Razor Sharp. Fern Michaels
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know all that much about women, but he assumed that Lily Flowers would buy whatever she needed when she got to the first leg of her destination, which apparently was San Bernardino. From San Bernardino it was anyone’s guess where she had intended to go. Somewhere far from American shores was his first thought. He knew in his gut that Lily Flowers had been a woman with a long-range plan.
“Crap!”
Cosmo tried to remember what exactly it was that he had secured in his safe when Lily Flowers came to see him. He knew better than anyone that you always followed the money trail. He wondered what he would find when he got there. Nothing good, he was sure.
Cosmo spent another ten minutes tidying up the kitchen before he poured the last of his coffee into a traveling cup, grabbed his briefcase, and left for the office.
The minute Cosmo got there, he called his secretary into the office and rattled off a list of things she was to do ASAP. “Put everything on hold. This takes precedence. I want to know the name of the trooper, any witnesses, and where they took the body. Call a funeral home, make arrangements. At the moment, I’m thinking cremation.” Cosmo blinked. Where did that decision come from? Didn’t he want an autopsy? Then cremation? Or did he want a burial? What would he do with Lily Flowers’s ashes? She had struck him as a person who would want to be scattered to the four winds. Nameless. He had no idea where that insight came from either. How could he make such an important decision based on the few minutes he’d spent in Lily’s company? He realized he wasn’t entirely comfortable with that decision, so he rescinded the last part of his instructions temporarily, pending further investigation.
Cosmo closed and locked his office door, but not before he told his secretary not to bother him and to cancel a meeting he’d scheduled for ten o’clock. “And don’t put any calls through either until I open this door,” was the parting shot over his shoulder.
Cosmo opened the safe and carried everything Lily Flowers had given him to his desk. Did he really think there would be a clue among the books and ledgers that would give him some indication as to who she really was and where she was going to start a new life? He convinced himself that she would go wherever her money was or at least in close proximity to it. Of course, she wasn’t planning on ending up dead, so maybe she hadn’t left any clues for him. He winced at the thought.
Cosmo sat down and started going through the pile of books. He was still at it at noon when his stomach started to rumble. He leaned back in his custom-crafted rocking chair, removed his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes. He was three checkbooks and one little black book down, and he hadn’t even made a dent in what needed to be done. There were no brokerage statements, which surprised him. One thing he knew for certain was that Lily Flowers, or whoever she was, had been a hell of a businesswoman. Her business accounts tallied to the penny. Her personal checking accounts under all her various aliases also tallied. Expenditures, nothing more. Everything looked normal. She paid her bills on time. She ordinarily didn’t use credit cards even though she had several. Every so often a charge would appear, along with a bill, just to keep the accounts activated. Apparel stores, drugstores, and, once in a while, she charged a restaurant tab. Every bill was current and up-to-date. A record of utilities being canceled under all her identities was stapled into a neat packet. Two apartment leases had been canceled and paid to date under the names of Crystal Clark and Ann Marie Anders. The two houses in the names of Lily Flowers and Caroline Summers were owned free and clear, the utilities cut off. Property taxes had been paid ahead for five years on both properties. Did she do all this herself or did she use an accounting firm?
Cosmo shook his head. The lady had it going on. She walked away, believing she’d tied up all her loose ends. But, she’d had the good sense to come to him and leave all her records. He wondered if she had a suspicion something would happen to her. That alone had to mean she trusted him as her lawyer to do whatever would have to be done if something did occur. And now she was dead.
Just how wealthy was Lily Flowers?
What was it his mother used to say in instances like this? Oh, yes. “This is a fine kettle of fish.” His father would have said, “Grab that bull by the horns and wrestle him to the ground.” What fish or a bull had to do with anything was beyond Cosmo’s comprehension.
Cosmo reached for his glasses and went back to work. Over and over he mumbled, “Who were you, Lily Flowers?”
It was one o’clock, almost time to break for lunch, when he carried one stack of check registers and books back to the safe. When he returned to his desk he shifted the remaining pile of black leather books, and that’s when he saw that what he’d thought was another book was actually a case with a laptop inside. “Ahhh,” he said happily.
Twenty-four hundred miles away in the nation’s capital, Jack Emery parked in front of Harry Wong’s dojo. Harry and Bert were waiting for him at the curb, small duffel bags at their feet. One look at Harry told Jack the martial arts expert was pissed that they weren’t taking his Ducati. “Forget it, Harry. Get your ass in here and enjoy the scenery. Obviously, three people cannot ride on one motorcycle. You just sit there and plot my death, that will give you something to do while Bert and I talk about normal things like women, baseball, women, money or our lack of it, women and women.”
“Your mistake, Jack, was putting me in the backseat. All I have to do is lean forward, extend my index finger, and you are toast. Before Bert can lean over to try to help you, his head will explode. So, sit back, drive, and enjoy the ride,” Harry snarled good-naturedly.
“Harry, you are one ugly, cantankerous, evil, did I mention ugly, ungrateful son of a bitch! I’m the brother you never had, the brother you love with all your heart and soul, the brother you would die for. Where is all this negativity coming from? I’m doing you a tremendous favor by driving you to the mountain so you can see the love of your life. You will arrive looking like the avenging saint that you are, not some bedraggled, homeless derelict riding a motorcycle. Women don’t care if it’s a Ducati or not. They only want you to smell nice, be well groomed, and not be barefooted. I’m saving you from disgrace. Please apologize for your bad behavior.” Jack risked a glance in the rearview mirror. It looked like Harry was going into a trance. He wondered what it meant.
“I think he said for you to kiss his ass,” Bert cackled.
“Some other time,” Jack said.
“I do have a bit of gossip if anyone cares to hear about it,” Bert said.
“Shame on you! Since when have we been reduced to listening to gossip?” Jack asked. “As the director of the FBI, you should be above such…such shenanigans. What? Don’t leave anything out. Harry thrives on gossip.”
“What is it?” Harry demanded, coming out of his trance. He had to admit he did love juicy gossip, especially if it involved someone he knew. More so if it was someone he disliked.
“Alexis and Joe Espinosa text each other all the time!” When there was no noticeable reaction to this information, Bert carried on. “And Isabelle is mooning over that guy she socked in the eye in Vegas last year. Maggie Spritzer told Ted who told Espinosa who then told me that Isabelle asked Maggie to ask her hacker friend Abner Tookus to try and get a handle on the guy who went to the Caymans. She even has a name, not that the schmuck would be using his real name. She even went so far as to ask Maggie if she could hire a private dick to track him down. What do you think of that?”
“If that’s the best you can do, I’m dumping you out of this car right now. Harry and I know all that, don’t we, bro? Well, to be honest here, we didn’t know the part about Isabelle and the dick or Abner.”
“Nobody likes a smart-ass,” Bert said.
“I was hoping for like…you know, news. Are you telling me the FBI is suddenly buttoned-up? What’s coming out of the rumor mill?”
At last they were down to male talk. “Shit like you wouldn’t believe. The whole damn town is hunkering down. Big stuff going on, but no one is talking out loud. Lots and lots of whispers. Hell, I made seven trips to the White House this week. Ain’t good, boys.” Bert’s voice dropped to a hushed