Loaded

by Joanna Wayne

  "Right. Were you able to find out anything about them?"

  "His mother was named Ellie, maiden name, Mellinger. His father was Gabe Rogers. She divorced him when Melvin was twelve years old."

  "About the time Melvin was making threats in school. Did she remarry?"

  "No, she went back to school to brush up on her nursing skills and went to work at a hospital in Dallas, Texas. That's where she and Gabe had lived for most of their married life. She died six years ago."

  "Supposedly one of his parents was a friend of Jeremiah's. I'm not sure which." Shelly thanked Maddie and put in the call to Brady. She got his answering machine and left him a message that she needed to talk to him ASAR He was probably home with his family, celebrating the upcoming arrests that he'd been dying to make for over a year.

  Brady returned her call an hour later. She grew nauseous as he talked, and her stomach retched to the point she could barely stay on the line.

  "Ben finally hacked into the right files," Brady explained. "It's all there. Records of money transfers that exactly match the information we'd gotten from our double agents."

  "Did you determine which individual actually made the transfers?"

  "No, but every member of the family over twenty-one owns equal parts of the company. That means every member of the family will face charges."

  "There has to be some mistake. I've lived with these people, Brady. I know that they are not capable of such an act."

  "You've lived with them exactly one week, and not the best week of your life. The mistake was mine in leaving you on assignment after you were shot at last week. A trauma like that can throw off even an experienced agent's judgment."

  And he considered her extremely inexperienced. "My judgment wasn't affected," she insisted.

  "Then you weren't ready for the case to begin with. I know you don't want to hear this right now, Shelly, but you may not be cut out to be an undercover agent. That's not to say you can't find your niche with the agency."

  That was the least of her worries at this point. "Can't you even consider my theory that someone faked the evidence against Collingsworth Oil? Think of the bad press the agency will be in for if you wrongly arrest four members of a family with this kind of clout. They dine with presidents. Their philanthropy in the Houston area is infamous."

  "You're out of line, Shelly. I want you off the ranch tomorrow and back in the D.C. office on Monday morning for a debriefing. Tell the Collingsworths you have a family emergency and make whatever flight arrangements you need to make. Put it all on your expense account."

  She swayed as the room began to spin. The wheels were in motion; nothing she could say or do could stop Brady's team from running over this family—who she knew was innocent—and smashing them into the dirt.

  She should leave the ranch now, spare herself the agony of facing Matt and Lenora and their friends at the benefit tonight. But she wouldn't give up until she had to. She had twenty-four hours left to stop this travesty before Matt and his brothers went to jail.

  * * *

  Shelly stood over her bed, dressed only in a pair of silky thongs as she considered the irony of the situation. She was going to the gala with Matt, wearing Jaime's ball gown and Becky's silver sandals. She'd look great. She'd feel like Judas.

  She wasn't even sure why she was going. Her nobler self insisted it was because there was a chance she'd learn some vital piece of information that might help the Collingsworth's defense. Her earthier self knew that it was at least in part because she wanted this one night with Matt before the attraction he felt for her turned to loathing.

  She raised her arms and, careful not to muss her makeup, let the emerald silk ball gown slide over her head and down her body. A tingle danced along her spine as the fabric brushed her nipples and embraced her hips.

  She'd slipped her right foot into one of the sexy sandals when someone knocked on her door. No doubt Jaime, coming to see if she passed scrutiny.

  Shelly pushed her left foot into the other shoe and reached for the borrowed necklace. "Come in," she called, "but close your eyes until I'm fully ready to wow you."

  The door opened. It wasn't Jaime. It was Matt. In a black tux and looking so handsome that it literally hurt to look at him. Her mouth went dry and her stomach rolled like the Atlantic Ocean in a hurricane.

  "Wow!" he whispered.

  A blush heated her cheeks. "I thought you were Jamie."

  "The wow still stands. Need some help with that?"

  She nodded and held it in place as he stepped behind her and took the necklace from her trembling fingers. Once the clasp was fastened, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. "You're stunning, Shelly."

  "It's the dress."

  "It's you."

  She'd never thought of what it would be like to have someone ravage her body, but she hungered for it now. Tonight would test her mettle, as it had never been tested before. Her only hope of not ending up in his arms was to make certain they were never alone.

  "We should go downstairs and meet your mother," she said."

  "There's been a slight change of plans. Mom has a raging headache and she's begged off. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the entire evening."

  He leaned closer so that his lips were only inches from hers. Whatever existed between had become a tangible entity that sucked the oxygen from the room and left her mind and emotions so conflicted she could barely function.

  If things were only different. If there were a way to start all over again with him. But there wasn't. They'd already passed the point of no return.

  She'd hold on for one more night. Tomorrow she'd walk away from him and Jack's Bluff. End it between them, before they ever had a chance to begin.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The trip into Houston had been by limousine. Matt explained that he refused to drink and drive and he'd need at least a couple of shots of whiskey to get through any affair where the main topic of conversation wasn't football or cattle. Under other circumstances, riding with him in the back of a luxurious chauffeured vehicle would have been pure thrill. Tonight it had been awkward and strained.

