Читать книгу Crime and Passion - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 7

Whistle-blower.

Ilene O’Hara frowned as she looked at the front cover of the magazine she’d just unearthed from beneath the tangled mass of toys in Alex’s toy box. Her five-year-old must have accidentally tossed the magazine into the box during one of the few times she’d gotten him to actually pick up after himself.

After taking it out, she leaned against the wall, sat crossed-legged on the floor and stared at the magazine. The cover depicted three bold, confident-looking women, all of whom had been instrumental in stirring up intense investigations into three separate institutions once thought of as towers of respectability and bastions of power.

When she’d originally bought the magazine, she’d never thought that someday she might be considering joining the ranks of an elite group of people nicknamed, not with complete fondness, whistle-blowers. Nobody really liked whistle-blowers, no matter how necessary those people might be for the well-being of the economy or society in general. To the firm on which they were blowing the whistle, they were deemed traitors. In truth, the public probably wasn’t too crazy about them, either.

Wasn’t that the edict of the playground? Nobody liked a tattletale?

With a sigh Ilene got up and tossed the magazine onto the coffee table before picking up the last armload of toys and bringing them to rest within the toy box. Upstairs, Alex was asleep, worn-out by a long day of play.

Ilene was worn-out as well, but playing had nothing to do with it. Wrestling with your conscience took a lot out of you.

She looked around, a restlessness chewing holes in her usual boundless energy. The rest of the room could wait until tomorrow. Surrendering, Ilene sank down on the tan sofa, her mind once again locked in a silent, one-woman debate over whether or not she should do what she knew in her heart was the right thing. But no one had died and left her the mantle of martyr, she insisted.

Inactivity seemed so seductive right now. Maybe she would just keep her mouth shut. Would it really be so bad to close her eyes and continue as if nothing were wrong? As if things were not out of sync? As if the corporation wasn’t playing hide-and-seek with a huge amount of money?

She didn’t feel she was on some kind of sacred mission here. Her parents hadn’t exactly given her much of a moral foundation from which to build.

She glanced at the one photograph she had of her parents that hung on the far wall. It was a studio shot, and they’d been forced to smile. She didn’t ever remember them smiling. Not on their own. They’d always been too busy sniping at each other and being covertly resentful of the daughter who had been the reason they had—in an unguarded moment of guilt—joined together legally and wound up wasting what were supposed to be “the good years.”

They’d stay married until neither one could stand the other. Until she was eighteen. Try as she might, Ilene couldn’t remember one drop of love being spilt in that house.

Nonetheless, Ilene had always had a strong sense of right and wrong. Even if she hadn’t, it didn’t take a would-be saint to know that misleading stockholders, a vast amount of stockholders, was wrong.

Especially if it was being done on purpose.

And since John Walken, her boss and the vice president in charge of the audit department of Simplicity Computers—one of the leading computer companies of the country, if not the leading company—hadn’t gotten back to her on the audit figures she’d uncovered more than a week ago, she knew the so-called discrepancy was not accidental. She had secretly hoped it would be.

After she’d brought him the news, she’d watched the handsome man pale ever so slightly beneath his perfect Maui tan before he’d flashed a brilliant, engaging smile and told her not to worry, that he’d take care of matters.

He’d all but patted her on her head as he’d ushered her out of his tastefully decorated office with its fifty-inch plasma TV on one wall. He thanked her for her keen diligence and promised her a bonus for what amounted to doing her job. Less than an hour later, he’d sent one of his assistants to press two tickets to Los Angeles into her hand, along with complimentary passes to Disneyland. Walken had expressed in the enclosed note that he had heard about her wanting to take her son there someday. The man made it a point to know his people, one of the things she’d always liked about him. Now she wondered if he just wanted to know which buttons to press when dealing with a subordinate in a challenging situation.

She’d been too stunned to speak at first, then politely had returned the tickets, saying that with the holidays coming up, this was an inconvenient time of the year to travel. It wasn’t strictly true. There was no one she spent the holidays with outside of Alex. She didn’t know where her parents were and there were no siblings, no aunts or uncles to populate her life. She and Alex could have picked up at any time and gone.

But the offer of the tickets hadn’t sat right with her. Neither had the discrepancy, even though she’d wanted to believe in Walken, to believe in the company to which she’d given almost four years of her life. Initially she’d clung to the hope of a plausible explanation as to why the expenses slated for Simplicity’s ledgers had been ascribed to one of their holding companies instead, sending that small company to the brink of bankruptcy. She passionately refused to believe that she’d made yet another mistake in placing her faith with the wrong recipient.

Just as she had with Clay.

Ilene could feel her eyes stinging and closed them defensively.

No.

