Above Temptation Page 4

  And lonely. She pushed that unwelcome thought away.

  She pictured Tamara Sterling’s face, the woman who had ruined her first weekend off in months. What an arresting, intriguing, dominating, driven, self-assured, brilliant, annoying woman. She planted the image of that chiseled face on the log and drove the ax into it as hard as she could, splitting the chunk of pine evenly in two.

  * * *

  Showered and sated with peanut butter and jelly, which tasted all the better for the exercise and mountain air, Kip unpacked the first of the boxes from her trunk. In short order the small dining area was covered with folders and paperwork. She gave the sofa a longing look. It was positioned perfectly for reading, dozing and gazing out the window at the forest. The tartan throw folded on one end had been a fine nap companion more than once. But not today.

  Okay, she had to hand it to Sterling. The worksheet she’d started was plain as day as to where she’d left off and what accounts she’d already checked. Kip had to check them herself again, but the paperwork was tagged and arranged by the SFI book, making the task easier.

  Rain dripped, then drummed on the shingle roof as the laptop’s drive spun on. She’d timed her outdoor chores well. Some people would no doubt think it strange that she was in the remote woods, listening to the rain and working on a laptop computer no heftier than a magazine. It wasn’t the first time, though. She was grateful for the technology that let her work so far from home. Of course that same technology made the very crimes she tracked down all the easier to commit.

  Win some, lose some, she thought. Meanwhile, the solitude of the trees, the steady patter of the rain…it felt very, very good. The cabin had no phone land line, and with a delicious sense of being bad, she switched off her cell phone and didn’t launch her email program. There. Alone at last.

  With a regretful sigh, she opened her electronic diary and made a few summary comments about the assignment, the times and places she’d met her client—Sterling was just another client—and recorded the paperwork she’d received. Keeping such a log was an SFI requirement and she was making a concerted effort to treat this assignment like any other. Her summary made, she turned to the actual work. First she had to discern the scope of the problem. Then she’d work on ETO—eliminating the obvious.

  She’d been at it only a half-hour when she found another account that was missing funds. Sixty thousand dollars and some change. The copy of the bank statement had been expertly doctored, but a ghost of ink betrayed the effort, and a close-up look at the staff auditor’s initials revealed that they, too, were likely forged. She munched away at a pile of carrot sticks while she methodically examined the staff auditor’s work. To her, it looked as if the staff auditors were comparing the print version of the bank statements to the online record, which verified that the printed version was in fact authentic. After they initialed the comparison, someone was substituting fake statements so that the reconciliation staff thought they had the real ones, and everything balanced.

  It was actually a lot to keep track of—the embezzler was essentially running his or her own set of books to falsify the statements going back two months to avoid detection for as long as possible. Ultimately, the thief would miss something in the minutiae and alarm bells would sound. Sterling had found it early, and so far the thief had no clue. That meant they had a good shot at recovering the funds.

  By late afternoon, she had found another four accounts and the total cash missing was taking an alarming turn. Sterling had found a half-million missing, and she had found at least six times that, and most of it from the SFI investment accounts and some from pension accounts.

  Increasingly anxious, she turned to the largest of the trust accounts. Bad enough their own and their employees’ funds were missing—a client’s money would be the death knell for SFI’s unparalleled reputation.

  As she worked, grateful to turn over page after page and finding nothing amiss, the rain stopped and watery sunlight peeked in through the windows. Hunger made her leave the pile of paperwork for a northward drive to tiny Brinnon where a bona fide, greasy spoon, full fat with bacon burger was calling to her. She was a long way from the city, no reason to check her rearview mirror or worry about her billfold visible on the seat of the car. She ate at a splintery picnic table, watching the daylight fade on the other side of the sound. Just to the north a cluster of lights marked the naval base where Trident submarines launched, but otherwise, this finger of Puget Sound was quiet as dark approached.

