Sweet Caroline (31 page)

"There's information in that report that's very damning to one employee. If Ian ignores my recommendations and takes what I've discovered to the police, that person's likely to be arrested in the next a day or two."

Mick shrugged. "If they're guilty, they deserve to be arrested. Knowing Striker as well as I do, I'd have to wonder if he's not stealin' from himself."

She stopped pacing and looked down at him. "I thought of that, too, Mick. I wrote a special program to catch the thief. Ian skated through with no problem. Besides, wouldn't he be crazy to hire someone to prove it?"

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"That's the point, Caroline, Ian
is
that crazy. What if he did it to lure you to California?"

Now who's talking crazy?
"I'm one of a hundred associates on retainer at in my firm. It's pure coincidence that I was first in the queue for the next assignment in the Bay Area." Mick motioned with the folder. "Okay, so someone other than Striker is embezzling. What's that got to do with me?

With us? If I were starvin', I wouldn't take a penny from that bloody rotter, and he knows it. In fact, I'll never understand how Brian can work for—" Mick stopped. Caroline watched the color drain from his face. Without another word, he nearly ripped the folder in two opening it.

Although her report ran ten single-paced pages, Mick speed-read through most of it in minutes, his lips tightening into a firm line as he raced across the pages. Halfway through, he jumped up and hurled the sheets of paper to the floor. "How could you do this, Caroline?" he shouted at her.

"They're lies, all lies. Brian would never—"

"I know, Mick, I know he wouldn't. That's why I had to do it."

Mick's face grew darker and his eyes blazed. "What in the hell were you thinking? What are you tryin' to do to my family? I had feelin's for you, gal. This is how you return them? By making up filthy lies about my brother?"

"Mick, stop it," she shouted at him. The tears she could no longer hide slid down her cheeks. "You didn't read the whole thing. I had to report what I found, but look at the last page, at my conclusions and recommendations. I state unequivocally that someone set up Brian. I've done 299

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everything I can, but I can't prove who. I'm good, but I don't have the equipment or expertise that a high tech crimes lab has. We have to convince Ian to take this to the next level, and not to the police."

"Caroline, are you out of your mind? Do you think Ian Foy would do anything to help a Mahoney? He hates the lot of us."

"You're wrong, Mick. This has been hard for him since the beginning..." She stopped—she'd said too much. Mick narrowed his gaze then headed straight at her, a murderous look nearly turning his eyes black. "Are you tellin'

me that you knew from the day you arrived that Ian Foy suspected my brother of cheatin' him? You knew it, and yet you moved in here, you met my family, you made love to me, and the entire time you were settin' up my brother?" Caroline had never seen such anger before. Or loathing.

"Mick, you're not listening. I'm trying to help Brian, not hurt him."

"With trash like this?" He picked up the pieces he'd thrown away and strode across the room. "I want you out of here, right now. If you're not gone when I get back, I'll throw you in the gutter where you belong!"

"Mick, don't do this," Caroline pleaded but he'd already opened the door. He stopped at the rose petals that bridged the gap between their two flats. With the toe his boot, he viciously kicked several aside and slammed the door closed behind him.

Seconds later, Caroline heard the outer door bang and his tires screech as he left her behind.

* * * *

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BY NINE O'CLOCK, Caroline had cried her last tears. She'd packed her things quickly, fearful Mick might return and make good on his promise. It would take months if not years before she'd forget the depth of revulsion she saw in his face and heard in his voice. The man she loved despised her and there was not one damned thing she could do to make it better until she spoke to Ian. But she'd never survive two more days in the area with Mick so near and yet so far. She knew what she had to do.

