“His money is nearby,” Adam said, “in the Caymans. You withdrew twenty-five thousand dollars a few days ago.”
Miranda’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Yes, I did.”
“You also deposited money, or was that some kind of a wire-transfer payoff for one of Uncle Calvin’s deals that he completed shortly before he died?”
“I closed out a smaller account and consolidated,” she replied, her words measured. “I paid off the loans on the properties you owned jointly with Cal.”
“Where is the disc?” asked Adam.
“Cal told me he hid it for safekeeping. I didn’t even think about it until after he died.”
“It must have been stolen on the day of the funeral,” Adam said. “What I can’t understand is why they would want to kill you with a pipe bomb if they had the disc?”
“Because I can identify them. They contacted Cal several months ago and threatened him. This time their leader came to ‘persuade’ him. That’s why Cal wanted to make certain we were long gone when they returned to pick up the disc. He told me they would kill us both-even if he handed over the disc.”
“My uncle warned me in Siros that someone would try to kill him. That must have been right after they contacted him the first time.”
“What doesn’t make sense is them wanting me dead before the pick-up date next week. You see, they can’t possibly have the disc.”
“Why not?” Adam asked. “Wasn’t it with the computer they stole?”
Miranda tried for a laugh, then said, “No way. I stole Cal’s laptop.”
“You? Why?” Whitney and Adam asked almost in unison.
“I assumed the info was on his computer or on the software discs in his office. I didn’t want those men to find it. I went to the funeral but didn’t attend the reception at the officers’ club. After all, no one knew about me…about us. I told the few people I met that I was Cal’s renter. I came home, faked a break-in and swiped the computer.”
“Smart move,” Adam said, then glanced at Whitney. “Quick thinking runs in the family.”
“It wasn’t that smart. I’ve gone through all his files. It isn’t there.” Miranda sighed and sank lower in her chair. “If you don’t believe me, you can check for yourself. The computer is in the guest bedroom.”
RYAN’S CELL PHONE VIBRATED. He grabbed it, threw down a hundred-dollar chip on the craps table and walked away. Casinos had strict rules about cell phones. He usually shut his off completely but he didn’t want to miss Ashley’s call.
He flipped open his phone. He didn’t recognize the number on the LCD screen. “Just a minute,” he whispered.
Ryan shouldered his way through the double set of sweeping glass doors that led from the casino to a bar wrapped around a geyser of a fountain.
“Yes?” he said, louder now.
“Ryan Fordham?”
He didn’t recognize the female voice. Shit! He’d walked away from the table with a hundred on the line to take what had to be a call from a bill collector.
“Who is this?” he demanded.
“Trish Bowrather.”
The rich blonde who owned the swank gallery where Walter had taken him. That’s where all the fucking trouble started. He could still see Whitney standing there in the sexy dress he’d bought for Ashley.
“Ravissant Gallery, right? Great show.” He made an effort to flatter her. After all, Walter highly recommended the woman’s taste in art. One day, he would again have enough money to indulge Ashley’s desire to have a fabulous home filled with priceless art.
“That’s right. I’m glad you enjoyed the show. We’re looking for Whitney. We’re wondering if you have any idea where she is.”
“Who’s we?”
“I’m with her attorney, Rod Babcock.”
Babcock. Hadn’t the guy married Miranda? Wasn’t that what Whitney had told him? Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Miranda at the gallery. If that cocksucker was looking for Whitney, it was a very bad sign. “No,” he made himself say calmly. “I’m remarried-”
“Yes, I know. I said this was a long shot.” She covered the phone and all he could hear was muffled voices.
“How long’s she been gone?” he asked, when the voices stopped, not liking the idea that had just cropped up in his mind.
It was bad enough that Whitney’s attorney wanted to speak to her. It would be total disaster if Whitney and Ashley were together. Whitney would poison Ashley’s mind and no telling what would happen.
“Do you know where Whitney is?” the woman shot back in a clipped tone that warned him to be careful.
“No, not really…Why?”
There was another long pause and more muffled voices he couldn’t understand before Trish Bowrather replied, “I’m not sure how long Whitney’s been gone or where she is. She had a total stranger walk my dog this morning.”
Whitney must have gone somewhere last night. Ashley couldn’t have left him to see Whitney, could she?
Ah, fuck, his life was unraveling like a cheap sweater.
Ryan snapped the cell phone shut without saying another word. Just as he slid it into his pocket, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and found himself nose to nose with the shithead Dom used as a gofer.
“Dom’s outside. He wants to see you.”
“I’ve got a bet on the table.” Ryan had been winning all night. When Lady Luck deserted his private life, the hussy rewarded him at the tables.
“Forgetaboutit.”
The goon latched on to Ryan’s arm and shoved him out the gate that led into the parking lot. Idling at the curb was Domenic Coriz’s black limo. The cocky prick yanked open the rear door and shoved Ryan into the car.
It was dark inside except for the glow of the cigarette in Dom’s hand. For a moment the burly Native American didn’t say a word. When he spoke, his voice was low, guttural.
“Your wife called me.”
The bottom dropped out of Ryan’s stomach. How could Ashley know about Dom? She must realize he had a gambling problem. She had to be furious that he’d kept the truth from her. “Sorry, I-”
“We’re through fucking around. Through. Understand?”
It was all Ryan could do to keep from wetting himself. “I understand.”
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT WHEN Miranda and Whitney left Adam in the guest bedroom set up as a home office. He’d gone through the files on his uncle’s computer and was checking the software discs. So far he hadn’t located the information.
Miranda and Whitney decided to stretch their legs by walking on the beach instead of leaning over Adam’s shoulder while he searched. The air was almost as warm as it had been during the day, but a light breeze drifted across the water. The ebony sky was strewn with brilliant stitches of stars. A bright crescent moon cast enough light for them to see. Like a glistening ribbon, the beach wound along a cove protected from the open water by a reef. Lazy waves pushed garlands of seaweed up on the sand.
“I’m sorry…” Whitney didn’t know where to begin. “I’ve been a lousy relative. We’re all that’s left of our family. I never should have let Ryan-”
“He hated me from the minute he set eyes on me, didn’t he?”
“Hate might be too strong a word.” She didn’t want to make excuses for her skank of an ex-husband, but she doubted Ryan expended the effort to “hate” Miranda. She wasn’t important enough in his life.
“I think I know why Ryan hated me,” said Miranda. “He’s the type who needs to possess someone. He didn’t want you to have friends or interests outside him. Basically, he’s insecure.”
Whitney started to deny this. Ryan was a handsome man that women fawned over. He was intelligent enough to win scholarships, be accepted to a top-flight medical school and be selected for the most prominent residency programs. Why would he be insecure?