eyes, causing his heart to take an erratic skip.

He nodded, satisfied, and pulled down her sleeves. No needle marks. He would’ve given a year’s earnings, betting she didn’t use drugs, but he had been wrong before. “You call Medic One?” he asked.

“Not for a sprained ankle. Just a quick call home. I was leaving to catch the next bus when you came.”

The phone rang. Scott grabbed it. “Sunderstrom,” he said. “Huh? Not now. I’m busy.” He hung up, glaring at Ryan and Angie as if they were somehow to blame. “Some people,” he complained.

“Who was it?”

“Charles, in Spokane. He must think we never get snow this side of the mountains.”

Ryan turned his attention back to Angie. She looked tired and hurt. No threat... "Where's your home?" he said as he picked up her raincoat. He slipped his hand into the pockets as he did so. Empty.

“Kirkland.”

Opening a drawer, Scott pulled out a note pad and pen. "What's your name again?"

"Angie Reid. R-e-i-d." He wrote it down.

“Address?” He wrote down everything, including her social security number and her driver’s license. Ryan simply memorized them.

“That’ll make you easier to find if something turns up missing,” Scott rumbled, tossing the pen into the drawer and closing it. He tucked the pad into his pocket.

“You can see for yourself I'm not carrying anything out of your office,” she sputtered, looking indignant, hands open wide. “All I’ve got is my purse. Here.” She tossed it to him and he shuffled quickly through the contents, then pulled out his notepad to check what he had written.

Ryan reached behind her and picked up her shopping bag and looked more carefully inside. Not much there— a package of nylons, a jar of hand cream, and the classified section of today’s newspaper. He pulled out the paper and unfolded it, just in case the CD had been folded inside. She had circled three help-wanted ads and several apartment rentals.

The bottom of the bag had water in it. Strange.

He held up the bag. "Nothing here, Scott. We can go." He added to Angie, "I'll take you home." He would make sure she lived where she said she did.

Turning out the lights, Ryan held the outer office door open, leaving only the green exit signs to guide them.

* * *

Home. The word held no comfort for Angie. She couldn't go home— or to what passed for home. She had to keep Ryan from driving her there, while hiding her true situation.

She put on her raincoat and limped to the elevator. Her ankle throbbed, protesting, but she had injured it many times as a gymnast.

Outside, she found the deep snow hard to manage. Scott strode on ahead, while Ryan took her arm to help her across to a snow-covered SUV. He unlocked the door and she slid inside.

The cold slapped at her, penetrating her light raincoat. Angie couldn’t keep from shaking. It would be nice if she had some natural insulation on her bones.

The two men cleared off the windows, then talked for a few minutes before Scott drove his car away.

Ryan opened the back door and put in a small blue bag and a briefcase before joining her. “Where to?”

“Just to the nearest bus shelter. I'm used to riding— ” she stammered, teeth chattering, but he cut her short with a wave of his hand.

“Not tonight. You're freezing.” He took off his coat and helped her slip it on. Preheated by his body, it warmed her instantly. She gave him a grateful smile. It felt as if he held her, and the thought made her even warmer.

"Thanks. This feels wonderful, but aren’t you cold?"

He started the engine. "I'm okay. I climb mountains. This storm is nothing.” He glanced at her. “Breathe deep. Relax. You won't feel so cold." He seemed to have the knack of staying warm, for he didn’t shake at all, though lightly dressed in slacks and a blue turtleneck sweater.

Angie took a deep breath and let it out, willing her tight muscles to relax. She felt warmer. “It works.”

Ryan smiled, circling to avoid a car stalled in the middle of the street. “Now for home.”

“Really, Mr. Duvall, you don’t need to— ”

“Yes, I do.”

The snowy roadway had been packed solid by traffic. Ryan drove fast enough to maintain his forward momentum, yet not too fast to skid out of control, handling conditions with the expertise of a veteran snow driver.

Each hill had a steadily growing pile of abandoned cars scattered around like toy jacks, in some places rendering a street impassable, in others creating a haphazard maze needing to be threaded. Tow trucks and police cars— with chains on— were congregated at the worst spots.

By going around most of the hills instead of over them, Ryan managed to make some forward progress. Angie kept quiet, not wanting to distract him, so he spoke first.

"The last day. You didn't you come back. Why?"

The question, although unexpected, needed no further explanation. He remembered her!

"I had a bad case of food poisoning. I called my temp agency. Didn't they relay the message?"

