Decoding a Criminal Page 2

  His fiancée shot daggers at him. She pursed her lips together and dropped her gaze to the wooden table.

  “Has your sister pissed anyone off lately?” Nicholas had been quiet up to this point.

  “As in, someone who would want to set her up?” Dash asked.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. We all know she wouldn’t be stupid or clumsy enough to hand over her passwords to anyone,” Nicholas surmised.

  “I plan to visit her to ask. But she hasn’t mentioned anyone.” A wave of guilt washed over Dash. He should have known more about his sister’s personal life. She’d been quiet lately, and it was all too easy for him to get busy with his own life. Life? He almost laughed out loud. Work might be a better word choice.

  “Could be someone in her office who wanted her job or had it in for her,” Nicholas said.

  “That’s an angle worth exploring.” Dash nodded. He stared at the manila folder sitting in front of him. “Since you’re all investigating my sister—” he put his forefingers and thumbs on the corners of the folder and then pushed it toward the center of the table “—you should know about her past.”

  Everyone stared at it for a long moment like it was a bomb about to detonate. Liam made the first move. He opened the folder.

  “She has a juvie record?” Liam closed the file. “Wouldn’t that record be sealed?”

  “Not in this room, it isn’t.” They needed her history to create the best-possible profile on her. Do that and they would learn the way she thought. Learn the way she thought, and they could come at this from her perspective. “Open it.”

  On a sharp sigh, Liam picked up the manila folder and then opened it again.

  “Go ahead,” Dash urged. “Read it out loud so everyone can hear.”

  “Is that really—”

  “Yes. If you’re going to help, you need to know her past.”

  “She works in the financial industry. Don’t they perform background checks?” Lorelai asked.

  “Good question. Layla hacked into the juvenile justice system and finagled her records. The one in Liam’s hands is probably the only correct piece of information you’ll ever find. That’s the reason you need to hear it. See it. Memorize it. When I leave this room, it goes with me and that’s the last you’ll ever see of it.”

  “She spent time in juvie for petty burglary at sixteen years old,” Liam noted.

  “That’s right.” Dash wasn’t one for words and he’d already spoken more than he cared to in a day. A dull ache was forming behind his eyes. And this day was just getting started. “Our dad died in a car crash. Things got out of hand at home. Layla went down a bad path and got herself into trouble. She started with small stuff and moved up to petty burglary, which is when she got caught.”

  “Everyone processes pain differently,” Liam said defensively.

  “Yes. But not everyone acts out by committing a crime.” Dash hadn’t been there for her in the way he should have been.

  “Your sister is a good person,” Liam stated.

  “I won’t disagree with you there. She became a handful in her teen years, and I’m lucky all she got caught for was the burglary.”

  “Is that when you stepped into the picture?” Liam asked.

  “Yes.” Dash had inherited his very sullen, very bullheaded younger sister, who came to him cool on the surface and a mess underneath. She had more walls erected than a construction site. Dash wasn’t so great with words, which made helping her that much more challenging.

  “How’d she turn it around?” Miguel asked.

  “I did for her what the military did for me. Gave her structure and enough physical work every day for her to flop into bed every night exhausted. Then I’d drag her out of bed every morning before the sun for a workout.” Dash hadn’t known what to do with her emotions. She wasn’t one to talk either. No sitting up all night braiding hair at sleepovers for that kid. All he knew was physical labor, and she had responded to it.

  “You have my assurance that if your sister is innocent—and we have to operate as though she may not be—we’ll find the proof and clear her name,” Miguel said. “In the meantime, keep us up to date with everything you find.”

  “Yes, sir.” The may not be echoed in Dash’s head. As far as probabilities went, he was 96 percent certain Layla was innocent. It was the 4 percent that worried him. His baby sister had always had that edge to her, and he’d gone through hell and back to get her on the right side of the law when she was sixteen. The 4 percent that would keep him awake at night was that Layla really did like the finer things. She’d been keeping to herself lately. Secretive. Something was going on with her and, again, he’d had no idea how to approach the subject with her.

  As the room cleared, Dash had another realization. Dammit, he was going to need to talk to Raina Andress—not only was she Layla’s BFF but she was also a tech guru. She must be trying to clear Layla, too, and he needed all hands on deck for this assignment. Plus, he didn’t want them accidentally tripping over each other or duplicating work.

  After what had happened between them, would she even talk to him? He could swing by her office and try to force her into a conversation. She worked at the same firm as Layla, just in a different department. Dash picked up the manila folder and stuffed it inside his jacket. Raina wasn’t going to be happy about seeing him again. He’d made sure of it during their last conversation.

  First up, though, he needed to speak to Layla’s boss.

  * * *

  RAINA ANDRESS’S HEELS clicked against the marble tiles of the bank’s lobby as she crossed the room. The four-story lobby and floor-to-ceiling windows had always looked sophisticated to her in the past. Walking across the room and past the security desk to the bank of elevators had always made her feel like she’d made it to exactly where she wanted to be by age thirty-one. The opulence reminded her that her life was on track.

