Chapter Forty-Three

Margo Angelhart

Igenerally consider myself brave. Bugs don't bother me. I can dispatch a spider or scorpion with ease. I served in the Army and went through Basic Training, which was no piece of cake, especially for an arrogant eighteen-year-old who thought she was in amazing shape. I was deployed for six months during my first enlistment and had been under enemy fire—especially not fun when you were in a "peace" zone. Blood doesn't freak me out, nor do broken bones, rattlesnakes, hiking Camelback Mountain, or encountering a javelina at sunset.

But planes? I hate flying. I don't know why; it's nothing I can explain. I've never flown in a plane that had serious trouble nor have I seen a plane crash. But every time I flew, my heart raced, my head ached, and I could picture myself tumbling to earth.

Logan convinced me that it would save time if he flew us down to Bisbee in his Cessna. One hour each way, as opposed to a seven-hour round trip by car.

I followed the philosophy that being brave didn't mean not being afraid; it meant doing something even when you were scared. Like climbing into Logan Monroe's tiny Cessna and letting him—a man I just met—fly us down to Bisbee.

Saving time notwithstanding, I would much rather drive.

I told Logan everything Jennifer said on the phone as soon as we were in the air. He hadn't spoken since. He didn't ask questions, stomp his feet, or insist it wasn't true, didn't really show much of any reaction—except sadness. His dark eyes were full of such sorrow that I half wished I hadn't said anything.

But he should know. He deserved to know. Jennifer might not want to break his heart, but the truth was generally better than lies. Especially this truth that may put him in danger.

Twenty minutes into the flight, Logan finally spoke. "Were you at my rental house on Sunday because Brittney thought I was having an affair with Jennifer?"

He'd made the connection. He must have been thinking about it for the last few days.

"She hired me to prove you were having an affair. She didn't know about Jennifer."

"I've never cheated on my wife."

"I believe you."

"You do? Most people I meet seem to think that affairs are commonplace and it's a surprise when someone doesn't cheat on their spouse."

"I'm generally cynical and believe the worst about most people, but I followed you for over a week and got no vibe, no hint, that you were unfaithful. I told your wife. She didn't want to believe me."

"Do you believe Jennifer? About Brittney and Brad?"

I did, but instead said, "Jennifer sounded sincere." I paused, trying to find a tactful way to say what I was thinking, then decided that blunt was best. "After you were drugged Monday night, I tracked down Rachel Roper, the woman you met with. Brittney hired her to put you in a position where I could take compromising pictures. Brittney insisted on an NDA. I have one I use—mums the word, unless my client commits a crime or willfully lies to me, then the contract is null and void. Thus, I have no problem sharing the information with you. Brittney was an accessory to assault—drugging someone without their knowledge or consent is a crime."

Logan was silent for several minutes. I preferred talking, because it kept my mind off the fact that we were in a tin can flying at least two hundred miles an hour way aboveground.

"Why?" he said so quietly I almost didn't hear him.

"Ask her."

"I don't know if I'd be able to believe her."

"What I think and what I know are different things. I can give you the facts, but I can't tell you her reasons."

"But Jennifer thinks my wife was cheating on me."

"It's an old trick—an unfaithful spouse accuses the faithful spouse of adultery and walks away." I shrugged. "Maybe she believed it. But she wanted to believe it, because when I told her you weren't a cheater, she insisted you were just too sneaky for me to catch. No one is too sneaky for me."

He barked out a gruff laugh.

I let him have his time, even though now I was hyperaware that we were over the middle of the desert. If we crashed, would anyone find our bodies? Would there be anything to find?

"When we got married," Logan finally said, "I told Brittney I wanted children. Two, maybe more, but at least two. I'm thirty-eight, I don't want to be an old man with babies. Brittney's twenty-nine. She said she wanted kids, too, just wanted to wait a couple of years so we could enjoy being newlyweds. I was fine with that. As soon as I started talking about it a few months ago, things changed. I knew it, but I didn't want to believe it."

He looked so sad that for a minute I was no longer terrified of dying in a fiery crash.

He continued. "I know people can change. That people can want different things at different times. But I made it clear from the beginning that this was important to me. I thought it was important to Brittney. She told me exactly what I wanted to hear." He paused, added, "That she would set up something like this—to give herself a reason to divorce me? I just don't understand. If she doesn't love me, I would give her a divorce."

It surprised me that someone so smart in the business world, who had made hundreds of millions of dollars because of his unique ideas and raw intelligence, could be so ignorant when it came to human nature. Not everyone was capable of doing what Brittney had done but, sometimes, even the people you loved disappointed you.