  The evening was so peaceful she decided to drive further north to her favorite vista point at Seal Rock on Dabob Bay. She owed herself some fresh air and her work would be the better for it.

  It was her favorite time of an autumn day. The ancient pines were falling into winter shadows of steel gray. The sun had dipped below the mountains of the Olympic National Forest. Streaks of pink-and orange-painted clouds stretched toward Seattle. If she’d had a whole day to herself she might have hiked on the Mount Baker glacier in the morning and spent the afternoon walking through the Hoh Rain Forest. Only the Olympic Peninsula offered such extremes in a single day’s drive.

  She rolled down the windows to let the crisp air whip around her ears, inhaling the rich salt brine coming off Dabob Bay. She should spend her next vacation someplace where she could sail. She’d loved sailing with her grandfather. Thrilled to the spray on her face, tugging against the sail, his voice insisting it didn’t matter how small she was, or that she was only nine, she could do anything. His voice was always there in her head, urging her on, telling her she could overcome anything if she tried hard enough.

  If only that were true.

  “Damn.” She rolled to a stop in the scenic overlook and switched off the engine. The wind in the high trees behind her combined with the shush of waves against the shore ahead of her, creating a quiet that breathed, slow and steady. She closed her eyes to listen, and wished her heart could find that strong, unhurried rhythm.

  She had no more success than usual. Dollar amounts and bank statements danced behind her eyelids. Swirling around all of it was the jarring memory of all her lost hopes—every time Tamara Sterling asked about it she felt an ache in that familiar, deep wound.

  This is a waste of energy, she warned herself, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. From the time she was twelve she’d been filling out her Secret Service application in her head. As the years went by she’d mentally added her degree, and on the actual day—so important—the names of her immediate family and their occupations. She’d been so proud to put in her grandfather’s name—Rudyard Kipling Barrett, twenty-six years service, deceased. She felt as if she was immortalizing him by following in his footsteps. For a while, she’d certainly appeared to be a chip off the old block.

  There was just one thing she couldn’t do, one choice she couldn’t make. Every time it had come up in the simulation she’d hesitated. Her focus and aim had wavered.

  Her supervisor had told her, over and over, “You’re not going to be in the field, Barrett, it’s just a machine. Shoot the suspect and get the heck out of training.”

  She tried to tell herself it had no meaning. Just a computer game, like hundreds she’d played. A computer game with a real gun, real bullets—but the bad guys weren’t real and if she made a mistake, no one would get hurt.

  She inhaled fresh sea air with the pungent tang of pine, trying to clear her memory of the sweltering warehouse with lung-choking clouds of gasoline fumes and electricity-tinged smoke. Shoot, then ask. Just do it. It’s not real. Just a game. Just a test. Pass the test. Just pull the trigger.

  She pivoted on her heel, leaving the peaceful vista behind. Some Xena, some superhero she was. She couldn’t do what needed to be done, plain and simple. So she could handle a drunk—big effing deal. She wasn’t capable of acting on instinct. Her brain always wanted facts before taking action.

  On her good days she told herself that the simulator had indeed served its purpose. She wasn’t fit to protect th
e President of the United States. Best to know that before a real situation erupted in her face.

  “I’m not ashamed,” she told a fallen tree. “But what a way to find out.”

  All her hopes and dreams gone, and a life rebuilt in spite of the disappointment. Plenty of bad guys to catch.

  “You don’t always get what you want, Barrett.” She kicked a rock into the undergrowth and went back to the car, vexed that she was dwelling on a past she couldn’t change and, in honest moments, knew she wouldn’t even if she had that power.

  When she got back to the cabin she lit the woodstove, and then settled down to continue her methodical work, more than halfway through the papers Tamara Sterling had given her.

