CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 36

"Are you crazy? Brooke, it's Christmas Eve!" Caleb Reynolds said from the other end of the connection. Caleb, her coworker at Clayton Electronics, was a security expert—the best in the business, as far as she knew—and one of her closest friends at the company. He'd been in the military, working in army intelligence for nearly twenty years before being honorably discharged and hiring on at the company. Caleb had the ability not only to fix the bugs in their own products, but he was also at the cutting edge with tech security. For Caleb there was no dead end when it came to accessing information. Brooke suspected he was a hacker of the highest order, though he'd never copped to it, and if Bill Clayton or anyone at the company suspected him of it, they looked the other way. Somehow Caleb could access all kinds of corporate and/or government files. As far as she knew, he'd never crossed that invisible criminal line. But she wasn't sure. Tonight would be the test.

"Who asks someone to work on Christmas Eve?" She could almost see him shaking his head at her folly.

"I know, I know, but you're not celebrating with your kids until the day after tomorrow; you told me so at the office," Brooke whispered into the phone as the snow danced and swirled around her as she crouched in her neighbor's backyard. Thankfully, the Bennetts' house was dark and unoccupied, no lights burning. She'd found a thinning spot in the hedge separating the properties. From her position she was able to peek through the frozen branches to her own backyard, where lights glowed bright, reflecting in patches on the deepening snow. The woodshed obstructed part of her view, but she caught glimpses of everyone—Marilee, Neal, Leah, and Eli, even Shep. She reminded Caleb, "You said Tanisha had Kayla and Booker for Christmas. Isn't that right? You go over to her place to see what Santa brought, but you don't have them until the next time."

"But it's still Christmas Eve," he complained.

"Look, I'll owe you. Big-time. It's a lot to ask, but it's important. Really. Otherwise I wouldn't ask."

He hesitated.

"Please?"

He muttered something unintelligible, then sighed loudly. "Okay, I know I'm going to regret this, but lay it on me," Caleb said. "And I haven't promised to do anything yet." She heard a rattling of papers. "Wait a sec; let me turn on my computer so I can take some notes."

God, it was cold. She was shivering, the wind cutting through her jacket and jeans, her lips beginning to chap, her gloves unable to shield her from the freezing temperatures.

"Okay," he said, and she heard ice cubes clinking in a glass. "Ready."

"Good. I need information," she admitted. "Anything you can find on a guy."

"What guy?"

"That's just it. I'm not sure."

"Hold up a minute—"

"He's got several aliases, I think, and I'm not sure which one is his true identity. Maybe none of them. But the names I have are Gideon Ross, Eli John Stone," she said, then realized she had no idea how many names Gideon went by. "Also possibly Jake or Jason Ross or Stone, or any other amalgam of them. I've got two driver's licenses and some credit cards, and from the pictures on the licenses, you can probably do facial recognition, right?"

"Possibly," he said thoughtfully, the wheels seeming to already turn in his head. "But we're treading in dangerous legal waters here."

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," she said again and heard a sound in the distance behind her. She stopped to listen, all her muscles tense, her heart racing. Had someone in the house seen her? Come outside in this storm? Eli? Neal?

From the corner of her eye she spied Gina Duquette pulling her sled in the opposite direction, vanishing behind the curtain of snow.

"Ask what?" Caleb said on the other end of the connection. "What is it you want exactly?"

Satisfied that she was still alone, she explained, "I just need a positive ID and a criminal background check on him. I want any accident reports, that sort of thing. Birth records, marriage licenses, divorce decrees, especially any arrest history or outstanding warrants. Anything you can dig up on this guy."

"With the double or triple or whatever identity."

"Yes!"

"I assume you have a reason for this?"

"God yes! My sister plans to marry this guy and we don't know anything about him. I have a feeling that he's conning her or worse. And now he's in our home and I'm scared to death. Seriously."

A pause. "I don't know . . ." More clinking, as if he were swirling a drink as he deliberated.

