Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) (6 page)

“What the hell is this, NASCAR?” she croaked.

“Losing our tail.”

“What?” She peered back between the bucket seats. “Someone’s following us?”

“Watch for a black Explorer.”

“That’s an SUV, right?” What did she know about big, macho vehicles?

“Ford, yeah.”

At the next intersection, he made a hairpin turn right onto a one-way street the wrong way. He squealed around a green van headed their way. After that she didn’t want to look.

“Anybody back there?”

Turning around, she dared a peek. “A few shocked motorists giving you the one-finger salute out the windows.” She closed her eyes, picturing what she’d seen. “Maybe a black SUV. But it didn’t turn into this street.”

“Good. I’m not done yet. Hang tight.”

Another sharp turn followed that one, and another, careening the truck nearly off its tires. Now she knew what the expression
heart in your throat
felt like. The pickup bounced across railroad tracks, and they entered the industrial area near the marine terminal. Finally Cort reduced the break-neck speed and zipped through an open chain-link gate into an abandoned shipping business. The pickup rolled to a stop behind a warehouse.

“We’ll wait here awhile,” Cort said. “Allow time for them to give up looking.”

Mara released her grip on the handle, one cramped finger at a time. “What the hell was that about?” she said when she could trust her voice again.

He rolled down the driver’s window and adjusted the side mirror. “The SUV picked us up the block after Cassie’s house. Hung back a car length or two but stayed with us.”

She twisted her fingers together. “You think it’s the thug who attacked me last night?”

He covered her shaking hands with one of his rough workingman’s hands. “Maybe. Could be FBI. They’re driving dark SUVs now instead of sedans.”

Any minute she expected to hear sirens. When after a few minutes, all she heard were the normal, distant traffic noises, she breathed easier. “Where did you learn to drive like that?”

His mouth curved in a teasing smile that dented the small new-moon scar on his left cheek into a dimple. She’d have to shore up her resistance to this boyish side of him.

“Misspent youth doing some street racing. Used to sneak out of the house after midnight. Mom went ballistic when she found out. Even Leon disapproved.”

“What father wouldn’t?”

He lifted a shoulder as if to dismiss Leon’s attempt at discipline. “He was afraid it’d draw police attention onto him.”

“It’s possible he genuinely feared for your safety.”

He grunted his doubt of that and started the engine.

He brushed off his hurt, kept it unspoken but the aura of anguish around him was palpable. How sad to be betrayed by his own father. Her dad, no, never.

They drove home the longer way, across the Francis Scott Key Bridge and via the Baltimore-Washington Expressway, a route no one would expect them to take. She hoped.

***

At the end of Cassie Marton’s street, Rolf Rousso stabbed the End Call button on his phone and muttered a string of profanity. He should’ve known that idiot would lose them. But the greedy pair were his only connection to the puzzle rings.

The Jeweler had led Centaur on a merry chase for years. He would not let the son do the same to him. Retrieving the Gramornia crown jewels would be his ticket to move up in the smuggling syndicate, to be management. He would no longer have to sit in a rental subcompact and rely on idiot locals for assistance.

He had grown up sleeping on the floor beside his snoring older brothers. Their father drank most of the money their mother earned on her back. Rousso had grubbed for every coin he could beg, con, or steal. He was never sinking again to such misery.

Never. The Gramornia jewels were as good as his. As Centaur’s, he amended.

He turned the ignition key. No purr or roar of a finely tuned engine, only a basic vehicle, nothing to attract unwanted attention.

Jones and the Marton girl had led him to what he suspected was their weak link. A little research and he would know exactly how to use her.

***

Later that night Cort dug into Mara’s cooking at her cocktail table as they finished with the first box of files. So far the only indication of her father’s possible guilt or innocence was the lack of any. No proof of anything.

“Ate in a Korean restaurant in Boston once. This dish isn’t exactly rice with tofu and kimchi,” he teased as he forked up a bite of chicken and pasta primavera. She’d accompanied the dish with a fresh green salad.

