Reluctant Runaway (11 page)

Desi followed her into the front room. “I’m not here for the ministry’s financial records.”

Her hostess paused with her hand on the mouse. “You’re not? But Ham said—”

“I’m not who you think I am. I don’t work for Hamilton Gordon. I’m here to see what I can find out about a missing woman.”

“Missing woman? I don’t understand. Ham is missing someone?”

“No, I said I don’t work for—”

The door thrust open, and a beanpole of a man strutted in. Thick glasses magnified cold brown eyes. His head swiveled from Desi to her companion and back again. “Which of you is Hope? I’m Chris Mayburn, here on behalf of Hamilton Gordon.”

Mouth ajar, Ponytail lifted an arm and waggled her fingers.

Desi laid a hand on the young woman’s arm. “I’m a drop-in interested in the ministry.” She smiled at the newcomer. He frowned back.

The man turned his attention to Hope. “The papers? And a disk, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re Chris.” The young woman squeaked a laugh. “When Ham called I thought the Chris he mentioned was a woman.”

Mayburn’s frown bowed to meet his lifted chin. “As you can see, you were mistaken.” He rested a frigid gaze on Desi. “I trust no other mistakes have been made.”

Desi smiled. “Hope’s been the perfect promoter for Reverend Romlin’s ministry.”

The woman coughed. Desi didn’t look at her. A laser printer whirred.

“Indeed.” Mayburn tilted his head. “Where have I seen you before? You look familiar.”

“I don’t care to guess.” All that positive publicity for HJ Securities a few months ago had its downside, and she was looking at it in this man’s flat stare.

“Ah, the Jacobs woman.” His tone implied that she might carry something contagious. “What brings you to Inner Witness Ministries?”

“The sister of a friend speaks well of the Reverend Romlin. I was in the area … ” She shrugged. “But how did you find this office?”

She widened her eyes a la Hope. “Isn’t this where inquirers are supposed to come?”

“The public office is two miles from here. Reverend Romlin uses this one to confer in private with … ah … substantial investors.”

Yeah, the ones who like to build secret cities.

“Are you interested in making such an investment?” The glasses glinted as Mayburn’s lips stretched into a smile the width and warmth of an elastic band.

“I’m interested in everything about this ministry. Your boss and I met at that White House bash. He was the first one to tell me about Reverend Romlin.”

“See?” Hope chuckled. “Everything’s cool.” She stood up and held out a manila envelope. “The hard copy and a CD just like you asked.”

Mayburn took the packet. “Well, then, I’ll get back to the office.” He nodded to Desi. “Why don’t you drop by Gordon Corp while you’re in town? No doubt Mr. Gordon would love to renew your acquaintance.”

“I’m afraid I won’t have time today. I have a business appointment in Albuquerque.”

“Another day perhaps. And you’re staying where?”

“If Mr. Gordon wishes to meet with me, he’ll find me.”

“He will? But I—” Mayburn clamped his jaw shut and went as red as the tomatoes in Desi’s morning omelet.

She smiled. “Ham knows all, sees all. At least, a great deal more than he ought.”

“It’s the Inner Witness.” Hope’s whisper was worthy of a séance.

More like illicit access to people’s private information. How did Gordon know to find her at the DC airport yesterday? Was he tracking her moves now? He was sure to find out about her visit to this office. Did she care? What was his interest in her? Icy fingers stroked her insides. Tony was right. These people were trouble with a capital T.

Mayburn tucked the envelope in the crook of his arm. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Jacobs.” His arctic gaze contradicted his words.

“Are you a believer, Mr. Mayburn?” Little Miss Ponytail stared at him with gentle eyes.

The administrative assistant stiffened. “I work for Mr. Gordon.”

“One more thing.” Desi lifted a hand.

“Ye-e-es?”

“Your boss wanted to discuss a matter of mutual interest with me, but he never got around to it. Do you have any idea what that might be?”

“It wouldn’t be my place to say … even if I did.” The man flung the door open and left.

“Poor thing.” Hope sighed. “No faith to anchor his soul.”

Desi studied the young woman’s earnest face. “Faith is a wonderful thing when it’s invested in the right Person. I’m a believer in Jesus Christ as the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”

Hope nodded. “We’re saved by the body and blood.”

The fine words came out as lifeless as stone. Why did she
get the feeling they weren’t in the same book, much less on the same page? “Maybe you can help me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“The niece of a woman I care about has gone missing from her home, leaving a husband and baby behind. Before her disappearance, she was into the Inner Witness message. The girl’s mother said people from this ministry visited her often—”

“You’re talking about Karen.”

