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She heard the unmistakable sound of rattling bottles and jiggling pills as Cam went through a medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He said, “The perimeter monitor I hooked up at the bottom of the stairs will text me a picture of anyone who approaches the lobby elevator or stairs.” He sauntered out of the bathroom and made a beeline to Fergus’s room. “That should give us a two minute window to blaze.”
“Plenty of time.” Her eye-roll was wasted on his muscular back as he prowled down the hallway.
“Less bitching. More looking.” He laughed and disappeared into the bedroom.
Like the rest of the apartment, Fergus’s bedroom felt starched. Crisp white linens. Brown and gray taupes on the walls and curtains. Stark black furniture with sleek, swooping modern lines. It was a one-eighty from what she would have expected of the snarky-humored butler she knew. She was a crappy judge of character. Why this still shocked her, she had no fucking clue. Really, she needed to get a better shit detector installed.
Fergus’s laptop sat center stage on his dresser. She powered it up, but a password login appeared on the screen. “Problem, Cam.”
He looked up from the closet where he was working his lock pick in and out of a portable fire safe’s tumblers. “What?”
“We need a password.” The clock by the bed read 10:46. “Is there enough time to reach out to Carlos for some code breaking?”
He shook his head and twisted his wrist. A click sounded, and he opened the safe. “Try ferret.”
Her strung tight nerves plunked with annoyance. Fergus was allergic to ferrets. He’d never make it his password. “Quit joking. How do we get ahold of Carlos?”
He retrieved a folder from the safe, opened it, and then started taking photos with the burner phone. “Just try it.” He flipped the page and took another photo. “He volunteers with some ferret rescue group.”
Maybe a group to wipe ferrets from the face of the earth. “No way. He’s super allergic to them.”
That got Cam’s attention. “How do you know?”
“The Orton’s had one for a while, and he broke out in hives the size of softballs, but Natasha wouldn’t get rid of it until it bit Fergus. He threatened to sue for workman’s comp.” He probably should have. The wound had been bloody and gross. “Despite the shitty way she treated everyone in that house—including Fergus—on a daily basis, it was the only time that I know of when he came close to walking out. So what makes you think ferrets?”
“I gotta hunch—something that stood out on his charitable donations.” Cam replaced the folders in the safe, closed the lid and engaged the lock before sliding it back in place at the back of the closet. “Trust me.”
She hesitated, her fingers above the laptop’s keys. Oh, fuck it. F-E-R-R-E-T. A rotating circle on the screen spun for a few seconds before the lock screen faded and revealed a photo of the Sydney Opera House on Fergus’s desktop. She did a quick happy dance in her chair that involved lots of hip shimmying and a little shoulder bopping. Finally, something had gone their way.
“Sylvie was right.” She grinned as she started to randomly click on documents since none were labeled Bad Stuff Here. “There is more to you than a hot bod.”
Fifteen open documents later and annoyance began to creep in. There had to be a better way. She slumped forward with her hand in her chin and stared at the screen. She’d gone through the few items on the desktop and over sixty percent of what was in his documents folder. Part of her wondered if this was a decoy laptop.
“What’ve you got?” Cam asked from directly behind her.
She jumped and nearly tripped over her own feet. For a big man, he moved quietly and quickly. “Not much that I can see.”
“Here let me.” His fingers flew across the keyboard like he’d been snooping in other people’s computers for most of his life, which really, he probably had.
The screen turned dark for a second, then opened up a different desktop with a plain black screen and a single virtual folder.
“What have you got here, Fergus?” He clicked on the folder and opened a spreadsheet labeled “Ferret Rescue Association.” It contained a list of names, each with a dollar amount and date next to them and a set of what looked like random numbers in another column. Bank accounts? Probably.
She read down the list of familiar names. Some of whom were her clients, others who were in the society pages every week. “I know those people.” She pointed to the first name on the list. “The McCann’s are Harbor City old money, so are the Bergers, the Carlsons, the Soffers, and the Kittredges.”
He pulled a flash drive out of his pocket, plugged it into the laptop, and downloaded the file. The transfer finished just as his phone vibrated twice. “Camera’s hooked up to my phone. That’s the signal. Fergus just got on the elevator. Let’s go.”
With the efficiency of a man used to getting out of places fast, he clicked out of the open documents, removed the flash drive, logged out of the laptop, and put it back exactly as they’d found it.
They hustled to the front door and yanked it open. That’s when they heard voices coming from the stairwell—one of which sounded an awful lot like the detective who’d questioned her at the Orton’s house. She froze in the open doorway, unable to go forward and too scared to go back.
“Don’t give up now. We’ve got this.” Cam grabbed her ha
nd, and they backpedaled into Fergus’s apartment and shut the door behind them. “We have to hide.”
“Where?” If a whisper could scream, that single word would have done it. They were trapped.
The footsteps in the hallway grew louder. The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival.
