Chapter 5

Natalie turned the key over and over. It was not Jeff's gym locker key. Could it be for something in his office at Dade Savings and Loan where he was a senior vice president? If that were the case, he would surely have kept it on his regular key ring.


After dressing, Natalie did a quick Google search. Sensible Storage boasted five locations to "solve all your storage needs." She printed out a list of the addresses and phone numbers. Should she inform Leonard of this new development? It might turn out to be nothing. Anyway, he was busy re-checking area hospitals and morgues for anyone matching Jeff's description. Natalie shuddered at the thought. Was Jeff lying unconscious, or worse, in some ICU, the victim of an attack or accident, his identification lost? She wanted to believe that, but her gut told her that was not the case. Jeff's disappearance was his own doing. She quickly brushed away a tear.

She tossed her cell phone in her purse and went out to the garage. As the garage door rolled up, she noticed a white van parked down the street on the opposite side. "Pro Painting - Your First Choice" proclaimed black letters on the side.

The Bowmans must be getting ready to sell, she thought. She put her black Lexus in gear and headed for the first Sensible Storage. It was only three miles away.



**
Paolo drove to an office park just off the interstate, parked, and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. He pushed through the heavy glass doors of Napoli International, his family's umbrella corporation for its construction, restaurant, and retail empire.

His father, Giovanni Sabbatini, the family's white-haired patriarch, stood in front of the reception desk talking with Paolo's two older brothers, Stefano and Dante. From the conference room down the carpeted hallway, he heard his younger sisters Angela and Vittoria laughing at some private joke.

"Glad you could make it, son," said Giovanni, clapping him on the shoulder.

I'd never hear the end of it if I didn't, thought Paolo. "I was tied up at headquarters for a few hours."

"Catch any crooks this morning, bro?" asked Dante.

"Not yet. But it's early."

Paolo was the only Sabbatini not directly involved in the family businesses. Yet every month his father insisted he attend these breakfast meetings.

"Let's get started then," said Giovanni as he ushered the boys toward the conference room. As they entered the room, the sisters jumped up and hugged Paolo. Angela, an award-winning clothing designer, held him at arm's length. "Nice threads, Paolo. Looking this sharp, you should be able to snag a new girlfriend in no time. And you smell divine."

Paolo frowned. "Let it go, Ange."

Vittoria giggled. "My friend Karen would love to meet you."

"Enough! We're not here to discuss amore," said Giovanni. "Let's go over these sales figures." He punched up a PowerPoint presentation.

Routine matters were discussed and voted on. Paolo tried to show interest, asking the occasional question. But his mind kept wandering back to the Jernigan case. More specifically, to Natalie Jernigan. She was a spitfire when she got all worked up over something.

After almost an hour, Vittoria piped up, "Papa, how much longer? I have to meet with my adviser about my dissertation in twenty minutes."

Giovanni smiled indulgently at his youngest child. "Only a few more minutes. You must have patience, my dear." He turned back to the screen.

Vittoria rolled her eyes. Paolo smirked and whispered, "Get used to it."

Paolo's phone buzzed on his hip. "I have to take this." He got up and stepped into the corridor.

"What is it?"

"Natalie Jernigan left her house forty-five minutes ago and went to a Sensible Storage. Stayed approximately ten minutes, left and drove to another location of the same company. Again, only a few minutes there. Now appears to be headed for a third location."

"Where?" The agent rattled off the address.

"I'm in the area," said Paolo. "Meet me there." He snapped the phone shut.

The family was leaving the conference room. "Have to get back to work. Give mom my love," said Paolo.

Angela waved a hand. "Hey, remember Thursday night, my house, six-thirty."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Paolo bypassed the elevator, opting to sprint down the stairs. He almost knocked an old lady down as he dashed out the front door. "Sorry!" he yelled.

