for putting me in this position. You’d better run. Run far away. Because if I ever get my hands on you again, you’re going to be in for a world of pain.
As Lana shoved her phone into its slot in her purse, she heard heavy breathing behind her. She turned to see Gia Burrows hurrying toward her.
“Lana, wait. You’re right. I wanted to hire you for all the wrong reasons.” Gia stopped in front of her and took a moment to catch her breath. “I apologize, but I really need you. I know you’re one of the best and if you’ll forgive me for my crassness I’m ready to make you a serious offer.”
Lana smiled at her. Was she going to turn down a genuine offer of employment? No way. She stuck out her hand for Gia to shake. “Apology accepted.”
Chapter 2
Tennison Isles made it a habit of taking the stairs. His work schedule made it difficult to get to the gym every day. However, as a special agent with the FBI he had to stay in good physical condition. As he stepped onto the thirteenth floor from the stairwell this morning, he had nearly collided with the special-agent-in-charge, Josh Kagen.
Kagen was in his mid-forties, of average height, and stocky with thick brown hair that he wore so close to his scalp from a distance he looked bald. Ten was thirty-five years old, six foot four, weighed 225 and his body was honed not just from walking up stairs but running, weight-lifting and twenty years of martial arts.
“Ten, you’re just the guy I wanted to see. I suppose you heard about that Corday investor who tried to commit suicide. If his wife hadn’t come home in the nick of time, he would have done himself in using a 1965 Mustang. He’d passed out, and she got there in just enough time to turn off the ignition and open the garage door.”
Ten was about to say that he’d heard the report on the morning news. The deputy director often asked rhetorical questions, especially when he felt strongly about a case, as he did about the Jeremy Corday case.
Kagen began walking toward his office. Ten fell into step beside him.
“I feel for the family,” Ten said, “And the widow. I’m sure she was glad the hoopla had died down a bit. Now the media will be clamoring for her thoughts on the matter.”
Those who worked the case had started referring to Lana Corday as the widow even though they didn’t believe Jeremy Corday was dead.
“How is he?” Ten inquired about the man who had attempted suicide. He was certain Kagen, known for his thoroughness, had gotten an update on the man’s condition.
“He’s going to be fine,” said Kagen as he opened the door to his office and entered the large utilitarian furnished space. It complemented its owner, as it was highly efficient.
Kagen did not sit down but paced the room as he continued, “I don’t know about you, Ten, but I’m feeling mighty frustrated with the lack of progress we’ve had finding Corday. There’s no paper trail, no sighting of him on airport security cameras, absolutely nothing! People are suffering because of him. Losing their homes, senior citizens have had to go out and find work to make ends meet in this economy.” He punched the air with clenched fists. “I know he’s got that money stashed in a bank in the States, possibly right here in San Francisco. But if his wife is somehow hiding something or is the key to the location of those funds, we haven’t been able to connect her.”
Ten had headed the team that had had Lana Corday under surveillance for the past seven months. He knew her personal life inside and out. What time she left her apartment in the morning, how often she ran, whom she saw during the day, and which jobs she was currently working on. If Jeremy Corday had tried to contact her, Ten would have known. Her phone records were devoid of anything out of the ordinary. No calls from a fugitive husband.
“Maybe he’s truly dead,” Ten ventured. He didn’t really believe it, but was being the devil’s advocate just for the sake of argument.
“He’s too slippery to be dead,” Kagen quickly stated. Scowling, he faced Ten. “There’s got to be a way to smoke that rat out of his hidey-hole.”
Ten had been giving that particular challenge some thought. Before he could reason with himself or talk himself out of speaking up at the risk of his idea sounding far-fetched and subsequently being shot down by Kagen, he cleared his throat and said, “I really don’t think Corday is going to show his face in San Francisco. There’s too much of a chance of his being spotted. But, if we could get the widow in a more remote location, say maybe, the Outer Banks, where Lana’s father lives, your rat might nibble on the bait.”
“But how do you propose we accomplish that, short of going to her and asking her to help us entrap her husband? I doubt she’d go for that even if she had no clue as to his business dealings and it’s beginning to dawn on her what kind of man she married.”
“No, but maybe her father isn’t such a big fan of Corday’s,” Ten suggested.
Interested, as the spark in his gray eyes proved, Kagen said, “Go on.”
“I can go to Mr. Braithwaite and explain our predicament, emphasizing the fact that his daughter could very well be in danger. What if she’s in possession of something Corday needs in order to access the rest of the money? I believe her when she says he never gave her a safe-deposit key or any other important item for safe keeping. That doesn’t mean he didn’t hide something in her personal possessions that she’s unaware of. She needs our protection. A father might respond to that.”
Kagen smiled. “You have my permission to give it a shot.”
* * *
“Lana, Lana! A word, please?”
It was dusk, and Lana had just returned home after a long day of putting the finishing touches on the Burrows house in the Russian Hill area. Reporter Gary Randall from the local ABC affiliate was very familiar to her. He was lean, had the polished good looks of an All-American athlete and was relentless when chasing down a story.
Although she wanted nothing more than to get inside her apartment, take off her shoes and relax, she turned to him with a resigned sigh, thinking that it was best to just get it over with. She already knew why he was here.
Luckily, the three-story Victorian home on Lombard Street where she had a one-room apartment was deserted this time of day. Her landlady didn’t get home from her nursing job until after nine. The news van had drawn several curious neighbors to their windows for a look-see, though. A few were coming outside to get a better view.
Randall stood close to her as he began his questioning. “Lana, are you aware that one of your husband’s victims tried to commit suicide?”
He didn’t wait for her to comment before continuing with his line of questioning. “How do you feel about that? Do you feel guilty or sorry that the family suffered a near-tragedy? Or do you feel removed from it all? As if you bear no blame because, as you maintain, you knew nothing of your husband’s fraudulent behavior?”
Lana looked straight into the camera. “I was very relieved to hear that Mrs. Carter got home in time to save her husband’s life. I wish him a speedy recovery. And I hope the authorities will soon track down the funds that were taken from so many honest, hard-working people.” She smiled warmly, after which she turned and went inside.
Gary Randall continued calling questions to her retreating back. When
