39

CONNOR TOOK A SIP OF HIS COFFEE AND TRIED TO IGNORE THE EMOTIONS roiling inside him. He set the mug down onto the black granite conference room table with a dull thunk. He was alone, but that would change soon.

A plate of saucer-sized gourmet cookies sat in the middle of the table and an assortment of drinks rested on the credenza, courtesy of Doyle & Brown’s omnipresent office services. He realized that he’d skipped lunch and picked up a chocolate-macadamia nut confection. Then he changed his mind and dropped it onto a napkin beside his coffee.

He could have waited for his guest in his office, but he wanted to be away from his phone and e-mail for a few minutes. He needed to think, to sort things out some before the meeting started.

Allie had disappeared on purpose. That much was clear, at least. Her phone was disconnected, all the corporate bank accounts had been drained in the past twenty-four hours, and her landlord said she had canceled her lease.

She hadn’t told him where she was going. No address, no phone number, not even an e-mail address. She wasn’t just hiding from the world, she was hiding from him.

That hurt. They had worked together closely for three years. They had been more than business colleagues, they had been friends who trusted and respected each other. Then last night they had opened the door to becoming much more.

And today she was gone without a word. She kissed him, said good-bye, and walked away.

He got up and looked out of the window. The fog was flowing in through the Golden Gate, cloaking the bay and shoreline with dank chill. He’d been on the water once when the fog rolled in. The sun vanished, the temperature dropped twenty degrees in less than a minute, and every boat near him vanished. A gray and lonely cocoon surrounded him. That’s how he felt now.

“Do I even want to find her?” he murmured to the empty room. “What would I find?”

A dark possibility began to take form in his mind: Allie disappeared because she had been setting up a scam and she had just pulled it off. From whom? Him? His family? His firm?

He remembered her probing for financial information last night. Did his family have accounts at Citi or B of A? Nope, he had told her, just Morgan Stanley.

Cold knifed through him. He grabbed his Blackberry and dialed the family’s private banker. “Joel, it’s Connor Norman. I need you to run an emergency check on all our assets. Look for any unusual activity, especially large withdrawals in the last forty-eight hours.”

“I’m on it. One sec.” Connor could hear typing in the background. “Nothing big in any of the main cash accounts. Just some autopayments. It’ll take a little longer to check the other assets, especially the stuff with outside investment managers. What’s going on? Anything in particular I should look for?”

Connor relaxed, but only a little. “One of my… colleagues disappeared suddenly, and I want to make sure she didn’t take anything with her. Check my portfolio first, then the family’s, and then the foundation’s. Liquid assets, then illiquid.”

“Understood. And don’t worry—we’ll be very discreet.”

Connor reddened. “She’s a professional colleague. I’m about to go into a meeting. Text me the results.”

He hung up and shook his head. His stomach felt like it was full of cold gravel.

The phone on the credenza rang. The caller ID showed the reception desk. “Hi, Janet.”

“Hi, Connor. There’s a Mr. Clayton here to see you.”

“On my way.”

Connor walked out of the conference room and down the long hallway to the reception area. He walked fast and the air seemed to clear as he went.

It would be good to talk to Julian Clayton. He was a good detective and a good friend. He also went to Connor’s church and shared his interest in World War II planes, which didn’t hurt.

Connor walked into the lobby and Julian rose to meet him. He always reminded Connor vaguely of Charles Barkley. He had the same intense eyes and perfectly spherical bald head. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice, Julian.”

They shook hands warmly. “Not a problem, my friend. How are you?”

“Been better, been worse. How about you?”

“Same. So, what’s the emergency?”

Connor took his friend by the elbow and guided him toward the conference room. “Let’s save that for the meeting. How was the Giants game last weekend?”

They chatted about the game as they walked through the firm. Connor’s mind was elsewhere, of course, but that hardly mattered. He had learned to make conversation at the same age that he learned to walk, and both skills were equally unconscious for him.

Connor closed the conference room door behind them and sat at the table. Julian poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up a cookie, and sat down opposite Connor. He pulled out a notepad and pen and looked up expectantly. “Well?”

“One of my clients just disappeared. I need you to help me find her.”

Julian stopped in the process of breaking a piece from the cookie. “What’s her name?”

“Allie Whitman. You did some work for her.”

A frown tightened Julian’s forehead, drawing his gleaming scalp taut. “I remember. What happened? Is there a police report?”

Connor pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Not yet. Probably not ever.”

“Why not?”

“No crime. They’ll probably conclude that she disappeared voluntarily—at least that’s what I see happening based on what I know.”

The detective nodded and popped a piece of cookie into his mouth. He brushed crumbs off of his notepad and jotted something down.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

He shook his head as he chewed. “I’m not,” he said around a mouthful of oatmeal and chocolate chips. He swallowed. “Disappointed maybe, but not surprised.”

The shadow on Connor’s heart deepened. He waited for a moment, but Julian didn’t elaborate. “Can you tell me why you’re disappointed?”

Julian shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t say anything more than that. Client confidentiality. You understand.”

Connor nodded. “I understand.” He very much wanted to know why Allie had vanished, of course, but he appreciated Julian’s scrupulous ethics. The two of them shared the same uncompromising moral compass, and it was one of the reasons they worked well together.

But client confidentiality surely didn’t cover everything. “Any idea where she is?”

“None.”

“Do you know whether she engaged in any… financial crimes before she left?”

Julian’s eyebrows went up. “No idea. Do you want me to look into that?”

Connor nodded. “It’s… Well, it’s possible that she might have taken money from accounts belonging to me or my family. Not certain, you understand. But possible.”

The detective shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, man. Truly sorry.”

“Don’t be. Not yet. We don’t know whether she stole a dime.”

“You used to trust this girl, didn’t you?”

Connor looked down at the table. An inscrutable black reflection looked back. “Yeah, I did. We worked together pretty closely.”

“And then she pulls a Houdini on you and leaves you wondering whether you’ve been grifted.” He shook his head again and looked Connor in the eyes. “That’s what I’m sorry about.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Connor took a deep breath, leaned back, and crossed his arms. “All right, so our private banker is looking into it too. I’ll put you in touch with him.”

Julian looked at him silently for a moment, then nodded. “Got it. Anything else?”

There was one more question gnawing at the back of Connor’s mind. “Just one more thing—do you know whether she’s safe?”

Julian thought for a moment. “No.”