

It Takes a Thief

by Jean Louise

Copyright 2012 Jean Louise

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your personal use, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

When you need results,

sometimes it doesn't matter

which side of the law you're on.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Author's Note

Chapter One

She needed a drink. Not a beer, as she didn't care much for beer, and not wine, as she wasn't in a 'wine' kind of mood. No, she wanted a drink. Something with a zing to it, something that would tingle as it slid down her throat, leaving no doubt that she'd just consumed alcohol.

Sliding onto a bar-stool, she beckoned to the bartender and ordered her 'usual.' After coming to this place once or twice a week for a couple of months, she'd finally trained the bartender how to make it correctly. Funny how a drink that was so common in one city could be so unheard of in another.

"Beer—draft."

She was annoyed that the guy sat right next to her, when there were other seats available at the bar. But he did sit there.

She purposely didn't glance at him, even though she could tell he was looking at her. Instead, she took another sip of her drink, savoring the tangy sensation.

Yeah, that's better.

Ignoring the guy next to her wasn't as easy as she'd hoped. More people had come into the bar; the noise level was up as orders were placed and more seats were taken, including bar-stools.

Still, the guy next to her said nothing—not to her, not to anyone else. Luckily, ignoring him got easier when the bartender changed the TV channel to a baseball game, and she was able to focus on the battle on the diamond.

She had just winced at a missed grounder when a voice next to her said, "I know who you are."

First instinct almost caused her to turn toward him, if only in surprise, but she was able to resist it. Instead, her eyes went to the mirror behind the bar, but rows of alcohol bottles obscured the sight of her neighbor. All that was visible was the top of his head: light brown hair. Or would that be dirty blond? Sandy brown? Whatever.

"You must have me confused with someone else." She was ostensibly looking at her drink, but allowed her eyes to stray to the right, where his hand rested on the bar next to his beer.

"No, no confusion," he said conversationally. "I know who you are."

"Well, then, that makes two of us. So if you'll excuse me...." She started to turn away and make an exit.

"Don't leave yet... Angelina."

She paused and finally turned toward him, this time looking at him directly. "My name isn't Angelina." His eyes matched his hair: sort of honey-colored. Much lighter than most brown eyes.

He was looking at her, too. "You really haven't changed," he said.

She ignored him. "I said, my name isn't Angelina. So if you'll excuse me...."

He put his hand out. He didn't grab her or touch her, but he could have. If he dared.

"My apologies," he said. "So what name do you go by... now?"

"I'm sorry, what business is it of yours what my name is? And why do you care?"

He sighed. "Let's back up a moment. Do I look familiar at all? Do you recognize me?"

Even as she shook her head, she had to acknowledge a twinge of recognition. She knew she'd seen those eyes before... somewhere... sometime.

She shrugged. "I see a lot of people, every day. I could have seen you anywhere."

"Here's a hint," he added. "It's been a few years since you've seen me."

His choice of words didn't escape her, leaving a big question mark about how recently he'd seen her.

She was still trying to place him. She knew she'd seen those eyes before... the color was a bit too unusual not to remember.

It came to her at the same instant he gave his next hint: "I bet it's been a few years since you've been in Day's Drug Store."

Yep, she had it now.

He must have guessed as much. "You remember, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "You tend to remember the face of the person who threatens to arrest you."

He smiled. "I couldn't have arrested you. I was only store security; I was trying to put the fear of God in you."

He had a nice smile. She gave a wry one in return. "It worked. I didn't go back to that store for ages."

"I know."

That brought her back to the present, and put her protective wall back into place. "So— now that we've had a chance to catch up after all these years...."

He put his hand up again. "Wait! Damn it, I came here to talk to you. Now, will you get off your high horse long enough to let me?"

She sighed. "I suppose if I say I can't imagine what you'd have to say to me, you'll tell me to listen and find out."

"I will. Now, can we go to a booth over there and sit down? I promise I'll get right to the point."

"Okay," she said, looking not at all sure that it was okay. "Once we sit down you'll have thirty seconds to speak your piece, and then I'm gone."

"Deal." He picked up his beer and her drink and carried them to a booth along the far wall that had just become available. Once they were seated, she looked pointedly at her watch.

"I want to hire you for a job."

She managed to hide her surprise.

"A job?" she repeated. "Why would you offer me a job?"

He smiled again. "Well, now at last I have your attention, and thank heavens you stopped the countdown. Now I can explain things better."

"Yeah, why don't you begin with your name? I may have recognized you finally, but your name escapes me. If I even knew it to begin with."

"Fair enough. Nick Aston. And yes, I worked security at Day's Drugs after I graduated from college, which is where we, um, met."

"So you were pretty young then, huh? You seemed old to me."

"Hey, I was younger then than you are now. And you were what, fifteen? Sixteen? I must've seemed ancient to you."

"Yes, I was sixteen. And being detained at the store and suspected of shoplifting was not a highlight of my year."

He shrugged. "I called it as I saw it. I knew you didn't swipe anything, but I figured you were the lookout."

"Ha! Great lookout I turned out to be, since you nailed us. No, I was no lookout, just a clueless kid who didn't know what her friends were doing."

"Yes, I realize that. But that's the past. Can we focus on now, please?"

"Okay," she agreed with a careless shrug. "So what's this about a job? For your information, I already have a job."

"I know," he replied. "I also know you're capable of so much more than being an usher at a movie theatre. Not that it's a bad job—it's an honest, honorable way to earn a paycheck. But I need your... er, someone like, uh...."

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, dude, just spit it out."

"I need someone who can do what you do: lift things. Relieve people of their possessions."

"You mean a thief."

Nick dipped his head in acquiescence. "Yes. I need a thief."

She glanced around the bar for a moment, as if looking for hidden cameras. "Again, start from the beginning. Who are you, and why do you need a thief, and, more importantly, why did you come to me?"

He took a breath. "Okay, so here's the story in a nutshell. As you know, I worked in store security after college, just until I could get into the police academy. Then I was a cop for about five years. At that point I left the force and became a consultant—a security consultant. So now I have my own consulting firm."

"And you hire thieves."

"Normally, no. Well, actually, yes, I do have a convicted hacker on the payroll, but in general I try to stay away from known felons."

"How nice for you. So what does your company have to do with me?"

"My company? Nothing. The job I'm talking about wouldn't be with my consulting firm. It's a one-time assignment, and would be strictly off the books. Sort of a freelance thing."

She just raised her brows at him. When she didn't say anything, he continued.

"Okay, here's the deal. After our first encounter years ago, I knew you were a good kid, you hadn't been shoplifting, that sort of thing. I knew your Aunt Jen, who worked at Day's Drugs, and she'd mention from time to time how you were doing, what college you went to, that sort of thing. Then one day I happened to see you on the street. It was summer, so you were home from school, and you were walking up South Street. And before my very eyes, I saw you... well, I saw you take a guy's wallet. I was stunned, to say the least, and didn't want to believe it, but that's what I saw. And then you stopped the guy and gave it back, as if it had just fallen out of his pocket. I couldn't believe it, but I'd definitely seen it."

She didn't say anything right away, so he went on.

"I was a cop then, so I checked your name in our system, but didn't find anything. So I forgot about it. Then, a few years later, I was processing paperwork on some punk who stole a car, and his last name was similar to yours, and that reminded me of you. So I checked your name again, and saw a misdemeanor theft charge for you. I lost track of you for a year or so after that, got busy with my company and all that, but then last year I was looking through some photos for a client, and found a mug shot of you, from a shoplifting charge." He was watching her closely. "But when I looked at the name, it wasn't your name. So there it was: your photo, but not your name. I did a little more digging, and found another mug shot of you... with yet another name. So that's three names, for three misdemeanors, for the same person.

"All I can say is, whoever makes your bogus driver's licenses does a damn good job."

She looked at him. "I'm still not hearing a point here."

He sighed. "Okay, here's the point: I want to hire you. To do what you obviously do well. I'm not stupid; I know that you have a few misdemeanors under your belt, but I can only imagine how many times you haven't been caught. I know you're very good at what you do."

"How do you know 'what I do'?"

"Like I said, I saw you. And I've seen you since then, too. I went to the theatre where you work a few weeks ago, and I watched you for a while. You were in the lobby taking tickets and in the space of forty-five minutes I saw you take a wallet and a cell phone. In both cases, you gave them back intact, telling the people they dropped the item, or it fell out of their purse or pocket, or whatever. If I hadn't been looking for it, I wouldn't have known you took the items; in fact, I didn't actually see what happened when you took the cell phone, but I know you did take it."

She looked down but not quickly enough to completely hide the half-smile. "Am I missing something? You have your own company, with people who already work for you. So what do you want me for? Whatever you've got in mind, sounds like it's on the other side of the line."

"It is... sort of." When she didn't respond, he said, "I've become aware of a situation... well, it's wrong. It's just wrong. Technically not illegal, maybe, but even if it is, bringing the law into this would take too long and not fix the core problem."

Still she said nothing, so Nick went on. "I recently met a woman—nice woman, widowed, two grown kids who've left the nest—anyway, like a lot of people, she's had some financial squeezes, so she contracted with a debt-consolidation company, Volpin Credit Resources, to help her get squared away with her bills. Months pass, and she thinks things are fine when she hears from one of her creditors. Car insurance company, I believe; they tell her she's behind on her payment. Obviously something's screwy, and after a few phone calls she discovers that she's still behind on most of her bills."

"Which the debt-consolidation company was supposed to alleviate."

"Exactly," he said, pleased that she'd joined the conversation. "She was paying the company twelve hundred bucks a month to incrementally pay off her various debts, and it wasn't getting done. Well, let me rephrase that: it wasn't being done according to the terms of her agreement."

"That can't be legal."

"Yes and no. According to her contract, she has to pay the consolidation company by a certain day, say the first of each month. The contract is a little less specific on when the company pays the creditors, or how much. So say she pays her twelve hundred by the first of every month. The company doesn't pay the creditors until the fifteenth or so, letting that money sit in their account accruing interest for a couple weeks. And then, come to find out the company isn't even using the full twelve hundred she paid them; they pay out a thousand or even nine hundred of that money—again, letting the rest of it sit in their account accruing interest. You multiply that payment of twelve hundred dollars by however many clients the company has, and you have a nice fat chunk of change—all sitting in the coffers of the debt-consolidation company, doing no damn good to anyone but them."

"I didn't think that's how credit counselors worked. I just thought they helped deal with the creditors and set up a schedule, and it's up to you, the person who owes the money, to make the payments."

Nick shrugged. "Many are like that, maybe even most. But some, like Volpin, take more than just an advisory role. I guess some people find it easier to make one payment a month and not have to deal with creditors individually. That's what Volpin is supposed to do. But apparently he's not."

"So call the Better Business Bureau—or the Federal, uh, Loan people. Whoever oversees that type of business."

"Yeah, we could do that, but like I said, it would take years for this to be investigated, and this woman—all their clients, actually—would just fall farther behind in their debts. And like I said, I'm not even sure what they're doing is illegal, as opposed to being simply deceptive and underhanded.

"So... I think the best way to handle it is to go, as you say, on the other side of the line."

She took a moment to digest this. "So you want to steal back this woman's money? That's not much of a plan."

"I know. That's why it's not the plan."

"So what is the plan?"

He sat back and took a breath. "I haven't got all the details worked out yet, but I'm working on it."

"You mean to make things right for your friend, that woman you know?"

"Not just her. Ideally, I'd make it right for everyone. All the clients."

She took a sip of her drink. "And you want me to do... what, exactly?"

Nick smiled again—a sight she discovered she liked. "Does that mean you're in?"

"Depends. Again, you want me to do... what?"

He leaned forward again, forearms resting on the scarred wooden table. "In order to do anything, I need access to the company's computers."

"I'm not a hacker."

"I know. You won't have to hack anything. All you—at least, I hope it'll be you—have to do is get inside to the CEO's computer and plug in a flash drive. Everything else will take care of itself."

"That's it? Plug in a flash drive?"

He nodded. "That's the plan. So far, at least. Like I said, I'm still working out the details. And I can't ask any of my regular employees to do this, so this is going to be strictly off the books. So," Nick continued, "now that I've told you part of my secret plans, why don't you tell me a few things."

"Such as?"

"Such as why you said your name isn't Angelina, when I happen to know it is. When I detained you that day in Day's Drugs, your name was Angelina Carr, so unless you had it legally changed in the meantime... your name is Angelina. Although," he continued, sitting back in the booth again, "I noticed that you don't have a criminal record under that name. Those mug shots I found of you were under aliases. Angie Carter, Ann Garr, Lina Carver. In fact, if I looked in your purse right now, I bet I'd find a couple different IDs for you."

"If you tried to look in my purse right now, you'd find you have at least two fewer fingers."

Nick smiled and put his hands up in mock surrender. "Fair enough. You're not the first, er, lawbreaker to use an alias or two. But in the meantime, if you're on board for this little project, I need to know what to call you."

"Gina. Call me Gina. So how is this going to work? I suppose you're going to need a way to contact me."

"Got it covered," Nick said. He took a cell phone from his pocket and slid it toward her. "I realize you may have five different phones already—one for each of your identities—but this one is strictly for this assignment."

She put the phone in her purse and prepared to go. "Okay, then, call me when you get some details nailed down. Meantime, I have someplace to be."

Nick stood as well. "Good deal. I appreciate your willingness to help out with this. And of course you'll be paid for your efforts."

"Oh yeah, pay. That's good, too. Well, I'll expect to hear from you soon, then." She gave a little salute and walked away.

Chapter Two

Gina sighed. The weekend afternoon shift at the theatre was always busy. Multitudes of people, mostly kids and tweens. Kids were accompanied by adults, but many tweens went to the movies in unchaperoned groups dropped off by their parents. Either way, the end result was a lot of popcorn to be swept up, soda spills to be mopped, and trash cans filled to overflowing after each showing of the "blockbuster du jour."

And since she wasn't taking tickets, or working concessions, it was her job to deal with these things. But that was okay. The role of usher afforded Gina something she valued highly: the ability to work on her own. After all, how many people does it take to refill a paper towel dispenser in the restroom or go through an empty theatre to pick up discarded popcorn tubs? So she could be alone with her thoughts when she wanted to be, and could hang with her young co-workers at other times.

On this day, she found herself thinking about the previous evening's meeting with Nick. She hated thinking about their 'first' meeting all those years ago. It had been a particularly unhappy time during her otherwise happy teen years; her main concern was the disappointment her parents had felt when they learned she and her friends had been nabbed by store security. Even though she hadn't done anything wrong—hadn't even known her friends were doing something wrong—at the very least it pointed to bad judgment on her part, in her choice of friends.

And Nick.... She didn't remember what he'd looked like at that time, but he looked pretty damn good now. Not that she let that influence her decision in agreeing to help him in his, er, operation. Frankly her interest was piqued by the unique challenge. Sticking it to some evil corporate greed-meister was sweet icing on the cake.

Gina glanced into the restroom mirror as she snapped the filled soap dispenser closed. Nick had recognized her. What did he see when he looked at her? Obviously not the confused, scared teenager she'd been back in the day. The young woman in the mirror was in her mid-twenties, a college graduate. She was confident and capable. She had shoulder-length brown hair, which her mother had once called mousy (which was true). Her bangs were growing out, which actually helped frame her face rather nicely, she thought. And she, too, had brown eyes, but hers were the 'normal' brown, chocolate to Nick Aston's caramel.

