Above Temptation Read online

  Mercedes coughed loudly and rapped her book with her pencil again.

  “Someday soon I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m sure it’s complicated. That’s right, you keep it to yourself. I don’t need to know a thing. You keep your secret. You be Ms. Secret Woman if you want. And I’ll keep my secrets, too. We’ll be just one big secret around here. That’ll help productivity.” She sniffed and closed her book. “I’ll go back to my desk, but I’m not telling what I’ll work on next.”

  The door of her office clicked loudly behind her and Tamara couldn’t help but laugh. Mercedes was an absolute gem of an assistant and even when she decided to have an attitude it was usually to teach Tam a lesson she needed. But she couldn’t tell Mercedes about Kip Barrett. Not until it was all over.

  * * *

  Kip couldn’t lie to Emilio Woo about being sick, but she’d worked for him long enough and hard enough to ask for a sick day for no particular reason.

  “Put it down to mental health,” she said. “I spent the weekend in the mountains and I just haven’t come back to earth. I’ve got some reading I can do at home to get over the Monday blahs.” Everything she had said was true, but it was far from the whole truth. “The exhibit numbering will still be done on time.”

  Emilio sighed, but she could tell he wasn’t upset. “You’ve earned it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She dressed as she would for the office and stocked her slim leather briefcase with business cards, an SFI employee roster, and one set of statements for each bank she would visit. She presented herself at the main branch of First Nation Federal Savings Bank shortly after it opened.

  “I have an appointment to examine our account records,” she said to the Asian woman at the new accounts desk as she handed her a business card.

  The new accounts officer gazed at her in chagrin. “Oh, it must have been made with the branch manager, but she’s out today. I hope I can help you.”

  “Oh, that’s all right.” Kip was relieved she wasn’t going to have to pretend a nonexistent assistant had forgotten to make an appointment for her. “I’m just going to review our signature cards. This would be so much easier if someone on our end would photocopy the signature cards before they turned them over to you, but somehow they never do. So we routinely check to make sure they’re up-to-date.”

  She gestured at her copy of an SFI bank statement from First Nation to further prove that she did indeed have a relationship with the company. The young woman glanced at them and seemed to make up her mind to be helpful.

  It was relatively easy to see a company’s bank records. All it took was a business card from the company and a plausible reason. Approving transactions was a great deal harder, or at least it was supposed to be. The digital age had changed some of the basic assumptions about security and banks.

  She gave the officer a short list of account numbers and asked for the signature cards. The woman returned after some delay, bringing a stack of copies and the original signature cards with her. “I made you copies of the cards,” she said, “front and back.”

  Kip beamed at her. “Thanks! That will save me some writing. I’ll need to see the originals, though.”

  Under the account officer’s watchful eye, she verified that the copies made by the account officer were indeed accurate, and that she had all the copies she needed to take with her. Each card had the signatures she expected them to have—no surprises. It took a great deal less time than writing everything down. Within a half hour she was at the next bank.

  As noon approached and the branches became more crowded, she spent more time writing information out because the officers were busy. Some of them even left her alone with the cards. She could have replaced them with a set she’d signed herself. It was exactly that kind of laxity that she was confirming hadn’t already happened.

  The task at hand occupied only part of her attention, so the rest of her mind turned over the question of how the money was being moved out of the accounts. An embezzler just didn’t cash a check for fifty thousand dollars these days. Instead, the banks were electronically transferring money from SFI accounts to other banks where SFI had no accounts. Those instructions could be presented two ways: as signed authorizations such as a letter or bank-specific form, or as a computer instruction that successfully presented itself as authorized to the bank’s software. The first took chutzpah, the second took varying degrees of a hacker’s mindset and skill.

