Chapter 5
“What?” she snapped.
“I need your help, Becky. Your computer skills.” His eyes were pleading with her, begging, and she was drawn into their depths.
Colin cleared his throat. “Why don’t we sit down and explain.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” said Gwen.
Rowan kept his coat on. “They’re starting to think I had something to do with their disappearance.”
Becky couldn’t help herself. “Did you?”
“How can you ask me that?”
“Hey, I don’t know you from Adam.”
“I think you do.”
“Careful, Rowan, or I might get the wrong impression.” She glared at him, waiting for the comment to hit its mark.
He closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was eerily calm. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t have a choice. Ellington was starting to suspect you and I are lovers.”
Heat rushed through her body at his words, and she knew she was blushing. She shrugged dramatically. “Why would he think that?”
“Why? Because you’re beautiful, and you show up out of the blue right after they disappeared, and…” He shook his head. “I’m nervous around you. I can’t be cool.”
Time seemed to stand still.
He feels like I feel.
Gwen stood. “I’m going to get some more ice cream.”
“Stay,” said Colin, and she sank back down.
Becky had all but forgotten they were here, and she was flooded with embarrassment anew. For someone who was rarely embarrassed by anything, she was going into serious embarrassment overload.
Rowan was staring at her again. “I didn’t want them to think we were together, so I had to get you to leave.”
“Why are you here, now?” she asked.
“The painting, the forgery. Tamra’s not just a curator for the Uffizi, she’s also a forgery buff.
Her father is huge in the art world. She grew up in that community, dinner conversations steeped in art thieves and forgers.
It’s a hobby of hers. She has countless images and exemplars from the best forgers in the world.
If she weren’t missing, she’s the only person on Earth I would go to and ask who painted that picture. ”
Colin leaned forward. “Find the forger, find the thief.”
Becky shook her head. “I don’t understand. What can I do to help?”
“I need her computer files, but her computer’s missing from the hotel. I need to get her files from her backup service, but I don’t have the password.”
“But you’re sure she uses one?”
He nodded. “About six months ago she dropped her laptop on the sidewalk, cracked the motherboard. She bought a new one and had all her files restored from FileSafe.”
Becky looked at Gwen accusingly. Julie was a Vice President at FileSafe, and Gwen damn well knew it.
Gwen pursed her lips. “I may have mentioned the relationship.”
“So, have Julie do it. Or better yet, why not ask the police or the FBI?”
“To the police, I’m already guilty.” He held up his palm and Becky could see the bits of ink left from where they must have fingerprinted him, and she gasped.
Mr. Mitchell is cooperating with law enforcement and helping us find his wife and son.
That’s all for now. Until we arrest him for kidnapping and murder, that is.
Becky shook her head. “What about Julie?”
“I already spoke with her,” said Gwen. “And she’s willing to help by changing the limit on the login attempts so you don’t trigger any alerts when you’re trying different passwords. Beyond that, she felt you and Rowan would have a better chance of determining the correct combination.”
She was right, of course. Cool-headed Julie was always right. But Becky didn’t want to go anywhere with Rowan Mitchell, no matter the reason. “I don’t understand why you need to leave town. We can do this right here.”
“From a jail cell?”
“If it came to that, yes.”
Rowan raked a hand through his hair and she noticed tiny beads of sweat on his brow.
“The police aren’t even looking for them, don’t you understand?
Neither is the FBI. They’ve spent more time interrogating me than they’ve spent looking at the surveillance tapes from the museum.
” His eyes bore into hers. “No one’s out there trying to find my family, Becky. No one but me.”
His words sank into her spirit. If that was true, it was a terrifying scenario.
Where were Tamra and Anthony right now? Were they afraid and alone?
Or worse yet, not alone at all? A horrible vision appeared in her brain, mother and child, dead, blood everywhere, the image overlapping with the snapshot of the beautiful woman in the bathing suit, holding the smiling little boy.
Colin spoke up. “I’m going to stay here. Use my connections with the U.S. Marshal’s office to apply some pressure to the investigation. Get them exploring other leads.”
That made sense. It all made sense in some crazy way.
Clarity settled over Becky, a calmness that was so unlike her she might have been frightened.
