Colton's Secret Service Page 7

  Watching her, Nick frowned. Now what? “What are you doing?”

  Georgie’s breath grew shallow. She wasn’t going to panic, she wasn’t. She knew if she did, she’d scare Emmie. As it was, she was scaring herself. But this thing was just mushrooming. Before answering, she turned the cards face down one by one.

  Picking up the first one, she searched for a toll-free number. “I’ve got to make some phone calls,” she told him, hoping against hope that she was wrong. The sickening, metallic taste in her mouth told her she probably wasn’t.

  The expression on the manager’s face turned compassionate. “You’re welcome to use the phone on my desk, Georgie.”

  She nodded, murmuring, “Thank you.”

  The manager beckoned her over to the far side of the bank, unlocking a swinging half door so that she and Emmie could enter.

  Georgie felt as if she was moving in slow motion, trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. And all the while she kept telling herself that this couldn’t be happening. She had been knocked down so many times before and had always managed to get up again. If the worst came to pass, she could do it again. But this time it would be harder. This time her daughter was old enough to understand what was happening.

  Nick followed her, putting his hand out to stop the door as the manager began to close it after Georgie and her daughter had passed through.

  “The tapes?” he prodded.

  Embarrassed, the manager’s face turned a light shade of red. “Yes, of course. Right this way.” He led them to a small back room where all their monitors and tapes were kept.

  Georgie was barely aware of Sheffield leaving. Very slowly, as if she’d just aged fifty years, she gripped the side arms and lowered herself into the manager’s chair. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the streamlined, black phone closer to her on the desk.

  “It’s gonna be all right, Mama,” Emmie assured her quietly. She offered her mother a big, broad smile.

  Georgie almost cried.

  She looked into the small, perfect face. That was supposed to be her line. She was the one who was supposed to do the comforting, not be the one on the receiving end.

  Doing her best to rally, she gave the little girl’s hand a quick squeeze. “Of course it is, Emmie. I just have to make a few calls, get a few things straightened out, that’s all.”

  Georgie hoped to God she sounded convincing.

  “It was her.” The manager repeated nervously as he entered the small, darkened room. Nick was directly behind him. “The tape’ll prove it.”

  So he’d already said. But the more the manager echoed his statement, the less inclined Nick was to believe that Georgie had actually closed her account. Why go through this big act if she knew it was closed? For whose benefit?

  The pieces just didn’t fit together.

  “Let’s just see it” was all that Nick said in response.

  He noted that the bank manager seemed to be growing more agitated. Because he’d made a mistake? Or because he was guilty of something? There was no way to tell—yet. This situation was getting messier by the minute.

  “Right,” Collins agreed, as if forcing himself to sound cheerful. Opening the deep drawer where surveillance tapes from the last month were kept, he rummaged around. “Somebody took them out of order,” he complained. He read the dates marked on the side of the tapes under his breath. “Finally.” He flashed a smile at Nick, then let it fade when all he got in response was a stony stare.

  Plucking out of the drawer the tape in question, he held it up like a trophy. “Here it is,” he declared with relief, as if the mere finding of the tape would somehow vindicate him.

  Nick nodded toward the video player. “Play it,” he instructed.

  “Yes, of course.” But Collins continued holding the tape in his hands in a manner that indicated he didn’t know which end played. “Abby?” Collins turned toward the teller directly outside the small room where the video equipment was kept. “Would you play this for Mr. Sheffield?”

  Abby entered dressed in a turquoise skirt so tight it resembled a tourniquet. Her eyes swept over Nick slowly, taking in every inch from head to toe. The appreciative smile was quick in coming.

  She’d taken measure of him, Nick thought. As an expert on body language, he could tell she liked what she’d seen.

  Abby took the tape from the manager, but her eyes remained on Nick. “It’ll be my extreme pleasure,” she purred.

  Tape in hand, Abby sat down at the video recorder, taking care to sit slow enough to better show off the more compelling parts of her anatomy. Tucking her legs over to one side, she leaned forward and popped the tape into the machine. After glancing over her shoulder at Nick, she hit Play.

  “Here we go,” she announced.

  The time stamp in the corner said it was nine o’clock, which was when the bank opened its doors. Nick had no desire to stand behind the brassy blonde and watch an entire day’s worth of transactions.

  “Fast forward it,” he told her.

  Again, she looked over her shoulder at him, her smile particularly seductive.

  “Whatever you want,” Abby said, her tone indicating that she was open to more than working the buttons on the machine.

  Nick ignored her the way he did anything he didn’t particularly care for. Focusing solely on the activity on the screen, he watched and waited. Customer after customer came and went across it, all of them resembling characters going through their paces in a keystone cops silent movie.

  And then he saw her. Georgie. Tight jeans, work shirt, worn boots and all.

  “Slow it down right there,” he ordered. Abby complied. It was obvious she had no idea what he was looking for, nor did she want to know.

  Nick caught his breath.

  There, on the screen, with her telltale red braid hanging down to the small of her back, was Georgie Grady.

