A Fortune to Die For (White Oak - Mafia Series Book 1)

by O'Connor, Liza

“Of course. I’ll make you one first thing in the morning. The total for both the car and the first lease payment is thirty-eight thousand, three hundred and forty-five dollars. You can make the check out to Drecker Senior.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have a checkbook. I’ll need to wire you the money.”

  Drecker glared at Traver for a moment, then his big head shook back and forth.

  “Meg, can you get me a candy bar from the vending machine downstairs?” Traver asked.

  “No, but I’ll go sit in the hall with my computer while you two talk in private.” She grabbed the PC case and left.

  She walked down to the end of the hall where there was a small sofa. Good thing, too, because Drecker opened the door and peered out a minute later. And where was Steve? Unless he was hiding under the bed, he didn’t appear to be in her room.

  Working on her to-do list, she lost track of time. When Traver whistled for her, she jumped a half inch off the seat.

  As she returned to her room, Mr. Drecker sighed heavily and threw up his hands. “I don’t normally trust all this bank wiring nonsense, but I’ll do it this time.”

  She had shifted fifty thousand dollars to a local bank while waiting in her lawyer’s office this afternoon, so all she had to do now was transfer the total cost of the car and lease to his account.

  “I understand why you have concerns. You rightfully shouldn’t wish me to know your bank account number. So this will be a blind transfer. I will send the information to my bank. Then they will notify you. You provide them with your bank account number, and they will credit your account.”

  Drecker shook his head. “Just send it direct. I’ll give you my account number. Traver vouches for you.”

  She stared at Traver. Why the hell would he vouch for her?

  “That’s not the secure way to do this,” she protested.

  “I don’t like complications,” Drecker said, “so I’m more comfortable if you transfer the money directly to me.”

  She filled out the transfer form. He read off his bank name, routing, and account number while she typed. “Now, I’m sending you the money for my car and Traver’s lease.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She hit enter, and the screen showed transaction complete. She turned the screen to Drecker. “You can see the website address is my bank, and here are the details. I am screen saving this so when I get somewhere with a printer, I can send you a copy. However, it should show up in your account tomorrow.

  Drecker smiled and shook her hand. “I’ll have the title documents completed tomorrow noon.”

  “I thought you had them now.” She’d just sent this man thirty-eight thousand dollars before she had the car title? How stupid could she be?

  “Didn’t know your name and address. Don’t you worry. I’m leaving the car with you. It’s yours.”

  But Meg did worry. She didn’t trust Drecker…possibly because he was a car salesman.

  Traver saw him to the door, then closed it, remaining inside.

  “How well do you trust this guy?” she asked.

  “More than most.” His arms slipped around her waist. “More than you.”

  She pushed his arms away. “Stop mauling me.”

  “Can’t. You deserve a reward for leasing me a truck.” He reached out to her, but she slapped his hand away.

  “Reward? You’re drunk.”

  He smiled. “Baby, women never complain, drunk or not.”

  “Well, I’m sure as hell complaining. Traver, not three hours ago you were pissed as hell when you thought I’d only gotten us one room.”

  “I was sober then…”

  “Exactly my point. When sober, you don’t like women in general and me specifically. When drunk, you lose your good senses, but fortunately for us both, I haven’t.”

  She pushed him to her door, opened it, and shoved him out. “Thank you and have a good night.” She then closed the door and double locked it. “Men!” she growled.

  She kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her blouse. Grabbing her favorite PJs, she went into the bathroom and got ready for bed.

  When she came out, she jumped at the sight of Steve sitting at her table.

  “God! I’d decided you weren’t here when Drecker decided to check the room out first. Where were you hiding?”

  Steve smiled and nodded to the door connecting her room to Traver’s.

  “Isn’t it locked?”

  He held up two key cards. “I have keys to both rooms.” She was about to ask how he obtained the key to Traver’s room but realized the extra key on the dresser was missing.

  “I hope the bank account you wired money from didn’t have much more than what you sent him.”

  “There should be twelve thousand left.”

  “Good girl. You do just enough things right that I never deem you hopeless.”

  She sat on the edge of her bed. “Besides not getting the title for the car before I sent the money, what other stupid things did I do or not do?”

  “Did you get the keys?”

  “Argh!” She pulled up her knees and pounded her head against her kneecaps, then fell to the side, curled in a fetus position. “I’m an idiot!”

  The bed sank near her head and Steve caressed her hair. “You were played by pros.”

  “As in plural?” She pushed herself up. “Traver was in on this, too?”

  He nodded.

  “I knew he was a jerk, right off.”

  “And yet, you leased him a truck for a year.”

  “What? No! For a week.”

  “Did you read the tiny print?”

  “In this lighting. It wasn’t even a possibility… Crap! Do I have chump written on my forehead?”

  He gripped her head and stared at her brow. “Nope.” He then released her. “If it’s any consolation, I tape recorded the whole thing, so we will be able to prosecute if you wish.” He walked over to the table and reached under it, retrieving a small black box.

  “Why wouldn’t I wish?” she asked cautiously as she sat up.

