Bannon Brothers (28 page)

Read Bannon Brothers Online

Authors: Janet Dailey

BOOK: Bannon Brothers
12.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Whatever. Let's just go, okay? Where is the car rental place?”
“A mile away.”
“I'm ready.”
Charlie got up and looked at her, then at Bannon.
“Stay,” he said to the dog. “I'll take you out for a run as soon as I get back.”
 
The rental didn't take long and the clerk barely looked at them as he shoved the triplicate forms across the counter for Erin to sign. She insisted on paying for it, refusing his offer to cover the cost.
Come to think of it, he told himself, she had more money than he did at the moment. Half her advance on the painting commission, as in fifteen thousand. Whereas he was still waiting for Chief Hoebel to sign off on his continuance of claim so he could draw his pittance. But something about Erin made Bannon want to put every dime he had on the line if it would make her life easier or happier.
Yeah. He had it bad. And her vulnerability was making it worse.
He drove behind her as far as the discreetly marked private road to Montgomery's stud farm and stables. Erin turned left, waving to him, and he drove onward. No sign of the man himself. Or anyone who looked like an employee. Just a blonde in a luxury sedan, who was parked near the sign and seemed to be waiting for someone. Maybe a horse buyer or a rider from the local hunt club, he thought idly. She sort of seemed like she belonged there, but not quite.
He was miles away before it occurred to him that the blonde might be Montgomery's girlfriend Caroline. Erin hadn't liked her. He guessed that Caroline probably felt the same way.
Then he wondered whom she was waiting for.
Bannon blew out a breath and told himself to stop obsessing over every little thing that concerned Erin. As if that were possible. He already knew the way to her house well enough to drive there in the dark. The early morning rain had let up, but it was going to be another jolting trip over the rutted road to the little house. His back was aching when he finally got out of his car and looked over to hers.
Seemed the same. Before he muddied the ground by walking around, Bannon inspected it through narrowed eyes. No new footprints on this side—the ones he could see were his own, since the stalker had come and gone around the back of the house.
He reached into the car to get the gear he'd scrounged from the box of electronics under his bed. Two tiny vidcams and a motion sensor, plus a spaghetti-like snarl of connector cables, made the canvas bag he'd thrown it all into look lumpy. He'd sort it out inside the house. No doubt he was missing some key part, but he had time. He had a feeling Erin was going to be gone for the better part of the day.
He'd asked her to call him when she was done so he could escort her home. She hadn't seemed to mind.
Bannon tried to stay on the grass as he approached the porch, just in case there was a partial imprint in the mud. Nothing. And the steps showed only his footprints and Erin's. He went up them, taking out the key she'd given him—fortunately, she had brought it with her after all—and unlocking the door.
Inside there was that same faint, sweet smell that he remembered. This time it came to him courtesy of the draft from the broken window. Bannon found some heavy brown paper in her studio area, noticing that it was the same type she'd used to wrap up the painting of the Chincoteague horses he'd bought on another rainy morning.
He went into her bedroom, laying the paper down on the rug and tearing off a piece to pick up the shattered glass and put it into the center of the paper, then folding it up carefully. No telling if the dog or the intruder had touched it first. Old and fragile to begin with, the pane had shattered in both directions. But he would dust it for fingerprints when he got home.
Bannon did a walk-through, grateful for the opportunity to really examine things closely. He forced himself to stay away from the box that held the scrapbook, though. But something else caught his eye.
That pink stuffed bear. The one that looked like Ann Montgomery's. Worth a closer look, too, with the digital microscope he could plug into his laptop. He would do that when she wasn't around. And he wouldn't have to explain to her why he'd brought it back. Women kept stuffed animals from childhood—most likely she'd figure that he was just trying to comfort her somehow.
He hauled the vidcams and cables out of the bag he'd brought and put the pink bear in it.
It took a lot of ingenuity to get it all connected and plugged in. The vidcams had power—a tiny light glowed inconspicuously on the back side of each one. Whether the image feed from her computer would happen and whether they would be able to pick it up from his place were two very big questions.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
With a sinking feeling he realized that he hadn't asked Erin for her password. Bannon swore under his breath. He touched a key, hoping she'd left everything on, ready to go, and not password-protected.
She had.
He fiddled with the vidcams, then turned to her computer and prayed their icons would show up.
They did.
He set about hiding them in the applications folder, just in case the stalker went looking for them too.
Caroline stared straight ahead through her windshield. Her lawyer had been kind enough to drive out to the stables and meet her by the entrance to the private road. Then he'd followed her to this secluded pull-off. She hadn't wanted to invite him into the house, or start any rumors by visiting his offices so soon after Monty's stroke.
Once they'd parked side by side, she let him into her car. Jeffrey Burney was a typical middle-aged male with a midlife-crisis-sized sports car, and she wasn't getting into it. Seats that low-slung made skirts ride up, which she supposed was the idea.
Anyway, she doubted that the luxury sedan was bugged. It was Monty's preferred car, and even Monty wouldn't bug his own vehicle.
Jeffrey Burney was looking through papers in his briefcase on his lap, not talking at the moment.
“So did you get a chance to look at the files on the flash drive?” she asked.
“No.”
“Jeffrey—I gave it to you two days ago,” she chided him.
He found the papers he was looking for and handed several to her. Caroline stared at printed code that made no sense at all. Random letters were interspersed with little squares and arrows and blips. “What the hell is this?”
“The files. What you saw wasn't what you got.”
“Don't confuse me.”
“Caroline, you were looking at what you thought were financial files on Montgomery's computer.”
“I didn't think so. That's what they were,” she insisted.
“He or someone he hired fooled you but good. The files were programmed to self-destruct once they were saved to the flash drive you used. The information on them was probably bogus to begin with. And now, as you can see, it's pure gibberish.”
Caroline's eyes widened and her hands clutched, about to tear the pages when the lawyer took them back. “Don't. These might come in handy as evidence. I'd like to hire a forensic accountant.”
She cursed violently. “How much is that going to cost me?”
“All fees will come out of the final settlement.”
“And what are my chances of getting one?”
Burney permitted himself a wry smile. “Not too bad. His having a stroke does complicate matters. I would advise patience.”
“Like I have a choice?”
He folded the printouts and slipped them back into his briefcase, closing it with a dignified-sounding snap.
“You can make a better case if you stay with him for now. Do everything a wife would do, see to his needs, run the household, that kind of thing.”
“He never let me do any of that.”
Jeffrey cleared his throat. “He may not have a choice. From what you've told me, he's partially incapacitated and his prognosis is uncertain.”
“He might make a full recovery,” she grumbled. “His doctors wouldn't say one way or another. It was a hem-something kind of stroke. Hemorrhagic. Not that common.”
“I see. Well, whatever kind it was, you do have a second chance here.”
Caroline fumed. “Are you sure?”
The lawyer shrugged. “Judges have a lot of discretion for plaintiffs like you. The more you seem to be married, the stronger your case for a settlement payout becomes.”
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “All right. I guess I can fake it a while longer. I've been doing it for years.”
Burney slid her a sidelong glance. “Just remember not to lose your temper, my dear. Or take advantage of his weakness. There are servants in the house and I imagine relatives will be visiting—”
“He doesn't have any. Even if he doesn't think so, that daughter of his that got kidnapped is dead.”
“Are you talking about the little girl who was on the news?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know she's dead?” he asked.
“She has to be after all this time,” Caroline snapped.
The lawyer frowned. “This conversation is between us, of course, but I wouldn't go around blurting out remarks like that if I were you. It seems—uncharitable.”
“Jeffrey, I'm a realist.”
He shook his head. “Ultimately, how you present yourself to a judge isn't going to have a lot to do with reality. Think of yourself as a loving young wife and act the part. Day and night.”
She heaved a sigh. “I'll try. That's all I can promise.”
“When is he coming home?”
Caroline looked out the window. “Soon. In a few days. A physical therapist called me today to go over all the stuff he's going to need. An adjustable bed. A walker. Gizmos to pick up things. Pill organizers. I hope I die before I get old.”
Burney looked out the window rather than at his client. “Don't talk like that,” was all he said.
 