"Did you know that she had been involved with Brad Parsons before you married?" I asked.

"She told me after we started seeing each other that they'd gone out a few times but it hadn't been serious."

"Now you know and can decide what to do."

"I already have."

That surprised me. He seemed to be so torn up and upset that I didn't think he'd reached the point where he could make a decision.

"I already directed my lawyer to draw up divorce papers. I'll give her a no-fault divorce. Per our prenup she'll receive three million dollars, plus I'll give her the house. I didn't like the house, anyway."

I laughed. I couldn't help myself.

He frowned at me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was laughing at the situation. You are nothing like I thought you would be."

"Most people aren't," he said. "For what it's worth, when I hired you to find Jennifer, I had no doubt that you would."

"You don't know me, but I appreciate your confidence."

"I researched you Sunday night, after you showed up at the house. If I weren't so worried about Jennifer, I would have figured out then what Brittney was doing. But one thing I don't understand. You have your own business, but your family also has a PI business. Why aren't you under their wing?"

"Long story."

He glanced at his watch. "We have twenty minutes."

"Short version—my mom and I have a different way of doing things."

"You and Jack work well together. The unspoken commentary was loud."

I laughed. "It was?"

Now Logan smiled and relaxed. "I read people well. I have to. Maybe not so well in my personal life, but in business, I'm rarely wrong."

Jennifer White was staying in a nondescript motel that provided individual cabins around a cement and cactus courtyard. I liked that my instincts were right—between the book on her nightstand and her affection for J.A. Jance, I'd been sure she had decided to hide out in Bisbee. Too bad I couldn't have sleuthed my way here instead of having her give me the address.

The room was clean, private, and dark. A small kitchenette with a mini-fridge, two-burner stove, and plate-sized sink along one wall, and a small table with two chairs, a queen bed, dresser, and television filling the rest of the space.

"Were you followed?" she asked, glancing out the door.

Jennifer was nervous, had bitten her fingernails down to the quick, and—based on her overflowing trash can—seemed to be living on chips and energy drinks.

"We flew my plane," Logan said.

"Oh. Yeah. Okay."

"It's being fueled now. Come back with us. You can stay at my house."

"He'll find me."

"You have to trust us," I said, moving to close the door. I flipped on the overhead light and blinked as my eyes adjusted from the bright sun outside. I motioned for Jennifer and Logan to sit, then leaned against the counter and said, "You told me about Parsons. I filled Logan in."

Jennifer looked at him, her face filled with concern. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know what to say, how to say it."

"I'll be okay," Logan said. "I'm worried about you."

Jennifer offered soda or water. I waved her down and grabbed three water bottles from the mini-fridge, put two on the table and kept one for myself.

"You have two problems," I said. "The first is Brad Parsons. The police talked to him like all the staff, but now they have more information."

"What if I'm wrong?" she asked.

"Then you're wrong. But we have to look, right? Because someone stole money from Desert West and someone drugged you and Logan on Sunday and someone set fire to the Desert West offices last night. Right now, you're the only employee the police haven't spoken with, and that makes you look guilty."

"I didn't!"

"I believe you. When did you arrive down here?"

"Tuesday morning. I stayed at my condo Monday night—there's a back way in—and I took a taxi and paid cash, walked a lot to get there. I needed to think, and my condo is pretty secure. But I didn't feel safe—so much was going on, and after Sunday... It was just best that I keep you out of it," she said to Logan.

"We're going to have to address what's going on at Desert West," I said, "and you'll need to talk to the police at some point, but if you can prove you were here last night, that's a good alibi."

"I think I can." She frowned. "I mean, I checked in here, but I paid cash—no credit cards."

"Would the manager remember you?"

"Yeah—I paid him five hundred upfront. I have a receipt."

"How did you get down here?"

"Uber," she said.

"Uber?" I repeated. That would cost a small fortune for a more than three-hour drive.

"I took an Uber to the airport, then a bus from there to Tucson, then an Uber here. Probably stupid, because someone could find me, but I was feeling lost and didn't know what to do."

"There will be a record, a driver, receipts. That's good. We'll put everything together, get your alibi in order," I said, not wanting to distract her from our primary focus. "But first, tell us about your family. Why you faked your death and are hiding from your father."

She looked at her chewed fingernails, saw one that wasn't chomped on completely, and went at it.

"Jennifer," Logan said, "please trust us—we want to help."

