he said. She hadn’t purchased this ticket under the name Beth Greenwood. “I’m curious. How does an accountant find the sort of men who deal in false identities?”
“Forensic accountant.” She corrected. “I’m a forensic accountant.”
“There’s a difference?”
“About twenty-thousand dollars’ in student loans.”
“You don’t have any student loans.”
Her head shot up. “How long have you been investigating me?”
“Long enough,” he said. “You left two jobs precipitously. I know why you left Quetech, but why did you leave your first job out of graduate school?”
“Oldest story in the book. A relationship gone wrong.”
“That’s not what your file says.”
Her mouth opened and closed. “What does my file say?”
“You should know better than me.”
He schooled his features to remain impassive. Beth Greenwood was an enigma. She was twenty-eight years old, and she’d earned a bachelor’s degree and an MBA from Georgetown. Her father had been a Chicago policeman. She was single and lived alone. Her credit rating was excellent, and she carried zero debt. She didn’t have a car loan, a mortgage or even a student loan payment. She didn’t have pets. Not a dog, not a cat, not a fish. She’d spent more days in hotels the previous year than she had in her apartment.
Her current circumstances bore an eerie resemblance to his own. He ran a finger beneath his collar. He hadn’t had time to change, which meant he was still wearing his suit from work. Beth had worn his suit jacket in the car, and her floral scent lingered in the lining.
A lot of people traveled for work. Not everyone owned a pet.
She glared at him. “Am I under arrest or something?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I have nothing to say.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I’d like you to leave. This roomette is private.”
And tiny. They sat face-to-face on seats that pushed together to transform the room into a sleeper car. Their knees practically touched. Outside the tinted window, lights darted past in the twilight. Beth grimaced and flipped shut the curtains. He tapped his index finger against his knee. She wasn’t wholly alarmed by him if she’d closed the curtain against onlookers. A good indicator that he could negotiate her cooperation.
“What do you know about Cayman Holdings?” he asked.
Her complexion paled. “Nothing.”
“Those men didn’t try and kill you for nothing.” His gaze narrowed. “You’re terrified for a reason.”
“If I’m not under arrest, then I’m not obligated to speak with you.” She pursed her lips and stared at the curtained window. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“Your dad was a cop, Beth. You know how this works.” Corbin had no choice but to appeal to her conscience. “This is bigger than you and me.”
“I did what I could to help.”
His stomach growled, and he checked the time on his phone. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m hungry.”
No need to rush her. There was nowhere to run on a moving train, and he doubted they’d been followed this far. Beth had purchased her ticket at the last minute, and no other passengers had booked travel after he boarded. Her attackers were probably sitting vigil outside her Chicago apartment.
Her gaze flicked toward him. “If you knew where I was, why didn’t you question me before we left Chicago? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
“No time.” He’d counted on her having the information with her. Why run unless she had insurance? Minneapolis was the nearest field office large enough to handle the assignment. “The train was an unexpected detour, I’ll grant you that.”
“That’s why I chose it,” she said. “I still don’t know how you found me so quickly.”
“Trade secret.”
If she hadn’t tripped over the garbage bin, he’d be chasing his tail around the airports and car rentals.
Beth rubbed a weary hand over her eyes, and his emotions softened. No matter her connection to the men who’d tried to grab her earlier this evening, she’d had a shock, and she was still recovering. If he was going to gather information, he had to go easy. Patience wasn’t exactly his strongest virtue, but they had plenty of time to kill.
He stood. “C’mon. I’ll buy you dinner.”
She hesitated before nodding. “All right. But only because I’m starving, and you’re buying.”
“Excellent. We’re making progress already.”
“I have a feeling I’ll pay for this free meal later.”
“Spoken like a true accountant.” He held up his hands. “Forensic accountant.”
His correction earned a reluctant smile. He quickly glanced away.
They made their way down the cramped aisles. Forced to walk single file, his hand hovered near the small of her back in an unconsciously proprietary gesture. Upon reaching the dining car, they claimed an empty booth. The windows domed over them, the passing lights sparkling through the beaded rain. The setting might have been romantic save for the circumstances.
His phone buzzed, and he frowned at the number. “You mind if I take this?”
“Go ahead.” She rolled her eyes. “Like you care what I think.”
The rebuke stung more than it should have. He’d been raised on the Golden Rule. Some part of him always wanted to believe in the inherent goodness in people, and that part was going to get him killed someday if he wasn’t more careful.
“Mr. Ross?” the elderly female voice on the other end spoke.
“Yes.”
“This is your neighbor, Ruth. Remember I brought you dinner when you moved in?”
“Yes. I remember.” He had three others in the freezer. For reasons he couldn’t explain, married women believed that single men were perpetually in dire need of lasagna. “It was delicious. How can I help you, Ruth?”
“You know I don’t like to pry, but you said I could call you anytime.”
“Absolutely.” He lifted his eyes heavenward. “Anytime.”
“There’s a strange car parked in your drive, but no lights on inside. I thought I saw the beam from a flashlight. I can’t tell with all this rain. But something seems suspicious.”
A flicker of apprehension sharpened his focus. “What kind of car?”
“You
