Free Secrets by Lynn Crandall

“Pretid” and “property acquisitions,” he suspected he’d found invaluable information for his client and Michelle’s problem. The cell phone couldn’t click fast enough as he photographed each page in the files, his ears attentive to any possible intrusion. He scanned the receptionist’s office on the other side of the wall. Only darkness. Quietly, he slipped through Carter’s office into the adjoining secretary’s office, then slanted open the door and scanned the hallway. Dark and empty. He crept swiftly down the hall to the stairway, then stopped.
    Nearby, the sound of an elevator door opening sent him sprinting down another hall.
    “Wait there. You. Stop!” Another security guard stood in the second hall.
    Casey instantly pivoted and headed for a wall of windows as two guards raced toward him.
    “I said stop!” ordered one.
    The guard brought up his gun and took his stance. Casey brushed a look in his direction, then checked to confirm that his tools and his phone were safely stowed inside his pockets. He leaped with his shoulder toward the window, but the pop of a gun, followed by a powerful thud in his side sent him sprawling clumsily out the window.
    His feet slammed onto the pavement and he struggled for balance. One last glance up at the guards standing menacingly at the window and he faded into the shadows. He trotted to his car, dragging in breaths as best he could. “Way to go, Case,” he muttered to himself. “Way to wake up the neighborhood.”
    He rested against his car for a split second, then pulled off his mask, tore at his clothing, and ripped off the Kevlar vest under his shirt. He breathed in deep breaths of the night air, regaining his strength.
    Disgust filtered through as he drove home, mixing with the pain the bullet had inflicted. As intrusions and data searches went, his visit to Carter’s place had gone very well. He’d gotten what he wanted. But he’d botched it. Now things would get more complicated. Now the police would be called and an investigation would ensue. It was hard to shrug off his mistakes, but he knew he’d done a good job of covering his tracks. He’d done what he had to do. He just hoped it didn’t turn around and bite him, or more importantly, Michelle.
    • • •
    Michelle fingered a button on her shirt, listening to one of her fosters reporting that the kittens he’d been caring for were ready for adoption.
    “Thanks, Jamal. I’m trying to find them a permanent home. Do you think you could participate in an adoption event that’s coming up? You could bring the mom cat and her kittens.”
    “Of course. Just send me details and I’ll be there with the little family.” His voice was pleasant, optimistic. It was honey for her heart.
    “Will do.” Her phone beeped. “Oh, I’ve got another call I should take. Thanks, Jamal! You’re the best.”
    The name on her phone was that of a board member for Cats Alive. Michelle pulled up her composure and clicked on answer. “Hi, Jackson. What’s up? Are you calling as a friend or a board member?”
    “Hey, Michelle. Does it matter?” He chuckled into the phone.
    “No, I just need to know what hat to put on.” Lacey’s husband offered much to Cats Alive. He had business savvy and a big heart. Like him, everyone on her board was a friend. But doing business meant adopting a professional attitude. It helped her keep her bearings.
    “Okay, then, put on your non-profit owner hat. I’ve been looking over the quarterly tax information. It looks like you’ve done a good job of crossing your Ts and dotting your Is.”
    “Thanks! Why do I feel that’s the compliment before the criticism?”
    “I don’t want to be critical. I do want what’s best for you and Cats Alive. We’re running on fumes, it looks like. I wonder about a fundraiser. And maybe we need an actual accountant. Someone who would remove any possibility of popping a red flag with the IRS.”
    “That would be excellent. I’ve tackled