She took a deep breath. "I've always been the smart kid. Straight A's, gifted program, the whole nine yards. I didn't have a lot of friends because of it. And because my dad was very overprotective. When I was little, I didn't know why." She frowned. "Anyway, Jenny was my best friend. Her dad worked for my dad, so we knew each other forever, but we also loved each other. Like sisters. We did everything together." She didn't look at us, staring at a blank space on the wall over Logan's shoulder. I didn't push—she'd probably never talked about what happened eight years ago.

"My mom died when I was seven. A freak accident, they said. But she was murdered."

"Your father?" I asked, thinking that was a justifiable reason to want to run from your family.

She shook her head. "He loved her. In his way, he loved all of us. But my dad works for the Leone crime family. You've probably never heard of them—they're based in Florida. There's a long history about when and how they left New York before my grandfather was even born—my mom's maiden name was Leone." She stopped suddenly, and I didn't know if she was thinking about the past or wondering if she should stop talking.

"I don't care who your family is," Logan said. "We are not our parents."

"I don't know," she murmured. "Maybe not, but the sins of our fathers and all that."

I was about to interject, then Logan said firmly, "I don't believe that."

A moment later, Jennifer said, "I had a wonderful life growing up, until I learned the truth. My mom was murdered by a rival of the Leone family. Killed because of her family business. My dad and grandfather retaliated. For years, I lived in a fortress. Jenny and I talked about it, about being scared about losing each other, losing our families. But I was also angry and sad because my mom was gone—I didn't understand why then—and my dad kept going, just kept getting deeper and deeper into a pit he couldn't get out of. Jenny and I figured out what our fathers did and we talked about changing our names and going to college in Europe where we could be new people. Sometimes, we even talked about running away...and then Jenny and her whole family were killed."

Her voice cracked, but she didn't cry.

"The fire?" I asked, considering the information I'd found in her lockbox.

She nodded. "Just like my mom, enemies of my father and the Leones killed my best friend and her family. I hated my father for it. He didn't protect them, didn't protect my mother, just continued down this path of violence and rage. He retaliated—you can read about it. The nightclub bombing? That was my dad. He paid them back, but he didn't care if innocent people died. I snapped. I was fourteen, and I couldn't handle it anymore. I told my father that I was going to the feds, that I would tell them everything, that I had proof, which I didn't, other than things I heard and saw. My dad said if I spoke a word, we'd all be dead because the Leones had someone in the FBI. He didn't yell, didn't cry. He was so damn matter-of-fact about it. Virginia, he said in this too-calm voice, we will all be killed if you talk to anyone. Then he apologized, said that he was sorry, but this was his life and I had to accept it."

Every family was different. I'd like to say I didn't understand, couldn't understand, but though I hadn't lived in her shoes, I knew that family was complicated. Criminal families? More so.

"I don't remember exactly when I came up with the idea to fake my death... I just wanted to disappear. Thought about running away, but I was smart and knew I needed money and a plan. In high school, I learned that I was really good with computers, and I started thinking about what I would need to do, how to prepare. Then I realized I was good with money. I hacked—" She stopped talking.

"Jennifer, I'm not a cop," I said, "and I'm not going to rat you out for any crimes, unless you killed someone. So tell me the truth."

"I've never killed anyone," she said.

"Good. You hacked what?"

"I couldn't steal money from my dad—he might find out—but his country club? They had so much money—I suspect they were laundering it, but I don't know for sure. Anyway, I stole a hundred thousand from them over two years. Put it in a secure account, and then hired someone to create a Jennifer White identity for me. It was easier because she was real, had never worked but had a social security number. I had a driver's license and bank account in her name."

Definitely a smart girl, I thought.

"The hard part was messing with the electronics on the boat, so the only real answer was to build a bomb," Jennifer said. "I hoped the police would investigate, so that maybe they'd figure out exactly who my dad was and what he did for a living. The only way I could be free was if everyone thought I was dead, but I didn't want anyone to die—so I had to create a perfect plan. Not just the bomb, but create a leak in the boat so that we had to leave it. I didn't want my dad or brother on the boat when it exploded. I wasn't trying to kill him. I hated what he did, but I loved him."

"How did you get to college? What about records? Tuition?" Logan asked.

"That was easy. I hacked into the Texas system, created my application, my transcripts, and gave myself a scholarship. I was sure I'd forgotten something or would trigger security but nothing happened. I showed up, had a single dorm room—I didn't want a roommate, didn't want to make friends—and I had my nest egg in case I needed to run. I guess I need to disappear now." She sounded weary. I would be, too.

