by Tina Susedik
“Maybe he had his reasons.”
“But he lied to me.” Her stomach turned at another thought. “Then there is his grandfather.”
Jill frowned. “What’s his grandfather have to do with anything?”
“When I was at his house, I saw a picture of an elderly gentleman. Hogan’s grandfather.”
“So?”
“Remember last week when I was going through old folders at work, and there was one labeled Wyn Property Management? When I opened it, the name QJA Wynnters was on all the papers. It’s the company that tore down our neighborhood to put up those condos.”
“Again, so?”
“Hogan’s grandfather’s name was QJA Wynnters.” Cassie leaned across the table as if to impart a secret. “His grandfather owned Wyn Property Management.”
Jill’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding? What did Hogan say?”
“That he was too young to remember much about where his grandfather worked. He did call him a bastard.”
“Did you believe him?”
A pain began throbbing behind Cassie’s eyes. “I did at the time, but now I’m not sure. I mean, I remember a lot about what my grandparents did.”
“Think about this.” Jill dropped her napkin on the table. “Do you remember what they did or stories about their jobs?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t like being lied to.”
“I understand, but has he actually lied to you? Did he tell you he wasn’t rich?”
Cassie rubbed her forehead. “Well . . . no. But he told me he was a salesman, not that his family owns plastics companies.”
“He must have a reason for saying that. Don’t jump to conclusions before you talk to him.”
“He’s not rich. He’s a salesman who drives a ten-year old Bronco.” She tore up a napkin, tossing the pieces onto her plate. “Once again I’ve been blinded by a man. I should have seen it with the family ‘cabin,’ his high-rise condo, and that fancy dinner at Hans’. I should have recognized the signs.” She stood, grabbed her coat, and jabbed her arms at the sleeves, missing each time. “Damn it.”
“Cassie, honey, wait. Don’t run off. Let’s talk about this,” Jill pleaded. “I thought Hogan would have said something.”
Cassie shook her head, tears nearly blinding her. “It’s Tony all over again.” She wiped her wet eyes with the back of her hand, leaving black mascara streaks. “That’s how he knew so much about starting and running a business. The lying creep told me he’s a salesman.”
“Well, he is, sort of,” Jill said. “He’s a hands-on owner, traveling to get new business.”
“Like going overseas,” Cassie murmured, so angry she could barely buttoned her coat.
“Hey. Listen.” Jill put her hand on Cassie’s arm. “I’m sure he didn’t lie to you. Didn’t the subject of money ever come up?”
“No. Only mine after I quit my job. He doesn’t have a fancy car or clothes. He isn’t flashy or callous like Tony and his family. How could I know?”
“Maybe he had his reasons for not saying anything, Cassie. You know, not all guys are like your bastard ex.”
Cassie dug in her purse and dropped a few bills on the table. “I don’t care what his reasons were, Jill. He lied to me. That’s all I need to know.”
“Cassie, wait. Let’s talk about this some more.” Jill whipped on her coat, snatched up her purse, and followed her friend to the door. “Please give Hogan a chance to explain himself. Don’t throw a good thing away.”
Chapter 19
Cassie turned the corner to her street and slammed on the brakes. “What on earth?” Several police cars, lights flashing, blocked the way to her house. She turned off the engine, pocketed the keys, and stepped from her car. In the rearview mirror, she watched Jill exit her car. They negotiated their way around a swarm of gawkers to a barricade.
“What’s going on?” Jill leaned over the orange barrier.
“I have no idea, but I plan on finding out.”
“Sorry, ladies,” a policeman said. “You have to stay behind the line.”
“But I live on this street.” Cassie thought of her elderly neighbors. “Did someone die?”
“No, ma’am.”
Jill stood beside her as they watched men wearing jackets with ‘FBI’ printed on the back carrying boxes from a house and putting them in several black vehicles. Cassie leaned around the officer for a better view. Shock gripped her heart while her breath caught in her throat. The boxes were being taken from. . .
“Hey, that’s my house! What are they doing to my house?” She pushed the young man aside and ran around cars to a person in a long overcoat backing away from the trunk of a car. She grabbed his arm.
“Please remove your hand, ma’am. You’re interrupting official FBI business.”
“FBI?” Her voice rose. “You’re the FBI?” She shook her head. “The FBI?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Agent Falk. And you are . . .?”
“Why on earth is the FBI at my house?”
He took her arm.
“Tell me what you’re doing at my house.” She froze, unaware the man had taken her arm. Her heart constricted. Her legs went weak. The lunch she’d eaten rebelled in her stomach.
Hogan came from her open front door and stood on the porch. His face went white when he saw her.
“You’re going to have to come with me, ma’am.”
“What is he doing here?” she whispered, ignoring the tug on her arm.
The man looked over his shoulder at the house. “Agent Wynnters? He’s heading up the investigation.”
“What investigation?”
“I can’t tell you that, ma’am.”
This had to be a bad dream. She yanked her arm from his grip and charged across the yard, the FBI agent running after her.
