The Guardian
Chapter 16

In hindsight, a second cup of coffee had probably been a bad idea. But Delia had been up late talking to Matteo, then wide awake at six a.m. due to the nerves that had crept back in as she thought of everything that would happen today. An extra blast of caffeine had been necessary to get her from the shower to her car to the parking garage by her office.

Except now it was giving her jitters the jitters, and ugh, she needed to get a handle on this, fast.

If you need a little distraction to help you get back to good, I’m okay with giving it to you, came Matteo’s sure, steady voice in her head, and suddenly, her jitters turned into heat and they’d traveled to a destination far lower than her belly.

“Be logical,” she chided. They had way too much in front of them for her hormones to go rogue now, no matter how good talking with Matteo had made her feel. Reaching for the burner phone that Capelli had given her yesterday before she’d left the Thirty-Third, Delia scrolled to the one number in her contacts, then hit send.

“Sam’s Auto Body. You wreck ’em, we check ’em,” came a familiar voice on the other end, and Delia folded a smile between her lips despite her nerves.

“Hi. I was wondering if I could get a quote on some bodywork for my Toyota Corolla,” she said, using the request they’d agreed upon as their password.

“Morning, Delia,” Maxwell, who had insisted that she drop the formal “Detective” from in front of his name, replied. “Look at you. You’re already a pro.”

“You guys didn’t make it hard.” The detectives had gone over both the plan and police protocol with her so many times, she’d probably still remember it when she was ninety.

Maxwell chuckled, putting her at ease. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re a quick study. Nervous?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, before she could sugarcoat the truth.

But Maxwell just laughed again. “Good. It means you’re doing it right. For what it’s worth—and don’t tell him I told you this or I’ll never hear the end of it—Garza’s excellent at what he does, and we all have his back. This is going to be a piece of cake, okay?”

Delia took a deep breath. Calculated the square root of one thousand four hundred twenty-seven (oh, hi, thirty-seven point seven seventy-six. Rounded up, naturally). Then exhaled.

“Okay.”

Hanging up, she took the tiny little earpiece Capelli had also given her out of its protective case, popping it into her ear with ease, thanks to the practice sessions Hale had walked her through yesterday. Just to be triple safe, she straightened her earrings and fluffed her hair in her car’s rearview mirror, making it look like the move was just a last-minute once-over of her appearance before she headed into work.

“Check, check,” she murmured, a burst of shock moving through her at the clarity of the voice that responded in her ear.

“Morning, Delia,” Capelli said. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Your comms are good to go. Garza, check in.”

“I’m in position,” he replied, and how could five rough, gruff syllables send so much relief through her system?

Capelli continued. “Okay. I’ll monitor the building security feeds from this end and stand by to talk you through the process once you’re in place. Maxwell and Hale are also standing by in a Remington Utilities van on the corner of Taft and Twenty-Ninth.”

“Check, check, boys and girls,” Hale said, ever bubbly. The ease with which the team interacted took another chunk out of Delia’s nervousness. She grabbed her laptop bag and got out of her car, making her way to the building where Cromwell A&M’s offices were located on the fifth floor. The transmitter in her ear was designed specifically to filter out background noise from the location of everyone else on comms. She could still hear Matteo greeting people in the building and checking them past security, though, and the sound of his voice, low and soft in her ear, soothed the last of her jittery nerves. She could do this. Everything would be fine.

Smoothing a hand over her emerald-green jumpsuit, she lifted her chin and sailed through the front doors.

And nearly ran smack into Peyton and Kent.

“Oh!” Delia squeaked, her heart vaulting halfway up her windpipe. “I’m so sorry. I must not have been paying attention.”

“Apparently,” Peyton murmured, but Kent shook his head.

“That’s okay. I get lost in thought all the time,” he said with a smile.

Peyton’s perfect brows snapped together as they neared the security desk in the main lobby, making Delia’s pulse jump even faster. “You look nice today.”

It was more accusation than anything else, and wow, had she always been so subtly bitchy?

“Thanks,” Delia said, forcing her chin to stay level and her smile to stick around. So, the jumpsuit and pointy-toed flats she’d chosen to accompany it were a bit dressier than her norm, and yes, she’d chosen them because she’d wanted an extra shot of confidence today. But she hadn’t expected anyone to notice.

