She swiveled around and checked the clock by her bed. Maybe they could meet and tweak the plan before her date arrived.
“Some hole-in-the-wall diner off Pier 80 waiting on Theo Manning.”
Pier 80 meant there was no chance she could get there and back, or convince her date to go by the area before the gala. “We confirmed he was the commanding officer of the team at the time, right?”
“Yes,” Bill answered.
“And he’s late?” Her intuition was humming. “That doesn’t fit my image of a CO.”
“He’s a civilian now,” Bill pointed out. “A crane operator. Late doesn’t mean he’s changed his mind about talking with me. A thousand things could have happened on the job.”
“True.” Propping her phone on the bathroom counter, she wriggled into the dress. “Tell me what you’ve found on Lawton while we wait.” Bill might be a capable grown man, but she wasn’t going to leave him sitting alone in a diner in a rough part of town until she absolutely had to end the call.
“Lawton’s finances and net worth were a big surprise.”
She unzipped her makeup bag and started adding shadow and eyeliner to go from office to gala-ready. “Is he destitute or filthy rich?”
“The latter,” Bill said. “If your definition includes newly minted billionaires,” he added in a low murmur.
Becca bobbled her mascara tube and it fell to the floor. “What?” Scrambling, she fished it out from under the counter with her toe as she kept talking. “Why did you hold on to that detail? Is private security that lucrative? Are the others rich too?”
“I didn’t lead with that tidbit because I hadn’t finished my due diligence. Security might be that lucrative. His client list is privileged.”
She snorted. “Not legally.”
“Possibly legally. At any rate, I’m still trying to find out where and when he made his fortune.”
Selling or hoarding Iraqi gold would certainly boost anyone’s bottom line, though a net worth of billions seemed unlikely when the gold had been split between six thieves. Or so the source said. Huh. Maybe the source wasn’t the victim as they’d inferred from the tip. Maybe their source was bitter about being cut out or shorted of his part of the fortune. “Send me what you have on Lawton right now and I’ll help you sort it out.”
“Your date won’t appreciate you canceling at the last minute,” he said.
“I’m not canceling,” she promised.
“Oh?” Bill chuckled. “Even better. He’ll love watching you google another man between bites of hors d’oeuvres.”
She laughed with him. Better that than letting him know how close to the mark his teasing struck. “A personal life is essential to true happiness,” she said. She’d written the reminder on a sticky note and kept it on her mirror where she could see it every morning. “Send it. I’ll sort it out after my date. We can go over everything in the morning.”
“Fine. I’ll give Mr. Former CO another fifteen minutes and then I’m bailing. I’d rather give the Lawton tree another shake anyway. Maybe money will fall on my head.”
“If he tries to bribe you, you’d better share.”
Bill laughed again. “Not a chance,” he said, and ended the call.
Bill was as effective and persistent as a bloodhound when he caught the scent of a story. Producing for him had taught her a great deal about how to piece together clues, unravel a background and identify the essential nature of what wasn’t said in an interview. She liked to believe he’d benefitted from working with her as well. She enjoyed making sure her reporters came across with compassion as well as reliable authority for the audience. Unlike many of their competitors, they never broadcast a story until they knew they had the facts, and she used her specific skills to create a show that kept viewers coming back week after week.
They were definitely onto something with this gold theft story. She added highlighter strategically around her eyes and swept a shimmery powder just above her neckline while her mind sifted through the public records and recent articles on Lawton and his business.
They’d started the research file with the obvious and easily accessible details on each of the names listed by the source. Last known addresses, employers, positive or negative publicity, etc. Returning to civilian life as a security expert wasn’t a big stretch for Lawton, who’d served in the army for twelve years. A stash of stolen gold in his pocket would have made it easier to set up shop in the Bay Area, to be sure.
She poked through her makeup bag, seeking the perfect lipstick for the evening. Finding a tube of her favorite soft peach color, she slowly dragged it over her lips. Her mind drifted to Parker Lawton’s publicity shot. His thick brown hair had plenty of waves, despite the short cut. The photographer had captured a savvy glint in those serious dark brown eyes. Considering his chiseled jawline, she figured if the man hadn’t stolen any gold, he’d definitely stolen more than one heart along the way in his thirty-two years.
Her front door buzzer sounded and she capped the tube of lipstick, dropping it into her evening clutch. Time to make another attempt at refining the rather abstract concept of her personal life. Whether or not the evening went well, it was a plus to have a hot date to an A-list party. She’d even convinced herself she wasn’t offended that her date had probably only asked her out in hopes that he’d get an inside track to her well-known father.
She opened the door without looking through the peephole and found herself face-to-face with the man she’d been daydreaming about—Parker Lawton, accused thief. For a moment she gawked at him. She decided the photographer had been a hack to only catch the glint in his eyes. The man’s allure drew her in despite his casual khaki work pants, faded blue zippered sweatshirt and black ivy cap. In her heels, she was nearly eye level with him, and the intensity in his dark chocolate gaze muddled her thoughts.
“Pardon me—”
She pushed the door closed on his greeting and he stopped her, wedging his booted foot into the space. “You’re not welcome here.” She gritted her teeth and put all her weight into the effort of squishing his foot.
“Steel-toed,” he said calmly. “Can’t even feel it. I just want to talk.”
“Not tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Pardon my skepticism. You haven’t returned any of my calls or emails. Can I have five minutes?”
“No.” She shoved at the door again. “I’m on my way out.”
“With this guy?”
He stuck a cell phone through the space and showed her a picture of her date at the elevator downstairs.
“What did you do?”
“Bought myself five minutes.”
The stunt only confirmed that he was willing to fight dirty. “You have no right to be here.” She leaned into the door again, despite the lack of progress. “How did you find me?” She had an unlisted number and the apartment was rented under the network’s
