The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) (4 page)

“Bloody hell.”

“There are too many involved in that organization to catch them one at a time,” said Vincent. “We need to see the big picture. We need to know what they’re up to before they act. Masters seems like a viable way to get the key and understand the emails. We suspect he designed the code and came up with the device used as the key.”

“When we’ve tried implanting listening devices in Masters home,” Foxton continued, “we got nothing. Surveillance, nothing. A search through his home has proved futile. The emails have been traced to his home, but we can’t find the key he uses to encode them.”

“It’s to be expected,” Vincent added. “He’s incredibly smart; he has a technical engineering degree and currently works as a network engineer.”

“How do you want me to find the key?” Sophia asked.

“It’s going to take more than a night. He’ll have to lead us to the key.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’ll trust you.”

“Me?” Sophia sat forward. “I don’t like where this is going. I may have experience with codes but I have no experience with undercover work. It’s best if you send in someone who won’t…be me. Besides, how do you know he will even like me, never mind come to trust me?”

Silence.

“What?” Sophia rose from her chair and looked around. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You already have a connection to him,” Foxton said.

“No, I don’t. I don’t know him.”

“You don’t,” Vincent replied, “but your father does.”

“What? My father is not involved in the bombings. There’s no way.”

“That’s not the connection. Autism is the connection,” Foxton said.

Sophia sat down again. She didn’t want to hear this.

“Listen.” Foxton sat down in the empty chair next to her. “Masters’ younger brother has autism, and Marcus is heavily involved in charities to raise funds for research. Your father is a lead researcher and doctor in that field, and he happens to be hosting a charity event for just that cause in the near future.”

“In two days.” Sophia nodded. She knew where this was going.

“You have to understand,” Foxton continued. “It’s an access to him we can’t pass up. It would take any of our undercover agents weeks to build the trust you could build in a night. We know it ultimately puts you and your father at risk—”

“Not just us, it puts everyone I know at risk.”

“We wouldn’t leave you in the lurch. Of course we would provide your family with protection,” Vincent said.

“It’s simple,” Foxton said. “You attend the event, try to arrange for a date, get into his house and catch him writing an email. The emails are becoming more and more frequent. He should be checking his email often. Something will happen soon. A few days, it should only take a few days.”

Famous last words.

“Can I ask you something?” Sophia put down her fork, leaned over the table, and grabbed Marc’s hand.

“You can ask me anything, my dear.”

“Why did you agree to go out with me that night, the night of the autism dinner?”

“I ask myself that a lot,” he said quietly. “It actually scares me.”

What did he mean scared? “Do you have regrets?” she asked.

“Regrets? Hell, no. Because of you, I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching. What scares me is what my life would have been like if we’d never met. You were so beautiful, and I’d never had a woman like you ask me for coffee before. I think the bigger question is why you asked me in the first place.”

She suspected at one point he would ask that. “It was actually when you told me that you couldn’t get your girlfriend to go with you,” she said.

“What? Why?”

“It was the exact problem I faced. Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get blokes to come with me? It’s a charity event, and I always offer to pay for their meals, but they still won’t attend. Pathetic. And here you were, a man that actually gives a damn.”

“I’ll never forget that night.”

Neither would she. She had been replaying that night in her mind over the past five months. As relaxed as she felt with him now, she did not feel that way five months ago.

The night of the charity event started with Sophia in the back of a darkened, nondescript car, her fingers tight round her clutch bag while Liam Foxton pushed a soft rubber object into her ear canal. He snapped his fingers and the words “test, test,” boomed in her ear.

“It works,” she said. “Are you sure he won’t see or hear it?”

“Not with your hair covering your ears.” Laim fluffed her hair forward and smiled. “All right, a microphone in your earring and in your bag. You’re set. Do not speak to your handbag. If you have an important question, excuse yourself and ask in the toilets or something.”

She took a deep breath and nodded.

