Simon Says... Ride (Kate Morgan Thrillers Book 3) Read online

  He wasn’t an introvert. He could socialize if he needed to, but he didn’t want to be around people all the time. Maybe that had something to do with his upbringing. He’d been hidden away for so long and had traveled such a rough road that it was hard to learn to trust.

  He had encountered people who gave this superficial public appearance to everybody that seemed normal but hid everything that was real about them, and that was exhausting to Simon, sifting through the masks. It had to be equally draining for those to be fake all the time, to deny who they really were. For him, he was who he was in any setting, but periodically he needed time to get away and to recharge—mostly to just be alone and relax. Still, relaxing as he was right now, wasn’t hard to deal with either.

  He pulled out his phone, while he ate the apple, and ran through his emails, wincing at a few of them. A couple invoices had come in. One in particular was a good 20 percent over what was expected. He quickly sent off a terse message about that one. He only employed people who kept their invoices within 10 percent. If they couldn’t manage costs properly, then that was their fault, and he would not be working with them in the future. When people gave him estimates, he expected quotes that mattered. True professionals could meet that standard, and anyone who couldn’t wasn’t someone he would do business with.

  Sure, as a businessman, he understood that supplies went up and that shipyard workers went on strike. That meant there would be extra expenses at various times, but Simon didn’t expect to pay all those costs himself. These guys were in business for a reason, and they charged enough to cover a lot of it themselves. By the time Simon finished going through his emails, the apple was gone, and so was the coffee.

  He hopped to his feet, heading to the bank. He would spend a couple hours in there at this rate. He could do an awful lot of his banking business online, but a lot he couldn’t. He still dealt with cash from a few of his clients, a few of his contractors. Some of them preferred money orders, and some were just straight bank transfers.

  Seeing the long afternoon ahead of him, he yawned and walked beside the harbor as long as he could, before heading back into town. When he realized he would be late for his appointment at the bank, he hopped the next Aquabus, catching a ride up the waterway until the next stop, bringing him ten blocks or so over. When he hopped off, he checked his watch—perfectly on time. He grinned at that, enjoying the precision.

  As he walked in, he lifted a hand to Ben, sitting in the back room, clearly visible since the rooms were all glass. Ben immediately hopped up, walked over, and opened the door to let him in.

  “Right on time as usual.”

  “Thought I would be late today,” he said.

  “Not likely. You keep such a perfect attendance record that it makes the rest of us look like shit.”

  “You look like shit anyway,” Simon said, flashing a grin.

  Ben immediately smiled, appreciating the wit.

  They had a professional relationship that worked, as long as people did what Simon needed them to do, and they did it efficiently.

  Ben knew that, and, as long as everybody could work together, he was all about keeping the relationship at this level. As he sat down, Ben asked, “So, what’s on the list today?”

  “Too much.” Simon handed over the list of transfers and other transactions that he needed.

  Ben shook his head, as he looked it over. “Man, I almost feel like we should get you your own private teller.”

  “You’re not kidding, It’s a long list this time. It’ll take a while.”

  As he started in on the payments in their various forms, Ben immediately brought up the computers and sorted through Simon’s list. By the time he was done, Simon had already gone through another cup of coffee, and now it was an hour and a half later. When Ben turned to face him, Simon stood to leave. “Thank you.”

  Ben replied, “Moving money around is always good for the economy, and, therefore, the bank, no matter where it’s going.”

  “Glad to hear that.” Simon waved and headed back outside again.

  Almost as soon as he stepped outside again, the scent of the city hit him like a ton of bricks. He frowned at that. “From nothing to this again?”

  He looked around but nothing to see. He studied his surroundings now with his psychic senses but picked up absolutely nothing. It was bizarre to have this particular “gift” ebb and flow, and, because he didn’t have any answers for it, it unnerved him. He liked to have his Ts crossed and his Is dotted to ensure the world knew who he was before he ever got there. But that wasn’t happening right now. This uncontrollable sense of smell was something completely different. It wasn’t comfortable, and he didn’t like anything about it.

  As he shuffled toward Hastings again, everything wrong in the city got sharper and sharper in his nose. Like sulfur from somewhere, and gas leaks from somewhere else. Natural gas too. He wasn’t even sure what he was smelling in some places. He shook his head, as he picked up the pace, getting there as fast as he could. He wanted to take a shortcut through an alley, but, as soon as he stepped in, the smell of urine slammed him, and he immediately backed up, bending over double because of the intense rank smell. At that, he stopped, then leaned against the wall, giving himself a chance to just digest whatever the hell was going on. His world was all about balance, and, when there was none, life was that much harder.

  As soon as he could breathe again, he headed down the main pathway, avoiding all unsavory places that normally wouldn’t be an issue, but something today made them a serious problem. He was late for his next appointment. By the time his project manager gave him the lowdown on the rehab—now at 30 percent over budget—Simon got frustrated and angry again.

  “This will be the job to keep an eye on,” his project manager muttered.