“You do look nice,” Kent agreed. “That green is the same color as Kryptonite.”

“Well, if you want to get technical, it’s the same color as the Kryptonite that weakens Superman. There are actually all kinds of Kryptonite, and in the original comics, it was—”

“Red,” Kent supplied. “I didn’t know you’re a fan.”

Delia’s cheeks warmed. “Guilty as charged. Although, I’ve always been more of a Wonder Woman girl, personally.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Kent said.

Peyton let out just enough sigh to signal her boredom with the topic, but her spine straightened an instant later as they reached the security desk.

“Well, good morning,” she purred, her eyes zeroed in on Matteo, who looked holy-shit gorgeous in his black on black security guard uniform. “You’re new.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his smile polite as Peyton ran her keycard through the reader. “Just filling in for today while Jerry’s at HQ for training.”

“It’s certainly nice to know you’ll be keeping us safe and sound while he’s gone, Mr. Gonzalez.” Peyton’s eyes swept Matteo’s nametag, lingering for far too long on his chest before she pulled out her very best smile. Jealousy pricked at Delia, even though she knew it was highly irrational, but if Matteo was fazed by Peyton’s long legs or overt flirtation, he didn’t show it.

Glancing down at the monitor on his side of the desk that had flashed Peyton’s credentials when she’d slid her keycard through the reader, he simply replied, “Yes, Ms. Willoughby. Have a nice day.”

Turning toward Delia, he waited as she slid her keycard, so relaxed in his role that she had no choice but to relax, too. “Good morning, Ms. Sutton.”

“Good morning,” Delia replied, and oh, my God, could this really be so easy? With a smooth breath, she turned to tuck her keycard into her bag when Matteo’s gaze flashed over her far differently than it had over Peyton.

“Have a nice day.”

The dark, dead-s3xy flicker was gone in an instant, covered by all the professional la-di-da he’d been dishing out since she’d reached the desk. Neither Peyton nor Kent seemed to have caught it, but the look had arrowed through her, all the same.

“Peyton, how does three thirty work for you?” Kent asked, and Delia exhaled in relief at his obliviousness to the fact that her panties had been scorched into ashes.

“That sounds fine. But let’s pencil in at least an hour. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do since you’ve been dealing with the McElroy merger for weeks now.”

“No rest for the wicked, I guess,” Kent laughed, and Delia’s belly went tight at the expression she’d corrected Peyton for on the day she’d run into her with Nicky. Could that be a coincidence? “Delia, are you okay holding down the fort while Peyton and I meet today? We’ll be in my office if you need us, but…”

“Of course,” Delia said, so fast that she forced herself to regroup on a three-count, complete with Mississippis in between. “Feel free to take as long as you like. I can handle anything that comes up.”

She waited out the three-minute elevator ride, pretending to check her cell phone while Peyton and Kent talked about the stock market (her stock in Tiffany & Co was doing all sorts of exciting things, of course). Delia measured the steps to her office, taking care to be sure that her strides were even. Casual. Unrushed.

The second her office door closed, she whooshed out the breath that had been cemented to her lungs.

“You caught that, right?” she asked quietly, and even though her office was empty, Matteo’s voice was right there in her ear.

“Three-thirty. It’s a date.”

Never in a million years would Garza have thought anyone could outdo him in the workaholic department.

Enter Kent F*****g Cromwell.

The guy was a machine. Of course, it didn’t hurt that his office was lushly appointed, with an espresso maker that had to have cost more than Garza’s first car, a standing desk/treadmill combo to rival most professional gyms, and a full bathroom tucked off to one side. There was a conference table that seated six over by the windows, showcasing a very beautiful, very pricey view of the city, and Garza would bet the elegant couch tucked along the opposite side of the spacious office had seen more than one overnighter.

But could all those bells and whistles have come from hard work alone?

Blowing out a breath, Garza checked the time stamp on the monitor in front of him at the security desk. Seven and a half hours, and Kent hadn’t come out of that damned office. He’d even had his lunch delivered right to the door. Accessing the guy’s laptop was going to take an act of God, but at least Garza knew he’d have a clear shot at Peyton’s.

