In A Heartbeat (33 page)

“Now what are you doing?” Hank asked.

In answer, she put the cell to her ear. “Stephen? Yeah, it’s me. I wonder if you can do me a favor?” She made a face into the receiver. “Hank’s here. He sent Raymond back a few minutes ago.” She paused, listening to her brother. She frowned. “No, Hank didn’t tell me about the brakes. Listen, I need you to check something out for me. Can you find out who’s renting a warehouse from Truman and Gabriel Real Estate? Yeah… The address is 2633 Ritchton… 2633, right. And Stephen? Be careful, okay?” After a moment, she hung up and glared at Hank.

“You didn’t tell me my brake lines were cut.”

“Does it make any difference at this point. We both know someone took a potshot at you last night.”

He might be right, but she wasn’t ready to admit it. Someone cut her lines hoping she’d be hurt.

“How can Stephen find out who is renting that warehouse?” Hank asked, bringing her attention back to the warehouse.

“Stephen tells me that when you own the biggest limousine service in town, you make lots of contacts.” She shrugged. “He comes in handy sometimes.”

Hank’s cell phone rang. “Hi, Cathy. No, it’s okay. I told you to call me if…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Isn’t there anyone else who can handle it? What happened to Wilson? I see.” He paused a few moments, listening to his secretary. “Okay. I’ll be there… Tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes… Okay… Goodbye.”

Hank looked at Angie. “I hate to leave you here alone. Especially, now that we’ve narrowed down the target of that bullet. But I have to go back.”

“Be careful,” she warned. “Just because they’ve concentrated on me, doesn’t mean they won’t turn their attentions on you.”

“That’s true.” He grimaced. “I hadn’t thought about that.” He slipped on his coat.

“Hank?” she asked, hesitant to ask her question. “Is she worth it?”

“Who?”

“Elizabeth,” she said. “Is she worth putting your life in danger?”

“I didn’t come here for Elizabeth. She was just part of the deal.” He scowled. “I came here to clear my reputation and pay back my family. Are you asking me if they’re worth it?”

“No,” she said, thinking of her own family. “I already know the answer to that.”

“Okay then, lock up behind me. Don’t let any strangers in. You know where to reach me if you need anything.” He paused. “And Angie?”

She glanced up.

“Be careful.”

STEPHEN’S FACE APPEARED on her cell phone. “Got the info on the warehouse that you were looking for.”

“You’re calling from the limo, aren’t you?” Angie replied. “You keep fading in and out.”

“I’m on the highway, must be those overpasses. Listen, I talked to my contact and the company paying the rent checks is Timone Industries.”

“Timone?” She couldn’t say that she was surprised. Timone was shipping and receiving the same nonexistent merchandise.

“Yeah, I asked for an address and she said the checks only list a P.O. Box. Does that help?”

“That’s exactly what I needed.” She copied the mailing address that he gave her, knowing full well it would match the address on the invoices. “Thanks, Stephen. I’ll get right on it.”

She had hoped Stephen would uncover a person’s name and a real street address. But that, she supposed, would be too easy. Fortunately, while she’d waited for Stephen’s call, she had gone ahead and done some investigative work on Timone’s post office box.

Post office boxes were located all over town, anywhere from supermarkets to satellite post office branches. She used the internet to discover which post office would deliver mail to Timone’s address. She was happy to discover it was local, which meant another connection to Hayden personnel. She then called that post office to find the location of the box. In this case, the box was located inside the post office itself. Another score!

Now, how to discover the people behind Timone? If, as she suspected, Timone was a fictitious entity and the owners were connected to Hayden, then she should be able to recognize them if she could just flush them out. Right now, the only physical information she had on them was the location of their warehouse and their post office box.

“How do I know when they’ll go to the post office?” she asked the computer monitor. “What would they go there for?” She glanced at the printout lying next to the computer. The answer was obvious. “Money. They’d go to pick up checks.”

Her fingers raced across the keyboard.
Thank you, Hank
, she thought as his access code opened the accounts payable files. There might be a pattern to the payment schedule for Timone. If she could figure out when a check would be mailed…

“Well, duh…” She stared at the screen. Unlike the rest of the vendors, Timone’s invoices were paid immediately. That alone should have raised a red flag. She scanned the list of payments. The last check was cut yesterday. “Oh my God,” she said, staring at the monitor. That check should be waiting in the post office box right now.

