The Color of Death by Elizabeth Lowell
She tried not to laugh, then gave up when he kissed her nose and walked naked to the bathroom. She really was going to miss this early morning intimacy, having something to think about besides work, having someone to laugh with, to touch, to talk with, to….
Does he feel the same way?
With an impatient sound she stood up and went to make coffee. The kitchen floor felt cold under her bare feet. When she bumped into the refrigerator, its smooth chill made her jump back. Being butt naked had some disadvantages.
While the coffee cooked, she went to her bedroom, which was still mostly torn up. Bed moved. Carpet gone—Sam had done that after the cops left. She couldn’t bear looking at it. Even with the carpet out, she still wasn’t happy. Quickly, she pulled on underwear, grit-stained jeans, and a blue work shirt that had been bleached so often that the only real color left was pale cream. She left the bedroom in a rush, wondering if she would ever be comfortable in that place again.
Sam was sitting at the keyboard with the cell phone tucked between his ear and left shoulder. He’d put on jeans, period. The rest of him was naked and wonderfully tempting. Whatever he did to keep himself in shape showed in the fluid shift and bunch of muscles each time he moved. His fingers raced over the keyboard with more force than necessary to depress the keys.
“Okay, good…no, wait,” he said into the phone. “Go over that bit again.” He listened, typed, nodded, and typed some more. “Got it. Any other shortcuts I should know?” He listened, grunted, and scribbled madly on a pad next to the keyboard, which already had a lot of previous scribbles on it from his other forays into hacking. “Thanks, Jill. If that doesn’t do it, I’ll call again.”
He punched off and smelled the coffee before Kate put it under his nose. “You just saved my life,” he said, grabbing the cup.
“Sounds like I was second in line. She helping you again?”
“What? Oh, Jill.” Sam grinned. “The Bureau only has the best, thank God. There’s a way to get into Hall’s computers. At least, it should work. Nearly all business software is based on the same program, and that program has some frigging big holes in the security.”
“That’s good?”
“Hope so.” Sam drank the rest of the steamy coffee in three big swallows. “We’ll find out.”
He went back to work at the keyboard. Kate watched while screens and minutes raced by, codes asked and answered, until finally he settled back and sighed. “Be damned. It worked. The personnel files are mine.”
“Legally?”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
Kate took the hint and shut up. She drank her coffee, refilled both cups, and walked up and down between the worktables. The beautiful piece of yellow sapphire was mounted and ready to be studied with various devices, including an old-fashioned magnifying glass. The sooner she got to work on the sapphire, the sooner she could pay Sam back for his unintended loan to buy the pricey rough.
Not that he was pushing for the money. He hadn’t even mentioned it. Maybe he’d like to go partners in the finished work as well. She turned to ask him, but before she could, he was talking to her.
“Jack Kirby. Son of a bitch. He worked for Peyton Hall.”
“Kirby was a licensed private investigator, wasn’t he?” Kate asked, frowning.
“Yeah? So?”
“So there could be a legitimate reason. Kirby could have worked for a lot of people.”
Sam grunted. “Let’s see what Sizemore says.”
“What? You’re going to tell him?”
“Actually, I think I’ll let him tell me.”
Chapter 68
Scottsdale
Monday
8:30 A.M.
Sizemore opened the door with a beer in one hand and attitude sticking out all over him.
“You sure I don’t need my lawyer?” Sizemore said with something close to a sneer.
“You want him, call him,” Sam said, brushing past Sizemore. “We’ll wait inside.”
Kate followed Sam into the suite.
Sizemore kicked the door shut behind her hard enough to make the frame vibrate before he turned to face Sam.
“I don’t need my lawyer to deal with a mutt like you,” Sizemore said. “You’re not worth two hundred bucks an hour.”
“Neither is your lawyer.”
Kate rolled her eyes and stepped between the men, looking Sizemore right in the eye.