“Make sure he notices you’re interested but don’t appear too eager. It has to seem natural. We know he’s not gay; we’ve made that mistake before. He’s not in a relationship, not in a serious one anyway. This may be our best chance. Don’t try too hard.”

“I get it. I get it. Can I go now? Sitting here is making me nervy.”

He nodded and she got out of the car. In the banquet hall, she spotted Marcus straightaway. Standing in the corner, he smiled and looked round as he half-listened to an obese man jabber on.

She wanted to approach him, ask him out, and escape. However, her feet had different ideas; they stayed planted under her quivering knees.

“You see him, right?” Liam whispered into her ear.

She nodded.

“Don’t nod.”

How did he know?

That’s when she caught sight of three men that worked with Liam dressed in tuxedos a few feet off. This was no longer a practice run-through; she had one chance to make it work. No pressure.

“Sophia?”

“Dad.” She turned to face him and pulled her hair forward, making sure it covered her earpiece. “You look very dapper in your tuxedo.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You invited me.”

“Yes, dear, I always invite you, and you never come. Why did you change your mind?”

“I’m feeling a bit charitable tonight.” She grabbed his warm hands and kissed him on the cheek. For some reason, she felt safer knowing he was there.

“Why are your hands shaking? Are you eating all right? You’re so thin.”

“Your hair is whiter, and I think I see another wrinkle.”

He did not seem amused.

“I’m fine, Dad. It’s a bit nippy out, that’s all. Oh, and I’m vegan.”

“When did that happen?”

“About a year ago.” It disgusted her how easy it was lying to him. A voice came over the microphone on stage and directed people to their seats. “Where do I sit?”

“Where would you like to sit, dear?”

She looked around for Marcus and prayed a seat was available at his table. There was. “I could sit there, in the front near the stage. Near you.”

“Wonderful idea.” He put his arm around her waist and led her to the empty seat. Sophia smiled at the others sitting round her, including Marcus two seats to her right.

Three years ago, she’d been to a charity dinner and knew she’d have no time to make her move until the speeches and the meal were complete. So she relaxed and enjoyed one of the two vegan meals at her table. Marc smiled at her when their plates were placed in front of them. She could suffer boiled vegetables and starvation in order to prevent him from blowing someone’s head off.

Finally the speeches were over. The milling about had begun; she knew it was time to make her move. She had practiced a hundred different opening lines, but then Marcus approached her father. The men spoke in whispered tones, and she slowly approached, hoping her father would invite her over. It worked.

“Oh, Marcus, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Marcus Masters, Sophia Evans.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.

Stop shaking, stop shaking.

“Pleasure.” She smiled warmly and stepped closer to her father. As if planned, the agent in the tuxedo stepped forward, introduced himself and asked if he could introduce the doctor to some of his friends. Always eager, away her father went.

Damn.

Marcus started walking away. She reacted and grabbed his hand. “Marc, is it? Have you been touched by autism? I mean, of course, not you personally. I mean, you personally, your family. Do you know someone with autism?”

He stared at her, mouth open.

She gritted her teeth and clutched her hands together in front of her chest. “I’m a right prat, blathering on like I am, asking these stupid questions. I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business.” A snicker came through her earpiece.

“My brother is autistic,” he said as he placed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Your father does good work.” He tapped his temple with his palm. “But you probably knew that.”

Sophia pressed her lips together and shrugged.

“You live in London?” he asked.

“Oh, I do. You?”

He nodded. The awkward silence killed her. If the mood between them didn’t change soon, there would be no date, and the assignment would fail. If there was one thing she hated, it was failing.

“Marcus—”

“No, please, call me Marc.”

“Okay, Marc. I told my father I’d wait for him but I know he’ll be a bit yet. Do you want to come with me across the street and grab a coffee?”

“They have coffee here.”

“Yeah, but it’s rubbish, innit?” She smiled and gave him her best pleading expression. “My treat?”

He agreed. Sophia was thankful she had noticed the coffee bar before she entered the banquet hall earlier. She was even more thankful it remained open until one in the morning for jazz night.

