Danielle Steel - Ransom

“Will you do me a favor? I can't justify sending one of my boys over. Can you send someone out to Morgan's halfway house tomorrow? He's on parole, you don't need a search warrant to go through his stuff. You don't even need to clear it with his parole agent. You can go anytime you want. I just want to know if there's something there that ties him to Addison, or anyone else of interest. I don't know why, but I'm drawn to this guy, like a bee to honey.”

“Oh Christ, don't tell me the FBI has turned you gay.” Ted laughed at him, but he agreed to go. He had a certain amount of respect for Rick's instincts. They had panned out for both of them before, and it couldn't hurt this time. “I'll go tomorrow, when I get up. I'll call you if anything turns up.” He had nothing else to do in the morning, and with luck, Morgan would be out, which would make it easier to search. He'd have a look around his room, and see what he found there.

“Thanks a lot,” Rick said comfortably, picked up Morgan's printout, folded it, and put it in his pocket. It might come in handy at some point, particularly if Ted found something at the halfway house the next day.

But all Ted found when he got there was his forwarding address. The man at the desk told him that Morgan had moved out. Peter's parole agent had obviously not gotten around to updating the address in the computer, which was sloppy, but they were busy. Ted glanced at it and saw that it was a hotel in the Tenderloin, and determined to do what he'd promised Rick he would the night before, he went there. The clerk at the desk said Morgan was out. Ted showed him his star and asked for the key. The desk clerk wanted to know if he was in trouble, and Ted said it was a standard check of a parolee, which didn't seem to bother him. There had been others who had stayed there before. The desk clerk shrugged and handed Ted the key, and he walked upstairs.

The room he walked into was spare and neat. The clothes in the closet looked new. The papers on the desk were neatly stacked. There was nothing exceptional about the room. Morgan had no drugs, no weapons, no contraband. He didn't even smoke. And he had a fat address book sitting on the desk, held together by a rubber band. Ted flipped through it and found Addison's name and number under the A's. And when he rifled through the desk, two pieces of paper caught Ted's eye, and stopped him dead in his tracks. One had Carlton Waters's number in Modesto on it, and the other piece of paper made his blood run cold. On it was written Fernanda's address. There was no telephone number and no name. Only the address, but he recognized it immediately, even without a name. He closed the book and put the rubber band on it, closed the desk drawer, and after a last look around, he walked out of the room. And as soon as he got back to his car, he called Rick.

“Something smells. And I'm not sure what. In fact, I'm beginning to think it stinks.” Ted was worried, and he looked it. Why did a guy like Morgan have Fernanda's address? What was his connection to Waters, or had they just met in prison? But if so, why did he have his number in Modesto? And what was Addison doing with Morgan's telephone number? Why did Morgan have his? Why did Addison have a file three inches thick on Allan Barnes, and a photograph of Fernanda and the kids? Suddenly there were too many questions, and not enough answers. And two convicts, one of them convicted of murder, who had gotten out of prison on the same day. There were too many coincidences floating in the air. Rick could hear something in his voice that he hadn't heard in years. Ted was panicked, and he wasn't sure why.

“I just left Morgan's room,” he explained. “He's not living at the halfway house anymore. He's living in a hotel in the Tenderloin, and he's got a closet full of new clothes. I'm going to call his parole agent and find out if he got a job.”

“How do you suppose he knows Addison?” Rick asked with interest. He had just come from the hearing to set bail. Addison had gotten off nearly scot free, as far as bail went anyway. He had been asked to put up a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar bond, which was peanuts to him. And the judge was letting him leave for Europe with his family in two days. The federal investigation was still on, but his attorney said it could continue during his absence, it was the FBI's problem, not his, and the judge agreed. They had no doubt that Addison would return to San Francisco in four weeks. He had an empire to run. Rick had watched Addison drive off with his attorney, and he was intrigued by what Ted had found in Morgan's room.

“Maybe they're old friends. The ink on the entry with Addison's name and phone number looks old,” Ted explained. But why Carl Waters's phone number in Modesto? And Fernanda Barnes's address on a piece of paper? No phone number or name. Just the address.

“Why?” Rick echoed the single word in Ted's head.

“That's my point. I don't like this, and I'm not even sure why. Something's coming down, I can smell it, but I'm not even sure what it is.” And then he had a thought. “Can I come look at the file Addison has on Barnes?” Maybe something would turn up there. “And do me another favor,” Ted said, as he turned the key in the ignition. He was going straight to Rick's office to see the file, and whatever else Rick had. He was interested in it now. He had no idea what Fernanda had to do with this, but something told him that she was at the hub of the wheel. She was an obvious target for a lot of reasons. But Ted had no idea for what, or who was involved, let alone why. Maybe the answer was in that file.

“What's the favor?” Rick reminded him. Ted sounded distracted, and he was. He was trying to figure it out, and so far nothing had clicked. There were a lot of pieces flying around in midair. Morgan. Waters. Addison. Fernanda. The car bombing. And there were no obvious connections between any of them. Not yet.

“Check into Addison's finances for me. Go as deep as you can, and see what comes up,” Ted asked as he started the car. He knew Rick would be doing it anyway, but now Ted wanted it fast or as much as he could get in a short trip.

“We already did check, superficially anyway. That's why we arrested him yesterday. There's some smoky business in Nevada, some taxes he hasn't paid. A lot of money going back and forth across state lines.” There was no state tax in Nevada, so it was a haven for guys like Addison, with illegal money on his hands. “It's a lot of nickel-and-dime stuff right now. The worst he'll probably get is a stiff fine. I don't think he'll do time for this. He's got good lawyers,” Rick said, sounding disappointed. “We're still checking.” But they both knew it took time.

“I mean really look into it. Pull up the rug. Take the floor out of the car.”

“Literally?” Rick was stunned. He couldn't imagine what Ted was looking for. And neither could Ted at this point. But he had a powerful sixth sense something was there.

“No, not literally. I mean check him out thoroughly. I want to know what kind of money this guy has, and if he's in trouble anywhere. Shine a bright light on him. Not over the next two months. Find out everything you can now. I want whatever you can get, as fast as you can get it.” He knew how long their investigations could take, especially if they were about money, and lives weren't at stake. But maybe they were in this case. Maybe something else was going on. “Pull out all the stops. I'll be there in ten minutes,” Ted said as he sped downtown.

“It'll take me longer than that,” Rick said apologetically.

“How long?” Ted sounded anxious, and he himself didn't know why.

“Couple of hours. A day or two. I'll try to get you everything I can today.” He was going to have his agents contact the computer analysis and response team in Washington, D.C., and their informants in the underground financial network. But it all took time.