“Before you two start clawing and pulling hair,” she said, “let’s get a few things out of the way. You don’t like Sam. Sam doesn’t like you. Big flapping deal. People do business all the time with folks they despise. That aside, do you have any problem talking to us?”
Sizemore looked surprised. He glanced over Kate’s head at Sam. “Do girls these days go to a special school to learn attitude?”
“The good ones are born with it,” Sam said.
“Huh. Well, I hope the fucking you get is worth the fucking you get. Never was for me.”
Sam couldn’t help it. He looked at Kate and grinned.
She grinned right back at him.
Sizemore shook his head. “I’ll never understand women, or men who understand them, for that matter. Beer, anyone?”
“I’ll pass,” Kate said.
“Me too,” Sam said.
Sizemore lowered himself into his favorite chair and said, “Your party. Your tune.”
Sam pulled up a chair for Kate but didn’t sit down himself.
“Assuming that the leaks came from your company,” Sam said, “and assuming that you weren’t the source, who was it?”
“Hell, I’ve got twenty employees and a bunch of couriers who only work on a job-by-job basis.” Sizemore took a drink. “Could be any of them.”
Sam looked at the dark skin ringing the other man’s bloodshot eyes. “Is that the best you can come up with after a sleepless night or did you spend the whole time drinking?”
Sizemore flushed and visibly bit back what he wanted to say.
“How many people at your company have access to every file on your main computer?” Sam asked.
“Four,” Sizemore said sullenly. “Me, Sharon, Jason, and Ms. Tibble.”
“Of those four, who has access to the ex-military old-boy club?”
“You know the answer as well as I do.”
Sam waited.
“I’m the only one!” Sizemore said. He slammed his empty bottle in a nearby wastebasket—a bottle because this morning he’d started in on the high-test brew early. He put his head in his hands. “I’m the only one and I didn’t do it.”
Sam made a subtle gesture to Kate. Time for the sort-of-nice cop to step in.
“Did you know that Peyton Hall employed Jack Kirby?” she asked.
Slowly, Sizemore’s gray, shaggy head came up. “What?”
“According to information we have,” Kate said, “Peyton used Kirby for occasional background checks for Hall Jewelry International.”
“Kirby never mentioned it,” Sizemore said. “But why would he? I only saw him a few times in the years since the strike force.”
“What about Peyton Hall?” Sam asked.
“Putz.”
“No argument here,” Kate said, thinking about the man’s reputation with women. “Do you think some of his pillow talk with Sharon might have been about business? Sizemore Security Consulting business?”
“Sharon knows better than to talk out of school,” Sizemore said roughly. “Oh, she might have let something slip here and there, but she’s not stupid.”
“Except with men?” Kate asked gently.
Silence stretched.
And stretched.
Abruptly, Sizemore came to his feet. “Most of the time when I see Peyton, he’s leaning over her, looking at her computer screen while she works. He could get a lot of information that way. Hell, he could even have her security code. And Kirby would be all Peyton would need to hire a bunch of badasses for the dirty work.”
Sizemore grabbed the p
No answer. He waited long enough for the hotel operator to break in and then hung up without leaving a message.
“Sharon’s not in her room,” he said.
“Where else would she be?” Sam asked.
“She should be here. She knows we’re leaving. Or we were,” Sizemore said bitterly. “I don’t know if I’m going to be allowed near an airport until this is over.”
“If Kennedy hasn’t had you arrested by now,” Sam said, “then he isn’t going to.”
Sizemore shoved up his shirtsleeve and held his wrist under Sam’s nose. “I’m under house arrest. Or hotel arrest, to be precise.”
Sam looked at the “bracelet” Sizemore was wearing. It was the latest word in keeping track of people without putting them behind bars. Sizemore couldn’t get away if he wanted to. The band on his wrist let the Bureau track him anywhere on the planet.
The red flush on Sizemore’s face said that he was humiliated by the bracelet, but it was better than being fingerprinted and put in prison.
“Kennedy’s good at covering his ass,” Sam said.