  “You might conclude you have more than enough people wishing to kill you without adding the Iowa mafia to your tally.”

  “The mafia? Drecker’s not an Italian name.”

  “It’s an alias, as in Danny the Drecker, which is German for ‘he who excrements on you’.”

  She buried her face in her hands. “Crap!”

  He returned to the bed and softly rubbed her back. “Want my advice?”

  She nodded.

  “Just walk away from this. Write it off as a life lesson. And buy your next car the proper way.”

  “I tried to buy it the normal way. I went to a car dealership, but they only sold Fords.”

  “There’s a Subaru dealership just down the road, which you could have easily located with your PC.”

  He was right. Instead, she’d let Traver take the lead and handle matters. Good old Traver, who hated her. What the hell had she been thinking? “I used to think I was so smart, but against con-artists, I’m an idiot.”

  “Most people are. It’s why a con-artist can be successful for so long.”

  “So what do I do now?”

  “Well, you actually need to have a place of residence before buying a car. So perhaps tomorrow you should look for an apartment to rent.”

  “Could I use Helen’s address?”

  “You could, but a rental would be better. Then when you need to move, your driver’s license won’t tie you to a place you might want to have in the future.”

  Tears started to rain upon her lap. She roughly wiped them away. Angry at their existence, angry at her stupidity, and most of all angry at the horrible way she treated Steve the last time they had spoken.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said.

  “No, you don’t.” He sounded surprised.

  “I do. I was cold and obnoxious the last time we spoke in Danville.”

  “After you kissed me on the cheek?”

  She nodded. “And then you s
aid something—I don’t remember what—and I thought you were flirting with me, and my defenses went up. So I became an ass.”

  “In my line of work, people aren’t always at their best. A great deal of anger gets directed my way despite the fact I’m just trying to help.”

  “It’s just I kept falling for these perfect guys who liked all the stuff I liked.”

  “They profile you and then present themselves to be your perfect man. The good ones, male and female, are extremely successful. And it’s not uncommon for the mark to ask for a prenup. What is rare is someone who won’t budge on the matter and whose Will makes it unprofitable to kill her.”

  “My Will doesn’t mention anyone murdering me,” she grumbled.

  “No, but it locks in how your money will be allocated, and a very small amount goes to any husband you might acquire.”

  “My lawyer wrote it up. When the first guy walked, I accused him of not wanting me to find another true love.”

  “He was protecting you. I’ve had background checks run on your four fiancés. One has lost four wives in suspicious manners. His case is being revived by our Cold Case department because of you.”

  “Which one?”

  “The first.”

  She sighed and gripped his hand. “Thank you for telling me. Up until this moment, I’ve wondered if I’d made a mistake not throwing out the prenup and marrying him.”

  “He would have wanted the Will changed as well.”

  She opened her mouth to argue but closed it. She’d been about to suggest that maybe he’d have been willing to live his life with her while they spent her money together but realized with four dead wives, that wasn’t his M.O.

  “How many wives has he had?”

  “Twelve. The others didn’t require prenups. He divorced those a few months into the marriage.”

  “Wow.” Which would be worse? Being murdered or robbed by a man she thought was her true soul mate.

  “I probably shouldn’t have told you,” he muttered.

  “No. I needed to hear it. At least, I can now consider the possibility it’s not my fault I can’t find love. This is just one more aspect of the Lottery Curse, and it says nothing about me.”

  “A much healthier view. However, about your apology to me. None was needed. I don’t recall what I said either, but I do recall I stepped over a line.”

  “Is that why you didn’t stop by anymore?”

  “No…my cover got blown, and I had to be extracted.”

  She looked up. “What happened?”

  “One of the politicians involved got a tip about who I was. Sad to say, the call came from within the FBI.” He gripped her hand. “So I understand the pain of betrayal you seem to go through on a daily basis.”

  God, she liked him. But nothing more. She was holding her feelings at like. For one thing, he was too damn cute with his short, black hair and wolf-blue eyes.

  Suddenly, Steve leaped from the bed and drew his gun. She had no idea why until she realized odd, sharp thunking sounds came from the other room.

  “Get in the bathroom and lock the door. Lie in the bathtub,” he ordered. She flew to the bathroom, locked the door, and listened as definite gun shots rang out.

  The waiting went on forever. She glanced at her watch. Seriously, forever. It was two in the morning. Needing rest, she gathered up the robe and towels, made a soft nest in the tub, and crawled in. She huffed as her head hit the folded towels, feeling overwhelmed with her crazy life. What did she have to do to escape this curse?

  Chapter 9

  Steve knelt beside the bathtub and held out a ring. “Megan, marry me. I’ll sign the prenup and honor your Will. I need you. You are the perfect wife for me.”

  She stared at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You want to marry me?”

  “I do.”

  “But why?”

  “I’ve been lost in the ranks of the FBI, but since I’ve met you, it’s been one crime after another. With you at my side, I’ll make Director within two years.”

  Steve placed his hand upon her forehead. “Meg, how can you sleep at a time like this?”