Desi stepped toward the younger woman. “Do you know her? Do you have any idea where she might be?”

Hope frowned and dropped her gaze. “I went to her house with the visitation committee, but we didn’t connect. You know how it is sometimes.” She sniffed. “Then I heard she’d run off, maybe stole some stuff from a museum.”

“Could Karen be out at this Sanctuary you’re building?”

The woman’s ample bosom filled. “No one’s out there yet. Except the workers, of course. I’m going to be in the first group. I have to be, or I’ll just die!”

Enough teenage drama. “But maybe she sneaked out there. Maybe she’s helping build—”

“No way! I don’t even know where the Holy City is. Just the Reverend and Ham know.”

“But there must be a contractor.”

“I don’t know about that.” Her mouth drooped. “You’re not a real seeker, are you?”

“I’m seeking a young woman who may be hurt, whose life may be in danger. Her family is worried sick about her. Don’t you have family worrying about you?”

Hope shifted from one foot to the other. “They don’t need to fuss. I’ve found what I need. They don’t understand … ” She bit her lip.

Desi pulled an HJ Securities card from her handbag. “If you
think of anything that might help Karen, call the number on this card. They’ll put you in touch with me.”

Hope nodded.

Was that a shimmer of tears in the woman’s eyes? Desi’s heart lifted. There was hope for Hope yet. “Call me.” She touched the young lady’s hand and then left the ministry office.

Desi pushed the speed limit on 1-25 south toward Albuquerque. Okay, so she’d be late to the museum. A little embarrassment was minor compared to the bizarre information she’d uncovered. Too late to make a good impression on that buck-passing administrator anyway. The man had lawsuit on his mind. She’d seen the type before.

But she’d give her left arm to find directions to the desert compound. If Tony was investigating Gordon, he needed to know that the man was funding a handy-dandy getaway villa.

She punched in Tony’s number on her cell. The phone rang until his voice mail came on. Rats! “Call me when you’re free, sweetheart. I need to lay a load on your broad shoulders.”

What was the handsome lug doing? It had to be pretty intense to keep him from answering her call.

 Eight

T
ony yanked the crowbar. Metal shrieked, and his nerve endings danced. He yanked again, and the wheel cover sprang loose from its housing. He stood back and filled his lungs.

He was alive. The bee-buzz of the bullet almost kissing his head played again in his ears.
As long as I’ve got breath, Minnesota, somebody will be on the trail of the people behind what happened today
.

Around him, his squad worked with fevered efficiency. Even Slidell was there, laptop in hand, figuring dimensions and possible hiding places.

Tony’s cell phone sounded. He grabbed it and checked the caller ID. The ASAC. He’d better have good news. “Lucano here.”

“It’s a no-go on the warrant for the Gordon Trucking building.” Cooke spat a few colorful words. “The judge feels we don’t have proof that Winston wasn’t acting on his own.”

Tony resisted an urge to throw his cell across the parking lot. “Thanks for trying.” A sour laugh left his throat. “If we can’t catch a break when we lose an agent and the big guns shoot for a warrant, I don’t know what it’s going to take to bring these people down.”

“Pavement pounding, elbow grease, and gray cells. Keep at it.” The ASAC broke the connection.

And prayer. Tony let out a breath. Can’t forget the most important ingredient.
Sorry, Lord. Help me stay focused. Guide us all. We need Your help
.

He looked down at the phone. The display said he’d missed a call. He checked his messages, and Desi’s voice warmed a few degrees of chill off his insides. Sure, she sounded like she’d welcome a little heart-to-heart—it had to be rough trying to support Max and her sister through a missing persons case—but her tone was vibrant, confident. His Desi.

Now
would
be a good time for a strong shoulder. Hers supporting him. She’d like that. He punched in numbers and then stopped with his finger over the last digit.

What was he thinking? “Hi,
honey, I lost one of my squad today Good-bye. Call you back later.”
What kind of a jerk did that just to get a little weight off his chest? Tony canceled the call and flipped the phone shut.

“We’ve got something!”

Slidell’s shrill cry drew Tony at a lope.

Desi tapped in Max’s cell number.
C’mon, pick up!

“Hey, Des, how’s it goin’?”

“Great to hear a sane and friendly voice.”

