Page 23 of Fire and Ice (Buchanan-Renard 7)

  I’m packing up and heading home. Eric will follow later. Our primary objective now is to make sure all of our data on K-74 is secure.

  We regret that William Harrington’s death was in vain, but then, fairness has never been an attribute of science.

  We can’t reveal any knowledge of him or his death, of course. Our voice monitors picked up on some pilots finding evidence of him. They found a business card. They’ll take it to the police, I suppose, and eventually he’ll be identified. We’ve been very careful to prevent any trail leading back to us, but it would probably behoove us to keep an eye on how this plays out.

  DADDY WAS IN THE NEWS AGAIN. Sophie came home to a celebration. She had just unpacked and was about to listen to the messages on her recorder when Mr. Bitterman called.

  “Turn on your television. Hurry. It’s in the news. The FBI is going to owe your father big for this one.”

  He hung up before she could ask him any questions. She dutifully turned on the local news, hit the Record button, and sat down on the bed to watch.

  Natalie Miller was reporting live from the courthouse.

  “Kevin Devoe and his wife, Meredith, have been arrested and taken into custody by the FBI. From what we’ve learned, the FBI was sent proof that the Devoes had stolen the money from the Kelly’s Root Beer employees’ retirement fund and had hidden it in several secret accounts using dummy corporations.”

  The scene flashed to another reporter standing with an older man who was waving a cashier’s check.

  “It’s all here,” he said, beaming at the camera. “It’s the exact amount I should have gotten when Kelly’s closed. To the penny. All of us got the checks at the same time. I know. I’ve talked to my friends. Bobby Rose did this. He found that money and he got it back for us. He knew what those crooks were up to.”

  “How do you know it was Bobby Rose?” the toothy reporter asked.

  The man chuckled. “Who besides Bobby has the brains to figure it out and find our money? I’ll tell you this,” he added, waving his finger in front of the reporter’s face. “Bobby takes care of his own. Chicago,” he explained. “Oh, it was Bobby Rose, all right. Our Robin Hood. You can’t convince me it was anyone else.”

  The reporter looked directly into the camera. “Natalie, the FBI will neither confirm nor deny that they know who was behind this. There will be a press conference tomorrow. Stay tuned for the latest developments.”

  No mention was made of reopening Kelly’s. Mr. Bitterman would be disappointed if that didn’t happen. Sophie called him, and after discussing the good news, she gave him a few details about her trip. They talked about Harrington and what she had learned about the scientists, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the killings just yet. She would wait until they were sitting face-to-face. Besides, she needed time to process it all.

  She discussed a few articles she wanted to write about the people of Barrow, and he suggested she could work from home where there wouldn’t be any interruptions. She was happy to comply and, after hanging up, immediately went to work. She wrote the story of the football team first. After that, she put some finishing touches on her story about Samuel and Anna. She even wrote about the hotel in Deadhorse, but she wasn’t ready to write about Harrington. There were still too many holes in that story.

  On her second day home, she received another piece of good news. Detective Steinbeck called to tell her the police had identified the man who had shot her in her apartment. Working with the FBI, they had checked the fingerprints from one of the bodies in Alaska and discovered they belonged to an ex-convict who lived in Chicago. His name was Ivan Brosky, and he had a record a mile long. When they searched Brosky’s apartment, they found a cache of weapons, and ballistics was able to match one of the guns with the bullet. They had their man. Any further investigation would be handled by the FBI.

  Steinbeck’s call was followed immediately by one from Gil.

  “Great news, huh, Sophie?” he said. “They got the guy.”

  “How did you—” she began. She didn’t finish because she wasn’t really all that surprised. Gil had his ways of knowing everything.

  “I’ve got Tony downstairs today, and Alec said it’s okay to send him home. I just wanted to let you know. I’ll check back with you in a few days to make sure you’re okay.”

  Sophie thanked him and hung up. Maybe her life could get back to a modicum of normalcy once again.

  Cordie called her at five o’clock. “Get dressed up. Regan and I are taking you to Fortune’s.”

  “I’m not in the mood,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  Cordie would not take no for an answer. “You love Fortune’s. We’ll pick you up at seven. Be ready.”

  Maybe it would be good for her to be with friends, after all. Sophie needed something besides work to take her mind off Jack. Hopefully, one of them would have a horrible problem, and she could concentrate on that.

  She quickly finished her work and changed into her favorite black silk dress. She added a bloodred scarf over her wool coat. If the restaurant got chilly, she could use it as a wrap.

  The three women caused quite a stir when they followed the waiter to their table in a cozy alcove with drapes on either side.

  “Where’s Alec tonight?” Cordie asked when they were seated at the round table.

  “He and Jack were working on something, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was,” Regan answered.

  Cordie talked about school, and Regan caught them up on her search for an apartment. “I don’t want a big house to take care of. Not yet. Besides, Alec might be reassigned. Okay, enough chitchat. Talk to us, Sophie. Tell us what you found out about Harrington.”

  “I want to hear about Alaska, too,” Cordie chimed in.

  Sophie didn’t know where to start. She talked about the trip all through dinner. Her friends sat wide-eyed, barely touching their food as she narrated the story of the last few days.