"Caleb, please." She heard the anxious tone in her voice. "I have a really bad feeling about him. I'm sure I've met him before and nothing about him is matching up, okay? The least he could be is a con artist."

"And the worst?" he asked, his voice low and sober. She heard the clicking of keys and imagined him, a balding man with smooth, dark skin, a tonsure of black hair, and a trim beard. She figured he was sitting at his desk, the square lenses of his glasses reflecting what he was seeing on his computer screen.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, remembering her near-death struggle with Gideon on the Medusa. She was suddenly as cold on the inside as she was on the outside. "I think he could be deadly."

"Then you should call the police."

"I will. But I need evidence. I don't have enough, nothing concrete. Just suspicions."

A pause.

She rubbed her free hand on her jeans for warmth. "Please, Caleb. Help me out here. This man, he's a predator. I know for a fact that he spied on my daughter."

"You know?" he said, and his voice was even more serious.

"Yes. I have no proof, but from what he's said, I know he's a voyeur. So I just need help to put him away."

"I could lose my job," he said, and she imagined him worriedly wiping his hand over his face before taking a sip of whatever he was drinking while he was alone on Christmas Eve.

"I'm desperate, Caleb," she admitted, her voice quivering, her teeth chattering.

She heard him expel a long breath. "Oh hell. Fine," he finally agreed. "I'll see what I can do, scratch the surface, and if I find anything suspicious or, you know, really bad, I'll send it to you."

Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Thanks," she said. "I'm not in the house right now, but as soon as I get back, I'll send the info to you from my personal email including the pictures and you can reply to the same."

"Not in the house? Where the hell are you? It's a damned blizzard outside here in Seattle. Streets frozen. Traffic a mess. I'm worried I won't be able to get to Tanisha's house in the morning, but the kids are all about it. A white Christmas, you know, and Santa will make it."

"I'm on the island—Piper Island. It's a little one off the Oregon coast, south of Cannon Beach; nearest town is Marwood.

"But listen, don't email me. I'll contact you first."

"How?" Her whole body was shaking.

"I'll email you first. You won't recognize the return address, so it might go to your spam account. Look for the word ‘holiday' spelled backward, uh, with the ‘Y' and ‘H' capitalized and an extra capital letter ‘L' in the word. ‘Holliday' backward, got it? ‘YadiLloH.' Separated by random numbers and symbols. It won't fool anyone who knows what they're doin', not for long, but it could slow 'em down for a while. And I'll destroy it . . . Holy God, I must be out of my mind."

"As I said, I owe you."

"And more than a bottle of that cheap-ass Scotch you gave at the Secret Santa Christmas party last week."

"There was a price limit," she said.

He snorted.

"Okay, okay. Top shelf. And I'll still owe you."

"You got it," he said. "For the rest of your damned life."

"You got it."

"All right, then," Caleb said in a little better mood. "I'll see what I can find." Then he disconnected.

Okay, that was a start.

She hoped Caleb could gather the evidence she needed.

If not, she'd have to goad Eli into a confession, and that would be tricky.

But maybe necessary.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to get the blood moving; her gloves just weren't cutting it.

Then, once she took another look inside and assured herself that everyone was still in the cabin, she slunk along the hedgerow to the front of the house and driveway. She slipped between the two vehicles, her SUV and Leah's Chevy Bolt. With one eye on the house, ensuring that no one was looking through the windows, she reached into the vehicle and under the seat to retrieve her sample case with all of the tiny spy equipment Clayton Electronics had to offer.

Two can play at this game, she thought, before going to work. Thankfully, all of her samples were wireless and already connected to her iPhone as well as her laptop for ease in showing potential customers the tiny microphones' and cameras' capabilities. Now all she had to do was strategically place the equipment. It wouldn't be easy with so many people in the house, but she considered it a last gasp effort to expose Eli as the fraud he was.

