Ironclad Cover. Dana MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
had connections, “bought men,” in just about every branch of law enforcement in every country that counted, the reason why they needed a team with a one-hundred-percent authentic criminal background, an unbreakable cover. “Okay,” he said. “Be careful.”
It was good for Anita and Gina to work together. The whole idea had been to forge the women into a team that could handle anything. He had to trust these two enough to let them head off to a business meeting in broad daylight.
He looked at Anita. “Mind if I use your office while you’re gone?”
The look of panic that flashed across her face was quickly covered up with a forced smile.
“Of course. Let me gather up a few things for the meeting.”
“I’ll grab my bag,” Gina said on her way out as she passed him.
He stayed and kept his eyes on Anita as she rummaged through the files on her desk. She wore a light suit that covered considerably more of her than the silk gown she’d worn the night before. Her hair was pinned back. She had the tight look of business efficiency. He tried not to linger on her red stiletto sandals or her toes that were tipped with matching shiny red polish. She glanced up at him and smiled again, and he got the distinct feeling that she was playing for time, waiting for him to step out.
Not a chance, he thought as he willed his gaze not to return to her legs. Not a complete victory as his attention was now captured by her full lips. Man, he was a fool. Women always smiled the sweetest when they were trying to screw you over the worst.
HE HADN’T PLANNED on tossing her office, but once she was gone, the idea that something was off wouldn’t leave him. He glanced through her files. Nothing jumped out. Nothing on her desk, either, or in her drawers. She was neat and orderly—that was about all the information he gained.
The space she created fit her. It even smelled like her—some exotic scent that included Caribbean fruit.
He plugged in his laptop and read through his e-mail, thought about asking Nick to scan through hers. Thinking of the devil, Nick Tarasov had forwarded some background info on Xiau Lin whom he still hadn’t located, although he had found some kind of a trail. Brant sent that file to the printer, but nothing happened. Out of paper. He grabbed a handful from the cardboard box under the desk and refilled the tray. As he did so, the printer moved a half an inch, revealing the corner of a dark blue folder.
Damn. He pulled it out, looked at the shiny new cover for a second or two without opening it. She wouldn’t have hid it unless she was doing something she didn’t want anyone to know about.
He wouldn’t have minded being wrong about Anita, but he wasn’t surprised. She had betrayed her family. And family should have been everything to her. It certainly was that to him. He couldn’t imagine any of his sisters doing something like she had.
He read through the papers inside, press releases about Pellegrino’s, about some of her family members who were now running the business: her two brothers, her younger sister, her brother-in-law. There were a couple of financial statements, too, and other stuff—calculations.
On what?
Then it hit him.
She was, at the moment, the managing director of a consulting firm that did money laundering on the sly. If she hadn’t before, now she sure knew all about that subject. Hell, the FBI had trained her on it.
Brant slapped the folder shut and swore.
She was working on accessing the four million dollars she had embezzled and hidden and was getting ready to wash it squeaky clean. She was manning her own operation, probably thinking of skipping the second she had everything in hand.
Not if he had anything to say about it.
Chapter Three
She was out of prison.
He rubbed the headache at his temple. She was out and at the worst possible time. And she had lied. Whatever she was doing, this was not some government program to help her to readjust to society after her years of incarceration.
Where had she gotten the car from, the apartment and the job? He had expected some halfway house where he could get to her easily, where there’d be a bunch of other ex-cons and weapons and drugs, so when her body was found, not much would be questioned.
Instead, here she was in the Caribbean, as high and mighty as she had ever been, with another company and employees and money. What game was she playing?
And who was her guy? They’d left the party together, drove to the ritzy part of the island and parked. Probably making out. He should have taken care of her then and there. Maybe both of them. But it had been dark and to top it off the car had tinted windows. He didn’t want to miss.
So he had waited until they were at the restaurant, all lit up, and he had missed anyway. And then they disappeared. He’d spent the rest of the night in front of her apartment, waiting for her to come home as anger and frustration boiled in his guts.
She wasn’t going to let the last four years go. She would investigate, had started already, the alarms he had set in place had been going off one after the other.
He had to get to her before she got to him. It was as simple as that.
SAM WAS SLAPPING STAMPS on a stack of envelopes at the front desk as Anita walked in the door, back from her business meeting that was likely to net them another contract, but was—thank God—uneventful otherwise. No sign of the shooter from the night before.
Gina, who had reassured her that as far as she could tell they hadn’t been watched or followed, passed her and went straight for the bathroom. They’d been circling the block for a parking place for nearly thirty minutes.
They needed to make contact with Cavanaugh. The weekly paper she had read in the car on the way back gave her an idea the other three women were likely to resist. Not that it would stop her from trying.
“The coffee vendor brought some flavored coffees and I made the Italian Delight. You’ve gotta try this,” Sam said as she worked. “We’re on our second pot.”
The way she angled her head had a familiar slant to it and déjà vu hit Anita with a pang of homesickness so sharp it cut her off at the knees. She stopped and stood there, let it wash over her. Diosmio, how many times had she walked into her old office like that and been offered coffee by her sister? And Sam looked a little like Maria, too, around the eyes.
Was Maria still the first from the family to arrive to the office each morning? Dee, Anita’s ex-secretary, had always come in late and left late, an arrangement she’d been happy to make for the single mother who needed the flextime to work around her babysitter’s schedule. Dee worked for her brother, Rob, now.
Anita wondered if Dee was in love with him yet. Dee had the habit of falling in love with the men around her. Unfortunately, they tended to use her then discard her. She couldn’t remember how many times this had happened since she’d known the young woman. But Dee dusted herself off each time then tried again. Some people accused her of being promiscuous for going after so many men. But Anita understood what was behind it all—a deep-seated, desperate need for love that she was always trying to find in all the wrong places.
Rob wouldn’t take advantage of that. He simply wasn’t that kind of guy. And Dee wasn’t Rob’s type, in any case.
Roberto, her oldest brother, handled safety at Pellegrino’s. Maria, the youngest of the four siblings, did human resources. Nigel, Maria’s husband, headed sales. Chris, the middle brother, just a year younger than Anita, worked IT. Anita had been responsible for the finance department. The rest of the directors were outsiders, hired for their skills, well paid and well appreciated, but the family definitely formed the driving force behind the business. They wanted to keep it like that for as long as possible.
On any given day, family members who were in the office would have coffee together in the morning, catching up before heading off to their individual