She wasn’t going to go there. That was a place that she’d deliberately walled up even before Alex was born, but most definitely afterward. Loving Clay, believing in Clay might have been a mistake, but doing so had led her to the greatest joy of her life. It had given her Alex.

She could have reached the greatest of heights careerwise, but without Alex in her life, nothing else would have mattered. She was meant to be a mother first and foremost, and everything else second. Every fiber in her being told her so. There was a vast amount of love within her, love that had been thwarted by her parents, disregarded by Clay. But now it was all channeled toward Alex.

And it was because of Alex, she told herself, that she was going to have to blow the whistle.

There was no other path open to her. She never wanted to look into her son’s eyes and see an accusation, or worse, disappointment shining there. And if she didn’t bring the discrepancy she’d found to light, if she allowed Simplicity—a company that was well respected and touted as one of the few safe investments still left on the shaky stock market boards—to continue lying to the unsuspecting public, she wasn’t going to be able to live with her conscience. Because when the truth finally came out, it would steal millions of dollars away from everyday people who could ill afford to have something like this happen to them.

Ilene dragged her hand through her long, strawberry-blond hair. She knew what she had to do. Right thing or not, she still couldn’t help being afraid. But then, she supposed Joan of Arc had been afraid, too.

Pushing up from the sofa, Ilene rose to her feet. It was late and time to go to bed. Tomorrow she’d do what she had to do.

She tried not to dwell on the fact that Joan of Arc ended up being burned at the stake.

Almost holding her breath, Ilene sat perfectly still as the woman behind the desk studied her. Pert, blond, the woman hardly looked old enough to have graduated from college, much less law school…and much too young to have attained her present position of assistant district attorney. She looked as if she would have been more at home being interviewed for Rose Bowl Queen than taking part in a criminal court hearing.

Ilene glanced down at the woman’s name plate. Janelle Cavanaugh.

The name Cavanaugh leaped out at her.

Was it a coincidence? Or was this just fate’s lop-sided sense of humor aiming itself right between her eyes? Ilene tried to regain control over herself. It wasn’t as if Cavanaugh was an uncommon name, she argued. But here in Aurora, most of the Cavanaughs who were related to Clay were in some sort of law enforcement.

As was he, she’d heard. Those had been his plans when they’d gone together. He was one of those types who always got what he was after. He just hadn’t been after her.

Janelle Cavanaugh folded her hands before her, seemingly calm in the face of the bombshell that had been placed on her desk. Her eyes never left Ilene’s. “You have proof?”

Ilene met her gaze. “I wouldn’t be wasting your time if I didn’t.”

It amazed Ilene that her hands were so still. Inside, she was shaking like a leaf as she reached into her briefcase and took out the printed copies of the files she had audited. The originals were still safely in their place and gave no indication that once she’d stumbled across one discrepancy, she’d conducted an internal audit of her own. Ilene had discovered the tip of the iceberg when it came to corporate corruption. The discrepancy was huge between the true figures and the ones the board was about to release to stockholders in its annual disclosure.

The world at large believed that Simplicity had had a banner year. In truth, the profits were false. A mountain of expenditures had been hidden from the shareholders, making Simplicity seem as if ownership in the company was a very desirable thing in a troubled fiscal age.

She understood the thinking behind the ruse, or thought she did. If investors flocked to Simplicity, waving their money before them, Simplicity would eventually collect enough money to cover their debts and yield at least part of the profit it reported. But if something were to happen, if a story should be leaked to the business world, confidence and stock would plummet and many people would be bankrupt, their accounts completely wiped out.

She knew she couldn’t live with that on her conscience. That was why she was here. This problem had to be cleared up before it went any further.

Janelle quickly scanned the top pages she’d taken out of the manila envelope. Sporting the expressionless face her brothers and cousins swore made her so perfect for playing poker, she raised her eyes to the delicate-looking woman before her.

From all appearances Ilene O’Hara looked as if she belonged on the fast track at some pricey modeling agency. Tall, slender, she had a regal composure and a face that begged for magazine covers. Janelle supposed that was what her cousin had seen in the woman in the first place.

Janelle doubted that Ilene O’Hara even remembered that they had met once, although fleetingly. Six years ago, she thought, give or take a little. She’d stumbled across Clay and his girlfriend of the moment at a coffee shop. Clay had looked a little uncomfortable making introductions, and she’d known it was because he hated being pinned down. Janelle remembered thinking that Clay had finally found someone who didn’t look as if she was living just to have a good time.

But then Clay and Ilene had broken up. He’d been a little funny for a while. Always gregarious, he’d become withdrawn. No one in the family had guessed why. She’d been the only one who even knew about Ilene. In time, he’d bounced back to his old self. But Janelle had felt that the girl had left a permanent impression.