  She would find out who was stealing from SFI, and she would bring him, or her, or them to justice. It would be a challenge and if she was a little tired right now, that didn’t matter. SFI’s code of ethics was well-known and absolutely necessary to make sure that clients had full trust in the integrity and abilities of every SFI staff member. White-collar criminals who stole millions from everyday people so often went free, as if financial losses didn’t take a real toll or cause tremendous damage to every victim. Underpaid, overworked prosecutors counted on SFI to be rock solid on the witness stand.

  This thief was one of their own, and had broken their code and endangered the path of justice. She would get back every dime she could lay her hands on and then she would present the culprit and the cash to Tamara Sterling on a silver platter.

  * * *

  “Another red?” The steward paused next to Tamara’s seat with the napkin-wrapped bottle in one hand.

  “No—not a good idea.” She was depressed enough as it was to be heading for home without accomplishing one useful bit of work. She’d had just enough time at her hotel this morning to shower and change, only to get a call from the SFI local office head that the meeting had been canceled. She’d turned around, checked out and headed back to the airport. At least she’d managed to get on a slightly earlier flight.

  “It’s twice as powerful at altitude,” he admitted. “Can I clear away your dinner then?”

  She nodded and turned her attention back to the reports she’d carried all the way from Seattle. Reading them would be something useful for the time she’d wasted on this trip. She hated flying coast-to-coast in less than twenty-four hours.

  At least she would see her own bed before midnight. The New York office manager, Hank Jefferson, had been equally appalled that Tam had wasted the trip, and he’d promised to get to the bottom of it. They both hoped it wasn’t a case of the client deciding to sleep in on a Saturday morning instead. Weekend meetings usually meant something serious was suspected.

  Somewhere over North Dakota she initialed the last report and slid it into her briefcase. Nothing but reports, meetings and more reports leading to more meetings. She liked running her own firm, but in the most perverse way, she had been almost relieved to find an investigation right under her nose, and had at first thought she could run it all by herself.

  Not that she was glad there was an embezzler on their staff. But once her initial disbelief had eased, she’d felt the old and familiar thrill of a puzzle to solve. Now she delegated puzzles to other people. She didn’t miss working for the Feds, but she missed the thrill of seeing if she could outwit a criminal on a one-to-one basis.

  You’re not a kid anymore, she told herself, and you’re pushing forty. You have responsibilities. You love this work. If only she’d get a good night’s sleep she knew she’d feel better in the morning.

  Her depression led from one bleak thought to another. Had Nadia’s laugh on the phone been the last pleasant thing she could remember? She could still hear it. She would have eventually recognized Nadia, she was certain, but hearing that unforgettable laugh in an English class in college had made her scan the rows of the lecture hall until she found the source. Nadia had recognized her, too. They hadn’t become the best of friends, but there were binding ties that had nothing to do with friendship that they both respected.

  She closed her eyes and saw Ted’s face in the Student Union Lair, that night fifteen years ago when he and Nadia had met. One-of-a-kind love story, that one. She’d known Ted from mutual computer science classes. He’d taken one look at Nadia and it was all over. His eyes were mirrors of his every thought.

  Nadia had tossed her hair back with a look that said she knew he was already hers. “Tam, seriously, how did you not mention that such an attractive man was in your classes?”

  “I’m not on Tam’s radar,” Ted had said.

  Nadia had laughed, showing off that lovely voice. “Well now you’re on mine.”

  Just like that, and three months later they were married. They credited Tam with their introduction. Nadia had made sure that Tam caught the bouquet, but fifteen-plus years later that magic hadn’t happened. She’d rarely gotten to a second date and never to a sixth. Not being able to talk about her work limited the conversation. A few women understood that it wasn’t lack of trust, but the rules. Most, however, failed to make another date. One woman had summed it up with, “If I’d wanted a mystery for dinner, I’d have ordered a book.”

  She let her gaze drift over the clouds outside the airplane, exhausted and worried. Clouds shaped like horses and dragons, angels even, failed to distract her until in the depths of one she saw Kip Barrett’s eyes, full of conscious intent and disciplined fervor. She liked that trait in people. It would have been fun to work with her on this mystery, to see how her mind worked out the complexities.

