“Yes, Tyler told me. I think Calvin made a copy of the file.”

Adam reached the office and flicked on the light. “What makes you think he’d copy your file?”

A beat of silence. “It’s the way we were trained. You know, military stuff.”

Yeah, right. Something else was going on, and it might be the link to his uncle’s death. Adam dropped into the chair behind the desk and turned on his computer. “I’ve run the discs the burglars didn’t take. What are you looking for exactly?”

Foley pulled up a chair beside the desk. “It would be lists of names with numbers.”

Bank account numbers? Adam silently wondered. “I didn’t find anything like that.”

Foley craned his neck to glance around the office at the bookshelves. “It could be hidden somewhere. Mind if I check?”

Foley hadn’t bothered to ask any questions about the fire or express concern. His attitude already had Adam pissed. “Yeah, I do mind. I’ve been through everything in this room. Nothing’s hidden in any of the books or-”

“Did you check discs that seem to be something else like PhotoShop or QuickBooks?”

“Believe me, I read every disc.”

“Why?”

There you go. Quinten Foley was an arrogant SOB but he hadn’t been made with a finger. “Some of my uncle’s financial records are missing. I checked to see if he’d hidden them for some reason.”

Foley studied him for a moment. “Look, I’m going to level with you. No one knows about this-not even Tyler.”

Well, hell. This wasn’t exactly news. Tyler’s father didn’t tell him squat.

“Your uncle was working with me on a weapons deal.”

I’ll be a son of a bitch! Adam had never suspected his uncle might be involved in something that was, if not illegal, damn close to it. When Uncle Calvin told Adam he was afraid, the older man hadn’t mentioned this.

Why would he sell arms? Money, of course. There were countries and groups of people all over the world who would pay vast sums to get the latest equipment. But he never thought his uncle would be involved with them.

How well did you know him? Adam asked himself. Not well. The man blew in and out of his life. Adam had assumed his uncle shared the same principles that Adam’s father had instilled in him. Evidently, this was a serious misconception.

An arms deal gone sour could mean a bunch of pissed-off men who would stop at nothing. Maybe that was why his uncle had been so afraid someone planned to kill him.

“You see, there are times when our government doesn’t want it to be known that they are supplying other governments with arms,” Quinten continued. “They conduct business through a third party.”

“That would be you and my uncle.”

“Exactly. Information concerning a recent deal was on your uncle’s computer. I can’t tell you more-it’s classified top secret. But I can tell you there are people who would stop at nothing to get the information.”

“Would they kill Uncle Calvin?”

“No. Why would they?”

“A little over two months ago, I visited my uncle at his villa on Siros. He was worried about being killed. He wouldn’t tell me who was after him or what it was about. He wanted to protect me.”

Foley gazed at Adam with a stricken expression. “He didn’t send me any message or try to warn me.”

“Would you have warned him?”

Quinten Foley didn’t respond. He didn’t need to; Adam knew the answer. This was a man who didn’t love his own son. How could anyone expect him to protect a business partner?

WHITNEY HUNG UP and walked down the breeder’s driveway to check on the dogs. She’d left Lexi along with Maddie and Da Vinci in the back of Adam’s Rava. They were far enough inland that the breeze from the ocean didn’t keep the air as cool as it was in the La Jolla area. If Jasper didn’t perform soon she would ask Kris if the dogs could be put in one of the dog runs.

Whitney stuck her head inside the window. “Are you guys okay?”

Lexi responded by licking her chin and Maddie hopped up and down, but Da Vinci merely opened one eye and gazed at her for a second before going back to sleep.

“I’ll hurry,” she promised, then walked back up the driveway toward the office. Her cell phone rang again. Rod Babcock’s secretary was on the line.

“Mr. Babcock is in La Jolla for a deposition. He has a noon reservation at Starz and would like you to join him. He needs to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she reluctantly agreed and hung up. She had rushed into Wal-Mart on the way out here. She’d bought a few changes of clothes and some toiletry items, but she didn’t have anything nice enough to wear to a trendy restaurant. What she had on would have to do.

Whitney walked back into the office and found Kris had left. The television showed the breeder in the pen with the two dogs. Apparently Jasper had finally become interested in the teaser bitch while Whitney had been outside.

She watched Jasper attempt to mount the female. She kept bucking off Jasper again and again. He finally managed to corner the female and climb up on her. Jasper was going at it when Kris knelt down, grabbed him, and quickly covered his penis with the collection device. The breeder began milking Jasper and Whitney turned away.

She couldn’t watch. Instead she checked her voicemail. One was a client canceling a walk and the other was Trish Bowrather.

“Call me right away. I’m so worried about you.”

Evidently Trish had seen news of the fire on the morning television broadcasts. There was no mistaking the concern in her voice. Whitney couldn’t help being touched. Other than Adam, she didn’t have anyone who cared about her.

“From the looks of it, you don’t have a place to stay, or clothes…or anything. Why didn’t you come in and tell me about it when you walked Brandy this morning?”

Whitney had been in a hurry when she’d taken Brandy for his walk. Trish must have been in the shower when Whitney came by for the retriever. She’d walked him then left. She’d needed to squeeze in another dog and a trip to Wal-Mart before driving out here to deliver Jasper. Whitney called Trish at the gallery but her voicemail picked up.

“Trish, it’s Whitney. I’m okay. I’ll tell you all about it this afternoon. I’m meeting Broderick Babcock for lunch at Starz. Afterward, I’ll drop by the gallery.”

By the time Whitney retrieved a very dejected Jasper and drove south, she barely had time to park the car in an underground garage, so the dogs wouldn’t get too hot, and still make it to the restaurant in time. She rushed up to Starz, her hair flying behind her like a banner. Broderick Babcock was waiting at a table in the rear.

The lawyer rose and extended his hand. He’s dressed for a GQ photo shoot, Whitney thought, and I’m a walking advertisement for the homeless.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his brows knit. “I heard about the pipe bombing and fire on the radio while I was driving here.”

“I’m fine.” She lowered herself into the chair opposite his.

The waitress bounced over and took her order for iced tea. Rod must have arrived early. He already had a glass of white wine and had buttered a roll from the basket on the table.

“I wasn’t home when it happened,” explained Whitney. She thought she sounded a little breathless and told herself to calm down. Rod was adept at reading people. She didn’t want him to know how frightened she was. He was doing her a favor by reviewing the document. She didn’t need to drag him into her personal affairs. “Apparently someone has a grudge against Miranda. She lived in the cottage until a few days ago. I guess they didn’t know she’d moved out.”

Rod studied her a moment. “Did you find out where she is?”

Whitney shook her head and let the waitress deposit a tall glass of iced tea with a wedge of lemon in front of her before continuing. “We found her car at the airport. She must have taken a flight somewhere.”