by Diane Kelly
I slowly eased backward. Nick’s gaze darted in my direction for a split second and returned to McClure, but he eased backward, too.
We’d backed up halfway to the front door when it flew open and a man in gray coveralls stormed in. When he saw Nick and me with our guns trained on McClure, he yanked a gun from his boot and aimed it at Nick. “Don’t worry, Jimmy John!” the man hollered. “I got you covered!”
Shit. This arrest was rapidly turning into a major cluster fuck.
“We’re federal agents,” Nick told the man who’d come in. “IRS Criminal Investigations. Set your weapon down on the ground and go back outside.”
“How do I know you’re for real?” the man asked, slitting his eyes at us.
I took a quick glance at his coveralls. The patch sewn on the chest read: “X. PAREDES.” “You’re Xavier Paredes, right?”
The guy glanced down at his coveralls. “Not exactly hard to guess,” he said. “It’s not like there’s many names that start with X.”
True. How could I convince this guy we were who we said we were?
I searched my memory banks, trying to pull up a visual of the fraudulent tax return McClure had prepared for this man. “Your wife’s name is Gina and you’ve got three children,” I said. “Grace, Angelina, and…” What was the name of the other kid? Tyler? Taylor? Tyson? Hell, I couldn’t remember. “I forget the other one, but I think his name starts with a T.”
The man’s squinted eyes opened a bit, his gaze darting between me and Jimmy John.
When Xavier looked at me again I said, “Jimmy John claimed thousands of dollars in unreimbursed employee business expenses on your tax return.”
“That’s right,” the man said, his squint totally gone now. “He told us we were entitled to the deductions. It was some new tax law.”
“He lied,” I said. “Thanks to Jimmy John, you’re going to owe at least two grand to the IRS, plus penalties and interest.”
“Is that true, Jimmy John?” Xavier turned his gun on McClure now. “Did you fuck up my tax return?”
“I was doing you a favor,” McClure spat. “Getting you a bigger refund.”
“You got me in trouble is what you did!” Paredes said. “We’ve already spent our tax refund. Where the hell am I going to get two grand to pay the government?” He jabbed his gun in the air for emphasis.
Great. Now there were four of us in the standoff.
Another car pulled up outside. Before I could get to the door a woman with bleach-blond hair and skintight blue jeans came in, a drooling baby balanced on her hip, a Winnie the Pooh diaper bag hanging from her shoulder, and an IRS notice clutched in her fist. “Jimmy John, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
When she noticed all of us with our guns pointed at each other, she reached into her diaper bag, drew out a sawed-off shotgun, and aimed it at me. Damn. Nothing like this ever happened in the Hundred Acre Wood. Then again, Jimmy John wasn’t exactly Christopher Robin.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on here?” She turned the gun on Nick next, then Xavier. Her baby made a gurgling raspberry sound and began gnawing happily on his fist.
I explained the situation. “Go out to your car,” I directed the woman, “and call the police.”
She did as she was told. Xavier backed out the door, too. Good. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about collateral damage now.
“I think we should go, too,” I whispered to Nick. Jimmy John’s arms were shaking with the strain of holding up the weapons.
“I ain’t going to jail!” Jimmy John shrieked. “I know what happens in there!”
Bam!
He sent a bullet sailing between me and Nick, missing us but hitting the bear square in the chest. The bear rocked backward on its mount, bounced off the wall, and fell sideways onto the wooden floor.
In a split second, both Nick and I took aim at Jimmy John and fired.
Bang-bang! Bang-bang!
My shots sent the weapons sailing out of Jimmy John’s hands, the force knocking him back against the shelves.
“Son of a bitch!” Jimmy John reflexively grabbed his right shoulder, grimaced, and looked down at his bloody hand. Judging from the two dark spots on his shirt, both of Nick’s bullets had found their target, too. The wounds would be painful but not lethal. Jimmy John was lucky we hadn’t put a bullet in his head. We’d have been perfectly justified. But the paperwork for a firearm discharge was bad enough. I can only imagine how much red tape would be involved if we actually killed someone.