  Chapter 7

  “That’s her,” Collins said eagerly, needlessly pointing to the screen at the only bank customer on the monitor. There was relief in his voice as he added, “I told you she was here.”

  Nick ignored the man. He was too busy watching the woman, who was a dead ringer for Georgie, move up to the teller’s window and place a briefcase on the counter between them.

  “Keep going,” he told Abby when she glanced up at him.

  The teller on the tape disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he had an index card with him. The signature card, Nick assumed. Within moments of signing the card, the transaction was completed. The woman on the screen took back her briefcase, now filled with what he assumed were the proceeds from her account, and then hurriedly moved away. Nick watched the scene intently.

  “Rewind,” he instructed. When Abby did as he asked, he had her stop at the same place as before and watched the scene again. And then a third time.

  Puzzled, Collins looked at him. “What is it you’re looking for?”

  Nick blew out a breath, still looking at the screen. “An explanation.”

  This time it was the teller who glanced up at him and asked a question. “For?”

  “For starters, why ‘Georgie’ kept her head turned away from the camera the whole time.” Was it just a coincidence, or was there a reason the woman on the screen had done that?

  Something wasn’t quite right and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Yet. He told Abby to play the tape one more time.

  “Most people don’t even realize that there’s a camera there,” Collins told him, trying to be helpful. “Ms. Grady was probably lost in thought and just in a hurry to do whatever it was she wanted to do with all that money she withdrew.”

  “I know what I’d do,” Abby commented. The smile on her lips was seductive as she gazed up at the tall, dark Secret Service Agent at her side.

  “Uh-huh,” Nick answered, lost in thought. It wasn’t clear who the response was directed toward. “Play it again,” he instructed.

  Maybe he was making too much of this, Nick thought, watching
the scene for the fifth time. Maybe he was looking for a zebra when there was a bucking horse right in front of him. After all, the bank manager was certain that the woman on the video tape was Georgie Grady and that did, after all, support his initial theory that the woman had been here all along, sending those threatening e-mails to the Senator that she’d denied having anything to do with it.

  Here it was, all neatly gift wrapped for him with a bow on top and he was pushing it away, Nick upbraided himself.

  All that was left to do was to arrest the woman and bring her back with him for prosecution.

  So why was he hesitating?

  Because his gut told him something wasn’t right? Or because something a bit lower than his gut was muddying up his thinking?

  No, damn it, he wasn’t the type to let his personal feelings—when he even had them—to get in the way of his judgment. There was something wrong with what he was watching on the tape and he thought he finally had a bead on what it was.

  A noise directly behind him had Nick quickly turning around, one hand on the hilt of the weapon he wore.

  Georgie was in the doorway, her face ashen. Not because of the firearm. The woman had probably grown up around guns all of her life. No, there was a different reason for the lack of color in her face. One hand on the doorjamb, she looked as if she was struggling to stand up.

  “You’re on the surveillance tape,” he told her, watching her reaction.

  She didn’t seem to hear him. Or, if she heard, the words apparently didn’t penetrate. She made no response to his statement one way or the other.

  “There are charges on my credit cards,” she told him. The words sounded as if she was being strangled.

  “That’s what they’re for, to charge things with,” he replied.

  Some of the color returned to her cheeks. She continued to hold on to the doorjamb for support.

  “Charges I didn’t make,” she snapped.

  It was official. The unthinkable had happened. Something she had never dreamed of ever happening, not to her. She’d read about this in the newspaper. But now she was the victim.

  Her identity had been stolen.

  Her identity, her money and her life.

  Both of their lives, she amended, looking down at her little girl.

  “Somebody’s stolen my identity.” Every single card she owned had been taken and used, even the two she kept as emergency backups, the two she never used except for once a year just to keep them active.

  The simple sentence got her all of Nick’s attention. “Are you sure?”

  Georgie felt a wave of hysteria rising. Last night, she’d been flush, sitting on top of three hundred thousand dollars. This morning she was all but broke and fiercely in debt. And about to be arrested. How could everything have gone so wrong so fast?

  “Of course I’m sure,” she retorted angrily. Did he think this was a game? Why would she do that? What would she gain by pretending that her identity had been stolen?

  Georgie unfolded the piece of paper she’d used while speaking to the customer service representatives at the four different credit card companies.

  “There’s a whole list of charges from stores on the damned Internet. Stiletto heels, fancy clothes, fancier undergarments.” She pointed to the name of an exclusive shop that had only recently launched online sales. “CDs by people I wouldn’t listen to, DVDs of movies I wouldn’t be caught dead watching—”

  The mention of stiletto heels and Maid of Paradise bras and microscopic panties had Nick’s mind booking passage on a ship he couldn’t allow to leave the harbor. Still, for one unguarded moment, he couldn’t help imagining what she would have looked like, wearing only those items.

  “Planning on doing some entertaining?” he quipped.

  Her eyes blazed at the question and even more when she thought of the unknown person who had done all this to her.

  “Planning on a murder if I ever get my hands on the person who’s responsible for all this,” she retorted.