She pocketed the equipment and left the case and, with a prayer to a God she hadn't been tight with for years, slid Eli's knife from its sheath and, with an eye on the house, crouched between the two parked vehicles. Using all her strength, she plunged the blade deep into the side of one of the tires on Leah's car. She sliced as best she could, slipped the knife back into its sheath, and, silently praying that no one had seen her, walked inside.

Shep bounded to greet her and as she petted the dog, yanked off her boots, the sights, sounds, and smells of Christmas were overwhelming.

Once again the old turntable was spinning out Christmas tunes. Gina Duquette's decorated Christmas cookies had been spread on a platter and Neal had cracked out the eggnog and was pouring drinks. The fire was roaring, the tree lit, and while Neal tended bar, Leah set presents under the tree. Even Marilee had joined the group, her bad mood seemingly dispelled, a book open on her lap.

A happy family, to the untrained eye.

But Brooke knew better. Beneath the gaiety and visible Christmas spirit, something much darker lurked. Something evil. She thought about how innocent deception could appear. She was still wearing her jacket, nervously hoping no one noticed the bulge in its pockets or made the discovery of the knife and the wallet she'd stolen.

Where was Eli?

Missing, it seemed.

"Hey, there she is!" Neal said, finally noticing Brooke and offering her what seemed a sincere grin. "About time you showed up!" She forced a smile as she walked to the fire to warm the backs of her legs and remembered what the baker had said about seeing Neal with "his wife," who, in fact, had been Leah, the very person he was plotting with to sell this cabin. All behind her back. She wondered what else was going on between them.

As if he read her thoughts, Neal's expression tightened, but he held up a mug of eggnog. "How about some Christmas cheer?"

You lying son of a bitch!

"Sure," she forced out. "Just give me a minute or two. I need to get a sweater. Got a little cold out there."

Leah actually caught the tail end of the conversation. "A little cold? It's a damned blizzard! The lights keep going on and off and the wind is screaming. It's a miracle the ferry is still running, but it is. I called."

"Amazing. I'd better go warm up. Cold to the bone. Where's Eli?"

Leah rolled her eyes. "Outside." Her lips tightened. "I swear, it's like he has to smoke as much as he can before the wedding because he knows that after we say our vows . . ." She made an exaggerated slice of her hand across her throat. "No more." She glanced to the back windows. "I'm surprised you didn't see him . . . oh, there he is now." She grinned as Eli walked through the back door and stomped snow from his boots.

Brooke's heart nearly stopped.

Had he overheard her conversation on the phone?

Or had he seen her deliberately vandalize her sister's car?

He caught Brooke's eye for a second, then said to Leah, "Any chance of getting a drink here?"

"Absolutely," Leah said. "You?"

"In a few. Give me a sec." Without any further explanation or lies, she headed upstairs, still wearing her jacket. She went into the master bath and locked the door. After checking that the soap was still covering the camera's lens just in case the little bit of surveillance equipment had somehow been reconnected, she spread out the equipment she'd taken from her sample case. Within seconds she'd ensured the tiny cameras were wirelessly connected to her phone. They were activated by motion detection, which lengthened their battery life and kept the user from seeing hours of dead footage where nothing happened.

How many times had she explained the same to potential customers, never thinking for a minute that she would have to employ the very equipment she sold?

Quickly, she changed into a bulky sweater and boot-leg jeans. She slid Eli's wallet into a pocket and folded the hem of the sweater over the slight bulge. Then she strapped the knife to her leg, just inside the top of her boot, before sliding the flared leg of her jeans over her calf.

Nervously, she peeked into the hallway and ensured that she was still alone on the second floor.

The music had stopped, but no one appeared to be upstairs.

On silent feet she crept into the guest room and closed the door softly behind her. She noticed a picture Leah had obviously placed on the bureau that hadn't been there earlier. Eli was standing to one side, an arm looped over her shoulders, both in jackets and squinting, Leah's blond locks flying around her face, Eli's smile all too familiar as he held out the camera for the selfie. They appeared to be standing on a dock near a marina. Behind them, water stretched into the haze.

