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Beck forwarded the files to the appropriate address, hit send and gulped back a rush of bile. “No,” he said hoarsely.
Osterman paused, sensing the conflict in the other man. “You are contributing to crucial, life-enhancing research,” he lectured. “There are always ethical conundrums to be faced. Hard decisions to be made.”
“Of course.” Beck’s voice felt strangled.
“You do enjoy your tenure? Your position? Your interest income?”
“What a question.” Beck tried to laugh. “I’m very appreciative of—”
“Good. Have a good day, Professor.”
The line went dead. Leaving him sitting there, empty, staring and staring at the smiling face of the girl who was about to die.
Far off, in the back of his mind, he could hear her screaming.
Osterman studied the photograph,then clicked through the files. He was buzzing with excitement. About time that sack of lard he’d invested so much money in made himself marginally useful.
So she’d found his notebook, had she? Colfax Building, Midnight Project, it had to be the famous lost notebook at last, but who else had seen it? And who was she? How could McCloud’s notebook have fallen into the hands of some random female? It was incomprehensible.
He would normally have called Jared to do the internet research, but he couldn’t wait. He typed her name into the search engine and began to sort through the hits.Spin, a music review mag. “…the third cut, `Wild Card,’ an exceptional solo flight by sax player Cynthia Riggs, creating a blazing counterpart to the lead guitar…”Folk Music Today, “…of particular mention, the title song, `Falling Away,’ by Cynthia Riggs, is the strongest piece in this overall strong debut album…the Vicious Rumors have shown themselves to be a band to watch…”
Yes, yes. Beck had mentioned that she was a musician. He flicked over the other references to her musical career until he found La Pineta Folk Festival, which had a photograph attached. He clicked to enlarge.
It was a shot of the band playing on stage. He recognized the girl in Beck’s photo instantly, blowing into her instrument with almost sexual abandon.
Hmm. Gordon was going to enjoy this assignment.
The next hit caught his eye, from the Endicott FallsSentinel,dated last year. He clicked on the article and read it, heart pounding.
“…Erin Riggs, daughter of Edward and Barbara Riggs of Seattle, to Connor McCloud, son of the late Eamon and Jeannie McCloud of Endicott Falls. Attending the bride was her sister, Cynthia Riggs…”
He clicked to enlarge the attached photo, and started to laugh.
The girl in the photo was an older, plumper version of Cynthia. And the grinning man who clutched her bore a striking resemblance to Kevin McCloud. The girl was the sister of Kevin’s sister-in-law. Well, then. Perhaps the matter was still more contained than he had feared.
Still, Cynthia could not be allowed to run around babbling about the Midnight Project. She had to disappear. And if all else failed, she was an excellent lever to draw in the real prize. Sean McCloud.
He dialed Gordon. The man picked up. “What?” he barked.
“Don’t sulk, Gordon,” he purred. “I have a juicy piece of meat to throw to you. You’re going to absolutely love this job.”
Proofon the flash drive in EFPV. HC behind count birds B63.
Liv tried to make her brain soft and receptive. Looking for that relaxed, creative place where insights came from. She stared at one of Kev’s pictures. The lake, with ducks swimming on it.
The rumble of male voices in the background had blurred. She no longer heard individual words. She fought discouragement. The McClouds guys had spent months poring over this stuff, they’d known their brother since birth. Plus, they were all brilliant. If they’d had no luck, what the hell did she think she could accomplish?
Then again, what else did she have to do? It was all she had to offer. Not being a commando warrior like everybody else around here.
She rested her eyes and stared out the huge window that looked out over the cliffs. The fog had rolled in, so they seemed to be floating in the clouds. Insubstantial wisps of mist were woven and braided through the dark trees of the mountains that thrust through the mass of white.
The door to the room slammed open. Tamara stormed in, and placed her fists on her hips, glaring at the men who sprawled on her couches and chairs, guzzling coffee and muttering amongst themselves.
“Your womenfolk have arrived, gentlemen,” she announced. “Have you invited anyone else to my secret hiding place without asking my permission? Should I call the caterers?”
Seth sat up, scowling. “We told them to stay on the island today!”
Connor flopped back on the couch. “It’s like talking to the wall.”
