Over the Line (20 page)

She was wearing a pair of faded jeans, a Kid Rock T-shirt with arms long enough to cover her tattoo, and pink discount-store flip-flops that she'd sent out for. And, of course, her cross.

Her hair was tucked up under his Army ball cap. Today, she'd tied a blue and white farmer's bandana around her neck. From the look on her face when she'd met him in the living room of the suite, she'd been as pleased as punch over her getup.

She didn't look anything like a rock star sitting there. The star quality was unmistakable, just the same.

"All set?"

He tossed the keys in the air and caught them. "Let's roll."

"Got us a real hot rod, I'm guessing," she said, her tone saying she figured just the opposite.

"Guess again."

"Boring," she singsonged when he unlocked the passenger door of the white Ford Taurus and helped her in.

"That's the point."

"Even normal people drive sports cars," she pointed out, pulling the strap on her seat belt across her body. "Snazzy red ones. With convertible tops."

"Well, there you go."

She would never come within a Mississippi mile of normal, no matter how much she dressed down and attempted to blend. There was just something about her. Something he needed to quit dwelling on.

Extract your head from your ass and do the job, Wilson.

Just because they'd made it this far without being recognized didn't mean their luck would hold. Or that they'd fooled Grimm, who, Jase was fairly certain, was keeping tabs on her the way a bookie kept tabs on the races at Hialeah.

Her bodyguard covered all the bases; Janey gave him that. When they were within a few blocks of the bank, he called ahead and arranged for the bank president to meet them at the employee entrance.

"No sense taking a risk of you getting made at this point," he explained when she asked him if the term "overkill" meant anything to him.

Talk about overkill. The man did things for a plain white T-shirt and off-the-rack jeans that were downright amazing. She didn't know what he did in his bedroom at night after she turned in, but she had to suspect there might be a heck of a lot of push-ups going on behind that closed door.

When he was in full bodyguard mode—like he was now—she could picture him in a firefight. His cheek flush against a rifle, sighting down the barrel, covering a buddy's back.

He had that lean, mean special-ops look about him when he was like this. All business. All focus. Dangerous ... in spite of those baby blues and the gentleness of his hand at the small of her back as they walked to the bank's rear entrance.

A middle-aged man in a neat navy suit and power red tie opened the door for them. He was on the short side— maybe five six—with thinning gray hair, silver wire-framed bifocals, and a toothy white smile.

"Ms. Perkins," he said, with an ingratiating smile that she saw all too often when someone wanted something from her. "Robert Haley, the president of Capital Progress. It's a pleasure meeting you. And what good timing. You made it just before closing."

"Mr. Haley," Janey said, taking the hand he offered. Now that they were here, she was officially nervous and wishing she were anywhere else. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what was in her mother's lockbox. Had an unreasonable sense of discomfort just thinking about opening it up. It felt almost ghoulish. Like she was grave-robbing or something.

"Jason Wilson." Beside her, Baby Blue extended a hand. "We talked on the phone."

"Wilson," the banker said with a nod, and returned Jase's handshake. "Nice to meet you."

"We need a room where Ms. Perkins can access the lockbox in private."

Well. Nothing like cutting to the chase,
Janey thought.

If Haley was put off by Wilson's brusqueness, he didn't show it. "Of course. Yes, of course. Please follow me. And might I add, this is a nice surprise, considering we didn't expect you in person after you'd sent your proxy down this morning."

Janey stopped walking.

Someone came to the bank saying he was my proxy?
She glanced sharply at Wilson, every nerve cell in her body screaming out a red alert.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her close to his side.

Haley turned with a smile, just then realizing they weren't following. His smile unfolded into a frown when he saw their faces.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Miss Perkins didn't send a proxy."

"But... Mr. Lemans said you'd sent him as your representative."

Beside her, Janey could feel Wilson's muscles bunch with tension. He held up a hand and gave a slight shake of his head when she opened her mouth to ask him the obvious question:
What in the hell is going on?

"Is he still here?" he asked Haley.

"Oh dear. I'm sensing something's very wrong," the banker said with a worried look.

As understatements went, it topped the charts.

"Is he still here?" Wilson repeated more forcefully, moving in front of Janey and blocking her in between him and the wall, effectively making a shield with his body.

It was in that moment that all of this became very, very real. And very, very serious. This man was prepared to give up his life for her. Yeah, it's what he'd been hired to do. And she'd accepted that. But that was when they were talking about a "bodyguard." A nameless, faceless entity. A body for hire.

Now they were talking about Jason Wilson. Iowa. Baby Blue. The thought of his blood being spilled for the sake of hers horrified her, eclipsing the uncertainty of the moment.