  As soon as she finished eliminating the obvious, Kip knew she would be hip deep in investigating the receiving accounts and who had set them up, another way to triangulate in on the culprit. Normally, she’d be working with a team and someone else would already be doing that work. And they’d have a warrant to make it even easier, but as soon as the money went offshore, more subtle methods would be necessary. There was a time and place for law enforcement. Calling them too early might have a zealous investigator, whose priorities didn’t include recovering the stolen money, taking important evidence out of Kip’s hands. Law enforcement also tended to move loudly, and their very activity on the case could tip off the thief that the embezzlement had been noticed.

  The local FBI assigned to federal statute fraud and embezzlement was no real exception. She had no doubt that they were as committed as she was to finding the truth and turning suspects over for appropriate justice. However, she’d worked with them briefly about six months ago and was pretty certain that her diplomatic skills hadn’t been at their best when they’d attempted to bump her out of the investigative loop. She’d gone over their heads and their boss had overruled them. She hadn’t made friends by being the one who held all the codes and keys when their forensic hacker had asked.

  She and the computer nerd had gotten on just fine, leaving the tall men in the well-filled out blue suits and dark glasses to stare at each other. She had no reason to think they wouldn’t make her go over their heads again, so she would wait until as late as possible before involving them. A clever thief who realized their crime had been noticed would immediately send the money off to harder-to-reach places or convert it to non-cash, like bearer bonds, and then fall off the grid, beyond her reach.

  If she could discover how, it would help figure out who, and figuring out who would help discern how. She still didn’t even have enough information to know if this case would be simple or complex.

  As overwhelmed as she felt by the extra work, she was thrilled to be actually doing what she was best at: gathering evidence and looking for the clues that uncovered a crime. She wished it weren’t for SFI, though. Her own reputation would be compromised at trial if SFI became embroiled in a scandal. If Tamara Sterling was involved they were all compromised.

  She felt a chill. Tamara Sterling had been a computer hacker for the FBI, and she’d been brilliant at it. She had all the means and opportunity to be the embezzler, and the brains to confuse and mislead an investigator like her.

  Surely, Kip thought, there was someone else at SFI with the same skills. She just didn’t want to believe it was Tamara. Last night, in her kitchen, she had seemed too genuine to be a thief. Well, first thing she was going to do when she got home was the ETO.

  As if her thoughts had conjured her up, Tamara Sterling walked into the bank, was greeted by the branch manager and disappeared into an inner office. Kip blinked, It had been her, with that unmistakable height and bearing. She swore colorfully under her breath. What was she trying to do? After last night, she’d have thought Sterling wouldn’t get within a mile of her.

  She wrapped up what she was doing in record time, thanked the account officer, then hurried outside the branch. She waited at the best vantage point to watch both doors in what felt like a subzero wind tunnel. By the time Tamara Sterling appeared she was thoroughly chilled and almost mad enough to unleash her right hook.

  “May I speak with you, ma’am?” Kip seized Sterling’s elbow and guided her into the lee of a building. Her nose began to thaw, but her temp
er didn’t diminish. “What do you think you’re doing? Have you any idea what the bank might do if we both asked for account records on the same day? They might call SFI to verify me and they might tip off the very person we’re trying to catch. You put me in charge of this investigation and I don’t need any help. And I don’t need anyone checking up on me!”

  Sterling jerked her elbow out of Kip’s grasp. “Are you through?”

  Kip’s temper began to abate. “Yes. I’m through.”

  “For your information, I was there on routine SFI business having nothing to do with your investigation.”

  Kip swallowed as the gray eyes favored her with a gaze colder than the wind. “Such as?”

  “Discussing the possibility of financing for construction of our own building.”

  The unmistakable bruising along her cheekbone and jaw further unsettled Kip. Nice job, slug the boss, then yell at her in the street. She took a deep breath as her inner voices gibbered with embarrassment. “Maybe I jumped to a conclusion. If you were me—”

  “I’d have asked my client before I accused—”

  Furiously, she admitted, “You tried it once already. And you’re my boss. It’s making me a little hypersensitive.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “A little?”

