She gestured at a chair in front of her desk. “I need to—

damn.”

Her expression turned so grim as she answered the phone 4


that Kip hoped she hadn’t done anything to jeopardize what she had thought would be a long career. There was simply no other company like SFI.

“Have a seat,” she said as she covered the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry, but this will only take a moment.”

Kip oozed down into the teak and burgundy leather guest chair and watched surreptitiously as Sterling fired short questions at the person on the other end of the line. The Mount Rushmore face from the Annual Report was in full evidence, and it was easy to believe the rumors that floated around about Sterling’s past in intelligence work. She was too memorable to work undercover, and the rumors suggested a more steely-eyed confrontational style—interrogation wasn’t hard to believe, though Kip was certain Sterling’s own tendency to refer to her past as “Geek with a Badge” was the truth.

To avoid noticeably eavesdropping, Kip stared past Sterling to the iridescent panorama of Seattle and Puget Sound. The normally smoky blue-green waters of the Sound were washed with orange by the late afternoon sun. Across the expanse of Elliott Bay, past the point of Duwamish Head, she could see faint golden lights...probably Winslow. It was one of many spectacular views of the Seattle area and if this were Kip’s office, she’d always be staring out the window. Perhaps that was why Tamara Sterling had her back to it.

Today’s afternoon rain shower had left the air pure and brisk.

Outside the temperature was falling to the high forties. She thought with pleasure of her coming weekend at the cabin. There was no chance of snow and the mountain air rolling down out of the Olympic Mountains would work magic on her tired spirit. A crackling fire, steaming bowl of soup with a good book—heaven, or as close to it as she was ever going to get.

Forcing her concentration inside the room, Kip’s brain began tallying up the cost of the office furnishings. She’d had a lot of practice at it. The bookcases, conference table and side chairs were all burnished teak—the real thing, not thin veneer over cheaper wood. The bookcases held books bound in leather that 5


showed signs of actually having been read, and objets d’art that she guessed were costly, but not astronomically so. There was no antique commode cabinet worth $20,000 and the carpet had not cost $400 a square yard. The office would have been sterile and impersonal if not for the signed baseball under glass on a bookshelf, an attractive award Kip recognized from the company newsletter as the GLAAD Lesbian of Distinction award, and a framed, signed photo of Sally Ride on the credenza behind Sterling’s desk. The reception to honor the GLAAD recipients was one of the times they had officially met. She didn’t know if Sterling would even remember her from that event.

The desk was large and also teak and it was a well-used piece of furniture. The surface of the desk sported several large stacks of paperwork, but the collection had an organized look to it. Her practiced eye read file names upside down, but she lacked the memory to be able to recall the coded numbers later. They were definitely SFI client files. Several, however, were names lightly written in pencil—possible new clients?

She was trying to figure out if the Apple laptop was the latest version or one removed when she realized that Sterling had hung up and the ice-gray eyes were intently scrutinizing her.

“You’re probably wondering what this is about.”

Kip nodded.

“I have a special assignment and you’re the person for the job.”

“Wouldn’t this normally go through channels?”

Her lips twitched. “I don’t have to go through channels.”

Kip felt herself color. Fortunately, her olive-tinted skin—the legacy of her father’s DNA—wouldn’t show it. “Of course not.

I’m just startled that you selected me.”

Sterling opened the file directly in front of her. “You’ve had the experience I need right now. Before you came to us you graduated top of your class from NYU and then went on to summa cum laude honors at Yale with a master’s in finance.” She glanced up from the file. “You returned to NYU for criminology specialty courses, then you underwent extensive training with the Justice Department.”

6


Kip had schooled herself not to react. “The Secret Service, actually.”

“Why?”

“I was following in my grandfather’s footsteps.”

“And you left after six months because...”

“Personal reasons.”

“And they are?”

Kip paused, then said steadily, “Personal.”

Sterling stared at her for a moment as if she would press further. The silence stretched but Kip knew it for what it was—

people often volunteered information to put an end to a long silence.

