charm?”
He wondered if he should be offended. “Neither, although I can be quite charming, given the right circumstances. But Tremaine Technologies is considered to have made a pretty rapid rise in the global economy in the last twelve years. We’re listed as one of the five premiere encryption/decryption software corporations in the world. All modesty aside, there’s only one other in this country even in our league, and that’s Security Solutions. The biggest contracts in the past four years have gone to one or the other of us.”
She cocked her head consideringly. “So if your company was out of the running, they’d all go to this Software Solutions?”
“Probably, at least for a time. But sending anonymous notes hardly fits the profile of Simon Beal, its owner and CEO.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Setting aside the paperwork she was sorting, she crossed to an overflowing desk tucked in one corner of the room and pulled a pen and a legal pad from the top drawer. “Didn’t you tell me yesterday that you’re being considered for an important new project?”
“Yes, and so are a handful of other companies. Beal is the only real competition, although Allen Tarkington of Creative Technology considers himself in the running.” Rising, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, for once not mindful of the crease.
“So any one of those companies, Beal’s especially, would have reason to want you distracted right now.” She jotted a quick note down on her pad before looking up again. “I assume that this business is competitive, right? Companies willing to do what it takes to get an edge?”
His smile was as sharp as a blade. “That edge usually takes the form of corporate espionage. Arson. Sabotage. Even the odd bullet on occasion.”
Tori gaped at him, her eyes wide. “Wow. Guess that’s where the phrase corporate warfare comes from.”
He inclined his head. It was an appropriate enough term. “If one of the other business leaders was trying to eliminate me from the competition, I think they’d engage in something more direct than anonymous notes.”
Her expression had gone shrewd. “But a direct attack would have police scrutiny turned on them. Maybe this was deliberately planned to be more subtle, and you haven’t reacted the way you were supposed to. The whole publicity angle is exactly why you didn’t go to the police, but most people in your shoes would have. From there it would be an easy enough task to get the information leaked to the press. Fan the flames a bit, pay off a reporter or two and you have the Tremaine family history, past and present, in headlines and on TV for days, complete with hype and speculation about this newest development. Given the global prestige of your company, the story is sure to be picked up by the Associated Press, and lo and behold, all those Pentagon types are reading about you and your current problem over their morning coffee.”
The accuracy of the picture she painted was startling. “You catch on fast. It would be a roundabout way to approach things, but it’s conceivable.”
“And even better, at least from the sender’s standpoint, it’s unexpected. So why don’t you, for sake of argument, give me the names of the companies in the running for that contract, along with their locations and CEOs?”
James rattled off the information, only half thinking about it. The scenario she’d just described was possible. Entirely possible. And it would somehow be preferable to believe it than to discover that he’d been wrong all these years about his parents’ accident. That he had failed them somehow by not suspecting the truth and bringing those responsible to justice.
He was very much afraid that, if true, his failure to act would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Belatedly he became aware that she was speaking again.
“…just a theory.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said, right now, with what we have to go on, this is a theory, one among many. I just don’t want to overlook anything.”
“Nor do I.” He glanced at his watch, surprised to find it was nearly nine. “I’ve taken enough of your time this evening. I should go.”
She rose, in a fluid stream of motion that he couldn’t help but appreciate. “You’re going to drive all the way home tonight?”
He shook his head. “We have a place on Lake Pontchartrain. I’ll stay there and drive to work in the morning.” He headed for the door, leaving her to follow him. He felt an odd reluctance to leave. It was a sort of relief, he realized, to be able to talk this through with someone. To finally have a plan of action. He’d spent long hours considering sharing it with his brothers, but his first instinct had warned against it. When this was over, when he had the answers he needed, he’d tell them. He owed them that. But until he had something to report, the uncertainty could only cause them pain. He wasn’t willing to inflict that unnecessarily, especially if this was just a ploy by one of his competitors.
As the eldest in the family, responsibility was in-grained in him. He wouldn’t shirk it now.
Her voice had him hesitating with his hand on the doorknob.
“This thing between you and Beal…have you been keeping score?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. She had her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her shorts, her head tilted slightly. “Running a business the size of mine is hardly a game.”
Her tone grew mocking. “So you haven’t kept track of who has landed the hottest contracts. Come up with the most impressive technology.”
She saw, he thought, entirely too much. “It’s not something that can be reduced to win-loss columns.”
Tori smiled knowingly. “You’re ahead?”
“By three in this year alone.” He shot her a feral grin before turning and going through the door. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
There were worse ways to spend the afternoon than lolling on a grassy bank, fishing. Tori had an innate appreciation for life’s little bonuses, and she was enjoying this one to the fullest. It wasn’t often that she could work a case and indulge her love of fishing at the same time.
She cast her line and kept a watch on the man seated forty yards to her left, closer to the pond’s edge. The former Tangipahoa Parish sheriff had been retired for almost six years, and from the size of his girth, his love for food at least matched what she’d heard about his fondness for his favorite pastime. It had taken surprisingly few phone calls to elicit the information she’d needed on the man. And the small group of elderly men playing cards in front of his hometown diner had been more than happy to share favorite local fishing spots and directions to them, once she’d provided some winsome smiles and small talk. Picking up their lunch tab hadn’t hurt, either.
She’d spotted him on her third stop, on a secluded shady knoll on the banks of the Atchafalaya. For a while she was content to keep her distance. She didn’t want him to feel crowded and leave.
Selecting a bright-green lure, she baited the hook and cast her line, settling into a comfortable position to wait. It wasn’t for long. Within just a few minutes there was a tug on her line and she surged to her feet, reeling in slowly.
The yellowed speckled sunfish on the other end was a good size, at least
