For The Love Of Laurel (6 page)

Chapter 8

Laurel left the house uncharacteristically early the next morning. As she drove down the driveway, she glanced at the apartment. Sure, it was far away, but the sun wasn’t hitting the windows. She was almost certain Dylan stood framed by one window, looking out at her, but it could just be her paranoia. She still felt guilty about breaking into his apartment, though not as much as he might think as she imagined how many times he most likely had invaded her privacy at her father’s behest.

Thinking Sue would probably faint if she showed up too early, she decided to see if she could get the address of the home where Dr. Gunderson had dropped off his
friend
. She passed the grounds slowly. The only opening was a small gate, and the house number wasn’t visible from the street. It was two houses from the corner. She should be able to find a map online that would give her the address.

At the office, she went to her computer, barely acknowledging Sue. She pulled up a map of Rancho Santa Fe and typed in the street name. Sure enough, the street addresses were listed. She then went to the San Diego County website and pulled up the tax records for the address she wanted.

She found what she was looking for, but not what she was expecting. The property was owned by Miles R. Gunderson. Gloria’s name was not on the title. She probably didn’t even know about it. But who did? Who was the woman with him? She still thought the woman seemed familiar.

She put a call in to Gloria. She was right. Gloria knew nothing about a house in Rancho Santa Fe. With Gloria’s savage “Get the bastard” ringing in her ears, Laurel closed her phone. She decided tonight was as good as any to get into Gunderson’s office.

Sipping a cup of strong coffee at his computer, Dylan heard Laurel’s car leave. He glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock. She must have a lot to do today. It was unlike her to be on the road before nine, but he wasn’t concerned. Last night he had put a new GPS tracker on her car, wondering as he did it whether she had taken the other one off herself or had someone do it for her. Obviously, she hadn’t trusted that he would honor her request to remove it.
Smart woman
.

After checking her computer records in her office, he knew her only client at the moment was Gunderson’s wife. He considered calling Gunderson and warning him, but was it really his business? If it concerned a divorce, it had nothing to do with the doctor’s dealings with Gerald. Getting involved could stir up things unnecessarily. He would have to be watchful because Gunderson had no scruples in business or, apparently, his personal life. If Laurel wasn’t careful, she could easily put herself in danger. For all he knew, she already had.

He thought of the brochure and took it as a bad sign that Gunderson had sent it to Laurel. There was no reason for him to have done so. Why would he take a chance on calling himself to her attention? He felt as if he was missing something.

Laurel put a USB flash drive in her purse, just in case she found anything on the Doc’s computer that might help Gloria’s case, as well as any information on her father.

Dr. Miles Gunderson’s office was near the beach in La Jolla. It was the left side of a duplex. The right side was an optometrist’s office. Although Laurel could hear the surf as it swept onto the beach, it was too dark to see the ocean. Streetlights afforded decent vision until she got right up to the office door. She looked up and down the street, but no one was about. There were several cars parked along the curb. They all looked empty, their owners probably walking along the beach. It was two-thirty a.m. but that didn’t deter diehard walkers and joggers.

Staying to one side of the door so the light illuminated the lock, she said a prayer and went to work. Within a minute, she had the door unlocked. She slipped inside and shut it. She was standing in the waiting room. A streetlight shone through partially open vertical blinds, creating a pattern on the floor and far wall that reminded Laurel of prison bars. She hoped it wasn’t an omen. She closed the blinds, leaving the room in darkness.

She made her way to the door that would let her into the offices. Once inside, she took out her penlight and pointed it toward the floor before turning it on. The receptionist’s desk was on her left. There were three rooms along the hallway on the right. She briefly shone her light in each room until she came to the doctor’s office. She saw the computer on his desk and the file cabinets. Which one first?

The file cabinets.

She slid open a drawer labeled A-G and riffled through the files. No Avidon, no Gerald, no misfiles. “Damn.” She went through the other cabinets just in case it had been
really
misfiled, but found nothing. Hands on hips, she focused on the file cabinets for a few more moments.