  “Oh my God, Soph …” Regan gasped, the tears welling up in her eyes. “You could have been killed.”

  “So the man who shot you …”

  “Bluto,” Regan said. “She called him Bluto.”

  “He followed you to Alaska. It wasn’t all about Kelly’s like everyone thought.”

  “Speaking of Kelly’s …” Regan said. “Your dad is now a hero.”

  Hero today, criminal tomorrow, Sophie thought. “How much do you want to bet the FBI will be looking even harder for my father now?”

  Her friends nodded. They had known her father for years and were well aware how elusive he could be.

  “Have you talked to Jack since you got home?” Cordie asked.

  “Do you think Kelly’s will reopen? Mr. Bitterman thinks it will,” Sophie said.

  Regan and Cordie exchanged a look. Cordie said, “Don’t change the channel. You were with a gorgeous man for days—and nights—and you haven’t mentioned him once. Why do you think that is … oh my God, I know why. You slept with him.”

  Deny, deny, deny … except with her friends. Sophie couldn’t lie.

  “Yes, I did,” she admitted. “I don’t know what came over me. I do have principles … especially when it comes to the FBI … but…”

  Regan opened her mouth to protest, but Cordie cut her off. “We know, you’re married to an agent, Regan, but your father isn’t a career criminal.”

  Sophie looked miserable. “Maybe he’ll go away.”

  “Jack?” Regan asked.

  “Of course, Jack,” Cordie said, clearly exasperated. “And if he doesn’t go away, Sophie?”

  “I can’t let this happen. I’m in way over my head.”

  “You fell in love.” Regan nodded.

  “You know she did,” Cordie said. “Sophie doesn’t sleep around. If she didn’t have feelings for him, she wouldn’t have slept with him.” Turning to Sophie, she said, “So you don’t want to sleep with him again?”

  “Of course I want to sleep with him again. That’s the problem!”

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  Cordie looked sympathetic. “Maybe you’re worrying for nothing. Maybe he doesn’t plan to see you again. He might have moved on now that you’re back in Chicago and safe.”

  The possibility made Sophie’s heart ache.

  IN BED THAT NIGHT, the images of Harrington and Inook and the scientists’ camp came flooding back to Sophie. She had gone to Alaska to write William Harrington’s story, but since returning home, she had done everything she could to avoid the task. A pang of conscience stung her. She had vowed that she would give him a voice, and she owed William at least that much.

  She threw off her covers and went to her computer. For the next hour she wrote of what she knew about the man and his ambitions and his ultimate demise.

  She thought long and hard about the ending to the story. After all, she didn’t really have all the pieces to the puzzle. And so she wrote:

  William Harrington loved challenges. He thrived on them. What took him to Alaska remains shrouded in mystery for now, but someday that shroud will be lifted, and we will know the truth. His story is not finished.

  HIS STORY IS NOT FINISHED. Marcus Lemming read the words in the newspaper and was enraged. He was close to his goal, and nothing was going to get in his way now. Eric had almost destroyed the dream with his stupidity, and he had paid the price. Marcus, on the other hand, was too careful, too intelligent, to let it slip through his fingers. Every last piece of research was compiled, recorded, and filed away in a secure place. No one would find it before it was time to hand it over to the buyer. And no one would ever know about the deal he’d made, the fifty million dollars for his research and Eric’s formula. What the buyer did with it was of no concern to him. It was all part of the confidentiality agreement. The buyer wanted his scientists to take the credit for the discovery, and that was fine with Marcus. If they revealed the truth, they’d look like fools.

  There was just one little problem Marcus had to handle before he was home free: Sophie Summerfield Rose. Eric had said she wouldn’t stop. The article she had written for the newspaper said as much: His story is not finished.

  Marcus had to silence her. He supposed he could find another one of Eric’s friends to eliminate her, but the last one had bungled the job, so why would he go to that well again? He’d see to the job himself, and since there is a purpose behind everything a scientist does, he would gain some benefit from the undertaking. Sophie would become his first female subject. After the experiment, he would give her a lethal dose and cremate the body. No body, no crime. But he would have the data for the sake of science … or at least for his own gratification.

  How to grab her without being seen was the problem he still needed to work out. Preparation and patience—that’s what the situation called for. If she didn’t make any hasty moves and gave him time, he could work out a plan down to the most critical detail. He hoped to have the opportunity to talk to her before she died. He would ask her why she had gone to such lengths to find out the truth. Why did she care? William Harrington was a nobody. He didn’t have any friends or lovers or hovering relatives. He was a loner, and she had done only one interview with him. Just one. She had barely even known him.

  When Eric heard that Harrington had mentioned the name Alpha Project to her, he feared she would dig for the truth and get too close, so he had hired one of his unsavory friends to get rid of her. But Marcus had thought Eric had acted rashly. No one, not even Harrington, knew what the Alpha Project really was. Now things had gotten so screwed up, there was no telling to what extremes she would go to unravel their secret.

  If luck was on his side, he’d have a month before he had to deal with her—a month before he received his fifty million.

