Page 34 of Takeover
He kicked the fallen pens out of the way and unlocked his door. Relocked it, too—paranoia wasn’t healthy, but the records in there? Some of them he’d pulled from the CFO’s office—not exactly innocent paperwork. Better under lock and key, especially if William was making unexpected visits. Though, for all he knew, the man had access to the master key for all the offices.
He didn’t really want to think about that.
Sam used his card to unlock the server room and pushed the door open. Being back here only reminded him of Michael—the length of that body, the way those lips turned either to a smile or a frown, the intensity of Michael’s commands. Sam swallowed the thoughts and headed to the right, slid the keyboard for the security system out, and typed in his user ID and password.
Denied.
Sam stared at the screen. Now that was damn odd. He should have had the same access as the IT manager. He’d asked for that when he’d joined—made it contingent, in fact, on his hiring. Too many old IT habits. He liked unfettered access. He’d also cajoled IT into giving him the root passwords they weren’t supposed to give to anyone—it paid to speak the language of the tribe.
Sam took out his phone, looked up what he needed, and logged in.
Yes, William had been visiting the office. Quite a bit on weekends. A chill ran down Sam’s spine.Like you’re doing right now.Granted, ostensibly he was here because of the release.
Sam looked over his own records—and hovered over the entries for today. One to enter the office, the other to enter the server room. Oh the temptation, to delete that one line, to cover up his tracks, except that would make him as bad as William. Having root access to the system he could explain—but altering the records? No. He switched back to William’s page, printed off a copy, and logged out.
List in hand, Sam slipped back to his office and studied the pile of records on his desk. Time to get to work correlating some of this with when William had been physically present at Four Rivers.
An hour later, a fourth pen joined the other three on the floor.
Some intriguing patterns had emerged—William tended to be in on weekends when the petty cash count swung wildly. Some of the dates also corresponded to known times Taylor had moved money around—but it still wasn’t enough because there was no proof that Taylor had been in the office at the same time. Only William. Sam already had Taylor’s list of visits in the dirty deeds folder.
Security camera footage might have proved they visited together, but those records were stored off-site in a secure facility built into an old limestone mine. Not like he could waltz in and ask for them. The language of the tribe wouldn’t take himthatfar.
Besides, none of the cash they’d found Taylor with had ended up in William’s hands. Sure, William’s response to the Taylor crisis had seemed a bit over the top, especially since they’d been thick as thieves at one point. But that wasn’t motive.
There wasn’t any motive for William screwing around with Four Rivers.
A sudden longing for Michael nearly overwhelmed Sam—he could help sift through this mess. He’d been at Four Rivers the entire time—knew what wasn’t written down.
And he wanted Michael again. Inside his mouth, inside his body, in his mind, making him fly. Every day. Desire so strong it hurt his heart, stole his breath, and pained his soul. This unquenchable need had to end, and soon, before it broke them both—and everything else—to pieces.
He’d run out of pens to throw, which left only one option. Call in a favor.
Sam picked up his cell phone, flipped through his contacts, found the name he wanted—Fabian Miles—and tapped to connect.
Fabian answered after three rings, his dusty voice barking out his name.
“Hey, it’s Randell Anderson. Sorry for calling on a Sunday. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”
“Randy? No, no. I was just”—something thumped on the other end—“cleaning the garage. Wife’s been after me for weeks. How are you doing?”
They shot the shit for a few minutes—Fabian recounting the health of his family, his companies—“You’re not looking for a new position, are you?”
Sam’s spine tingled. “Not at the moment.”
“Shame. I’m on the board of a start-up that could really use someone like you. Boston area. Large data storage devices—better tech for the cloud and all that. Good stuff, but their management—” Sam could picture the older, silver-haired man shaking his head. “Crying shame. Sure I couldn’t tease you away?”
Sam looked at the calendar on his wall. If the release went off as planned, he might very well be out of Four Rivers soon. His heart hollowed. A new job would solve this issue with Michael, give them both the distance they needed. Sam’s lungs tightened, but he spoke anyway. “I may be freeing up in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll send you the info.”
“Thanks.”
Another bang, then a scrape from Fabian’s end. “I’m sure me snapping you up to fix a mess and make me money isn’t the reason you called.”
Sam had to laugh, even though his heart hurt like hell. Leave Michael? But yes. Yes, that would fix many things, including Fabian’s company. “I’m trying to dig up some information on William Vandershoot.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re working with that asshole again.” A pause. “You’rethe guy they got for Four Rivers? After the Taylor thing?”