She sat in Gunderson’s chair and turned on his computer. A screen came up asking for a password.

“Oh crap. Why can’t anything ever be simple?” She leaned back in the chair.
Breaking into his office has all been for nothing. But I can’t give up so easily.
She opened the desk drawers and looked for anything that he might have written the password on, but came up empty.
Would he be foolish enough to use his birth date like so many people do?

She called Gloria.

“Laurel? What’s wrong?” She sounded half-awake but concerned.

“I’m sorry to call so late, but I need to know Miles’ birth date.”

After a short silence, Gloria said, “April fourth, nineteen forty-four. Why?”

“I’m working on your case.”

“This time of night?”

“It’s when I do my best thinking. I’ll try not to bother you again.”

“It’s no problem.”

Laurel typed 040444 in the password space. Nothing, but she didn’t really expect it to be that easy. She tried 04041944.

“What I need is a hacker,” she mumbled to herself. She checked through the desk drawers again just in case she’d missed something, but, as before, found nothing written down; therefore, it had to be something he could remember easily. If it was a plastic surgeon’s medical procedure, she was out of luck.

Figuring it was hopeless, she slumped in the chair, unconsciously moving her bracelet back and forth. What made her think she could get into his email? She was tired of sitting in the near dark.

She had banked heavily on her father’s information being in the file cabinet. Was Gunderson lying when he said he had treated Gerald, or was it so long ago the file was in storage somewhere?

Sighing, she rose from the chair and picked up her purse, which she had set on one end of the desk. Behind it was a five-by-seven photograph she hadn’t noticed before because of the darkness. She turned on her penlight and picked up the picture. It was a bright red sporty car ad. She knew it was the same car she’d followed to Rancho. She’d been behind it. She pictured stopping behind him at the light. The license plate said MILES, then the number 4. She had wondered at the time if it was his fourth car or he was the fourth one in his family to have an MG, or if it meant something like Miles 4 Governor. It had to mean something to him since it was a vanity plate. It didn’t say 4MILES, which meant the number probably wasn’t a substitute for
for
, but actually meant
four
.

She picked up the ad again. MG XPower SV. She had spent enough time looking at it when she was on her stakeout, she was pretty certain she had the right model. Good heavens! Its top speed with a manual shift was 165 mph and it went from 0-60 in 5.3 seconds. It cost $150,000 in the U.S. for the basic model.
What kind of person would frame a car ad? The kind who was obsessed with the car?

She giggled. “Oh, Gloria, this is going to put you in the driver’s seat.”

Something nagged at her. Something about the car. She kept looking at the blank monitor screen, letting her mind wander. She glanced at the ad again and all at once, it stood out. MG. So named because the initials stood for Morris Garages. They also stood for Miles Gunderson. Could that be it?

She tried
mgxpowersv
as a password. Nothing. What would he like best about the car? The speed? The price? The color? She dialed Gloria.

“Gloria, it’s Laurel. Sorry to call again, but I have a question and when I ask it, I want an instant answer before you have time to think. Okay?”

“Uh, sure, I guess. What is it?”

“What does Miles love the most about his MG?”

“Oh, that one’s easy. His made-to-order diamond-encrusted steering wheel.”

Laurel’s jaw dropped. “Thanks. That’s all I need. I predict more alimony than you can ever imagine.”

She hung up and went back to the computer screen. “Okay, jerk, let’s see how you did this.” A diamond-encrusted steering wheel? Good God. Recalling that good passwords contained capital and lowercase letters, as well as numbers, she tried MGxpowersv4.

Nothing.

Maybe it was the word “diamond.” She realized there were too many possibilities and she didn’t have a lot of time. She was so sure he had used the car she nearly screamed in frustration when his computer stayed locked.

What now? She checked the time. It was almost three-thirty. She promised herself she would leave by four so she’d have time to get home and make herself presentable for the office.