She stood to pace. She always thought better when she was moving. What to do? Call Stephen? No. He’d never drive her within fifty yards of a bad guy. He couldn’t very well recognize any of the Hayden people by himself. Call Hank? No. He’d be noticed. She smiled. She’d certainly notice him with that tall sexy body and gorgeous smile. She shook her head. This was not the time for her meandering imagination. Focus! Then she remembered Hank was tied up with something important or he’d never have left earlier. That left only one person.

But how could she get there? Stephen had her car with cut brake lines at the shop. She turned to retrace her path across the office and spotted her answer in the trailing edge of a feather boa draped over a chair.

Elizabeth!

Chapter Twenty-Seven

EVERYTHING WAS PROCEEDING as planned, better than planned.

Angie sat behind the wheel of Elizabeth’s fire engine red corvette. No one would imagine sheltered little Angela Blake behind the wheel of such a sporty, adventurous car. She’d found the car keys under the driver side floor mat. She almost wished someone familiar, though non-Hayden related, would come along just so she could show off the wheels.

Even though she had been sitting in the classic car for two hours, her heart still pumped adrenaline every time someone new pulled into the lot. She’d already checked out the inside layout of the post office and the location of the box in question. P. O. Box 269 was disappointing in its total lack of individuality. A smallish box, it was located in a wall of smallish boxes, all displaying the same metallic fronts and sequential numbers.

Who would have thought that such a plain, boring P. O. box could hide a fraud scheme costing Hayden Industries hundreds of thousands of dollars? Angela checked her watch. The sign posted above the boxes indicated that the mail had already been distributed. Hayden’s check should be resting comfortably in the metal pigeonhole. Her stomach growled, reminding her it was almost one o’clock. She should have packed a lunch along with several plastic bottles of water. She drank those sparingly as the post office didn’t offer public bathrooms, and she didn’t want to risk missing her prey if she hurried off in pursuit of one.

Another car pulled in the post office driveway. Angie watched the car’s progress in her rear view mirror. It looked familiar, but after several hours of watching cars, they all had similar qualities. Still there was something about the determined stare of the driver. The car pulled into a parking spot two cars away. Angie hunkered down in the bucket seat, hoping to be less conspicuous. A man slipped out of the car and turned briefly in her direction. Tom Wilson! She knew it. Satisfaction couldn’t slow the adrenaline flooding her system. Tom headed toward the post office’s main door.

Tom’s presence at the post office wasn’t enough proof that he was involved in the fraud scheme. He could be conducting other Hayden business. After he entered the building, Angela slipped out of the red monster and followed. She would have to see him open box 269 and remove the check.

The post office had three alcoves dedicated to the metal boxes. Timone’s box was in the second. She could walk down the hallway, past the second alcove, and hope Wilson’s focus centered on the box’s contents, and not the surrounding people. It was all a matter of timing. She walked slowly toward the first alcove, affording Wilson enough time to find his key and open the tiny door. She strolled past the opening to the second alcove. A quick glance to her right confirmed her suspicions. Wilson pulled an envelope out of the box. She had him. She had—

“Angela Blake?”

Angie jerked her head in time to see Suzy Schaffer, ex-high school cheerleader and former next-door neighbor in front of her.

“How are you?” Suzy gushed. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Of all times for the non-Hayden people to suddenly appear. Angie could feel Tom’s glare bore into her back. “Hello, Suzy. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Was that you in that red corvette out front? I thought it might be, but it’s been so long.”

The tiny metal door to her right slammed shut. With her peripheral vision, she saw Wilson turn her way. Crap!

“You know it’s so good to see you up and walking and everything,” Suzy chatted on. “I always felt so bad in high school to think of you confined to that bed.”

“Hello, Angela.” Tom stepped to her side. “I thought you were home sick today.”

“Uh-oh, busted.” Suzy gave her a sympathetic look. “I better be going. Say hi to your mom and Stephen for me.” She smiled. “Especially Stephen.”

