Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
The woman started talking before she entered the office. “Okay, so the funeral is going to be next weekend in Rhode Island. They’ve got some family overseas who want to come home for it.” She leaned around the doorjamb. “Are you going to go? Both of us are invited, and we could carpool if you want. It’s a—hello?”
“Huh?” Lydia shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Listen, maybe you should go home and have a lie-down. You look like you need it.”
No, what she needed was to find herself a computer accessory to print out all of those files on each of those floppies to read in private. And then she had to …
Do what, go where? she wondered.
“You’re right,” she mumbled. “I’ve got to snap the hell out of all of this.”
“We’ll figure out about the funeral later.” Candy disappeared—and came right back. “Oh, and I’ve got a business question. Are we having the fundraiser next month or not?”
Lydia blinked as she tried to translate the words she damn well knew the meanings of. “Ah … that’s something to ask the board. It’s their people who are coming, not ours. Well, obviously not mine as I don’t know anyone.”
“Then you need to pick up the phone and find out what’s going on. I’ve got vendors calling and asking questions. Tent setup, caterers, all this kind of stuff. I don’t know what to tell them. I mean, I’m on the frontlines of this place, everything comes through me, but I have no authority—”
For some reason, everything about Candy became super clear, from her short shock-blond hair, to the blue eye shadow that matched her blue sweater, to her pink, perma-press slacks.
“What,” the woman said. “What’s wrong.”
Lydia slowly got to her feet.
“I need you to be honest with me, Candy.” As the words left her mouth, they were an octave lower than her normal tone. “No more fucking around. What do you know. What are you keeping secret.”
The receptionist’s eyes narrowed. “You’re my boss now. If something was happening in this organization—”
“You open every piece of mail that comes here. Each supply order. All the packages and FedEx envelopes.” Lydia stepped around the desk. “You have access to all the bank accounts because you pay the bills and do the bookkeeping. You are the network administrator for our computers, you got us our cell phones, you’re my emergency contact at my doctor’s.”
She continued forward until she was standing over the woman. “Several million dollars is gone from the accounts—that I didn’t even know had come in. The package you’ve been calling UPS about got delivered here—instead of Peter’s home address, which was what was on the label. And you weren’t all that surprised about Rick’s death. So I’ll say it again, what the fuck is going on here, Candy.”
The receptionist’s left brow raised, but other than that, there was no reaction. “You’ve just accused me of doing my job. Congratulations, Columbo. And how I feel about Rick is none of your business—”
“You know what’s been happening under the surface here. You know the truth.” Lydia searched the woman’s face. “And you killed Peter Wynne. Didn’t you.”
AS DANIEL CAME up to the metal hatch that had been installed in the ground, he looked around. Except for a pair of crows circling overhead, there was no one anywhere near him.
And now that he was right up on the damned thing, he could see why it had caught and winked back the sunlight. A rotten trunk had fallen off its root bed and skidded down the slope, tearing a swath of the pine needles off the circular seal—and in the process, scraping some of the steel clean so it was reflective.
Four feet in diameter. With a wheel crank that was low to the lid.
“Well, hello there, needle in a haystack.”
Tucking his gun, he knelt down, grabbed the wheel, and gave it a pull. A harder pull. With a curse, he put all his strength into—
The wheel broke off its crank with a screech and Daniel fell back, landing on his ass. “Fuck.”
He had to get inside. To complete what he’d come to do, he was going to need full access.
Repositioning himself over the seal, he wiped more of the dirt off to get a sense of what he’d need to open the thing. Talk about solid. There were no gaps around the—
The bullet sizzled by his ear and pfft’d! into the pine needles behind him.
With a lunge, he threw his body up and over the fallen tree—but because of the rot, most of the trunk was hollow so it offered only visual, instead of tactical, cover. Palming his gun, he hustled down to the base, where things were more solid.
Triangulating the location of the attack, he saw the black uniform behind an outcropping of rocks. About fifty feet away—