Bannon pulled in at the entrance to Montgomery's private road hours later, driving fast. Erin's call had come in just as he was putting a few final touches on the vidcam hookup at her house. He'd left it as it was. If it worked, fine. If not, he would go back tomorrow and adjust it. The whole business was a long shot anyway.
The stalker wasn't likely to stick around if she wasn't there. Or so Bannon hoped.
He'd boarded up the broken window and reinforced all the others with screws drilled into the frames, for what it was worth. He hoped her friend in Vermont wouldn't mind.
Bannon turned on the radio and picked up a station featuring a neo-bluegrass band he liked. He listened, content to wait, and then he saw the car she'd rented. He waved to her and she waved back, her expression serious.
To be expected. He was going to take her out or let her order in, whatever she wanted. Long day for both of them—and he suddenly thought of Charlie.
Damn it. Good thing she accelerated as she led him out and kept the pedal to the metal all the way home.
She pulled in first, taking a slot next to the one he considered his, though none of them were assigned by the condo management.
When he got out and went to her, he saw that her expression was not so much serious as sad.
“Hey, Erin. How'd it go?”
She only shrugged, reaching inside her car for the plastic bag of art supplies and her sketchpad.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, catching himself. “Okay, stupid question. Besides what happened this morning, I mean.”
“I'm okay,” she said. “Let's get inside.”
She led and he followed, curious and uneasy. Once he'd unlocked the door, his guilty conscience made him take the dog out at once. When she was ready, she'd tell him what was on her mind.

Other books

Troubled Bones by Jeri Westerson
Original Death by Eliot Pattison
The Fourth Figure by Aspe, Pieter; Doyle, Brian;
Forever & an Engine by C. J. Fallowfield
Blessing The Highlander by Coulter, J. Lee
Her Royal Baby by Marion Lennox
After Eli by Rebecca Rupp
Love With A Stranger by Taylor, Janelle