  “Okay, a lot.” Kip tried to summon her best Secret Service stare to cover her discomfiture, but she knew she wasn’t having much luck. Damn Sterling for making her feel short, inexperienced—flustered. She should have never let her into her kitchen. “I apologize,” she snapped.

  “Apology accepted.” Tamara wasn’t having any trouble maintaining her Mount Rushmore facade. “Since we’re having this meeting, how is it going?”

  Kip flushed hard enough that she could only hope it didn’t show through cheeks already reddened by the sharp wind. “Fine. I could have a status report on what I’ve ruled out late tonight.”

  “I won’t be home. Call me tomorrow—no, that won’t work either. And I do want to give you some room to work. Let’s make it Wednesday evening for a full preliminary report.”

  “Yes ma’am. I think that will give me enough time.” Kip struggled to choose the right words and she set aside any thoughts about what her boss was doing with her evenings that made her unavailable. That is so inappropriate, Barrett, she told herself. “I’m sorry I jumped to a conclusion. I usually don’t. Maybe it was guilt. I’ve been telling little lies all day and then when you came in I was sure I’d be caught, even though you have every reason not to impede me.”

  Her gaze softened slightly. “Again, apology accepted. I didn’t see you when I went in. If I had I’d have ignored you.”

  “I’ll remember that if we stumble across each other again. I hope we don’t.” Kip stopped suddenly, her internal guilt meter having gone off. She’d just told another lie. Oh, this just wasn’t fair. Even in the cold weather, Tamara Sterling looked as steady as a mountain. A fascinating mountain. Damn, damn and damn. Now was not the time to think about how long it had been since she’d been on a date. Telling herself to go get laid wasn’t useful either because she didn’t have the first clue how to do a one-night thing, and that’s what made Tamara Sterling and her strong hands so unfair, that and her uncanny ability to bring out the gibbering fool lurking inside her.

  “I have another appointment,” Tamara said, “or we could talk over lunch. If you don’t hit me first I’d even buy.” Her eyes warmed along with a rare smile.

  Kip smiled dumbly back, then found her voice. “Wednesday evening will be better. I’ll have a list of most probable suspects by then and I should also know method.”

  “Good.” Her expression was abruptly cold.

  Taken aback, Kip could think of nothing to say. When it was plain Tamara Sterling was done speaking to her, she turned away, humiliated. One minute smiling, the next glacial.

  “Diane! What brings you here?”

  Sterling’s voice startled her and she turned in time to see a hearty embrace between Tamara Sterling and Diane Morales, who managed operations in California and Illinois. Was Diane the afternoon and evening appointment?

  The two were still embracing, though Kip could see there was nothing more than an embrace. Still…damn and damn, she thought. Collusion makes embezzlement so simple.

  She stomped away, her head full of unwelcome personal and professional speculations.

  Chapter Five

  She grabbed lunch at a soup and salad bar far from the SFI offices. It was still crowded, but she found a seat at the high counter. She was almost finished when someone at her elbow said quietly, “Heya, Kip.”

  It took just a moment to recognize the voice. “Hi, Meena.”

  “How ya doing?” Her ex was as quietly handsome as always, thick, brown hair slightly tousled, collar of a crisp white button-up open to show off a simple gold chain against her tanned throat. At the moment there was no sign of the chip on her shoulder labeled Kip Barrett, lousy girlfriend.

  “I’m doing great.” It had been nine months, she thought, or maybe more. How quickly they had passed. “How are you?”

  “Equally great. It was a surprise to see you out in the daylight.” It sounded a little bitchy, but Meena’s tone wasn’t overly arch.

  “I’m actually between appointments.” There was an awkward silence and Kip fumbled for a topic. “How’s your mom?”

  “Also great, and I’m not just saying that. Um… I’m getting married. Mom’s over the moon as you can imagine.”

  “Oh. Congratulations.”