Outside, a gust of icy winter wind pushed through the streets, up the wide stone steps of her Craftsman bungalow to the bright red door, blowing it open with a flourish.
That door always needed a good pull for the latch to catch, and even though she knew it, Becky couldn’t help the shivers that ran up her spine.
Rowan rushed to the door to close it again, and Becky followed him slowly, nearly there when he turned back around. “We may not be able to figure out the password,” she said.
“I know.”
His eyes were dark and ominous, the stress of the day showing in their shadows. Becky wondered what she was agreeing to, even as the words slipped past her lips. “But I will help you try.”
“Whose house is this?” Becky asked as she made her way up the snow-covered steps, several inches of powder compacting beneath her feet with a crunch.
She’d slept while Rowan drove her car out of Boston, the sunrise just beginning to crest when she awoke, which told her they couldn’t be far from the city despite this seemingly remote location.
The house was small and stone, with a wooden porch and a detached garage. Becky’s orange car was now parked inside it, protected from the flurries that continued to fall from the sky at a rapid pace. There were no other houses in sight.
“A friend’s.” The front door had a keypad instead of a lock, just as the garage had. Rowan entered several numbers and it opened.
He stepped back for her to go in first, and she took in her surroundings. Hardwood floors, a painted brick fireplace, and modest furniture that reminded Becky of her parents’ house in Florida. “Where’s your friend?”
“He doesn’t live here. It’s a vacation home.” He walked over to the wall and adjusted the thermostat. “That’s going to take a while to warm up. I’ll make a fire.” He left the room, and Becky heard a door open and close.
She began to explore. A tiny dining room led to the kitchen, an eclectic mix of old cabinets and modern appliances.
She opened the refrigerator and was surprised to find it stocked full of groceries.
The backdoor opened and Rowan entered, carrying an armful of wood.
“Your friend come here in the winter?” she asked.
“Sometimes. He uses it as a hunting cabin.”
She watched him disappear into the other room and withdrew a gallon of milk. She checked the expiration date, her brow furrowing. Kneeling down, she opened a crisper drawer full of fresh produce. “Maybe he’s been hunting Sasquatch.”
“What?”
“Sasquatch. Someone’s been here. There are groceries.”
Rowan appeared on the other side of the refrigerator. “Yeah. I asked him to go shopping for us.”
That’s weird.
“Fire’s going.”
She stood and looked into his face. “You need some sleep.”
He shook his head. “Too much to do.”
He was right, of course. They didn’t have time for such luxuries at the moment, and she felt suddenly guilty. “I’m sorry I fell asleep in the car.”
“No. Don’t be. We didn’t have Wi-Fi access there, anyway.”
“You sure there is Wi-Fi here?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Let me grab my computer and we’ll get started.”
Twenty minutes later, they were settled on the couch before a raging fire, Becky’s coat over her lap like a blanket to ward off the last of the cold.
“Let’s start with birthdays.” She held a notebook and pen, her computer beside her on the couch.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re this big techie person. I thought you’d try something more sophisticated than birthdays.”
“Movies have ruined cryptography forever. It’s not that easy.”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “My email account has been hacked into twice this year. How hard can it be?”
“That’s totally different than FileSafe.
Look, the only way I’m going to get into Tamra’s account is to correctly guess her password.
But I can use the computer to help me. It will auto-generate possible passwords based on the information I tell it to use, then work in the background while I’m trying my own passwords at the same time.
The computer’s more likely to hit on something than I am, but even still it’s not terribly likely. ”
“You mean we might not get in at all?”
“I told you that, Rowan.”
He looked at the ground. “What do you think? Are we going to get in, or is this just a waste of time?”
“I wouldn’t put all of your eggs in this basket, if that’s what you mean.”
He nodded.
“So, give me birthdates.”
One by one, she wrote down birthdays for Tamra, Rowan, and Anthony, along with the date of their wedding anniversary, mentally noting that Tamra must have already been pregnant when they married.
None of my business.
“Do you know their Social Security numbers?” she asked.
“They’re Italian, they don’t have Social Security numbers.
They have Fiscal Codes, but they’re not arbitrary like Social Security numbers.
