“You know how my father is,” Tyler told him with a touch of sarcasm. “Phones can be tapped. Anyone with the right equipment can listen in on cell calls.”

“Okay, I’m here. Shoot.”

Quinten Foley frowned at his son. “I need to have a private conversation with Adam.”

“Fine with me. My girl’s waiting for me, too.” He left, shutting the door behind them.

“I had a few thoughts about the disc I’m missing.”

Adam was too pissed to ask a question. How could a man treat his own son like a scumbag? Why did Tyler take it?

“Calvin may have transferred it to another format,” Foley said. “That’s why we couldn’t find the disc.”

“Such as?”

“Another type of disc, or it may even be disguised as a book. It might even be in some unusual place like the freezer.”

“There was nothing in the freezer except Rocky Road ice cream. I ate it.”

“It’s possible it’s disguised as a music CD in his car.”

Under his breath, Adam cursed himself. He’d neglected to inspect the CDs in his uncle’s car. When Quinten had first come looking for the disc, Adam had told him some of his uncle’s financial records were missing. He didn’t say he believed it was a single line of information containing a bank code. For all Foley knew, Adam was after reams of paper. He didn’t trust Foley enough to tell him the truth. He hadn’t confided in anyone-not even Whitney.

“Did you search the discs in the sound system around the pool?”

Aw, hell. Screwed up again. He hadn’t played the music outside and didn’t even know where the CD player that serviced the barbecue and pool area was located.

“I’m positive the info is somewhere in the house or car. Those are the only places it could be.”

Adam thought a second. “What about the plane he leased or the villa on Siros?”

“We’ve checked. It’s not at either location.” A cold smile played across his lips. “We’d like to thoroughly search your uncle’s home.”

Adam’s thoughts whirled inside his head like the Milky Way. Who searched the plane and villa? “It’s my home, too. Check the records. We owned it jointly.”

“I have. That’s why I’m asking your permission to allow experts to thoroughly go over the home first thing in the morning.”

“Why the rush?”

“There’s info on the disc that I need now,” Foley replied, but there was something about the way he said it that made Adam suspicious.

He opened his mouth to tell Foley to go to hell. On the way over here, he’d decided to take Whitney to Cancún. There was a good chance they’d find Miranda there. If not, a little vacation couldn’t hurt them. He decided not to shoot himself in the foot. He’d had absolutely no luck locating the bank code he needed. Why not let the pros give it a try?

“Okay,” Adam replied slowly, as if he were reluctant to go along with this. “I’ll need to be present.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I-”

“Then I won’t grant access.”

“All right, all right. First thing in the morning. It won’t take my boys more than an hour or two-tops.”

FROM A ROOM DOWN THE HALL, Tyler listened to every word. He’d been testing a new gadget. It was a pricey Mont Blanc pen fitted with a microphone the size of a pinhead. It transmitted everything said within a ten-foot radius to a receiver concealed in a deck of playing cards. The receiver was so powerful that it could be located anywhere within a half mile of the pen.

What was on the disc that was so important to his father? Why did Adam insist on being present? Maybe Adam wanted to make certain his father’s men didn’t remove anything. That didn’t make sense. The pros his father would use wouldn’t be common thieves. He was missing something here.

Then the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle in his brain suddenly fell into place. His father must have been in business with Calvin Hunter. He thought a moment. It could only have been weapons. His father was supposed to be a consultant, but that must have been a cover story.

Tyler couldn’t help wondering if money might be hidden somewhere in Calvin Hunter’s home. That would account for Adam’s interest. The disc provided an excuse to search. After all, his father worked with private militias as well as foreign governments on weapons deals. So had Calvin Hunter. They could have been paid “off the books” in gold or even diamonds.

He toyed with the idea of going in and looking himself. After all, he had been a detective. Nah, he decided. If Adam had searched the home, the disc-or whatever-wasn’t easy to find.

He heard the men standing and shut off the receiver by pressing a microdot on the phony pack of cards. He sprinted out the side door and raced to his car. He was out of the lot before the men emerged from the building.

This crap with his father had made Tyler think about money. A lot of money. His father could live another twenty or even thirty years.

Granted, Tyler was making decent money, but Holly deserved the best. He smiled to himself, thinking about Adam’s comment. He did have a woman he was interested in. Holly needed to know as soon as possible.

Tyler tried her cell number again but it immediately kicked into voice mail. He’d lied when he’d said Holly was waiting for him. They’d had an early dinner, then she’d claimed female problems were bothering her. She’d gone home. Tyler had picked up a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. He’d taken them to her walkup flat in Coronado but she wasn’t there.

Where the fuck could she be? Why would she lie? She couldn’t possibly have another guy. No way. She spent too many nights with him.

He needed to present her with a whopper of a diamond. Once they set a date to be married, he would feel better. Not even his frustration with his father could bring him down then.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“H EY, CUTIE.” The dachshund scurried up to Whitney, tail wagging. “Grey, right?” She dropped to her knees and held out her arms. The little dog leaped up and licked her chin.

She stood, Grey in her arms, and flipped on a few lights. “Let’s see if you had an accident that I need to clean up.”

“Good boy,” she told the dog after she’d inspected the small, neat condo. “No accidents. Let’s take you for a walk.”

The dachshund lived in an upscale condominium complex not far from Scripps. If Whitney recalled correctly, Betty Spirin worked at the Scripps Institute of Oceanography. Whitney walked down a path illuminated only by low-voltage lights scattered among the plants bordering the walkway. Hadn’t the moon been shining when they left the restaurant? She was positive it had, but in early summer a layer of marine clouds inched in at night, lingered, then became the morning fog that beachgoers called “June gloom.”

The note she had on her BlackBerry said “back,” which meant the best place to walk Grey was in the back of the complex. She headed in that direction, deciding there must be a common area behind the warren of condos. As soon as they were off the walkway Grey lifted his leg on a low-hanging bush.

“You really had to go, didn’t you,” she said, careful to keep her voice low. Very few lights were on in the complex at this late hour, and she didn’t want to disturb the residents.

Grey finished and scratched the grass. Whitney led the dachshund toward the rear of the condominiums. The dog probably would do something more serious. She’d left her purse in the condo, so she double-checked the pockets in her shorts to make sure she had a plastic bag for a pickup.

Whitney slowed as she approached the rear of the complex. Security lights illuminated the building but five feet beyond was cloaked in deep shadows. She looked up again. Nothing but a black anvil of a sky.

Grey trotted forward. Obviously the dog had been here many times and knew his way. A sense of foreboding prickled at Whitney. Mercy, was she jumpy. She’d been nothing but raw nerves since the fire.