Traffic had thinned for the evening. Caroline drove mechanically, not thinking, not feeling. She'd called the airline on her way to ZyQyx and grabbed a seat home on the redeye. That left her just enough time to print out the changes she'd make to her report, e-mail a copy to Dallas, and delete it from her desktop. She planned to slide a copy under Ian's door along with the keys to her office and the building. Mick had been right—the last page needed to come first. She had to absolve Brian of any culpability in the opening paragraphs, rather than following the order of her investigation. She'd started with an open mind, Ian's had been closed to everything but one conclusion. No matter what she wrote, Ian would put a different spin on it, a wrong spin. With the original document stored safely in Dallas, she'd be able to dispute Ian's finding if he chose to misinterpret what she planned to clearly state.

Throat dry, shoulders slumped, and with a heavy heart, Caroline admitted she'd acted foolish since the day she'd arrived. She'd promised Ian the investigation would be her 301

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first and only priority. She failed miserably in keeping that promise, losing her heart and allowing what she thought was love to cloud her judgment and distract her from the task she'd been hired to do. If she'd stayed true to her purpose, none of this would have happened.

The ZyQyx parking lot was empty and bleak, shrouded by a gray, bone-chilling fog and the wind that whistled through the pine and cypress. An eerie sight and sound that would have unnerved her had she not stopped feeling hours ago. At her desk, Caroline printed a copy from her laptop, and wiped the document off of her computer. As a last thought, she left the programs she'd designed in place. She had to exonerate Brian now that she'd set him up so perfectly. In a separate report, she wrote in great detail how and why she designed the overlays, including her algorithms. The investigator who took her place, whether from her own company or law enforcement, would be grateful for the help. Her work done, she hesitated only a moment before she switched the lights off in her office for the last time, sighing at what might have been.

On the fourth floor, Caroline hurried along the corridor, guided by bits of moonlight that had seeped through the fog. She'd placed Ian's copy of the report in an inter-office mail envelope and sealed it with tape. Across the tape she wrote PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL, so he'd know if someone opened it before he saw it.

She thought about leaving a message on his voicemail, except she knew Gerard checked Ian's voicemail before he arrived each day. She turned on the desk lamp next to 302

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Gerard's computer and wrote a note on one of the large PostIt pads he kept on his desk.
Ian, I'm sorry to leave so abruptly. I used temporary
measures to stop the diversion of ZyQyx funds and have
listed the sites which were receiving them. There's enough in
this report to take to the police, but please don't do that until
you've had someone else verify my data.
Please also pay close attention to my conclusions and recommendations. I have no hard, indisputable proof, but I KNOW Brian Mahoney is NOT the person responsible. I've listed my reasons for this in the first paragraph of the summary on page one.

Unfortunately, Ian, you were right. Someone inside ZyQyx is responsible. My replacement will be here on Tuesday. I urge you to work closely with him or her before you go to the police. Please don't jump to the wrong conclusion because it's the easiest one.

I apologize for leaving without notice. I've been called
home with a family emergency. Thank you for your kindness.
C. Spring

She taped the Post-It to the front of the envelope and was reaching for the chain to douse the lamplight when she saw something in the wastebasket under Gerard's desk. Something that made her heart jump into her throat.

"What the devil is that doing..." she cried and tossed the envelope aside. She grabbed the wastebasket and placed it in the middle of the desk. Someone had emptied it earlier, except they'd missed a torn piece of paper wedged in the folds of the plastic trash liner, near the bottom. She dipped 303

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her hand inside and retrieved a torn piece of the postcard Annie had taken with her that morning.

"How in the world did this—"

There was no mistaking the deadly touch of cold steel against her neck.

"You're right, sweet Caroline," he whispered in her ear.

"You're much too good at what you do." 304

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MICK SAT ALONE in the dark among the sparse furnishings of his house at the ranch. He'd waited until darkness had fallen to drive to the compound. He turned into the drive and doused the headlights. Unnoticed, he pulled into his garage, grateful none of the family had heard him arrive. A flock of doting hens was the last thing he needed.