  A café to her left, tucked on the side of the lobby, that served all the popular lattes was where she’d spent countless hours in meetings. Like the aftermath of a rock being thrown through a window, her world had come crashing down around her when her best friend, Layla West, was arrested for embezzlement. Now, she looked at everyone in the building with suspicion. She was reminded how fragile glass could be.

  Considering it was common knowledge the two were close, Raina’s career didn’t have solid footing. An internal security investigation that led to her boss checking her computer revealed she wasn’t involved. But neither was Layla. Raina would bet her life savings on her friend’s innocence.

  Halfway across the lobby, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a linebacker of a man leaning against the glass. He wasn’t more than a shadow in dark pants and a collared shirt. On first blush, she thought he might be FBI.

  She shouldn’t look. She reminded herself not to do anything that might come across as an invitation to talk to her. All she wanted was to get past security without making a scene and slip inside the elevator.

  Her heart thumped so loudly there was no way everyone in the bustling lobby didn’t hear it. And then it dawned on her. She knew why the figure seemed familiar. He had a name: Dashiell West. No amount of security could keep him out of the building.

  Raina picked up the pace. The click of her expensive heels echoed through the lobby. Dash was making a beeline toward her, so she hurried.

  The timing would have to be perfect, but hey, miracles happened. Right? She barked out a laugh. Not for her, they didn’t.

  In a stroke of luck, she hopped onto an elevator just as she heard the swish behind her.

  “Wait.” Even the man’s voice caused her arms to goose bump. His deep timbre traveled all over her body, bringing parts to life she couldn’t afford to acknowledge.

  With a whoosh, the doors closed.

  “Ha.”

&nbs
p; She realized she must have said it out loud since all five people in the elevator turned toward her.

  Raina gripped her computer bag. She always carried her laptop with her to and from work. She never knew when she’d need access to the sensitive files that were kept only on this device. Not even with all the encryption in the world could some of these files be shared over a network or stored in a cloud.

  She tightened her grip on the laptop case and got off the elevator on seven. She stepped off long enough for the doors to close before pushing the down button, figuring she could face Dash another time. Maybe when she could get her traitorous body to stop lusting for her best friend’s brother.

  The elevator door opened, and she stepped on. Alone inside, she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing full well Dashiell West was on his way up to the thirty-third floor. No one needed that kind of negativity in life.

  Their last conversation had left a lot to be desired. She was still trying to erase it from her mind. Raina shivered, shaking it off. She punched the button to the building’s fifth-floor cafeteria. She could work there until Dash gave up and went home. She had nothing to say to him.

  Chapter Two

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Dash shook the outstretched hand of his sister’s boss, which was cold and clammy, and left a strange feeling on Dash’s palm. He tucked his own hand back inside his pocket to hide the fact that he wiped it off.

  “Anything I can do to cooperate with the FBI’s investigation and help your sister. You can count on help from my office in any way you need.” Alec Kingsley seemed a little overeager. Dash had seen this kind of enthusiasm before but usually in guilty people trying to cover for themselves. “Come on in and have a seat.”

  “I’d rather stand, if it’s okay with you.” Dash followed Alec inside. The man needed to know who was in charge of this meeting. What could Dash say? Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit unless he needed it to be. He took a half step inside the room, folded his arms over his chest and then leaned back against the wall.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Special Agent West.” Alec had one of those smiles—perfect white teeth that looked like they’d spent more years in braces than out during his high school years. He wore a thousand-dollar suit, and Dash would bet money he’d gone to a prep school somewhere in the Northeast. His shirt was tailored. Off the rack would never do for someone with the last name Kingsley.

  “Thank you.” Dash needed to feel the guy out. He glanced around the corner office and at the floor-to-ceiling windows. There were trophies lined up on a glass table pushed up against one wall. Fishing. Hunting. An oversized fish paperweight sat prominently on his desk. There were pictures of Alec with his arm around today’s hottest celebrities against the backdrop of charity events and golf tournaments. Celebs weren’t the only crowd Alec spent time with. There was a photo of him on horseback next to a prince who looked to be kicking off hunting season. There were a few other photos too. Ones of Alec with his arm around top-of-the-charts musicians and others with widely known organized crime tie-ins.

  The guy was connected.

  The black marble-tile flooring must’ve set the company back a pretty penny, not to mention the view. Hadn’t Layla said the buy-in for her hedge fund was a cool two million? The exact amount in question. How was that for a middle finger?

  “I have been personally devastated by the news of Layla’s arrest,” Alec said, and he genuinely looked the part. “I just can’t imagine her doing anything like that after all the opportunities she’s been given here.”

  “How would you classify your working relationship with Layla West?” Dash didn’t figure he’d get the truth out of Alec, but he could tell a lot from the kind of lies he told.

  “Good. She’s one of the best on my team.” Alec delivered the line with a silk tongue. He had one of those smiles meant to disarm. Smooth and sophisticated. Dash bet the man could turn on his prep school dazzle and charm the skin off a snake.

