Colton Christmas Protector (The Coltons of Texas #12)(12)

“Is there a problem?” Penelope asked in a hushed tone.

He shook himself from his thoughts and caught up to her. “No. Why?”

“You seemed preoccupied and so...serious.” She waved a dismissive hand and gave her head a brisk shake. “Never mind. Come on. That’s his home office.” She aimed her finger down the hall to a door that stood ajar. “The second room on the left.”

He nodded. “After you.”

She balked, and he lifted a corner of his mouth in a wry grin.

“Are you scared to go in there?”

Penelope scowled. “No.” Then after a beat, “Not...really.” But she still made no move to enter Hugh’s study.

“You said you had a right to be here,” he teased.

“I do!” She squared her shoulders, then glared at him. “It was your idea to come here and search!”

“Hey, you called me when you found that file.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Do you really want to stand out here and waste time arguing over who is more responsible for us being here? Or do you want to get in, find the evidence we need to incriminate—”

“Or clear!”

“Or clear him,” he conceded, though he was skeptical. “We should get busy.”

She glanced guiltily at her father’s office door, but straightened her spine and, wiping her hands on her yoga pants, marched into the room.

Reid paused at the threshold of Hugh’s office, taken aback by the contrast of the man’s study to the other parts of the house. As stark and colorless as the entry and living room were, Barrington’s private study was dark with deep browns, crimsons and polished brass. The room reeked of masculinity, right down to the lingering musky scent of Hugh’s overpowering aftershave. The walls were wood paneled and the matching desk, bookcases and file cabinets were made of darkly stained hardwoods. The couch and desk chair were a rich burgundy leather. A slight patina of age dimmed the brass of the grommets on the seat coverings, the furniture hardware and the lampstands. He drew two pairs of latex gloves from his pocket and held one out to her. “Here. Wear these. You may feel you have a legal right to be here, but let’s not leave fingerprints, just in case.”

She eyed the gloves he handed her, then with a furrow of worry denting her brow, she worked her fingers into the latex encasement.

“Look at all this. This could take forever,” she said pulling out a drawer of his filing cabinet.

Reid closed the office door behind him. “If there is information here somewhere that incriminates him, my guess is it won’t be anywhere obvious like a file cabinet or desk drawer.”

She gave him a dubious look. “We’re talking about a man who hasn’t changed his home security code in twenty-five years. He’s smugly overconfident about his security. Andrew tried to talk to him numerous times about safety issues, but he insisted his status quo was good enough.”

Reid nodded. “His hubris may work in our favor. Just the same, check for out-of-the-way cubbyholes. Even an overconfident old-schooler probably has hiding places for sensitive stuff.”

Pen slid closed the file drawer she’d opened and quirked a moue of agreement. “Why not? Andrew had a secret hiding place in our wall I didn’t know about. Why not my father, too?”

Reid’s first task was to boot up Hugh’s desktop computer. He plugged the flash drive into a USB port and rolled the mouse to wake the screen. The computer started up and asked for a password in order to continue. “Any guess what his computer password might be?”

“Try 12-18-46. That’s the house security code.”

Reid arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Also his birthday?”

She shot him a deprecating, can-you-believe-it smile.

He tried the numbers. “No dice.”

“Maybe...MavericksFan? No spaces. I think that was the password on the parental-control blocker on our television when I was in high school.” She put a finger to her lips and whispered, “Shh. Don’t tell him I knew it. That’s how I learned he had a Playboy TV subscription.”

“My lips are sealed,” he replied with a chuckle, and typed in MavericksFan. Nothing. Mavericksfan and mavericksfan also failed. So not an issue of capitalization.

“Nada.” Next, he tried Penelope and hit enter.

From behind him, she scoffed. When the error message popped up again, she strolled back to the bookshelves. “I coulda told you that wouldn’t work. Aren’t passwords usually something important to a person?”

The hurt and resentment was back in her voice. He’d never realized how deep her wounds were, how wide the gulf in her estrangement with her father.

Reid scrubbed his face and thought. “Any other suggestions? We’re losing time here.”

“Sorry. No. Not unless it’s something stupid like password or 1234ABCD.”

For good measure, Reid tried both. To Hugh’s credit, neither of those obvious codes worked, but when he tried MavericksFan1, the computer continued to start up and took him to the home screen. “I’m in.” He started opening files and sending documents, internet history and financial data to the flash drive. It was too easy. Reid shook his head and mumbled, “Jeez, and this guy is our family lawyer?”

When they found Eldridge, he’d need to have a talk with father about trusting Hugh with family business. If they found Eldridge.