Speaking of Nick, once he called with more details for his little 'job,' she'd let him know if she was still interested. Oh, who was she kidding? Gina already knew she'd do whatever it was he needed her to do; it sounded like an intriguing challenge for someone who was easily bored and didn't like people.

Nick called Monday morning. He'd been right about her phones... she had three of them, each tied to a different alias. Nick's phone sat with the others on the crate next to her bed; small labels on each helped her remember who she was when she answered them.

"Can you come by my office later today?" he asked. "I'll go into more detail with what I have on the debt-consolidation company, and explain what I have planned."

"Sure, I'll be there at four."

At the appointed time Gina entered a small building in a business park and saw from the lobby directory that Aston Security Consulting, Inc., was located on the third floor. The office space wasn't large; there was a 'bullpen' area with a number of cubicles in the center, a worktable with equipment on it, a copier, a small break area with coffee maker and microwave... pretty much standard set-up for a small business.

Along the far wall were two offices. Well, one was a conference room which was currently empty; but other was definitely an office, with Nick Aston behind the desk, talking on his phone.

He spotted her, however, and waved.

"Thanks for coming by," he said a moment later, as he came out to meet her.

Walking toward his office, Gina saw that three of the bullpen cubicles were occupied. In two of them, young men were on the phone, doing "business-y" things. The third person Gina saw was a young woman, probably not much older than herself. Her cubicle housed three computer monitors, and there was also a laptop off to one side. She was engrossed in doing something that looked very technical and complicated, if the images on her monitors were any indication.

Nick led Gina to the conference room and closed the door behind them, setting a laptop and folder on the table in front of him.

"Okay, so I've told you the basic details of this situation, now we'll start filling in some blanks. I'm working on behalf of an acquaintance of mine—not a paying client of my company, just someone I happened to meet and as we got talking I learned her story. Her name is Jane Everidge, and as I mentioned, she'd led a normal life until a few years ago when, as happened to so many, her financial situation went wonky and she found herself in financial trouble.

"So she looked into debt-consolidation firms to help her out. She's not trying to get out of paying what she owes; she just wanted to arrange with her creditors to pay on a schedule that would actually work. Anyway, she went to Volpin Credit Resources and contracted with them to help her. As I told you, she eventually discovered that Volpin isn't paying the creditors as much as they're supposed to, so Jane's credit is still bad, and she's still racking up penalties. When she asked the people at Volpin about the late payments, they always blame it on computer glitches, checks not being cleared by the creditor on time, or something else."

"And I assume she's not the only one having this problem," Gina said.

"Nope." Nick picked up the folder and pulled out a hand-written list. "I did a quick 'net search for gripes about Volpin Credit, and found at least a dozen people in the same boat as Jane. On top of that, the local Better Business group says that a number of complaints have been filed against Volpin. The company never does anything so egregious that it blatantly breaks any laws, and since the debt-consolidation industry isn't regulated, Volpin can't be hit with any sanctions that will make a dent."

"And that's where we come in?"

"Exactly."

Gina looked at the list of victims' names, as well as the amounts per month they were paying Volpin. Nick was right, the amounts added up to a nice chunk of change. "But what can we do? These people can't just stop making their monthly payments to Volpin, and taking back the money they already paid to Volpin won't solve anything in the long run. So what's the plan?"

"Well, as crazy as it sounds... I think we have to make sure the payments get to the creditors—in full and on time."

"Oh, right, it's all so simple," Gina said in a tone that implied 'duh!' "So how do we do that?"

Nick sat back in his chair. "We take over Volpin's computers."

She blinked. "I'm sorry, what? Take over their computers?" When he just looked at her, Gina added. "Not only do I not know how that might be possible, but I certainly can't help with it. Geek-girl in that cube out there can probably do it in her sleep, but that's way beyond my abilities."

He smiled at her. "Don't worry about the computer part; I'll take care of that. But I do need your help."

"Explain."

He leaned forward again. "From what I've been able to learn, all money Volpin receives from its clients, and all money they pay to the creditors—all those transactions are recorded on the company's server in their main offices. In addition, all payments from Volpin are made electronically, so that server is in charge of that, as well. What I want to do is modify the database and reprogram the computer to make the correct payments to the creditors on the correct dates."

"Oh, easy peasy," she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "And again, still not hearing where I come in."

"Hold your horses, I'm getting to that. Now, obviously I need a way into Volpin's computer system, and only a couple of top people have the passwords that will do the trick. That's where you come in."

"You want me to steal a password?"

"Not directly. I want you to get keystroke-tracking software on Volpin's phone and office computer so that we can see the passwords as he enters them."

Gina looked out the window as she thought a moment. "Not a bad plan. I suppose you need me to lift his phone?"

Nick smiled. "Not even. All you need to do is tap it with yours, and the tracking software will transfer to his phone."

"Yeah, I know certain phones can transfer photos that way, but I didn't realize you could, er, infect someone's phone like that."

"The tracking program isn't designed to be shared that way," Nick admitted. "I had to tweak things a bit to make it work."

"So you think this guy, Volpin, accesses the payment database from his phone?"

"I don't know," he replied, "I just figure we'd cover all bases, just in case. We need to get the same software installed in his office computer, which will be your job, also."

She looked at him skeptically. "You don't think he'd notice seeing me twice?"

"Not if you do your job well," he said with a smile.

She smiled too, already thinking ahead to the various ways she could make it work. "Okay, so once the software is uploaded and you get the passwords, then what?"

"Then, I program their system to pay the correct amounts on the correct dates, as I mentioned."

"And you don't think Mr. Volpin, or someone else in his company, is going to notice the changes, the fact that his money is actually going out the door and not sitting around collecting interest?"

Nick nodded. "I'm working on that."

"And the fact that what you're doing—what we're doing—is, oh, I don't know, massively illegal?"

"I'm aware of that, too. But if Volpin does figure out what's going on, what are the odds he goes to the cops with it? What he's doing is shady at best, illegal at worst. Bringing in the cops would mean opening up his system, his books, to the very people he wouldn't want to see it."

"Okay," she said, thinking out loud, "so my job is to get the keystroke-tracking software onto this guy's phone and computer. Once that's done—tag, you're it; you go in and do your magic to their computer system, programming it to make the right payments at the right times."

"Yup. Now, can I see that phone I gave you?" After Gina handed it to him, Nick used a cable to hook it up to his laptop. "I've got the software here that you'll use on his phone. Once I know what kind of phone Volpin has, I can make sure we have a good match."

"So how do we find that out?" Gina asked. "You gonna hack into his phone records to see what contract he has?"

Nick laughed. "Actually," he said, picking up the conference room phone, "I was thinking of going low-tech on this one."

Consulting his notes, Nick dialed a number. "Hello, is this Mr. Volpin's office? ... Oh, I see. Actually, I was calling to see if he's satisfied with his cell-phone service. Are you aware of any— ... He is. And for my records, which version of the phone does he have? ... Oh, wonderful, I hope he enjoys it. Thank you."

After hanging up, he tapped a few keys on his laptop. "There," he said to Gina. "Now your phone is all set to 'throw' the application to his. So, have you given any thought to how you want to do it?"

She sat back in her chair. "Coffee shop. I'm sure Volpin gets his morning cup o' joe from a nearby shop. I'll just find out which one and what time, and hit him there. Plan B will be the elevator, but I prefer the coffee shop."

Nick went to look out the window. "The only difficulty is that his phone has to be activated in order for the swap to work."

Gina shrugged. "No problem, I can handle that. So when should I make my move?"

"As soon as you feel comfortable that you can do it. You may only get one chance."

She gathered her purse and stood up. "Okay, so tomorrow I'll check out his office building, see if I can catch Volpin getting coffee. If I can't get him then, I'll at least find out if he's a regular, and go for the next day. Mind if I take this?" She held up a photo of Volpin from the folder.

"Feel free."

"Oh, and just to make my job a little easier...." She picked up the office phone and hit the redial button. "Hello, I'd like to confirm my appointment tomorrow morning with Mr. Volpin, at eight o'clock. ... Angie Carver. ... It's not? Hmm. So when is his first appointment tomorrow? ... Oh, well, then I must have the wrong day. I'll recheck my calendar. Thank you." She hung up the phone and looked at Nick. "I'll let you know what happens."

After leaving Nick's office, Gina braved rush-hour madness and headed across town to check out the building that housed Volpin Credit Resources. Helion Center was a typical downtown office building, much like every other. It was twelve stories, and shared a parking structure with the building behind it.

Like other such buildings, Helion Center's ground-floor lobby held commercial shops catering to both building tenants and street traffic. A dry-cleaner, a card-and-sundries store, shoe-shine stand, and, just as she'd suspected, a coffee shop.

The stage was set.

Chapter Three

Gina woke early, much earlier than usual—for her. She dressed thoughtfully, putting on her good suit, the one she wore when she wanted to impress. In fact, it was the only suit she owned. She'd gotten it when she graduated from college, back when she thought she'd get a 'normal' job and have a 'normal' life. She'd worn the suit, a rich brown with pencil skirt and short jacket, on a number of interviews. Now, it rarely came out of her closet.

She glanced in the bathroom mirror. Hair—check. Makeup—check. Jewelry—check. Costume complete.

Gina didn't know how women were able to wear heels all day; she'd only been wearing this pair for ten minutes and already her feet hurt. And pantyhose...! Surely there was no less comfortable article of clothing in existence. Slipping the tan pumps off when she got into her car, Gina drove with only her sheer-toe hosiery between her foot and the gas pedal.

She found an inexpensive parking lot a few blocks from the Helion Center. She knew parking rates in the downtown area were exorbitant; people even factored the price of monthly parking into their salary requirements. One of the perks of working at a movie theatre was the free parking.

Gina thought the hour was early, and yet the parking lot was more than half-full, and a steady stream of people was making its way toward various office buildings. She glanced at her watch as she approached Helion: it was seven-thirty.

Inside the lobby, Gina eyed the line at the coffee shop, trying not to wonder why people would have jobs for which they had to arrive so damn early. She didn't see Volpin yet. His first appointment of the day was at eight o'clock, so he should be arriving soon. Assuming, of course, that this was where he bought his coffee. And that he hadn't already gone up to his office.

She lingered in the lobby pretending to check her e-mail, positioned so that she had a view of both the main building entrance and the door from the parking deck.

After about ten minutes she was rewarded by the sight of Volpin entering the lobby. He was a bit taller than average, with thinning hair and a suit that looked expensive but was currently a bit rumpled. Unsurprisingly, he was on his phone, and walked directly from the parking deck to the coffee shop.

Gina fell in line behind him.

Volpin's call ended just as it was his turn to place his order. Once he'd requested his double-shot macchiato, Gina leaned forward.

"Excuse me, sir, I thought I heard your phone ring while you were ordering."

"Really? Thank you."

He pulled the phone out of his pocket to check. "No, I don't see— Whoa!"

Gina surged forward as if pushed from behind, falling against Volpin. Her phone made contact with his, even as she said "Oh! I'm so sorry, someone bumped into me." She'd already punched in the keystroke-tracker ready-code, so as soon as her phone tapped Volpin's, the application made the jump and it was 'mission accomplished.'

Instead of buying a celebratory cup o' joe, however, Gina simply turned and left the coffee shop. Once on the street, she hit the phone's speed-dial number for Nick. "It's done."

"I know," he replied. "I programmed it to ping me when the tracker went live. Good job."

Nick asked Gina to meet him again later to discuss phase two of her assignment. "I have to work 'til six," she said. "Will you be around then?"

"Sure, I'm usually in my office until around seven. Come on by."

After her shift, Gina drove to Aston Security. At this hour the outer cubicles were empty, but Nick was in the break area of the office.

"You smell like buttery popcorn," he said as he poured the stale dregs from the coffee pot into the sink. "You want coffee? I can make a fresh pot."

"No thanks. But if you have any water...."

Nick filled a cup with ice and handed it to her, indicating the water-filtration system in the sink.

"Okay," he said as they walked back to his office. "Let's see where we are."

Once they were both seated, Nick opened his laptop. "I haven't had much chance to delve into Volpin's business yet, since I, too, have a day job. But let's see what pops up." He turned the laptop so she could see the screen, and Gina watched a jumble of images pop up, one on top of the other. Nick obviously knew what he was looking for, as he let them scroll past in search of... whatever it was he was looking for.

"Well, I don't see any evidence/ that Volpin accessed his database from his phone. I didn't really think he would, to be honest, but for the sake of thoroughness, I thought it was a good idea to cover all bases. At the very least, I now have access to Volpin's e-mail and calendar."

"So we still need to get into his office computer," Gina said.

"Right. And depending on how you want to go about it, this could be even easier than getting to his phone, because we don't need him to be there or do anything."

"So what does need to happen?" she asked.

Nick held up a small thumb-drive, roughly the size of a postage stamp. "This. All you need to do is plug this into his computer, and the program will automatically download."

"How long will that take?"

"A minute, minute ten, tops. Again, I'll defer to your expertise on the best way to implement this."

Gina looked out the window as she pondered it. "Well, William of Occam had the right idea: the simplest answer is usually the best."

Nick smiled at her reference to Occam's Razor. "And what do you think is the simplest answer?"

"Walking into Volpin's office in the middle of the day, install the flash-drive for the download, and walk back out."

"In the middle of the day," he repeated.

Gina nodded. "Much simpler than trying to break in and deal with whatever security measures his office has."

"So then job one would be to get Volpin out of the office."

She pointed to the laptop. "You just said you have access to his calendar, so we can see when he'll be away."

Nick's amber eyes seemed to glow as he looked at her approvingly. "Exactly. Let's see when he'll be out of the office. Better yet, maybe we can find an appointment he has that's out of the building." A few taps on the keyboard later, he said, "Here we go, he's got a lunch meeting tomorrow clear across town."

"Good deal," Gina said. "Now all we have to do is get rid of the assistant."

"Leave that to me," he replied. "Even if she doesn't take a lunch, I'll make sure she's away from her desk for at least twenty minutes."

Gina ran through the scenario in her head. "So I have to get into the building, up the secure elevators, and into the Volpin offices. First question would be, once I'm on the right floor, are there further security measures to get into the credit company offices, over and above what's needed to get to the elevators?"

"Good question," he murmured as he tapped a few keys on his laptop. "I don't see any indication of additional security requirements. As far as I can tell, once you're on the floor, you're good to go."

Her eyebrow shot up. "How do you know? What website did you go to that gave you that information?"

He laughed. "Being a security consultant has its advantages. I know where to find building floor-plans and specifications."

Gina nodded. "Okay, so bottom line: it doesn't matter whose security badge I swipe in the lobby, as long as I can get to the elevators. That helps."

Nick looked at her. "You said that was your first question. What's your next one?"

"The next question is the layout of the Volpin offices. I need to know where I'm going. More importantly, I need to look like I know where I'm going."

"Good news, then. Your wish is my command." A few more taps at the keyboard and office blueprints came onto the screen. "I also printed a copy for you."

"Great minds, huh?" Gina said with a smile as she took the printed blueprint. "Okay, then. As usual, the head honcho's office is as far away from the entrance as it can be." She mumbled to herself a bit as she studied it.

Nick didn't say anything, even when Gina was looking off into space. Finally, she said, "Okay, I think those were my biggest questions about getting in. Now, where is this magic flash drive I need to plug into his computer?"

