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Sara stood and paced a tight pattern to the windows and back. “Or maybe someone’s setting up Kyle.”
Evangeline’s pale brows climbed toward her hair-line. “So I see it’s true what they say about Robert’s son.”
“What’s that?” Sara turned to face her boss.
“His charm is legendary.”
Sara tensed defensively. “Trust me, I have no plans to fall for his charm. I’m just trying to see this situation from every possible angle.”
“Something you do extremely well.” Evangeline hesitated momentarily before she continued. “There’s one more thing.”
“What?” Sara asked.
“We found a notation in the last victim’s date book. Seems he had a meeting scheduled with a K.P. before his untimely death. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to keep his appointment.”
“Kyle Prescott.” A mix of excitement and disappointment fired in Sara’s belly. She’d found just the man she needed to unravel the mystery lurking behind the corporate facade of TCM, yet her gut didn’t believe him responsible.
Evangeline stood, her usual nonverbal mode of dismissal. “I trust you’ll take care of those bumps and bruises—” she nodded toward the container of brownies as Sara picked it up “—and put those to good use.”
Sara mulled over Evangeline’s words as she drove back toward her apartment. She couldn’t picture Kyle Prescott sabotaging the family corporation, but she forced herself to take a mental step back.
She’d known the man for mere hours. Who knew what he was really capable of?
She shoved the inexplicable flash of disappointment out of her mind for the second time since Evangeline had given her the news.
What had she expected? That Kyle Prescott might be more than handsome packaging and a society pedigree? That he might be innocent of the illegal doings inside TCM?
Was she so naive she’d fallen for his legendary charm just as Evangeline had suggested?
Get a grip, Montgomery. Now.
There had obviously been no love lost between Kyle and his half brother, Peter. Perhaps Kyle was out to hurt TCM, if for no other reason than to sabotage Peter.
Sara had no trouble, however, in picturing Kyle being involved in the oil-investing scheme. After all, he’d out and out declared his support for developing and drilling open land.
The puzzle pieces began to circulate through her brain, her favorite part of the investigative process. Now all she had to do was worm her way fully inside Kyle’s life—and inside TCM.
She patted the container of brownies on the passenger seat, then traced a finger over the address of the all-night dry cleaner Evangeline had recommended. She’d drop off Kyle’s tux jacket and have it repaired, cleaned and pressed by morning.
Tomorrow she’d dazzle the man with her concern, caring and her secret weapon.
She planned to use Kyle for an item on her personal agenda, as well.
Finding her sister’s killer.
Her gut told her Peter Turner might hold the key to the mystery she’d failed to unlock even after all this time.
Kyle’s half brother made her skin crawl, but Sara needed to follow up on what he’d said about Annemarie.
As best Sara could figure, Peter Turner would have been a mere five or six years old at the time of Annemarie’s death, but if he’d found her to be kind and patient, he might have trailed behind her at the last party she’d attended.
Maybe, just maybe, he’d seen something that would finally lead Sara to Annemarie’s killer.
After all, there had been no notes in the investigative file about interviewing a child that fateful day.
If Peter Turner had seen anything, no one had taken notice. Perhaps the investigating officers had overlooked a vital piece of evidence. A key witness.
Sara wouldn’t make that same mistake.
Access to his half brother made cozying up to Kyle Prescott very attractive. The fact Kyle himself might be neck-deep in the oil scheme justified whatever moves Sara needed to make to win the man over.
Sara always got her man.
This time would be no different.
Chapter Four
Sara winced as she settled onto the floor, bracing her back against the sofa. Her body had begun to ache from the accident—if one could call it that—and she was doing her best to rest now in anticipation of charming Kyle Prescott starting bright and early in the morning.
Evangeline had sent her home with copies of the documents to review and familiarize herself with. She was no expert at land acquisition, but the documents certainly made it clear that TCM—and more specifically, Kyle Prescott—were acquiring as much oil-rich land as possible.
She took a sip of the strong coffee she’d brewed and stole a glance at Angel’s container of brownies.
Her stomach growled.
She hadn’t had a thing for dinner and heaven knew the cupboards were bare. The cupboards in her apartment were always bare.
Sara flipped through several of the documents. Newly registered deeds. Title searches. All bearing electronic signatures noted as belonging to Kyle Prescott.
According to the evidence sitting right before her eyes, Kyle had been one very busy man. Perhaps he’d used his playboy image and his absence from the TCM offices to carry out his land deals in private.
The thing was, according to the documents, a trust had been the acquiring party. Kingston Trust. Additionally, the documents listed only one party as the authorized signatory. Kyle Prescott.
Yet, PPS had learned through their investigation to date that TCM was the force behind Kingston Trust. They just hadn’t yet uncovered who at TCM was pulling the strings.
As it had done back at PPS headquarters, her gut protested the thought Kyle might be the mastermind.
Sara did her best to ignore the sensation and continued to study the documents, the locations of the properties, the timing of the acquisitions.
If she were going to successfully use Kyle Prescott to infiltrate TCM and find out just what was going on, she needed to internalize every scrap of information she could get her hands on. Once she got inside TCM itself, she’d find a way to access the corporate files.
