Sure Thing(65)
“Thanks,” I say drily. I couldn’t give a fuck if I’m pissing him off with my foul mood.
“What are you working on?” Rhys asks, removing his eyes from the game long enough to side-eye the open laptop. He knows damn well what I’m working on.
“Still looking at that employment file you sent. Trying to make sense of it.”
“Make sense of what?” Canon asks. He’s a nosey bastard on the best of days, which suits his position as head of surveillance, but makes him annoying to deal with.
“My guide last week. Nothing she told me matches with her employment file. I thought perhaps her employment history was falsified, but everything seems in order.”
“That’s a security issue,” Canon replies as he swipes my laptop off the couch and starts scanning through the open document. “Daisy Hayden,” he reads aloud. “For starters, she sounds hot.”
“Be respectful, Canon. He’s still in love with her,” Rhys tells him. I shoot him a dirty look, which he misses as his attention is on the telly.
“All I’m saying is a woman named Daisy is bound to be a good time.”
I rub my temple with my index finger. I think I feel a headache coming on.
“Okay, let’s see what we have to work with.” Canon taps on the touchpad as he scrolls through the documents. I should have asked him to look at this two days ago, come to think of it. His fingers begin flying across the keyboard as he opens programs I’m not sure I have access to. Hell, I’m not sure he’s even using the company database right now.
“How are you accessing that?”
“Don’t ask.”
I don’t. Instead I fill him in on what I do know.
“Her background checks out. No arrest records. No tax issues. Good credit rating.” More rapid typing, then a pause as he turns the computer in my direction. Her employee ID is on the screen. “This is her?”
“Yeah.”
He flips the computer back around and types something else. “Her address checks out. The lease is in her name. One-bedroom apartment in Naperville, Illinois. Looks like a nice place.” He shrugs.
“Yeah, she said she lived there. That part is true, I think.”
“Excellent performance reviews.”
“That part I have an issue with. She was an average guide at best. Nervous. Forgot a few things.”
“Maybe she’s sleeping with her boss,” Canon offers.
“Too soon,” Rhys pipes in from across the couch.
Canon nods and keeps reading. I down the rest of my drink and watch the team on the telly score, though to be honest I’m not paying enough attention to even know who’s playing.
“Who is Violet Hayden?”
“Who?”
“The emergency contact on her employment records is listed as Violet Hayden.”
“Fuck if I know. She never mentioned a Violet. Her sister? Mother maybe?” Who gives a shit?
More typing, then Canon is grinning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so amused. “Certificate of live birth. State of Illinois,” he announces.
“Jesus Christ, did she lie about her age?” An overwhelming sense of dread consumes me. “She’s not underage, is she? I asked. She looked young but not that young. Bloody hell.”
“She’s twenty-six,” Canon confirms, giving me a look like I’m some kind of creep.
“Yeah, she said she was twenty-six. What’s your point?”
“It was a twin birth.” He says this slowly, as if it has meaning.
“Okay.” I stare at him a moment, letting that sink in. So she has a sister. She mentioned a sister. Canon seems to find this more fascinating than I do though, so I feel as though I’m missing something. And perhaps I didn’t need that last drink.
Canon’s typing again. “Penn, degree in urban planning,” he tells me and makes a waving gesture with his hand as if I’m supposed to reply.
“Yes, that’s what she said.”
“Was employed as a junior designer until six months ago when the company she was working for was bought out.” He says this bit slowly, as if—
Holy hell.
They switched places.
I lean forward and brace my elbows on my knees and rub both palms over my face. I wasn’t with Daisy at all. I was with Violet. I run her name through my mind a few times as memories of her flash behind my lids. It all fits, doesn’t it? She was telling me the truth. Sort of.
“Why?” I finally sputter. “Why in the hell would they do such a thing?”
“Hell if I know. That’s your problem, not mine.”
I recall her notebook. How nervous she was during the tour. I don’t know why they did this, but I don’t think they did it often. Why didn’t she just tell me?