“You’ve been hearin’ some crazy, unfriendly ones?” Concern flowed over the line.

“I’ll tell you in a minute. First, where are you?”

“Home and A-OK. I’m in the kitchen, but I’ll hold the phone toward the living room. Listen.” Children’s laughter and garbled little voices. “My live wires are havin’ a blast with their baby cousin. Adam just lays there and kicks, but they think every wiggle is a hoot.”

“No sign of Pete Cheama?”

“Not hide, nor hair. Now give, woman. What’ve you been up to?”

“I’m almost back to Albuquerque from my little jaunt to
Santa Fe, and what’s going on with Inner Witness Ministries is going to blow your mind.” Desi gave Max the quick version of her encounters with perky Ponytail and Prune Face from Ham Gordon’s office. “Mayburn recognized me, so Gordon is going to be aware I’m sniffing around the ministry. But they won’t know I know about the Holy City unless Hope tells someone she let the cat out of the bag—which I doubt she’ll do. She cares too much about being accepted by these people.”

Max gave a low growl. “Do you think Karen might’ve found out about this place? Maybe they grabbed her to keep her quiet.”

“Or maybe she’s as sucked in as Hope, and she’s out there because she wants to be.”

Silence on the other end, followed by a sigh. “Then her mind is captive, not her body Tough to get a person free if they don’t want to be.”

“First step is to discover her physical location. We can deal with her mental and spiritual condition after that.” The countryside began to give way to businesses and homes. “I need to concentrate on driving now so I can find my way to the museum. But we need to locate this desert hideaway. That’s a project you can sink your teeth into. Phone calls. Internet searches.”

“You got it! Construction materials don’t just poof into existence. They’re buying them somewhere and transporting them somehow.”

“I like how you think, lady A community like that is going to need plumbing in particular. I so cannot see Ham Gordon using an outhouse.”

Max snickered. “You’ve brought Tony up to speed on this?”

“I’m trying. I’ve got a call in to him. Waiting to hear back.”

“Then at least you’ve got
your
bases covered.”

“Uh-oh, do I detect an issue?”

A soft groan. “Same old. Nothing you can do anything about, so forget it.”

“Ma-a-ax?”

“WhatamIgonnado?” The voice lowered to a run-together whisper. “Dean called again as soon as I got home. He wants to see the kids on the next family visitation day. But, Des, I can’t bring them to a prison. It’s hard enough for me to go in there.”

“You know how I feel, Max. You don’t owe the man a thing. He should be grateful you haven’t filed for divorce. Yet. Send him pictures.”

Heavy breathing. “It’s not that simple. They’re his kids, too, and he is still my husband. You don’t understand, because you’re not—”

“Married. Yes, I know.”

“Don’t be hard, Des. I didn’t mean anything by the comment.”

“Well, you’re right. I don’t understand, but that doesn’t mean I won’t support you in whatever you decide to do.”

A trill of laughter. “That’s just it. I can’t decide.”

“And it doesn’t do any good to ask me … oh, crumb!

“What?”

“I missed my turn.”

“Guess that’s my cue to get off the line. Call me back if you find out anything interesting at the museum.”

Desi promised and closed the connection.
Lord, I’m sure not the one who can advise Max about that louse—er, her husband. I’ll leave the issue in Your hands
.

Good idea
.

Desi’s hair stood on end. Her Daddy didn’t raise no dummy. She took a deep breath and sat up straighter.
Yes, Sir, leaving a problem to You is a very good idea 100 percent of the time. But I suspect You’re going to have to help me remember that
.

“See here?” Slidell showed Tony figures on his computer screen. “The gas tank is 10.378 square inches too big. Haj is checking now.” The math whiz nodded at a pair of feet—one blue sock, one brown sock inside black loafers—sticking out from under the truck.

“Waaahoooo!” The wild rebel yell burst from below. The stocky Japanese man rolled into the open and hopped up, suit covered in grit and dust. “There’s a piece welded onto the tank. Good weld. Same shape and size as the tank. Hard to detect.”

Polanski pumped her fist. “Anybody got a giant can opener?”

Slidell sniffed. “Common sense would indicate that the access point is inside the cab, requiring a key or a code.”

Polanski rolled her eyes. “It was a joke, Dell.”

“Oh.” Slidell fixed her with a blank stare.

A tight band around Tony’s chest throbbed. His gaze assessed the core of his squad—a color-blind Japanese guy, a humorless genius, and a wisecracking Pole. So why did they have to lose the cheerful Norske? The tightness turned to burn. And what were they doing standing around? They had crooks to catch.

