The Perfect Man

He turned when he heard her footsteps. She carried a good-size metal tray loaded with a pitcher of tea, two glasses and a plate of cookies. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said. He took the tray and set it down on the desk next to his briefcase. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s no trouble. Besides, I figure we’ll need it. I hope you like chocolate pecan cookies.”

Chris felt his mouth water. “What’s not to like?” He reached for a cookie and bit into it. The cookie tasted like chocolate-covered sin. “This is good. Really good.”

“I’m glad you like them,” she said and smiled. It was the first time she’d really smiled at him. He was surprised how much he wanted her to remain smiling. Keep your mind on the job, Foster.

“The recipe makes three dozen so feel free to eat as many as you’d like,” she continued.

Chris looked at the stack of cookies on the plate and wondered how she would react if he told her he wanted something more than cookies.

“Thanks,” he said. “I am curious why a librarian has a network like this in her home.”

“I have a graduate degree in Information Science. Most people get jobs as librarians with that degree, but you can also get a computer specialization with an Information Science degree. After all, a library catalog is just one big computer database,” Renee said.

He relaxed a little at her explanation.

He opened his briefcase and took out his laptop and the file he’d started on his brother. The file wasn’t as complete as he wanted it to be, but he figured he could get more information from Renee and the other wives to help fill in the gaps.

“Let’s start looking for the necklace.” The sooner it was found the better for him. He picked up another cookie on the tray and bit into it.

“Okay,” Renee said. She walked to the computer cart and rolled it next to the desk beside his. On top of the cart sat a wide-screen laptop that made his laptop look like a relic. Three thick black notebooks lay on the shelf below. She put the laptop on the desk.

Chris got another cookie and opened his file. “I’ve checked with agents in Los Angeles, New York, Miami and Houston. None of their contacts have seen the necklace.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good because that means the necklace hasn’t been fenced through the major jewel laundering hubs in the States. The stones are sometimes removed and sold or used to make other jewelry.” He bit into the cookie and put it down on the open folder.

“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes wide and filled with fear. “You don’t think that’s what happened, do you?”

“No. If the necklace had gone to any of those locations, someone would have let it slip and Marc didn’t have ties to gangs or organized crime. My guess is he either sold the necklace to an individual or he took the necklace to another jeweler to be cleaned.” He removed a page from the stack. “This is a list of commercial and smaller flights Marc took during the last month,” he said, putting the paper on the desk in front of her.

She slid the paper closer and studied it. Her hands looked soft and delicate. He wondered how they would feel on his bare chest.

“This looks right,” she said, then picked up one of the black notebooks on the cart. “I asked Alex and Danielle if they could track Marc’s travels on their end and I created a travel calendar.”

He took the calendar and compared it to his information. It was an exact match. His gut twisted in a knot. Chris looked at her. Hard. “How did you get this information?”

She looked at the calendar and then back at him and frowned. “I just told you. I got information from the other wives and added it together with my information.”

The look she gave him said she was confused by his question. He was damn confused as to how she’d found information that had been difficult for him to find.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Not all of those flights were booked under Marc’s name,” he said softly. He’d found the information in some of Marc’s possessions from the crash, but most of the information came from sources available to law enforcement and government officials. Renee was neither.

“Yes, I know. I found out that Marc had several credit cards he used under different names and addresses.”

She passed along the information as if she were telling him Marc’s favorite color, not like she’d just revealed that her husband had committed yet another crime.

“And you learned this how?”

“Oh, easy. Marc didn’t know there was monitoring software on our computer network at home. The software recorded everything he did. Once I had credit card numbers, it was easy to find out the rest. You just need access to the right database.”

Chris leaned back in the chair. Playing with computers. Accessing the right database, my ass. He didn’t know who she thought she was fooling, but it wasn’t him. He’d have to dig deeper into Renee’s background. The computers in this office combined with her ability to get that kind of information on Marc said loud and clear that Renee was more than a librarian. He made a mental note to contact a librarian at the FBI Library in Quantico to find out if Renee’s story was feasible. “Which credit cards did you find?”

“I found three so far,” she said, flipping through the notebook. “But I’ve only searched the last four months, so there may be more.”

There were more, but he wasn’t going to share that with her just yet. She seemed to get more than enough information on her own. “What was the date that Marc took the necklace from the bank?”

“It was March 28.”

“During that time, Marc had been to at least fifteen different cities. We need to contact jewelers in the area and see if anyone has seen the necklace.”

“I can get a list of all of the jewelers in those cities,” Renee said.

“That’s good, but it would help to see anything Marc left at your old home. Did he leave any papers, notes or clothing? Did he make calls?”

“I don’t know about phone calls. He didn’t leave much. I put all of his things in boxes after he died. I brought them from the garage this morning,” she said and pointed to the far corner of the room. “They’re over there.”

Chris looked at the two large cardboard boxes. It looked as if Marc traveled light like him. It was a lesson they’d had to learn as boys and neither of them had gotten out of the habit. Chris stood and walked to the corner where the boxes sat. A label with Marc’s Clothing was neatly printed on top. He assumed it was Renee’s writing because Marc’s handwriting was sloppy and barely legible.

He took out his pocketknife and quickly cut the heavy-duty brown tape. The knife was within legal length limits in most states, but it was razor sharp at all times. This knife had saved his butt a few times in the past so he made sure it was always sharp. He slid the blade back into place and opened the box.

A crisp, white dress shirt lay on top. Chris felt nothing but sadness that this was as close as he would come to his brother ever again. He didn’t know why it bothered him. They hadn’t been close since they were boys. As adults, they couldn’t have been more different. He lived his life with justice and honor. Marc broke the law when it suited him. It didn’t matter to him who he hurt.

Chris pushed those thoughts aside. What mattered was the job and he would do it properly. He picked up the shirt and checked the pocket. It was empty. Unperturbed, he checked the seams along the bottom, then the cuffs of each sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Renee asked and came to his side.

“Checking to see if Marc had anything sewn into the seams of his shirt,” he said as he guided his fingers along a side seam.

“People do that?” she said, picking up one of the sleeves.

Chris smiled at her amazed tone. “Yes.”

“That’s good to know,” she said.

What the hell? Chris turned and looked at her. A frown wrinkled her brow as she fingered the seams of the sleeve with the focus of a sniper with a target in sight. He couldn’t just let her comment pass. “Why is that good to know?”

“I have a friend who designs computer games and he’s always looking for new twists to add to the games.”

“I see,” he said and moved to put the shirt to the side, but Renee had a sleeve. He let go of the shirt when he realized that she wasn’t going to let it go.

“What kind of things do you find in clothes?”

“Jewelry, drugs, money,” he said and picked up a jacket. “Anything.”

“You don’t think he put the necklace in his clothing, do you?”

“I don’t know. If he didn’t, maybe he hid something that could point us to what he did do with the necklace.”

Renee shook her head. “I just don’t see Marc being the kind of guy to sew something in his clothes. He couldn’t even sew on a button.”

Chris raised his brow. “Marc knew how to sew.”

“What do you mean? He took his clothes to the tailor if a button fell off.”

“I mean we both had to learn to sew a seam and repair our clothes. We didn’t have enough money growing up to throw away anything.”

“So he lied about that, too.”

“Yes, he did.” Chris wished he’d kept his mouth closed. He could see that this information hurt her. It was just one more mess Marc made that he’d have to clean up. Chris moved his hand along the hem of the jacket and felt something hard. The kick of satisfaction had him reaching for his knife again.

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