06 Double Danger (7 page)

“And everything seemed normal?”

“Yeah,” Gideon said. “Nicky took a couple of Wall Street bigwigs for a run in the morning, and then he had the tour in the afternoon.”

“With Eric Wilderman.”

“Right.” Gideon nodded. “I checked him in myself. And if you ask me, he’s the one you should be looking at.”

“Is there something specific that makes you say that?” Simon asked.

“No. Just that the little guy seemed off somehow. I don’t know. It’s not something you can put into words.”

“But there wasn’t anything about that in the original
report,” Simon prompted, his brows drawn together in a frown.

“No one asked. I didn’t even think about it, really. I mean, they were so sure it was an accident.”

“You said Wilderman was little. What exactly did you mean by that?” Jillian asked, pulling Eric Wilderman’s photo up on her iPad.

“Just what I said. The guy was real small. Five-five max.”

“And just to be clear, you’re referring to Eric Wilderman, right?”

“Yes,” Gideon said, confusion playing across his face. “Eric Wilderman, the man who signed up for the tour.” Simon leaned forward, clearly at a loss as well.

“Can you give me a description?” Jillian said, looking down at Mr. Wilderman’s photo, his balding pate glistening in the sunlight.

“Um, he was short. Like I said. And kind of wiry.” Gideon looked over to his father, who shrugged. Gideon sighed and then scrunched up his face as he tried to remember. “He had dark hair. Cropped short. But not like a buzz cut. And more than a few days’ growth on his face, but it wasn’t a full beard. More like he just hadn’t shaved in a while.”

“What about ethnicity? White, Asian, Latino?”

“I don’t know. Nothing really. I mean, I guess, white. He was definitely American, complete with a midwestern nasal drawl.”

“How about his clothes?” she prompted, Simon showing signs of comprehension now.

“Expensive. The suit had to have cost a couple thousand. And the shoes. Oh, and there was a watch. A Rolex
or something like it. It was big and definitely expensive. I remember being surprised. I mean he was an insurance salesman, right?” He shot an apologetic look at his dad, and J.J. lifted the iPad so that they could all see it.

“Is this the guy?” she asked.

“No. He didn’t look anything at all like that. Who is that?”

“Eric Wilderman,” Jillian said, alarm bells ringing. “No one showed you this photograph, I take it?”

“Like I said”—this from the elder Neiman—“everyone thought it was an accident. They were far more interested in our maintenance records.”

“Did you confirm his identification?” Simon asked.

“Yes, of course,” Gideon said, looking something close to befuddled. “I have to for insurance purposes. I always check the driver’s license. I’ve got the form right here.” He reached over to a pile of papers sitting in front of his father, and, after rifling through a file, handed Jillian a handwritten form.

She quickly checked the information against the file she had on Wilderman, aware that tension was rising as the men awaited her response. “It matches what we’ve got for him. The address, the phone numbers. Even the license number is the same. At least on paper it was Wilderman.”

“So you actually saw the driver’s license, right?” Simon asked Gideon.

He nodded. “Absolutely. And I can promise you the photo was of the guy I described. The one standing in my office. Not the one in your photo.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone digested this newest information.

“What about interaction between Essex and Wilderman?” Simon asked finally. “Did they seem to know each other?”

“Not from what I could see,” Gideon said. “But I wasn’t with them very long. I took Wilderman, or whoever he was, out to the helipad and introduced him to Nicky, but then I got a call so I left.”

“Everything seem normal at takeoff?” Simon continued to probe.

“Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary… except,” Gideon paused, clearly considering his words, “there was a glitch in communications, but it was only for a second or so. I didn’t really think anything of it. I mean they took off okay, and everything seemed fine until we got the call about the crash.” He shrugged, looking over at his father, who reached out to squeeze his arm.

“It’s fine, son,” Neiman said. “No one is questioning your part in this. They’re just trying to understand what happened.”

Jillian looked to Simon, who nodded at the two men reassuringly. “We appreciate your cooperation,” he said, pushing to his feet. “And we’ll get back to you if we need anything else.”

“You’re thinking that this man, whoever he was, might have been behind the crash,” the older Neiman said, his gaze assessing.