In under ten minutes he pulled into a convenience store parking lot adjacent to Sensible Storage. Business was brisk at the gas pumps. No one paid any attention to a man sitting motionless in his car at the edge of the lot.

**
Having struck out at the first two Sensible Storage locations, Natalie sighed and turned into the third one on the list. This was not the best part of town. Industrial with a tire recycling plant, a junkyard, couple of gas stations, and a boarded-up factory. A group of Hispanic teens wearing baggy pants skateboarded across the empty parking lot of the factory. Not the kind of place you'd want to suffer a breakdown or a flat after dark.

The hair on Natalie's arms stood up. She felt exposed, like someone was out there watching her.
Ridiculous. Nobody knows I'm here. Must get a grip, must get a grip.

She took several deep breaths and scanned the area. There was no reason for her panic.

**
What's she waiting for? Or who? wondered Paolo. Maybe this was a pre-arranged rendezvous with Jernigan.

Finally, Natalie got out of the car. But instead of going into the office, she popped the trunk of the Lexus.

A large truck pulled up, blocking Paolo's view. He punched the steering wheel and cursed. He risked exposure if he got out of his car now. The truck reversed, sputtered, and then successfully backed into a parking spot. By this time, Natalie had slammed the trunk shut and was walking into the office.

Paolo's jaw clenched. What was she doing in the trunk? He snatched up his phone and called the surveillance team.

"Location?" he demanded.

"Alley behind the storage facility."

"Standby. We may have a situation."

**
"Can you help me? My husband may have rented a unit here, but I don't know the number."

The thin, middle-aged Indian clerk dragged his attention from the soccer game playing on the small television behind the desk. He regarded Natalie with a bored expression.

"I am sorry. I cannot help you if you do not know number of unit. It is policy."

Natalie pulled a vacation photo from her wallet. "Do you recognize this man? His name is Jeffrey Jernigan."

The clerk hesitated. "Sometimes my cousin work here. Maybe he would know."

"Where is your cousin?" Natalie barely resisted the urge to reach over the counter and shake the man.

"He left for Mumbai two days ago. He return only after eight weeks."

Natalie fumed. "Can't you just look through your records? This is urgent!" She opened her wallet and began peeling out crisp twenty-dollar bills.

The clerk's eyes widened. "To hell with policy. Is stupid policy." He turned to the computer.

A moment later the clerk led Natalie to unit 42E. "I no want trouble. I like this job. I tell no one you come here today."

"Okay. Fine."

He turned and scuttled back to the office. It was almost noon and the temperature was rising, just like Natalie's blood pressure. A horrible thought gripped her. What if Jeff's lifeless body was behind the door? Her hand flew to her pounding heart. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. Then she unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open.

She saw two file cabinets, some cylindrical mailing tubes propped in the corner, an expensive copier, and a duffel bag. Nothing sinister about this, at least on the surface.

She blew out a long breath. Then she noticed a reddish-brown stain on the concrete floor. She peered more closely.

Suddenly, she whirled around and froze. Was that a footstep? Maybe the greedy clerk was returning to relieve her of more cash. She reached into her purse and palmed cold, hard metal. She was not going down without a fight. Slowly, she raised the gun with both hands.

Another footstep sounded. A tall, dark figure filled the doorway, weapon in hand.

"Don't touch anything!" ordered Paolo.

They stared at each other for a beat. "This is the second time today a man in black has held me at gunpoint," huffed Natalie. "I'm really getting pissed."

"Lower your weapon, Natalie," ordered Paolo.

"You first. And how did you find me?"

The standoff continued. "There's no record of you, or your husband, owning a handgun."

Natalie said nothing.

"Did you steal it?"

"No, I didn't steal it! What kind of woman do you think I am?" Natalie lowered her arms. "It was given to me."

Paolo re-holstered his gun. "Step out here. This may be a crime scene." He pinned her with his hypnotic blue eyes.