  “Any disagreements? Insubordination?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Alec waved his hand in the air. Instead of walking around to the other side of his desk and claiming his spot, he perched on the edge of his seat and folded his arms. His torso was tilted slightly toward Dash. These were behaviors that showed Alec was listening and interested in what Dash had to say. Arms crossed over the chest usually signaled someone was holding back or covering, Dash thought for a second time in a matter of minutes.

  Layla wouldn’t be naive enough to give away her password to anyone, including her boss. She’d set up a back door and track him rather than give her personal password away. The dark web had to be involved in some way. Plus, the IP address had been traced to the café, so...

  Alec and the dark web?

  There were other explanations for his body language. He could be nervous and trying to cover. Most people were a little on edge after he’d identified himself. Alec might not be guilty of stealing Layla’s password, but he could be concerned about something else. Nothing scared off investors like the threat of a federal investigation.

  “You know what, though?” The muscles in Alec’s face tensed.

  Dash shrugged.

  “Thinking back, Layla has been different lately.”

  “Different how?” All he needed was this guy testifying how her personality had recently changed to put another nail in Layla’s coffin.

  Alec rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “Little things. She’s been quiet.”

  If Layla didn’t have anything to say to someone, quiet was her default setting. Quiet wasn’t a crime.

  “More so than normal?” Dash asked. He wanted more details.

  “It’s more than quiet. Maybe that’s not the right word. Moody might be a better way to describe her.”

  Dash rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help himself. “Moodier than usual?”

  “Yes. I’d say.”

  Like a storm brewing off the Atlantic, Layla could be tempestuous. It generally meant she’d gone to that dark place again. The space inside her head that sometimes trapped her in a prison of bad memories—memories that she refused to discuss to this day, even with her brother. Losing their mother at a young age had been hard on her. Surviving the car crash that killed their father haunted her.

  And hell on a stick, she’d landed in juvie once before after one of those storms.

  “What else? Was her work slipping?” he asked.

  “Never. She was always on top of her game. We have a fairly flexible work-from-home policy, and she’s been working remotely more than usual. When she came into the office, she didn’t have her typical sharpness to her appearance.”

  Custom suits. Thousand-dollar shoes. He didn’t even want to know how much she spent on straightening her natural curls at a salon, but she had a regular weekly appointment. Don’t even get him started on the maintenance her nails required. How on earth could she look anything but crisp?

  Besides, appearances meant a lot to his baby sister. Dash had been shorted that gene. Unless he had to dress up for work, he was most comfortable in jeans and a cotton T-shirt.

  “When you say ‘moody,’ what do you mean, exactly? Did she jump down your throat for saying hello before she had coffee or completely ignore everyone?”

  Alec nodded as Dash spoke, and for some odd reason, it burned him up. His protective instincts had always been in overdrive when it came to Layla. He hoped his flaw didn’t turn out to be fatal.

  “Yeah.” He drew out the word. “I’d say secretive. Keeping to herself more when she was in the office.”

  He wouldn’t classify Layla as outgoing by any stretch of the word. Smart bordering on brilliant? No question there. The meeting with her high school AP Calculus teacher came to mind. Mrs. Tudor had been failing Layla despite the fact that she rarely missed a problem on homework or a test. The problem, according to Mrs. Tudor, was that Layla didn’t
show her work.

  Layla shrugged. “It slows me down and, guess what, I don’t need it,” he remembered her saying.

  Dash’s response still made him proud to this day. He’d leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with his hands, then said, “If you continue to punish my sister because she—”

  “Oh, no. No. That’s not what’s happening here.” Mrs. Tudor’s cheeks puffed out and her face turned red. She resembled a teakettle about to explode. “She has to follow the steps just like everyone. That’s how you learn math.”

  “Then let’s make a deal.” He raised his voice enough to get the older woman’s attention. Old school didn’t begin to describe her looks, and her tactics were just as bad. “You can take points off for every problem my sister gets wrong. But if the answer is right, you give her full credit. If she fails math, you won’t see or hear from me again. Period. I won’t go to the principal and complain about your inability to teach. I won’t go to the school board to complain about your teaching methods.” He made air quotes around the word teaching.

  “Well, I suppose if she gets the answer correct... I could see how not everyone would have to...” She stopped right there and made a face as though her brain couldn’t fathom someone just being able to solve the problem mentally without all the steps. “She won’t be able to receive partial credit.”

  “Nope. Doesn’t need it.” He’d checked over her problems meticulously. She’d done them correctly. Rarely did she mess up. “Do I have your agreement?”

  Mrs. Tudor seemed to be doing a few calculations of her own. How much trouble would he cause? That was X in the equation. He must’ve looked like trouble, because she finally blew out a sharp breath and threw her hands up in the air. “If the answer is correct and she isn’t using an aid like a calculator or watch, then—”

  “Why don’t you believe me? I don’t have to cheat.” Layla had smacked the desk with the flat of her hand. She had patience the size of a purse dog’s bladder.