“Don’t lie to me,” the man growled. “Charles Martinelli had a spreadsheet with incorrect data. Isn’t that what your emails said?”
Oh shit. She’d never said Charles had a spreadsheet of incorrect data, but she wasn’t arguing with this man.
“Um, yes, of course. I, um. Confidential information. I wasn’t sure you were authorized.”
What a crock of bullshit, Angelica.
She braced herself for another blow. But he laughed. “Spunky. I like that. Who did you give that information to? Ian Black?”
A shiver ran through her. She was cold now and the blanket was out of reach. They’d shoved her into a chair. Presumably the one she’d encountered earlier.
“Um….”
“Don’t bother lying. It won’t help. If you tell me the truth, there’s a possibility you’ll make it out of here alive.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I gave it to him.”
The man swore. “Why would you do that? It was none of your fucking business.”
He sounded angry. And maybe a little desperate?
Angie knew she needed to be careful what she said. She couldn’t know too much—or could she? If she bluffed her way through this, they might let her go. But there was danger in pretending to know more than she did, especially if they caught her in a lie.
She decided to only tell him as much as he asked for and hope it was enough. “I gave it to him because the office where I worked burned down. And then somebody tried to break into my apartment. I needed help. I thought he could help me.”
“Stupid fucking bitch,” the man growled.
Angie tried not to flinch from the implied violence in his tone. She wasn’t quite successful. Where had she heard him before? He had to be someone she’d talked to. Or, and the moment this thought occurred to her it excited her a little, he was someone who’d been to Barton, Barnes and Blake in the past.
Was he one of the Cardinal Group people? Had to be. But who’d gone to the office to see Charles in the past? The owners of the Cardinal Group were Shaw and Sobol. She remembered that from the tax information. They had employees though. Each man had a secretary, there were a couple of associates with secretaries, and a receptionist. With the exception of the receptionist and two secretaries, everyone else was male.
Which meant this man could be any one of six people.
“Did you get her phone and computer?” the man asked.
“Yeah, it’s here,” someone said. She’d heard that voice at Colt’s. He was the one who’d thrown her over his shoulder. Number Two, then. She’d number them to keep them straight.
“Give me the computer,” Number One said, snapping his fingers.
She heard rustling and the sound of the laptop powering up.
“Code,” One said.
Angie told herself to breathe. Just breathe. Don’t react. Let them do whatever they were going to do.
“Bitch, listen up,” One said again, sharper this time. “Give me the code to open the computer.”
Angie jerked. “Sorry. It’s just zeroes.”
“Where did you save the spreadsheet?”
“Under ‘My Documents’.”
He swore under his breath and she knew he must have found it. Whatever was in it, he didn’t like it.
“Now your phone code,” he demanded.
“169105.”
“Good girl.” She heard the laptop snap closed. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I want to have some fun,” the third man said. He was the one who’d talked about lighting up Colt’s place. Number Two had told him it was against orders. “Make her scream.”
“Not now,” One said. “Later.”
Angie didn’t move. She strained her ears to hear movement. Number Three’s voice sounded in her ear, making her jump. “I heard redheads feel more pain than other people. Is it true?”
“Come on,” One said, sounding impatient. “We have work to do.”
There were footsteps moving across the floor. Angie sat very still until they were gone. The door clanged shut and she reached up to rip the hood from her head.
Crates, concrete floor, metal walls, steps that led up to a gallery that ran along one side of the room. A door? Was that a door up there—
The lights snapped out and Angie plunged into darkness.
They were almost to Harvey Johnson’s house when Colt got a text.
Angie: I have something you want.
“Fuck,” Colt said as adrenaline shot through his veins. “I just got a text from Angie’s phone. We need to get a lock on it.”
“I hear you,” Dex said through the speaker. They’d kept the line open to him so he could give them point by point directions while watching for traffic and other obstacles. “Initiating trace.”
It wasn’t the kind of thing most people could do, not without going through the phone company and getting permission, etcetera. But BDI wasn’t most people.
Colt met Jace’s grim gaze. “We’ll get her,” Jace said.
“I know.” He tapped a reply, reading it off as he did so. What do you suggest?
Angie: There’s a park across the street from the former BB&B building. Be there at 6am. I want to make a trade.
Colt read the text to them. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Sounds like he’s desperate,” Ian said.
Colt: What kind of trade?
Three dots appeared. Finally, the text came across and he read it aloud. I’ll give you actionable info against Gorky. And I’ll give you the girl, but first you have to give me something I want. If you don’t, I have no incentive to keep her alive.
Ian’s brows rose. “Interesting. Actionable info against Gorky? Could be a bluff. Then again, he must think he has something good because the second he gives us some bullshit, we could expose the information in the spreadsheet. Dax, is Gorky’s account still there?”
“It’s there. If he transfers the money, we’ll trace it. We’re still working through the transactions. It’s dirty money, of course. But nothing that’s going to stick if we try to nail him now.”
“Good work. Keep searching. Confirm the meeting, Colt.”
Colt pressed send. “Gotta be Sobol we’re dealing with, right?”
Ian nodded. “I think so. Shaw could be involved, but if he is, he’s an idiot for failing to get more money out of Gorky’s