“Leave by four, Laurel,” she told herself.
Four. A wee hour of the morning just before the world starts waking up.
“I’m getting punchy. I should leave now.”

She shook herself. Four . . . four . . . four . . . The number wouldn’t go away. Four suits in a deck of cards, four quarts in a gallon, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, four seasons, four balls to walk in baseball, four-on-the-floor, four-poster bed, four-footed animals, four tires on a car, the number on the doctor’s license plate. Four. The fourth month. April. His birth month. Her birth month, too. Birthstone? The
diamond
. Diamond-encrusted steering wheel. She looked at her watch again. Almost time to leave.

He loved the car, but when she asked Gloria what he liked best, she didn’t give a vague answer or say she didn’t know. She was very specific.

The car . . . four . . . diamond. “God, could it be?”

She typed MG4diamond as the password. She couldn’t believe it when the desktop actually appeared. She pumped her fist. “Diamonds really are a girl’s best friend. And aren’t you just an egotistical son-of-a-bitch?”

She looked at the folders on his hard drive. There was a patient folder. She clicked on it, but it wouldn’t open. It obviously took a different password and she didn’t have time to work on it. She was disappointed that she wouldn’t get to read her father’s medical file. Next, she went to his email. She was relieved when it opened without her having to retype the password. There were several folders of people whose names she didn’t recognize—though none of the names were female—and one for her father. No surprise there if they did business together. She opened it, but there were no messages. There was a folder for Dylan Kraft.
Dylan
? How did he fit into the mix? Curious, she opened the folder. There were several messages from two years ago. She read the last one, and its replies. She could read the rest from home.

We have to be ready to take care of this ASAP. Is everything in place? MG

Affirmative. While he’s out of the country? DK

Is he taking his daughter? MG

Of course not. DK

Good. That makes everything easier. Have you informed the
SOS? MG

Affirmative. We have a green light. DK

Laurel’s heart sank. What was all this about? Why was Dylan involved? Who was SOS? It could be anything, but the only thing that hit her was Secretary of State. Ridiculous. Now she
knew
she needed some rest. Her time was getting short.

She copied the emails to her flash drive so she could read them from home, closed Gunderson’s email, and shut down the computer. She went out the door, closed it, and heard the lock catch.

She nearly ran to her car. As she opened the door, she remembered she hadn’t re-opened the blinds halfway. Should she go back? Would they notice if she didn’t? She stood at the open car door, unsure what to do. A large hand came from behind her and clamped over her mouth. She struggled to get away and tried to scream, but he was too strong. She felt his lips next to her ear.

“Shhh, Laurel. It’s Dylan. We need to talk. Get in your car and go home. I’m going to let go now if you promise not to yell.”

She tried to say something but it was garbled because of Dylan’s hand over her mouth. She wanted so much to bite it.

“Well?” She nodded. He let go and turned her around to face him. “I’ll be right behind you so don’t do anything foolish. Just go home. Understand?”

“Bastard,” she hissed. She got into the car and started it.

“You’ve no idea,” he said as he shut her door firmly.

Chapter 9

Laurel’s hands strangled the steering wheel. Her breath came in ragged gasps until she began to hyperventilate. She knew she could pass out, so she concentrated on slowing the pace of her breathing, finally getting it under control.
Why can’t he just mind his own business? I’m sick of him interfering in my life.

By the time she got home, she was ready to shoot Dylan. True to his word, he had followed her so closely, even if she’d wanted to veer off some off ramp and lose him, she couldn’t have. Not that she wanted to. She needed sleep. If he wanted to talk or lecture or admonish or whatever the hell else he might have in mind, it would just have to wait until later.

She opened the gate and drove through, tempted to sit just beyond it so he would have to wait until it closed then reopen it, but that would be childish and unnecessary. As she approached the garage, she used the remote to open it and drove in, closing it behind her.

She figured he’d get the message that she was in no mood to talk.