Speaking of which…

“I’m going to stretch my legs a little. Do a patrol of the building,” he said to the second-shift guard, who had shown up an hour ago and proceeded to watch YouTube videos on his phone nonstop. The guy nodded without looking all the way up, and Garza sent up a thank you to fate that at least this part of things would be easy. Metering his steps, he swiveled his gaze over his surroundings, taking in the lobby, then the first floor, then the second, before Capelli’s voice arrived, right on cue, in his ear.

“You’re looking good, Detective,” Capelli said, and he would know. Not only did he have access to all of the security feeds in the building, but he’d also fitted Garza with a body cam in his top buttonhole. If Garza was looking at it, so was Capelli.

“Delia, check in,” Capelli said, and she murmured in reply.

“I’m here.” She’d removed her earpiece for the portion of her workday spent in her office alone, which—funny—hadn’t made it easier for Garza to try to forget how fuvking s3xy she’d looked in that body-hugging outfit she was wearing. But that was hardly his fault. The way her eyes had sparkled, her confidence on full display as she’d walked into the lobby, then smiled at him so openly? He’d have to be dead not to have been turned on, op or no op.

“Oh, hi, Peyton!” came Delia’s voice, a shade brighter than usual, and Garza’s pulse moved a little more swiftly through his veins. Easy. “Are you headed to Kent’s office already?”

“It’s three twenty-eight, so…” Peyton’s tone held just enough amusement to carry her condescension, and Garza had to hand it to her. She was a master manipulator. “Have you finished those monthly reports we talked about?”

Delia hitched, making Garza pay closer attention as he opened the door to the stairwell. “What reports?”

“The trend analysis for all of our Q2 acquisitions,” Peyton said, as if she were speaking to a toddler. “I asked you to do them over a week ago.”

“No, you didn’t. If you had, I’d have done them,” Delia responded with nothing but honesty, and what was Peyton up to?

“Oh, Delia,” Peyton said, so sweet that Garza nearly needed fillings. “Don’t you remember? It was that day we met to talk about the Brinkley Steel buyout. In my office, over lattes?”

“I remember that,” Delia said, her voice catching in hesitation. “But I don’t remember you asking for those reports.”

Peyton made a sympathetic noise. “You have been under a lot of stress lately. And that mugging—you poor thing. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Delia replied, strong and clear. “I’m fine. I must have misunderstood your request last week. I can have the report to you by close of business today.”

“Only if you’re sure it won’t stress you out any further,” Peyton said. She must’ve moved off after that, because a few beats of quiet passed before Garza couldn’t stand it any longer.

“What was that all about?” His sixth sense was smoking.

“No clue,” Delia whispered. “But she’s in Kent’s office.”

They’d have to unravel that one later, then. “Copy that. Here we go.”

Adrenaline perked in Garza’s veins. He let it in just enough to sharpen his senses—nothing like your own brand of chemistry to keep yourself on top of things during an op—as he moved up one flight of stairs, then one more. Visualizing every objective, he crystallized the steps in his head.

Get in. Bypass Peyton’s keycard reader and password. Scan her hard drive. Find the files. Download. Screen grab. Reset her security measures.

Get the evidence he needed to nail Nicky Bianchi, once and for all.

Controlling his breath so it wouldn’t control him, Garza palmed the doorknob leading out of the fifth floor stairwell. With help from Delia, he’d memorized the layout of Cromwell A&M’s office space as soon as they’d gotten the green light from Captain Hughes yesterday. Not that it was entirely difficult—the main reception area (small) and the conference rooms (much larger) aside, the place was essentially one large square, with Peyton’s and Kent’s offices occupying opposite corner space and Delia’s smaller but still well-appointed office in the corner between. Each office bore at least one window between it and the hallway, although Delia had revealed that both Kent’s and Peyton’s had a switch that would frost the glass for privacy.

And wasn’t that just a bonus. No wandering eyes to worry about as he got the job done.

Garza ambled down the thankfully empty hallway, key at the ready. One slide, one fast flick of his wrist and silent push-and-replace, and he was over the threshold and standing in Peyton’s office as if he didn’t belong anywhere else. A half-second later, he’d found the switch to set her windows to the privacy setting, leaving the lights off as he moved through the semi-shadowy space.

