White Lies (The Arcane Society #2)(63)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“She’s going to do what?”

“Something about not wanting to work for you after all.”

“She mentioned me specifically?” Fallon said cautiously.

“Let’s just say that the word ‘dumbass’ and your name all appear in the same sentence with some frequency.”

“She called me a dumbass?” Fallon was clearly baffled. “She’s never even met me.”

“You’ve never met her, either,” Jake said. “But that didn’t stop you from rejecting every application she sent in. That’s it for now, Fallon. I’ll call you later and let you know how things are going.”

“Hold on here, just one damn minute. About the Lancaster woman—”

“Gotta run.”

“Don’t hang up on me. Damn it, Jake—”

Jake ended the call and looked at the others. “They found Dr. Ronald Mowbray. He’s in Tucson, running a scam under the name Ingle. I’m going to track him down this afternoon.”

“I’m coming, too,” Elizabeth announced.

Archer got to his feet. “I’ll ride shotgun.”

Myra frowned. “I will accompany you, also. I have a few things to say to him.”

Jake surveyed the ring of determined faces. “I usually work alone.”

“Guess what,” Clare said. “This time you’ve got a team.”

Resistance was futile, Jake thought. There wasn’t much that could stand up to a united Glazebrook front. The only thing he could do was try to stay in charge.

“All right,” he said. “But we do this my way.”

Clare smiled slowly. “Actually, it might work better if we did it my way. I’m the expert when it comes to dealing with scam artists, remember?”

Chapter Forty

The office of Ingle Investments was located in a strip mall on Tucson’s east side. With its faux-adobe architecture, red-tile roof trim, shaded sidewalks and acres of parking, the row of stores and boutiques looked like every other strip mall Clare had seen in Arizona.

“Not exactly upscale office space for an investment firm,” she said, surveying the stores through the windshield. She could see a couple of casual clothing boutiques, a bakery, an ice cream shop and some small eateries.

“But not cheap, either,” Jake said. He studied the door of Ingle Investments. “Looks like he prefers to maintain a low profile.”

The trip from Phoenix had taken a good two hours. Jake would no doubt have made better time but Clare had done the driving because of his injured arm. She had been intensely aware of the controlled anticipation simmering inside him every mile along the way. Something similar had sparked all her senses, too.

They were both dressed casually. She was in what had become her Arizona uniform: black trousers and a T-shirt. Jake wore a denim shirt that covered the bandage and a pair of khakis. Aside from the fact that he kept his left arm close to his side, there was nothing to indicate he had been injured.

“He’s trying to project an approachable, reassuring image,” Clare said. “His clientele consists of seniors who are living on fixed incomes and hoarding their savings for the kids. His prime target will be a little old lady who is widowed or divorced. She has her Social Security, maybe a small pension from her years teaching school, some income from the investments that she and her husband made over the years and the money she got when she sold the family home. That’s what he’ll go after.”

“The money she made off the real estate?”

Clare nodded. “It will be sitting in a bank somewhere, probably in nice, safe certificates of deposit. She doesn’t want to put it at risk because she’s determined to leave an inheritance for her children. Nelson Ingle’s prime objective will be to convince her that her money will be just as safe in one of his investment schemes. He’ll guarantee to triple or quadruple the interest income.”

Jake turned his head to look at her through the shield of his dark glasses. “You know guys like this.”

She shrugged. “You read predators. I read liars. Whatever else he is, we know for a fact that Nelson Ingle is a liar.”

Jake looked at the door again. “I lied to you.”

“I know.” She smiled faintly. “You were good at it, too. Takes a lot of talent to keep me guessing.”

“So, do you hate my guts now that you know the truth?” he asked, still watching the door.

Startled, she turned slightly in the seat. Jake’s profile could have been carved in granite.

“You’re talking about the fact that you didn’t mention that you happen to be working for Jones & Jones, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good grief. Why would I hate you? You have a job to do.”

He turned his head to look at her with hard eyes. “You were never supposed to be part of the job.”

“But I became part of it. Not your fault. It’s all right, Jake. I understand.”

“You really do have a slightly offbeat philosophy on the subject of lying, don’t you?”

“Like I said, the ability to lie is a tool, as far as I’m concerned. What matters is context.”

He started to smile.

“That does not mean, however, that I have changed my mind about Fallon Jones,” she added crisply.

His teeth gleamed in a wolfish grin. “I don’t give a damn how you feel about Fallon as long as you’ll still sleep with me.”

“I’m glad you have your priorities straight. Now, I think we should postpone the rest of this conversation until a more convenient time. This is where we get to corner one of the bad guys and scare him into spilling all his evil secrets, remember?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “This is the fun part.”

“You know, you remind me of those coyotes that come around hunting in the morning.”

“Is my tongue hanging out yet? I hate it when my tongue hangs out. Kind of embarrassing.”

“I don’t see any tongue.”

“That’s good.” He unbuckled his seat belt, cracked open the door and got out. “Let’s do this.”

She braced for the blast of heat and opened her own door.

Jake joined her on the sidewalk. Together they went to the front door of Ingle Investments. Jake pushed open the door with his good arm.

A draft of arctic air enveloped Clare. She took off her dark glasses and did a quick assessment.

Ingle’s office could only be described as nondescript. The carpeting was beige. A couple of standard-issue Arizona-sunset paintings hung on the walls. There were two chairs and a low table. A newspaper and some magazines were neatly stacked on the table. There was no receptionist.