Against the Sky (11 page)

They continued carefully searching the office for the full thirty minutes he and Jimmy had agreed to, then Samantha pulled the flash drive out of the computer and handed it over. Nicked stuffed it into his pocket, along with the scribbled note.

“We need to go. Last thing we want is for Mary to get home early and find us snooping through her house.”

She shut down the machine and waited for the screen to go dark. “I'm ready.”

“How are your feet?”

She took a step and made a face. “I need those socks you promised.”

“Soon as we get home.” Though once she took off the boots, he'd rather she just keep going, peel off the rest of her clothes.

They made their way back through the house, making sure all the lights were off and everything was left the way they'd found it. Tail wagging, Duke walked them to the back door, then looked disappointed when they left the house without him.

“We need to see what we've got,” Nick said as they started down the hill.

“Tell you what . . . you can look through the information while I cook that trout.”

“And hush puppies, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Nick grinned. “Can't beat that deal.” He watched her hobbling along in the boots, couldn't stand it any longer, and scooped her up in his arms.

Samantha didn't resist. Just sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe he was winning her trust all over again.

Nick damned well hoped so.

By late morning of the following day, a freezing wind swept down off the mountain behind the house. Heavy pine boughs scratched against the windows and a fierce howling screeched through tiny cracks around the doors.

Samantha had been working on Nick's computer, going over the information she had downloaded onto the flash drive. But she didn't know much about accounting and neither did he. Nick had e-mailed the photo she had found of Thomas Drummond to Jimmy. The boy had texted back that Drummond wasn't the guy who'd been arguing with his dad.

So far, all Samantha had found that looked useful was Alex Evans's client list. Nick had gone over it and she had e-mailed the list to Cord, who was back at work in Anchorage. Without causing too much notice, he was trying to dig up information while still doing his job as a detective in the vice division.

Samantha looked up as Nick walked back into the bedroom, felt that funny little airless moment when seeing him made it hard to breathe.

“Recognize any of the names?” she asked, hoping she didn't sound breathless.

“A few. Some of them own businesses in Anchorage. Cord's doing his best to come up with something, but he's got his own work to do.”

“I know. What about that name and number you copied off the message pad in Evans's office?”

“If it's a name, it looks like it starts with a D. Could be DRNITN or DINITRI. I can't make it out. I dialed the number but it wouldn't go through. I couldn't read the last number so I was just guessing. I'll try again later.”

“Let me see it.” He handed her the paper. Samantha studied it, took a pen and wrote D M I T R I at the bottom. “
Dmitri.
It's a Russian first name. I knew a guy in college who spelled it that way.”

Nick looked at the paper. “I think you're right. Not much of a lead but it's better than nothing.”

“So did Cord find anything on Thomas Drummond?”

“No connection to Bela Varga or his men.”

“You mean Crocker and the man they call The Bull.”

“That's right. As far as Cord could tell, the only connection Drummond had to any of this was the business partnership he and Alex Evans had formed—apparently one that ended in a lawsuit.”

“So you think it's safe to talk to him?”

“There's always a risk when you're asking questions. But we need to move this investigation forward, and so far this looks like our best chance.”

He smiled. “Besides, I'm going crazy stuck in this house. Drummond lives in an upper-middle-class neighborhood in Anchorage. I called his office and talked to him. I didn't say much, just that I was hoping he could give me some information on Evans. He's meeting me at his residence at two o'clock this afternoon.”

“I want to go with you.”

Nick shook his head. “I don't want you getting any more involved in this than you are already.”

“You said it's safe. Take me with you.” She smiled. “I'm going crazy stuck in this house.”

He grinned as she tossed his own words back at him. “All right. I didn't invite you up here to make you spend all day doing what you do in San Francisco. I think Cord would have turned up a connection if there was one. We'll go talk to Drummond. Maybe you'll catch something I miss.”

She smiled, gave in to the urge, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you.”

Nick didn't let her go, just looked down at her with those amazing blue eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips. “What if I expect some kind of payback?”

Samantha's wariness returned and her easy smile faded. She tried to ease away, but Nick gripped her shoulders.