Kip could match her, stone for stone.

Finally, Sterling arched one eyebrow as if to say Kip had not outstared her but she found continuing the silence pointless.

“The training has stayed with you, I see.”

She looked back at the file. “After leaving the government, you joined us as an Internal Controls Consultant. That was four—almost five—years ago, and you’ve been promoted steadily.

Currently you’re an Internal Audit Specialist on a team that handles some of our more complicated clients. Your performance appraisals are exemplary and a year ago I authorized a sizeable performance bonus for you after some excellent work tracing transfers for Big Blue here in Seattle.”

Kip wasn’t sure how to handle this summation of her life. She tried to sound confident as she said, “I hope I’ve lived up to the expectations of the firm.”

Her lips twitched again—not quite a smile. “If you hadn’t you’d be gone.”

She felt herself flush again but said nothing. She’d only stated the obvious, but apparently making her feel stupid was the game they were playing.

After a moment, Sterling closed the file and leaned back in her chair. Long fingers tapped the folder idly. “I’m hiring you as a consultant.”

Kip kept her expression blank, as if her boss’s boss’s boss 7


gave her assignments every day. She straightened. “I don’t understand.”

“I want you to do for me what you did on the McMillan case. Woo’s report said that while he took the lead, you were the backbone of the investigation team. Reading the appraisal closely I can see that Woo’s been dragging his heels on your next promotion because he doesn’t want to lose you from his team.”

Kip took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The McMillan investigation had been a guarded, secret commission from the chairman of the board who had suspected that a top executive was embezzling. Discovering the embezzlement had been easy.

Figuring out how it was being done had been difficult. Finding where the money had gone and recovering it had been a grueling, nerve-wracking challenge. Ultimately, they’d recovered all but a fraction of the funds, then prepared the documentation for the eventual prosecution of the director of finance.

Kip said carefully, “You want me to investigate embezzlement at SFI? In secrecy and potentially involving one of your direct reports? And you can’t ask Woo or Daniels because the guilty party might notice?”

She nodded gravely. “I need you because you’re still a low profile. Someone is siphoning cash out of SFI bank accounts.

You can start with these.” She tossed a stack of papers in her direction.

Kip had examined thousands of bank reconciliations in her years with SFI and the Justice Department. Even in the digital age, bank statements were tick marked by real people for key balances, an essential check against error and fraud. She flipped through the pages and saw the telltale signs of alterations. It was a very good job, though. “How much is missing?”

“Half a million that I’ve discovered so far. I haven’t started looking where the real money is. Someone would notice if I did.”

Kip arched an eyebrow. “The trust accounts?”

She got a nod in response. “I was ambivalent about offering the service to clients from the beginning, and this was one of the reasons why.”

8


“We take every precaution,” Kip said. “Loss of a client’s money would be devastating. It would literally shatter our reputation.”

The look she got said she had just stated the obvious again.

Fighting down another flush, Kip changed direction. “I understand why you’re asking me. Whoever is doing this might be on the lookout for you or one of the top investigators. But they won’t be looking for someone like me. How do you know you can trust me?”

“Because of the Prudential case. If you were susceptible to bribery I think you would have taken the three hundred thousand they offered you. You have no offspring yearning to go to Ivy League schools. You’re driving a six-year-old car and you live in a very modest condo. No untoward debts, no unexplained riches.”

Sterling had clearly done a cursory background check. Kip tried not to resent the intrusion; it came with the territory. “The condo is modest, maybe, but it cost plenty. Seattle’s real estate was through the roof when I bought it.” Kip didn’t mention the cabin, which she’d been able to buy last year, using her savings and the bonus from the Big Blue case. Nobody knew about the cabin.

“I don’t know why you left the government and moved out of D.C., but if the Secret Service brought you in for full training, you must have been screened thoroughly. Though I can’t see you as one of those guys that runs alongside the limousine.” The gray gaze flicked down Kip’s body, then back to her face. It was an impersonal glance, but she knew what Sterling was thinking—