“Hogan Wynnters, you’d better tell me what is going on here,” she yelled, scurrying up the steps, then stopping in front of him.
Falk took her arm again. “Ma’am, you have to come with me.” At a nod from Hogan, he released her and stepped back.
“Well, Agent Wynnters, are you going to explain why you’re here?”
Hogan moved her aside as another man came from the house with a box and went down past them down the stairs.
“I’ll ask you again, why are you here, and why are these goons taking stuff from my house?” Before he answered, she went on, “Why did that man call you Agent Wynnters? How did you get into my house?”
Hogan pulled a piece of paper from inside his suit jacket and sighed as he handed it to her.
Cassie skimmed the document. “A warrant? You have a warrant to search my house?” Tears burned in her eyes. After the last few days, she didn’t know she had any left in her. “Why?”
Hogan didn’t answer, simply handed her another paper.
“What’s this?” she asked, wishing Hogan would say something, do something more than look over her shoulder and hand her pieces of paper. A noise sounding an awful lot like handcuffs being opened came from behind her.
Agent Falk again. “A search warrant for your house and a warrant for your arrest.” He took her hand and wrenched it behind her back.
Kung-foo chicken rose to the back of her throat. “My arrest?” Hogan’s face remained stoic. “Stop that.” She slapped at Falk as he reached for her other arm. “Hogan, what am I being arrested for? What did I do?”
“Cassie Jordan, you’re under arrest for smuggling and dealing in stolen goods. You have the right. . .”
Cassie quit listening to Falk’s reading of her rights. Why did she need to know them? She hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Smuggling? What the hell are you talking about?”
The handcuffs clicked over her other wrist, leav
ing both arms behind her back. The agent took her elbow and guided her to an unmarked vehicle.
“Hogan,” she called over her shoulder. He still refused to acknowledge her. “Hogan, please. Don’t do this. Tell me what’s going on? I’ve never smuggled anything in my life.”
“Duck your head, ma’am,” Falk said, helping her into the car. “I wouldn’t say anything more until we get to headquarters.” He got into the car and started the engine.
Cassie stared through the back window at Hogan standing on her front porch, hands clenched at his sides, staring off into space. Jill stood before him, hands on her hips. Cassie squinted for a closer look and swore there were tears in his eyes.
Hogan stood behind the one-way mirror watching Cassie. Hands no longer in handcuffs, she rested her head on her arms. Her back quivered. Was she crying?
His heart constricted with each rise and fall of her shoulders. He needed to ignore her obvious distress. Needed to unclench his fingers. Needed to take deep, calming breaths before he entered the interrogation room with Kent and Falk.
“Think you can handle this?” Kent’s voice was close to being sarcastic.
“Yes, sir.” Hogan kept his eyes on Cassie. She raised her head and blew her nose into a crumpled tissue. “And you know damn well she’s not part of the smuggling.”
“You sure, Wynnters? Because it seems to me you’re a little too close to this woman.”
Hogan gritted his teeth and counted to three. “I said I can handle it and I will.”
“To be on the safe side, I don’t want you to say a word in that room.” Kent raised his eyebrows and poked a finger at Hogan. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” He turned back to the mirror. Even though he knew she couldn’t see him, Cassie’s red-rimmed eyes seemed to bore into his. The vise-grip on his heart tightened.
“Where are the other two?”
“In interrogation Rooms Three and Four.”
Falk stuck his head in the room. “We’re ready, sir.”
Cassie took her eyes from the mirror. She knew Hogan was probably behind it, watching. But why the hell was he watching her? Smuggling? He couldn’t actually believe she was a smuggler, could he? And what the hell was she supposed to be smuggling? Drugs? Cigars? Liquor? Perfume?
She didn’t do drugs. Wouldn’t know a marijuana plant if it came up and introduced itself. She didn’t smoke. The most expensive thing she drank was a five-dollar bottle of wine. And as for perfume, her sole foray into smelling good was the vanilla body lotion her mother gave her every year for Christmas.
The door to the claustrophobic room opened. A tall, gray-haired man entered, followed by Falk, the tight-lipped man who’d arrested her. The last to enter was Hogan.
With his arms crossed over his chest, eyes resting somewhere over her left shoulder, Hogan leaned against the wall. Falk and the other man took chairs across from her.
“I’m Agent Kent,” the older man said. “Do you know why you’re here, Miss Jordan?”
Normally a smart comment would pop out of her mouth, but she figured that wouldn’t be a good idea in the face of three stoic men watching at her.
“I don’t have any idea.” She glared at Hogan. “I sure wish someone would tell me.”
“Do you want your lawyer present, Miss Jordan?” Falk asked.
What, did they think she had a lawyer on retainer? She always thought it was crazy when someone arrested—or about to be arrested—on television said they wouldn’t talk until their lawyer arrived. Did everyone but her have a lawyer?
“I don’t have one. I didn’t do anything wrong to warrant getting one.” She refrained from slamming her fist on the table. “Would someone please explain this to me? I don’t have any outstanding parking tickets. I don’t do drugs. I pay all my bills on time. I’m not even sure I’ve ever jaywalked.”
