on his spine. He clasped his hands carefully atop his desk and waited. Again that cold smile appeared.
“There is no conspiracy,” Ulysses continued. “No big cover-up. Just businesspeople concerned that dredging up bad history will lead to a bad future for their bottom line. Shareholders are sensitive to fluctuations in their dividends. It’s our job to make sure those dips and valleys aren’t too sharp.”
“And it’s my job to make sure the security of our nation isn’t at risk,” Reed countered smoothly. “Frankly, I could give two shits about your shareholders’ bottom line, and you have some balls to come in here and expect me to dance to your tune just because you know a few people. Well, news flash...I know a few people, too.”
“I see.” Ulysses dropped the smile, which was fine by Reed; they both knew it was fake. “I guess it’ll have to come down to who knows the better people.”
He laughed. “I answer to the president. Who do you answer to? A bunch of entitled rich people? I think I win.”
Ulysses rose and adjusted his suit coat. “I’d hoped we could see eye to eye on this.”
“I don’t see how we could,” Reed said with frank amusement. “We seem to be on opposite continents.”
“So it would seem.”
Ulysses showed himself to the door and walked out without further comment. It wasn’t until Ulysses had left the building that Reed let out his held breath. Something foul was afoot. It would appear Holden was right; there was more to the story than met the eye. Was Miko simply a pawn in a bigger game? And if so, who was the true game master? The entire situation left a bad taste in his mouth, but he had no doubt if there was something to be found, Holden would find it.
Reed’s only fear? Miko had already paid for his involvement with his life. Reed sure as hell didn’t want his two best agents to pay the same price.
* * *
The Realtor, none too happy to be out in the blustery weather with two people who plainly weren’t going to be buying, opened the front door of the bar and stamped his feet free of the snow clinging to his boots. “Two floors. The upstairs was the office area.” He looked at his watch. “Do you know how long this is going to take?”
“You can wait in your car if you prefer,” Holden suggested and the Realtor was only too happy to take him up on his suggestion.
After the man had disappeared, Holden and Jane clicked on their flashlights, illuminating the dim interior. The bar had been closed for almost six months, but the stale smell of beer remained. Holden had visited a few times right after Miko purchased it. It was supposed to be the thing that kept him busy after retirement, he recalled, the memory springing to mind...
“A bar?” Holden had exclaimed as Miko drove them to the location for the first time. “You bought a bar?”
“Yeah, sounded like a good idea at the time,” Miko had said, grinning. “What could be better than being the proprietor of good times? I figure I might as well make a little money at the place where I most often frequent on my downtime, right?”
“Owning a bar is more than just free beer, Miko,” Holden had said, frowning. “It’s a huge responsibility.”
“Stop being such a wet blanket. Things are good. I’m no longer punching a clock and I’ve landed a pretty sweet side gig, so I can afford to lose money on the bar for years before I start to sweat. And if it gets to be too much of a pain in the ass, I’ll just unload it. So stop worrying.”
Holden had glanced around the bar, grudgingly noting the whiskey-soaked charm of the place, and he’d realized his brother could make a killing if managed properly. But Miko was all about the good time, not the profit margin. He had thought then that even if Miko put minimal effort into the bar, it’d still turn a profit, which had been reassuring. Good location, clean but not too pristine, with a lived-in, comfortable feel. Like the bar in that show Cheers. Where everyone knew your name. He had looked to Miko, who had still been awaiting his opinion, and said with a smile, “Tell me about this side gig.” Miko had just shaken his head and hooked his arm around Holden’s shoulders.
“First, we celebrate. Life is good, my brother. Life is good.”
As Miko’s voice faded from Holden’s memory, his eyes stung. “You okay?” Jane asked, peering at him. “You look as if you’re going to cry.”
“I’m fine,” he said roughly, heading toward the staircase, then taking the steps two at a time. He detoured to the left and opened the door to Miko’s private office with Jane on his heels. To her credit, she didn’t pester him to share his feelings, and he was grateful. His grief over the death of his twin was something he kept close to his heart and covered with plenty of layers—he didn’t have the luxury of breaking down. The hardwood floor creaked beneath their feet and echoed in the nearly empty room. Everything of value had been stripped from the walls and sold at auction. Only Miko’s desk remained for staging purposes. A small, high window let in cold, milky light, but the gloom in the room seemed to seep into Holden’s bones. A sense of danger clung to the shadows, and he pushed the disquieting sensation away so he could focus.
It seemed he wasn’t the only one keying in on the weirdness in the room. “The mind plays tricks on you when you know someone died violently in the space you’re in,” Jane said, rubbing at her arms and shivering inside her thick jacket. “But even still, this place is giving me the creeps. Can we get on with it before hypothermia hits?” She glanced around with irritation. “I don’t even know what we’re looking for.”
“Anything.”
“Well, thank you for that completely unhelpful direction.” She gestured to the still room. “Nothing’s here. Everything’s been cleaned out, either to sell or to put into evidence.”
She wasn’t saying anything that Holden couldn’t see for himself, but his gut told him that something was here. Show me, Miko. If you’re in this room, watching me stumble around in the dark...give me something to go on....
He crossed to the desk and began opening the drawers, the old wood scraping against the rollers with a screech. A few pens rolled out along with a puff of dust and an assortment of discarded paper clips. He picked up one of the pens and shone the light on the lettering. Tessara Pharm. Not surprising, since it had been discovered Penelope Granger, aka Penny Winslow, was the one pulling the strings. He pocketed the pen and closed the drawer.
Jane caught the movement and moved toward him. “What’s that and why are you putting it in your pocket?”
“Calm down. It’s a pen.”
“Why are you taking it?”
“Because I am.”
She let it go, which was good. He didn’t know why he had scooped up the pen, either. “Where’s it from?” she asked.
“Tessara Pharm.”
“Ugh. That place leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Big pharm companies are usually up to no good, in my opinion.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” he agreed, moving to the next drawer and opening it. Empty. He slid his hand along the edge of the bottom, looking for anything that his brother might’ve hidden, but nothing aside from wood met his fingers. Dropping to