  “Yeah, there’s always one, isn’t there?” Simon tried to remember that. Some projects, no matter how well he and his crew prepared for it, turned into money pits. Thankfully the overall majority of his projects made money, so the offset could be absorbed without affecting his bottom line too much. However, dealing with the daily headaches sometimes made Simon question his desire to revive the original beauty of the Vancouver buildings here.

  “There’s always one, and honestly, we’ve done the best we can.”

  “And yet it doesn’t seem to be doing a damn bit of good.”

  “That’s because you’re caught up in the daily drudge of it all right now. And I get that, I really do. I mean a ton of your money is involved in this.”

  “We’re 200K over budget,” Simon said in exasperation. “What the hell? We weren’t supposed to get anywhere close to that figure.”

  The project manager nodded. “Yet you’ve okayed all these changes.”

  “Sure, but those change orders are bullshit,” he snapped. “Especially at this level.”

  “Part of that was the supplies. We had to source out new suppliers, and that meant we had to do other changes because we couldn’t get some of what we needed.”

  Simon shrugged. “It’s bad right now. I get it.”

  “I do too.”

  “Whatever, come on. Let’s just get this job done. Completion is the only way to get out of this hole, the only way to stop the bleeding.”

  “When I hear that from others, it always makes me wonder. How do you spend your way out of a financial holes? Yet it seems like sometimes it’s the only answer.”

  “I agree,” Simon said. “We have to spend to get out of it. So let’s get the spending done, so I know what the bottom line is, and we can go forward from there.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  It had been all he could do to not say something more. That aftershave, cologne, or whatever the hell his project manager used was pungent. However, Simon had never noticed it before. So today he had decided to overwhelm himself in it? Like that white noise you suddenly notice and now can no longer ignore? Or was it that crazy psychic olfactory sense of his? Considering that everything else was also on
steroids, it was probably that.

  It was irritating as hell. Plus, now a weird rumbling appeared in the back of his head. He swatted at it, shaking his head. It sounded like a washing machine running in the back of the house. He stood in silence for a few moments before saying, “Screw this.”

  He needed this day to be over, and, if he was lucky, he’d get his work done first. If not, then to hell with it. Maybe Kate’s day was going better. And, with that, he pulled out his phone and checked it, intending to send a text to Kate, but hesitated. It was still relatively early in the day, and she’d be busy at work, what with her long hours. Groaning, he shoved his cell back into his pocket and headed home. It was definitely a day to shut down early.

  Chapter 7

  As Kate got close to the university, she deliberately drove around the block, taking a look at the area, wondering if the previous accidents had anything to do with this one. They were hardly accidents, but that’s what she would call them for the moment. Incidents, maybe that was better. She didn’t have the history on the previous four at this time of year in the same area, beyond a quick report, but she’d rather go home and study the written details in full later.

  As it was, she took a quick look around, wondering what the problem was with this corner. Apparently the city had been lobbying for a change of traffic patterns here, in order to make it safer, but she didn’t really notice any difference. She shrugged, turned the corner again and then again. The traffic was steady, but it wasn’t overly slow, and, by the time she headed down the boulevard toward the campus center, the opposing traffic flowed smoothly at her side in the other direction—not a problem whatsoever.

  Then again, most traffic wasn’t a problem if people kept to the rules and to their own side of the road. As soon as everybody accepted that they couldn’t go as fast as they wanted, they should just calm down and allow for more time. What really chapped her butt was those who didn’t want to listen to the rules—because the rules weren’t made for them, because they were special. The number of people who thought they were special just blew her away.

  Shaking her head, she pulled into the student housing parking, then exited her vehicle and walked to the steps of the building. Groups of people stood around talking here and there. It was exam time, and summer session was almost over. Exams were hanging over the heads of some. As she almost reached the steps accessing the building, somebody called out, “Hey, do you have permission to go up there?”

  She turned, looked at the young woman, and smiled. “Will this do?” She held up her badge.

  Immediately the other woman recoiled. “Ah, is there a problem?”

  “I need to talk to somebody. Is that a problem?”

  She shook her head. “No, we’re just trying to keep security on the place a little tighter.”

  “Have you had problems?” Kate asked.

  “No, not really. It’s just, you know, sometimes breakups aren’t all that pleasant. And, when there are breakups between friends on campus, and everybody knows everybody, it’s really easy to get in and out of buildings, even if you didn’t really want them getting in and out.”

  It was stated very cryptically, but Kate understood perfectly. “So, somebody had a bad breakup. He’s made some threats, and now you guys are all worried that he’ll come in here and cause chaos for his ex-girlfriend, is that it?”

  Her eyebrows shot up, and she nodded. “Wow, that was quick. I guess you are a cop.”

  “Yeah, that’s what the badge is for.” Kate looked around at the crowd. “I’m looking for Candy.”

  “Oh, Candy is upstairs, studying,” she said, with relief.

  “Good, I’ll just go on up and talk to her.”

  “Is she in any trouble?”

  “Nope, not at all.”

  “Of course she isn’t. She’s not the type.”

  “Not the type?”

  “To get into trouble.”