  “Would you like anything else before we land?”

  Tam couldn’t hold back a startled gasp.

  The steward looked chagrined. “I’m sorry, I woke you just as you were dozing off, didn’t I?”

  “No… I was just daydreaming,” Tam said. “I’m fine.” Tam handed her empty water cup to him and realized he was leaning a little closer to her than duty called for.

  “Do you live in the Seattle area?” At her nod, he went on, “Maybe you could recommend a restaurant or two? I’ve got an extended layover and I’ll be on my own.”

  Oh, please, she thought, do I really have to come out at 38,000 feet? Fortunately, a sharp downdraft, followed by a crash from the galley, sent the steward scurrying up the aisle. When he came back, Tam’s eyes were closed.

  She wished the sleep weren’t feigned, but she was too caught up in brooding for the comfort of sleep. She wondered if Kip Barrett was making progress. She ought to have asked explicitly for her to contact her with a progress update tomorrow, even if it was a Sunday.

  By the time her plane touched down at SeaTac it was close to midnight. Groggy from lack of sleep, Tam nevertheless had made up her mind. The office should be quiet on a Sunday with only the people on deadlines working. She’d sleep in, then take the stack of approved reports into the office. If the coast was clear she’d do a little poking around. It would beat sitting on her hands and wondering if Kip Barrett was getting anywhere.

  Chapter Four

  Kip was weary from the long drive home, but still refreshed enough not to think a short stop at the office late on a Sunday afternoon much of a burden. There would only be a few people around and she wanted a peek into a couple of the accounting files, if she could get access to the area.

  The accounting floor of the SFI offices seemed deserted when she peeked through the safety glass alongside the door from the elevators. She swiped her ID card through the magnetic reader, entered the access code she used for the doors on her own floor and got a green light to enter. It had been a risk—if she’d been red lighted it might have generated an error message to building security. If challenged, she’d been planning to claim being too tired not to realize she wasn’t at her usual floor. They did all look a lot alike. Flimsy, but nobody had a reason not to believe her. She could point out the visible dribble of coffee across the front of her sweatshirt as testimony to her fatigue.

  When this was all over she’d point out tha
t she—and everyone else with no relationship to accounting—ought not to be able to enter the area. That green light had been too easy, which didn’t seem right.

  She had her hand on the accounting file room door before she realized someone was already in there, moving quietly. Just as she was moving quietly. A suspicious person would call it furtive.

  Kip was a suspicious person. Her ex thought it was a character flaw, but SFI thought it a marketable skill.

  She slowly pulled the door open, telling herself that her abruptly pounding heart wouldn’t be audible to anyone but her. Another inch and she would be able to see who was there. Maybe it was a staff auditor, catching up on a backlog. But maybe not. Another inch… Quietly, quietly she told herself.

  When she recognized the intruder her heart stopped but her mind did not.

  Explanation one was that she was trying to help. And that was just not going to happen. Clients did not help SFI investigators. It ruined the chain of evidence and muddied the clarity of the investigation. It did not matter that Tamara Sterling was more qualified than Kip was to handle the case.

  Explanation two, and far more sinister, was that Tamara Sterling had hired her as a blind to cover up her own guilt. It had been tried before by clients who thought they were exceedingly clever. Sterling could be hoping to use Kip’s reports to determine how long she had until she needed to leave the jurisdiction.

  She didn’t want to believe Sterling was the embezzler. It made little sense. But she hadn’t yet ruled it out. She watched, fighting an enormous sense of betrayal, as Sterling slipped a few pieces of paper into the inside pocket of her jacket.

  She let the door fall shut behind her. The quiet click seemed as loud as a gun shot. Sterling whirled to face her.

  She held out her hand. “I’ll take those papers.” Her voice was glacial.