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“You like to rescue things,” Kristen said as she stared at ivy trailing out of the window boxes.
A smile tugged at Sheridan’s full mouth. “And you are good at sizing people up.”
A necessary skill. “Yes.”
Sheridan studied her. “There’s sadness in your soul, Kristen Rodale.”
Kristen felt the blood drain from her face. “Sadness isn’t a crime is it?”
Sheridan sipped her coffee. “No, it’s not. But someone as young as you shouldn’t be so sad.”
“No one ever said life was supposed to be happy.”
A cloud passed in front of Sheridan’s eyes. Kristen had hit a nerve. But just as soon as the sorrow appeared, it vanished. “Like I said, I pay seven dollars an hour and I also have a room above the studio, which you can use. I lived in the apartment until a couple of months ago. Now I live down the street in the youth shelter.”
“Why the shelter?”
“The old director quit unexpectedly and they needed someone to run the place. I like the kids so for now it’s my home.”
“More people to save?”
“I suppose.” Sheridan broke Kristen’s gaze and let it travel over her building. “The apartment is yours if you want it, though I’ll expect you to open the shop each morning by eight. That’ll save me from having to arrive much before the 9:00 a.m. class. The shelter has a 10:00 p.m. curfew, but I never seem to get to bed before midnight.”
Life had made Kristen cautious, skeptical of lucky breaks. Sheridan just seemed too good to be true. “Why me?”
She lifted a brow. “Why hire you? Can’t say. A gut feeling. Sometimes you have to be willing to take a chance on the unknown.”
Sheridan was offering a job and a place to stay—a rare and wonderful combination. Kristen had purchased a social security number in Atlanta two months ago, so the paperwork wouldn’t be an issue. It would be nice to call one place home for a while. And Lancaster Springs seemed like the last place Antonio would ever look for her.
Sheridan seemed to sense she’d not quite convinced Kristen. “Oh, did I mention the apartment has a microwave and small fridge?”
Here she could save more money. If she were careful she could save up enough for a car in a matter of months. “Sounds like heaven.”
“It’s nothing fancy, but it is clean and safe.”
Safe.
There was a time when Kristen had believed she’d never be truly safe again, which was why she’d crisscrossed the country and still kept a thousand miles between herself and Florida. Hiding had become her specialty.
Yes, to stop moving was risky, but she’d covered her tracks well.
She was safe.
Kristen held out a hand to Sheridan. “I’ll take your job.”
The woman’s grip was firm. “Good.”
Chapter 2
Tuesday, April 24, 2:33 p.m.
Dane Cambia checked his watch. He itched to get this meeting going.
A week ago, he’d contacted Lucian Moss, a UCLA dropout who ran a company that specialized in computer security systems. Other corporations hired Moss to test the integrity of their networks. So far, there hadn’t been a system he couldn’t hack into.
The front door of the pub opened and Cambia recognized Lucian Moss from the last day of the Antonio Benito trial. He remembered Lucian’s anguished outcry when the “Innocent” verdict had been read. Moss’s uncle had been among the Churchmen murdered in Miami last year.
The computer expert wore a Grateful Dead shirt, an old black leather jacket, faded jeans and scuffed leather boots. Thick black hair brushed broad muscled shoulders, making him look more like a Hell’s Angel than a computer geek.
Cambia rose, waved him over. The men shook hands and sat down.
A waitress came and took Lucian’s coffee order. If she thought Moss looked out of place in the tony Washington pub, she showed no sign of it.
Cambia waited until she’d delivered Lucian’s coffee and topped off his mug. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure.” He pushed his coffee aside.
Dane lowered his voice. “We share a common enemy.”
Moss twisted an onyx ring on his pinky finger. “Really?”
“Antonio Benito.”
Hatred darkened Moss’s eyes. “What’s Benito done to you?”
“My sister was Nancy Rogers, a Miami cop assigned to guard Elena Benito. The safe house was hit by gunmen. My sister was killed.”
Lucian’s dark eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”
Sadness tightened around Dane’s heart. He’d listened to the tape of Nancy’s last conversation with her commanding officer twenty times. Her voice had been tense, tight and her shock clear when she’d realized her partner had betrayed them. Nancy had ordered Elena to run before firing her gun. It sliced at his gut every time.
“I need your help,” Dane said.
“How so?”
“I’ve had people on the street looking for Elena Benito for six months. No one can find her. But I’ve heard you can find anybody.”
“I can.” The softly spoken words radiated confidence.
“I want to use Elena as bait,” Dane said. “She’s the only one Antonio Benito truly cares about, the only one that can flush him out.”
Moss studied him. “The police failed to protect her before.”
“I won’t.”
Lucian tapped a long finger on the table. “I did a little checking on you. Special Forces. A month ago you resigned from the FBI.”
“That’s right.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“The law had their chance with Benito. Now it’s my turn.”