By nine-thirty, he'd taped Caroline's report back together and read it and re-read it carefully and completely three times. He didn't need a fourth reading to admit she'd been right in all of her suppositions and hypotheses. She'd taken extreme care to keep the tone unbiased, and described in detail the steps she'd taken to reach her conclusions. It was a masterpiece, a primer in forensic analysis, and as she'd tried to tell him, a document that exonerated his youngest sibling.

"You're an ass, Mahoney," he muttered. He sat slumped forward, elbows propped on his knees while he covered his face with his hands. "You're an ass," he said again, this time louder, angrier. "You've driven away the only woman you'll ever love."

There—he'd said it aloud. Yes, he loved Caroline Spring. He'd known it for days but he'd fought the idea and pushed it away. After making love to her last night, he knew he couldn't deny it any longer, and tonight he had planned to tell her so. To explain the devils that drove him and to ask for her love and patience in trying to overcome them. Of course, they could never have children. He'd have a more difficult time 305

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explaining why but he knew she would understand. He knew she loved him that much.

Mick picked up the closest thing to him, an ashtray one of his nieces had made for him during a kindergarten class, and hurled it against the wall. It hit with a thud, and as the broken shards skittered across the floor, he realized that like everything else he'd ever loved in his life, he'd destroyed that, too.

But even if he demolished everything in the house, nothing would erase the memory of the pain he saw in Caroline's face when he'd turned on her. Nor the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

"You idiot, you stupid, dumb mick," he yelled, and for the first time since the day they buried his father's remains, Michael Gabriel Mahoney buried his face in his hands and cried.

* * * *

AT SOME POINT in the night, and with the help of a half bottle of brandy, Mick fell asleep only to be roused by his cell phone ringing at least a dozen times before he found his bearings enough to answer.

"'Lo, this is Mick," he croaked.

"Where the devil have you been, Mick Mahoney? I've been searchin' for you all night," Sheila cried from the other end, her voice ragged and urgent.

Instantly alert, Mick shot to his feet. "Mum, what's wrong?"

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"Oh, Mick, Annie's missing. She was supposed to be back at the school in time for supper but never showed up. They called us at midnight. I've been trying to find you ever since."

"Oh, bleedin' hell," he groaned. "I'll be right there." He stopped only long enough to brush his teeth and swallow a couple ibuprofen pills to stop the assault of the brandy soldiers on his brain. In less than five minutes, he was tearing through the door of the main house.

"Okay, what's been done so far?"

Gabe, Charlie and Rick, the twin sisters' husbands, sat at the table alongside a frantic Sheila and Tony. He heard noises coming from the kitchen, and guessed it was Gabby and Mikey doing the things women did in the time of crises—make sandwiches.

"Nice of you to show up," Gabe snarled, his voice hoarse and his eyes ringed with exhaustion. Mick checked the clock. Almost seven.

"Never mind about that," Sheila said. "Tell Mick what you've done."

"For the last seven hours I've been driving the roads between here and coast, stoppin' and searchin' every park, campground and look-out. Nothing."

"How far south and north?"

Gabe told him. "What about you two?" he asked Charlie and Rick, who looked like their heads were about to fall into their coffee cups.

"We split the town," Rick said. "Checked every mall, every parking lot, any place she might have parked a car, including funeral homes."

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"I don't suppose she carries a cell," Mick said.

"Get real, Mick, she's a nun," Gabe said. "I don't think cell phones fall under the vow of poverty."

"What about the police?"

"They're a big help," Tony snarled. "They say she's an adult who has the right to go anywhere she pleases without asking permission."

"With someone else's car?" Mick whistled softly. "She borrowed the chaplain's car. Did you ask him to report it stolen?"

"Are you nuts?" Gabe said. "She had permission."

"Wake up, little brother," Mick retorted. "A stolen car goes straight over the police wire. There's a lot more of them than us, coverin' a lot more territory."

Gabe spun around. "Than you especially. Where the hell have you been? In the sack with some wench all night?"