  MR. BITTERMAN LOVED THE ARTICLES. HE WAS ESPECIALLY fond of the story Sophie had written about the foot ball team, and was moved by her story about Harrington. It was good to be back to work, back to her routine.

  She hadn’t seen Jack since he’d left her apartment after bringing her home from the airport. He had checked every room to make sure no one was waiting to pounce, kissed her on the forehead, and walked out the door.

  Sophie struggled to keep him out of her thoughts, but late one evening she decided to watch the video on YouTube. She replayed it several times, and each time she saw something new, the way he calmly handled a horrible situation, the way he coolly kept everyone else from panicking. She wasn’t surprised by his courage. She’d already seen him in action and knew how he handled himself in a crisis, how he protected others. He had certainly protected her.

  The alpha male. Jack was that, all right.

  At five minutes to twelve, Sophie went to her closet, got the cell phone out of its hiding place, and waited for her father to call.

  He was always on time.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Tell me about your trip,” he said in greeting.

  She wanted him to tell her about Kelly’s first.

  “Now your turn, Princess,” he said after giving his account.

  Sophie glossed over the shootings and the fire and told him about the weather and the people and the food, but her father had a way of finding out information, and he already knew down to the last detail what had happened. He sounded like a scolding parent when he said that he would never have encouraged her to go had he known the dangerous trouble she would get into, and he promised to send a team of bodyguards the next time she wanted to travel. She assured him that wouldn’t be necessary. She didn’t plan on going on any more adventures.

  Wanting to move on to more pleasant topics, he said, “I enjoyed the story you wrote about Mr. Harrington. You did an excellent job.”

  After a few more minutes of conversation, her father paused. “Something’s bothering you. I hear it in your voice. What is it?”

  “You won’t like it.”

  “I’m your father. You can tell me anything.”

  She took a breath. “I did such a stupid thing. I fell in love.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “With … him.”

  “Him?”

  “The FBI agent.” She thought she heard a gulp. She took another breath. “There’s more.”

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “No. He went to law school.”

  She knew how her father felt about attorneys. He was one of the best, but he understood what the unscrupulous ones were capable of; he’d witnessed it firsthand. Many years ago, as an enthusiastic young lawyer, he had unwittingly gone to work for the most corrupt law firm in Chicago: Ellis, Ellis, and Cooper. They had turned Bobby Rose into the man he was today.

  The Bridget O’Reilly case had been the turning point. An automobile explosion took her husband, her three children, and her mother. Bridget was left with severe burns over half her body. Had the auto company heeded the warnings from the dealers and mechanics about the faulty connection, the explosion never would have happened.

  The court awarded Bridget thirty-two million dollars, but by the time the appeals were disposed of, and Ellis and Ellis took their cut and reimbursed themselves for expenses, Bridget was left with two hundred thousand dollars. The amount didn’t even begin to cover her medical bills. Bedridden and settlement gone, Bridget couldn’t get the health care she needed. Before she could get state aid, she died of an infection.

  Meanwhile, Ellis, Ellis, and Cooper celebrated their windfall.

  Bobby Rose had been a young, idealistic attorney at the time. His research had helped win the case for Bridget, and in spending a great deal of time together, they had become good friends. He naively believed that she would receive the justice she deserved, but watching Bridget die penniless as the law partners went on lavish vacations and built colossal homes to match their colossal egos, Bobby changed. He resigned his position with the firm. He didn’t have to tell them why. They knew, and they had a good laugh over his moral indignation.

  Six months later, some of the investments the firm was using as tax write-offs suffered unforeseen and severe losses, and that

was followed by unexplainable withdrawals from several accounts. Their assets were dwindling before their very eyes. Since many of their transactions were of a dubious nature to begin with, the lawyers tried to keep the losses quiet. Not only were they afraid of the scrutiny of the authorities, but they also feared for their reputation. They were high-priced attorneys. Who could trust a firm that couldn’t even protect its own accounts?

  From that time on, Bobby vowed that the fat cats who came to their wealth by underhanded and ruthless means would not enjoy their riches. Over the years, he gained a reputation for being involved in the downfall of several notorious businessmen. Of course, to do this, he had to resort to some questionable methods himself, which was why the law was constantly looking for him. Bobby was not only shrewd, he was street smart, and when necessary could disappear. He was never sought for criminal charges, but, rather, for questioning.

  His one regret was that he had not been present for most of Sophie’s growing up. Her mother died when she was a baby, and circumstances kept him from being the kind of father he wanted to be. Still, Sophie had never once doubted that her father loved her.

  “Say something, Daddy,” Sophie prompted when her father didn’t speak. “I said he’s a lawyer.”

  “It’s a shock, Princess, I don’t deny it, but we’ll get through this.”

  “I don’t want you to be concerned. I just felt I should tell you, but it isn’t going anywhere. He’s moved on, and I will, too.”

  Sophie realized she’d never really been in love before, and if this was how it felt, it sucked.

  “Do you think you can get away for a while … just to clear your head? Why not join me in Monte Carlo?”

  “That sounds nice,” she said, her voice lacking enthusiasm. “I’d have to wait until after Thanksgiving. There are too many people depending on me.”