“Okay,” he murmured. Her laptop was on her desk, and Garza took a few seconds to memorize the placement of everything in his path before slipping over to pop the thing open. His heart pressed harder at his throat—breathe in. Focus—his fingers hovering over her keyboard at the login prompt.

“Tell me again that this is going to work, Capelli.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” came Capelli’s reply, and it did the trick of scattering Garza’s nerves.

“Fair enough. Hit me. Where am I headed?”

“The first thing we need to do is bypass the keycard reader and change her security settings to a default. SOP if a user loses their card or needs to reset a password,” Capelli said. “Even money says Cromwell’s IT team does it for someone at least once a month.”

He walked Garza through the steps, going as swiftly as he could while still being meticulous, until finally…finally…

“Ah! I’m in.” Garza grinned.

“That’s great, kid. Don’t get c0cky,” Capelli popped back, and Delia’s laugh filtered over the line.

“Nice Star Wars reference,” she murmured, and the sound of her voice made Garza’s confidence surge.

“Accessing Peyton’s account…now.” A few more Capelli-led keystrokes and Garza had gotten past the login screen. Yes. “Okay. What am I looking for, here, Wonder Twins?”

“You’ll need to access the hard drive,” Capelli said. Once Garza had that done—Christ, there were a shitload of files in here—Delia guided him past the ones that were legitimate, with Capelli scanning through to see if the account information added up.

And it did. For every single one.

“What the f**k?” Garza bit out. He rolled through the files again, this time, more slowly. “How can everything be legit?”

“It can’t,” Delia insisted. “I know what I saw. The files we’re looking for have to be somewhere on her hard drive. They have to. Capelli said they can’t just disappear.”

“She couldn’t have deleted them without leaving a trace. But”—Capelli paused, his tone changing entirely in less than a second—“wait. God, of course. She’s got a ghost.”

“English, please.” Garza glanced at the door, then his watch. He needed to get moving so he could get out of here undetected.

“The unknown user account must be hidden on her machine. It would give her all the access she needs and allow her to make changes, then cover her tracks, without leaving a trace in the rest of the system.” Capelli fast-talked Garza through a bunch of commands and keystrokes, Garza’s fingers moving so quickly to keep up with the commands that they ached. “There!”

Garza scrolled through the files, his pulse running wild. They looked identical to the ones Delia had downloaded weeks ago, with assets spiraling from place to place and back again, only now, the amounts and the number of transactions had tripled. “Jesus. This is a lot of money, even for Bianchi.”

“What about Silhouette?” Delia asked. “Is it there?”

He scanned quickly. Scanned again to be sure. Damn it. “No.”

“Start downloading everything else,” Capelli said. “The Silhouette file’s there. We just have to replace it.”

Forcing his fingers to steadiness, Garza slid a flash drive into the side of Peyton’s laptop and began to download the ghost account files. They were enough to have Peyton charged with embezzlement—not even a top-dollar defense attorney would be able to get her out of an arrest warrant with numbers this big—but it wasn’t enough. They needed the Silhouette file to connect her to Bianchi, and him to the whole scheme.

“We need the Silhouette file,” Garza said, eyeing the progress of the download. Twelve percent.

Capelli made a noise of understanding. “Then let’s go hunting.”

He led Garza through a series of steps, trying to turn up the elusive file, but they hit a dead end. They repeated the search three more times with three different processes, all of them futile, until Capelli cursed.

“We’re not going to replace it in the time we have.”

Garza’s hands became fists over the keyboard. “Not an option.” He couldn’t have come this far only to let Bianchi, the slimy little weasel, slip past his grasp. “There has to be something else.”

“There are about twelve something else’s,” Capelli said, just one step down from steel. “And I’d need hours for each of them. Hacking this deep can’t be a rush job. That’s not how it works.”

Frustration surged. “Capelli—”

“Matteo, you need to listen to him,” Delia cut in, but nope. No way. Not even for her.

“Delia, trust me. It’s all good. We just need a few minutes to figure this out.”

Her whisper pulled bowstring tight, filling his chest with cold, sharp dread. “No, trust me. You don’t have a few minutes to do anything. Peyton just came out of Kent’s office, and she’s heading in your direction.”