Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1) (26 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CLAIRE
STOOD BY the front window of the entrance hall and watched as students arrived for school. The stunned looked on the faces of students who hadn’t participated in the remodel of the school was priceless. She wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

She returned to her office and smiled to herself. At least something good had happened over the weekend. She didn’t want to think about the encounter with the watcher. She should call Leo and find out how she should deal with the threat, but
she procrastinated. Listening to Leo chiding her and accusing her of making up another story was not productive.

Half an hour later,
while working on a budget report, her phone rang. It was Steve.

“Hey, I wondered if you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night. I actually have some free time in the evenings this week and I’m dying to see you again.”

“That sounds great. Oh, but I can’t. Not tomorrow. I’ll be here for another parents’ meeting.”

“Okay. How about Wednesday?”

“That should work.”

“Great! Oh, and don’t forget the Round Table Luncheon on Wednesday.”

Later in the day she visited classrooms and saw a distinct change of attitude in many students and in teachers. For the first time they actually seemed happy to be there.

On Tuesday the lighting was installed as planned, and then on Wednesday morning the heating and plumbing guy, Manny Rodriquez, showed up to replace the heater. Claire was getting ready to head out to the Round Table Luncheon when Manny stuck his head into her office and told her they had a problem.

“I need to show you in the furnace room. Then you decide what you want me to do.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

PHIL SEGER TOOK off his coat, threw it on the floor, and plopped down in his desk chair. Looking around his dark office, he wanted to scream. This was not the kind of investigator’s office he’d envisioned for himself. He’d expected a bright office with a huge cherry wood desk, leather chair, photographs of Tahiti or Hawaii on his walls, an outer office with a sexy secretary who would schedule his appointments and screen his new clients, selecting only the most interesting cases for him.

Yeah, right. What he
had was an office the size of a walk-in closet with one window, scenically overlooking a brick wall, a crappy desk from the second-hand shop, and a small secretary chair, but no real secretary. He did it all. Wasn’t hard considering he didn’t exactly have clients lining up to hire him.

Right now
, gathering information on Claire Constantine was his only job. And John Richmond, who acted like he was paying him in gold, was in actuality a cheapskate. But what choice did he have, with no other paying customers? Disgusted, Phil picked up the stack of bills he’d accumulated over the past month. Richmond’s payments weren’t going to be near enough to even cover expenses, much less provide any profit.

Some
P.I. he was. He’d discovered Claire’s affair with her boss. He’d even thought of blackmailing her over that. But big freaking deal! If she hadn’t jumped at the deal he’d offered her, of keeping her secret about being in WITSEC for a price, she certainly wasn’t going to pay him to keep quiet about her affair.

Thinking along those lines, he regretted telling th
at nosy school superintendent whom he was working for. The man had rattled him, plain and simple. Richmond was going to be pissed. Nothing he could do about it now. Damn, he hoped Richmond wouldn’t fire him.

Phil didn’t want to turn Claire over to criminals, but he
figured if she was in WITSEC, somebody might not want her to testify. That somebody might be willing to pay for information about her whereabouts. Problem was, he still didn’t know who she really was or who might be looking for her.

After seeing her with
that Federal agent, Leo, he had followed the guy and saw him make several stops, one of them at a gun shop. The next day, Phil had gone back to those places. In the gun shop, he hit pay dirt. An employee wearing a name tag—Jim Miller—was willing to let his tongue wag for a price. The guy said Leo was looking for information about someone who had bought a gun from him a few days before. The kicker was that Roger Simons—a dirty cop whom Jim occasionally saw in the neighborhood and in his store—had been in a couple of days earlier asking about the same buyer.

Phil handed over his last hundred dollars
, and Jim gave him Simon’s phone number.

Phil
had called Simons and set up a meeting. Simons wouldn’t say much about the case at first—not until Phil told him he was working a case involving a woman in WITSEC. Simons suddenly opened up, telling him the few bits he knew about the case involving a syndicate, which he suspected would be willing to pay big bucks to get their hands on the prosecution’s main witness. If Phil’s subject was indeed that witness, they could perhaps strike a deal with the syndicate and split the proceeds. Of course Phil had readily agreed to work with him, the smell of quick money in his nostrils. They exchanged business cards, and both agreed to poke around and call if either found out anything more.

Simons had also given him a name—Juliet Powell.

Phil sat down at his desk and turned on his computer.
Okay, time to get serious
, he told himself. Time to dig in and see what he could find out about this Juliet Powell. Was Claire Constantine the same woman? Could he connect the dots? Claire was previously a math teacher—at least that was her cover story. And after actually speaking with her, he thought he detected a hint of a British accent. He’d worked a case a while back that had taken him to London. He’d gotten a snout-full of the accent, enough that it had been permanently etched into his brain.

Searching
online for the name Simons had given him, along with the word England, he actually found something. Oxford. Weymouth. A search of her name again along with the word Boston brought up an article about an arrest warrant for one Callum Fuller. His brow furrowed as he skimmed the article. Then he saw it; Juliet Powell, a math professor, the girlfriend of the suspect.

Excited, Phil looked at
the piece of paper with Simon’s phone number. Before he got a chance to dial, his phone rang. It was Roger Simons.

“Hey,
” Simons said, “I got the name of the top boss in the syndicate, but you’re not gonna like it. Seems the case is connected to one Samuel Peters.” Phil choked. “Yeah, that’s the guy. Anyway, one of his syndicates started some scheme that landed him in trouble, and somehow Powell is connected.”