"Mr. Haley. I need to know if he's still here," Jase demanded, blasting both her and Mr. Haley out of shock mode.

"Oh. I'm sorry. No. No, he's gone. I don't know where, but he's not here any longer."

"You're certain."

"Yes. Yes, oh yes. He left... let me think. It was shortly before one, I believe. I left him in my office to contact you to verify his authenticity. When I couldn't reach you, I came back to my office and he was gone. I thought it was strange at the time, but, well, I assumed something must have come up and he'd had to leave unexpectedly."

"Something came up all right," Wilson muttered, and let up on the pressure against her body.

Janey's legs felt a little rubbery. And her mind was spinning in circles.

"Do I need to call the police?" Haley's worried gaze flitted from Janey to Wilson.

"We'll get to that. In the meantime, this ... Lemans ... what business, specifically, did he say he was here for?"

"Why—to access the lockbox."

Stunned, Janey glanced at Wilson. Saw the same question in his eyes that she was asking herself.
Whoever it was knew about Alice's lockbox?

"I didn't allow him to, of course. Bank policy clearly prohibits anyone but the owners of the lockboxes from opening them—unless of course we have specific instructions from the owner and verification of the proxy's identity and permissions. Since Mr. Lemans couldn't provide that verification, we were unable to honor his request.

"You know," Haley added, cupping his chin between his thumb and forefinger and adopting the look of an amateur sleuth, "now that I think about it, there was something suspicious about that man from the beginning. And the way he reacted when I told him how surprised I was that Ms. Perkins had sent him in light of the fact that I'd just been notified you were coming—"

"You told him Ms. Perkins was coming to the bank today?"

"Well, yes, I did. I was surprised, of course, and told him as much since I'd thought you were coming."

The word that came out of Baby Blue's mouth was one she'd never associate with babies.

"Oh dear." Haley removed his glasses, wiped at his eyes. "I... I thought he'd want to meet her here. Was that... was that wrong? I mean, I assumed he works for you." He turned to Janey, his expression stricken.

"Can you tell us what he looked like?" Baby Blue asked.

Medium height. Medium build. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Dark glasses, so Haley hadn't gotten a look at his eyes. Mustache and beard. Other than that, nothing remarkable.

That's what Mr. Haley remembered about the man. It wasn't much to go on.

"I... I know I would recognize him if I saw him again. And I'm sure our security cameras caught him on tape."

"Just like I'm sure he was probably wearing a disguise," Wilson pointed out. "Look, Mr. Haley, could you show us to the lockbox now please? And while we're there, I'd very much appreciate it if you'd pull those tapes, then call the Tupelo police. Ask for Officer Rodman and request that he meet us here."

"Oh. Oh certainly. I can do that. I am so sorry if I've done anything wrong."

"Not your fault. And you did everything right," he assured the distraught banker. "What we need now are the police. And access to that box."

Janey sat at a rectangular wooden table in the middle of a stark ten-by-ten room that smelled of ink and metal and cleaning solution. Her heart knocked around in her chest like a pinball as she stared in absolute shock at the contents of the open lockbox.

"I don't understand," she said on barely a whisper. "Not any of this."

Money. Bundles of it filled Alice Perkins's lockbox in neat, banded stacks.

"Holy God. Looks like there's about ten thousand per stack." Baby Blue's voice came to her from what seemed like a far, far distance.

Standing behind her, he shuffled through the piles of cash, stirring up a slightly musty scent into the room to mix with the scent of her shock. "There must be close to a million bucks in here."

A million dollars.
A million dollars.

"I don't understand," she repeated. "Why would my mother have this kind of money?"

Unless …

"Unless she never spent any of the money I sent her," Janey concluded out loud.

"
I'm getting by
."

That's what her mother had said that night Janey had called her. "
I'm getting by
."

"You sent her money?"

She nodded, did a quick calculation in her head, and realized that she probably had sent her mother close to a million dollars over the years. "Every month. For several years now."

Wilson rummaged deeper into the lockbox.

"The fact that most or all of it must be here might explain why she lived as modestly as she did. But it doesn't explain why. Why would she keep it? Why wouldn't she spend it?"

"And who would have known about it?" her bodyguard added to the list of questions. "Someone obviously did. They tried to get to it today."

"A tabloid reporter?" she suggested, grasping at straws. "A lot of people have lockboxes. They might have taken a shot in the dark. You know. Trying to get some inside scoop or something not even knowing the money was here."

Wilson had already moved on to something else.

"Look at this." He shoved a piece of paper into her field of vision.

She didn't react at first. She was still thinking about the money. About the "proxy" and wondering what else could possibly happen to complicate her life.