She smiled warmly now at Ilene. “So, how have you been?”

Ilene blinked. The A.D.A. was making polite chit-chat. Why? “Excuse me?”

Janelle’s smile widened. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Small wonder—Ilene had been very wrapped up with her cousin then.

Ilene glanced at the name plate again before raising her eyes back to Janelle. She began to look familiar. “Then you are related to Clay.”

“Guilty as charged.” She leaned into Ilene, allowing herself one more private moment, in part to make the woman less uncomfortable about being here. “I always thought he was a jerk for walking away from you.”

It wasn’t what Ilene wanted to discuss. Not now. Not ever. “He was too young. We were too young,” Ilene amended. She shifted in the seat, gripping the arms, eager, now that she had started the ball rolling, to get on with it. “So where do we go from here?”

There were a myriad of details to be faced. However, Janelle had her own set of priorities that differed slightly from those of the D.A.’s office. “First thing we do is get you police protection.”

Ilene’s eyes widened at the ominous pronouncement. Police protection was for people who feared for their lives. People who were in danger. That wasn’t her. She knew all the people in her department. They were people with whom she’d attended Christmas parties, people whose birthdays she’d celebrated. None of them would hurt her. Despite its size, the company had a reputation as being one big, happy family.

And she’d never been one who’d ever meekly obeyed without question. “Police protection? Why? This isn’t The Mob we’re dealing with.”

“No,” Janelle agreed, “these are CEOs with a great deal to lose. People facing exposure do desperate things.” Janelle could tell that Ilene didn’t like what she was hearing. “Welcome to the twenty-first century.” She got down to business. “Does anyone know you’ve come here?”

Ilene shook her head. She’d taken a personal day, telling the office she was going to the doctor. She’d told Alex’s baby-sitter the same thing. Coming here wasn’t something she enjoyed advertising. “No.”

Janelle tried to read between the lines. “But you did go to your boss about this?”

Ilene could tell by the other woman’s tone that she thought Ilene had made a tactical mistake. But Janelle Cavanaugh didn’t know John Walken, didn’t know that he was an honorable man.

“Yes,” her own tone was defensive, “I thought he’d want to fix it, that he didn’t know this was going on. I can’t find out who gave the initial order.”

Janelle looked at her knowingly. “And Walken said he would get right on it, but you haven’t heard anything so far.”

Ilene hated the way this all sounded so predictable. There had to be some explanation. Good people didn’t do heinous things.

But if she truly believed that, why was she here?

She looked down at her nails, rendering the answer through teeth that were almost closed. “Right.”

Janelle nodded. “And how long ago was that?”

“A week.” It sounded like an eternity. “I thought about talking to him again.” Ilene had almost gone in today, wanting to give Walken another chance. She’d changed her mind at the last minute. “But—”

“Your instincts told you to come here.” Janelle’s blue eyes smiled at the other woman. “Good instincts. Hope your survival ones are just as keen.”

“Is this police-protection thing really necessary?”

“It is if I want to sleep at night. Excuse me for a second.” Janelle drew the phone in closer to her.

Turning her body away from her, Janelle let her fingers quickly tap out the familiar numbers. Her father, Brian, was the current chief of detectives and the younger of the two surviving Cavanaugh brothers. His three sons, her brothers and six of her seven cousins were also with the police force. Only Patience had broken free, following her own destiny to become a veterinarian. But even Patience had continuing contact with the police force. Janelle’s cousin treated the German shepherds that made up the K-9 squad.

There were times when Janelle thought of the police force as her personal cavalry. This was one of those times.

Connected to her father’s private line, she lowered her voice as she began to speak. After a few moments of obligatory give and take and a promise to stop by “soon,” Janelle told her father why she was calling. Quickly, she gave him Ilene’s background story and what she’d brought to the table.

Listening to her father’s answer, Janelle had no way of knowing she was setting into motion something that was going to mushroom out until it touched all of them.

“You look much too happy for a Monday morning,” Kyle Santini, Clay’s partner of two years grumbled as he slumped down in his own seat. The sudden action all but sent his coffee sloshing over the sides of the chipped, worn mug his five-year-old had made him in camp last year. Carefully, he set the misshapen royal-blue mug on his desk, keeping it away from any important papers. Kyle eyed the man considered by the squad to be the personification of the carefree, happy bachelor. “You still seeing that stripper?”

“Exotic dancer,” Clay corrected. “And no, I’m not still seeing her. Ginger and I came to a parting of the ways more than a week ago.”

