Page 93 of You'll Never Find Me

Luisa said, “He may have thought the water would destroy the computer systems and files, and he’s right—but your archives are stored off-site.”

“Yes,” Tucker said. “The IT department is already working to restore our systems. Well, the two team members who are left, since Jennifer is still missing.”

“Last night I uncovered a virus in the system,” Luisa said. “I isolated it, but it erased everything I wanted to look at. However, it’s doubtful that the virus could have affected the archives. I can help your IT staff reverse engineer the bug so it doesn’t corrupt your system when you reinstall your software.”

Jack knew his sister was smart, but he hadn’t quite realized how smart.

“Thank you,” Tucker said. “Have you already met the staff?”

“Yes, I’m working with Kevin Gorman.”

“Okay, good. Thank you so much, Ms. Angelhart.”

She nodded and left.

Yep, Jack was impressed by his little sister. He sometimes forgot she was all grown up. “You need to tell the police everything you know. Corporate espionage is one thing,” Jack said, “but Parsons—and I’ll stake my reputation that he is responsible—set fire to a building with people inside. The police are going to want to interview him about his whereabouts, and they will arrest him if they find evidence.”

Tucker nodded, though he looked miserable. “Let’s call them now.”

Forty-Three

Margo Angelhart

I generally 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.