“You are going to kill him?”
“Yep.”
For a moment Lucian said nothing and Dane feared he wasn’t up for such hands-on work. “I want in on the kill.”
Surprised, he sat back in his seat. “No.”
“I’ve spent the last year going after Benito’s finances. Most of his business is cash and handled off the books. But about thirty percent of it funnels through computers. I’ve taken all of that. It’s driving Benito crazy and I know he’ll kill me if he finds me.” The threat of death did not seem to faze him. “But no matter how much money I take, it’s never enough. I want him dead.”
Dane understood the anger Lucian felt. “This is a little more hands-on than stealing electronic files from one thousand miles away.”
Lucian’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know what I’m getting into, Cambia.”
The last thing he needed was a John Wayne wanna-be getting himself killed or mucking up his show. “This is my operation. I work alone.”
Lucian shrugged and started to rise. “Then find the woman on your own. Or better, I will find her and catch Benito all by myself.”
Hard determination glittered in Lucian’s eyes. He’d do exactly what he said.
If Dane searched for Elena on his own, it could take months, maybe years, before he found her. He’d never beat Lucian in the race to find Elena. The only objective was to get Benito. And he’d sworn he’d do whatever it took to catch his sister’s killer.
Like it or not, Dane needed Moss.
Dane leaned forward. “All right, I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“I want in on the kill, not the loop.”
If he wanted Benito, he’d have to work with Lucian. “Agreed.”
Lucian’s shoulders relaxed and he sat back down. “It could take me a week or two to find her.”
“How? She must move around a lot and live off the grid. There’s been no trace of her.”
Lucian didn’t miss a beat. “Facial recognition scanner.”
“Like the ones they use to track cheaters in Vegas?” Dane asked.
“Mine’s a lot better. And unlike conventional technology mine is programmed to tap into every surveillance system in every major city. You can change your hair, put on glasses or a hat, but the bones in your face never change. If she’s been through an airport, mall or bus station in the last nine months, I’ll find her.”
“You are certain?”
Lucian smiled. “Very.”
Chapter 3
Wednesday, May 16, 12:40 p.m.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay if I leave you here for a few days?” Sheridan asked Kristen.
Kristen’s smile was genuine. “I will be fine. Go to your sister.” She had been working at the studio for two weeks and had fallen into a routine. She’d never felt more relaxed and confident.
“I hate leaving you.” Sheridan frowned at the computer on the reception desk one last time. “The computer is no problem for you?”
“No.” She’d picked up the Mac’s system in a day.
“Computers are a necessary evil as far as I am concerned. But they are efficient and we’ve got new registrations to log in.”
It felt good to be able to help Sheridan, who had done so much for her these last couple of weeks. Watching the studio for a few days and handling the computer was a pleasure. “I will do the computer work.”
Silver bracelets jangled on Sheridan’s wrist as she dragged her hand through tousled blond hair. “You are a goddess.”
“Anything else?”
“If a girl named Crystal comes by looking for me, tell her I’ll be back in a few days. She’s one of the kids from the shelter. With a bit of work, I think I can save her.”
“I’ll keep a lookout for her.” Kristen glanced at her dollar-store wristwatch. “You better go now or you’ll be stuck in D.C. traffic.”
Sheridan turned to leave and then snapped her fingers, as if remembering something. “We’ve also got that contractor coming.” The plan was to convert the two small rooms off the reception area into a large tearoom.
“I remember. I can handle one contractor. Your sister is having a baby, Sheridan. Go to her.”
Mention of the baby made Sheridan smile as she grabbed her large denim satchel. “You know it’s a girl.”
“Yes.” She picked up Sheridan’s suitcase and guided her out the front door. The fall air had turned cold over the past few days.
Sheridan glanced back at the studio one last time. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kristen. My students love you. You’re a wiz with this computer and a master with bookkeeping.”
Kristen was the one who was grateful. These last two weeks had been the most peaceful she’d known in years. “Go.”
Sheridan nodded, took her suitcase from Kristen and headed down the steps to a green VW Bug parked by the curb. Kristen stood on the front porch and waited as Sheridan started her car. However, instead of driving off, Sheridan shut the engine off and got out of the car.
Kristen shook her head, laughing. Sheridan was a brilliant teacher and her students loved her, but she was chronically late and could be scattered at times.
“I forgot to tell you about Simone Brady,” Sheridan said.
Kristen laughed. “At the rate you are going that baby is going to be in college before you see her.”
Sheridan smiled. “I promise this is the last thing. Simone is going to be calling.”
Kristen came down the stairs and met her halfway. “For a class?”
“No, she’s a reporter with the local paper and a stringer for the Washington Post. She’s doing a piece on yoga studios in Virginia. She wants to do a story on us.”
Kristen folded her arms over her chest. Publicity was great for Sheridan but the worst thing that could happen to her. Her voice sounded flat when she said, “Great.”
