understood how well she’d done with her first big assignment. Her next one was to turn her attention to Mr. Mysterious and lure him into Fergus’s clutches. How hard could it be?
“Everybody get some rest,” Fergus commanded. “It’s late, or rather early in the morning. Remember, we’ll meet at seven to see what information has come in.” He shooed them out the door.
Irenee gave her father a hug, picked up her vial of ashes, and headed for her condo, where she concentrated solely on getting ready for bed. She had no choice. It was concentrate or fall over from sheer exhaustion.
Once lying there, however, the encounter with Mr. Mysterious played out again on the backs of her eyelids. Her magic center fluttered, and she smiled while she rubbed it. She was looking forward to seeing him again, she decided—purely for answers to the puzzle of his abilities, of course.
CHAPTER SIX
Early Sunday afternoon, Jim went into the task force office, located in a nondescript building close to the Loop. After getting a cup of coffee, he stopped by Dave Richards’s desk to see what progress they had made on the flash drives.
“We’re going to nail this guy,” Dave reported gleefully. “The schmutz didn’t encrypt the files at all. He used a simple password we cracked in seconds— cataclysm, can you believe. The forensic accountants are going over the financials, and I’ve sent you the file of his ‘business associates.’ Finster had those all set up like a Christmas card list. Incredible. Now if he just doesn’t die on us.”
Jim almost choked on his coffee. “What? Die?” “Yeah, haven’t you heard? Finster’s in the hospital. He collapsed about three in the morning and seems to be in a coma.”
“Son of a bitch!” Jim dropped into a chair and slammed his fist on the desk. “The bastard cannot die. He deserves to be alive and suffering, not dead to the world. Hell, I’ll haul his ass into court if it has to be on a gurney”
“Believe me, a lot of us will help push.”
“What about our investigation?”
“Erlanger’s called a meeting for seven tonight. From the rumors, we continue as planned.”
“Good.” Jim stood. “I have some people to look up. Let me know if you hear news about Finster.”
“Will do.”
A couple of hours later, Jim had more data—and wished it was more helpful.
The bad news: A still unconscious Finster had been moved from the hospital to a private clinic where it would be extremely difficult for the task force to monitor him. An agent was looking for a way in, but the staff turnover was practically nonexistent, and the clientele exceedingly private. The only reports said that the butler and Finster’s cousin, Bruce Ubell, had found him unconscious on the floor of the study.
Finster’s cousin. What was it about the guy that bothered him? Jim remembered the odd feeling he’d had at the gala when the two were together. Which one was really the boss? They’d have to see how Finster’s collapse changed the criminal activities.
The good news: Jim had better info on Irenee Sabel. Date of birth, Social Security number, education, occupation, family, net worth—she certainly didn’t need to work for a living. Address—the HeatherRidge Center? In Barrington? Where the hell was that? Out in the northwest suburbs?
He looked her up every way he could, and found few references except to charitable causes and various kinds of corporate special events. Some she organized and some she only attended. No pictures or reports of her at clubs or parties. No connection at all with any men. She certainly wasn’t playing the celebrity circuit—or circus—like some women her age.
The only color close-up he could find was her driver’s license photo. Eyes brown, hair red, fair skin. It didn’t do justice to her.
Her small business, Sabel Events, had organized parties and conferences for some big names and companies, but it, like its owner, kept a low profile. Her office
“Everybody get some rest,” Fergus commanded. “It’s late, or rather early in the morning. Remember, we’ll meet at seven to see what information has come in.” He shooed them out the door.
Irenee gave her father a hug, picked up her vial of ashes, and headed for her condo, where she concentrated solely on getting ready for bed. She had no choice. It was concentrate or fall over from sheer exhaustion.
Once lying there, however, the encounter with Mr. Mysterious played out again on the backs of her eyelids. Her magic center fluttered, and she smiled while she rubbed it. She was looking forward to seeing him again, she decided—purely for answers to the puzzle of his abilities, of course.
CHAPTER SIX
Early Sunday afternoon, Jim went into the task force office, located in a nondescript building close to the Loop. After getting a cup of coffee, he stopped by Dave Richards’s desk to see what progress they had made on the flash drives.
“We’re going to nail this guy,” Dave reported gleefully. “The schmutz didn’t encrypt the files at all. He used a simple password we cracked in seconds— cataclysm, can you believe. The forensic accountants are going over the financials, and I’ve sent you the file of his ‘business associates.’ Finster had those all set up like a Christmas card list. Incredible. Now if he just doesn’t die on us.”
Jim almost choked on his coffee. “What? Die?” “Yeah, haven’t you heard? Finster’s in the hospital. He collapsed about three in the morning and seems to be in a coma.”
“Son of a bitch!” Jim dropped into a chair and slammed his fist on the desk. “The bastard cannot die. He deserves to be alive and suffering, not dead to the world. Hell, I’ll haul his ass into court if it has to be on a gurney”
“Believe me, a lot of us will help push.”
“What about our investigation?”
“Erlanger’s called a meeting for seven tonight. From the rumors, we continue as planned.”
“Good.” Jim stood. “I have some people to look up. Let me know if you hear news about Finster.”
“Will do.”
A couple of hours later, Jim had more data—and wished it was more helpful.
The bad news: A still unconscious Finster had been moved from the hospital to a private clinic where it would be extremely difficult for the task force to monitor him. An agent was looking for a way in, but the staff turnover was practically nonexistent, and the clientele exceedingly private. The only reports said that the butler and Finster’s cousin, Bruce Ubell, had found him unconscious on the floor of the study.
Finster’s cousin. What was it about the guy that bothered him? Jim remembered the odd feeling he’d had at the gala when the two were together. Which one was really the boss? They’d have to see how Finster’s collapse changed the criminal activities.
The good news: Jim had better info on Irenee Sabel. Date of birth, Social Security number, education, occupation, family, net worth—she certainly didn’t need to work for a living. Address—the HeatherRidge Center? In Barrington? Where the hell was that? Out in the northwest suburbs?
He looked her up every way he could, and found few references except to charitable causes and various kinds of corporate special events. Some she organized and some she only attended. No pictures or reports of her at clubs or parties. No connection at all with any men. She certainly wasn’t playing the celebrity circuit—or circus—like some women her age.
The only color close-up he could find was her driver’s license photo. Eyes brown, hair red, fair skin. It didn’t do justice to her.
Her small business, Sabel Events, had organized parties and conferences for some big names and companies, but it, like its owner, kept a low profile. Her office
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