I glanced over at Nick. “Not bad.”
“I’m no Tara Holloway,” he said, offering a grin, “but I can hold my own.”
We heard the screech of car tires and took a quick glimpse out the window. A police cruiser braked hard on the asphalt highway and whipped onto the gravel lot. A cloud of dust kicked up around the car, hanging in the air. Two officers leaped from the cruiser, weapons in hand, and took up places behind the vehicles.
The sound of glass shattering was the next thing we heard, followed by the hiss of high-pressure gas being released from a canister.
Shit.
The cops had sent tear gas through the window.
In seconds the room was filled with noxious fumes that burned our eyes and seared our throats. Through the haze I caught a glimpse of Jimmy John running through a door into a back room, probably attempting to flee out a back exit. With the gas permeating the space, there was no way Nick and I could go after him. It was all we could do to make it out the front door, coughing and sputtering and blinking to try to clear our burning eyes.
I held my hands up as I tripped over the prone bear and down a step I couldn’t see. “Don’t shoot!” I fell to my hands and knees in the gravel parking lot. “Federal agents!”
“Get McClure!” Nick hollered to the cops cowering behind their car in the lot. “He’s escaping out the back!” He’d barely gotten the words out when his lungs erupted in a coughing fit.
Five minutes later I heard the wail of an ambulance approaching and could make out blurry images of Nick speaking to the cops. McClure sat in the backseat of the cruiser holding one of the baby’s burp rags to his wounded shoulder. Handcuffs encircled his wrists and blood poured from his nose.
I wasn’t sure how he’d been captured, but with my eyes and lungs burning it gave me pleasure to see he’d suffered some additional damage. If he’d been a good little boy and cooperated with us, he would’ve been released on bail in a matter of hours. Having fired a weapon at government agents, though, he’d be lucky to be released from jail within the next decade.
* * *
Nick and I were led to an examination room at the minor emergency clinic and took seats side by side on the paper-covered exam table. Both my eyes and nose were running. Attractive, huh? Nick’s eyes looked a bit pink but not nearly as bad as mine. Lucky him.
Ajay entered the room, our files in his hand. “Tear gas?”
The nurse must have already filled him in.
He set the paperwork on the counter and grabbed a bottle of saline solution from a cabinet. “I haven’t dealt with tear gas since my residency rotation in the ER. I treated half the SWAT team after a hostage situation. I got to remove a few bullets, too. What a great night.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said wryly. “We’ll try to get shot next time.”
“Speak for yourself.” Nick grabbed the bottle out of Ajay’s hands and squirted it at me.
I threw up my hands to thwart the stream.“Hey!”
The doc had Nick and me take turns lying back on the table and flushed our eyes with the cool, soothing solution.
When Nick was done, he sat up on the table, dabbing his eyes with a tissue. “That feels so much better,” he told Ajay, “I’m tempted to kiss you.”
Ajay handed him a grape lollipop. “Kiss this instead.”
I earned a cherry-flavored sucker for being a big girl and not crying. Well, not crying any more than the tear gas warranted.
O
n the drive back to the office, I looked over at Nick. He’d said nothing about my major revelation. “So?” I said. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“About the weather, you idiot.” I fought the urge to punch him on the arm. “About you and me dating each other? I laid it all out back there at Bulls-Eye. Remember?”
Nick pulled the car into the federal building’s lot and cut the engine before turning to me. “I think your timing is suspicious.”
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t willing to let Brett go until I started dating again.” He eyed me, his expression wary. “I’m not sure whether you really want me or you just don’t want any other woman to have me.”
“Oh, my God! Nick! It’s not like that at all!” Okay, maybe it was a little. Not the part about me not wanting him, because I totally did. But admittedly part of the reason I’d finally made up my mind was that the risk of losing him to another woman had become real and immediate when he’d signed up for the dating service.