Laurel awoke and turned over in bed to look at her alarm clock through bleary eyes. Almost one o’clock in the afternoon. She yawned, unconcerned. After not getting home and to bed before five-thirty, she didn’t intend to go to work. She needed a day off. She picked up her cell phone off the nightstand and called the office. It rang several times before going to the recorded message.
Oh, right. It’s Saturday
.

She threw back the covers and lay for a time, trying to decide whether to bother to get up or not. Maybe she would play sick and stay in bed. At least there wouldn’t be any chance she’d have to talk to Dylan. He would want an explanation for last night and she wasn’t about to give him one, especially one in which she might slip and tell him she knew he had corresponded with Gunderson.

If the one email she read was typical, it sounded as if both of them were up to no good. That thought prompted her to get out of bed. She had to read it again, as well as the other ones between Dylan and Gunderson. She’d been so tired when she read the email, it hadn’t really hit her at the time, but it sounded as though they were referring to her father. If something was supposed to happen to him while he was out of the country, it hadn’t, so maybe she was wrong. They mentioned a daughter—her? But lots of people have daughters. The big mystery was that they corresponded at all. What did a bodyguard and a plastic surgeon have in common? She could understand if it had to do with Dylan’s scar, but it was never mentioned. And where did her father fit in, if indeed he did?

She used the bathroom. A glimpse of herself in the mirror made her groan. Her eyes looked slightly puffy and her hair was a tangled mess. She’d deal with it later. Right now, she didn’t care how she looked—she just needed caffeine.

Walking down the stairs barefoot, she went into the kitchen and stopped. Dylan sat in the nook eating and reading the newspaper. He looked up, and his eyebrows arched in mock surprise.

“Tough night?” he said, returning to the paper.

“Productive night.” He wore a long-sleeved dress shirt and jeans. “You’re dressed as if you couldn’t decide if you wanted to play cowboy or businessman today.”

“I guess my schizophrenia is showing,” he said, still concentrating on the paper.

Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she realized she didn’t care that he was seeing her
sans
makeup and combed hair, and in her favorite chenille robe long since faded from plum to lilac.

She leaned against the counter and sipped the coffee. “What are you eating and why here?”

“A turkey, bacon, and avocado club sandwich. Mari invited me to sample her homemade croissants.”

“Too bad she didn’t just take some over to your apartment,” she said, “because you are the last person I want to see right now.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” He turned a page.

The lingering aroma of bacon made her hungry. She pulled a package of bacon out of the fridge, put five rashers on a paper plate, and popped the plate into the microwave. Next, she took out the mayo and three slices of turkey. “Any avocado left?”

“I don’t know. You can have some of mine.”

“No, thanks.” She cut a croissant in half and slathered it with the mayo then added the turkey, a slice of tomato, and some lettuce leaves. When the bacon was done, she blew on it to cool it before putting it on the sandwich. She licked some residual grease off her fingers and picked up the plate, becoming aware that he was watching her.

“What are you looking at?” Her tone was cross.

He shook his head. “Nothing.” He picked up the Want Ads section and held it between her and him, effectively hiding his face.

“Looking for a job?” she said.

“You sound hopeful.”

She didn’t answer but took her food and started out of the kitchen.

“About last night . . .” She stopped short.

“What about it?” She didn’t turn around.

“What did you think you were doing? You said you had a productive night. I’m curious what you meant by that.”

Now she turned to him. “I’m sure you are, but you’ll never know.”

“I have ways of making people talk.”

She guffawed. “Oh, Dylan, stop it. You and I both know you’d never resort to torture. However, just in case I’m wrong, I’ll ease your mind. I was reading Dr. Gunderson’s emails.”

Sometimes the truth comes in handy. It’s the last thing he’d expect
.

Sure enough, he just gave her an indulgent glance, and went back to reading the paper.

Dylan walked out of the house and caught a glimpse of two long, tanned, shapely legs before Laurel pulled her robe around them. She was sitting in the porch swing, eating her sandwich.

“Shall we talk now or later?” he said, walking down the three steps to the grass and turning to face her.

“Never. I see nothing to discuss.”