I was pretty certain that Vincent Bonetti found her because of Angelhart's background check on Jennifer White, but I didn't know exactly how.

"We'll figure it out," I said. "First you need to go back and talk to your boss and the police."

"But if my dad is coming—I don't know what he'll do."

"Is he a threat to you?" I asked.

"I don't know. He's probably furious at me. I hurt him. I'm scared even if my dad doesn't come for me, that people will find out who I am and then I'll be in danger from his enemies." She closed her eyes. "My dad loved me, I know that, but I was miserable and scared for years, especially after Jenny died. I can't live like that again."

I didn't blame her. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

Logan leaned forward, took one of her hands, and said, "Jennifer, I am your friend. I'm here to help. Do you believe me?"

She nodded.

"I hired Margo to not only find you, but to help you, and the only way we can help is if you tell us everything."

"Why did you leave the job in California?" I asked. "It was sudden and you told them you had a family emergency."

"It was a great company—I loved working there—but they were moving the entire business to Florida. That was just too close to my family, I couldn't risk it. My boss wanted me to go out with a small group early to set up the IT department because there would be a few months where we'd have offices on both coasts. I kind of panicked, told him I had a family emergency and quit. I didn't handle it well. Then I reached out to Logan once I got my head on straight, and he helped me get the job in Phoenix."

"Your dad may have been alerted because Desert West hired Angelhart Investigations," I said. Might as well come clean, since she'd figure it out eventually. "They ran a background on you starting two weeks ago. They found nothing, but one of their feelers may have tipped him off." And though I wasn't part of the business, I said, "I'll ask them to show you what they did. Maybe you'll see something that we don't."

"Jennifer White only exists on paper," she said. "Which is really all you need for a job. But if something tipped my dad, it's because something touched his business—or the business Uncle Jimmy used to run. I had to put my parents' names on some documents early on, and I used Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Maureen, said they were deceased so no one would ever try to find them."

"I don't know for certain," I said, "but I think the background check alerted him, and he hired a local firm to confirm your identity. That's why you saw two men outside your work and house." Frank and Andy, I thought.

"I don't know what to do," she said.

"First, he can't make you do anything you don't want to," I said. "He can manipulate you, which isn't a crime, or threaten you, which may be a crime. But you said he was responsible for a bombing?"

"Yes. To avenge Uncle Jimmy and his family, my father had all those people in the nightclub killed because the club was owned by his enemies."

"Can you prove it?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I overheard my father planning the bombing. I don't know who he was speaking with, but I'd recognize him. And I thought, how could my father bring a killer into our home? That's when I knew my father himself was a killer."

A plan started to form, but I didn't know if it would work, or if Jennifer would go along with it. "If you saw your father in person, do you think he would hurt you?" I asked. "Like take a gun out and shoot you?"

"No." She bit her lip. "Maybe. I don't know. He loved me, but I hurt him."

"I can help you disappear," Logan said.

"Before we go there," I interjected, "we need to resolve the situation at Desert West and determine if Brad Parsons is a threat. Because right now, he's the top suspect—at least to me and my brother Jack—in both poisoning the two of you on Sunday, and the arson last night. And you, Jennifer, are the only person with the evidence of his crime."

"But I can't prove it was him!"

"Fortunately, I have a sister as smart as you, and she's working on it. Between her and your copy of the code, that should put Parsons in jail for theft at a minimum—but there could be other charges, like attempted murder." I glanced at Logan. If Brittney was part of Parsons's plans, she could go down for accessory. Did Logan realize this?

"Okay," Jennifer said quietly. "And the police want to talk to me. I'm scared."

"Of your father?"

She shook her head. "If the police find out I'm Virginia Bonetti, I'll get in trouble for faking my death."

"Maybe, maybe not," I said. "It's complicated. Did you receive insurance money?"

"No, I was dead. I don't know if my father did. I mean, the boat would have been insured..."

"But you didn't profit. Your father would have to go after you civilly if he collected insurance money and then had to pay it back. Don't talk without a lawyer. I know a good one who will help. We'll prove you were nowhere near the fire, and less is more—don't answer any questions they don't ask. Your lawyer will guide you through it."

"Okay," she said, sounding young and defeated.

"Chin up," Logan said. "You can stay with me."

"She needs protection," I said. "I have a place where she'll be safe and no one would think to look for her there."

I picked up my phone and hit a familiar number.

"Mom, I have someone who needs help."