Inquisitor (Witch & Wolf Book 1) (15 page)

“Oh.”

“You’re going to need a briefcase, supplies, and a good laptop. I’ll handle that.”

Samantha glared at me, my neck prickling as though she stood behind me with a drawn dagger. I kept my eyes fixed on the road. I waited until the sensation faded before continuing. “Don’t look at me like that. You need a good system, and not some six-hundred dollar piece of shit. You’re going to be a very important person in the company’s business, and while your boss doesn’t care what you wear, she does care about how efficient you are. You’ll get the best, and that’s the end of the story.”

“Okay,” Samantha said with a sigh.

“And despite what I just said about your boss not caring what you wear, you’re getting new clothes, too. On me. And don’t you dare complain. It’s my turn to doll you up. But damn, I’m going to miss that old coat.” I don’t know where Samantha had stashed the old leather coat in New York, but I doubted either one of us would be able to get to it again.

“You can get another one.”

“Hmph. It’s not the same.”

“Spill it, Vicky. How did you know I’d get the job?”

“Easy. I’m your boss.”

I wished I had a camera. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Samantha’s mouth drop open and her expression turn blank. Then, after a moment, realization sank in. “Oh my god.”

“Yes?”

Samantha buried her face in her hands and groaned.

~*~

I pulled into the parking lot of the storage facility near Atlanta a little after midnight. Samantha was asleep and didn’t stir as I killed the engine. Leaving her to rest, I swiped the card to my unit, lifting the garage door open.

Leaving my Mustang jacked up was one of my smarter ideas. The device I had used supported the car on more than ten points on the frame. I checked the tires before lowering it to the ground. After six months of isolation, it was more than a little dusty, but a car wash would fix it. Wiggling into the driver’s seat, I reached over and pulled out a wallet from the glove box.

Tossing the wallet onto the seat, I put the key in the ignition, held my breath, and turned it. The car started with a rumble, too deep to be a purr. It was more like the warning growl of a wolf. Leaving it to idle, I stepped out, heading for the safe in the back of the storage unit. Taking out my briefcase, I opened it while kneeling on the ground. After confirming everything I needed was in order, I popped open the trunk and tossed it inside.

I woke Samantha by rapping on her window. “You’re driving. Got to drop the rental off.”

She jerked her head in a nod, stifled a yawn, and crawled over the console to the driver’s side. Five minutes later, we were on the road. It took ten extra minutes to run both vehicles through the nearest all-night car wash and wipe the Toyota clean of our prints. While my fake IDs would cover the issue of rentals, the last thing I needed was someone recording my fingerprints with any one of my falsified identities. Once we returned the Corolla to the nearest rental place, we were off, heading into Atlanta proper.

So close to home, I wasn’t about to start taking chances, especially not when Samantha’s burnt-out SUV could’ve already been found. The water near the piers was deep enough for cargo ships, but I wasn’t able to get rid of the evidence of a car fire or the scrape marks from the lift shunting the rubble into the lake.

It was time to break the news to Samantha. “Donnie’s dying,” I announced in my best manner-of-fact tone.

“What? Oh, shit. Really?”

“He didn’t say as much, but I could smell it on him.”

“Damn,” Samantha whispered. While I couldn’t see any tears in her eyes, I heard them in the way she clung to the curse as she spoke. “When did you see him?”

“Last night while you were sleeping,” I replied.

“What? Why didn’t you wake me?”

I wasn’t about to mention the fact I had drugged her, but I wasn’t going to lie to her either. “We were a little busy blowing your little car to teeny tiny bits.”

“You. Did.
What
. To. My. Car?”

“Boom,” I replied, and I thought it was to my credit I didn’t laugh outright. “Donnie pumped two rounds into me first, too. Cameras caught it all until he shot them out.”

All according to my plan, of course, but it was her loss if she couldn’t figure that out on her own.

“I thought you would put it into storage! You’re not serious, are you?”

“Dead serious. Someone framed me for murder, Sammy. I needed to disappear. No, we needed to disappear. Donnie helped me. I didn’t want you hearing the gunshots.”

“Gunshots?”

I winced at the fear in her voice, but I nodded anyway.

“He really shot you?” Samantha shuddered.

“I was wearing Kevlar, Sammy. I’m fine. Bruised a little, but fine. You know Donnie. He doesn’t miss.”

“He shot you.”

“Samantha.”

She ignored me. “He
shot
you, Vicky?”

I sighed. “What’s a couple of bullets to the chest when compared to a grenade? Bulletproof vests are great things. Every girl should have one.”

Samantha’s composure cracked with an ear-piercing shriek. “Wait. We’re
dead?
”

“Look on the bright side, Sammy. You don’t have to wait three days to come back to life.” I sucked in my breath as a stray thought struck me with all of the force of an oncoming train. “Does Peter have your real ID?”

A shake of Samantha’s head answered me. I huffed out my relief. “Good. Take off your mask, Sammy. Be yourself. My secretary is a little old lady who has seen too much of the world to be intimidated by the big, bad wolf.”

Atlanta was my turf, but it didn’t feel much like home as I dodged the places Allison Ferdinan frequented in favor of the high-end boutiques Allison Victoria Mayfield Hanover preferred. While it wasn’t too hard to trick people into realizing we weren’t the same person, it was easier for me—and for them—if they never realized my existence was a lie.

The sense of regret accompanying the loss of an old friend dogged my heels. Buying Samantha
’s new laptop was simple. I tipped the clerk a hundred dollar bill to deliver it to Marrodin’s headquarters. Considering it was a five minute walk away, I expected the young man would be off on his next break. With that out of the way, Samantha could work no matter when I needed her.

