Uncertainty and shock fisted around his lungs. He swallowed hard and scrubbed his cheek with his palm before stammering, “Uh, no. N-nothing...relevant.”
Did Pen know she was adopted? He thought back through the many meals he’d shared with Andrew and his wife through the years, game-day parties and birthday celebrations. Had she ever mentioned being adopted? She’d talked about how hard her mother’s death had been on her, how distant she felt from Hugh, how alone and out of place she’d felt in the large, sterile home growing up. She talked about her envy of Reid’s large family, how she’d hated being an only child.
But she’d never mentioned adoption.
“Reid,” Pen said, a note of excitement in her tone. “I found a safe.”
Chapter 5
Reid hurried over to where Pen stood, anxiety lining her brow.
Sure enough, behind the row of law manuals, she’d discovered a false wall panel that when opened revealed a safe.
“Do you think you can get in it?” he asked.
“I’m sure gonna try.” She rubbed her hands together and twisted her mouth in deep thought. “We’ll start with birthdays.”
While she began testing different combinations, Reid stuffed the file on Pen’s adoption into the waist of his jeans at his back and pulled his shirt over it to hide it. He moved over to where Pen stood, his gaze riveted on her slim fingers delicately adjusting the safe dial.
He held his breath, as much from anticipation as so he could listen in the near perfect silence for the snick of the lock’s tumbler.
When the telltale click came, he touched her arm. “Stop. Did you hear that clink?”
She cast a quick side glance, then narrowed her eyes on the dial. “Twenty-one. The first number is twenty-one.”
“Can you think of any significance for that number?” he asked. “Maybe you can come up with the other numbers, if you can think of any relevance for twenty-one.”
She drew her bottom lip into her teeth and furrowed her brow. “It’s not his birthday or anniversary. Nor my birthday. Or Nicholas’s.”
“Well, try turning the dial slowly the other way and let’s see if we hear the next tumbler click.”
She nodded and leaned close to the safe as she turned the combination dial slowly to the left. The dial went completely around without another giveaway snick.
He gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Keep trying.”
She angled her gaze to his hand, then raised a dubious look to him. “Back up. You’re crowding me.”
He raised both hands, palms out and took a step back. “Sorry.”
Then, while she worked, he had an inspiration. Turning his back to her, he pulled out the adoption file and cracked it open. With his gaze, he scanned the document on top until he found the date her adoption was finalized. The date she came to live with the Barringtons. August 21, 1987.
One month and a few days after she was born.
He hid the file under his shirt again and faced her. “Try eight with the twenty-one. Before or after. Then...” The dial had no eighty-seven. The numbers stopped at 50. “Then eight again and seven.”
She faced him, her head cocked to the side. “Why? What do you know about those numbers?”
That the digits meant nothing to her was more evidence she didn’t know about her adoption. He’d have to think long and hard about whether he would tell her about his find. For now he downplayed his suggestion. “Just a hunch. May be nothing.”
When she continued to question him with her dubious glare, he flicked a hand at the safe. “Let’s go. We need to hurry and get out of here before someone finds us.”
She huffed her acquiescence and spun the dial slowly to the combination he offered. Nothing happened when she tested the door, and she gave him a so-much-for-your-idea look.
He returned to her side, nudging her out of the way with his hip. “Let me try.”
He tested the combination again, turning the dial the opposite direction to start. And heard encouraging clicks as he progressed through the pattern. When he tugged on the safe door, it swung open.
She made a little grunt of surprise, then moved forward to peer into the hidden lockbox. “You will be telling me the significance of those numbers later.”
At the front of the deep compartment were the expected jewelry boxes. When they opened the first box they found a diamond and sapphire choker necklace.
Pen sighed sadly. “That was my mother’s. I remember her wearing it out to big fundraisers and parties with my dad.”
“It’s stunning.” He passed the jewelry box to Pen, and she swiped gentle fingers over the stones.
He took out the rest of the jewelry boxes stacked at the front of the safe and set them on a shelf of the bookcase. The back of the safe was dark, but he could clearly see stacks of something. He reached in and drew out bundled cash. He gave a low whistle. “Pen, look.”
She blinked. “Money? Good gravy! Those are hundred-dollar bills. That’s got to be in the thousands of dollars!”
“There’s more.” He reached in and withdrew another bundle of cash, an envelope with municipal bonds, more cash in Euro bills and two bank-record booklets of offshore accounts.
When he turned to Penelope, she was pale and trembling.
“I don’t understand. Why...” She paused to swallow. “There’s a fortune here. Why wouldn’t he put this in the bank? What—”
“A getaway fund?” Reid suggested.
“But getaway from what? Why?”
“My guess is he didn’t declare any of this to the IRS. Remember the tax records Andrew had?”
“Tax evasion? A getaway fund?” She shook her head, clearly in shock and trying to process their find. She flipped through the stack of money, then the bonds, with damp eyes and shaking hands.