"How did you find me?" she asked again. The white Pro Painting van she'd seen on her street earlier slowly turned the corner. "I should have known. I'll bet they don't know a paint brush from a mascara brush."

"Wait here." Paolo walked over to confer with the agents.

"Where would I go?" she called after him.

After a few minutes of tense conversation, the van left and Paolo strode back to her. "CSI is on the way. For now I'm going to pretend I didn't see that gun." He gestured to the storage unit. "But I need some answers about this stuff."

Chapter 4

Paolo watched the video of Natalie's interrogation again. Had he missed something? Was there a clue in her body language or voice that should have been obvious to even the most rookie agent? Was he letting his personal history with Natalie Jernigan cloud his perspective as an agent?

The tape ended. Paolo stabbed the rewind button - more forcefully than necessary - and stared at the photo of Natalie in the open folder in front of him.

Six months ago he was a senior field agent in the San Diego office. He loved his job, but had limited free time. However, he did his best in that limited free time to meet as many of southern California's beautiful women as possible. But then an uncle in Ft. Lauderdale was killed in what police termed a botched robbery. His extended family begged him to return to Florida, as if somehow he could help the police solve uncle Luca's senseless murder.

His transfer came through and he returned to Miami. He was absorbed once again into the whirlwind on the Sabbatini clan. No one remained in Italy. From nonni Maria on down, the entire family had emigrated from Naples over the years. His siblings were content and successful in their personal lives and careers. Hardly a weekend passed without a birthday or anniversary to celebrate. Life was good.

Then he was assigned to the Jernigan Task Force. He'd heard bits and pieces about Jeffrey Jernigan during his years with the Bureau, but had no idea of the extent of the man's alleged activities until recently.

Paolo remembered his initial shock when he learned about Jernigan's wife. He read through the file again. Natalie Leigh Fowler Jernigan, age 33. Born in Boca Raton, Florida. Parents still living there - father an electrical engineer, mother a housewife, one older sister. Graduated from the University of Florida with bachelor's and later a master's degree in foreign languages. Currently, a French and Spanish teacher at the rigorous Belle Cove Academy in Miami. Married Jeffrey Keith Jernigan three years ago, no kids. Lives in an exclusive gated community. Pays her bills on time, no outstanding parking tickets, etc. A model citizen.

Was she really as respectable as she sounded? Paolo wanted to believe that. She was certainly no longer the quiet, demure girl he remembered from high school. She exhibited a spirit and determination today that Paolo admired. She had no trouble going toe-to-toe with Jack during the questioning.

She would be davastated when Jernigan was finally brought to justice. As much as he, and everyone on the task force, wanted to nail Jeffrey Jernigan, Paolo winced when he thought about how her life would be forever changed.

Marco stuck his head through the door. "Task force is gathering at ten. The deputy director will be here, too. Word is he really wants to lean on the wife."

Paolo rose from the table and handed Marco the tape. "Anything from those phone taps?"

"Nada. No sightings of Jernigan anywhere. No bank or credit card activity either. The guy's a ghost."

Paolo slid into his suit jacket and retrieved his briefcase. "I have another meeting right now. Call me if anything comes up."

"Will do."

**
Natalie plodded toward her front door, her purse on her shoulder and a plastic baggie of muffins from Leonard's wife in her hand. She paused to pick up the morning newspaper and glance at the neighbors' houses. A dog barked somewhere in a backyard, but otherwise all was quiet.

She fished out her key and opened the door. At least someone had thought to lock it this morning after she was so rudely hustled out by the feds. Her cell phone lay on the coffee table. It rang just as she reached for it. Startled, she gasped and drew back her hand. Thank goodness for caller ID. It was Mrs. Taylor, the nosy retiree across the street.

After the woman left a brief message, Natalie checked for missed calls. None from Jeff, but three from his secretary. Jeff didn't show up at his meeting in Zurich. Did he miss his flight? Is he sick?