  “Interesting phrase,” Kate said, with a bright smile. “Who are the types to get into trouble?”

  “Actually quite a few of us,” she said, in a half-joking manner. “It goes along with the territory, you know? Freedom from home for the first time. A chance to make our own decisions—without anybody looking over our shoulder and judging us for it.”

  “Oh, so you mean, sex, drugs, and alcohol. And all that at the same time?”

  The young woman flushed. “Well, it’s not that bad,” she said.

  Kate laughed. “Relax. I’m not here to tend to anybody’s love life. I’m just here to talk to Candy.”

  “Okay,” she said, in a much more cheerful tone of voice. “Just be nice to her. She’s having a rough day.”

  “Why?” Kate asked, not having made it any farther than two steps toward the door.

  “I’m not sure. A breakup, I think.”

  “Ah, that’s tough.”

  “Yeah, it’s a good thing though,” said one of the other females, stepping up and joining the conversation.

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s an asshat.” Her words were succinct and clear.

  “At this age, lots of them are,” Kate said, with a knowing smile.

  The two young women thought that was the funniest thing ever and howled with laughter. “Oh my God, that’s perfect.”

  Not sure what was so perfect about guys being asshats, but Kate was happy to go along with whatever the hell this was. “Anything else to say about this guy? Is he a problem?”

  “Nah, he’s just one of those rich guys. So, when you have a problem with him, you have a problem with the whole group.”

  “Interesting that she got hooked up with him in the first place, isn’t it?”

  “You know what? That’s exactly what I said,” replied the first woman. “I mean, I’m much more their type than she is.”

  “Their type?”

  “You know? Plenty of money and willing to do whatever for that fun evening.” She shrugged. “I’m not as limited by morals and ethics as Candy is.”

  “Yeah, it’s quite a handicap sometimes, isn’t it?”

  “It really is,” she said seriously. “Think about it. I mean, if you don’t worry about the rules, then you’re not hung up with guilt over them all. And Candy is definitely hung up in guilt.”

  “Yeah,” the second young woman agreed. “Something about she wouldn’t do something with them, and they made her do it anyway, and now she’s up there, bawling her eyes out, thinking her world is over.”

  “Sounds like I need to go talk to her then.” Kate smiled and pulled out her card and handed it to the two women. “If you think of anything else, or if this guy—whoever it is who could cause trouble—causes some trouble, give me a shout.”

  Looking at the card, one of the young women said, “Wow, you’re a homicide cop?”

  “A detective, yes. That’s what I do.”

  “Did you always want to do something like that?” she asked.

  “Yep, pretty much.” She cheerfully pulled the door open. She stopped, looked back at the pair, still standing there, staring at her card, and wondered. It seemed like a hell of a long time since Kate had been that innocent. And the years didn’t lie; it was a long time ago. Shaking her head, she strode inside, letting the door close behind her.

  It always blew her away that the badge made such a difference. And she got it; she really did. Everybody wanted to believe in authority, but what if somebody else had grabbed that badge? What if somebody else was using it for nefarious purposes? These women weren’t even calling it in and checking it out any further. Instead just wondering in delight that they got to talk to a detective. Kate worried about that.

  Given that same level of innocence, it’s no wonder her brother had gotten into trouble so easily. He’d only been a child, and whoever had taken him had been wiser in the ways of the world than Timmy was. He’d been easy pickings, and it had been over so fast. Even two years older, Kate hadn’t been any smarter; she’d gone inside and left her brother alone. She sh
ook her head at that. It shouldn’t have been her problem. It shouldn’t have been her responsibility, and it definitely sure as hell shouldn’t be her guilt. But it was, and that was just something she never got over.

  As she raced up the stairs, taking two at a time, she passed several other young women heading down to go out. Nobody asked her anything; nobody questioned her presence, but why would they? It was broad daylight, and everybody knew predators came out at nighttime. She shook her head at that. She’d learned very early on that predators were there every hour of the day, just looking for that split second of opportunity.

  Reaching the door she was looking for, she knocked. There was absolute silence. She called out and knocked again, then waited. When there was no answer, she immediately rapped harder. “Police, Candy. Let me in.”

  A gasp came from inside, but she was on the fourth floor, and the chances of Candy bolting out the window were not good. And, if that’s the route she chose, then a hell of a lot more was going on here than anybody suspected. When the door opened ever-so-slightly, with a chain still across it, Candy looked out through the crack, saw Kate, and immediately started to cry.

  “Yeah,” Kate said, “time to talk to me.”

  The woman opened up the door and let her in. With tears running down her face, Candy slammed it shut behind her and immediately put the chain back again.

  “So, you want to tell me what’s going on?” Kate gave the small dorm room a quick look around. It was barely big enough for one person let alone a live-in student, but it was pretty normal college quarters—a bed, a desk, what looked like a bathroom attached, which meant Candy had a private room. Kate turned and looked at the young woman, and Candy collapsed on the bed, bawling. “Come on. Talk to me.” Kate pulled out the chair from the desk and sat down.