A knowing look came over Santini’s face. “Let me guess, she wanted to have ‘the talk.”’ Taking a long drag of the mud that passed for coffee in the precinct, Kyle chuckled to himself. “Sooner or later, they all want to have ‘the talk.”’ Kyle shook his head, a man to whom women would always remain a mystery. “What is it about women that makes them want to clip a man’s wings?”

“I don’t know,” Clay said honestly. “But it never got that far with Ginger and me.”

He thought of the woman he’d seen a handful of times in the past six weeks. One fateful night her screams had brought him into the alley where she’d been dragged by some low life intent on turning his fantasy into reality. Rescuing her had earned him Ginger’s gratitude and a few other things, as well. The woman had a body that wouldn’t quit and a mind that wouldn’t start.

Even though he’d told himself that was exactly what he wanted at this stage of his life, Clay had found himself getting restless and looking for an excuse to end the romance. The woman had given him one when she’d suggested a threesome.

“Ginger was a free spirit,” he told a more than mildly interested Santini. “She just wanted to be a little freer than I liked.”

Kyle groaned as if he’d just been deprived of his reason for living. “Don’t let my mind go there. You’re talking to a monk.”

Clay grinned. In the past six weeks, this had been a familiar complaint. “Alice is just about due, isn’t she?”

“If you ask me, she’s about overdue.” Santini sighed. Apparently prenatal was no better than post-natal. “Then I get to listen to her complain about how men should be the ones to have the kids.” Shaking his head, Kyle shot Clay an envious look. “You don’t know how lucky you are, being a bachelor.”

“Yeah, lucky,” Clay echoed then laughed. His partner wasn’t fooling anyone. He’d cut off his right arm before he’d give up what he had. “I’ve seen you with your son. You wouldn’t change that for the world.”

“No, but there are times I’d be willing to trade Alice in, at least for a weekend.”

Clay rocked back in his chair. He knew better. “Any man looks at her twice, you’re ready to knock them into last year.”

Santini shrugged. “That’s beside the point. That’s just my hot temper.”

Straightening up, Clay decided these reports weren’t going to file themselves, no matter how much he wished they would. He got busy, or tried to. “Nothing wrong in admitting you love the woman you married, Santini. Not enough of that going around.”

Santini clearly wasn’t interested in platitudes, he was interested in details. Preferably juicy ones. “You still didn’t answer me. If you didn’t get a little last night, why are you grinning like some loony hyena?”

Clay knew his answer was going to disappoint the man. “Because I just found out we’re going to have a judge in the family. My sister’s getting married.”

“You’re going to give me more of a hint than that, Cavanaugh. You’ve got three sisters,” Santini reminded him.

“Callie.”

Clay couldn’t remember his older sister ever looking so excited. She’d waited until they’d all sat down to Sunday dinner. For once, his father had managed to corral everyone, even his uncle. They’d all but poured out of the dining room, even with the extra leaves added on to the table his dad had specially made for family affairs.

Putting two fingers into her mouth, Callie had whistled the way she used to as a kid, getting the roar at the table to die down to a whisper and then, as sweet as could be, she’d made the announcement. She and Brent were getting married. And just like that, he was going to become an uncle, thanks to the judge’s five-year-old daughter, Rachel.

“You’re kidding me.” Santini whistled, shaking his head. “Damn, and here I was hoping she’d give me a tumble after I leave Alice.”

“Fat chance. In more ways than one.” Clay paused. “Why don’t you call up and send your wife flowers?”

Kyle laughed. Flowers were usually to apologize for something. “That’ll throw her.” And then he grinned. “Maybe I will.”

Captain Reynolds leaned into the cubicle, his gray eyes sweeping over both the men. “Cavanaugh, Santini, the chief just called. He wants the two of you to protect a witness. Apparently this is a big deal. The D.A. doesn’t want anything to happen to her.”

Clay rolled his eyes. He’d never been much for baby-sitting detail. One of the desk jockeys could do just as well. “I’ve got a desk full of work.”

The gray-haired man looked at him, his manner friendly but brooking no nonsense. Reynolds liked to stay on top of things at all times, which meant exercising control, but never holding the leash too tight. Taut leashes had a way of snapping.

“Which’ll still be there whether or not you pull this detail. Consider it a vacation with pay.” About to withdraw, Reynolds stopped again. “Either of you boys got any stock in Simplicity Computers, I suggest you cash it in right now. Seems one of the internal auditors found some dirty business going on.”

Clay sighed. Terrific. A whistle-blower. “This have something to do with the person we’re supposed to be guarding?”

Reynolds nodded. “It does.”

“This person have a name?”

“Yeah.” Reynolds paused to think a moment. “Ilene O’Hara.”

Feeling like someone who had just slipped into the Twilight Zone without so much as a warning flash of light, Clay stared at the captain.

The smile had vanished from Clay’s lips.