He took it out of his shirt pocket and tossed it to her. "Here you go. Just plug it into the port on the side of the monitor."

"And the process will take a minute, plus or minus?"

"Right. Oh, and I have another present for you. Well, it's for both of us, actually: your safety, and my peace of mind."

Nick reached into another pocket and removed something, which he slid across the table to Gina. "A wireless headset. So we can stay connected in real time while you're, er, on your mission."

"Oh good, all I need is to have you in my head," she muttered, not quite seriously

She and Nick finalized the time of the mission for the following day. Then Gina said, "Well, I hate to scheme and run, but I have plans this evening."

Nick smiled. "I hope you're going to change first. That is, unless you enjoy reeking of popcorn when you go out."

She shrugged as she rose to leave. "Some people find it a turn-on."

Chapter Four

The next morning Gina slept until ten. Changing into sweats, she stretched and went out for a run. Fifteen minutes later she entered a parking garage about a mile away and, bypassing the elevators, went up the stairwell to the fifth floor. Enjoying the view while she caught her breath, she then skipped nimbly back down the five flights.

The poor man's Stairmaster.

After showering, Gina again brought out the brown suit, except this time she wore a different blouse. She carried the suit jacket over her arm, still unsure whether she'd wear it.

The parking lot she'd used the previous morning was now just about full at mid-day. Luckily, however, a car was leaving as Gina pulled in, so she whipped into the spot it vacated. Slipping back into her pumps, she got out and locked her car, then deliberately walked past the self-service parking pay station and headed toward Helion Center.

Just outside the building, Gina slipped the earpiece from her purse and activated it before attaching it to her ear. "Yoohoo, anybody home?" she said.

She heard a click and then heard Nick say, "Here I am. Cutting it close, aren't you?"

"Hey, I'm here. Where are you?"

"Around the corner; I just saw you walk by."

"Any sign of Volpin?" she asked, holding her cell phone up as if she were on a call.

"As a matter of fact, that's why I chose this spot. I just saw him pull out of the parking deck to go to his lunch appointment."

"Okay. Now, I'll get onto the floor and inside the Volpin offices. I'll let you know when I'm in position and you need to do your thing."

She put away her phone and walked into the lobby of Helion Center. At this busy noon hour, there were people everywhere: some coming in, and heading to the elevators; some coming from the elevators and going out; others in the various shops in the lobby.

Gina thought the direct approach was best. She saw a group coming out of the elevator: a man and two women. One of the women was tall and blond (yeah, like that's natural, she thought). The other woman was shorter and had long dark hair.

Again using her phone as a prop, Gina acted as if she was checking her messages and not paying attention to her whereabouts. As she made her way toward the elevator access area, she bumped into the dark-haired woman coming the opposite direction.

"Oh, sorry!" She held up her hand, cellphone and all, as she apologized. Predictably, the other woman said "That's fine, no harm done," and continued on her way with her friends.

Gina put her phone away and used her newly-acquired badge at the security-access gate to enter the building's elevator lobby; she then used the handy clip to attach the badge to her suit jacket, just as the badge's owner had done.

Once on the eighth floor, Gina allowed the other elevator patrons to go ahead of her. Two people went toward a legal office to the left, but one person headed toward the door for Volpin Credit Resources. Good, she thought, no additional security that we might have missed.

She took a breath and absently felt for the small drive in her pocket. That helped her focus on what she was here to do. Opening the door, Gina entered the debt-management firm.

"I'm in."

* * *

Nick sat on a park bench, hoping he looked like a corporate office drone on a lunch break. He'd been there for twenty minutes before Glen Volpin had driven out of the Helion Center parking deck. And not two minutes later, he'd seen Gina Carr walk past on her way to the building.

At first he hadn't recognized her; he'd never seen Gina dressed so professionally before. But that was definitely her, and he definitely liked how she looked in that suit.

He hated involving Gina in this unlawful mess. Hell, he hated involving himself in this unlawful mess. But Jane Everidge's story had struck a chord with him, and he found he couldn't just ignore it. The cops couldn't do anything, federal regulators wouldn't do anything. He'd even thought about tipping off a reporter friend, and letting him dig up all the dirt for a big story. But who knew if the reporter would take the story, or if it would get printed? Not to mention it would take way too long to be of any practical use.

No, the only way to deal with this situation was to take care of it himself. And since he didn't have the... skills... to get close to people or to gain access to places he didn't belong, then he needed someone who did.

And he'd thought of Gina.

What he'd told her was true: over the years he had run across a mug shot or two with her face on it. And then he'd seen her at the movie theatre.

He'd been on a date; not a 'first date' with someone he barely knew, but a third date, with a woman he liked quite a bit. They were there to see an action movie, and when Nick turned away from the concession stand with the obligatory popcorn and soft drink, he'd seen her: a young woman with a small broom, sweeping up ice from a spilled drink. It took him a minute to place her, but then she looked up to ask an inattentive patron to please watch her step, and Nick knew it was Angelina Carr. Why she was working at a movie theatre, he didn't know, but in this economy, any job was better than none. In any case, Nick finally turned to rejoin his waiting date.

A few weeks later Nick had met with a client for lunch in that same area, and as he was returning to his car afterward he happened to see Angelina again. She was walking toward the theatre, presumably to start her shift, or returning from her own lunch break.

Now, Gina was heading toward the Volpin offices. Nick heard her in the elevator, as she asked someone to press the eighth-floor button for her. A moment later she said quietly, "I'm in."

Chapter Five

Gina looked around quickly and covertly. She'd studied the blueprints Nick had gotten, so there were no big surprises here. Mainly there were desks, cubicles, and a number of small meeting rooms, presumably where prospective clients could discuss their financial and credit needs with Volpin personnel in private.

Straight back, toward the corner of the building, was another glassed-in area, and even from here Gina could see faux-mahogany furniture and green plants on top of filing cabinets. That must be the office of Volpin's assistant. Note to self: keep plant services company in mind for possible future use as cover.

"Sit tight," came Nick's voice in her ear. "I'm calling the assistant now. She should be heading out in about two minutes."

Gina picked up a few file folders from the nearest unoccupied desk and walked away from the entrance. She stopped near one of the cubicles, as if waiting for a chance to speak with its occupant, and pretended to consult paperwork in her folder.

Sure enough, a moment later a middle-aged woman came hurrying toward the door. Her purse was over her shoulder and she carried a thick expanding file.

As soon as the woman had left, Gina strolled casually toward the office entrance. Through the glass doors she saw the woman get into the elevator. Gina picked up her pace, the folders held in front of her like a shield.

Approaching the assistant's desk, she almost stopped short. Just outside Volpin's office, in the assistant's area, were two gentlemen. One was seated in an upholstered chair, the other standing.

Gina barely broke stride. She glanced quickly at the men, giving a brief, shy smile, and walked past them into Volpin's office.

"Are you in yet? What are you doing?" said the voice in her ear, startling Gina so that she almost dropped the drive as she took it out of her pocket.

"Shhh!" she hissed quietly. "Can't talk."

She stood next to the desk, squarely between the outer office and the computer monitor. It wasn't an ideal situation, as, with her back to the door, she couldn't see anyone, such as the two gentlemen outside, who might approach the office. On the other hand, it was more important to keep her actions out of view, in case anyone did come to the doorway.

Gina plugged the drive into the port. She wasn't sure if she should risk moving around the desk to see the monitor, or if the monitor would even register the download's status. On TV and in movies, there was always a helpful status bar, showing the progress of whatever download or upload was taking place. And inevitably, just as the process was nearing completion, there was some sort of danger or interruption.

"Is it done?" she whispered, hoping Nick would hear.

Apparently, he did. "What? Yes, it's almost finished. What's going on?"

"Can't talk," she said again. "Just let me know when I can take it out and go."

She waited silently for a few seconds, and then it occurred to her that perhaps she should make some sound while she was in Volpin's office. After all, it might seem odd (she supposed) that someone should be completely silent in an office.

She opened a file drawer and riffled folders back and forth, and then closed the drawer loudly. Then she turned to the desk and picked up Volpin's phone, careful not to get a dial tone. "Hello, I'm calling about the status of that file we discussed," she said in a normal speaking voice.

After a second or two of surprised silence, Nick's voice said uncertainly, "Um, are you talking to me?"

"Yes, of course."

"Oh. Well, um, let's see. The file is about ninety percent installed. Ninety-two percent... ninety-five... ninety-eight.... Okay, it's done. You're clear."

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

"Gina, what is going on? Is someone else there?"

"Yes, unfortunately. But I'll get that information to you as soon as I can. Thank you." And she hung up Volpin's phone loudly.

The small flash drive was already back in her pocket, so Gina picked up the folders she'd been carrying and walked out of the office. Thing One and Thing Two were still in the outer reception area, and even with peripheral vision Gina could see they were showing her more interest than she liked. She tried to sail past them, but Thing One moved to stand in front of her.

"What are you—" he began, but Gina cut him off.

"I'm sorry. Mr. Volpin's assistant seems to have stepped away. I'm sure she'll be back any moment to help you." She sidestepped the man and continued, as unhurriedly as she could manage, toward the door. Once she was behind a cubicle wall (and out of sight in case the men were watching), she dropped the folders on the desk where she'd found them and went out.

"Gina, talk to me!" came Nick's voice in her ear. He'd been talking while she came out of Volpin's office, but as soon as she spoke to Thing One, Nick seemed to know she was not answering him. Now, however, his urgency demanded a reply.

"Something's not right here," she said. She took her phone out of her pocket again, a convenient prop in this situation.

She pressed the button for the elevator, and as she did so she saw the two Things coming toward the door of Volpin Credit Resources. Luckily two other people were already waiting for the elevator, so Gina didn't feel so exposed. When the elevator door opened, she casually glanced toward the Volpin office. The two men were still there looking at her, but they apparently weren't interested in pursuing her. They looked more curious than suspicious.

"Gina? So help me, if I need to get a SWAT team to get you out of there...."

She held the phone back up to her ear. "No, I think we're good. It may have been nothing. I'll fill you in."

"I'll meet you outside."

On the ground floor, Gina had almost reached the building entrance before she remembered an important detail. Slipping the access badge off her jacket's lapel, she crossed to the Security desk and waited for the man behind it to give her his attention. "I found this badge next to the elevators; I'm sure someone will be looking for it before long."

Nick was waiting for her out on the sidewalk. As soon as he saw Gina he came up and took her elbow, leading her away from Helion Center.

"What was that all about?" he asked without preamble. "Why couldn't you talk? And who were you talking to?" Nick didn't seem to realize his last two questions contradicted each other.

Gina was a bit flustered from the pace he'd set as they turned a corner and crossed a street before stopping at a streetside bench; trying to hurry while wearing heels was an unaccustomed difficulty. "Slow down, Road Runner, let me catch my breath a second. Okay, that's better. So, in a nutshell: even though Volpin was gone and the assistant left right on cue, like you said, the reception area outside his office was not empty. There were two guys there."

"Guys? What guys?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "How do I know what guys? They were guys. And I don't think they were there for a credit counseling session."

"So what were they doing?"

Gina shrugged. "Waiting, would be my guess. Probably for Volpin."

She had expected him to shrug it off, deem it just a coincidence that Volpin's next appointment arrived early and had to wait. Instead he asked, "How were they dressed?"

She looked at him curiously. "In suits," she replied. "Very nice suits. Probably thousand-dollar suits."

Nick nodded thoughtfully. "That seems to fit," he said.

Gina sat down. "Fit? I take it you know something I don't?"

He took a seat next to her and opened his laptop. "This morning I had some time to look through Volpin's e-mails and anything else I could get to through his phone. Turns out he sent someone a spreadsheet which, very helpfully, shows a list of clients as well as their scheduled payments."

"Yeah, so? I imagine it has our client's name on it, Everidge?"

"Yes, it does, but that's not the interesting part. Most of the creditors for these clients are just what you'd expect: mortgage companies, utilities, credit cards, hospitals, that sort of thing. Pretty much the same kinds of places we all owe money to from time to time. But recently, in the past six, nine months or so, some clients are shown on the spreadsheet owing money to companies I never heard of. Not that that's unusual in itself—after all, I don't know the name of every company, obviously—but there were enough of them that it caught my attention."

"And?" she prompted.

"And, as you can imagine, I did some checking. I'm not in the security consulting business for nothing, you know."

"And?" she asked again.

Nick shook his head. "And... nothing. I looked online for info on some of those creditor companies, and found web pages for some of them, but...." He shrugged. "The websites were vague and very generic-looking. There was no contact info on any of them, no executive profiles or anything. There was just enough information to make you think you're looking at a legitimate corporate website."

Gina blinked at this. "Bogus companies?"

He nodded. "As far as I can tell."

"How many?"

Nick tapped the keyboard of his laptop and brought up a spreadsheet. "Here's the list of Volpin's clients, and here you can see their creditors." He pointed about halfway down the screen. "As far as I can tell, starting here are the bogus company names. Looks like they started appearing about seven months ago."

"And look at those amounts owed."

"Yeah, pretty substantial."

Gina studied the spreadsheet for a moment. "Have you looked into the clients? Seen who the people are who owe money to these companies?"

"Not yet. I do have a day job, you know." Nick frowned at the spreadsheet. "Maybe I can get to it this afternoon, although I do have a client to meet with...."

"I'll help. My shift doesn't start 'til six. How about if I stop by the office about two?"

Gina arrived at Aston Security as scheduled. She'd gone home to get out of the constrictive suit and torturous hose; it was such a relief to be in her favorite 'uniform': a t-shirt and jeans.

Walking through the outer office area, Gina saw that one of Nick's employees was in the glass-walled conference room. Geek-girl was at her desk, eyes glued to the screens, as usual. And the other guy was with Nick in his office.

Gina waited until the young man left the office and Nick waved her in. "Here, sit in my chair," he said as he rose. "You can use my laptop, and here's the file of what we already know."

"So, you have an appointment?"

"Yeah. One of my guys is going with me to meet with a client." He shrugged into a sport coat and picked up a folder. "I printed out the client info, which there is on the desk. If you'd like water or coffee, you know where it is, and if you have other questions, you can ask Henry, when he's out of his meeting, or Sage. Otherwise, I should be back in about an hour to help you."

Nick paused near the door, looking at her as if he were going to say something more, but then turned and left.

She watched Nick and his 'guy' leave the office, and then turned toward the information on the desk.

Gina checked the names on the Volpin client list, starting where Nick indicated things started to look hinky, and researched each name online. Many times one result led to another link to click for further background. Meantime, she jotted her findings on a legal pad.

She was on her second page of the pad when the door to the conference room next door opened and she heard people leaving. Obviously Henry was finished with his meeting, and he walked past the glass wall while escorting his client to the door. If Henry was curious about the dark-haired girl in Nick's office, he didn't show it.

"How's it going?"

The question, and the proximity of the voice, startled Gina, and when she looked up, she was startled further to see Nick coming into his office.

"Has it been an hour already?" she asked. "I feel like I just got started."

Nick pointed to the legal pad, which had quite a few pages folded back. "Looks like you've been on a roll." He took the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "So what have you found?"

Gina sat back and ran both hands through her hair, briefly enjoying the respite from staring at a computer screen. "I think you're right about something hinky going on. Most of the names on this client list are real people, or real businesses, as the case may be. But a few of them are definitely questionable when it comes to their backgrounds."

"Questionable as in...?"

"Questionable as in they have criminal records." She pushed the legal pad over to him and pointed to some notations.