  “My girlfriend has a job waiting in Iowa, so we’re going to settle there and we can get married, so…”

  “Sincerely, all my best wishes.” Kip rose to give Meena an awkward hug. “You deserve the best.” And that sure wasn’t me, she added to herself.

  “Thank you. I’m glad I ran into you. I think I was mean when I left.”

  “Well, I know I was thoughtless.”

  “It’s the job,” Meena began, then she raised a hand. “No need to go down that road. It was good to see you.” She walked away without looking back.

  Kip finished her salad in an odd funk she knew would pass. But for a few minutes she had visions of a house and a white picket fence and two women living there who made each other their priority. What was wrong with that? Nothing at all. So why didn’t she want it?

  There were no answers forthcoming, and she didn’t really have the luxury of time to puzzle about it. That’s right, she told herself, if you keep up this work pace you won’t have time to figure out that you don’t have time to be happy.

  She left the cafe and realized she didn’t even recall what she’d eaten. A glance at her watch told her she had just enough time to finish at the two remaining banks.

  She finished up at the last bank before its old-fashioned three o’clock closing. At home again she spread out her notes and copies and fired up her laptop. She logged her activity, the documents she’d gained and wrote a quick summary of her impressions to date.

  Formalities tended to, she began her real work by comparing the statement copies she’d collected from the banks to the copies attached to the internal reconciliations. She worked on the largest accounts first and noted the dates and codes for any transactions that had been altered before the accounts were reconciled at SFI.

  She absentmindedly tore open a frozen low-fat dinner and popped it in the microwave. Her back ached from hunching over the paperwork, so she did jumping jacks to get her blood going. She supposed a grown woman should feel a little silly doing jumping jacks, but it was her own kitchen and she was used to doing as she liked on her own turf.

  She ignored the little voice that said she wasn’t getting any younger and before too long, she’d be so set in her ways there wouldn’t be room for anyone else. Her stubborn adherence to her own ways of doing things had been one of the reasons she and Meena had cooled to each other from the moment Meena had moved in. She had tried to change—but, she knew, only to a point.

  She devoured the st
eaming dinner and rewarded her virtuous meal with a bag of M&Ms, sorted by color. She now had a good list—an all-inclusive one she hoped—of the accounts that were missing funds. The doctored bank statements had been changed in two ways: balance summaries changed and electronic funds transfers that had been altered to smaller amounts or obliterated. The statement in her hand was a prime example, and she hoped represented the thief’s methodology. On the 5th, 13th, 21st and 28th days of every month there were standing withdrawals from several sweep accounts, bringing money into the account. She could then trace the money out to payroll accounts in New York, Illinois and California. Standard stuff.

  But last month the very next transaction after each authorized one she couldn’t trace to its landing place—the amount in question disappeared to a destination not listed in SFI’s general asset ledger. The amounts varied and weren’t singly very large. They added up, though.

  If she had to guess—and she didn’t like guessing—their thief had appended additional instructions to the existing, already approved withdrawal demand, then made sure the transactions weren’t discovered during account reconciliation. It could be one person doing both. It could be one or more people at SFI—someone with the authority to sign a transaction order that would fool the bank, and someone with ready access to the account statements.

  It was time for ETO. Time to eliminate the obvious hows and whos.

  She typed in her list of signatories for each account, then sorted by last name. The list of people who were signatories on every affected sweep account was short—only four. It should be simple to eliminate them as suspects who acted alone, at least. If she cleared them all, it meant focusing on the next most obvious how and who: any of these people working together or with an accomplice she didn’t yet have on a suspect list.

  ETO number one was Tamara Rebekkah Sterling. She privately owned SFI as a limited liability corporation of which she was the only shareholder. All net worth was her personal asset and she could draw any amount she liked from several company accounts and need not pay it back. Of course the IRS would want her to pay taxes on the income, but the money was hers. But she couldn’t touch the pension accounts for her personal use. Why would she? There was plenty of cash elsewhere and easily hers with a signed check. Why steal it?