Sizemore’s mouth flattened.
“Is Peyton Hall still here?” Kate asked quickly.
“Sharon had breakfast with the putz,” Sizemore said. “Didn’t say anything about him leaving before tonight. The last of our clients will be out of here by then.” He looked at his watch. “She’s late. Should be here by now.”
There was a light knock on the door and the sound of the lock and the door opening.
“Dad? I’ve been thinking. It isn’t easy to say, but—” Sharon stopped cold when she saw Sam. “What are you doing here—gloating?”
“They came to talk about who else could have access to Sizemore Security Consulting information,” Sizemore said.
Sharon took a deep breath, like she’d been hit. Fear or tears glittered in her eyes. Her fists clenched at her side.
“I’ve been wondering about it too,” she said jerkily. “I was awake most of the night. Thinking. About connections. About who could and who couldn’t.” Visibly, she struggled to control herself. It took a few moments, but she managed. Swallowing hard, she said in a hoarse whisper, “I—Peyton. I’m so sorry, Dad. It’s Peyton. The bastard has been using me all these years.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“We had breakfast together. He wanted me to walk away from my father.” She took a hitching breath and looked at Sizemore, not at Sam. “I was—upset. I went to get some antacids out of his computer case—he always keeps them there because—oh, shit, that doesn’t matter. I grabbed the bottle and dumped some on my palm and—and—this.” She held out her right hand, opened it.
A brilliant blue oval flashed against her shaking hand.
Kate’s breath came in with a sharp sound.
“Is it?” Sam asked tightly.
“Yes.” She looked at Sharon. “Were there others?”
“Yes, damn it! I didn’t know what to do. I was—all those years with him.” She swallowed and wiped impatiently at her eyes. “I left the other stones where I found them and came to tell my father.” She squared her shoulders and glanced at Sam. “It will be all right now, won’t it?”
Sam didn’t answer. He was too busy talking into his cell phone.
Chapter 69
Scottsdale
Monday
9:15 A.M.
“I think you should have stayed with Sizemore,” Sam said to Kate as they waited in the hotel hallway for an elevator.
“Not a chance. Once the warrant for Peyton came through, I was out of there.”
“Sharon didn’t last that long. Said she had to pack. I thought they weren’t leaving until tomorrow.”
“Do you blame her for sliding out? When Sizemore wasn’t ripping into her for being stupid, he was telling everyone in the room how he broke this case single-handed. Talk about a putz. Sizemore in full swagger is more than any woman should have to take.”
Sam and Kate stepped onto the elevator at the same time.
His cell phone vibrated against his belt. He’d switched it to silent mode so that he wouldn’t be bothered during the arrest of Peyton Hall. But the damn thing tickled.
He looked at the call window, frowned, and decided it would have to wait—which was the message he sent by punching the answer button and then disconnecting instantly.
“Stay in the hall until Peyton is cuffed,” Sam said to Kate when the elevator slowed.
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “He won’t try to fight. He’s way out of shape.”
“Guns don’t need gym memberships.”
Kate shut up.
As soon as the elevator stopped at Peyton’s floor, Sam looked outside. No one was in the hallway except Doug, who was waiting at the bank of elevators for Sam to arrive.
Peyton’s suite was only three doors down. Sam pulled his Glock and held it down the side of his right leg. Unless someone was looking for it, the gun was both hidden and ready to use.
His cell phone vibrated back to life.
Shit.
He punched it on and off again.
“Stay here,” Doug said to Kate.
Without waiting for an answer, the SAC set off down the hallway.
“Please,” Sam said.
She gave him a smile that was all teeth, folded her arms, and leaned against the wall. “I’ll be a good girl.”
“Just stay put,” Sam said. “That’s all I ask.”
He caught up with Doug. When they reached the door, Sam stepped to one side while Doug knocked on the door.
No one answered.
Doug knocked again, harder.
