Severe Clear (Stone Barrington 24)

“What’s her last name?”

“Shaz something or other—something like Shazam.”

“Did you think of where he’s working?”

“I got it: TIT.”

“What?”

“Technology Investment Team. They’re whatchacallit . . . venture capitalists?”

“Right.”

“A name like that should have been easier to remember. They’re where that big college is.”

“Stanford?”

“Right. And it’s Shazaz—Jasmine’s last name. The place is owned by her brother. She got Jimmy the deal. They’re investing in his new start-up.” The bartender moved along to help another customer.

Harp wrapped up her sandwich and put it in her purse. She left cash on the bar and headed out to look for a cab. While she was waiting, she called Herb.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Okay, I nailed the guy. The whole thing took less than an hour, including downtown.” She related her conversation with the bartender. “So he’s in Palo Alto. What’s your pleasure?”

“Pay him a visit and get him back here,” Herbie said. “You need an advance?”

“Yeah, put ten grand in my bank account.” She read the account number from her checkbook. “I’ll need to buy him a ticket home.”

“Keep in touch,” Herbie said.

“Will do.” She hung up and threw herself in front of a cab. She gave the cabby the address of her apartment, then went on her iPhone and booked a flight to San Francisco, departing in two hours. When the cab arrived, she said, “Keep the meter running. I’ve got to grab a bag, then we’re going to JFK.” She ran to her apartment, grabbed her ready bag, and ran back to the cab.

“That was fast,” the cabby said.

“I’m nothing if not fast,” Harp replied. She got back on her iPhone and Googled TIT. An address in Palo Alto, a clip from some electronics trade magazine about a potential investment, and that was it. Technology Investment Team must be very new, she thought.

She booked a rental car and a hotel room online.

24

Her flight got into San Francisco International in the early evening. She walked quickly to the rental car desk, rolling her bag behind her. “Something with a navigator,” she said to the woman manning the desk. She took the shuttle to the lot and found the car, got it cranked, and entered two addresses into the navigator.

The woman’s voice got her successfully out of the airport and on the interstate to Palo Alto. An hour later, she sat in front of the address for TIT and took a good look at the building, then she got out and walked into the outer lobby and checked the building directory. Ninth floor of twelve. She noticed that two other companies occupied the ninth, and it wasn’t that big a building. Then she got back into her car and pulled up her hotel’s address in the navigator.

—

In her room, she ordered a steak from room service and had a double scotch from the minibar. After dinner, she watched an old movie on TV, until she fell asleep.

She woke up after nine, showered, dressed, and checked out of the hotel. Back at the office building, she took the elevator to the ninth floor and found the TIT door. She walked in and found a barely furnished reception area, no receptionist. From there, she could see into a small conference room, and she could hear the clicking of a computer keyboard. She followed the noise to an open door and found a young Asian man in an office containing only a steel desk and two chairs, working at a laptop.

“Hey, Jimmy,” she said.

He looked up. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“My name’s Harp, like the beer. Now you know me.” She sat down in the other chair.

“Did Mo Shazaz send you?” he asked. “I’m anxious to meet him face-to-face.”