Home Free - Fern Michaels [71]
Nothing here to ring any bells, Abner thought. He stacked the files neatly and added a sticky with a large question mark on top.
Abner moved on to the last name on his list, Matthew Logan, or Matt, as everyone called him. His first assessment when he ran the files was that Logan was a stand-up guy. Good education, a veteran, well liked, played well with others, no known enemies. His bank accounts and charge accounts were normal. He drove a three-year-old Lexus; his wife of thirty-three years drove a Ford Taurus. Children scattered across the nation, two grandchildren, who visited from time to time. Wife, Claudia, was a buyer for a local department store. She would retire this year. Logan himself was just two years away from retirement. Friends all over the place. Both his and his wife’s friends. They did the Washington party scene in the spring and summer but stayed away in the fall and winter.
He met from time to time with the other three, but it was always business and one director or the other hosted the meetings. Nothing there of any consequence.
And yet, all four of these men had gone to Camp David for Thanksgiving. That meant Daniels’s and Logan’s wives stayed home by themselves. “That’s weird,” Abner muttered to himself.
Abner mumbled and grumbled to himself as he stapled more papers. He really had nothing to show for all his hacking. He hated it when this happened because with no results, how could he bill a client? He couldn’t; it was that simple. So, back to the drawing board. And then an idea hit him.
With all his power and knowledge he could send the four men an e-mail and arrange to intercept their replies by setting up a bogus e-mail account for all four men. Toss out the bait and see what hooks itself on your line. He’d done it before and always come away a winner. He smacked his hands together in glee, then flexed his fingers the way a pianist would before a recital and started to type away with a vengeance.
Abner worked steadily for over an hour, lost in his own world, oblivious to the program he was running, which should, if he was successful, spit out who belonged to the initials JJ.
Time lost all meaning for Abner, so much so that he didn’t hear the phone ringing to tell him Isabelle was going to be late because a walk-in client had appeared. He came up for air at three o’clock in the afternoon because his stomach started to protest.
In his kitchen, Abner became the Abner in love. He sat down and munched on a ham-and-cheese sandwich, his expression dreamy. His world was so right side up, he made a fist and shouted it to the world.
Across town in Georgetown, Maggie Spritzer wasn’t entirely sure her world was right side up. She hoped it was since Gus Sullivan had accepted her apology and her invitation to dinner. And he was coming without a nurse or a handler.
Maggie knew she was an emotional mess, a feeling she hated but one she couldn’t seem to control. A hot shower to remove all the pine resin that coated her clothes, hands, and arms from working at Yoko’s nursery might be a good start. Maybe even a little perfume, perfume she’d bought herself, not perfume Ted had given her. She always felt better after a shower. As her thoughts trailed off, she sniffed appreciatively at the stew cooking in the Crock-Pot.
Maggie was back in the kitchen thirty minutes later, dressed in gray flannel slacks, penny loafers, and a cherry red sweater. Her wild curly hair was tied back with a matching cherry-colored ribbon.