  But once they'd stepped inside the magnificent art gallery that was hosting the benefit, it was impossible not to get caught up in the glitter and glam. The front foyer with its dazzling crystal chandelier dangling from the three-story ceiling was the focal point of the affair. Beneath it, a pianist played show tunes on a grand piano atop a revolving stage.

  Champagne fountains flowed freely, and exquisite morsels that titillated her taste buds were passed around on silver trays. More impressive yet was the constant parade of designer gowns worn by women of every size and age. Not to mention the diamonds that dangled from their ears and necks and dipped into their cleavage. The men weren't bad, either, all in black tie attire and flaunting their importance and charisma. The creme de la creme of Houston society.

  Matt fit in every bit as well as he had in Cutter's Bar and Grill. His charm defied setting, and though he might prefer talking about football or cattle, so far he'd held his own discussing whatever topic had arisen.

  They were chatting with the mayor and his wife, when Melvin Rogers arrived on the scene. Shelly did a double take when she saw who'd walked in with him. None other than her CIA cohort Ben Hartmann. Ben had apparently become a lot more infused in the mainstream of Collingsworth Oil than she'd realized.

  Angelique spotted them from across the room and came over to join them. She gushed over Matt, air-kissed the mayor and his wife and finally turned her attention to Shelly. "What a pleasant surprise to run into you here."

  "Thanks. It's nice to see you as well. I should also thank you for the sketch. It was extremely accurate."

  "Best of all, it produced results," Matt added.

  "I'm glad I could help. Have you had a chance to view the art and make your silent bids?" she asked, directing the question to the four of them.

  "I bid on your painting," the mayor's wife
said. "And on that sculpture by Michael Allen. I have lots of competition for both."

  "Push it higher," Angelique said, smiling and waving at someone else who'd caught her eye. "It's all for a good cause."

  "Right," the mayor agreed. "The Children's Hospital does tremendous work."

  "I guess Shelly and I should view the offerings," Matt said. "I have orders from Mom that I'm to come home with a bright and cheerful painting to hang in the nursery of her soon-to-be-born grandson."

  That brought new questions about Mart's family, and it was minutes later before he finally steered her away from the foyer and toward a winding staircase.

  "Are you sure this is the right way to the auction?"

  "No, but it's the right way to the second-floor balcony. I need more air and less people."

  "I thought you were having a good time."

  "I like people, just not all crowded into one room."

  "Did you see Melvin when he came in?" she asked.

  "I caught a glimpse of him. I'm sure we'll run into him again later. We won't have to stay late, though. I only promised Mom we'd make an appearance. The Children's Hospital is one of her pet projects."

  "She obviously loves children."

  "Does she ever! That's why she's so worried about my not being married as yet. She's afraid she'll miss out on a grandchild."

  A sign propped on the bottom step said the second floor rooms were not open to the public that evening. Matt guided her past the sign and to the top of the second floor. The balcony opened off a circular room to their right.

  The quietness of the night and the beauty of the star-studded sky wrapped around them the second they stepped from the confines of the building. She vacillated between fear and hope that he'd make a sexual advance.

  He didn't. Instead he walked to the railing and leaned against it, staring into space.

  She stayed a step behind him. "Is something wrong?"

  "Pretty much everything."

  "Does this have to do with the meeting you had at Collingsworth Oil today?"

  "Exactly. I know Jeremiah told you something of the problems with the CIA. I think you should know the rest."

  "You don't have to explain your private life to me."

  "I know that, but I'd like you to hear my side of the story before you get a twisted version from the news media."

  So he knew the warrants were imminent. That made sense. Brady would have had the field agents tighten the noose in hopes of a full confession. Guilt and regret balled in her chest, squeezing her heart until it felt like it might fly into a million jagged fragments.

  "The CIA believes our family has committed a heinous crime," Matt continued.

  She listened while he explained what she already knew, hating that she was forced to remain in her covert role while he bared his soul. But she'd taken an oath. She couldn't dishonor that as long as she still worked for the CIA.

  "The CIA is insisting we cooperate with them, but their view of cooperation is that we admit fault. We can't do that. Not one of us would ever stoop to dealing with terrorists, no matter what they offered in return. But it looks as if someone inside the company may have done just that."

  She hadn't expected that admission from him. "What makes you think that?"

  "Large sums of money are missing from the company's foreign bank accounts."

  "Why do you have foreign bank accounts?"

  "Sometimes it makes it easier to do business in the global market."

  "How long have you known about the missing money?"

  "Since yesterday. Langston hired a private accounting firm that specializes in fraud and they discovered it. As yet we don't know exactly how the transactions were made or who they went to, but it certainly leaves the possibility open that the CIA's allegations are valid, even if they're looking at the wrong suspects."

  "What will you do?"

  "Keep fighting the charges. Hire attorneys. Make bail if that's an option."

  His shoulders drooped beneath the weight of the issues. She stepped closer and he reached out to her, tugging her into the crook of his arm. She relaxed against him, knowing only that she couldn't turn away when he needed her.

