Hooked

found the first one.”
    Martell stiffened as if he’d been accused of wrongdoing. “It’s a different world now than it was ten years ago, when I created that account. Because the FBI and Homeland Security are zeroing in on banks with ties to terrorist organizations, things have become more transparent. Makes guys like me more creative.” A crack in his serious expression told Tawny that Rick Martell possessed a healthy ego. His statement was a verbal pat on his own very broad back. “Put simply,” he continued, “many of the old safe havens aren’t so safe anymore.”
    “How could my name have come up?”
    “No telling. Could have been they knew you were connected to Mr. Russo. The feds have been watching him for years. They know what he eats for breakfast. Your association goes way back. On the other hand, it could have been plain bad luck. But the two newer accounts are brilliantly hidden, if I have to say so myself.”
    She wanted to ask him why he didn’t switch the older account into a safer place, but she was small potatoes compared to his other clients. Hardly worth bothering with except Mario asked him to help her in the first place. Any comment would seem ungrateful. “Well, I’m not willing to take the chance they won’t be found.”
    “It’s your money, Ms. Dell. I’ll do whatever you want, if you’re sure.”
    She didn’t think Rick Martell would embrace the real reasons she wanted the accounts closed. “I’m sure. Can you do it now?” He looked hesitant. “I know it’s asking a lot, but I’d feel better if you’d make the transfers immediately.”
    He shook his head but didn’t argue further. “If that’s what you want.”
    She spent an hour while he pulled up her account on the computer and transferred the money to the various destinations on her list.
    “Done,” he said. “No need to worry anymore.”
    Ever since Mario mentioned one of his people had problems with Colin at Upper Eighties, Tawny wondered who Mario cared enough about to expose himself to Benny. Her previous computer search of the crime boss had supplied her with more information than she needed, but now some of it started to make sense. Besides learning his sons ran his construction company and supposedly were not involved in the family business, she learned Rick Martell was more than an accountant. He was related by marriage. This was the perfect opportunity.
    “You know, I’m working for Benny Cooper, and he’s paying me a considerable amount of money in cash. Should I keep it in a safe deposit box or should you run it through the modeling job?”
    He froze and stuttered his response. “Who…who’s Benny Cooper.”
    She noticed the difference between his actions and his words. She’d play it cool. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you might know him. Forget I mentioned him.”
    “Why would you think I should know him? I mean, I know what you do, Miss Dell. If you’re working for him, why would you think I know him? I don’t understand. I’m a happily married man. Married to Mr. Russo’s niece, in fact. Happily married.”
    Methinks thou dost protest too much, Mr. Martell. A sheen of perspiration covered Martell’s upper lip, and he pulled a starched white handkerchief from inside his jacket pocket and patted it dry. Now that Martell was pressing her, she had to come up with an answer.
    “Since you don’t know Mr. Cooper, what makes you think whatever I’m doing for him involves the sex trade? I have a doctorate in art history. How do you know my work isn’t related to that?”
    Martell’s face reddened. “S-sorry, I assumed. That was stupid of me. I apologize. Now, what was the question?”
    The man was wound tight. She didn’t want to belabor the point or to put Martell on the defensive any more than she had. “The work I’m doing for Mr. Cooper that he’s paying for in cash—should I put it in a safe deposit box or should you run it through my modeling business?”
    “Um, safe deposit box. Since you’re diverting your other money, you might need to tap into your resources. No one can touch it without a court order, and there’s no reason the police or the FBI would do that.”
    That’s what you think. “Thank you. That’s what I wanted to know.” She got up and swung her satchel over her shoulder. “I’d better be going. Thank you for making the transactions. I appreciate it.”
    “No problem.”
    Martell walked her to the door, she thanked him again, and