“The only Korean dish I know how to prepare is
gam-ja-tang
, a pork stew with potato and vegetables. Dad was a meat and potatoes eater. And kimchi?” She affected a shudder. “Way too eye-watering for this girl. I prefer Italian.”

“I’ll eat this anytime.” He scarfed down more.

After thanking him, she nibbled from her plate as she organized the mess of files they’d examined in the first box. Somebody stuffed copies of police reports in folders with Marton’s notes and insurance reports.

Elegant and exotic even in a simple lime-green jersey, faded jeans, and flip flops, she seemed to have settled down after their dodge’em maneuvers in Dundalk. She’d pulled her glossy hair back in one of those scrunchie things. He took in how the thick chunk of it slid onto one shoulder as she bent forward. When she reached for the piles nearest him, her knee pressed against his and her scent underlined with savory sauce swirled in his head.

To distract himself he looked around the room. Comfortable furniture in primary colors—reds in the sofa and pillows, strong blues, greens—elegant and feminine but not frilly, like the woman. Family photographs and bold abstract paintings scattered the walls around shelves. A yoga mat lay rolled up in one corner beside a tennis racquet and bag.

She’d set aside in a stack her magazines—
Wired, PC World, Smithsonian Magazine
—before they sat down. She was meticulous about the filing, to the point of adding new folders and labels. With a felt-tip pen, she labeled the next folder “Police Reports,” with the dates involved. Her lips were pursed in concentration.

Soft and kissable, he bet. He needed to ditch those thoughts. Hell, he wasn’t here for fun and games and neither was she.

He set his empty plate on the table and noted she’d barely touched her food except for the salad. Methodical and exacting, good qualities. But was she overcompensating for the cloud around her father by trying to be perfect?

“I’m surprised your father was so disorganized.” He enjoyed a swallow of cabernet.

“The files were probably in folders or neat piles on Dad’s desk when the FBI took them away. When they returned the boxes, Mom stored them away without looking at the files.” Her voice caught on the last word but she firmed her mouth. “I don’t know who to blame for the mess—the FBI or the DSF operative who dug into the case later.”

“Does organizing matter now? We’ve examined them.”

She glanced up from the label she was affixing to a folder. The stress and exhaustion showed in fine lines around her eyes. “Not enough. We may want to go through those papers again in case we miss something.”

Thorough, he’d give her that. “What about computer disks?”

“Maybe in the other box. Back then he backed up his files on floppies. I’d have to take those to the office to see if they’re corrupted.” She edged back and picked up her plate.

Cort looked at the short list he’d made in his spiral notebook. Marton had eliminated most of the people the FBI questioned. “Looks like he narrowed the suspects to the security guards and Leon’s usual partner. Must’ve figured Falco knew something even if he didn’t take part in the burglary. Falco might tell
me
what he wouldn’t reveal back then.”

She cocked her head. “
You
took his part in the break-in. Why don’t you have another one of the ring pieces?”

“I refused a cut.” He should’ve refused the whole dodgy enterprise, but he’d been a dumb-ass kid and Leon a smooth talker. “Maybe he gave that piece of the ring to Falco before the job and didn’t have time to get it back from him.”

“A possibility.” Appearing to take his hint not to grill him further, Mara peered at her laptop screen. She scrolled down the names and the scant information. “This guard, George Hauptman, stayed in the central security headquarters, monitoring the closed-circuit system.” She worried a corner of her lower lip between her teeth.

“The cameras as well as the alarms and motion sensors were disabled temporarily—probably Leon’s doing—but they’d gone on the fritz off and on for a week and the FBI couldn’t prove Hauptman had anything to do with it that night. The technicians said the interruptions could’ve been due to the frequent thunderstorms that June.”

“What if he caused it all to divert suspicion?”

The FBI and Marton had covered all this but what the hell. “Either of the two other guards could’ve arranged the disruptions. But maybe guilt has weighed on the guy all this time and he’s ready to spill his guts.”

“Or another one is. A hopeful thought. Too bad you have to go back to Maine tomorrow.” She stabbed a bite of chicken with her fork. “If Hauptman still lives in Kensington, I can go talk to him.”

