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The agent frowned, but nodded. “Fair enough. His information machine is more than state-of-the-art. He digs up dirt on people who can afford to pay to sweep it under the rug and sells them advertising—I’m talking full page in his newspapers and magazines, pop-ups on the Net twenty-four seven, infomercials in prime time—premium stuff for what the traffic will bear, and these clients will bear plenty. He used to have a saying: ‘It’s what—’”
“‘—you leave out that counts,’” Cooke finished. “He told me that in his office. I thought he was talking about white space inAmerica Now.”
“I suspected it when we were partners, but I had no way of proving it. Thanks to the surveillance equipment I now have at my disposal, I’ve got a paper trail. But I need more. I need proof: a witness, a second set of books, whatever it takes to swing an indictment for extortion, wire fraud, violation of the RICO law.”
“Meaning me,” Anne said. “Can’t help you.”
“Sure?” He smirked at the mirror.
“Positive. He doesn’t discuss the money side of his business with former art directors and current wives.”
“You know something, all right. You’re not attending any medical convention in San Francisco and you’re not stepping out on your husband. Lady, I don’t care if you want out. If you’ve found out what he’s been up to and can prove it—thenI care. It’d spare me a lot of time and a hot seat in front of a board of review. Uncle Sam lets us bend the law if it’s in his best interest, not for personal revenge on the part of one of his grunts.”
“Pull over,” she said.
They were passing a strip mall with a dollar store, a Subway, and a nail salon. Mapes turned into the parking lot and pulled into a spot at the far end, where the employees parked.
Something thudded in the rear of the car. Both men turned; Mapes twisted half around, resting his arm across the back of his seat. Anne had tipped up the door handle and thrown all her weight shoulder-first against the door. It was still shut tight. She collapsed against her cushion like a broken kite.
“You’ve got more spunk than smarts,” Mapes said. “You should’ve known there’s only one person in control of the locks in this car.”
“You can’t blame a girl for trying.” She adjusted her position, feet flat on the floor, arms resting at her sides. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“You can have what you want. That’s why you snatched me in the first place, isn’t it? To find out what I know and what I can prove.”
“Give.”
She flicked a glance at Cooke. As always her face was a sphinx. Back at Mapes. “Can’t.”
“Getting cold feet so soon?”
“No. I can’t give you what I don’t have. If you weren’t in such a hurry back in Kansas City, you’d have given me time to grab my purse. Everything you’re after is in a thingamajig no bigger than my little finger.”
She looked at Cooke. The sphinx was gone. This was not the icy expression of a femme fatale, but of a woman capable of regret.
“I’m sorry I lied, Dennis, but it was only about the reason I want a divorce. I couldn’t trust a stranger with the truth. Well, there aren’t any strangers in this car. I can live with a man I don’t love, but I draw the line at playing house with a slimy parasite. In any case Reno will have to wait until after we finish up back where we started.”
Mapes turned back around and put the Impala in gear. “Kansas City, here we come.”
CHAPTER 21
THEY DROVE TO the impound, where the attendant let them in to retrieve Cooke’s luggage from the Toyota. Mapes carried the big suitcase. “You might have to pay for the extra storage time,” he said.
Cooke looked at him. “You can kidnap a private citizen, but you can’t fix a fine?”
“I better not push it. Al Capone bribed thousands of public officials and was responsible for at least fifty murders, but what did they get him for in the end? Tax evasion.”
He hesitated before putting his overnighter in the Impala’s trunk. The carpet covering the spare tire compartment was buckled, probably from Anne’s struggles during her nightmare ride.
Mapes read his mind. To Anne: “Saying I’m sorry doesn’t cut it. My bad all the way. I thought you’d have it in a safe deposit box or something: microfilm, CD-ROM, maybe even an old-fashioned ledger. I only took you as far as I did to scare you into giving it up.”
She said, “Nowwho’s got more spunk than smarts?”
They got back in the car and turned onto the business drive leading to the interstate. “Just what were you planning to do with the evidence?” the agent asked.
“I’m not sure: hold it hostage to keep Todd from raking me over the coals on the divorce, or make him clean up his act, or maybe even do the right thing and turn it over to the authorities. I had more than a thousand miles to sort it out. You can get a lot of thinking done on the road.”
