Michael Prescott - Mortal Faults

Abby just stared at him. “We need to be honest with each other if we’re going to work together.”

“There are some things you’re not allowed to know. I’m sure some of your other clients have imposed restrictions on what they could tell you.”

“If they did, they didn’t stay my clients for long.”

“This is a special case. I occupy a sensitive position.” He spread his hands in a gesture of openness. “Surely you can see my point.”

“No, I can’t. Everybody has secrets. I understand that. But you can’t keep secrets from me. Not if you want me to continue in your employ.”

“In this case, I have no choice. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” She started to get up. “You owe me for one day’s work. I’ll send the bill to your office.”

Reynolds was surprised. Either she was a damn good bargainer, or she really was willing to quit on him.

“So that’s it? You’re going to walk away-even after you said this woman may be dangerous?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“At least tell me what you found out. Her name.”

“I have a feeling you know her name. Her real name, anyway. Which is more than I know.”

“What does that mean?”

“She seems to have reinvented herself. Her personal history goes back only eight years.”

It made sense. It explained why he hadn’t been able to find her on his own. “If she’s using a new identity, what is it?”

“I don’t think I’ll tell you that.”

The anger was making a comeback. This woman wasn’t being reasonable. “Why the hell not?”

“I’m beginning to think I can’t trust you. About anything. Trust is very important to me.”

This was the third or fourth time she’d called him a liar to his face. Most people wouldn’t get away with it once. “I’m not paying any damn bill for your services unless you give me the information I’m asking for.”

Abby shrugged. “Forget the bill. I’ll consider this a pro bono case. Charity work.”

Red light flashed across his field of vision. “Fuck you, then. I don’t need you.”

“Actually, I think you do.” She drummed her fingers lightly on the tabletop. “This woman is going to keep attending your events. She has a schedule of all your public appearances. I saw it in her car, right next to an Orange County map book to help her find her way around. She’ll continue stalking you. Maybe at some point she’ll try something more.”

“Then you have to stop her. That’s what you do.”

“I’ve been planning to take a vacation. This seems like an excellent time to do so. Unless you want to come clean with me and stop playing games.”

He knew he should give her something, anything, just to keep her on the case, but instead he heard himself say, “You don’t give me orders, you little bitch.”

Abby shook her head sadly. “Not very nice. I’m leaving now.” She was out of her chair, slinging the purse over her shoulder.

“God damn it”-Reynolds sucked in a harsh breath-“I need to know where she is.”

“Next time she shows up at one of your events, ask her yourself.”

She walked off, not looking back.

He hated her. He wanted to drag her into a dark hallway and squeeze the information out of her. Literally squeeze…

“Fucking cunt,” he whispered. He picked up his coffee. The mug trembled. His hand was shaking.

Then Stenzel slid into the chair just vacated by Abby. “She’s a pistol, huh?” he said in his chipper, ingratiating voice.

“She’s a piece of shit,” Reynolds growled. “She wouldn’t give me a fucking thing.”

“That’s not quite true.” Stenzel tapped the receiver in his ear and smiled. “She revealed more than she intended.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that this woman has an Orange County map book and a schedule of your appearances.”

“That doesn’t tell us anything.”

“Maybe it does. We need to be proactive, Jack. We need to think outside the box.”

Reynolds honestly detested the middle management jargon Stenzel was always spouting. “So go ahead. Tell me what I missed.”

“It’s not a question of missing anything. It’s more like revisiting the issue from a different analysis standpoint. The woman had a schedule. Where did she get it?”

“She could have picked it up at my campaign office.”

“Yes… or she could have had it sent to her.”

Reynolds stared into the black depths of his coffee. He began to see where Stenzel was going. “She could be on our mailing list.”

“It’s quite possible.”

“But she has a new name. She could be anybody.”

“She could be anybody with an Orange County map book. And who is most likely to use a map book to get around in your district?” Stenzel answered his own question. “Someone who’s from outside the district.”

“Right,” Reynolds said, getting it now.

“Ballpark, I’m estimating ninety-nine percent of the people on your mailing list are your constituents.”

“So we look for someone who isn’t.”

“That’s the game plan.”

“And if there’s more than one?”

“We look for women only. That reduces the parameters by half.”

“She could be married. Signed up under her husband’s name.”

“Your security consultant said the lady is violent and paranoid. Doesn’t sound like marriage material to me.”

“Okay.” Reynolds was feeling slow all of a sudden. He should’ve put this together. He shouldn’t have to rely on a simpering toady like Kip Stenzel to make the connections. “What if there’s more than one woman from outside the district who’s on our list?”

“Then we check them out one by one. We look for the one whose credit history goes back only eight years.”

“You can do that?”

“It’s a challenge, but definitely actionable. And the mailing list isn’t that big. I’m not promising a quick win, but you never know. We may get lucky right away.”

“Start on it,” Reynolds said. “Go back to the office and start checking the list. When you find this woman, call me on my cell.”

Stenzel got up. He fished a key ring out of his pocket. “I assume you’re keeping the Ford.”

Reynolds nodded and took the keys. “You can rent a car. Just ask the front desk. Get moving.” He didn’t thank Stenzel for his help. Thanks would come later, if his idea panned out.

“Will do.” Stenzel hesitated a moment. “Sinclair’s disloyalty makes things more complicated.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know why you had to outsource. I could have handled it. Just give me my marching orders, and I would have operationalized any strategy you called for.”

Any strategy? Reynolds doubted it. There were some skills that weren’t taught in business school.

“Get going, Kip,” he said mildly. “Get on the case. Find me a solution.”

“That’s what I do, Jack.”

He walked away, and Reynolds was left to sip his coffee, which was getting cold, and to ponder Abby Sinclair. Stenzel was right. She could be a problem. But problems could be taken care of.

He’d hired a freelancer for a reason. Sinclair flew solo. No organization, no staff, nobody keeping tabs on her. She worked outside the law-no records to worry about. If she disappeared, no one would ever know what case she’d been handling or who she’d been working for.

Probably it wouldn’t come to that. But he almost hoped it would.

Abby liked making a dramatic exit, but that didn’t mean she actually had to leave. Sometimes it was smarter to hang around, especially when something interesting appeared to be on tap.

Sitting with Reynolds, she’d noticed his gaze move once too often to a spot across the room. On her way out she had glanced over, and what do you know, there was Kip Stenzel. Interesting that he would be here; more interesting that Reynolds evidently hadn’t wanted her to know it.