Nick glanced where she indicated, then flipped back and scanned her notes on the previous page. Finally, he went to the beginning of Gina's list and looked at each name's notation.

"I recognize some of these names," he said bemusedly, still reviewing the pad. "And these criminal records, did you notice anything about the charges?" When she shook her head, he continued. "Most of them are usually associated with organized crime."

"These people are mobsters?"

Looking up at her, Nick shook his head. "I can't say for sure. Here, let me see the laptop."

Gina turned the computer toward him. He referenced the printed client list on the desk and then typed something on the keyboard, scanning the results. Then, more typing.

Gina couldn't stand it any longer. "What are you doing?" she wanted to know.

"Just checking something real quick." After another round of reading, typing, and result-scanning, he finally sat back and looked her. "Like I said, I can't say with any certainty that the 'clients' on this list are mobsters, so I thought I'd look at the other end of the equation—the so-called creditors."

"You did that already. You told me that some of the websites were a little sketchy."

"Yeah, but it just occurred to me to check something else. Look, here's a payment owed to Charvid Insurance, supposedly for car insurance. It's listed by one, two, three of the suspicious clients as their insurance company."

"And?"

"And, as you may know—or may not, actually—state law requires insurers and insurance-related businesses to be licensed. So, I just checked the state licensing registry for auto insurers, and guess what I found?"

"Not Charvid Insurance, I'm guessing."

Nick tossed the legal pad back onto the desk. "Bingo. And I bet that when I check out some of these other so-called creditor companies, we'll find similar circumstances."

"So we have shady characters paying substantial amounts of money to companies that probably don't exist."

Nodding, Nick said "And you know what that means." Now it was his turn to run his hand through his hair. "I think we stumbled across a money-laundering operation."

Chapter Six

"Money laundering? For real? That's a federal offense, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Nick replied. "If that's what's going on here. I think we need to check further to be sure."

Gina rolled her eyes in disbelief. "We can't get caught up in anything like this. This isn't chicken feed; we're talking major felony here. I can't believe this... all we wanted to do is get that poor woman's bills paid."

"Calm down," Nick said, leaning across the desk to touch her hand. "We're not going to get caught up in anything. I won't let anything happen to you."

He sat back again and sighed. "I know, first instinct is to take this matter to the cops, or, better yet, the feds. But before doing that, I want to look into it more closely, see exactly what we're dealing with and how extensive it is." He stood. "In the meantime, you have buttered popcorn to dish out and I have things to do."

Gina stood as well. "Okay. We'll talk tomorrow. And Nick, I really do want to help that woman, Everidge, and all of Volpin's real clients. I'll still do whatever I can to meet our original goal of helping them out. It's just.... I really don't want to take any chances when it comes to federal charges."

"I know," he said, "believe me, I don't want that, either. I'm going to look after both of us, I promise."

She smiled and left the office.

A few hours later Gina was not doling out popcorn at the concession counter. Instead she was in the midst of her favorite theatre assignment: usher. As she walked through a recently-vacated theatre, checking the floor for candy wrappers and soda cups, she let the day's events simmer in her subconscious, to be reviewed later.

As much as she'd been truthful when she told Nick she didn't want to get caught up in some mob-related felony, it was also true that she did want to keep going with the 'job.' Jane Everidge and the other clients of Volpin Credit Resources deserved to have their financial affairs taken care of as originally promised. By all accounts, they were honest people doing their best to be responsible and pay what they owed. Gina knew that, money-laundering and possible federal offenses aside, she'd do whatever she could to help them

Just as she'd told Nick.

Speaking of whom... well, never mind; thinking about Nick was a matter for another day. She relegated any thought of him to the mental back-burner.

Gina got a mop to deal with a spilled soda between rows, and forced herself to think of something—anything—other than credit payments or spreadsheets or sitting in glass-walled offices.

That's it, she thought; I need to get away. I need a diversion, something that will put all this spy stuff out of my mind. I know, I'll call Dave, and see what he's up to tonight.

With this decision, Gina's mood lightened. She breezed through her other theatre checks and didn't bat an eye at the plate of nachos that hadn't quite made it into the trash bag, leaving a sticky yellow mess oozing down the outside of the bin. She didn't even resort to muttering her standard observation that "People are such pigs."

* * *

"Your phone rang while you were in the shower."

Gina retrieved one of her tennis shoes from where it had fallen next to the couch. "And I suppose you answered it," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Of course I did," Dave replied, tossing his head to keep dark bangs out of his eyes. "What are friends for?"

"I don't know, but if I ever have any, I'll be sure to ask."

He laughed, unfazed. "You do that, sweetie. Now come on, I've made eggs."

Shoes tied, Gina deposited her bag on the couch with her keys and sunglasses. "So who was on the phone?"

"I don't know," Dave said, scooping some eggs onto a paper plate for her. "It was a guy, but he said he must have a wrong number and hung up."

Gina made a face. "I know who it was."

"Did I mess something up?" Dave asked, eyebrows raised, spatula paused in mid-air.

She inwardly smiled at the irony of that statement, especially since he was currently shirtless as he dished out breakfast. Dave was tall, lean, broad-shouldered, and gorgeous. People—especially female people—who met him didn't soon forget Dave, and just by smiling he could easily 'mess something up.' But the good thing was, he was oblivious to his own good looks and the effect they could have on people.

"Nothing that can't be fixed," she replied, digging into her eggs.

A while later she hit the dial-back feature on the phone Nick had given her. "What's up?"

"Oh, hi," he said, sounding a bit surprised. "I, er, just wondered if you wanted to get together to strategize. I'm sorry if I called too early, I have to remind myself that you don't work traditional business hours. I hope I didn't interrupt, uh, anything...."

"No, I was already up," Gina replied, privately amused at his flustered state. "I don't work today, so what time works for you to get together?"

They arranged to meet at eleven o'clock at a branch of the county library. This gave Gina a chance to run a few errands that she'd been putting off. Just because she didn't wear heels and hose on a daily basis didn't mean she didn't care how she dressed. She had a 'look,' even if it was primarily a casual one.

She stopped in front of a mirror in the women's section of one of the chain department stores. Without any ego, Gina knew she looked a few years younger than her age; she could easily pass as a college student, which was advantageous in a college town. Her standard outfit of choice consisted of jeans and a t-shirt, and since she still sometimes used a backpack to carry what she needed, her guise as a young co-ed was complete and she fit right in with others in that category.

I guess I'll have to get used to those heels, though, since it's probably about time for me to adopt a more mature look.

But not today.

Gina looked at some cute long-sleeved tees, which had become one of her wardrobe staples. The tees went with just about anything, from casual jeans to dressier twills. She was just riffling through the colors available when she noticed a woman holding up an adorable pink blouse.

Gina's first thought was that she hoped the woman wasn't thinking of the blouse for herself, as it was all wrong for her, not to mention too young for her. But what really caught Gina's attention was the fact that the woman left her purse on a nearby display stand. The purse, one of those big, bulky ones in which a small animal could fit; it was open, and even from twenty feet away, Gina could see the woman's wallet, phone, and checkbook. It would be so easy to walk past and lift something, and with the woman's back turned, she'd never know until it was too late.

Instinctively, Gina started to glance around, not in search of watchful store personnel (yeah, right!) or other possible witnesses, but rather to check for camera coverage. However, she stopped herself easily enough. Security measures—or lack thereof—were of no concern to her at the moment. Gina shook her head to clear away the thought and went back to her browsing.

She selected a nice cowl-necked jersey top which looked really nice on the hangar (but then, don't they all? she thought cynically). It fell within her preferred color palette. And, best of all, it was marked sharply down. Her favorite kind of clothes! Gina took the top to the dressing room and tried it on, preening uncharacteristically in the three-paneled mirror.

As she'd suspected, the top was a quite form-fitting, which wasn't a problem for Gina. She'd long ago accepted the fact that she was built like a fourteen-year-old girl. There were times when she wished she had a little more "on top," but in general it didn't bother her; it seemed a good match to her thin frame. And today, seeing herself in the store mirror, she knew this top flattered her build, and the rich, vibrant color suited her olive skin and dark hair.

"Nice," she said to herself. "I'll take it."

* * *

An hour later Gina strolled into the library branch to meet Nick. Walking past the check-out desk, she pushed her sunglasses atop her head and headed toward the back of the library, where study tables and reading chairs were located. There was Nick, sitting forward in an overstuffed chair, looking at his laptop set on a round coffee table in front of him.

He was dressed casually today, in a polo shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. It was a nice look for him.

"Hi," she said quietly as she approached. The library wasn't crowded at this time on a weekday morning, but somehow it just seemed wrong to use a normal speaking voice.

Nick stood as he greeted her, and indicated that she take a seat.

"Interesting place for a meeting," she commented.

He shrugged. "I just thought it would be nice to get together someplace other than the office."

"Or a bar."

"Or a bar," he agreed with a smile.

Once she was seated, she said, "So, what do we have? Were you able to look more closely into those bogus names?"

"I was. As you discovered yesterday, most of the clients are real people, or real small businesses, as the case may be. Most of them do have criminal records, as you noted, mostly for small infractions. But the real interesting part is the creditors, where these clients owe their money."

"Suspicious?"

"Big time. Yesterday we saw Charvid Insurance, a supposed insurance firm which is not licensed by the state. Also on the list of creditors are companies that sound like doctors or medical providers, phone service companies, and construction firms."

"Construction firms?" Gina repeated. "That's a pretty obvious tipoff, right there. And let me guess: those places don't really exist."

"Oh, no, they do exist," Nick said. "At least on paper. Like I said yesterday, these places may have websites, but there's no real information behind them. But, since I know how to dig for answers better than most, and I have resources to assist in that digging, I was able to get past the obvious to find the hidden. Most of these companies are owned by known mob members. Charvid and at least one of the supposed 'medical providers' are owned by a guy named Rico Coker, who's got his hands into multiple cookie jars, all of them illegal and/or sleazy."

"So this is more than just a case of Volpin skimming money off his clients."

Nick nodded. "Way more. These questionable clients began to appear all of a sudden, and to be honest, I'm not sure if Volpin has acquired any new legitimate ones since then. So he's balls-deep into this. Oh, sorry!" He looked a little embarrassed.

Gina hid a smile. "Don't worry, I get your point. So what do you want to do? Got any ideas for a plan?"

He sat back. "I think so. Right now I think our best bet is to go directly to the source and hear what he has to say."

"Talk to Volpin," Gina said by way of clarification. "You want to talk to the man we're spying on and let him know we're snooping into his business."

"I know it sounds crazy, but I think it's the right thing to do."

"Excuse me, but haven't we gone out of our way to be sure he doesn't know about us, or see us, or find out about us?"

"Yeah, but that was when we thought he was just a garden-variety crooked businessman. This is different."

"What do you hope to achieve?" Gina asked. "By talking to him, I mean."

Nick shrugged. "Give him a chance to make this right. Our objective hasn't changed; we're still going to help Jane Everidge and the other legitimate clients. It's only fair that we let Volpin know, and he can either help us, or try to stop us."

Gina sighed. "'Try to stop us.' It sounds so... dangerous... when you say it like that."

"It won't be. I told you before, I won't let anything happen to you. Oh, and I didn't get a chance to tell you, I got the password from Volpin. He accessed his credit-payment system yesterday evening, and I picked it up then, so I'm getting things set up to make the payments we talked about, the ones his firm is supposed to be taking care of."

"But only the legitimate ones?"

He shook his head. "There's the rub. I can easily tweak the program so that the bogus creditors don't get any money, but I think that would get noticed right away. On the other hand, I don't really want to make those payments, either, for obvious reasons."

"So...?" she asked, looking at him questioningly.

"So... that's one reason I want to talk to Volpin. Once I hear what he has to say, hopefully I'll have a better idea of what to do."

"All right, then. So, how do we set it up to talk to Volpin?"

Chapter Seven

The next afternoon Gina strolled through an urban park, just a block or two from Volpin's office in Helion Center. She was handing out flyers, folded pages advertising an upcoming outdoor arts festival in the park. Nick had found one of the flyers under his windshield the previous day, and had a hundred copies made of it on pink paper.

"Any sign of him yet?" she asked, careful not to hand out too many of the flyers too quickly. She walked slowly along the sidewalk, not bothering to address the joggers or anyone on a cellphone. Instead when she saw a mother pushing a stroller, or teens out enjoying the weather, she'd approach with a smile and say "Flyer? Art show," and shove a paper at them.

"Any minute now," Nick's voice said in her ear.

"I feel like a fool. Too exposed."

"Don't worry, you're doing fine. Nobody's even paying attention to you. In fact, most people are probably going to try to avoid looking at you."

"I hope you're right," she muttered. "I don't like to call attention to myself."

"You're just part of the scenery," Nick assured her. "You don't need— Wait, I think I—yes, I see him. Volpin just entered the park, just as we thought."

You mean just as you thought. Yesterday at the library, Nick and Gina had hashed out a rough plan. According to Volpin's calendar, he had a meeting in another building, a few blocks away.

"He's going to walk back through the park," Nick said decisively. He'd brought up a satellite view of the business district on his laptop, and pointed out the location of Volpin's meeting in relation to the Helion Center. "That's the quickest route back to his office, so once this meeting is over, Volpin will walk through the park, and that's where we'll contact him."

So here she was, half-heartedly handing out pink sheets of paper to tell people she didn't know about an event she didn't care about.

As she always did when 'working,' Gina had dressed carefully. Jeans, of course, with a dark t-shirt and tennis shoes, the casual uniform. She tucked her hair behind her ears and put on a baseball hat. The hat didn't display the insignia of any big-league team, but instead sported a generic logo. Aviator-style sunglasses hid her eyes.

She met up with Nick at the park, joining him on the bench that was to be his base for this stage of the operation. "That's where Volpin's meeting is," he'd said, pointing to a building across the street. "I should have an excellent view of him as he leaves the building and enters the park on his way back to his office, and I'll steer you toward him."

So now, Nick was in her ear, giving Gina a step-by-step description of Volpin's movements. "He's on the main path of the park. I can see those pink flyers you're carrying; all you have to do is take a left at the next intersection of paths. There, now you should see him at your eleven o'clock."

Bingo; she picked up Volpin heading toward her. It was early afternoon, so the park was full of joggers, strollers, and good old-fashioned time-wasters. Gina ignored them all until she got within twenty yards of Volpin, when she made a show of pushing folded flyers on two people waiting in line at a lemonade stand.

As Volpin approached, Gina stepped into the middle of the paved path so he couldn't ignore her. He looked irritated, as if he wanted to step around her. She pulled the flyer from the bottom of her pile and held it out to him.

"No, thanks," Volpin muttered.

"Take it. Please."

His hand was up in protest, but something about Gina's tone seemed to catch his attention. Instead of waving her away, his hand closed over the flyer, and Gina saw his eyes widen slightly when he felt the item tucked between the folded halves of the paper.

"Put it on and say hello."

Almost as if he was in a daze, the businessman removed the wireless earpiece and stuck it on his ear, looking unsure if he had done it correctly. With his height and the fact that he was still holding onto the pink flyer as he took a few tentative steps, the man looked like nothing more than a giant bird.

Since her part was over, Gina walked quickly in the other direction, ditching the rest of the flyers in the nearest trash bin. She was already behind a large tree when she heard Volpin's voice in her own earpiece.

"H-hello?"