Tony smacked his palms together. “Haj, Polanski, find the door to this gas tank safe.”

One glance at his face and the pair hopped into the cab without a word.

Circling to the rear of Winston’s trailer, he found squad members at work on the cement loading dock. They were well into the job of removing the contents of the semi—nasty grunt work requiring manual forklifts to haul out pallets of canned meat products.

Tony waved one of the men over. “Any sign that the pirated
discs were stashed in there on Winston’s California to Boston route? Busted jewel case, anything?”

The man shook his head. “Not yet, but we’ve got our eyes peeled.”

“Crawl on your hands and knees with magnifying glasses if you have to.”

The agent’s nostrils flared. “We’re not going to miss anything.” The look was cold, angry A reflection of his own.

Tony walked up the side of the truck. The ruddy patch on the ground beside the driver’s door caught his eye. Winston’s blood. If only a much larger stain didn’t match it farther up the pavement. Tony slammed the side of his fist against the trailer.

A throat cleared behind him. He whirled and found Slidell staring up at him. The guy had been on his tail the entire time. His senses had known it, but his brain refused to acknowledge the information.
You’re losing it, Lucano
. “What!”

Slidell’s brows climbed. “I completed my analysis of Gordon Corp’s financial records. There were indicators that the company is not doing well.”

Tony squinted at the setting sun. “Maybe that’s why Gordon needs the extra money from transporting bootlegged property.”

The agent shook his head. “My analysis shows that cash is being siphoned out of the company, not artificially injected into it.”

“You mean Ham Gordon is slitting the throat of his own corporation?” Tony rocked on his heels.

Slidell pursed his lips. “Someone is diverting funds, but who’s doing it and for what purpose I can’t tell from the data. However, no bootlegging money is shoring up the bottom line. Mr. Gordon could lose his company within a few years … or even months if the cash hemorrhage accelerates.”

“Whoa! This is bombshell stuff and could go public soon. If
you can pick the inconsistencies out from the stockholders report, others can.”

Slidell shrugged. “Anyone with a similar IQ.” He met Tony’s gaze without a blink.

“The true financial condition could stay under wraps until the company goes belly up?”

“Quite possibly.”

“A lot of people could lose a pile of money if we don’t get our finger in the dike—and fast!” The investors in Gordon Corp had no idea what was about to hit them.

At five minutes after three, Desi parked the car in the museum lot and hurried through the New Mexico heat into the cool foyer. A receptionist sat behind a marble-topped counter, the spot Karen must have occupied when she was on duty. Desi approached and stated her business.

The woman called for a guide, who escorted her past exhibits and through a door marked
Private
. At the end of a scalding white hallway, they came to the administrator’s suite. A middle-aged woman looked up from her desk. Her hairdo and the shape of her face bore an unfortunate resemblance to a Russian wolfhound. Tearstained, blotchy skin and bloodshot eyes didn’t enhance the picture. The guard’s death must have hit staff hard.

Desi introduced herself, and the secretary offered a weak smile. “Please have a seat.” She waved toward a pair of guest chairs by the wall. “Mr. Spellman is on the phone. When he gets off, I’ll notify him you’re here.”

Desi acknowledged the instructions with a nod and took the offered seat. The secretary turned to the side, donned a pair of dictation headphones, and began pecking at a computer keyboard. Every so often, she stopped typing and dabbed at her
eyes with a tissue. Fifteen minutes later, Desi had the room decor memorized and a hole glared through the closed door marked
Administrator
.

She rose and went to the desk. The name on the plate said Hannah Grant. She tapped the secretary on the shoulder. “Ms. Grant.”

“What? Ohhh.” The woman swung toward her, hand over her heart. She yanked off the headphones. “I forgot … Er, I mean, I’ll see if Mr. Spellman is free.” She leaped up and hustled into the next office without knocking.

A moment later, she came out, followed by a medium-sized man with medium-brown hair—the soul of average, except for a large Roman nose. “Ms. Jacobs.” Spellman held out his hand. Desi shook it. A tad clammy. Nerves?

“My apologies for being late.” She glanced at the flushed secretary, who ducked her head and returned to her desk. “My business in Santa Fe took longer than expected.”

Spellman grunted. “I’m a busy man. Let’s get our cards on the table.” He led the way into his office. They settled into guest chairs by a round table in the corner.