“Thanks.” Phil scribbled the name on a scrap of paper.

Silence. The sound of cars in the background gave Phil the impression Simons was in his car or outside instead of in the police station. Made sense. No colleagues around to listen in.

Phil said, “What do we do now? Do you have any connections to Samuel Peters?”

“That depends. What did you find out about your subject?” Simons asked. “Is she the woman we’re looking for?”

“Think so. Still need to verify it.”
Phil didn’t tell him that he wasn’t at all sure. His only real clues were math teacher, WITSEC, and slight British accent. It would not go well if she was the wrong woman.

“Good.
I’ve got another name for you. Someone who might be willing to pay for the information. But I need to confirm our deal. We’re in it fifty-fifty.”

Phil said,
“Why should I give you fifty percent? I’m the one who knows where the woman is.”

“
Yeah, well, I’m the one with the name and phone number of the guy who might be willing to pay for the information.”

“Fine.
Fifty-fifty. Give me the name and number.”

Simons gave him the information, then said, “Double-cross me and you won’t live to regret it.”

After Phil hung up, he groaned. Samuel Peters was hardcore. He was a well-known mob boss who dipped into everything from finance to gunrunning to supporting terrorists. Did he really want to give up this woman with a kid to Peters and his men? She’s be dead meat for sure.

His
phone rang again and he figured Simons had forgotten something. Nope. This time it was Richmond.

“Damn it, Phil
,” Richmond said. “You told Steve Jensen you’re working for me. That was supposed to be secret. What the hell are you doing? Now I’ve got him breathing down my neck.”

“Sorry about that. It wasn’t planned. He cornered me. I had to say something.”

“So you did tell him! I wasn’t sure, but he acted strangely when I talked to him this morning. Damn. At least tell me you’ve got something on Claire and the Senator.”

“Not yet. I’m working on it.”

“Better speed it up. I’m getting damn impatient.”

Phil hung up again, and looked at the name he’d written down
. He picked up his phone again and dialed.

SHORTLY BEFORE LUNCHTIME on Wednesday
, Steve looked at his office wall clock and gritted his teeth.
Time to go
. The last thing he wanted to do today was attend his own Round Table Luncheon. What a sad state of affairs. He’d begun to hate them after John Richmond got involved.

The luncheons had begun as casual get-togethers, meant to bolster a community atmosphere and allow principals to discuss topics that interested them. But John had
injected himself and insisted they needed formal agendas, mandatory attendance, and a rigid format. Damn the man. It was called the Superintendent’s Round Table Luncheon, not School Board President’s Luncheon.

To make matters worse, he’d already had one argument with the bastard this morning, and he hadn’t even told
John yet that he knew about that private investigator.

He steeled himself, gathered up his paperwork, and drove to Jackson High School, the site of this meeting.
When he entered, most of the attendees had already arrived and were milling about. Steve looked around for Claire. She wasn’t there.

He surveyed the room again. Nothing. He strained to hear the voices mingling in the hallway outside the conference room, hoping to hear her voice, but she
didn’t seem to be in the hallway, either. He’d reminded her of the meeting when they’d spoken on the phone. Well, there’s still time, he told himself. After glancing at his watch and noting that it was two minutes until start time, he pulled Frank aside.

He whispered, “Where is Claire?”

Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. She promised she’d be here.”

Steve ran his hand through his hair, looked across the room
and spotted John Richmond talking to another school board member, Peter Williams.

“Call her and get her over here.”

Frank made a quick exit.

Upon
Frank’s return a few minutes later, John asked everyone to take a seat and then motioned for Steve to start the meeting. Frank sat down, glanced at Steve, and shook his head. Steve’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed in response, but he quickly recovered and began speaking.

Things moved along well for about an hour, until John began asking about the various schools. When he finally realized
Claire was missing again, his voice hardened and his eyes became cold and dark. “I see Claire thinks she’s too good to join us. What’s her excuse this time?”

Frank squirmed in his seat. “The school’s new heating system is being installed today. She
’d planned to leave her assistant in charge of that. Unfortunately, there were some decisions to be made, things that required her personal attention. That’s what her secretary told me. I left a message for Claire.”

Damn, thought Steve. He’d forgotten about the heating system installation. She’d told him about it.

John’s voice snapped his next words. “There’s no excuse for her missing these meetings. She seems to think she can do whatever the hell she feels like.”

Whenever John was angry with someone, he behaved like a bear with a thorn in its paw. Steve wasn’t in the mood for placating the grizzly
.

When the meeting ended, three long hours after it began, John dismissed the principals but asked Steve to stay. Steve
’s shoulders tensed up as he waited for the room to clear.

John said,
“I want to know what the hell is going on at Midland High School. What do you know about it?”

“Things are going well. Claire and her staff have been working to fix the school’s problems. There have been some minor issues, but all in all, it’s going great.”

“You and Frank are still helping her?”

Steve kept tight control of his expressions. He knew John was watching him. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t I tell both of you to stick with your assigned job tasks? You have other schools to deal with and you shouldn’t be giving special attention to one school.”

“Look,
John, Midland is the worst school in the district. It needs special attention. It’s about time someone did something to fix the problems over there.”

John’s face turned red. Steve thought of the Devil.

Steve added, “Neither Frank nor I are neglecting our work if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re putting in extra hours on our own time, which we aren’t getting paid for, by the way.”