  She opened her eyes and focused on his amused face. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Marry you. I’ll help you catch all the criminals you want, but I need to be loved to be married.”

  He chuckled. “I think you need to wake up.”

  He reached down and helped her sit up in the bathtub amongst the towels and robes she’d been sleeping on.

  Meg struggled to make sense of her environment. What the hell? She glared at him. “You proposed to me in a bathtub?”

  Steve held his palms up in surrender. “I think you were having one strange dream.”

  It wasn’t a dream. Steve had asked her to marry him for the worst of reasons. Only what had happened to the ring? It had vanished. She ran her hands through her hair and groaned. “Nightmare more like it. People were shooting it out in Traver’s room, and you wanted to marry me for my ability to attract criminals.”

  He grinned for a second, then sobered. “The gunshots were real, but no one seems to have died. Traver was awake and packing his bags when someone entered his room with a gun and silencer. The guy shot the bed Traver had stuffed with pillows to look like he was still sleeping. Traver came out of the bathroom and shot back. Since his gun didn’t have a silencer, the hall became a circus soon after with a disturbingly large percentage of guests possessing firearms.

  “Is he okay?”

  Steve’s brow furrowed. “Why would you care?”

  Why did she care? The bastard had helped rip her off. “Not sure. Because he’s a human being?”

  “Do you care about the guy who thought he was entering your room to shoot you?”

  Her eyes widened and her heart pounded as Steve’s words filtered through her brain.

  Steve pulled her from the bath and against his chest. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “No…I think I need to know when people are trying to kill me.” She looked up, meeting his worried gaze. Her heart tightened into a hard painful knot. “They aren’t just writing hateful letters now. They’re actually trying to kill me.”

  God, she’d never felt so wiped out and exhausted in her life.

  Steve’s voice deepened. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Why did his voice sound so odd? Like it was slowing down…

  Suddenly, her world went black.

  ***

  Meg woke in a tidy, well-styled, but impersonal bedroom.

  Where the hell was she?

  She had some vague memories about being rushed from the back entrance of the hotel, crammed first into an SUV and then into a small Cessna.

  The vague image of her new lawyer asking if they were buckled in and ready settled her confusion. Her lawyer must have flown her to Des Moines early this morning as they’d planned.

  Steve must have gotten her a hotel room somewhere…only this didn’t look like a hotel room, or at least not an affordable one.

  The ceiling had a small crystal chandelier hanging over the bed. And the bed had high-quality linen.

  On the back of the door, a hook held a very nice blue jacket and skirt with a white silk blouse. Not her wrinkle-free clothes, but quality stuff. There was a note attached to them.

  Curious, she got out of bed, noticing she still wore her PJ’s from the night before. She walked closer so she could read the note.

  Meg,

  I flew you and an FBI agent to Des Moines this morning. You slept the whole way over. If you wake and read this before 3:00 pm, please dress in the suit, fix yourself up, and get a bit to eat in the kitchen. We have a meeting with the governor, only I have been forbidden to disturb you. However, if you wake on your own, I am allowed to take you to our meeting. Don’t worry about your presentation. I have had copies made from the one you left me.

  If you do not wake in time, then I will go
on my own and present your case. According to the FBI, we need to proceed with this land donation ASAP to ensure your safety.

  Your lawyer,

  Joe Cane

  Meg glanced at her watch. 3:10.

  “Damn it!” She threw on the clothes in superwoman speed, cursed at the shoes with heels, and scurried into the hall in search of the kitchen. She found the library, a large and distinguished one, but no Joe. So she returned to the hall.

  “Joe!” she yelled. “Do not leave without me!”

  God, where was he? And where was she? This place was huge.

  Next room was some sort of useless parlor with uncomfortable looking Victorian chairs.

  “Joe!”

  A maid stepped out from a door and waved her forward.

  “Where’s Joe?”

  “You must eat first,” she said.

  “Forget about food. Where’s Joe?”

  “I’m in the dining room,” he called out from an open door further down.

  She rushed forward, pretty much running over the poor woman. “Sorry,” she called back to the servant as she hurried down the hall and into the dining room.

  The room held the longest table she’d ever seen. It could probably hold fifty or more people. It had three doors to the hall and two doors on the far end. Fortunately, Joe sat at the corner nearest to her, so she didn’t have to hike to the other end. “Thank God, you haven’t left. This is my project. I need to present it.”

  “I agree,” he said and rose, having finished his meal. His eyes shifted to her right. “Angie, bring Meg whatever she wants to eat, but first find her a hairbrush.”

  Meg turned to discover the woman she’d run over in the hall leaving the room.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sit, relax. We have plenty of time. The meeting isn’t until six.”

  “Six? Then why did you make my deadline for three?”

  His brow furrowed as he grimaced. “Because all the women I know take minimally two hours to dress. Although you should take a bit more time with your hair, I think.”

  What was wrong with her hair? Running her hand through her locks, her fingers caught in a tangle. Shit, she’d failed to brush it at all. “We are in Des Moines, right?”

  “Yes. And even your FBI agent has declared this house highly secure.”