Sara shot another glance at the container of brownies, this time stretching until her fingers snagged the lip of the container. She pulled it to her side, pried open the lid, stared inside, then frowned.
She couldn’t imagine giving these brownies to Kyle Prescott was going to be anything other than a terrible waste of brownies.
She lifted one from the carefully arranged order and took a bite, instantly moaning at the melt-in-your-mouth perfection. If anyone had ever told her multi-pierced, Goth poster-child Angel could bake like this, she’d have told them to go get their heads checked.
And she’d have been wrong.
Sara polished off the first brownie then reached for a second. A few moments later, she’d settled back into her work, the container tucked into her lap. After all, she had a lot of material to commit to memory tonight.
She refocused on Kyle, and on TCM.
She had no doubt she’d find the proof she needed inside the offices of TCM. With the right information, she’d crack the case wide open and uncover the names of the surviving investors before anyone else met his or her untimely demise.
And no matter what her gut thought of Kyle Prescott’s guilt or innocence, the man was firmly entrenched deep inside the investment scheme.
After all—Sara patted the pile of documents now sitting on her lap—the evidence didn’t lie.
She reached for another brownie as her mind shifted from Kyle Prescott to his half brother, Peter Turner.
She glanced up at the framed photo of Annemarie that held a place of prominence on her living room wall.
When Sara had joined the FBI, she’d promised herself she’d use her new skill set to finally crack open her sister’s case. To date, she’d failed miserably, but the TCM investigation presented an unexpected opportunity.
With a little creative investigating, she could no doubt exploit the current case to pursue the old.
With any luck at all, she’d take down whomever had been responsible for her sister’s murder at the same time she took down whomever had been behind the Kingston investors’ murders.
She popped another brownie into her mouth and refocused on the documents before her.
After all, no one had ever said she wasn’t a whiz at multitasking.
KYLE WORKED LONG and hard into the night, methodically searching through the TCM database of files and reports, looking for anything that would shed light on the cryptic voice mail he’d received.
He’d also checked his corporate voice mail to make sure a second message hadn’t yet been received. The mailbox had been empty. At least that was some small measure of relief.
He still had time to dig.
Kyle made it a practice to never face a perceived opponent without full information on whatever it was the opponent alleged. This time would be no different.
He’d searched first on the caller’s name, Jonathan Powers. He’d found just one record and that had been a form memo welcoming a numbered investor to Kingston Trust Investments.
Kyle could only assume his search on Powers’s name had somehow matched the numbered document. The man’s actual name appeared nowhere on the document.
He frowned.
The document bore his electronic signature.
What on earth was a document dealing with an investment firm doing buried deep within the TCM system? Under Kyle’s signature?
He searched next on Kingston Investments, finding several more welcome memos. All addressed by number. All with his signature.
He knew better than to print the documents. The system was geared to log any print commands. That was one red flag he had no intention of flying.
Not yet.
The memo Powers had called about must be more than a welcome memo. Whatever it was, it contained information Powers thought potentially damaging to TCM.
Where was it? What was it?
Kyle scrubbed a hand across his face and glanced at the small clock on his desk—3:00 a.m.
Typically, he’d be beyond exhausted after being on the computer for so long and so late, especially after the day he’d had, but the curiosity and anger pulsing through him had worked wonders in keeping him awake.
He launched himself out of his chair and crossed to the glass wall, leaning against the cool, slick panes. He’d long since dressed, pulling on a favorite pair of shorts and an old University of Colorado sweatshirt.
His image reflected back at him in the glass—darkened by the early morning sky.
Frustration edged through him.
Had he been so neglectful at TCM that someone honestly thought they’d get away with conducting business under his electronic signature without him catching on?
Short answer? Yes.
He hadn’t set foot inside TCM walls in months.
To add even more fuel to the fire, using his electronic signature was easier than most people would think. All someone needed were the brains to access the log of private and public keys and the ability to match the correct keys to the correct signature.
The signature itself was made up of a randomly generated string of letters and numbers, different each time the signature was applied. But anyone doing business with TCM needed only to use the software TCM operated and supplied to validate the authenticity.
Kyle opened the program he’d long ago installed on his system and ran each document through the necessary steps for validation.
Every signature passed.
Damn.
Someone had lifted his signature and he’d never been the wiser.
The reality of what had happened led him directly back to where he’d started.
Dwayne Johnson.
Senior Vice President for International Rights.
Kyle had given the man his private signature key to make life easier, and Johnson had either used that key for his own purposes or he’d provided it to a third party.
Even more concerning was the reality that if Kyle’s signature was on these memos, there was nothing to prevent his stamp of approval from appearing on an entire project or directive.
Just as Powers had alleged.
Kyle pushed away from the window and headed for the phone. If Johnson thought he could get away with whatever it was he had going on, he’d better think again.
Kyle punched Dwayne Johnson’s private number into the phone, not caring that it was three o’clock in the morning and not caring that he’d already put one call in to the man.
A call that had apparently been ignored.
Kyle felt no surprise when Johnson’s machine picked up. He wouldn’t expect any different at this hour of the morning, and he had no plans to leave a polite message. No plans at all.