"Mr. Volpin, thank you for speaking with me today."

"Who are you? What is this about?"

"My name isn't important," Nick said. Gina could see that he'd left his stake-out bench and was now standing next to a flower bed where he could discreetly have eyes on Volpin. For his part, Volpin looked around quickly, until Nick's voice said, "Calm down, Mr. Volpin, and don't do anything to draw attention to yourself. Why don't you take a leisurely stroll for a moment while we chat."

Volpin seemed to get hold of himself and took a few steps off the paved path toward an area where some teens were tossing a Frisbee. Gina smiled to see that his version of 'leisurely' actually looked awkward and stilted.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I want to know why and how you got into the money laundering business."

Gina saw Volpin visibly start at the words. He stopped in his tracks and his head came up sharply, although he managed to refrain from wildly looking around again. "What?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh come now, Mr. Volpin. We both know what I'm talking about. Money laundering. That's money coming into Volpin Credit Resources—possibly legitimately, possibly not—and going back out again to companies that are, shall we say, questionable at best. Charvid Insurance, for instance. So what I want to know is, how long have you been doing business with Rico Coker, and why."

Volpin looked as if he was about to have a stroke. At the sound of Coker's name, he did look around again, wildly. "Where did you get that name?" he hissed. "Don't say it out loud. You don't know what you're talking about!"

At this reaction, Gina saw Nick pause as he bent to enjoy the flowers in front of him. "Then tell me what I'm talking about. Tell me about Coker."

"I—I can't talk about him. I shouldn't be talking to you." Volpin lifted his hand toward his ear. "I'm going to—"

"Don't hang up! Mr. Volpin... are you being threatened by Coker? Is that why you're doing business with him?"

There was a pause, and when Gina glanced over toward Volpin, she saw him standing next to a tree, head down as if in thought. Finally he answered. "Yes. It wasn't my idea. And frankly, he terrifies me."

"This all started about nine months ago? He approached you with a business proposition, to use your company to turn dirty money into clean?"

"Yes. He found out about... certain business practices of mine—"

"You mean that you're skimming off your clients? Your legitimate clients?"

Volpin sighed. "He said he knew about that, and if I didn't want it made public, I needed to do business with him, and we'd all win."

"How is he controlling you, making sure you comply and don't double-cross him? Or turn him in?"

"He's got my home and office wired and my cellphone tapped. He has goons outside my office, every day. And he has access to my computer system, the one I used to administer payments. He checks it regularly to be sure payments are being made. I can't make a move that he doesn't know about."

Gina saw Nick nod. "That's why we contacted you this way: so we could speak privately."

"So what do you want? Are you going to shake me down, too?"

"No, Mr. Volpin, we're not going to 'shake you down,'" Nick said. "Believe it or not, we want to help you."

"Help me? How? I've lived with this for months. Don't you think I've tried to find a way out?"

"Well, you're not us."

"So who are you? And why do you want to help me?"

Nick smiled. "Like I said, who we are isn't important. And the only reason we're helping you is so that you can get back to fulfilling your contractual obligations to your clients. They have done nothing wrong, and don't deserve to have their money stolen."

"Are you going to turn me in for skimming?"

Gina heard Nick sigh. "I can't promise that you'll be shielded from all liability, since what you're doing—what you've been doing—is contemptible. But keep in mind who you're now in bed with, so to speak, and what likely happens to people who piss him off, or who he suspects of double-crossing him."

"But you're asking me to double-cross him! And if I don't do what you ask, I won't be."

"True, but you never know, he might just get that idea...."

"What? You're threatening me? Telling me that if I don't help you, you'll tell Coker that I'm dropping a dime on him?"

"I'm not saying any such thing. I'm just pointing out your options. You can work with us, and likely come out of this in one piece. Or, you stick with him and sink deeper and deeper into the muck of organized crime, all the while hoping that Coker doesn't randomly decide you're dispensable. And that's the optimistic version of the scenario."

Now it was Volpin's turn to sigh as he paced near the tree, obviously weighing his options. Gina thought Nick's use of the "either/or" options was clever, the contrast making it clear to Volpin that there really wasn't much of a choice.

Volpin must have come to the same conclusion. "So, what do you want me to do?"

* * *

Nick had asked Volpin some additional questions about Coker and how he does business. Gina was only half-listening, but she heard that Coker had an office in the Radford Building a few blocks away. Coker had gone to Volpin's office first, when he originally suggested their 'arrangement,' but since then Coker had Volpin come to his office every few weeks for updates. His next meeting was set for the following week.

"I'm not sure we can wait that long," Nick said. "Here's what I want you to do. I want you to think about Coker's office, and I mean everything. Start with security: on the ground floor, the elevators, and once you get off the elevators. How many people are in his office: does he have employees? An assistant? Bodyguards who keep an eye on him? And in his office, does he have a computer, or is he too old-school for that? Any information on how or where he keeps his records would be extremely helpful."

"I'll try," Volpin said uncertainly.

"Good. Tomorrow, come walk through the park again at the same time, one o'clock. You'll take another pink flyer and the earpiece will be inside it again, just like today. Don't forget, and don't do anything stupid, because not only will we know, but we'll make you pay.

"Now, take off the earpiece and drop it next to the tree. Get back to your office and go on about your day. We'll talk again tomorrow."

Gina swore under her breath as she made her way back to the trash bin where she'd tossed the art-fair flyers. Someone had dropped a used lemonade cup into the bin, and the top few flyers were wet and sticky.

"You could've told me I was gonna need the rest of these flyers," she grumbled as she salvaged the remaining sheets from the trash. "I wouldn't have tossed them if I'd known."

She heard Nick chuckle but she pointedly didn't look in his direction. Instead Gina made her way to the tree next to which Volpin had been standing and retrieved the wireless earpiece. "You should've known better than to throw them in the trash," he said. "Paper goes in the recycling bin."

"Okay, so now what?" she asked. "What's the next part of our plan?"

Nick sighed. "I need to do some research and make a few calls. I have the beginning of an idea, but we need to know more."

"Such as?"

"Such as everything. How Coker does business. How good his security measures are, and how well his information is guarded."

"I can get started on some of that right now," she said.

"How?"

"By checking out the Radford Building. It's not far, and I can scope it out easily enough, better than just looking at blueprints."

"Okay," Nick agreed, "but be careful. Don't get caught."

"Please! Who do you think you're talking to?"

Chapter Eight

The next day Gina met Nick at noon. They bought a couple of hot dogs from a streetside vendor and were lucky to find a wrought-iron table being vacated in an open plaza near the park.

"I don't know what it is about these hot dogs," Gina said as she was about to bite into one. "Something about being cooked outside makes them smell soooo good."

"I know," Nick agreed. "Even if I'm not hungry the aroma makes my mouth water."

He'd told Gina that he had some meetings that morning—meetings associated with his security firm—so he was wearing a suit. It was grey—not too dark, but not pastel-y, either—and with his crisp, white shirt, charcoal-colored tie, and dark glasses, he looked very handsome. As he concentrated on scooping fallen onions back onto his fork, the sun shone on his bowed head, and Gina could swear she saw varying shades of yellow and gold woven into his light-brown hair.

She was about to blurt out a question ("Why aren't you married, or engaged, or dating someone?") but caught herself in time, and instead stuffed the end of her hot dog into her mouth. Managing not to choke on the too-large bite, Gina sought the assistance of her drink to wash it down.

That'll teach you! Stick to business and don't get distracted... especially by people you work with. You're here to do a job, so focus, dammit, and get the job done.

She cleared her throat. "So what have you found out so far?"

"Why don't you start with what you found out about the Radford Building. Then I'll fill in what I can."

Gina nodded, glad to have a direction in which to channel her thoughts. "Yes, the Radford Building. Fourteen floors of businesses and offices. Three floors are taken up by a financial investment company, two floors by one law firm, and another two by another law firm. Three floors are each occupied by other companies, and the other three floors each have multiple tenants."

"Wait, you're still one short of fourteen."

She shrugged. "I didn't count the ground floor, which is all retail."

"Ingress?"

"Two entrances from the street, and a third from the parking deck."

"Security?"

Gina glanced up as she called details to mind. "Cameras on all three entrances, guard desk in the lobby. Badge-reader for elevator access. All the usual stuff."

It was Nick's turn to nod, and he took a sheet of paper from his inside coat pocket and unfolded it. "Okay, here's what I got. Coker is on one of those floors with multiple tenants. His company is listed as Washington Atlantic Industries, even though he doesn't seem to do business either in Washington or the Atlantic. The office seems to be the base of all Coker's many, er, endeavors, and is on the tenth floor, northeast corner. To be fair, he does have legitimate businesses which fall under this umbrella, and they serve to mask the less-than-honest ones."

Gina considered this. It was good, but... it didn't help much. She'd need more.

To her surprise, Nick wasn't done with his debriefing. He consulted his notes again. "The building has professional plant service for its tenants, and also offers basic tech support for companies that don't have an in-house tech department. I've been told that Washington Atlantic's office in the Radford Building is quite small. Coker's legitimate organizations are run from elsewhere, by people who actually know that particular business. This location is just a token office for Coker to use for various meetings."

As the hour neared one, Nick went off to find a suitable bench from which to conduct his next call with Volpin. Gina took her handful of pink flyers and made her way across the park, thinking how glad she was that the weather was pleasant.

Once again she was wearing jeans and a non-descript t-shirt. She forbore a baseball hat today and instead pulled her hair back into a short ponytail, again adding a pair of sunglasses to partially hide her face. Earpiece in place, she saw Nick settle himself on a stone bench near a pond, ostensibly enjoying the frolicking of the resident geese.

Taking refuge in the shade of a large tree, Gina kept an eye on the door to the Helion Center. She had just consulted her phone for the time (one-oh-two) when she saw Volpin leave the building. He was on his phone as he made his way down the sidewalk. Checking for traffic, he ended his call and slipped the phone into his pocket as he crossed the street into the park.

Gina kept Volpin in her peripheral vision as she moved to the park path and half-heartedly gave away a flyer or two to passersby. She casually made her way farther down the path, flyers in hand, so that Volpin was in effect catching up to her. She then stopped to pet a golden retriever being walked by a young man, and then turned around to intercept Volpin when he was about fifty yards into the park.

Even though Nick had told him to "take another flyer," Volpin seemed caught off guard when Gina appeared and held one out to him. After a split-second when she thought he was going to brush her off, he apparently recalled why he was there and took the flyer. This time he didn't wait to hear Gina's instructions, but just carried the folded paper as he turned off the path to walk across the grass. Gina saw him remove the earpiece and put it on, keeping the flyer folded in his other hand.

"Thanks for coming out here again, Mr. Volpin," Nick said.

"I'm not happy about it," the other man replied in a grumbling tone, "but I'd rather take my chances with you than be under Coker's thumb for the rest of my life."

"Just as I thought. So tell me about your meetings with Coker. First of all, tell me about the office space. And does he have protection with him at all times?"

Volpin sighed audibly. Gina saw him kick at something on the ground with his fancy, expensive shoe; the gesture seemed oddly childish. "Let me see. His office is nothing to speak of. From the elevator lobby the entrance looks pretty standard, and inside the main doors is a nice-looking but pretty generic waiting area. No receptionist. He's usually got at least one, sometimes two goons with him all the time. When I first went there I thought they'd wait outside, but they stayed in his office while we met, and they still do."

"Okay," Nick continued, "what does his office look like? The inner office, where you meet with him."

If it were possible to hear someone shrug, Gina would have sworn that Volpin had done so. "It's an office. What do you want to know?"

"Doors. Is there only the one entrance, through the outer office, or is there another door inside?"

"Um, no, just the one door."

"All right. So, about your meetings. What does Coker do while you're there? Take notes? Use a computer?"

"No, he doesn't really take notes. I've seen him jot things down in a book, though."

"A book? What sort of book?"

"A notebook. More like a ledger, actually. A green ledger."

"Okay, a green ledger. Like an accountant would use," Nick said. When Volpin didn't contradict the assessment, Nick asked, "Is it a full-sized ledger, like the size of a legal pad? Or smaller, like a paperback book?"

"It's, uh, it's smaller, about the size of a paperback," Volpin confirmed, nodding.

"Good, good. Does he keep the ledger with him, in his pocket? Or maybe in a safe?"

"Neither. You'll never guess where he keeps it."

"Where?"

"Inside a book. A hollowed-out hard-cover book."

"Really? You're right, I wouldn't have guessed. Where does he keep this book?"

"I don't know, I just saw it on his desk. It was a Twain book, dark leather binding, pretty thick. Well, obviously it was thick, if it can fit the ledger inside. It's like one of those—what do you call them? Coffee-table books?"

"And you're sure he keeps it inside the Twain book?"

"Yeah. One time when I arrived for a meeting, the book was open on his desk. He closed it right away, but I'd already seen the hollowed-out inside. And the ledger was on his desk, too."

"Any idea what he writes in the ledger? You said he uses it during your meetings?"

"Sometimes," Volpin confirmed. "He consults it from time to time and asks me questions, like about amounts and balances, and sometimes jots things in it, so I assume he has some, um, sensitive info in there."

"Okay, that's good, thank you." Nick then asked whether Coker had a computer in his office, and a few other questions that might reveal additional details of his office. Gina kind of tuned out at that point. She was already formulating some ideas for a plan, which she would float to Nick later.

Finally Nick had wrung from Volpin all the details he could offer. He told Volpin to go back to his usual daily business, but "we're watching you... and we'll be in touch." Volpin again left his earpiece behind and walked away.

After he'd gone Gina retrieved the wireless device and walked over to where Nick sat with his laptop.

"Do I still need these?" she asked, indicating the pink flyers. "You got another meeting we need to set up?"

He smiled. "No, you can put them in a recycle bin. So, you heard what Volpin had to say?"

"I did. Am I correct in assuming you want to get your hands on that notebook?"

"That'd be ideal, wouldn't it? Incriminating information in his own handwriting... can't get much better than that. We could try for his computer, download data onto a flash drive, but we have no way of knowing what's on there. From what I've read about Coker, he doesn't strike me as someone who trusts his sensitive data to technology."

"Agreed. So... notebook it is."

He turned to look at her and smiled. "Why do I get the feeling you were already thinking along those lines?"

Looking back at him, she smiled too. "Because I was already thinking along those lines."

"'Great minds,' and all that. So what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking of walking into Coker's office, and walking back out with the notebook."

"What about Coker?"

"He'll probably be right there when I do it."

She enjoyed his incredulous look.

* * *

Gina breezed through her shift at the theatre that evening. During the first couple hours she was taking tickets, which was not her favorite assignment, but it had certain advantages for her. Then when a co-worker had to go home early, employees were shuffled around and Gina was asked to finish his shift as usher, a request she was glad to accept.

She had stopped by an office supply company on her way to work, and now she was mentally reviewing a preliminary plan for dealing with Coker. There were more details for her and Nick to hash out, of course, but if all went according to plan, Coker and his money-laundering empire would begin to crumble in about forty-eight hours.

A movie had just ended in the farthest theatre and Gina glanced down the rows as she waited for the last customers to leave. When the stragglers had finally gone, she pulled out her phone and hit a contact number.

"Hello?" Nick said.

"Are all the details figured out?"

"What? Details for—? No, not totally. Where are you?"

"At work."

"And why are you calling me? It's almost eleven o'clock."