“It’s possible.” Simon shrugged. “It’s certainly something we’ll be looking into, you can rest assured.”

“And Nicky?” Gideon asked. “Are you convinced now that he’s innocent?”

“At this point, we can’t rule anyone out.”

Y
ou don’t really consider the Neimans suspect, do you?” J.J. asked as they walked toward the front desk of Eric Wilderman’s hotel.

“I meant what I said. We can’t rule anyone out. But no, I don’t actually think they were involved.”

“And the captain?”

“Him, I haven’t ruled out,” Simon said, with a shrug. “But the switched ID for Wilderman seems like the bigger red flag of the two.”

“But if he was dead at takeoff?” J.J. queried.

“I know. None of it really makes any sense. Seems like every answer only creates more questions.”

“Well, maybe Drake is having more luck.”

They stopped in front of the desk, flashed J.J’s ID, and waited for the manager.

“So does it feel odd?” J.J. asked, shooting a sideways glance in his direction. “Working together like this, I mean?”

“I suppose it’s a little weird,” Simon admitted, drumming his fingers on the counter. Hell, of course it was weird, fucking crazy weird. Half of him wanted to fall prostrate at her feet, apologizing for all the pain he’d caused, and the other half wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her until neither of them could feel anything but each other. But he wasn’t about to admit either one. “But it’s not like this is the first time we’ve been joined at the hip.”

“Yes, but this is different,” she pressed.

“You mean because Ryan isn’t here.” The words came out of their own accord, and a shadow flashed across her face. He cursed himself for being so insensitive. Of course, she missed Ryan. Hell, he did, too. It was bad enough that he’d played a role in her husband’s death. The least he could do was try not to remind her of the fact.

“There is that,” she said, her voice quiet, her expression indecipherable. “But I was going to say that, in college when we were all so close, the only thing we were worried about was finding the cheapest place to buy beer. Now we’re chasing terrorists.”

“Slightly more risk, I suppose.” Simon grinned. “But some of those bars were pretty dicey, if I’m remembering right.”

She smiled, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes, and he felt another wave of guilt.

“You never did say how you got into this game,” he asked. “I mean, the last time I saw you, you were—”

“A grieving widow?” She tilted her head, the movement familiar as her hair draped over her shoulder. “Let’s just say I needed to be my own hero. I’d followed in Ryan’s and your footsteps for too damn long. It was time to stand on my own two feet. Make my own move.”

“Yes, but Homeland Security?” He frowned.

“Maybe I just figured what was good for the gander…” She shrugged. “Why? You don’t think I’m up to it?”

He remembered a clear summer day. The three of them at the lake, perched high up on a cliffside. He and Ryan had been debating the best place to launch into the lake. Arguing about it, actually. J.J. had just laughed at them and jumped. Fearless. As always.

“No.” He shook his head, fighting the urge to reach for her, angry at himself for having the need. “I’ve always thought you could do anything you set your mind to.”

Their gazes met and held for a moment, and Simon almost forgot to breathe.

In front of them, a tall, thin man with a scraggly goatee approached the desk, clearing his throat to announce himself, his face composed but his eyes sparking with curiosity. Bastard clearly saw way too much. “I understand you have questions about one of our guests?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Simon said, still reeling from something he couldn’t even put a name to. Pushing aside his tumbling thoughts, he glanced down at the man’s nametag. “We’re trying to verify that Eric Wilderman is, in fact, a guest at your hotel, Mr. Kent.”

J.J. smiled, extending the wallet with her credentials, her hand trembling slightly. At least he wasn’t alone in his confusion. Kent blinked once as he examined them and then handed them back with a flourish.

“According to our records,” the manager said, glancing down at a computer screen embedded in the desk, “Mr. Wilderman is still registered. He checked in a week ago, for the National Insurance Convention.”

“But the convention ended three days ago, correct?” J.J. asked, glancing down to check her notes.

“Yes,” the man acknowledged, “but the rate is good a week before and after, as long as the days are an add-on to the convention itself. New York is a primary tourist destination, and we find it’s more enticing to people if we allow them to stay beyond their conferences.”

“And were you, by any chance, the one to check Mr. Wilderman in?” Simon asked.

