Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

But she did have an idea for a new scheme. Certainly more ambitious than her attempt to get Google to invest in her idea, which actually had been pretty clever. All she lacked was the technical expertise to make it work. Was lying about Miles being a backer really that big a deal? If Google had gone for it, she would then have gone to Miles, shared her idea with him, told him Google was a backer — which would have been true — and he’d probably have invested in it.

Or so she liked to tell herself.

But this new idea, it was different. And she thought someone with Broderick’s background might be able to not only advise her, but roll up his sleeves and help her out.

“Wow,” Broderick had said when she’d shared the plan with him. “That seems pretty... out there.”

He’d given her a look, like he thought she was crazy. Yeah, right . What did they say? Crazy like a fox? That was her.

“And what would my role be?” he’d asked her.

She’d told him. In the beginning, he’d be more of an adviser, a go-between. And then, later, if the first part of the plan went okay... maybe he could play a more direct role? Doing what he did best?

He had reservations. “This sounds like something that could go off the rails very easily,” he said. “A lot of variables, a hard situation to control. Emotional unknowns. An extra personality playing a major role. Are you really sure you want to go that route?”

“Are you saying it couldn’t be done?”

“No, I’m not saying that.”

“If the first part went okay, then—”

“I get it.” In the end, he’d said, “Let me think about it.”

“I’d make sure you were properly compensated,” she’d said.

And he had shot her a look suggesting that was a given. In fact—

Hang on. She could hear the hotel room door opening.

He was here.

He never let it slam. He closed the door gently.

Her breathing became shallow and rapid.

I don’t want to wait. Not this time. Let’s get to it.

She sensed his approach. He couldn’t be any more than a foot or two behind her. She couldn’t take it anymore. She was going to break the rules. She was going to speak.

“Do me,” she whispered.

And he said, “What the fuck is going on here, Caroline?”

Her heart stopped.

She whirled around, whipping off the blindfold at the same time. There he was, standing right there before her.

Gilbert.

Broderick was, in fact, killing time in the bar. He’d taken a seat that afforded him a view of the hotel lobby.

He usually enjoyed this time. The anticipation. Going up to the room, getting things ready, then slipping away before she arrived. He even took the stairs back to the lobby level so he wouldn’t accidentally run into her coming off the elevator.

He would order his drink and think of the pleasures to come, no pun intended.

Also, if need be, he’d get a few things done. Check his phone, answer emails, respond to texts.

One had come in while he was on his second drink. Short and sweet:

ITS ALL GONE TO SHIT. CANT DO THIS.

Hmm, he thought. There was trouble in Fort Wayne.

He looked up from his phone, glanced in the direction of the lobby, and that was when he saw Gilbert Cookson.

Broderick knew what the man looked like. When he’d gotten mixed up with this woman, he’d made a point of finding out what he could about her husband. Learned his routine, his cell phone number, places he hung out.

But Broderick had not seen this turn of events coming. Caroline’s husband was crossing the lobby tentatively, as though unsure about whether he should be there or not. He was turning his head from side to side. Was he looking for her? Had he followed her in? When his eyes landed on the entrance to the bar, he came that way, took two steps in, glanced about, then retreated.

Yeah, he’s followed her here, Broderick thought. He suspected his wife was up to something and he’d tailed her. She must have screwed up somewhere. Maybe he’d found a hotel napkin in her purse. Maybe he had that phone-tracking app.

Could have been any number of things. One thing was for sure. The message he’d received from Fort Wayne could just as easily apply to his situation here. It was all going to shit. Once the husband was involved, well, nothing good could come from that.

He’d been thinking of bailing for a while now, anyway. Cutting things off with Caroline, walking away from the mess she’d started. He didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. A great fuck was not worth this much hassle. The woman was nuts, didn’t think rationally.

I’m out.

He downed the last of his scotch and left enough cash on the table to cover it. He took the key card from his wallet and held it firmly in his hand as he exited the bar.

Headed straight for Gilbert, who stood in the middle of the lobby looking bewildered and apprehensive.

Fucking loser, Broderick thought. No wonder Caroline was looking elsewhere for what she needed. In more areas than one.

Broderick pretended to be distracted by something else, and deliberately bumped into Gilbert.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No problem,” Gilbert said.

Broderick kept on walking until he was out on the sidewalk. He stopped, took out his latest burner phone, and entered a number.

Three rings later, Gilbert said, “Hello?”

“There’s a key card in your pocket,” Broderick said. “Eleventh floor. Third room on the right after you get off the elevator.”

He ended the call, tossed the phone in a garbage can at the corner of Temple and Chapel Streets.

Chuckled.

New Haven, CT

“So, Dorian has explained some of this to me, but why don’t you start from the beginning.”

Her name was Lana Murkowski, and she was not only a friend of Dorian’s, but an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and she had met Miles a few years before, when the Bureau was conducting a wider investigation into cyberhacking by the Russians. She also happened to live in nearby Darien, was on her day off, and was here in an unofficial capacity as a favor to Dorian. She had put a call in to Lana while Miles was in the limo on his way back from New Rochelle, without, as it turned out, Chloe.

Miles didn’t want to talk about it.

A few hours later, Lana showed up at the Cookson Tech offices, and they’d taken one of the conference rooms for a private chat.

Dorian had brought in coffee and snacks and had asked to sit in, provided Miles had no objection.

“No,” he said. “You need to be up to speed on this, too.”

When Lana asked Miles to outline the situation for her, he took a breath and did his best. He started with his first visit to Dr. Gold and his acquiring the list of women who had been impregnated with what he had thought at the time was his sperm.

“How’d you get that list?” the agent asked.

Miles glanced at Dorian and back to Lana. “Is that important?”

“Yes.”

“We bribed someone at the clinic to get it for us.”

“Who did that?”

“Heather,” he said. “The company investigator.”

“Wouldn’t it be helpful to have her here today?”

“It would,” Dorian interjected. “But her mother went into the hospital last night. Possibly a heart attack. Heather’s off the map for the next few days.”

Lana said, “Go on with your story.”

Miles said that once he had the list, Dorian and Heather ascertained the names of the children those women had given birth to, tracked down their whereabouts, and compiled as much information on them as possible.