If you know enough information about someone, you can usually figure out their Fiscal Code.
” He pulled out his wallet, handing her a Post-It note.
“There are our numbers. I can never remember them.”
“I can see why.” The numbers were long, consisting of sixteen alphanumeric symbols. She carefully copied them to her notebook and gave the paper back to Rowan. “What’s your Social?”
He rattled off the numbers.
“Do you know any passwords that Tamra uses on other accounts? People tend to repeat them, or parts of them.”
“Ninety-eight forty-four is our bank card PIN.”
“Did she pick that, or did you?”
“She did. She had the account when I met her.”
“Anything else?”
He stood and put his hands in his pockets, gazing into the fire.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. He was quiet for so long, she thought he wouldn’t answer.
“She could use the same damn password on everything, and I wouldn’t know it.”
His face was tormented, the glow from the fire the only warmth she could see. Becky wanted to ask more, wanted to understand this man and his relationship with his wife, but she didn’t want to drag it out of him.
She wanted him to tell her because he wanted her to know.
“Becky, my wife didn’t share her life with me.” He slowly turned to face her. “Not her passwords, not her feelings, and not her bed.”
She stared into his eyes, her mouth gone dry. It was none of her business. It was completely her business. She didn’t know what to say. Moments ticked by before she let her eyes fall to his chest, breaking their connection.
He laughed without humor. “There you have it. Tamra and I were married in name only.”
“What about Anthony?”
“I slept with her when we met.” He turned back to the fire. “Then I went back to the States, never expecting to hear from her again. I think she felt the same.”
“But she was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Whose idea was it to get married?”
“Mine.”
Becky nodded, unsurprised. She, too, stared at the fire, thinking of this certain hell. Rowan may not love his wife, but he was married to her nonetheless. They shared a child together, and a tragedy in the making.
I’ll love him forever.
The thought surprised her and she laughed quietly, a bitter sound. Becky, adored by men who could never matter to her, falling only for the one she could never have.
Her mind made a conscious effort to point out how little she really knew the man, but it was useless to argue with her emotions. A log popped, sparks flying into the room as she jumped, watching as he calmly stepped on a burning ember to extinguish the fire. “I’m so fucking tired,” he said.
She knew he was talking about more than the lack of sleep. “Go take a rest. I’ll get started while you’re gone.”
“No.”
“Yes, Rowan.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again and nodded. “Get me in two hours.”
“I will.”
Rowan stopped the use the upstairs bathroom. A large sticker was plastered on the mirror.
Staying Safe at the Safe House
- Stay indoors at all times
- Give all electronics to agent(s), including cell phones
- Stay hidden if anyone comes on the property
- Always do what the agent(s) tell(s) you to do
“Shit,” he said under his breath, then began to peel the sticker off. The top layer separated from the sticky side, and Rowan wadded up the incriminating words and flushed them down the toilet. Whoever Marco asked to ready the safe house obviously forgot to check in here.
He then went to the bedroom, closed the door and pulled out his cell phone. His first call was to Enzo, though his father-in-law didn’t answer. “Call me when you get this.”
The second was to Marco Santini. “Thanks for getting the house set up for me.”
“Sure thing.”
“What’s going on there?”
“Hang on.” Rowan could hear Marco walking. “You’re not going to believe this. Now the forgery’s been stolen.”
“What?”
“Yep. It’s been gone for hours and nobody noticed. We just thought it got bagged and tagged. Somebody finally realized it never made it into evidence.”
Rowan whistled. “It’s got to be an inside job.”
“Uh huh. And our good friend Gianni Amato about shit himself when he found out you were gone.”
“Do you think he’s involved?”
“I don’t know, man, but somebody did it, and Gianni’s all over me. Everybody’s looking at everybody, trying to find the mole.”
Rowan swallowed hard. “Anything on Tamra and the baby?”
“Nothing yet.” Marco cursed under his breath. “How are you doing on the computer password?”
“She just started. Marco, we should have heard something from the kidnappers by now.”
His friend was quiet. “Don’t lose faith, Rowan. They’ll be okay.”
Doubt mingled with fear, a sensation of true helplessness rearing up inside him. “Jesus. I hope you’re right.”