Brooke picked up the picture and squinted. Barely notable in the thin fog were the ghostly shapes of sailboats. If she wasn't mistaken, the prow of one of the boats looked exactly like that of the Medusa. She recognized the shape of the windows and a bit of rigging.

Was it possible?

Maybe, but there were thousands of boats that appeared the same.

With one ear to any noise in the hallway, she snapped a picture of the photo on her camera and would send it to Caleb. Maybe he could identify it. She considered stealing it so that she would have time to remove the picture from its bronze frame and mat, hoping for a bigger image of the boat, but she couldn't risk it now. She didn't have the time.

She felt in her gut that this sailboat was the Medusa.

You liar!

She wanted to take it downstairs and throw it in his face, to expose him for the fraud he was, but she couldn't. Not yet. Aware of time ticking by, she forced her temper to cool as she set the damning picture on the bureau again.

She had to keep working.

Fast, fast, fast.

Before anyone came upstairs.

Anxiously, she hid one of the tiny cameras on the ledge over the windowsill, which offered her a view of the entire room. After securing the camera with a bit of removable adhesive tape, she started to slip into the hallway when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

Crap!

Heart knocking, she slipped into the closet, the plastic hangers of Leah's clothes swooshing as she pulled the door shut. A second later someone came into the room.

She held her breath. The closet was small and tight. Brooke closed her eyes, her ears straining as she heard someone just inches away.

Rustling.

A soft thud. Something tossed onto the bed.

More rustling.

"What the fuck?"

Eli's voice. Only not quite so raspy. And angry.

"Where the hell?"

She heard him walk around the room.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

She squeezed as far back as she could, felt nervous sweat break out on her forehead.

"I know it was here . . . shit!"

Please just leave!

He'd discovered that either his wallet or his knife was missing.

Now there would be hell to pay.

And she knew where his fury and frustration would be leveled.

Well, so be it.

She heard the door open, then footsteps fading down the hall. "Leah!" he yelled, and then footsteps thumping double time down the stairs.

Silently, she opened the closet door a bit, saw no one in the room, and stepped out into the hallway. She was shaking inside, her heart beating as if it would fly out of her chest. She started to close the door to the guest room, then realized he hadn't shut it, so she hurried to the stairs.

She heard glasses clinking and muted conversation before Eli's now raspy voice demanded, "Have you seen my wallet?"

"No, babe," she said. "Isn't it in the bedroom?"

"No. I just checked."

"Your jacket, then? A pocket?"

"I already looked."

Leah sighed. "Sorry, I have no idea. It must be somewhere." Before he said another word, Leah said, "And why are we not hearing Christmas music?" Quick footsteps sounded, then, "How about this one? It was one of Nana's favorites."

A few heartbeats later Brooke heard the strains of "A Holly Jolly Christmas," a recording her mother and Brooke detested. But at least it provided noise and cover as Brooke affixed a second camera to the family portrait at the top of the stairs.

As she checked her phone to make sure the camera's eye took in the entire upper hallway and staircase to the entry below, she heard a rustling at the base of the stairs. She froze. Looked down the steps. Expected to have to explain herself. But the two interested eyes blinking up at her belonged to the dog.

Footsteps crossed the dining area and she straightened.

"Geez, Shep. Don't tell me you have to go out again?" Neal said, appearing at the foot of the stairs. "Oh." He caught a glimpse of Brooke on the upper floor. "I get it, he was looking for you."

"He found me," she said lightly and hurried down to the first floor, where she patted the dog on the head and changed the subject. "I think I was offered a drink earlier?"

"Just needs a finishing touch." Neal was already on his way to the kitchen and Shep trotted back to his bed.

Eli rounded the corner then, nearly running into her. His eyes narrowed a bit.

"I don't suppose you know where my wallet is?" he said, his lips blade thin, his gaze accusing.

She felt the slim leather in her pocket but drew her eyebrows together and slowly shook her head as if she were really thinking hard.

Then she smiled, met his gaze, and lied through her teeth. "I have no idea, Eli. No idea whatsoever."