LITMIR.BIZ

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I didn’t wait.” She took the second slice and buttered it.

      While Alan left to do whatever a good little spy did in his master’s office, Elizabeth reached for the phone. Might as well let Heather know she was coming. Given the time zones between Oregon and Chicago, Heather would already be at school, but she’d leave a voice mail.

      “…a damn nuisance!” She almost hung the phone back up at her father’s voice, but her own name caught her attention. “I sent Lizzie to get her involved. I wanted it on the record that she’d been there. How the hell was I to know she knew that much about computers?” If he’d been to her graduation, he would have.

      “What are you doing about it?” an unidentified male voice asked.

      “I can’t have her broadcasting this. It would kybosh the entire operation. Laran is taking care of her.”

      It seemed a leaden fist clenched her heart, lungs, and mind. Her pulse raced, her chest heaved, and her sweaty palms almost dropped the receiver. Whatever was going on in Devon was deliberate, and downright crooked. She had made the right decision to get out of here, and she intended to do it before Laran could “take care of her.”

      She set the phone back, as gently as her shaking hand permitted, left her half-eaten toast and coffee on the table, and fled to her room. Bag over her shoulder, suitcase in hand, she crept down the back stairs. They were dusty and unswept. Obviously unused these days. Good. That diminished her chances of running into Alan. The stairs came out to a small hallway between the kitchen and the garden door. With no sight or sound of anyone, she grabbed her chance, opened the door, and raced the few yards to her rental car. Throwing her suitcase in the back, she started the car and was down the drive in seconds. She headed for Florence, passed through the waking town, and sped on. As she approached Eugene, she took the interstate and headed north for Portland. It was another three hours, but if Laran was after her, he’d expect her to head for Eugene. Plus, Portland offered many more chances of finding a flight. A half hour later she stopped for gas and coffee and called Heather. She caught her home, playing hooky.

      “I needed a day off, Lizzie. Only way I could get my paperwork done. So I called in sick.”

      Heather would never change. “Get well fast. I’m on my way. I’ll let you know the flight number when I get a ticket.”

      “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

      “Yes. Very. I’ll tell you when I get there.”

      “How long has she been gone?”

      Alan Grant took a slow breath. Deep doo-doo was putting it mildly for where he stood right now. “I don’t know exactly, Mr. Connor.” He didn’t even want to look Mr. Radcliffe in the eye—he gave him the creeps. “It can’t be more than thirty minutes. I left her drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. I came in here to send the faxes you left and download e-mail. When I went back to get another cup of coffee, her car was gone.” By the look on both their faces, he’d be lucky to only get sacked.

      The two men exchanged glances.

      “The airport?” Mr. Connor asked.

      Mr. Radcliffe nodded and looked at Alan. “Take the Taurus to the airport. Find her but don’t let her see you. You understand?”

      Alan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

      “Discover where she’s going, what airline, and what flight. I’ll expect that information within the next two hours.”

      “What if she’s already left, sir?”

      “I hope for your sake she hasn’t.” Laran replied.

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Her incoming flight and car rental information are on the desk,” Mr. Connor added. “That may help you.”

      Alan Grant grabbed them and ran. It was a good hour’s drive into Eugene.

      Piet Connor sat down behind his desk. “Think he’ll find her?”

      “Let’s hope he does. If she decides to share her little discovery with the FBI, you’ll be facing a long prison term.”

      Piet’s head jerked up. “I didn’t set this racket up!”

      “Agreed, it was my brainchild, but do you think any mortal law enforcement agency will be able to put me in jail?”

      “You expect me to take the rap for the whole operation?”

      “No, I expect you to deliver me Elizabeth. I’ll make sure she remembers nothing to tell.”

      “You were supposed to do that last night!”

      “Unfortunately, she was wearing silver. Even I have my limitations.”

      “What the hell do you mean?” Piet took the call from Alan but switched to the speakerphone to share the bad news with Laran. “Christ almighty! This is Eugene airport we’re talking about, not LA! You have to find her!”

      A slight lift of his eyebrows was Laran’s only reaction. Piet knew better than to think he wasn’t worried.

      “Mr. Connor, she isn’t here. She hasn’t turned the car in. I’ve gone through the entire airport three times—even bought a ticket for the San Francisco shuttle to get myself through security. I’ll watch the check-in counters to see if she turns up, but…”

      “Do that, Alan.” Where the hell was she?

      Laran moved closer to the desk. “Stay there until we recall you. She may have stopped to eat, or gone in another direction entirely. Where’s the information you found last night?”

      “All the photocopies are on the file marked Elizabeth Connor in the in-box on Mr. Connor’s desk. There’s not much, but it was all I could find.”

      “Stay where you are until I call.” He punched the button to cut the connection. “Fool! At least we know where he is until I can take care of him. Now we need Elizabeth.”

      Piet reached for the folder and flipped it open. As he turned the photocopied sheets, Laran read over his shoulder. Alan was right, it was regrettably thin: Lizzie’s airline tickets to and from Eugene; copies of her passport, driver’s license, and credit cards—seemed she had her own as well as the one he’d given her—a used rail ticket to London and a return; a few credit card receipts; and a bill for an overnight stay in a hotel. Not much. Until the last two sheets. Talk about bad handwriting.

      “Who’s Heather?” Laran asked, reading over Piet’s shoulder. “She calls Elizabeth ‘sister,’ but…”

      “Stepsister! Adela’s daughter. She and Lizzie got close when we were married.”

      “Maybe that’s where she’s gone,” Laran said, tapping the just-legible address with his finger. “Chicago. This Heather talks about looking forward to seeing her.”

      Piet nodded. “Could be. They were thick as thieves as girls.”

      “That has to be it! If I take the company jet I can beat her there.”

      “A long way to go on a hunch.”

      “Would you rather she ran off telling everyone she meets that she suspects creative accounting in Connor Inc.?”

      “God! No!” Piet shivered at that prospect. “She couldn’t!”

      “She won’t!”

      The cold purpose in Laran’s voice shook Piet. “Now this is Lizzie, not some nosy bookkeeper. My daughter!”

      Laran smiled. “Would I hurt your daughter? I’ll just convince her to keep her suspicions to herself. Remember, I hold her in the same regard I hold you.” He ran two fingers down from Piet’s ear until Piet let out a little moan and leaned over to expose the white length of his neck. “Not now, Piet. Wait a couple of days. Much as it flatters me to be offered your blood, I need you strong enough to

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