Good enough.
Since it was a Saturday, the drive to the office was peaceful. He didn’t have to battle traffic, and he was grateful for it. He made it in twenty minutes instead of the usual forty and opened the office early even though he doubted he’d have a stampede of clients in that extra half hour. Business had been abysmally slow lately.
Maybe he should look into advertising. Of course, he’d need money for advertisements, and Wilde Security was already operating on a shoestring budget as it was.
He could sell the Escalade and drive his Scion FR-S full time. He actually preferred the scrappy, budget-friendly sports car, but the Escalade made for a better appearance, which was why he drove it more often. All for show. And if he started selling things off now, people would take notice, eyebrows would raise, and Irving James might get cold feet.
Always came back to that, didn’t it? Irving Fucking James.
Reece was starting to hate the man. Did he really want to align his company with the James name? No. But did he have a choice? Nope. James owned half the damn world, and it wasn’t like other investors were exactly beating down the doors at DMW Systems right now since the economy was still tanked and simulations were such a niche product.
Maybe it was time to talk to Cliff about the artificial intelligence he’d been tinkering with on company time. Reece hadn’t been happy about the side project at first, but the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Cliff might be on to something.
Man, he missed the good old days when he would sit around late into the night with Dylan and Cliff, guzzling Red Bull and talking technology. How had they all gotten so far away from their computer geek roots? Well, actually, Cliff hadn’t. The guy was still down in DMW’s basement, playing with his toys, tinkering with artificial intelligence.
Reece wanted that part of his life back. So much. But he wasn’t going to get it, so he needed to stop throwing himself a pity party and get to work.
On his way back to his office, he started another pot of coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need it. Then he booted up his computer and made a few follow-up calls, checking on the home security systems he’d installed for clients and nudging a few people who had previously voiced an interest in the system. He managed to secure two installation jobs, both neighbors of a previous client in Virginia Beach. He’d have to leave town for a long weekend to do the work, but it made him feel better about Wilde Security’s financial situation.
After a quick trip to the coffee maker for a refill, he dove into Vaughn’s problem. A deal was a deal. By the time the twins showed up that afternoon, both looking as ragged as he felt, he’d uncovered two more of Lark Warren’s previous identities and thought he had a lead on the very first alias she’d ever used—Violet Smith. She’d gone through her first several identities fast, as if afraid to stay one person for too long. In fact, it looked like she’d been Lark Warren the longest at nearly two years.
She was definitely running. But from what?
And wasn’t it interesting that she always chose nature-themed names? Made him suspect her real name was something similar, except nobody matching her description with a nature-themed name had been reported missing five years ago, which was when “Violet Smith” miraculously rose from the dead and got a job waitressing at a topless bar in New York City. And he was positive Violet had been her first alias, because he couldn’t trace her beyond that.
As far as her financials, he came up empty. She never used bank accounts, even when she was settled into her life as Lark Warren. If she was smart—and he thought she was—she probably kept her money close at hand for an easy getaway. She didn’t have any loans or credit cards, and her twelve-year-old car had been sold to a chop shop before she left town.
Brick wall.
Reece was so wrapped up in the puzzle of Lark Warren, he didn’t hear Vaughn enter his office until his brother sat down in the creaky chair next to his desk.
“Lark?” Vaughn asked, picking up the printouts of the new identities he’d uncovered.
“Yeah.” He pushed back from his desk and rolled his head around, cracking his neck. He’d been hunched over the computer for too long. “Vaughn, man, she doesn’t want to be found. Maybe it’s time to drop it.”
“No.” Vaughn folded the printouts and slid them into his pocket.
“All right. It’s your call, but I really think you should let her go.” When he only received a dark scowl in reply, he shook his head and changed topics. “You wanted to talk to me about the fire at The Bean Gallery?”
Vaughn settled back in his seat and folded his hands over his abs. “I looked into it like you wanted. I assume you’ve known all along that Shelby owned the place?”