She placed his mocha coffee in front of him and sat down at one of the wrought iron tables outside. There would be no conversation in the loud club, and conversation was necessary to acquire a date.

“What is it you do for work?” he asked as he sipped and watched cars and pedestrians go by.

“Me? You’ll laugh.” She took a deep breath and said, “I’m an estate agent.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“When your father and grandfather are doctors and your mother’s an architect, well, people have higher expectations. I know I disappointed a few by my choice.” She dug into the ground with her heel. Although she hated divulging information to a stranger, she wanted his trust and that meant details. “It was my ex-boyfriend actually. He’d been an estate agent for a few years and thought I should as well. Why not? It was a rebellious and regretful stage of life for me. Ah, too late now to take up medicine.”

“It’s never too late.”

“Maybe.” She twirled her latte, feeling his eyes boring into her. As much as that sent shivers down her spine, it was a good sign. “What do you do for work?”

Although he explained in the simplest terms his geek mind could muster, and although she understood every word he said, she replied, “So, something to do with computers?”

He laughed—another good sign. “Do you know anything about computers?”

“I know I can turn it off and on again. Smack it around a few times for full effect.” This time, she laughed. “I don’t normally do this.”

“Do what?”

“Ask a guy for coffee five minutes after meeting him.”

“Then why did you?”

“Would you believe I have no idea why I’m doing it?”

“Yes. I have no idea why I’m sitting with you either.”

“Oh, you have a girlfriend.” She turned the cup around in her hands, seeking its warmth and comfort.

“No, nothing like that. I guess I’ve been under a bit of stress lately. It’s nice to just sit here and drink coffee and not think.” He paused. “Not that it requires little thought to have this conversation, or a lot of thought. No, this conversation is relaxing.”

“It helps that I’m not the ugliest bird either.”

He nodded. “It doesn’t hurt. Plus, you’re vegan.”

“Oh, yeah.” She noticed that his eyes had softened somewhat. “It’s a recent thing for me.” She had to get this right. “I mean, I’ve always had an aversion to meat but about a year ago, I had to sell some property—a farm out in the country—and they had pigs. They walked me through the abattoir. That did it for me.” She shook her head in disgust. Fortunately, she had actually been to one with her mother so she could describe it if needed.

“It sickens me how cruel humans can be towards helpless creatures,” he started.

“Yes, yes, this is perfect. Keep him talking, Evans.” Foxton’s voice came through her earpiece.

What, it doesn’t sicken you to blow up humans, you bloody bastard?
Sophia gave him her best fake smile.

“Something has to be done, the abuse can’t continue,” Marc went on. “Don’t you agree?” He raised his eyebrow.

“This is it,” Foxton said, yelling in her ear now. Sophia raised her hand to her head, almost touching her ear. “We rehearsed the lines, get it right, Evans.”

The problem was Foxton couldn’t see Marc, he could only hear him, and Masters didn’t want to hear what they had rehearsed. She was almost positive. Almost.

Sophia took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m selfish, but I haven’t thought about it much.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what one person can do.”

“One person can make a difference, but it does help when you have more on your side.”

She took a sip of coffee and said, “You know what drives me crazy mad? The pets in my block of flats. Okay, I understand if you own one of those small dogs—Chihuahuas—but the gaffer that lives below me owns a Black Lab. A Black Lab. The dog is huge and alone most of the day, stuck in a tight flat, howling and whining at every sound I make. Every day the owner comes home, and because the dog has been in prison all day, it’s hyperactive, and who’s reprimanded? The dog.”

Sophia stopped talking and looked at Marc. He sat there and said nothing. Did she tell the wrong story? How could she have been so mistaken?

“Anyway, boring story short, I’m working on getting my building pet free.” Still silence. Silence from Marc and silence in her earpiece. “Anyway.”

“I should go,” he said finally and stood up.

No.
“Oh, okay.” Sophia rose with him, not taking her eyes off him. “Well, thanks for talking with me.” She felt failure in the pit of her stomach.