“Except that’s twice you’ve broken the law lately—twice that I’m aware of. I let you off easy with my apartment, but when you start fooling with others’ property, that’s a different matter altogether and you know it. What did you hope to find in Gunderson’s office?”

“Not nearly as much as I actually found.” She looked at him for the first time.

Was she playing him? He couldn’t tell. But now he really had his suspicions.
Damn stupid Gunderson. Maybe she did tell me the truth to throw me off the track. If she had read the emails between him and Gunderson . . .
On the other hand, she didn’t seem eager to talk, and he was sure she would demand an explanation.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get presentable. I don’t like to look like an old hag for more than half the day.” She got out of the swing and went inside.

As she closed the door, he said, “This conversation isn’t finished.”

“Screw you.” She slammed the door closed.

After she had showered and brushed her hair into some semblance of respectability, she went to her computer and put in Gunderson’s email address. Her hands shook when it hit her what she was doing, but she had to see if there was more information in the other emails. She didn’t consider the possibility she could get emails from Dylan’s computer. She acknowledged she had been fortunate to get to Gunderson’s. What if Gunderson had gone into his office this morning and noticed the blinds were closed, or if not that, something else she’d overlooked that showed someone unauthorized had been in his office, and he’d changed his password?

She took a deep breath and entered his username and password. It worked. “Open Sesame!”

She didn’t waste any time and went directly to his correspondence with Dylan from oldest to newest, skipping the one she read last night.

September 1, 2010: GA wants you to be ready when he returns. He figures to be out of country for at least a year. Hopefully less, but he isn’t counting on it. DK

Reply: September 2, 2010: I’ll be ready but if all goes as planned, I won’t need to do anything. MG

September 5, 2010: Sorry not to get back to you sooner, but LA has apparently decided GA’s absence is a good time to start her own business. God knows what or why, but there it is. She’s been looking at office space for days. My thoughts were on knowing where she was at all times since she is always a target, especially when GA is gone. I finally had to call in a debt and get a friend to accidentally meet her in a bar she sometimes goes to, try the pickup routine and hope she mentioned she was looking for an office. She did, and he offered her one in his building at a good rental price. Problem solved. Haven’t been in touch with S of S yet. Will let you know. DK

September 9, 2010: Talked to S of S this a.m. He has taken
a wait and see
stance. The infiltration seems to be working. DK

September 12, 2010: Any problems for GA? MG

Reply: September 12, 2010: None we’re aware of, though he hasn’t been in contact. He might not be able to be in touch because of the locale. DK

Reply: September 13, 2010: There are always ways. He’s resourceful. Give it a few more days. MG

September 20, 2010: Hard to wait but finally S of S got a satellite communication with one word: Neutralized. DK

Reply: Who? MG

Reply: He didn’t say, but that’s one down, three to go. DK

That was all. Laurel signed off and sat thinking. Why emails? Couldn’t they just call each other rather than leave a record that even she was able to access? Unless, at the time, one of them was somewhere unreachable by phone. If that were so, would a computer work? GA had to be Gerald and LA, herself. But what did it all mean? Neutralized? As in killed? Something Gerald was involved in? It certainly didn’t tally with the father she had known. But it was hard to ignore the initials.

She wanted an explanation. She remembered the Tae Kwon Do scene in the living room when Dylan wouldn’t tell her anything. This time she had proof in writing. She hadn’t meant to let Dylan know what she’d found, but now she had to.

She typed in his email address and wished she could see the look on his face when he realized she had it.

Dear DK, I’m ready to talk now. Or, I should say, listen while you talk. I’ll have Mari make pizza—hope you like bullpucky with extra cheese and a thick crust. Be here at eight sharp. If you’re late, you’re fired. LA

Dylan logged on to his email. The first one was from Laurel. S
hit, shit, shit.
He had never given her his address. He opened it. DK? LA? A not-so-subtle way of showing him she
had
read the correspondence between him and Gunderson.

This could ruin everything.