Agent Kent pushed a picture across the table. “Do you know this man?”
Why on earth were they showing her a picture of Tony? “Of course I do. He’s my ex. What did he do?”
“We’ll ask the questions, Miss Jordan.” Falk crossed his arms over his chest. “When was the last time you were in contact with him?”
Cassie sat back in her chair and shrugged. “As your agent Wynnters knows, since he was with me, I saw him at the zoo with some bimbo a few months ago, but he didn’t see me. He approached me last week, dragged me into an alleyway, and assaulted me. He’s called a few times. Other than that, must be at least a year or more.”
“What did he want?”
“Something about a piece of paper he needed. He thought I’d hidden it somewhere.”
“And did you?” Kent put the picture back into the folder.
“I don’t even know what paper he’s talking about.”
Falk rose and stood beside her. “Are you sure? Because lying to a federal agent is not the wisest thing to do.”
Fear zapped through her body, making her nerve endings sting. Beads of sweat formed on her upper lip. Instead of falling into the fear, she threw her shoulders back. She’d done nothing wrong.
“Of course I’m sure. He thought it was in Grandma’s secretary, but I’ve never seen any of his papers since the divorce.”
“How do you explain our finding this?” A plastic bag containing pieces of notebook-type paper was placed in front of her.
Cassie took the bag and examined the top page filled with names, addresses, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses. She pushed it back across the table. “I can’t explain something I’ve never seen before. Where did these come from?”
“We found them in an envelope taped to the underside of the bottom drawer of your desk.”
“Well, I can tell you I didn’t know it was there. Tony was asking about some of his papers. Since I didn’t care about him or them, I didn’t spend a lot of time searching. Who found it?”
Agent Kent looked over his shoulder at Hogan.
Despair washed over her. “Never mind. I can guess. Can I leave now?”
Kent lined up five photos on the table. “What about these statues?”
Cassie took her time. With each photo her stomach turned. “What about them? They’re my grandmother’s.”
“Are you sure?”
“I found them in the attic among boxes of her belongings.” She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Shit.
“What’s the matter, Miss Jordan?”
She opened her eyes and swept the photos into a pile. “Tony has been pestering me about finding some notebook and a box that was his. I found a box in the attic and assumed it was my grandmother’s. I had no reason to think otherwise. I’d inherited a bunch of antiques from her.”
“Do you know what business your ex and his family have?”
“If I recall, some type of import/export business. Whenever I asked, he was evasive with his answers. His family’d had their business for generations, or so he said.” Her stomach muscles tightened at how lame and uninformed her answers were. They must think she was a moron for not knowing what her husband did. “He told me not to worry about where the money came from. It was his job to support me.”
“Why did you divorce?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just answer the question, Miss Jordan,” Falk said. “Why did you divorce?”
“The bastard was cheating on me and got his mistress pregnant. He also thought I wasn’t good enough for him and his precious family.”
“Fine.” Kent slid another picture toward her. “Do you know this man?”
“That’s Richard from the office where I worked.”
“Did you see him outside of work?”
Cassie shuddered. “Hell, no. The guy is a creep. Thought that once he was my boss, I had to do everything he told
me, and I mean everything.”
“Did he ever call, e-mail, or text you?”
“Hell, no.” She rubbed her forehead at the headache beginning to pound. “If someone won’t tell me what is going on and why you guys searched my house, I’m going to leave.”
“We’re just about done, Miss Jordan.”
“But I didn’t do anything.” She slapped her hand on the table. Her voice rose, and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop the fear building from deep within.
“Miss Jordan,” Kent removed the picture of Richard, “can you tell me why both of these men were in your house last week?”
“They were in my house?” Cassie attempted to stop her hands from shaking when she picked up the glass of water set before her.
“But you knew that, didn’t you?” Falk asked.
Cassie glanced at Hogan. “I came home one night and thought some of my things had been moved. A stack of papers wasn’t as straight as I’d left them. A drawer wasn’t closed completely. I thought maybe I’d just been careless. But . . .”
“But, what?”
“I sensed something different. Like the air had changed.” She leaned toward Kent, then Falk, but ignored Hogan. “But, I tell you, I have never, ever invited either one of those men into my house. My ex is a cheating bastard and Richard is a lying, back-stabbing creep.”
“That’s enough.” Hogan finally interrupted, stepping forward. “Kent, like I’ve said all along, you know she’s not part of this. Her phone and bank records are clean. Other than Angelino accosting her in the alley and working with Richard, there are no ties between her and them. We didn’t find her fingerprints on the list of names. It’s time to let her go.”
Cassie glared at him, trying to keep her tears at bay. “You’ve been following me? Going through my records? Was our little trip to Green Bay designed to get me to talk?” Thinking about all his questions about Tony and antiques, she stood, walked up to him, and pushed a finger at his chest. “Did you think a little sex would get me to reveal all my deep, dark secrets? You’re a bastard, Hogan Wynnters.”