"No." He paused, then added, "I thought maybe...” A longer pause, as if he felt uncertain of her response. “Something I'd said. Offended you.”

“Of course not. Whatever made you think that?” He hadn't said much, just hung around. She had had the feeling he was getting up the nerve to ask her for a date and had wondered how to encourage him. He was only a few years older than she.

“You call me ‘Mr. Duvall.’”

“Patti did. So I did. That’s all.”

A Metro bus slid backwards down the hill towards them, its double-length jackknifing. Angie gave a yelp of alarm.

Ryan shifted into reverse and backed down ahead of it, narrowly missing a car following them. The bus gained momentum, pushing the other car with it, and whizzed down to join a pile at the bottom. Everything scrunched together into a crumpled mass.

Backing into a parking spot, Ryan left the motor running and jumped out. “Stay,” he said, and ran toward the wreck, looking into the cars, and talking for a moment with the bus driver. Angie saw Ryan hand him a white business card and give another to the car driver who had climbed out a window. Then Ryan returned to her, slid in and put the car into gear.

“Everyone okay?” she asked.

“Uh huh. They’re going to wait in the bus until help arrives.” He concentrated on his driving, working his way through the streets, and she kept quiet for a minute, admiring his skill. But he was headed for Kirkland— and she couldn’t go there. Ryan had just shown he wasn’t the type to leave until he had seen her safely inside.

“Why not put me on a bus? I don't have far to walk.”

“Like that bus? No.”

“Well, then take me to a hotel. You won't have to— ”

His brief look told her not to even consider it. If he thought he was putting her at her ease, he was dead wrong.

She had to say something. It wasn't right to have him make a useless drive across the lake. If the floating bridges were closed, it could turn into an all-night trip. She had to speak up.

They were traveling slowly down a semi-deserted side street when she reached her decision. "You'll have to take me to a hotel.” She paused, clutching his coat tightly as she gathered her courage. Mentioning her situation would make her vulnerable, but there seemed no way around it. "I can't go to Kirkland tonight."

"Why not?"

“It's the home of a friend of mine. Shelly let me stay with her while her husband was at sea. He’s in the merchant marines. I called from the office. Jack's back."

"And?"

"He's unreasonable, especially when he’s been.... Anyway, she’s had to hide any help she’s given me."

"Unreasonable? Or an alcoholic?" As usual his voice came as clear as music over water. Angie found herself wanting to hear more of it.

"They go together in Jack's case."

"A bad combination."

“When he’s drunk, he won't let me in during the day, much less after dark. So you see...." She let her voice trail off. She felt awful, telling him this. It made her sound homeless, and she didn’t see herself like that.

“I'll take you home.” He nodded to himself.

“But, I just told you— ”

“My place. We're already there. He turned onto a small lane and slowly maneuvered the car down a steep hill that had become a toboggan run. Gathering speed, they zipped downwards and scrunched to a halt against a curb.

"You were headed for your place all this time?" she asked, alarmed. "You had no intention of— "

"Coats and blankets, tire chains. In case we got stuck. I just wouldn’t have gone down the hill.”

“Oh.”

Turning, he drove up a small lane along the edge of the lake for an eighth of a mile before stopping.

“Made it.” A hint of satisfaction touched his voice as he turned off the motor.

Angie sat motionless, staring into the darkness. The large crystal flakes prevented her from seeing more than a few lights flickering across the black lake.

Angie, what have you gotten yourself into?

This wild-looking, deserted spot by a lake didn’t look safe to Angie. Ryan Duvall turned off the headlights, revealing only blackness. Her mouth turned dry. "I don't see any house."

"It's there, all right." He opened his door and gave her a lopsided grin. "You'll like it."

"Please. No," she begged, "Just take me to a hotel.”

"Can't. Nobody's driving up that hill tonight."

"You expect me to stay— Oh, no!"

"Oh yes. We need to discuss— things."

He closed his door and walked around the front of the car, stomping down a path as he went. He handed her his briefcase and her bag, then started to lift her out.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“Sure. But it’ll take your ankle longer to heal.”

Ryan lifted her up, careful to avoid knocking her foot against the frame. He used his hip to slam the passenger door shut, then he scrunched off through the snow with her.

Although shorter than Sunderstrom, Ryan’s muscles felt as hard as tempered steel. Most men didn’t have the strength of a gymnast, and she wondered about Ryan.