"Were you sleeping? Or in bed? Or—" It suddenly occurred to her what Nick might possibly have been doing. One of the things, anyway. She felt her face flush even as her mouth fell open into an O.

Before she could say anything further, he replied to her question. "No, I wasn't asleep, I'm just surprised to hear from you at this hour. Don't worry, I've been working on our project."

"I'm not worried," she said. "Just... impatient, I guess. I want to do this."

She thought she heard a small chuckle. "I know. And we will. We just need to have our ducks in a row before we start."

"Okay. What time do you go to work in the morning?"

"What? About eight-thirty. I—"

"Good. See you then. Oh, do you recycle paper at the office?"

"Recycle? Yes, we put paper into bins before it—"

"Oops, gotta run, someone stepped on a bag of gummy candy and I'm gonna need a scraper. See you in the morning." She hung up and prepared to get her hands sticky.

* * *

Nick entered his building, coffee in hand, and pushed the 'up' button for the elevator. It was a little after eight o'clock and he wanted to get to his office and get a few things done before Gina made her appearance. As determined as he was to get the job done and take Coker—and Volpin—down, and as anxious as he was to plan this job down to the last fare-thee-well, making provision for every conceivable contingency... he didn't know how much longer he could work with Gina and remain sane.

Her phone call the previous evening had surprised him, although in retrospect, perhaps it shouldn't have. The call, and their conversation, had been an example of Gina's youthful impulsiveness. He wasn't familiar with how she acted in her 'normal' life, or what she was like before he'd tracked her down at the bar not too many days ago, but since they'd been working together she'd exhibited an almost-childlike eagerness to take on whatever assignments were required. He had noticed that when she had a job to do or an objective to achieve—in other words, when she was engaged and focused—Gina displayed an artless enthusiasm toward that job, an enthusiasm which apparently led her to do impulsive things... like making phone calls whenever a thought happened to strike her.

That was annoying. And yet, somewhat endearing.

Once this job was over, he wasn't sure where it would leave them, 'them' being not partners in white-collar crime, but 'them' being two individuals, Nick and Gina. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of thinking that far ahead yet. "Miles to go," and all that.

Plus, there was 'that guy' to consider. The one who'd answered Gina's phone the other morning... while she was in the shower.

Well, no time to think about that now, Nick thought as he got on the elevator. They had an assignment to carry out, and he had actual job obligations to take care of—the paying kind. He wanted a chance to make a couple calls and deal with some e-mails before Gina arrived and they focused on the Coker thing.

The elevator arrived at the third floor and the doors opened. And there was Gina, sitting on the floor outside the locked doors to his office.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in surprise, before he could catch himself.

"Waiting for you." She didn't seem to notice the sharpness of his tone or his lack of manners.

"It's not even eight-fifteen, and I said I didn't get in until eight-thirty." He unlocked the front door and preceded her in.

Gina shrugged. "Thought I'd come in early and get a jump on things."

"Me too," he said wryly. "But obviously I wasn't early enough."

She'd followed Nick to his office and watched as he put his coffee mug and laptop bag on the desk. She didn't look like she was going anywhere.

"I have a few things to do," he said, trying to be tactful. "I need to do some work—some consulting work—before we discuss what comes next. Do you think you can wait for me, maybe in the conference room next door?"

"What? Oh, sure," she replied. I have things to do to, anyway."

"Knock yourself out," he said.

Gina was almost out the door before she turned around. "Can I borrow a pair of scissors? And tape? No, wait, a glue-stick would be better. And where's your recycle bin for paper?"

Baffled, Nick looked at her for a second, and then opened his desk drawer. "Here's a pair of scissors. There should be tape on the worktable by the copier; you might even find a glue-stick too, for all I know. And the bin for recycling is next to the copier, too."

He watched Gina's backpack disappear as she rounded a corner toward the area in question. Then Nick pointedly closed his office door and opened his laptop, determined to focus on his business and his clients for at least the next thirty minutes.

Forty minutes later, he went next door to the conference room. The table looked like it belonged in a kindergarten classroom: it was strewn with scissors, glue, and paper—lots and lots of paper, most of which had been cut up in one way or another.

Gina looked up and smiled as she started to clean up. "Good timing, I just finished."

"With what, cutting out words and putting together a ransom note?"

She smiled. "No, silly. You'll see."

"And this paper is all from the recycle bin?"

"Yep. Don't worry, I'll put it back there," she said as she gathered up the papers.

Nick sat down and put his laptop on the now-cleared table. "Let me tell you what I've learned and we'll go from there." He accessed a file and positioned the screen so they could both see. "It wasn't easy, but I tracked down the floor plans for Coker's office. Here you can see the outer area, and his actual office. As Volpin said, there's no evidence of another door or secondary access point."

She studied the image on the screen. "And Volpin said there's no receptionist, right? So there won't be anyone running interference outside Coker's office."

"Yeah, if you consider four hundred pounds of muscle to be 'nobody.' Volpin said there are usually two guys in the office with Coker during his meetings. Sometimes just one, but usually two."

"Well, two would be more challenging," she replied, sounding decidedly unintimidated.

Nick looked at her. "You really think you're ready to do this?"

"Sure. We're getting our plan together, so all we have to do is stick to it."

"What about unforeseen circumstances?"

"Duh, that's why it's called a plan and not a promise. We do our thing, and if something unexpected comes up, we roll with the punches and deal with it. That's what Plan B is for. And Plans C and D, if necessary."

He smiled. She was so sure of herself. So confident in her ability to nail her part. He still wasn't quite sure what, exactly, that was, but that's what this meeting was all about.

"So you said yesterday that the Radford Building provides plant-service and tech support for its tenants?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, briefly thrown by her abrupt change of topic. He cleared his throat. "Yes, the tech support is offered, but not all tenants need it. I don't have word on whether Coker uses it, but somehow I doubt he'd let a third party mess around on any computer he owns."

Gina nodded. "So, that's out. And the plant service... I don't think that'll work, either. He may not have any plants in his office that need watering and I can't just wander in there to ask. What about building security? What do they wear?"

"What do they wear?" Nick realized he was repeating what she said, and sounding like a doofus as he struggled to keep up with her train of thought (runaway train?), but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Sometimes talking to Gina was like being in a room with a dart-throwing robot; you never knew what was going to happen next, or when, or in which direction.

"Yes, the Radford Building people. What do they wear?"

In a flash, he was back on track. Turning his laptop toward himself, he typed something in and scanned the web result. "They wear navy blazers."

"And the pants?"

"The pants are dark, look like charcoal grey."

"Hmmm, I don't have that color; it'll have to be black instead. Okay, so that's my way in."

"Building security?"

Gina nodded. "Yep. By the way, how did you find that out so quickly?"

"The building management company. As I figured, their website has photos of key personnel, including their security team. In uniform."

"Ah, pretty clever. Go, you!"

Nick was stupidly pleased to be able to impress her. Some job of 'impressing'—he went to a website; it wasn't exactly rocket science. But at least he seemed to give her some info that made her happy. From what he'd learned lately, a happy Gina would be an efficient, productive Gina. Now it was time for him—for them—to hone the plan that would get her into Coker's office and get her hands onto his incriminating ledger.

Chapter Nine

The following day, Nick and Gina met, as arranged, at a coffee shop near the Radford Building.

"Did you do it?" she asked without preamble as she took the seat opposite him at the table.

"Yes, it's done. Seventh and fourth floors, east stairwell. Remember that: the east stairwell."

"Got it." She fussed with the collar of her simple white blouse. "So what if Coker's not in his office this afternoon?"

Nick smiled, trying to keep her calm. "Then you let yourself in and take your time looking for the book without having to worry about him. Even if it's not there, if he takes it with him when he leaves, that's okay. We can just do this again another day."

She blew out a breath. "I'm really not nervous, you know. Just... excited. Sorta hyper. Once I get a plan in place, I just want to go, go, go, and get it done."

"I know. And we'll get it done. Everything is set, just like we discussed. All we have to do now is... execute the plan."

"Okay," she said with a smile. "So let's go execute."

A short time later Gina walked into the lobby of the Radford Building, her hands full of file folders and notebooks. She'd already walked through the lobby three times that morning, usually attaching herself to a small group of two or three so as not to be so conspicuous, and then making her way to one of the retail areas of the lobby as she scoped out the security measures. She was glad to see the situation was the same now as it had been earlier: just one security guard parked behind the lobby desk. And luckily he was dealing with a building visitor.

Glancing around, Gina found her target: a man standing near the elevators who'd just stood after tying his shoe. Yes, he would do nicely.

This time, she didn't bother trying to 'blend in' with a group, and in fact made a point to be noticeable. Making a show of nearly dropping her folders and clipboard, Gina made her way toward the elevator banks. She'd almost reached the security stiles for the elevator when—whoops!—she tripped and fell... right into Shoe-Tying Man.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she blurted, looking flustered and embarrassed.

The businessman had instinctively reached out to catch her and, once she was steady, even bent to help her retrieve loose papers that had fallen. When Gina finally got everything back together, she apologized to him again. Then, with a final 'thank you' wave, she entered the elevator area and pushed the call button.

Gina rode up to the seventh floor, which was one of the floors entirely occupied by one tenant—an investment firm—and found the restroom. Inside, she set her burden on the counter and fussed with her files as the lone occupant of the lavatory dried her hands and finally left. With the coast now clear, Gina pinned her hair up into as professional a look as she could manage, put on a pair of eyeglasses, and adjusted the wireless earpiece. Then she donned the blazer that had been folded over her arm.

Glancing into the full-length mirror, she was satisfied with what she saw: a professional-looking woman in a navy blazer, white blouse, black pants, and sensible shoes.

Oh, I almost forgot—the most important detail. She slipped a badge out of her pants pocket and clipped it onto her blazer. It said she was Kevin Fenton, a forty-ish black guy with a receding hairline.

Yikes, can't have that picture showing. She flipped the badge over so the photo wasn't visible.

Leaving the restroom, Gina walked down a hallway that eventually led to a lot of fancy-looking offices. She spotted a large locked shred bin and slipped a bunch of her folders into the slot. As props, they had served their purpose and could now get to the next phase of their papery life: recycle-hood. Plus, she'd promised Nick the paper she'd taken out of his office would be securely destroyed. What better place to do that than a financial investment firm? Heaven knows they have plenty of documents and records that need to be carefully safeguarded and thoroughly destroyed.

Once this was accomplished, Gina picked up the remaining folders and clipboard and tapped on her earpiece. "I'm ready," she said. "On to phase two."

She went back to the elevator and rode up to the tenth floor. Off the elevator lobby there were entrances for a management consulting company, an accounting office, and a public relations firm. Around a corner from the elevator, and down a hallway, was a smaller door, much simpler than the others. A sign next to the door said "FC Industries."

"What's FC stand for?" Gina whispered. "I thought Coker's name was Rico, so why isn't it RC Industries?"

"His first name is Federico, but he goes by Rico."

"Oh. Good to know."

She heard a sigh. "I take it you're standing outside his office," Nick said. "Is there a reason you're stopping there, out in the open, to chat? Instead of, oh, I don't know, getting on with the assignment?"

She took a breath and stood tall. "You're right. We have a job to do."

Gina took a breath and opened the door to FC Industries.

Inside was a large outer area, which was where a receptionist would be stationed if this were a 'real' business office. It was sparsely furnished, with some nice-looking chairs, a low wooden coffee table of some sort. Oak? Mahogany? Maple? Particle-board? She didn't know, and it wasn't important. And there was a desk, too, near the inner-office door, which of course would be where a receptionist would sit, if there was one.

The door to the inner office was open, and Gina could hear people inside. She knew from what Volpin had told Nick that from the doorway to Coker's office, the desk would be to the left, situated at a right angle to the opposite outside wall. Coker would be sitting on the far side of that desk, along the left-hand wall with its built-in bookcases, and there were a couple of chairs across the desk for his visitors. Opposite the desk to the right of the doorway, was a couch along the right-hand wall.

Here we go!

"Yes, sir, I'm on the tenth floor now and will report back ASAP," she said a bit more loudly than was strictly necessary. As Gina strolled across the outer reception area toward Coker's office, she continued. "Roger that, base. I'm checking the perimeter—on the tenth floor now. Got a ten-seventy-three, code green."

In her earpiece, Nick said, "Um, you want to tone it down a little? You're starting to sound like a bad cop-show rerun."

Gina stepped into Coker's open office door and found three men looking at her. One was standing opposite, in front of the window. One was seated on the couch to her right. And one, Rico Coker himself, was to her left, standing behind the desk.

She turned toward Coker, not only to address him directly, but also because the man on the couch was Thing Two, one of the men hanging around Volpin's office the day she'd visited there. She didn't want to give him a chance to see her too clearly and possibly recognize her.

"Can I help you?" Coker asked politely. He looked just like the photos Nick had found online: middle height, mostly bald, probably in his fifties, or possibly early sixties.

You certainly don't look like a mob boss. But the other two... yeah, they pretty much look like mob goons.

She smiled at him. "I'm with Building Management, and we're just doing a check of office suites. We've had a few complaints of problems with the windows. You know, leaks, and such."

"We haven't had any problems here," Coker said.

She set her thick folders on the corner of his desk and flipped a few pages on her clipboard. "You're sure? No strange drafts or unusual sounds coming from the window or the sealants? What's that up there in the corner? The dark blotch at the top?" The others turned to see where she was pointing.

"Oh, that. Looks like the window got hit by bird sh— er, I mean bird-poop." The goon who was not Thing Two turned toward her looking slightly embarrassed.

Gina took a few steps closer to look. "Oh, you're right! That's very good. Bird poop can be cleaned much more easily than a crack can be fixed." She made a note on the clipboard sheet and turned as if to go. "Well, if you don't have any complaints here...."

Her earpiece chirped loudly. She tapped at it and said "Go for Carter. ... Say again? ... FBI vehicles parked outside the building?" She turned back toward the window, gesturing absently in that direction as she spoke.

All three men turned that way as well, and went to see what was outside.

"Say again?" Gina continued, apparently speaking to 'base.' "A ten-sixty-six, understood. ... Roger that." She tapped her earpiece again and said, "Apparently the vehicles are on the other side of the building. The government personnel went into the bank across the street."

Coker came back to his desk and sat down. His men took their hands away from their hips and resumed their earlier positions, looking somewhat relieved.

"Sorry to interrupt your day, sir," Gina said as Coker's phone started to ring. She put her clipboard back to rights. "I'll just get out of your hair."

"Yes?" Coker barked into his phone. "There's what?"

At that moment Gina's earpiece chirped again, and she tapped it. "Go for Carter ... Third level, tenant section C ... Roger that."

At that moment Coker hung up his phone and stood, looking toward his henchmen. "That was security. Apparently there's been an incident in the parking deck—"

"You're correct, sir, I just got the same report," Gina said. "At least one tenant's car was vandalized; it was just discovered a short while ago, in Section C of the third level. They don't know yet how many have been hit."

"All right, thank you, miss. Let's go, boys. We need to check this out, make sure my wheels are safe." Coker pocketed his phone and glanced around his desk.

"Thank you, sir," Gina said as she turned and headed toward the door.

"Oh, young lady, wait, you forgot your paperwork. Tony, give the lady her files."

The goon who'd been standing by the window came and picked up the thick folders from the corner of the desk and held them out to Gina.