Dropping onto the couch, Natalie stared at the phone as if it might give her some answer. Her lower lip began to quiver and hot tears rushed down her cheeks. Apparently, the man she loved and had married was a fraud. Her life with him was a lie. That is, if the FBI could be believed.

The phone rang agin. Another neighbor. Are you okay? Was there an emergency at your house this morning?

"NO, NO, NO. I'm not okay," Natalie yelled and hurled the phone at the wall.

**
An hour later, Natalie sat numbly at her kitchen table in her bathrobe. She'd devoured two more blueberry muffins, called in sick from her teaching job at Belle Cove Academy, then stood in a hot shower until her face was beet-red. She'd called Jeff's cell phone repeatedly, but to no avail. Finally, she called his secretary and gave a brief explanation, hating to hear the woman's gasps of horror and disbelief.

She tossed back two Tylenol and drank some black coffee. She was about to dial Jeff again when the doorbell rang. The security monitor showed it was Randall, one of Jeff's tennis buddies. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and sandals. She was tempted to ignore him, but padded to the front door anyway.

"Hey, Natalie. Sorry to drop by so early, but we're off to Hawaii today!" Randall crowed.

Natalie forced a smile. "Oh yeah, the big family trip."

"Right. The wife, kids, mother-in-law, sis and her family. Should be a blast!"

"Sounds wonderful."

"Anyway, I think this belongs to Jeff. I found it in the car after we played tennis last week." He dangled a key attached to a round, yellow plastic key ring advertising "Sensible Storage."

"Daddy, hurry up!" pleaded a kid from the SUV idling at the curb.

Randall threw up a hand. "In a minute, pumpkin."

For a moment Natalie was speechless. "So that's where it was. He'll be glad to have this back. Thanks."

"No problem. Gotta go." Randall waved and bounded back to the car and drove away.

More secrets, Jeff? she wondered. There was only one way to find out. She went to the bedroom to get dressed.

Chapter 3

The door opened and Marco poked his head in, smiling at Natalie. "Mr. Milton is here."

"Thank goodness," she mumbled as she pushed to her feet.

"Mrs. Jernigan, don't leave Miami without notifying us," warned Jack. He shoved the photos and notes together into the file.

"Sure. If there's nothing else, I really need to speak to Mr. Milton."

"Be my guest." Jack frowned at Marco. The kid still wore that idiotic grin as Natalie passed by him into the hall.

"Leonard!"

The portly attorney turned from his conversation with a tall black-haired man. Natalie jerked to a halt and her jaw dropped. She didn't know which was more shocking - Leonard's new toupee or the fact that she recognized the other man.

"Paolo? Paolo Sabbatini?" she stammered. "What are you doing here?"

Leonard rushed forward before Paolo could respond and thrust a cup of coffee into Natalie's hand. "My dear girl, how are you?"

Natalie took a quick slurp. "Coping, I guess. I don't know." Her hands trembled as she took another drink. "Leonard, you have to help me sort out this mess! They're accusing Jeff of all kinds of things."

"I know. Paolo filled me in." Leonard's eyes slid from Natalie's distraught face to Paolo. "I didn't realize you two were acquainted."

"High school," said Paolo. His eyes drilled into Natalie.

"High school. Well, that . . ."

"That was a long time ago," said Paolo, cutting off the lawyer. "Marco has some papers for you to review." He indicated the younger agent who was advancing up the hallway.

"Of course." He glanced back to Natalie. "This shouldn't take long, then I'll drive you home." He patted her arm. "You'll have to have some of Mildred's blueberry muffins. She was putting them in the oven when I left."

"Okay," sighed Natalie. Leonard meant well, but made her feel like a child who needed a treat after getting a vaccination.

Leonard ambled off with Marco. Paolo and Natalie were left alone in the hallway. Already today she'd experienced shock, anger, and confusion. Now curiosity was added to the mix. "So . . . you didn't answer my question," said Natalie.