There were a few lights out in the darkness, on or near the lake, shining faintly through the falling snow. He headed toward them, concentrating on bringing them both down an icy wooden stairway. As they advanced Angie realized that the lights came from four rows of closely grouped houseboats— a small community— clustered along two docks.

The dark water formed a black backdrop behind the snow-covered structures. Each piling had an elongated white cap of snow stacked ridiculously high. Lights shone from windows, creating an enchanted frozen fairyland, white and sparkling— marshmallow frosting on gingerbread homes.

"It's beautiful," she exclaimed as Ryan paused outside a small houseboat. He answered with a quick, flashing grin while he unlocked the door, then carried her into the room.

He stopped and pushed the door shut behind them. They were totally encased in darkness. He held Angie quietly. She didn't speak— the night felt friendly— perhaps because she was no longer alone. Did he feel that way too?

She felt his warm lips brush across her face, pausing on her tense ones, and her heart surged in sudden joy as their lips lingered softly together.

Unwise!
She pulled away from the pleasurable, but accelerating situation. Had he noticed her response?

* * *

Ryan felt Angie’s muscles stiffen as she pushed away, and clamped his teeth together. Fool! As he had turned his head, his lips had brushed hers, then acquired a will of their own. He had wanted to kiss her last summer but didn’t have the time to get to know her. Now she would be frightened.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't expect.... " He groped for words. "Please don't think...." He stopped, shifting her light weight in his arms. What could he say?

"Let's, uh, back up just a little," she said. "I didn't expect it either."

"Feel to your left, there's a switch there," he said, carefully keeping his face averted. She reached out and flipped on the diffused lighting, revealing the solid oak furnishings and hardwood paneling of his home.

He kept the wood polished to a golden glow. It and the gleaming brass fittings gave the room the feel of a ship's cabin. Home. It never failed to make him feel welcome, the one place where he could fully relax. Not at the moment, of course. Not with her here.

He set Angie down on the sofa, then turned on the heat. He sped upstairs to retrieve a goose-down comforter and two pillows, all the while berating himself for acting so rash.

She needed help and he had scared her instead. Still, the kiss hadn’t been very definite. Maybe she thought he had just turned his head— which he had— and it was an accidental brushing— which it had started to be.

He hoped so. If he acted like it was no big deal, maybe all would be well.

Entering the kitchen, he put a cup of water in the microwave, took a deep breath, then walked over to where Angie sat. She gave him a wan smile as he draped the comforter over her and watched her snuggle into its warmth. He smiled, trying to look friendly, then spun on his heel and retreated to the kitchen.

She didn’t appear to be afraid of him. Maybe that kiss hadn’t been such a disaster. In his experience, women were so unpredictable.

The microwave dinged and he took out the water, then retrieved the instant soup from his cupboard. As he stirred in the powder, he remembered how he once thought he had found the perfect woman for him. Kathleen. She had acted so interested in him, he had bought her the most expensive ring he could afford. She took it, then dumped him for Scott. Now here he went again, this time attracted to a woman who might be a thief.

He remembered the first time he had seen Angie. She had stood at the office window, surrounded by sunlight, and her whole being seemed to glow like an angel. She had looked over at him and smiled.

He grabbed an ice bag from the freezer and carried it and the soup to Angie. Her eyes lit up as she took the hot broth. Next he lifted the bottom of the comforter and placed the ice bag around her ankle.

“Umm, thanks," she said, sipping the steaming liquid. “The service is wonderful at this hotel.”

He nodded. She seemed genuine, honest. How could he tell for sure? The CD might well be hidden in Patti’s office, to be picked up later. He needed to learn more about Angie. Otherwise, he’d never be able to trust her.

During his two years as a military policeman, he had learned to check people’s records before interviewing them. The person being questioned knew that you knew something, but couldn’t be sure just what you had found. So they tended to tell more of the truth.

He reached for her purse, laying between them on the coffee table. If she had a habit of writing things down....

* * *

The thoughtfulness of her host did more to reassure Angie than any words. As the soup thawed her from the core outward, she studied the surrounding room. Directly in front of her stood a black metal fireplace. The glass doors were closed, holding a promise of future fires.

An overflowing bookcase holding a TV and books filled half a wall. Just past it stood a grandfather's clock. Its steady tick comforted the quiet house, while its scrolled wooden cabinet added an echo of the past. A stairway circled upward on the other side of the main door, a central iron column holding suspended oak rungs.