My second stop was a Mercedes dealership. I’d destroyed Samantha’s ultra-expensive, suitable-for-wealthy-clients SUV, so it seemed fair I paid proper penance. An old secretary without children didn’t need a tank. I put the classiest sedan the dealership sold on one of my cards with instructions to deliver the vehicle to Marrodin’s Headquarters. I’d transfer ownership of the car to Samantha later, but I added her to my insurance until I had a chance to do that.

Before I could retreat to the safe haven of a hotel, I bought a stack of newspapers with apartment listings. I hunted down the nearest fast food joint for lunch, wandering to my hotel with my prize.

I made it to my room ten minutes before the board meeting. Buying a new cell phone would be a task for after the conference call. If anyone bothered to trace the hotel number, hopefully I’d be checked out and gone before they knocked at my door. Punching in Anderson’s office number, I listened to the ring tone. His secretary answered.

“Put me through to Anderson,” I ordered.

I heard Elizabeth inhale. “At once, Ms. Hanover.”

Anderson answered on the second ring. “Anderson speaking.”

“Has it started?”

“Connecting you to the conference room,” he replied. One of Beethoven’s symphonies played in my ear while I waited. I hummed along as I logged my laptop into the corporate website just in case I needed it.

“Can you hear me, Ms. Hanover?” Anderson’s voice had the distant sound of someone on a speaker phone.

“Crystal clear,” I replied, pausing and letting the board members stew. “You know the routine, ladies and gentlemen. Business as usual. Ask questions if you need. I have all night.”

“Then I’ll open with our land mine of the day,” Anderson said, a nervous wobble in his voice.

“On the minutes?” Samantha asked.

“Not yet,” Anderson answered.

The young CEO won my full attention. I spun in a half circle in my chair, stretching out my legs to rest my feet on the end of the too-springy hotel bed. While I suspected the news related to Oleran’s murder, Anderson sometimes had a way of surprising me. “What sort of bomb do you have that can’t show up in the minutes?”

“One of our accountants with Smith & Sons’s, Allison Ferdinan, has been accused of murdering one of our defense lawyers, Alan Oleran.”

Judging from the lack of table talk on the other end of the line, I assumed they had been talking about it for some time, preparing themselves for the call with me. While I wasn’t surprised, I took my time thinking about it, because the board members expected me to. “Question and investigate the accountant, their work, and bring it to the attention of Smith & Sons’s board. Send official condolences to Oleran’s family, and make arrangements to pay for the funeral,” I ordered.

“The accountant is going to be a problem,” one of the women announced. I grinned. At eighty-nine, Amelia Donavan was the oldest of the board members, served on the Supreme Court, and had once been a lawyer to be feared.

She still was, the rare times she decided to take a case in her own hands.

When I had brought her on to serve as the CEO of Smith & Sons, I hadn’t expected her to transform the one office group into a competitive, national firm.

It didn’t hurt my wolf liked her almost as much as I did. “Amelia. It’s lovely to hear you. Why is the accountant a problem?”

“She disappeared from New York City on Halloween night, last seen at the Plaza around midnight. Her credit card was used at a Walmart west of the city. She placed a call to her credit card issuer a few hours later, and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”

Damn, news really did travel fast. “Find her,” I barked, although I knew all they would find was the burned-out husk of an SUV—if they managed to fish it out of Lake Erie.

“Yes, ma’am,” Donavan replied.

“Call the meeting to order and record the minutes.” I learned back in my chair.

“I hereby call this meeting—”

A knock interrupted Anderson.

“What now? Come in,” the young head of the board called out.

The door creaked open. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s someone here to see you, and he has a police officer with him,” Anderson’s secretary said, her voice soft from her distance.

“Give us five minutes and then bring them in.”

“Yes, sir.”

I rubbed my temples. “Pet, you’ll speak on my behalf. Record the discussion with the phone system, Anderson.”

“She means you,” I heard Anderson whisper.

“Yes, ma’am,” Samantha said. Instead of the vibrant, youthful voice of the thirty-some Samantha I remembered, my friend’s voice wavered with age.

“Conversation is recording, Victoria,” Anderson said.

“Good. Pretend I’m not here. Don’t embarrass me, Pet.”

An uneasy silence took hold of the conference room, broken by the squeak of chairs.

“Anderson?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Order new chairs. Good ones. Bill my private card for them.”

Someone tried to swallow back a laugh. It emerged as a snort. Another chair squeaked.

“Squeak squeak,” I said.

Someone tittered.

The knock at the door silenced the moment of levity.

“Come in,” Anderson ordered. I spun my chair around and punched the mute button on the hotel phone.

The door creaked as it opened. “Sir, Officer Marten and a guest are here as requested.”

“Show them in.”

The heavy thump of boots on the conference room’s hardwood floors broke the quiet. “Ladies, Gentlemen, I am Officer Marten. I serve in Washington. I’m looking for Mrs. Donavan.”

A chair squeaked. “I’m Mrs. Donavan. What can I do to help you, Officer Marten?” Amelia asked.

“First, I’d like to offer my condolences. Alan was a good, hardworking man. I’ve had the honor of working with him on several cases.”

The uncomfortable silence of those not sure what to say in the face of grief and disaster hung over the room. Amelia sighed. “Thank you. We’re all a little shocked.”

“Would you prefer if I asked my questions in private?”

“No. Most of us knew Alan,” the old woman replied. It wasn’t quite true—I didn’t know him. But considering Oleran worked as a defense attorney in D.C., I was willing to bet he’d worked with most of the CEOs of the major Marrodin branches at one point or another. But since Amelia was directly in charge of him as Smith & Son’s CEO, it made sense that the police officer wanted to speak with her.

“Please, sit down, gentlemen,” Amelia said.