“Jesus, I'm kidding, Samantha. I was thinking maybe you'd cook for me again. Dammit, don't you know by now, I would never ask you to do something you didn't want to do?”

She did know that. She wouldn't have come up here if she hadn't felt certain she could trust him, at least physically. “I'm sorry. I was being stupid.”

“Who was this guy you were engaged to, anyway? He must have been a real assho—a real jerk.”

“He cheated on me. From the very start, he wasn't the man I thought he was.”

“Yeah, well, I'm different. What you see is what you get.”

She was beginning to believe exactly that. “I'm glad to hear it. So far I like what I see very much.”

Nick hauled her back into his arms and kissed her, soft and sweet. Just a brief touching of lips, but even that had her heart beating way too fast.

“I need to change,” she said, reluctantly pulling away, forcing her mind to the problem at hand. “Drummond's a businessman. We need to look professional.”

“Good thought.”

Making her way back to the guest room, Samantha pulled on a pair of brown wool slacks, a turquoise cable knit sweater, and a pair of brown ankle boots. When she walked back into the living room, Nick was dressed in black slacks and a pale blue shirt that set off his eyes.

He looked like the guy she had met in Las Vegas, so handsome it made her knees feel shaky.

“You ready?” he asked.

She just nodded and let him lead her out to the garage where his Ford Explorer was parked. A few minutes later, they were driving the road around Fish Lake, the wind buffeting the SUV, dark clouds hanging over the mountains in the distance.

“Not exactly the perfect day for a drive,” Nick said.

“At least we're out of the house for a while.”

He looked at the cloudy skies overhead. “The weather's always unpredictable up here, worse as the year progresses.”

“It must keep things . . . interesting.” A nice way of putting it. Samantha thought the weather was interesting enough in San Francisco.

“We've got a stop to make after we see Drummond. I want to drop off a copy of the flash drive. I've got a friend who's an accountant. She'll know what to look for in those files.”

“That's a good idea. I assume you feel you can trust her.”

“I . . . ahh . . . know her pretty well.”

Catching the subtle implication, Samantha's eyebrows went up. “You mean you know her
intimately.
”

Nick sighed. “It was a while ago. We're just friends now.”

Samantha wondered if that was the way they would end up.
Just friends.
Unconsciously her hand came to rest on her stomach. Not just friends, but friends who shared a child.

If she ever worked up the courage to tell him.

She leaned back against the seat. There was time, she reminded herself. Meanwhile, at least they were out of the house.

 

 

Thomas Drummond was exactly what Nick expected. Six feet tall, medium build, silver-tipped dark brown hair. He was late forties, dressed in a dark suit, a yellow, button-down-collared shirt, and a conservative brown-and-yellow striped tie. Clearly he had been at work and had taken a break to meet them.

“You're Nick Brodie?” Drummond asked as he answered their knock and opened the front door.

“That's right. This is Samantha Hollis. She's a friend. We'd like to talk to you about Alex Evans.”

“Come on in.” He led them into a large, well-decorated home in a nice residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Anchorage. The house was gray, two stories with a three-car garage. Nick figured it was in the six to eight-hundred-thousand-dollar price range.

“My wife is out shopping. The kids are in school. I figured this would be the best place for us to meet. Would you like something to drink? Coffee or a soft drink, maybe?”

“We're fine.”

“Why don't we sit down in the living room?” He led them into a step-down living area done in a gray-blue color, traditional furniture, a coffee table in front of the overstuffed sofa. Nick and Samantha sat on the sofa, while Drummond sat in one of the wing-back chairs.

“Let me start by telling you the reason I agreed to see you,” Drummond said.

“All right, why was that?”

“Because I knew who you were. I remember reading about you in the
Daily News.
You're the homicide detective who caught that serial killer.”

Nick's stomach tightened. “That's right. But just to be clear, a few weeks after that arrest, I left the force. I'm involved privately in this investigation.”

“And you're investigating Alex Evans? Why? The man is dead.”

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that. What I can say is that I uncovered the lawsuit you filed against him alleging malfeasance. In it you claimed Evans stole funds that belonged to both of you.”

“That's public record. It's also the truth.”

“The two of you were partners,” Samantha said, joining in the conversation. “You must have trusted him—at least in the beginning.”