  "I'm pretty sure we're being framed," he said. "It's the only rational explanation."

  "What's the motivation?" she asked, voicing the question that haunted her.

  "That's the conundrum. Anytime you have wealth or influence in economic circles, you make enemies. But this would have to be someone on the inside, someone who could finagle the records and cover up so well that the company's accountants never picked it up. Someone we trust."

  Someone like Melvin Rogers. Not that she had any real reason to suspect him, other than her instincts and the fact that he rubbed her the wrong way. "Do you have any idea who might be behind this?"

  "No one we can all agree on. And we don't want to make unfounded accusations."

  "You need to look for motivation. That's the key."

  "You sound like Langston's homicide-detective friend."

  "It's my CSI addiction," she lied.

  But motivation was the key, and she couldn't possibly see how destroying the Collingsworths would do anything for Melvin except shut down the gold mine he'd lucked into.

  Matt's cell phone jangled and he pulled it from his pocket, checking the digital readout for caller ID. "I need to take this," he said.

  She nodded and backed away. "I'll wait inside."

  She found a spot at the top of the stairs where she had a good view of the party going on below. She spotted Ben almost immediately. He'd hooked up with Angelique and was obviously enjoying himself. He'd definitely adjusted well to the lifestyle his undercover job provided. But then, who was she to talk when she was here with Matt Collingsworth?

  She watched until Angelique was approached by a distinguished-looking gentleman and Ben wandered off by himself. Leaving her post, she hurried down the stairs hoping to catch up with him before he joined a new group of people.

  She had a few questions for him that she'd like to ask in person. And this was the one place she could get by with that. She walked off in the direction he'd disappeared. No sign of him in the first viewing gallery, so she meandered the hallway, peeking into each room.

  When she'd reached the end of the central hallway without spotting him, she decided to go back to the stairs and wait for Matt before she became separated from him as well. She'd started in that direction when she heard her name called. She spun around to find Melvin only steps away.

  "We meet again," he said, a taunting jeer that set her nerves on edge.

  "Yes, I saw you when you came in with a friend."

  "Ben's not exactly a friend." He stepped closer and leaned into her space. "But then you'd know that, wouldn't you?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Don't be coy, Shelly. We need to talk—alone."

  "What about?"

  "The reason you're really in Texas."

  He knew. And if he did, the information had to have come from Ben. Anger shot through her. Had Ben let it slip accidentally, or could he have been sucked into some bizarre scheme? She had to find out what Melvin knew.

  "There's an empty room upstairs," she said, wondering how they'd avoid running into Matt before she had a chance to find out what was going on.

  "There's one much closer. At the end of the hallway."

  Possibilities bombarded her mind as she followed him down a second hallway, one with dimmer lights and no doors but one opening off it. She grew instantly wary, "We'll talk upstairs or nowhere," she said. "Your call."

  "Right. My call."

  She turned as a needle plunged into her arm and a painful sting hit her bloodstream. Trying to break free, she swung her elbows, trying to pound him in his chest, but the drug he'd shot into her had already drained her strength and affected her agility.

  She moved in slow motion, stretching her neck to search for someone to call to. But the narrow hallway they'd taken had ve
ered from the main section of the gallery. There was no one in sight.

  She tried to scream. Melvin's hand covered her mouth. And then he shoved her through the doorway and into a dark alley. She heard the screech of a cat and the engine of a car idling mere feet from where they were standing.

  "Nice broad," someone said in a voice that seemed to be coming from under water. She struggled to focus, but the alley was fading in and out and getting blurrier by the second.

  "No mistakes," Melvin said. "Follow my orders to the letter."

  "Don't worry. You're not dealing with a dope like Frankie. Short of blowing someone up, he never got it right."

  "Just get the job done or you'll end up like him."

  Her limbs had gone numb, but she knew she was being dragged down the shadowed alley. Her head banged against something hard. She felt herself falling. She never felt herself stop.

  * * *

  Matt finished his call and went in search of Shelly. He hadn't meant to talk so long, but that had been Zach. He'd just landed at the airport and wanted a full report on the latest developments.

  Matt was ready to head back to the ranch. He planned to do that as soon as he found Shelly. He'd ask Angelique to choose a picture and make sure he won the bid. That would satisfy his mother without his being stuck here all night.

  He ran into the mayor's wife at the foot of the stairs. "Have you seen Shelly?"

  "Yes. Heading that way." She nodded to the narrow hallway to the left of the auction area.

  "Was she by herself?"

  "No, she was with a young man. They were walking quickly. I thought she might be looking for you. She seems very nice, Matt."

  Yeah. Real nice. And she'd vanished.

  Unexpected dread tied knots in his ragged nerves as he hurried in the direction the mayor's wife had indicated. He was likely overreacting, but it had only been a week since Frankie Dawson had tried to kill her. Then someone had murdered him.

  Nothing made sense these days. So how could anyone know for certain the violence against Shelly had been random? He'd been to enough functions at this galley that he knew that the door at the end of this hallway opened into an alley. He ran the last few yards and pushed through the door.