A low marble-covered coffee table completed the furnishings. Ryan was looking through some items he had dumped on it, now spread out in disarray before him.

That was her cell phone. Those were her things!

He had upended her purse with a casual thoroughness and now leisurely examined her wallet, checkbook and day planner. He certainly wasn't reticent about handling other people's possessions.

"What’re you doing?" she demanded as he pulled the newspaper out of her shopping bag.

Laying the folded sheets down on the table, he traced his finger over one of the circled ads. "Investigating."

"Why? Your partner already checked me out."

"I'm not looking for the same things as Scott."

"You might find something you weren't planning to see."

He grinned. "I need to know if anything ties you to Patti or her crowd."

"Then just ask," she insisted. Although Ryan didn't talk much, probably not much got past him. As a security consultant, he solved riddles all the time, didn't he? Putting two and two together?

His first words proved it, still spoken in that soft, quiet manner that had defused the situation at the office. "Okay. Shelly's husband is home. Where’re you going to stay?" He lifted the marked-up newspaper.

"A motel. Maybe at the ‘Y’ until I find a place."

"You’ve not much money saved.”

"No." Sighing deeply, she met his gaze. She took another deep breath and continued. "The magazine I worked for went out of business in August. I went to work for a temp agency because someone said the big companies use them." A yawn started, and she blinked her eyes against the moisture.

"You've stayed with Shelly three months...." His pleasant, low-modulated voice expressed no doubt.

"How do you know that?"

"Your checkbook— the last rent payment was August. And your day-planner has job interviews from August on."

Again she looked across at the quiet, intelligent face that still searched hers, seeking an answer to some question of his own. His very stillness radiated a strength of character she found reassuring. He could be a rock to lean on— or to bang oneself futilely against if he opposed you.

Was this the discussion they needed to have? What did he plan? He knew she was alone and unprotected.

She felt no fear of him— yet. Hadn’t there been a hint of compassion in that fleeting grin he had flashed her as they had entered the houseboat? Surely she hadn’t imagined that moment of contact. And that kiss. That had definitely not been imagined.

This uncommunicative man could communicate very well when it pleased him. Patti had called him taciturn and boring. Maybe he just didn’t talk to her.

Steady brown eyes took Angie's measure before he picked up the résumé she had taken to a prospective employer that morning, only to be told the position had already been filled. Ryan read it entirely, seeming in no hurry.

Angie took the time to study him. In spite of her annoyance, she liked his direct manner. His face, deeply tanned from the sun, bore an open, honest look that appealed to her. One lock of hair fell forward as he bent over her things. He brushed at it absently, making her smile.

He seemed genial, considerate and easy-going, yet his firm worked as security consultants to large corporations. As such, he was used to confronting people who had stolen money or information. He had probably heard all the excuses in the book.

Did he really believe she had saved his CDs? Or did he suspect she had invented it all?

He finished his perusal of her belongings and leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair as he stretched. The errant lock sprang back again, as if to demonstrate its independence.

“You were in the Olympics?”

“Yes. I’m a gymnast.”

He nodded. "Good for you. You realize those CDs were valuable." A statement rather than a question, yet she felt compelled to answer.

"Of course. Patti said several million, I remember, when she was on the phone."

"Much more, actually.” He looked down and his next words were almost as if he were talking to himself, thinking out loud. “But why switch them? Why not take them? Or leave them behind and not run the risk of being caught?"

Indignant, Angie replied, "I certainly wouldn't leave them for those crooks. I worked for your company, even if only one week, and I don't take things from my employers. Or from anyone, for that matter." Her voice rang positive and clear, carrying the truthfulness of her convictions. She felt sensitive about her honesty, taking pride in it. “And I switched them so they’d think they had what they had come for— and leave. I didn’t want them searching for the CDs and finding me.”

He seemed to come to some decision, for he nodded to himself, put down her things, walked into the back room, then returned to where she sat.

She watched him come, uncertain of what he might be up to until she saw the long gauze wrap in his hand. He removed the ice, then did a professional job of wrapping her ankle— figure eight, each layer lapped over the former.

His skillful movements reminded her of her first coach. He had also wrapped her ankle for her— and comforted her.

Not knowing Ryan’s plans was agonizing. Might as well ask, rather than spend any more time worrying.

"What... what’re you going to do?" A question she had wanted to ask all night, but which had sounded too guilty.