Page 49 of Witness To Murder
“Did you ever add her to one of your accounts? You would have to go into the bank, the two of you, to do that.”
Leah shook her head. “No. But I do my banking online. She could go on my account from my laptop and transfer money.” She groaned. “Because even my new password is saved there.”
“Then we can’t be sure she isn’t waiting around to do that,” Owen suggested. “Think about it, she could have disappeared already. The woman pretending to be her mother is long gone. Why is Alyssa hanging around? Why does she care if you believe her? Or if you’re still friends?”
Leah moistened her lips. “She wants that five million dollars. At this point, the only way to get it is for her to stay on my goodside so I don’t change anything that possibly gives her access to it.”
“There are things we can do,” Owen said gently. “Adding facial recognition to your laptop, for one.”
Leah nodded. “Maybe I just need to start over in a new place.”
Owen touched her cheek, noted the new bruise there. He winced. “We’ll find you a new place where you’ll be safe, if that’s what you want.” Only this time he wasn’t thinking of his friend who owned apartment buildings.
“I’ll feel a lot safer—” she scooted over to her left a little, then patted the bed on her right side “—if you’re next to me.”
“I think I can do that.” He lowered the side rail. “At least until a nurse comes in and tells me different.”
He stretched out on the bed next to her. Kissed her forehead. “Close your eyes,” he murmured. “Rest.”
She closed her eyes and snuggled against him. He closed his and considered again how grateful he was that she was okay.
He’d let her down tonight, but that would never happen again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Friday, August 15
Bechel’s Insurance Company
South Wacker Drive, 11:00 a.m.
The office was a small one. Nothing like Leah had expected, given the building where it was located and the many types of insurance sold. A soaring high-rise made of steel, glass and concrete. The office was on the tenth floor. She read a few of the Google reviews, and there was nothing bad mentioned about the owner or the business, only the surprisingly small office and the idea that it was basically a one-man operation. Owen’s research had discovered that the company was actually part of a larger one that had small offices all over the country.
On the elevator ride up to the proper floor, Owen started in again. “You really should be resting in bed or on the sofa watching television.”
“You’ve called this guy three times, and he hasn’t called back. It’s time for a face-to-face. You said so yourself.”
He shot her a sidelong glance. “That was before someone gave you a concussion and tried to set you on fire.”
There was that. “We’re here.” The elevator bumped to a stop, and the doors opened. “We might as well do this.”
“Just take it easy,” he urged as he waited for her to step into the corridor.
She headed for the office, and Owen followed. He opened the door, and they entered the tiny lobby. There were four chairs, a table with a couple of magazines and a sliding window behindwhich a receptionist likely sat. But not at the moment. Leah’s shoulders sagged. If the man wasn’t here, she was going to scream—except that would make her head hurt worse.
Though she would never admit it, she felt exhausted. Irritable. Her head ached. It was all to be expected, but that didn’t make functioning any easier. “No one’s here,” she muttered.
Owen shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll just see.” He took the three steps across the dinky room and opened the only other door besides the entrance. On the other side was a narrow hall lined with three more doors. The first on the right was open, and it led to the desk behind the sliding window. The one across the hall was open as well and showed off a minuscule powder room.
At the end of the short hallway was the third. Owen glanced at her, held up a hand to knock but then heard a male voice on the other side. Had to be Hoyt Bechel, the owner; otherwise, someone else was using his office.
As Owen prepared to knock again, the man on the other side told someone he would be hearing from him soon and then said goodbye.
When the door didn’t open with an exiting client, Owen knocked.
They waited, heard the man on the other side shuffling around his desk. The door opened and a frazzled-looking middle-aged fellow glared at them through his glasses.
“Can I help you?”