"Right. Thank you again. I hope your car's okay." Gina took the stack and then walked out of the office to the reception area. As she approached the exit, the door in front of her opened and two men entered the office suite. One was Thing One from the other day, and the other was another goon. The latter politely held the door for her and she gave a quick smile in return as she sailed out into the hallway. She hadn't taken three steps when from inside Coker's office a voice bellowed "Find her!"

That's my cue.

Gina sprinted to the elevator and pressed the call button, even though she knew she didn't have time to wait for the lift. Instead she ran down another hallway from the elevator lobby, toward the overhead sign that said "Exit." She heard shouting and heavy footsteps somewhere behind her as she entered the east stairwell.

"Game on!" she said.

"Good luck," came Nick's reply. "If you need anything, say the word. You know where I am."

The words came to her ear but Gina didn't have time to register the sentiment. She was busy flying down the stairs, waiting for the inevitable sound of the door being flung open behind her and heavy footfalls joining her in the stairwell. Yep, right on cue, here they come.

The seventh and fourth floors, Nick had said. As if there was some eerie connection between her thoughts and his, the voice in her ear said "Remember, seventh floor is nearest option."

"Got it," she said between breaths as she flew down the steps. At the next landing she glanced up at the sign beside the door: eighth floor. She sailed past and continued down to seven. As expected, the door from the stairwell pulled open easily and she entered the seventh floor.

* * *

That morning, Nick too had been in the Radford Building.

"I called and made appointments at two companies in the building, a financial investment firm and one of the law firms," he'd told Gina. "As a security consultant I take a lot of meetings with prospective clients, so I set up the appointments under this pretext."

The financial firm was on the seventh floor, and the law firm on the fourth. At such short notice he could only get a meeting with a mid-level manager at the financial advisor office; the man was probably wondering why he'd been asked to meet with a security consultant, and Nick had taken pity on him and ended the meeting early.

Before leaving the firm's suite he'd excused himself to go to the rest room and took the opportunity to check the layout of the floor. He found the exit to the east stairway and pushed the door open. Stepping into the stairwell, Nick stuck his foot in the doorway to keep the door from closing. For security purposes, access to floors was always restricted from stairwells. There were electronic badge readers next to the doors so that security personnel could get in, and to allow employees to move between floors of the same company, but otherwise, without the badge access, once a person was in the stairwell, the only exit was on street level.

If things went south with Coker on the tenth floor, Gina was going to need an escape route—actually, more than one. The seventh floor would be the first. In the stairwell, Nick pulled a small roll of clear packing tape out of his pocket and tore off a six-inch strip, which he placed over the latch. It would prevent the latch from engaging, effectively 'unlocking' the door and making the floor accessible from the stairwell.

Escape route #1... check.

Nick re-entered the floor and met up again with the impatient manager, who escorted him back to the elevators, no doubt glad to see Nick go.

Twenty minutes later Nick was on the fourth floor, meeting with a junior law associate. It was a very strange meeting, as the attorney seemed to be under the impression that Nick was a prospective client of the law firm, rather than the other way around. In any case, when the meeting was over, the frustrated associate didn't bother to walk his guest to the elevator, apparently eager to write off the non-billable time he'd wasted.

In any case, once he was out of the associate's sight, Nick detoured around the office and, as he'd done earlier, made a mental note of the floor plan. Locating the appropriate exit, he again stepped out into the east stairwell and used the packing tape to 'unlock' the latch.

Escape route #2—ready.

With his mission accomplished, Nick didn't bother going back through the law firm to the elevator, but instead simply descended the remaining flights and exited the Radford Building directly onto the street.

* * *

As she stepped through the door and entered the financial offices, Gina let out a relieved breath. She ducked around the nearest corner and forced herself to slow down. Somewhere behind her, she heard the stairway door get yanked open as her pursuers followed her trail.

The office was loud. Well, not loud as in 'people shouting' loud; it wasn't chaotic like a stock trading floor, but it was still louder than many other offices she'd been in. Along one outside wall was a row of glass-walled offices. In the center of the floor were a couple of glass-walled conference rooms. Between the offices and the conference area was a 'bull-pen' of low-walled cubicles. Each desk had multiple computer monitors, and the people sitting at those desks all seemed to be on the phone and clicking on their computers. Above the bull-pen was a cluster of TVs suspended from the ceiling, and across the floor another TV cluster obviously served the cube tenants in that area. Gina assumed they were tuned to some financial network or another. Even though the collective volume of the TVs wasn't loud, the muted commentaries they offered, along with the voices of almost two dozen people on the phone, did not make for an extremely calm and low-key atmosphere.

Gina absorbed all this in the blink of an eye. Her first instinct on entering the floor was to make her way as quickly as possible to the elevators, but she fought the urge; surely the goons would check there first, and any wait for the elevator would put her that much closer to being caught. Her next instinct was to hunker down in an empty cubicle or office, but she was afraid that even if the henchmen didn't find her first, perhaps even cornering her and blocking her exit, her inexplicable presence in someone's workspace would cause the very commotion she was hoping to avoid.

Therefore she went against instinct.

Engaging in some surreptitious 'prairie-dogging,' Gina poked her head up in order to glance above the cubicle walls. She saw two of the dark-suited goons making their way to the front entrance of the office, glancing this way and that as they did so. No doubt they were on their way to the elevator lobby.

She glimpsed the other two through the glass walls of the internal conference rooms; they were far enough away that she dared to make her move. Stepping out of the cubicle in which she'd been lurking, Gina retraced her steps back down the aisle. As she did so, she saw the goons glancing around, actively looking for her.

It was now or never. "I'm hitting the stairs again."

She walked as quickly as she dared through the maze of cubicles. As she neared an aisle that led to the exit she risked a glance up. As luck would have it—bad luck, unfortunately—that was the instant in which one of Coker's men happened to spot her.

Gina sprinted the remaining distance to the door, even as her peripheral vision registered the two men hurrying around the conference rooms as they made their way back toward her.

"I'm going in hot," she said aloud.

Pushing the door open, she again went flying down the stairs, and again heard the thugs enter the stairwell behind her. Sixth floor... fifth... just one more to go.

She yanked the door to the fourth floor and stepped inside... to a different world.

The world of a prestigious law firm was much different from the financial broker's world. Whereas the latter was alive with chatter and activity, the law firm was a haven of calm elegance and well-heeled serenity.

Like the seventh floor, there were offices along the outer wall here on the fourth floor, boasting dark hardwood accents that seemed to suggest prestige and refinement. Outside these offices were cubicles, grouped in small clusters, in a bullpen area. Further, Gina's split-second glance saw an area off to the side with copiers and supply cabinets, as well as a room that looked like a small library. All she could hear was the white noise of an air-circulation system and a few muted voices.

Once again, Gina ducked into an empty workspace so she could formulate a plan. As she expected, the two henchmen were right behind her. Daring to look around the outside wall of the cube, she saw them step through from the stairway. They too seemed to be affected by the hushed atmosphere; they obviously felt they couldn't go charging like the proverbial bull in a china shop to look for her.

"Are you there?" came Nick's anxious voice in a stage whisper. "Talk to me!"

"Why are you whispering?" she whispered. "Nobody but me can hear you."

He ignored this. "Where are you? On four?"

"Yes. I lost two of the thugs on seven, and the other two are here."

"Can you make it back to the stairwell? All you have to do is fly down the stairs and I'll take care of the rest." Per their plan, he was waiting outside the building, at the door where the east stairwell opened onto the street. That door, too, had been propped open for the time being so that someone from outside could enter the stairwell.

"Yeah, I can get to the stairs. And I have an idea."

"I thought the idea was for you to get out of there. Via the stairs, if you have a clean shot."

"I know, and I do. Have a clean shot, that is. But still, my idea is just a supplement to that plan."

"Okay, but you need to be quick, I doubt you can hide there for long. What's your idea?"

"On my mark, count to ten and then open the street door and just let it close."

"Let it close? I don't have to do anything else?"

"No," she whispered, keeping an eye on where the Doofus Duo was striding up and down the aisles. "Just let it close, and within thirty seconds the two goons should make their exit."

"But—"

"Just trust me, Nick. It'll work." Gina reached up and pulled out the pins holding her hair up and let it fall around her shoulders. "Got it? Wait for my mark—count to ten—open the door." She picked up a roll of tape, still in its box, from the desk where she was sitting.

"Yes, I've got it," he said, sounding not at all happy with this improvised plan. "I'll wait for your word. Just... be careful!"

She nodded, even as it occurred to her that of course he couldn't see the gesture. Locating the thugs, she stood, making sure to take her 'files' with her, and made her way along one of the aisles, stepping to the right to allow two young women in conservative suits to pass her. Another glance and she caught the eye of one of the henchmen. As she expected, he immediately turned to advance in her direction, even defying the genteel atmosphere of the floor as he broke into a hustling trot.

Gina waited a fraction of a second, her fingers absently tightening over the roll of tape in her hand.

She reached the stairway door. "And... mark!" She pushed the door open and re-entered the stairwell.

However, instead of heading down the stairs, she went up, just past the next landing. She had barely crouched there when, through the small, narrow window on the stairway door below, she saw the hulking forms of Coker's henchmen as they approached the stairs to follow her.

That's when she dropped the roll of tape.

It wasn't an accident. It was a deliberate action on her part; she held the tape over the central 'well' around which the steps wound, and tossed it, just as the door below her opened.

As she'd hoped, the Doofus Duo heard the tape hit and bounce somewhere on the steps below and didn't hesitate—they followed the sound and went charging down. Gina calculated that just as the goons reached the third floor, the exit door on the ground floor opened.

They thought they were following her down the stairwell and out to the street.

She let out a breath. "They're on their way down," she said to Nick.

Meantime, she had one more detail to take care of. Stepping quietly back down to the fourth floor, she opened the stairway door and removed the strip of packing tape. Then she took the stairs—up—two at a time until she reached the seventh floor. She removed the tape on that door as well, and then walked through the financial investment office... at a more relaxed pace this time.

"The dudes came out, just like you said," Nick commented. "The downside to your plan is that once they look around and realize they lost you, they're going back into the building. You're not on the elevator, are you?"

"No, I won't be taking the elevator, since with my luck, they'd be standing there waiting when the elevator doors open." She unclipped the badge from her jacket and dropped it near the elevators, where it was sure to be found and turned in to the security desk. "Where do the west stairs come out?"

"The west stairs? Those obviously run down the other side of the building. And, let me see, it looks like they exit into the back of the lobby, near the parking deck."

"Good. Meet me there," she said as she removed her blazer and folded it over her arm.

"Will do. Got ya covered."

Two minutes later, when Gina stepped out of the stairwell at the lobby level, Nick was waiting for her, as promised. Without a word he handed her a green cardigan sweater and held open a large shopping bag. She deposited the folders and blazer into the bag, then slipped into the cardigan and fluffed her hair. Finally, she pushed the fake glasses on top of her head. Taking Nick's arm, she allowed him to casually lead her across the lobby of the Radford Building.

Gina pressed Nick's arm and tilted her head toward two men in suits standing at one side of the large lobby area. Rico Coker's goons, the ones she'd last seen on the seventh floor. As Nick and Gina watched, two other men entered the lobby from the street: the two who thought they'd followed her down the stairs.

All four henchmen accounted for, and they did not look happy. One of them was on the phone, no doubt reporting their failure to not only catch her, but, more importantly, to retrieve their boss's precious ledger.

"Steady," Nick said to Gina as they continued casually across the polished floor toward the main entrance. She was glad he was with her, because once again, Gina had to suppress her natural instinct (which was to run) as she concentrated on seeming relaxed and nonchalant, at the same time being careful not to look at the four men who were still, apparently, on the watch for her blue blazer and prim topknot. It wasn't until she and Nick had successfully cleared the building and were on the street that they allowed themselves to walk more quickly. At that point they joined a throng of people waiting to cross the busy downtown street and allowed themselves to be enveloped by the afternoon crowd.

A few minutes later, Gina and Nick got into his car, which had been parked near the Helion Center. By mutual assent neither had said much as they made their way the few blocks from the Radford Building (or the site of The Big Heist, as Gina had come to regard it). However, once in the safety of Nick's car, she let out a big sigh and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Are you okay?" Nick asked. He'd let out a pent-up breath when she'd come out of the stairwell unharmed, and while they'd walked away from the building he was mentally kicking himself for letting her run with her plan. Those goons in the lobby back there meant business, and he thought it likely that they were also armed.

This could have ended badly—very badly.

Now, as she sat next to him in the car, catching her breath and running her fingers through her hair, concern dimmed his caramel-brown eyes and he put a hand on her arm.

She looked over at him, her heart still pounding in her chest, and slowly smiled as she answered him. "I'm friggin' awesome! That was so amazing! Oh, the adrenaline.... I'd forgotten how much of a rush it could be."

"A rush?" Somehow that wasn't the reaction Nick had expected. But that could wait. "I assume the 'rush' resulted in you getting our target object?"

"Oh, right, the ledger." She reached into the shopping bag and pulled out the fat pile of folders she'd carried up and down the Radford Building. "Here it is."

Nick looked from the folders in her lap, up to Gina's beaming face, and back down at the folders. "That's a stack of folders," he said, "stuffed with papers from my office shred bin."

"Is it?" she asked playfully. She tugged on the corner of one of the papers poking out of the folder; the page didn't emerge, and in fact, the whole stack moved.

"Is that glued in there?" he asked incredulously.

"Uh-huh. They all are. Because it's not really files full of paper." She pulled open the top folder of the stack and showed it to Nick: nestled underneath, inside the thick mass of office paperwork, was a green ledger.

Nick's eyes widened. "It's like a hollowed-out book. Except it's... folders. Hollowed-out folders."

She nodded. "First I took one folder and glued all the papers together inside. Then, I did the same to the other folders, even gluing a number of folders together, and when that was solidly set, I hollowed out the inside, large enough for a ledger. After that all I had to do was to secure the first folder as a 'lid,' and voila, a hollowed out stack of folders."

Nick shook his head at her creativity and turned on the car's ignition. Pulling out of the parking lot, he asked, "So how, exactly, did you get the ledger?"

* * *

The 'dummy' ledger she'd bought at the office-supply store was tucked safely inside the hidden compartment of the folders as Gina entered Radford Building. Her act of clumsiness in the lobby had scored her a badge, and therefore access to the elevator. Once in the seventh-floor restroom, she'd changed her look to become a member of the building management team. Upon leaving the restroom she activated her earpiece, to allow Nick to talk to her as well as to hear what was happening.

Finally, she'd ditched the prop folders she'd brought with her and, armed with her clipboard and the hollowed-out stack of paperwork—with the dummy ledger—continued to Coker's office.

There, after setting her folders on the corner of his desk, next to the Twain omnibus, she purposely guided the three men's attention to the windows, across the room from where she stood. She stayed put as two of the men—the henchmen—had indeed looked closely at the window. Coker himself, however, had stayed put behind his desk.

That was her control, to see what each person would do when presented with a possible distraction.

Then came her report from 'base' about the FBI vehicles pulling up to the building. As Gina had suspected, that news, and her subtle cues directing their attention to the street outside, rattled Coker and his men enough that they all went to look.

As soon as Coker's back was turned, Gina opened both the Twain book and her own folder, and switched the ledgers, all the while keeping up the pretense of getting additional information from 'base' on her headset. The switch was complete in mere seconds, and by the time Coker turned back to his desk from the window at the false alarm (not surprisingly, he was the first to turn back), Gina's hand was theatrically on her earpiece as she received her bogus update, and both the book and the folders were sitting exactly where they had been, apparently untouched.