He stared at me for a minute, his gaze flickering from my eyes, to my mouth, to my forehead. Did he want to kiss me? Or was he trying to look into my mind, find out what I really thought and felt? If only he could, he wouldn’t doubt my sincerity. He’d realize I wasn’t just crazy about him, I was also going crazy without him.
He turned away and looked out the window. “You said you were going to talk to Brett on Monday, but Alicia interrupted you. It’s Friday now. You’ve had all week to do it.”
“Brett’s busy with a big job,” I told Nick. “He wasn’t free again until tonight. I couldn’t do this by phone. We’ve been together for months. I owe it to him to tell him in person.”
He continued to stare out the window, his jaw working. This was not at all the response I’d expected. Of course I hadn’t expected to make my revelation while a dumb-ass redneck had guns pointed in our faces, either. Still, I’d envisioned the scene playing out like something from a romantic movie. I’d tell Nick I could finally be his. He’d take me into his arms and stroke my hair, tell me I’d made him the happiest man alive. He’d hold me a moment; then we’d separate slightly, look into each other’s eyes, and come together in a passionate kiss. The kiss would deepen; he’d sweep me up into his arms and take me off to bed for a night of lovemaking.
That would be wonderful.
This, however, sucked.
Nick seemed more annoyed than excited that I wanted to be with him. Had he and Natalie reconciled? Was that why he didn’t seem pleased?
I put a hand on his arm, finding myself choked up again, though this time it had nothing to do with the tear gas. “Nick, I … I thought you’d be happy about this.”
He tossed me a look. “Happy that you’ve finally come to your senses?”
That wasn’t exactly how I’d put it, but … whatever. “Yeah.”
He looked out the window again, then looked down at my hand on his arm, as if just realizing I was touching him. His gaze went to my face and his rigid posture softened. He exhaled a long, loud breath and looked directly at me now. “Look, Tara. You know I think we’d be good together. But you’ve made me wait so long.… How do I know you really mean this? How do I know you’re not toying with me?”
That hurt. I pulled my hand back. “I wouldn’t play with your feelings, Nick. I wouldn’t do that to you.” I might be indecisive, but I wasn’t a heartless bitch.
He stared at me another moment, saying nothing.
Panic and grief vied for control of me. “What are you saying, Nick?” My voice had a hysterical edge. “Are you saying it’s too late?” Please, God. Not that!
Nick watched as tears welled up in my ears. Finally, he flashed me a soft, chipped-tooth smile. “You’re exasperating, you know that?”
“I do.” My parents had told me that all the time when I was growing up.
A tear broke free and streamed down to my chin. Nick put his warm hand on the side of my face and ran his thumb across my cheek, erasing the tear’s trail. “You’re a day late and a dollar short, Tara. But I’ll make you a deal. As soon as you break things off with Brett, you give me a call. Until then I have to consider myself a free man.”
“Fair enough,” I said on a breath, lightened with relief. After all, I’d see Brett this evening and we’d have our talk. I’d be giving Nick that call tonight. I gave Nick a smile. “You’ll only be a free man for a few more hours. If you’ve got any more wild oats to sow, you’d better get on it.”
chapter sixteen
Beetlemania
Friday evening, I arrived at Brett’s house with a large mushroom and black olive pizza. He took the box from me at the door. I turned my head when he gave me his usual welcoming peck, the kiss landing near my ear rather than on my lips. How could I kiss him with the lips that would soon tell him I wanted to date another man?
His two black dogs, a Rottweiler–pit bull mix named Reggie and a Scottish terrier mix named Napoleon, followed us into the kitchen, their toenails clicking on the floor. Brett opened the pizza box and gave them each a slice, shooing them out the back door lest they attempt to take the greasy, gooey food onto the living room rug.
Brett poured us each a glass of merlot, grabbed a couple of napkins, and joined me at the table. While Brett dug in, hungry after a hard day’s physical labor on a landscaping project, I had a hard time getting a bite down. My throat seemed to have closed up. I’d like to blame it on the tear gas, but I knew what was choking me was emotion, not chemicals.