Angie twisted her lips in a parody of a smile before turning to Wilson. “I guess you caught me playing hooky. Do me a favor. Don’t tell Hank that you saw me.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Hmm…and you decided to use your free day for…?”

“Stamps.” She quickly improvised, remembering the self-service stamp machine at the end of the hallway. “With my ankle, it hurts to wait in the long lines at the window.” She continued past him toward the self-service machine only to see the “out of order” sign. Crap! She pretended to be disappointed for Wilson’s benefit. “Shoot.”

He still wasn’t buying it.

“Did that young lady say you’re driving a red corvette?” he asked.

“I had an accident a few nights ago and a friend lent me her car.” At least the accident was true. Wilson didn’t need to know the rest was a lie.

“Nice friend,” he said.

“Yes.” She agreed, turning toward the main entrance, anxious to escape the awkward conversation.

“That looks a lot like Elizabeth’s car.” He raised his brows. “Hank’s fiancée?”

“Does it? I wouldn’t know.” She opened the door to the outside and tried not to run to the car.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Wilson asked behind her.

She paused, trying to remember…

“Stamps?”

Double-crap. This whole espionage thing was not her specialty. Why did she think she could pull this off?

“Thanks,” she said, stepping back inside. “I almost forgot.”

“That surprises me, Angela.” He sneered. “I get the impression you don’t forget much.”

He let the door close in her face then walked briskly toward his car. Angie watched through the front plate glass windows until his car roared to life and left the parking lot. Only then did she walk to Elizabeth’s car. Grabbing her cell phone from her purse, she called Hank to tell him of her discovery.

“Put that down,” a man said from the back seat.

Panicked, she swerved to see who was behind her. A not too steady gun barrel between the seats stared back at her.

“Mr. Burroughs?” she asked, recognizing the voice. “What are you doing?”

“Turn around and face the front,” he commanded.

She did as she was told but she angled her rearview mirror to see into the back seat. Her pulse pounded a mile a minute.

“I don’t want to use this but I will if I have to,” he said.

“Why?” This made no sense.

“Because you went and stuck your nose into things that didn’t concern you. Now start the car and drive to the freeway and no funny stuff.” His voice held more confidence than the hand holding the gun.

She glanced in the rear view mirror. “You scared me so much, I dropped my cell phone. If I don’t retrieve it, it could get trapped under the pedals.”
And I won’t have it when I need to call for help,
she mentally added. Her hand felt along the floor mat, searching for her phone.

“Do it without talking. I don’t want anyone looking to see who you’re talking to.”

“Found it!” She tossed the cell in her purse lying on the passenger seat.

“Drive to the freeway,” Burroughs commanded.

She started the convertible and drove toward State Street. A police cruiser appeared in her side mirror several cars behind. Hoping to attract his attention, Angie jerked the steering wheel to the right. The sight of a looming telephone pole, however, caused her to correct. The muzzle of the gun poked her side.

“You have a death wish, Angie? I said no funny stuff. You get pulled over and I’ll shoot you first, then the cop. Got that?” The gun dug painfully just below her ribs.

She nodded. Burroughs couldn’t fire an incompetent clerk so she didn’t really think he could kill her. Still a gun discharge at this range could do more damage than Burroughs bargained for. She glanced in the rearview mirror. The cruiser had turned into a strip mall parking lot. Damn! She swallowed her fear and struggled to think of a new plan.

She glanced to her side. Her purse, with the cell phone on top, lay in reach. If she could nonchalantly just reach over and…

“Leave it,” he said. “And keep your eyes on the road.”

“Why you, Pete?” she asked, glancing quickly at the gun barrel beneath her elbow. “I never imagined you’d be a part of this. You’re not a killer.”

“I said no talking,” he ordered. “Don’t you ever do anything you’re told?”

“Relax,” she said, taking advantage of his note of exasperation. “No one pays any attention to people talking to themselves in cars. I could be singing, or taking a phone call, or…”

“Shut up and drive. Take the southbound ramp.”

She turned onto the entrance ramp and merged with the traffic. They were heading toward the city and away from Hayden. The sound of rapid acceleration made conversation difficult. She saw Burroughs’s drawn face in the rear view mirror. He looked as scared as she felt, but he had the gun. He hunched forward in the backseat, the barrel never more than a few inches away.