“Yeah? What bidding was that? Refresh my memory.”
“Keeping tabs on Mark Olund’s girlfriends, among other things,” Zade said. “Did you like your dance? Sisko said the chick made a big impression on you. Sorry I missed it, but I couldn’t let her see me, since I’m the one who’s been tailing her.”
Noah’s jaw ached from tension. “You had your heads up your asses to bring her in here without telling me.”
Zade looked unrepentant. “She might know something about Luke. Look at this.” He tapped at his phone.
Noah turned his AVP on Zade as he established the data connection to do a quick scan. Nothing unusual. Zade looked the same as always, outwardly, which made Noah’s teeth grind. He urged his people to blend in visually, with varying levels of success. But Zade took his rejection of Noah’s advice to a whole new level. The guy was six-four and two-thirty, and more good-looking than was good for him, though even Noah couldn’t fault him for that. But the rest was over the top. The black mane, the earring, the tattoos, and the studded leather jacket, distressed not by a fashion machine but for real after getting scraped a quarter mile over a rough road when Zade wiped out on his motorcycle. Another accident he’d survived somehow. He took chances.
“Is Mark here in town with her?” Noah asked.
“Can’t say,” Zade said. “I haven’t seen any signs of him. Just her. Look. Check this out.”
A photo popped up on the wall monitor. Noah narrowed his eyes against the light as a photo of a beautiful girl appeared on the monitor. Long dark curly hair. Pale skin. Light green eyes. She looked younger, more vulnerable, somehow, without the dancer’s makeup.
“Hot, right?”
“Yeah.” Noah took a moment to ensure that his voice was even. “So what’s her story?”
“Creative type. You know, a freelancer. But she used to have a real job. High level tech.”
Noah wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Yeah? Doing what exactly?”
“Consulting. Or something like that. But there’s a twist. Her boss was murdered last year.”
“What?” Noah looked away from the photo, startled. “Murdered how?”
“Shot at close range. She’s a person of interest. The investigation turned up evidence that she stole industrial secrets from her boss and sold them.”
“Is that all?” The comment was meant to be wry, but Zade didn’t get it.
“No. Another man was stabbed to death at the scene. Caroline Bishop hasn’t been seen since. But Mark was parading her around like a girlfriend for a little while before the murders, which is why she’s in my database. I tagged her photo file with my fave facial-recog program and yesterday I got a ping from the microcam I stuck onto Bea McDougal’s sandwich truck. Ran right over and spotted her just in time to start a tail.”
Noah studied the monitor. “She didn’t kill anyone.”
Zade gave a quick nod of agreement. “Which made me think that she was probably framed. Like Luke. She might know something. We should talk to her.”
Zade’s voice vibrated with suppressed emotion.
Zade’s twin brother Luke Ryan was another Midlands veteran of rebellion day.
As of last year, Luke had been chief of security for a Chicago billionaire—until the man was found with two bullets from Luke’s gun in his head. Luke himself had vanished, along with eighty million dollars in bearer bonds and a hoard of priceless antique jewelry. A manhunt was launched. Luke stayed lost. So did the loot.
Luke’s girlfriend Bea McDougal had changed her name and her appearance, then gone into hiding for reasons still unclear. Noah and his people kept track of her for Luke’s sake. Bea aka Marika now sold sandwiches from a food truck, never staying long in any one place. For the past few months she’d been in Seattle.
The Midlanders knew things about Luke that the police, Interpol and the FBI didn’t. Most importantly: that Luke was not a killer or a thief. It would never even occur to him to hurt someone innocent or rip someone off.
And he had to be alive. They just didn’t know where. Only an all-out psychopath with a full arsenal of augmentations and enhancements could have taken out a warrior like Luke.
Someone like, say, Mark Olund. Who hated them all ferociously.
But they had no proof, and they couldn’t reveal their suspicions without giving themselves away. Or so Noah constantly repeated to his restless crew.
“I’ll show you her conversation with Bea,” Zade said, thumbing his phone. “The microcam was slapped up under the awning.”