No sense putting off the inevitable, right? “Brett, I need to talk to you about something important.” I could feel my eyes growing misty.
He glanced up mid-bite, freezing in place when he noticed the serious expression on my face. He set his pizza back down. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tentative.
I slugged back some wine to fortify myself. “We’ve been together for several months now.” I hesitated, not sure exactly how to say what I needed to say. Damn, I should’ve Googled “how to tell your boyfriend you want to take a break.”
Brett turned his head slightly, his expression wary. He had no idea what was about to hit him, did he? Heck, for all I knew he was expecting some type of I-want-to-get-married-and-settle-down talk, like Alicia had with Daniel. Part of me wondered how Brett would respond if that were the case. Would he freak out like Daniel had and go running for the woods? Or would he acquiesce and agree to go shopping for rings?
I looked down at my wineglass, finding it hard to meet his gaze. “Um … we know each other pretty well by now, right?”
“Right?” The word was not only an expression of agreement but a question, too.
“Well, it’s just that I wonder if by now we should—”
Brett’s cell phone bleeped on the table. He checked the readout. “It’s my boss,” he said. “Sorry.”
Ugh! This was hard enough without an interruption.
He accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
I couldn’t quite make out what his boss was saying, but from the sharp tone and staccato words it didn’t sound good.
“You’re kidding me.” Brett stood reflexively and put a hand in his hair, pushing back until the strands stood on end. “Those trees came from my nursery.”
More angry chatter came through the phone.
He grabbed his hair in a death grip now. “Japanese beetles? Damn it! Those bugs don’t just kill trees; they eat turf, too. They’ll ruin the golf course.”
More loud words came through the phone.
“Tell them I’ll take care of it. Right away.” He paused one last moment. “Right. Thanks.”
He jabbed the button to end the call and set his phone back down on the table. He looked at me, his expression part incredulous, part panicked. “Some of the trees I planted in Atlanta are infested with beetles. Shit! I’m always so careful. I inspected every tree that was planted, for God’s sake! How could this happen?” He looked around the room as if searching for an an
swer.
I stood, too. “It’s not your fault, right? You didn’t grow the trees.” The nursery he’d recently started hadn’t been in business long enough to grow trees from scratch.
“No,” Brett replied. “I got them from another supplier, but I installed them, so it’s my problem. It’s going to cost thousands of dollars to fix this. The entire nursery stock could be infected, too. Fuck! This could ruin my reputation.” He kicked one of his kitchen chairs and it scooted noisily across the floor.
I’d rarely seen Brett so upset, though he had every right to be. He was just breaking out in his career. If news of the Japanese beetle infestation got out, it could take him years to recover. Not only did the bugs make him look bad, but the problem also reflected poorly on Wakefield Designs, the company he worked for. His job might be at stake along with his reputation.
He seemed to remember that we’d been in the middle of a conversation and turned back to me. “Look, Tara. I’ve got to deal with this now. Can we have our little talk later?”
Our “little talk” wasn’t going to be so little. But, hell, how could I break up with Brett now? It wouldn’t only be like kicking a puppy; it would be like kicking a sick, crippled puppy, one infested with parasites. Like I said, I’m not heartless.
“Sure. We’ll talk later.” Damn those Japanese beetles! My hopes sank like a navy ship that had been dive-bombed by a kamikaze pilot.
Nick would be a free man a while longer.
While Brett scurried about, hurriedly packing a bag and making reservations on a red-eye flight to Atlanta, I gathered up his dogs’ bowls, food, and toys for the pet sitter and tried not to scream in frustration.
chapter seventeen
Special Delivery
I left Brett’s feeling totally frustrated. Nothing seemed to be going my way lately.
As long as I was out, I figured I’d stop by Zippy’s Liquor and speak to the staff on the evening shift, ask them about the wire transfers to Honduras. I drove to the store and parked, retrieving the photos of the terrorists from my briefcase and carrying them inside with me.