As pre-arranged with Nick, two things happened next: a call to Coker about an incident in the parking deck, possibly affecting his car, as well as yet another call from 'base' about the same topic. Coker might not have bought Gina's claim by itself, but the call from Security sealed the deal. This part of the plan was meant to encourage Coker to leave his office immediately, without checking his ledger, possibly leaving it untouched until the next day.

In her guise of building management drone, Gina made to leave the office. She purposely 'accidentally' left the folders on Coker's desk, and, as she'd hoped, he called the oversight to her attention and instructed one of his men to give them to her.

Unfortunately, Coker did not leave his office as quickly as she and Nick had hoped, and obviously he did check the Twain book before doing so, and therefore noticed the ledger switch immediately. Which was why she was telling Nick the story while her heart pumped with a jolt of adrenaline.

* * *

"So, basically, Coker gave me the ledger. Okay, technically, he had one of his thugs hand it to me, but still. That was my master stroke of irony: that he be responsible for putting the evidence into my hands."

Nick shook his head as he navigated the busy afternoon traffic away from the city center. "I have to say, our plan came off almost like clockwork. The only glitch—the one which provided all the drama—was that Coker didn't leave the office right away to check on his car. He apparently did move to secure the ledger before leaving."

"Yeah, I was thinking; there are built-in bookshelves behind his desk, and there was an empty spot on one of them. My guess is that he keeps the Twain book there, in the bookcase, when he's not in the office. Whether he takes the ledger home with him at night or leaves it in the book, he's obviously pretty meticulous about knowing its whereabouts at all times, so for him to leave the office without securing the book was probably unrealistic of us to hope for."

"Hence your precipitate flight down the stairs."

Gina nodded. "I really hoped I'd be able to lose the goons on one of those floors. I knew that at some point they'd go down the elevator and watch for me to come out on the ground floor, so mixing into an office environment was my best bet. But I only lost two of them on the seventh floor, so I had to go down to the fourth and try again." She smacked him lightly on the arm. "You didn't tell me how quiet and sedate that fourth floor was, especially compared to the seventh floor financial brokerage office."

He shrugged as he made the turn into his company's office park. "We make do with what we have. Plus, I guess I'm not very observant, because honestly, I didn't notice a difference between them."

Once inside the office, Nick stopped to check in with each of his employees as Gina used the rest room and grabbed a glass of water from the break area. Once Nick joined her in his office and closed the door, she tossed the ledger across the desk to him. "So what do you think Coker will do, now that his precious ledger is gone?"

Nick leafed through the green-bound book, and whistled softly. "Pretty incriminating stuff in here—names, dates, amounts. My guess is that Coker is going to pull up stakes pretty damned quick—or at least try to. He'll try to distance himself from the companies involved in the money-laundering, if he can. The good thing is that a guy like him can't really hide and can't get away."

"So what do we do now?"

"'We' do nothing, my dear; you've already done your part by getting this ledger. Aside from that, wheels are already in motion to take down this bastard Coker, and make things right for Jane Everidge and the rest of Volpin's clients."

"And those wheels are going to do... what, exactly?"

Nick's office phone rang and he held a finger up to Gina as he picked up the receiver. "Yes? ... It did what? ... Okay, give me two minutes and we'll head over there." He hung up the phone. "Sorry, Carr, but I have to go—have to meet with a client about a possible security problem." Before she could say anything, he continued, "Why don't we meet up later and I'll fill you in on all the details. I still have a couple of phone calls to make, anyway, to wrap up some loose ends."

It was already getting late in the afternoon, so they arranged to meet that evening at the same bar where Nick had initially approached her.

"Works for me," Gina replied. She had errands to run, anyway. I've been spending too much time on this so-called job. I've got things to do and a life to get back to.

Chapter Ten

That evening, Gina arrived at the bar at the appointed time. The dinner crowd had come and gone, and, since it was a weekday, the bar crowd was kind of thin. As she came in the door, Gina spotted Nick in one of the booths. He wasn't alone; there was a woman sitting across from him. She was older, probably a little older than Gina's own mother, with short graying hair and wearing a longish sweater-jacket. Their conversation was apparently over, as the woman stood, and Nick, gentleman that he was, rose also. She hugged him and seemed to be thanking him. Then she left, and passed within a few feet of Gina as she made her way to the door.

Nick sat back down in the booth, and took a drink of his beer. Gina walked over and slid into the opposite seat which had been so recently vacated

"Hi," he said. "You just missed our client."

Our client? What's that about? "I saw her," Gina replied. "She was just leaving as I came in. Mrs. Everidge, isn't it?"

He nodded. "That's right. She was just thanking me for helping her. I asked if she wanted to wait a few minutes so she could meet you, but—"

Gina waved him off. "That's okay, I don't need to meet her. I really don't care for meeting new people."

Nick got the attention of a passing waiter and ordered a drink for Gina. When it came, she gratefully took a healthy swig.

"It's been a long and eventful day," she said by way of explanation. "So, what's the good word? I see Mrs. Everidge is a happy camper. I take it you were able to catch her up on her debts?"

"Yep. Once you worked your magic on Volpin's computer, remember, I was able to get in there and access all his systems."

"Right. And that's how you got the info that tipped us off to the money laundering, which in turn led to Coker."

He nodded. "But in the meantime we still had Mrs. Everidge and the others to take care of, the original, actual clients of Volpin's company."

Gina's brow wrinkled. "Yeah, but once we had Volpin's cooperation in getting us intel on Coker, couldn't you just twist his arm and have him take care of those clients?"

"No. You'd think so, but no. Remember, Volpin said that Coker had people watching him, keeping track of everything he did. I wouldn't be surprised if Coker had Volpin's computer access monitored, too. This way, I went in and purposely left a marker indicating the activity came from outside Volpin's organization—so that Coker won't hold him responsible."

"You paid off all the creditors?"

He shook his head. "Not all. These people want a fair chance, not a handout, so I'll let them have the satisfaction of finally paying off their debts themselves. But the money from those phony laundering companies went a long way in getting them there. I paid the creditors enough to cover the deficiencies that Volpin created by shorting the payments, and then some, but I didn't pay them off completely."

"So you paid the debts with dirty money. I like it!"

Nick laughed. "Yeah, well, it's for a good cause. And I left enough of the dirty money to be found later."

She nodded. "So what about Coker?"

"Well, to begin with, a guy I went to college with is a lawyer and works for the state Attorney General's office. I contacted him a few days ago, when we first realized that Volpin was just small potatoes, and that Coker was the big fish, if you'll pardon the mixed metaphors. Anyway, I asked my friend if the AG's office would be interested in any evidence linking Coker to money laundering, and of course the answer was a definite yes. They've been keeping tabs on him and trying to find anything that might stick that they can nail him with."

"Can they use the ledger as evidence? Even though the way we got custody of it was, um, questionable?"

Nick took a swig of his beer and nodded. "You're probably thinking of those TV lawyer shows in which they always talk about evidence being inadmissible because it was obtained illegally. That only applies to how the cops get evidence; they have to do it by the book, with a warrant, or probable cause, or something like that. But if Joe Citizen gives the police evidence that incriminates someone, it doesn't matter how the citizen gets that evidence; it'll be admissible and can be used for prosecution because it came to the police or law enforcement from an 'independent source.'"

"So you're giving the ledger to your Attorney General friend?"

"In the morning," he confirmed. "We agreed that Volpin might get a slap on the wrist for his bad business practices, but I put in a word that he cooperated and gave us information on Coker's dealings, so he probably won't see any jail time."

"That's too bad. He's the whole reason you did this, because he was skimming money and cheating people."

"Don't worry," Nick said, "this whole episode put the fear of God into Volpin. His penny-ante skimming and thievery is what caught Coker's eye to begin with; now he's just ridiculously relieved to be out from under Coker's thumb. And he will probably face some charges, so he's not off scot-free. Plus, I told him that I was going to keep my eye on him. He has no idea who we are, never really saw either one of us to speak of, so it'll do him good to think that someone is constantly looking over his shoulder. Keep him honest."

Gina nodded slowly, digesting this information. "Well, I guess this ties up all the loose ends, then. A job well done, to both of us." She held up her glass in a mock toast, and then drank to it.

Nick gave her an enigmatic smile. "Actually, there is one last loose end to tie up." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he slid to her across the table. "I did say you'd get paid, remember?"

She peeked inside and saw bills... quite a number of them. Her eyebrows shot up and she asked, "Is this from Coker's stash?"

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I liberated it from one of his bogus companies, yes."

Gina laughed and shook her head. "I love it! First Coker practically hands me the evidence against him, and now I'm being paid with his money for the honor of bringing him down. Talk about poetic justice!"

Nick smiled. After a pause, during which it looked as if he was debating with himself, he said, "You know, I never did ask.... When we first met at Day's Drugs, all those years ago, I knew you weren't a shoplifter. You were just an average, honest, girl-next-door. And yet now you're—um, well, you have certain skills, skills which didn't have then, but you've obviously been honing for quite some time. How did that happen?"

It was her turn to smile. "It happened it college. Sophomore year, I think, or maybe junior year. Anyway, there was a girl on our floor—a transfer from another school—who had what you might call a 'problem.' She was a kleptomaniac. She was very open and honest about it and didn't try to hide it—and she didn't try to hide what she took, either. In fact, every Sunday afternoon there was a sort of 'open house' in her dorm room, in which everything she'd taken during the week was on her bed and we could all go and retrieve our stuff. She usually just took small stuff, like a hairbrush, or a lipstick tube, a scarf, that sort of thing. We all knew enough not to leave anything really valuable out that might tempt her.

"Anyway, after a few months I realized I'd never actually seen her take anything. Even when it was my stuff, and I was in the room at the time, I never saw the pick-up. She'd gotten so good at it over the years, that even though what she was doing wasn't a secret and nobody was going to punish her for it, she still did it surreptitiously, or clandestinely. I don't know, maybe she was testing herself, or challenging herself to see how good she could get at it. Anyway, like I said, I'd never seen her pick anything up, and one day I just asked her how she did it. So she showed me. She could lift a wallet or cellphone out of a pocket in the blink of an eye, and she showed me how. She shared her bag of tricks with me, and I'd practice on friends and got good at it."

"Did your friends know you were practicing on them?" Nick asked.

"Of course! I wouldn't actually take anything from them, much less keep it. We were just messing around, and we all took turns being the thief and the victim. But for some reason I was more into it than anyone else, so I kept at it. And I got good at it—I got good at pilfering stuff and picking pockets."

He took another swig. "So what happened to your friend, the klepto? Does she still do that? Because I can't imagine it'd be easy going through life with that... compulsion."

"Nah, actually she doesn't do it anymore. She'd already tried various ways to quit, and finally discovered hypnotherapy, and that helped her get it under control. I haven't talked to her in a couple of years, but last I heard she was clean and her fingers were no longer sticky."

"And now you seem to be addicted to it."

Gina shrugged. "I wouldn't say addicted. I just find it to be... a challenge. And I like being challenged. I don't take things for my own personal gain; you know, you've seen me; I give back the stuff I take. It's just fun and a little dangerous, and...."

"Challenging?"

"Yeah." She shrugged again. "Some people skydive, some climb mountains. I do this."

Nick shook his head. "Skydiving and mountain climbing are certainly challenging, and even dangerous, but unlike your hobby, they're not illegal."

"I know." she said with a sigh. "Maybe I should take up one of those hobbies, and get my thrills that way."

"Yeah, personally I'd like to see you stay on this side of the law."

"Says the man who asked me get involved in this little caper."

"Touché," he said with a grin. He looked down at the bottle in his hands and peeled absently at the label. "Listen, about the other day.... I hope I didn't interrupt—er, anything—when I called so early."

Gina shook her head. "Nah. I already told you it wasn't an interruption. I was at a friend's place, where I'd spent the night. No big."

Nick looked as if he wanted to say something more on the subject, but refrained. Instead he said, "Well, at least now you can get back to your regular life."

She sighed. "Yeah, I suppose. And you too, of course. Now that we've finished with this little project, you can get back to... whatever it is that you do all day."

He suppressed a smile. "Yay me."

After a brief silence, Gina put down her drink and collected her purse. "Well, I guess I should go." She stood. "Oh, by the way," she said as she dug the phone he'd given her out of her pocket, "you probably want this back."

"Nah, that's okay. Keep it."

"Okay. And if you happen to find out that that Everidge woman is still having problems with Volpin, give me a jingle. I'll rob him blind."

Nick laughed. "Will do. And if you get the urge to lift anything that doesn't belong to you, let me know. I'll talk you down."

"Sure thing. Well, thanks, Nick. It was fun." She stood there for a second or two, as if reluctant to leave, and said, "See you around." Then she left.

As she walked away, Gina's face was a study in chagrin; she could have kicked herself for not saying... something. At least, something not quite so lame. "It was fun"? Major-league lame!

Back at the booth, Nick was similarly disgusted with himself as he watched Gina walk out. He shook his head and threw a wadded-up napkin across the table. "Will do." "I'll talk you down."

Really? That was the best he could do as she was getting ready to leave? Up until about a week ago, they hadn't seen each other in ten years, and since then had worked closely together on an exciting, potentially dangerous project. And he said "Will do."

Pathetic!

Outside, Gina allowed the fresh evening air cool her face and calm her agitation. Then she looked at the phone that was still in her hand, the one he'd given her for their... project. What if there are other people who need help? she thought. She and Nick had made a good team, meting out unorthodox justice; there was no rule saying that, if someone needed their help, they couldn't do it again.

...Right?

She smiled.

At about the same moment, inside the bar, Nick remembered Gina's words about how she'd be glad to help Mrs. Everidge again if necessary. It occurred to him that if one person needed help against the Volpins of the world, there were bound to be others as well, and they shouldn't be too hard to find.

The corner of Nick's mouth tugged upward.

Maybe this didn't have to be goodbye after all....

~~~ The End ~~~

# # #

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed this "caper" story; I certainly had fun writing it. And it was a challenge as well, as I'd never written anything like it before. If you'd like to see more of this type of book, let me know, either in a book review, or in my e-mail: jyharrisbooks@gmail.com.

Here is a list of my published books.

Contemporary women's fiction:

**(as Jean Louise** – unless otherwise specified **)**

_Nobody's Perfect_ (as Dana Hayes)

Fool Me Once

~ ~ ~

_It Takes a Thief_ It Takes a Thief

_Shiny Sparkly Things_ It Takes a Thief

_Artless_ It Takes a Thief

Contemporary adult fiction:

(as Jayelle Wye)

_Brief Encounter_ Compulsion (sensual short story)

_Talk to Me_ Compulsion (sensual short story)

** Ages 18 and above, please **

Contemporary fiction (action/adventure):

(as Jean Louise)

_Arrest Me_ Boys in Blue

_Officer Down_ Boys in Blue

_Under Suspicion_ Boys in Blue

_Suspect Behavior_ Boys in Blue (August 2015)

Middle-grade/Young-adult adventure:

(as J.Y. Harris)

Timekeepers: A Revolutionary Tale

Timekeepers: Civil Disturbance

Timekeepers: Good as Gold

Recommended ages 12 and up.

I currently have two FaceBook pages: _Nobody's Perfect_ has its own FaceBook page, and my author page for _all_ my works: J.Y. Harris. Please stop by and say hello.

Thank you!