“Who is it?” Peyton called from the other side of the door.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Doug said. He pulled out his badge holder and dangled the gold shield in front of the spy hole where Peyton could see it.
“Just a minute.”
The sound of the door bolt being flipped to open position was followed by the handle turning. Peyton Hall’s handsome, rather soft face appeared in the opening. His designer linen shirt was unbuttoned, as were his slacks. Apparently, the belly pushing over his belt wasn’t happy under pressure.
“What can I do for you?” Peyton asked. He opened the door enough to show that he was being cooperative, even though he hadn’t invited anybody inside.
If he had a weapon, it wasn’t in either of his hands.
Sam saw the tension around Peyton’s eyes and mouth. It was at odds with the professional salesman’s smile. Anticipation purred along Sam’s nerves. He was really looking forward to taking down the asshole who had killed Kate’s brother and tried to kill her too.
Doug smiled at Peyton and said, “It won’t take long. Could we come inside?”
Peyton glanced quickly at Sam, who was careful to keep the Glock out of sight and the predatory light out of his eyes.
“This is Special Agent Sam Groves,” Doug said casually, waving a hand in Sam’s direction.
Peyton frowned. “Yes?”
Two doors down, a couple emerged from a room and walked toward the elevators. They gave a long, curious glance at the three men who didn’t look particularly chummy. From farther down the hall came the calls of maids as they exchanged gossip over fresh towels. The elevator doors opened and someone stepped off with too much luggage and a tired child.
Praying silently that the civilians got the hell out of the way fast, Sam turned slightly, keeping his weapon hidden.
“There’s not much privacy out here, is there?” Doug said to Peyton, glancing from the man’s bare chest to his bare feet and back. “Your choice, of course, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable talking to us inside?”
“Uh. Yeah.” Peyton stepped back.
Sam moved between Peyton and any potential weapon in the room. Though Sam didn’t reveal his gun, it was there, ready.
“I don’t have much time,” Peyton said to Doug.
“This won’t take long at all, Mr. Hall,” Doug said, grabbing Peyton’s right wrist and pulling it behind his back in a swift movement. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Lee Mandel.”
Peyton was too shocked to struggle when his left hand joined his right behind his back. Doug pulled out plastic restraints, wrapped them around Peyton’s wrists, and cinched down hard enough to bite into flesh.
“What the hell?” Peyton said, staring over his shoulder at Doug. “There’s been some kind of mistake! I don’t even know this Medlon or Meddle or whatever the—”
“Mandel,” Sam said curtly, holstering his Glock. “Lee Mandel.”
With brisk efficiency, Sam went over Peyton for weapons while Doug did the Miranda chant—with variations required by recent court decisions—for the benefit of all the lawyers that were sure to come.
“Mandel. Fine, whatever,” Peyton said. “But this is crap. I’m no saint, but I pay my taxes on time. You can’t just come in here and arrest me.”
“Actually, we can,” Sam said, stepping back from Peyton. Then, to Doug, “He’s clean.”
Peyton tried not to think about his hidden accounts in Aruba and the gems that were reworked after Kirby and Eduardo’s cousins got them from wherever they did. Thinking about it made his nerves skitter.
“This is ridiculous,” Peyton said. “I want a lawyer right now.”
Doug took Peyton to the phone, punched in the number he recited, and held the phone to his ear so that he could talk.
While Peyton was whining to his lawyer, Sam dropped a search warrant on the coffee table and went to work.
“Wait!” Peyton said when Sam opened the computer case. “You can’t do that!”
“Tell him,” Sam said to Doug.
“We also have a warrant to search this room and everything in it,” Doug said politely. “Would you like me to explain it to your lawyer?”
“Fu—” Peyton stopped abruptly as it occurred to him that telling a federal agent to fuck off wasn’t the best way to present the case for his innocence. “At least tell me who the hell it is who died and why you’re framing me for his murder.” Then, into the phone, “Bob, you gotta help me. These clowns just aren’t listening!”