Page 7 of Bare
Kemper snorted. “I thought the same thing. The CI doesn’t think so. Says the girl lives a simple life in a simple apartment, so there’s no sign of extra cash. Plus, I did a quick Google search, and it looks like her sister’s fiancé’ is as rich as Midas. But I guess you never know.”
The whirring gears intersected.
“You think Moresco’s worried she knows something. Something he doesn’t want told.”
Another long hiss filled the line.
“I think she’s an accountant and they got Capone on tax evasion. Plus, the CI says she works for Pannetone & Associates. I remember Phillipe mentioning something about that firm right before?—”
Right before he was murdered, and we all shut our eyes and walked away.
But arguing with Kemper wouldn’t bring Phillipe back. “You think this accountant might be the key to bringing Moresco down?”
“Phillipe was killed outside a Moresco property, so I think Moresco knows what happened to him. Not a goddamn thing happens in that organization without his approval. It’s worth checking out. If the accountant’s got something on Moresco...”
“We use it to get justice for Phillipe,” Aleksei finished Kemper’s sentence for him.
“You have to keep this on the down-low,” Kemper warned. “I’m walking a fine line telling you any of this since you’re a consultant now and not an active agent. Plus, you know the bureau doesn’t like our dirty laundry made public. If the big shots find out we’re at this again, both our asses are toast.”
“Don’t worry. Quantico just finished classes, which means I’m off for the next few weeks. No one will even know I’m in Philly.”
If the accountant knew anything—anything at all—Aleksei was going to find it out.
Chapter Three
Rosemary had been looking at invoices so long that numbers danced behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. Something just wasn’t adding up.
Figuratively.
Because, literally, everything was adding up. She’d checked every number on every paper invoice, compared those to the spreadsheet she’d found in the file, compared those to the numbers in the payables summary, and checked every number on every page of the financial statements. Then she’d redone the math by hand on her calculator.
It was nearly 2:00 p.m., and she’d let herself get sucked into double-and triple-checking the numbers on the Penrose warehouse, which had taken forever because Armando had refused her request to access the electronic files. He thought using the Penrose financials as a basis for her Girard work was a waste of time. But with the projects being so similar, that just didn’t make sense. So, instead of listening to her boss, she’d snuck all the Penrose files into her office and had spent the morning reviewing them when she was supposed tobe finishing the draft payment schedule and financials for the Girard warehouse.
She was going to get herself fired.
She kept telling herself to put the Penrose files away and work on the Girard project, but she had that same niggling sensation she used to get during math tests when some other, smarter part of her brain would tell her she’d made a mistake on one of the earlier problems. Sure enough, every time she had that feeling and rechecked her work, she found an error.
So why wasn’t she finding the error now?
Maybe Remiza had fried that part of her brain at the same time it fried her hair follicles.
“And cured your cancer, you ungrateful wretch,” she muttered.
She was lucky to have this job. Even though she was twenty-six years old when she’d started at Pannetone & Associates, she’d had very little work experience. With being sick so much, it had taken her longer to finish college, so she’d gotten a late start on her career. Then, she had to quit her first and only accounting job when Davis had lost his mind, and her orderly life had gone to hell in a handbasket.
But Davis had paid the price, at least in her mind. Sage said six months in jail and two years’ probation didn’t really count as paying a price, but Rosemary disagreed. Davis had apologized to both of them, expressed remorse, and tried to make amends by helping her get this amazing job. The job was perfect.
The office was only a twenty-minute walk from her apartment, which was just enough time to ease into the day and decompress on the way home. Armando was pleasant, charming, and eager to share his extensive knowledge, and the pay was fantastic. She was making twice what she earned at her prior job and working fewer hours. Armando prioritized family and encouraged everyone to leave the office by 5:30 or 6:00. Ather old firm, she was lucky if she got home by 8:00. Sure, Lily was difficult, the espresso machine went on the fritz every other week, and Rosemary had gained five pounds from the fact that the office was above a gelato shop, but overall, the pros heavily outweighed the cons.
She pushed her wig into her sweaty head with her fingers and released a heavy sign.
If she wanted to keep her job, she needed to stop chasing windmills and finish the tasks assigned to her. If she didn’t ignore her gut and get back on track, she’d never get the financials for the Girard warehouse to Armando by the deadline.
She lifted her bleary eyes from the papers she’d been studying and looked around her office. Redwelds covered the small table next to her desk and the floor around it. Armando had an invoice for every single item purchased for the Penrose warehouse—from steel girders and truckloads of cement down to the doorbell camera and the hand dryers in the bathroom. Plus, all the contractor service invoices.
It seemed odd to maintain every paper invoice, but meticulous recordkeeping shouldn’t be making her instincts flare.So why was it?She considered for a moment then grabbed the calculator from her desk, shoving it into her top drawer.
She didnothave time for this.
