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He hesitated briefly as if choosing his words carefully. “Remember what I said this morning about the TK’s fake identities?”
Belated comprehension struck then, stealing her breath. “He always stuck to the same initials.” How had she missed that earlier? “Samuel Thompson. S.T.”
17
Five o’clock should have been quitting time, but Tyler’s last client meeting of the day ran thirty minutes longer than it should have. As he followed the couple out of his office, Blake caught his eye from the front desk. Saying his goodbyes, he veered to speak to him.
“I’ve been hanging around to give this to you.” Blake handed Tyler a white box bound with gold foil ribbon and a card in an envelope hanging from the ornate bow. “It arrived by messenger shortly after you showed the Vances to your office.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. You heading home now?”
“I’ve got a date at six.” The man shut down his computer and stood. “It’s nearby, so figured I could just walk.”
“Living the dream, man.” Not that Tyler wasn’t anxious to get home to Carly and the kids, but occasionally he missed being out there. There was something to be said for having a new woman every few weeks and disposable income that wasn’t sucked away by a mortgage and childcare.
“We’ll see. It’s our first meeting face-to-face and I’m only committed to drinks. If I’m interested, maybe dinner.”
“Dating app?”
“Does anyone meet in real life anymore?” Blake came out from around the desk and extended a fist for Tyler to bump.
“Good luck.”
“No luck necessary, when I’m bringing the rizz.”
Laughing, Tyler took the box back to his office. He sat down and took the card out of the envelope. Flipped it over.
Just a thank-you for letting me crash your breakfast. I look forward to seeing you again soon.
Reese Decody
He swore, long and imaginatively. Was tempted to dump whatever it was into the trash. But curiosity got the better of him, and he unwrapped the gift and removed the lid. Nestled inside was a bottle of Bowman 25 Year Scotch. Tyler removed it from the box with reverence. There was a time, well before meeting Carly, that he’d thought nothing of buying a bottle of pricey Scotch with a meal, but those days were long behind him. And it’s not like the Decody bitch didn’t owe him something after the day she’d put him through. His stomach had been in knots since she sat down at his table this morning.
Making an instant decision, he pulled out his cell and texted a quick message to Carly to tell her he’d be home in an hour. Then, shutting the door of the office, he went in search of something to drink from. It seemed almost a desecration of the whiskey when all he could come up with was a clean Styrofoam cup, but it’d do. He went back to his desk and sat, opening the bottle and pouring himself a healthy shot. Then he lifted his feet to his desktop, leaned back, and took a gulp, relishing the smooth flavor. Oh, yeah. This definitely took him back a few years. The day’s stress-filled hours seemed to lighten, so he sipped again. There’d be a time, soon, he promised himself,when decent liquor wouldn’t be a luxury. New house. Newer cars. Substantial payments to the kids’ college funds. It was all within reach. Brains and guts were all that were required, and he had both in spades.
He drained the cup, splashed in a bit more, and drank that, too. Then, reluctantly, he screwed the cap back on the bottle and opened his bottom desk drawer, setting it inside.
Tyler stood and went to put the box in the wastebasket. He had to grip the corner of his desk to avoid falling over. Dizzy. His hand went to his forehead, wiping away the perspiration beaded there. What the hell? He’d had lunch, so it’s not like his stomach was… His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor. Distantly, he could hear the sound of a vacuum running somewhere in the offices.
He tried to get his hands beneath him. Couldn’t move. There was a buzz working through his body, making his brain fuzzy. His heart pounded a rapid tattoo and his stomach heaved as he vomited on the carpet.Help.The thought formed in his mind, then drifted away as he threw up again.
I…need…help…
18
“Istill think it’s a mistake not to tell Gibbons about the initials used on the geolocator contract.”
Hayes sat before his laptop at the table. Reese had rounded up a heap of Julia’s old planners, and the stack sat beside her on the couch. But she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the task. Or on lunch. Or dinner. The same endless loop kept replaying in her head. “It doesn’t make sense. Thorne was in prison two months before Julia’s death. He didn’t place that locator.”
“Not himself, no.” To Haye’s credit, his tone still reflected patience despite having held the same conversation earlier. “But we say nothing until Mendes gets back to me. He’s our liaison on the task force. I’m not going to pee in his pond. I rely on him for regular updates about their progress in order to do my job, so he gets to make the decision about whether I share what I know about the initials on the contract. It may just be coincidence.”
She strode to the windows, the city view outside it shielded by the blinds. Back to the couch. Reese looked in Hayes’s direction again. “But you examined Thorne’s cell logs, you said. And the credit card information led nowhere.”
He stopped what he was doing to give her his full attention. “Samuel Thompson was another victim of identity theft, from what I’ve discovered. Like all the rest of the aliases Thorne used as the TK. All the personal data for opening the credit card accounts had probably been hacked online. We assume the TK utilized prepaid disposable phones. We found one on him. There weren’t many calls, but Thorne made and received a couple from the same virtual private network number. We could only get the VPN server’s ISP address, not the user’s actual location.”
She turned. Made a return trip to the windows and back. “Maybe that identity remained available online. On the dark web or something. Multiple bad actors might be using it.”
He inclined his head toward his laptop. “I’m looking into it.”