His hand jerked, nearly knocking his plate on the floor. “Whoa, whoa. No way.” For someone so logical and careful, how could she be so naïve? “Go interview possible criminals by yourself? Unless you’re more than a research tech at Devlin Security?”

She shut her eyes briefly and sighed. “Nope, strictly an office grind. I have no self-defense expertise at all. You’re right, of course. I’m just antsy. I want to
do
something.”

“And you can. You told me research is what you do. So research. Get on the ’Net and find out where all these guys are, where they live, what they’re doing now. Everything you can get on them since the Gramornian crown jewels were taken. And don’t—”

“I know. Don’t tell anyone at work about the rings. Hush-hush. But I have to keep my boss in the loop.”

“Better if nobody knows what we’re doing.” How could he trust a man he’d never met?

“Thomas Devlin offered to help, remember, offered the resources of DSF. I think he’ll give me clearance for access to more secure databases. And time to do this research. He’ll be discreet.” She laid a hand on his knee. “You want me to trust you, so you have to trust me.”

If secrecy and security were the man’s business, maybe it would work. But if others started looking for the rings, he could lose all control of the search. And the jewels. Trust her? Maybe this far. “Only Devlin, okay.”

“Then what? You’ll be in Maine.”

“I have some things to finish, a two-week course, some other business.” He’d finish the latest commission. Take leave from his job if necessary. “Then I’ll come back. We might find more names in the second box and notes about Leon.”

“Or something about the puzzle ring.” The tightness of her mouth said she hoped not. “Tell me about finding your ring piece. Where’d he have it hidden?”

He considered. Couldn’t see why not. “Behind the house where I used to live with my mom. I was lucky the present owners weren’t home. The back side of the stone wall abutted a drainage ditch. He’d tucked the ring piece into the stone wall. That niche used to be a drop for him and me.”

“A drop?”

“A secret stash, for notes mostly.”

Her eyebrows winged upward. “You had to pass notes in secret to your dad?”

“When I was a kid, Mom thought she was protecting me by keeping Leon’s profession a secret. We moved from Marseille to Milan and different places in the States, supposedly because of his jewelry-designing business. He did design jewelry, but I knew where some of the
supplies
came from.”

“Do you look like him?”

“Some. Less now. I’m built like Mom’s family, not wiry like... like a second-story man.” Leon had asked if he worked out. Yeah, he worked out. Exhaustion from running and lifting helped him make it through the night. Maybe making this right would let him sleep.

She’d finished—about half of what was on her plate, as much as she ever seemed to eat—and he followed her into the kitchen with his plate.

“You lived with your mom. They were separated?” She scraped the plates into the garbage and placed them in the sink.

When she moved to cover the casserole and put it away, he took her place at the sink. Might as well earn his keep. And standing closer to her allowed him to breathe her scent. “When I was twelve, she discovered he’d been teaching me certain skills.”

He wouldn’t go into how Leon used to tell him stories about the glamorous world of jewel theft. He attributed the twinge in his chest to too much pasta. Memories of the arguments and his mother’s increased drinking hammered at him. Especially after that day. “She packed me up then and there. We left.”

She took coffee beans from the freezer and shook her head. “What sort of skills was he teaching you?”

“Off and on he had me practice climbing walls and walking across the roof. To strengthen me and build agility for sports, he said, but I knew better. I heard enough to know why they argued about it. Mom caught him showing me how to pick locks.” He’d kept the set of tools Leon gave him. A point of pride they remained unused. And would.

“No surprise you did what your dad wanted. A guy thing.” She dumped coffee beans into the high-tech contraption she called a coffeemaker. When the thing finished whirring like a power drill, she set up the brewing. “Was he a good dad except for... you know?”

He shrugged that off and reached for a bowl. Finished rinsing the plates. His wet fingers brushed hers as he handed her a dish, and her cheeks flushed a nice pink. As she arranged the dirty dishes and silverware in the dishwasher, she kept her face averted. He grinned, pleased he affected her. Not that anything between them should go further than a simple touch.