  He looked at her for a long moment, playing the devil’s advocate. “You still say it’s not you.”

  Georgie squared her shoulders, as if that could somehow help her get the point across more forcefully. “With my dying breath,” she told him fiercely. “Not that you believe me.” The last sentence fairly sizzled with her anger.

  That was just the problem, Nick thought. He was starting to believe her.

  He glanced at the bank manager who still stood at the desk. The man was obviously taking in every word and trying—without success—to look as if he wasn’t.

  “Make me a copy of that section of the tape,” Nick instructed.

  Clearly feeling that he was off the hook, Collins snapped to attention, more than happy to comply. “Right away,” he promised.

  Nick heard the bank manager murmuring to Abby, telling her to make the copy because she was the one running the tape.

  That taken care of, Nick took hold of Georgie’s elbow and led her out of the small, dark room. Emmie hurried to follow.

  “Let’s just say,” he told Georgie evenly, “for now, that I’m not a hundred percent convinced that that’s you on the surveillance tape.”

  “Of course, it’s not me. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along.” She shrugged out of his hold. Wanting to remain aloof, curiosity got the better of her. “What makes you think it isn’t me?”

  “You walk differently.” That was what had bothered him while he was initially watching the tape.

  Georgie stared at him. She wasn’t aware of there being anything unique about her gait. “What?”

  Nick elaborated. “The woman on the tape was in a hurry, but she still walked like she knew everyone was watching her. She minced and put a little wiggle in her step. You walk like you’ve got somewhere else to be and you cut through that distance like a ranch hand. There’s nothing feminine about the way you move.” Other than her body, he added silently. But that was neither here nor there and certainly not something he was about to admit to her.

  She wasn’t sure if she was clear about what was going on here. “Are you insulting me or finally coming to my rescue?”

  He didn’t view it as either and he didn’t care for the tone she was using. “I’m making an observation. You want my help or not?”

  In a perfect world, Georgie thought, she would have lifted her chin, told him what he could do with his help. She could handle the situation by herself. But this wasn’t a perfect world and without doing a single thing to bring about this awful chain of events, she knew she was in way over her head. Like it or not, she had no recourse but to accept his offer.

  Still, the words had a bitter taste in her mouth and burned her tongue as she said them. “I want it.”

  Nick felt something suddenly clutch his leg. Startled, he looked down to see that the woman’s daughter had all but wrapped herself around him.

  Emmie smiled up at him gleefully. “I knew you weren’t as bad as you looked.”

  He kept forgetting that she was there, a pint-sized recorder with ears, taking in everything and absorbing it rather than letting it go over her head like the average four-year-old.

  “You sure she’s only four?” he asked Georgie.

  “I’m almost five,” Emmie announced proudly as her mother gently removed her from the Secret Service agent’s leg and then protectively kept her hand on her shoulder. “Mama said we had to come back because Uncle Clay wants to help celebrate my birthday.”

  “Uncle Clay,” Nick repeated, raising his eyes from the child to look at Georgie. “Is that what you have her call your boyfriends?” he asked mildly, giving no indication that her answer, one way or the other, meant anything to him. “‘Uncle?’”

  “No, that’s what I have her call my older brother.” Overwrought, and stressed near to the breaking point, not to mention that she hadn’t had any sleep because she’d spent the night verbally sparring with Sheffield, she glared at him. “Don’t you pay attention? I said I didn�
�t have a boyfriend.”

  As he looked at her, Nick found it hard to believe she was single. She was far more than passably pretty. Then again Georgie Grady could also slice any man to bloody ribbons with that sharp tongue of hers and he was fairly certain, given half a chance, that she would run over anyone who got in her way.

  “Got that tape for you,” Collins called out, coming up behind Nick. He held the tape aloft as if it was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  Georgie shifted uncomfortably. Sheffield had said that he thought the woman in the tape was an impostor, disguised to make people think it was her. What if he was only putting her on? What if he was just saying that to make her put down her guard?

  “What are you going to do with that?” she asked Sheffield. “Use it at my trial?”

  He’d never believed in putting all his cards on the table until the game was over. This was far from over. “Maybe, maybe not. Right now, I’m going to have it expressed back to Prosperino in California and have my tech support see if he can clean up the picture and magnify the image.”

  The image. She noted that he didn’t refer to the person in question as her. Georgie supposed that it was a start. “Okay.”

  He was going to need a padded envelope and postage. “This place have a post office?” He tossed out the question to both Collins and Georgie.

  “A post office, two banks, a city hall and a sheriff’s department. Some people even think we’re close to civilized,” Georgie answered with a trace of resentment at the way he’d dismissed Esperanza. It was all right for her to feel hemmed in by the town once in a while because she lived here and for the most part, she loved it. But he had no right to look down his nose at it. Or her.

  About to comment on her quip, he decided to keep it to himself. He hadn’t actually meant what he’d said as an insult, just that Esperanza felt so damn rural to him. He was accustomed to places like Los Angeles and New York where you could find whatever it was you needed within a very small radius.

  “Show me” was all he said.