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Harvard had to agree. “We’ve got someone searching the server for clues from ten years ago. Someone else examining the photos to see what they can tell us. And we have Rachel. She might not remember much, but she has flashes of detail that will help. On top of that, we believe the blackmailer works at TayFor, and we know they were involved in the attack. Otherwise, how did they get hold of the photos?”
“And we know that all they care about,” Jonathan said, “is getting Rachel to leave the company.”
Francesca shook her head. “Why Rachel? I don’t understand how she’s a threat to anyone—ten years ago or now. Why do they want to get rid of her?”
Harvard felt a chill run up his spine. “That’s a very good question. One I’ve been asking myself, and I’ve yet to come up with an answer.” But when he did, he knew it would point straight to the person behind the attack and the blackmail. The puppeteer. The one orchestrating Rachel’s suffering for their own twisted ends.
All he had to do was figure out why and he’d have them.
“I’m very good at puzzles,” he told Rachel’s family. “It’s why the CIA recruited me. I’ll figure this out.” It was a vow.
Before anyone could say anything else, the door swung open and Rachel walked in, a tray of takeout cups in her hand. “Oh good, we’re finished with the hugging part of this visit. You’ll be glad to know that there wasn’t a spot of liquor to be found on the premises. The best I could do was coffee all round.” She handed out the cups. “Except for you,” she told her father. “You get orange juice and a lecture.” She glared at him. “I had a word with your doctor, and apparently you’ve been a very naughty boy.” She looked at her mother. “Did you know he’s been sneaking bacon behind your back?”
Roger cringed as Francesca’s face turned to thunder and Jonathan shot to his feet. Harvard sat back in his seat, sipping his coffee as he watched Rachel’s family show their love for each other by shouting, threatening, and making demands. They seriously needed a calming influence in their ranks.
They should thank their lucky stars they had him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I’m having a bath and then going to bed,” Rachel announced as soon as they were in her apartment.
They’d stopped for food on the way home, and Harvard had listened patiently to Rachel while she ranted about all the different ways she wanted her blackmailer to suffer. She was furious, and scared. He suspected the latter was mainly for her family rather than herself.
“I’m going to check in with Harry.” Harvard shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the back of one of her white sofas.
“Are you planning to leave that there?” she demanded.
“Are you trying to pick a fight?” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “Because I can think of other ways to work off your tension. Much more pleasurable ways.”
“You”—she pointed a talon at him—“have a one-track mind.”
“True. But it isn’t just sex. It’s all things Rachel.”
She blinked at him, as though trying to figure him out. “I don’t even want to know what that means,” she said at last. “I’m taking a bath.”
He watched her sashay away, moving like mist over rocks in those heels of hers as her long straight hair swayed across her back. Sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
As soon as she was out of sight, he pulled out his phone and called Harry. He wasn’t used to dealing with someone like the tech genius. He was used to his teammates checking in and keeping him up to date with their progress. Harry, meanwhile, had dropped off the radar entirely.
“Harvard?” He sounded distracted when he answered.
“Yep. What’s happening? You got anything for me yet?”
The answering silence stretched so long that Harvard wondered whether Harry had put down the phone and forgotten about it.
“I’ll call you if I find anything,” he said eventually.
“Do you think there might be something there, or are we chasing fog?”
“No, there’s something here,” he muttered, almost to himself. “There’s some corruption in the memory systems. It’s as if somebody tried to cover their tracks by deleting the information, but they did a cack-handed job of it. I just need a little more time to see what I can clean up. It doesn’t help that I’m not dealing with the original data storage. The server was updated years ago and the information stored in it copied over to this one. But, maybe if I—”
The line went dead. Harry had lost interest in the call—if he even remembered it was happening.
But still, the programmer had given Harvard something to go on. The next person he contacted was Elle, and he did it as he made his way downstairs to the guest room.
“Before you ask,” she said instead of hello, “I’ve already started going over the photos and envelope Rachel’s dad couriered to me. It’s too soon to report on whether I’ve found something or not, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know.” There was a silent but unmistakable now stop bothering me at the end of that sentence.
Elle had obviously gone to the same charm school as Harry. “That’s not why I called. I just spoke to Harry, and he mentioned that there’s corrupted data on the server, as though somebody had been trying to cover their tracks. Which means, someone from IT or security was definitely involved in Rachel’s attack. I need you to dig out personnel information for that period.”