“No.” Kent shook his head. “According to the record, it was Shannon Gates. Shannon?” The manager called over to a red-headed woman at the next terminal. “Can you spare a moment?”

She nodded, clicked something on her computer, and then turned her attention to the three of them.

“These people are with Homeland Security.” For obvious reasons, Simon wasn’t able to use his own credentials. Since A-Tac, for all practical purposes, didn’t actually exist, he was allowing J.J. to take the lead, using her credentials as cover. “And they’re investigating, Mr. Wilderman, one of our guests.”

Fear flittered across the woman’s face. “Should I be concerned?”

“No.” J.J.’s voice was reassuring, and the woman relaxed. “We’re just hoping you can identify a photograph for us.” She laid her iPad on the desk. “Is this the man?”

Shannon studied it for a moment and then sighed. “I think I remember him. But you have to understand that we have so many people coming through here. It’s hard to remember anyone specifically.”

“Maybe you could check with the convention people,”
Kent offered. “The organizers are still here. They’re packing things up. In fact, the guy in charge is standing over there by that table.” He gestured toward a man in jeans and a sweatshirt.

“Thank you.” J.J. smiled. “You’ve been most helpful.”

“But before we go, we’re also going to need to check Mr. Wilderman’s room,” Simon said. “Which means we’ll need a key.”

Shannon shot a look at her boss, who was already shaking his head. “I’m afraid that’s simply not possible. We take our guests’ security very seriously.”

“Even after they’re dead?” J.J. asked, her tone brooking no argument.

“Oh, dear. You’re saying that Mr. Wilderman is… well, that does change things, I suppose,” Kent said, swallowing uncomfortably.

“If there’s a problem with your superiors, they can take it up with mine.” J.J. leaned forward, tilting her head provocatively as she held Kent’s gaze. “I promise I’ll make sure they know you considered every option.” She smiled at him then, her blue eyes conspiratorial. “I can’t tell you how much your help means to me.”

There was a beat, and Kent swallowed again. J.J.’s smile widened, and, having been on the receiving end of her beguiling entreaties many times, Simon knew that the manager was a goner.

Kent sighed and then nodded at Shannon, his gaze still locked on J.J. The other woman slid a card through the machine and handed it to him. He in turn handed it over to J.J., his fingers lingering over the transfer. Simon bit back a smile as the two of them headed over to the table where the insurance guy was packing boxes.

“I should have known you’d pull out the big guns,” he said when they were out of earshot.

“What can I say? It was for a good cause.” She grinned, and for a moment, it actually seemed like old times.

“No kidding.”

J.J. shrugged, her smile fading as they approached the man at the table, and the sense of camaraderie vanished. They quickly introduced themselves. The man identified himself as Brian Childs, the executive director for the insurance organization sponsoring the convention.

“We already know that Mr. Wilderman was registered for the convention,” J.J. said. “What we need now is verification that this is him.” She held out the photo on her iPad. “We figured you might be able to ID him for us.”

“Sure,” Childs said. “That’s definitely Eric. We’ve know each other for years.”

“And you saw him here at the convention?” Simon asked.

“Absolutely. I had drinks with him on the first night.” The man frowned, his expression confused. “Is Eric in some kind of trouble?”

“We’re just looking into some anomalies. Nothing for you to be concerned about,” J.J. responded, her tone dismissive. “Did you spend any more time with Mr. Wilderman?”

“No.” Childs shook his head. “I’ve been running like crazy all week. I saw him across the room a couple of times. But I’m afraid that’s it.” A woman walked up with a teetering stack of boxes. “If that’s all?” he asked, his attention already turning to his colleague.

J.J. nodded, and they walked toward the elevator bank. “So at least we know that the real Wilderman was at the hotel,” she said as they stepped into an open car.

“But if he was here, who the hell was at the heliport? And where is Mr. Wilderman now?”

“With any luck,” J.J. said, “in his room. Although if he was involved in all of this, I figure that’s pretty unlikely.”

“Agreed.” Simon frowned as the two of them stared at the changing numbers over the door. The smell of J.J’s perfume filled the elevator, the sharp, sweet scent taking him back. It had all seemed so simple then. The three of them against the world. And then… hell, he wasn’t going to let himself go there. This was about business. The past was just that—past.