"I work here."

"You work here? You're FBI?"

A woman pushing a cart loaded with files prepared to enter the conference room. Paolo stepped over to hold the door open for her His jacket gapped open and Natalie glimpsed the gun under his left arm.

"I heard you went to law school after the University of Georgia."

"I did. Among other things."

He seemed disinclined to elaborate. They stood sizing up each other. If anything, Paolo was even more handsome than in high school. He looked like a corporate CEO with his expensive suit and exquisite grooming. Natalie caught a whiff of his designer cologne and her mind wandered back fifteen years.

He came to the states as an exchange student from Naples, Italy. Rumor had it he was from a wealthy Mafia family. Back then, he'd been a champion swimmer and tennis player when he wasn't seducing cheerleaders and pretending to need English tutoring. Natalie had been assigned to help him. She was appaled when she discovered his English was perfect and he only wanted to avoid sixth period calculus and cozy up to the other tutor, blond and busty Chelsea Baker. He even took Chelsea to prom and probably to bed afterwards.

Natalie snapped back to the present and frowned. "Now you're investigating my husband," she said flatly. Her brain was frazzled after the morning's events.

"I investigate white collar crime. Jernigan is one of the biggest crooks we've ever encountered. For five years we've been trying to put all the pieces together. He fled because he knew we were closing in." Paolo coninued to stare at her, but his eyes, the color of the Adriatic, seemed to soften with sympathy. "I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of this."

Natalie rubbed her forehead. A headache was developing. "Five years. That's how long I've known Jeff."

Leonard came bustling around the corner. Paolo glanced in his direction, then back to Natalie. "People are rarely what they seem," he said.

"Well, the good agents of the FBI are through with you, Natalie. Let's get you out of here," chirped Leonard. He took her elbow and steered her away. As they turned the corner, she cast a glance back at Paolo. People are rarely what they seem.

Was he referring to Jeff, or himself?

Chapter 2

6:40 a.m. - FBI Field Office, Miami

Natalie sat at a battered metal table in a small room in the bowels of the federal office complex. She'd been questioned and harassed by the standard "good cop, bad cop" team for over an hour. When they exited a few minutes ago, she put her head down on her arms in a vain attempt to gather her scattered thoughts.

Loud voices echoed in the hallway. Natalie's head came up. Were they coming to put her in handcuffs or, horror of horrors, do a body cavity search? Maybe look for a missing flash drive? Natalie shivered.

Being a fan of detective and forensic television shows, Natalie imagined agents studying her on the other side of the one-way mirror like a lab rat. For the first time, she realized her grey sweats were the same drab color as the walls. There was a salad dressing stain over her right breast. The agents were probably snickering about that. Too bad. This was the first clothes she grabbed when ordered to get dressed to go downtown for interrogation.

"Ugh," she sighed. She reached up and touched her short hair. No doubt it resembled the neighbor kid's pet porcupine.

**
In the adjoining room, a tall dark-haired man loomed over two agents, Jack and Marco, as they reviewed Natalie's interrogation video. Like them, he wore a weapon in a shoulder rig. However, his was expertly concealed under his bespoke black suit.

His appearance exuded wealth and authority, from his crisp white shirt and pale blue silk tie down to the highly polished black shoes. A Rolex watch adorned his left wrist. Whenever he came to headquarters, female agents and grandmotherly receptionists alike were held captive by his piercing blue eyes and charismatic smile and accent. They longed to run their fingers through his wavy ebony hair.

"What do you think, Paolo?" asked Marco, the "good cop."

Natalie stabbed her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it. Paolo stared, transfixed. He was still shocked to learn she was married to one of their high value targets. His little Natalie, assigned to be his English tutor back in high school. So sweet, so innocent.

Whoa. Back up. That was a long time ago. People change.

"She's traumatized. Of course, she's going to defend her husband," he said.