“Alex was my CPA. He knew my financial situation, knew I was looking for a good investment. He and his firm had a very good reputation in the community. When he came to me with the proposal to join him in the purchase of a log home manufacturing business, I agreed. We became partners. Alex managed the financial aspects of the company while I did the marketing. For a while we did very well.”

“What happened?” Nick asked.

“The financial crash of 2008 hit us hard. People stopped buying homes. Log homes were no different. We hung on through the first few years, but little by little the business kept sliding downhill. Alex suggested we refinance the real estate and use the money to keep the business afloat until things turned around. Instead, he took the money from the loan and never paid any of the bills.”

“You didn't realize what was going on?” Samantha asked.

“I didn't find out until the property went into foreclosure. I called my lawyer, but without forking up a lot more money, there wasn't much I could do.”

“So you filed a lawsuit,” Nick said.

“That's right. That's what my lawyer advised. But attorneys don't come cheap. I waited, tried to work things out with Alex, but it was no use. I filed the suit, but what good did it do? Alex is dead and his estate is in limbo. I doubt I'll ever see any of my money again.”

Nick sat back in his chair, his mind going over the information. Until the theft of the money, Evans had maintained an excellent reputation. Something had to have changed.

“It sounds like Evans got himself into some kind of trouble,” Nick said. “The only way he could bail himself out was to take the money from the loan.”

“Do you have any idea what that trouble could have been?” Samantha asked.

Drummond's features tightened. “All I know is he wasn't the man I thought he was. I don't know what really happened. I doubt I ever will.”

“Maybe I can find out,” Nick said. “If I do, once this is over, I'll let you know.”

Drummond seemed to relax. “That in itself would be a comfort. The man's actions destroyed my credit and took a huge bite out of my savings.”

Nick rose from the sofa and Samantha stood up, too. Nick shook the Realtor's hand. “We appreciate your help, Mr. Drummond.”

“It's just Tom, and I wish you luck in whatever it is you're doing.” Drummond walked them to the door, paused as they stepped out onto the porch. “I have a twelve-year-old daughter,” he said. “I rest easier knowing that scum you put in prison is off the street.”

Nick just nodded. He did his best not to think about the case since it still gave him nightmares.

Guiding Samantha down the sidewalk, he helped her into the SUV. The wind was blowing up a gale, the clouds thicker than ever, but it hadn't started to rain.

As much as he'd enjoyed the drive, from the ominous look of the weather, he'd be damned glad to get back home.

 

 

Samantha studied Nick's profile as he drove back through Anchorage. His jaw was set, his eyes fixed on the road. The car shuddered against a heavy gust of wind and the sky opened up. Nick turned on the windshield wipers.

“You said you thought Alex got into some kind of trouble. That's why he stole Drummond's money.”

“That's right. From the day he got out of prison, the guy stayed out of trouble. Or at least stayed off the radar. He had a good reputation. A family. Something changed.”

“What do you think it was?”

“Maybe he got involved with the wrong people.”

“You mean Constantine Bela Varga?”

“Could be. Varga's goons came after Jimmy to keep him quiet about the murder. We have to assume Evans and Varga were somehow connected.”

“Maybe you're . . . umm . . . lady friend will find something on the flash drive.”

Nick sliced her a sideways glance. “She isn't my
lady friend.
Not anymore.” Nick signaled, turned the vehicle off the main road into an area of apartment buildings.

He was there to drop off a copy of the flash drive to his
intimate
friend. Samantha hadn't thought much about other women when she had accepted Nick's invitation. Now she wondered just how many
intimate
friends he had.

It was before he met you, she reminded herself, but it bothered her just the same.

Nick pulled the big Ford up to the curb and turned off the engine. Grabbing his heavy wool jacket out of the backseat, he pulled it on, turned up the collar, and cracked open the door. “Stay here. I'll be right back.”

He ran through the rain up under the covered porch, pounded on the door to apartment number four. When the door swung open, a tall, movie-star gorgeous blonde threw her arms around his neck. She had on a tight pair of jeans and a fitted sweater that showed off every curve. The running shoes on the end of her long legs said she was physically fit. Nick extricated himself from her hold around his neck, stepped inside and closed the door.