"Time to lay it all on the line," declared Jack as he pushed to his feet and grabbed a thick folder. The burly ex-Marine enjoyed the "bad cop" role a bit too much.

**
The key jangled in the lock and the door swung open. Natalie straightened and braced for the worst. The "bad cop" had returned.

He sat down and Natalie got a whiff of his coffee breath. Her nerves cried out for some java. He opened a folder and began pulling out photographs and receipts. She clenched her fists in her lap.

"Okay, girlie. Time to get down to brass tacks."

Natalie's eyes narrowed. "My name is Natalie, not girlie."

Jack was taken aback for a moment. In the observation room, Paolo smiled at her feistiness.

"Er, right." He cleared his throat and slid a piece of paper toward her. "Jeffrey Jernigan. AKA Jeffrey Jones, Geoffrey Lance, Trent Jeffers, Jefferson Trendel. Recognize any of these?"

Natalie's brow furrowed. She pointed to the last name. "Jefferson Trendel. He was our neighbor."

"Was?"

"He moved to Tampa about six months ago to live with his daughter."

Jack looked puzzled. He shuffled through the papers.

Natalie leaned forward. "What? You didn't know that? What kind of FBI agent are you? Didn't you run background checks on my neighbors?"

"Now hold your horses, young lady. I'm asking the questions here!" Jack's face and neck reddened and he tugged at his collar.

Paolo put a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh. He'd never liked Jack O'Reilly. It was good to see someone giving it back to him.

Jack coughed and glared at Natalie. "Take a look at these. Is this your husband?" He brought out photo after photo of bank surveillance, some from ATMs and others from inside various banks. Natalie's bravado vanished.

"Well?" prompted Jack.

Natalie's eyes darted from photo to photo. "It . . . it looks like Jeff. But these could have been Photoshopped."

"Is this your husband's signature?" He offered dozens of copies of checks, credit card, hotel, and restaurant receipts.

Natalie's stomach twisted in knots. She studied each copy of several seconds. It was definitely Jeff's signature. He'd made no attempt to disguise his handwriting. Each "J" had that little curlicue he always put on them.

Jack drummed his fingers on the table. "Is this your husband's signature?" he asked again.

Seconds passed before Natalie looked up. "Yes. Is my attorney here yet?"

"FEDERAL AGENTS. SEARCH WARRANT. OPEN UP!"

Natalie Jernigan was catapulted from pleasant REM sleep to semi-erect in a nanasecond. Her eyes darted to the bedside clock. Four a.m. What the hell?

The front door of her suburban Miami estate crashed open before she could form a coherent thought. Men shouted as they stomped down the hall. A flashlight swept over the bedroom, blinding her.

Natalie's hands flew up as her heart jackhammered in her chest. "Don't shoot! Please don't shoot me!" she cried.

Lights flicked on throughout the house. Doors and closets were flung open as one by one men shouted out "Clear!"

"FBI. We have a warrant for the arrest of Jeffrey Jernigan," barked a barrel-chested black-clad man holding a semi-automatic gun.

"What's this about? Jeff''s not here!" Natalie shrieked.

"Ma'am, if he's on the property, you need to tell me now." The man stared coldly at Natalie.

"He's not, I swear. He left this morning on a business trip." Natalie began to reach for the robe lying across a nearby chair.

"Ma'am, please keep your hands where I can see them."

Natalie shrank back, suddenly fearful of getting a chest full of lead.

The man withdrew a piece of paper from his vest. "This warrant also authorizes us to search your house and seize all business and financial records of Jeffrey Jernigan."

Initial shock now gave way to anger and indignation. "What is going on? My husband's done nothing wrong. He's a respected businessman." Natalie's brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed.

One of the other black-clad intruders snickered. The barrel-chested leader shot him a venomous look. The younger man immediately fell silent.

The leader lowered his weapon to his side. "Mrs. Jernigan, I'm afraid your husband may not be the man you thought he was."