by Diane Kelly
“I did. Thanks.”
Alicia was far more organized and domestic than I was. While I made do, she made beds and lists.
I set a bowl of tuna pâté on the floor in front of Henry. He shot me a look of disgust and angrily swished his bushy brown tail back and forth to let me know he wasn’t impressed by either the speed of my service or the quality of food I served.
“Oh, yeah?” I told the cat. “Bite me.”
He did, damn him. Luckily it was only a warning bite, a quick nip to let me know who was boss.
Him.
Alicia shook her head as she poured a mug of coffee. “I don’t know why you put up with that brat. You should send him to obedience school.”
“They don’t have obedience school for cats.”
“Really?” She took a sip of coffee. “They should.”
I retrieved a loaf of bread from the pantry. “Want some toast?”
She declined. I loaded two slices into the toaster and pushed the button down.
“Have you happened to see my ring?” Alicia asked, checking the pockets on her bathrobe. “The one with my birthstone in it? I can’t find it anywhere.”
Uh-oh. Afraid my eyes might give me away, I peeked into the toaster so she couldn’t see my face. “Nope, haven’t seen it. It’s probably back at your apartment.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I brought it here.”
I shrugged. “Maybe you left it in your desk at work.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” she said, though she looked skeptical. “I hope I didn’t lose it. That was my favorite ring.”
I fought a smile, knowing she’d soon have a new favorite.
When the toaster ejected my breakfast, I slathered the bread with apricot jelly and took a seat at the table across from Alicia.
“So, tonight, huh?” she said.
I nodded. I knew exactly what she was referring to. My talk with Brett.
“I’m guessing you want me to make myself scarce?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem. A couple of the girls at work suggested we try a new martini bar in the West End tonight. I’ll take them up on it. I’ve heard the place makes a fabulous lemon drop.”
A lemon drop martini sounded almost as good as the peach sangria.
* * *
An hour later, Daniel met me in front of the IRS building.
“What happened to your lip?” he asked.
Though I’d removed the butterfly bandage, the darn thing was still swollen and sore. “A TSA agent tackled me in the airport. I did a total face-plant.” Of course the TSA agent was nothing compared to the crazed terrorist who’d come after me last night.
“You’re insane,” Daniel said. “I don’t know why you stay in that job. It’s too dangerous.”
Staying at Martin and McGee would have been riskier. If I had to explain the concept of depreciation recapture to one more client, I would’ve jumped out the window.
I pulled the ring from my purse and handed it to him. “Alicia already noticed it’s missing. I hate to make her worry.”
“I’ll stop by the jeweler’s today,” he said. “I can have it back to you by tonight.” He stuck the box in the inside pocket of his coat jacket and removed a glossy page he’d torn from a Tiffany’s jewelry catalog. He unfolded the paper and held it out to me. “This is the one I’ve been looking at.”
The ring was platinum, featuring a brilliant-cut diamond with baguettes encircling the remainder of the band. The price tag was fourteen grand.
“Whoa!” I said. “That’s more than I paid for my car.” I’d gotten a sweet deal on my BMW at a government auction.
“Think she’ll like it?” Daniel asked.
“Like it? Are you nuts? That ring is gorgeous! She’ll love it.”
He grinned.
Nick came up the walk then.
“Gotta go,” I told Daniel.
I fell into step next to Nick and flashed him a smile. “Tonight’s the night.”
The hot look Nick gave me nearly melted my Monday panties. Really, I needed to get on that laundry.
“What happened to your lip?” he asked.
Both of us had been out of the office a lot lately and he hadn’t seen me since before the airport incident. I told him what happened. Unlike Brett, Nick took my on-the-job injuries a little more in stride.
His eyes flickered to my lip again and his own lip quirked up in a small smile. “It’s kind of sexy all red and swollen like that.”
I felt a rush of heat to my girlie regions.
We made our way through the security checkpoint and into the elevator. A woman rode up two floors with us, then stepped off, leaving us alone.
Nick glanced over at me. “You look nervous.”
No wonder. My mind was thinking of Nick, of his lips kissing mine, of what it would be like once he and I could finally be together.
He cocked his head. “You feeling guilty about breaking up with Brett?”
I shook my head. “Not really. Telling him we need to take a break and explore other options is the right thing to do.”
“What?” Nick’s eyes flashed. “What did you say?”
Uh-oh. The fire in Nick’s eyes told me he was royally pissed, but I wasn’t sure why. “I said that taking a break is the right thing for me and Brett to do.”
“’Taking a break’?” He grunted. “So not breaking up outright, then.”
“Well, not yet,” I said, giving Nick a knowing smile. “But I expect that’s coming.”
Nick turned away, staring at the back of the elevator door, his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth. “You told me you were breaking up with him, Tara. Now I find out that you’re keeping your options open with him. What the hell?”
I stepped in front of Nick, forcing him to look at me. “There’s no real difference, Nick. If you and I work out—”
“If we work out you’ll break things off for good with Brett?”
“Right.”
Nick closed his eyes and shook his head. He opened them back up and pinned me with his gaze. “Dammit, Tara, this is not what we agreed to.”
I racked my brain, trying to recall the exact wording of our previous conversations. Heck, I had no idea how I’d phrased things back at Bulls-Eye, when Jimmy John had his guns trained on us. I’d been more than a little flustered. “Why are you so upset, Nick? I’m telling you that I’m giving us a try, that I hope things work out with us.”
“You know what you’re also telling me?” he boomed. “You’re telling me that you still have feelings for Brett. That I might be your first choice at the moment, but that you care enough about Brett to keep him in a fallback position. That’s what you’re telling me.”
What could I say? He was right.
The doors opened onto our floor and Nick stormed out.
Viola looked up from her desk by Lu’s office down the hall, eyeing me and Nick over her bifocals.
I gave her a friendly wave and forced a smile. “’Mornin’, Vi.”
She jerked her head toward Lu’s office behind her. “The Lobo wants to see you.”
Damn. So much for trying to make Nick see things my way.
While Nick continued on to his office, I hurried down the hall to Lu’s digs, hoping we could get our conversation over with quickly so I could go speak to Nick.
No such luck.
chapter thirty-four
Another Day, Another Case
I entered Lu’s office to find Eddie already seated in one of her wing chairs. Lu gestured for me to take a seat in the other.
“I’ve already busted Eddie’s balls this morning,” she said. “It’s only fair I bust yours, too.”
I was tempted to point out, once again, that I had no balls, but didn’t want to say anything that would drag things out unnecessarily. I really needed to finish my conversation with Nick, make him see that my feelings for Brett in no way diminished how I felt about him. I supposed it seemed odd, but it was true. I mean, i
t wasn’t like I had a limited amount of feelings to allocate and had to decide on a ratio, giving a certain percentage to Nick and the remainder to Brett. I could care about both of them, deeply and simultaneously.
The Lobo used her teeth to rip a bite off yet another Slim Jim. I could virtually see her arteries clogging in front of me. “Eddie says you two still haven’t made any real progress on the terrorist case.”
“I brought in another member of their ring last night,” I pointed out. And nearly got shot doing it.
Lu waved her hand dismissively. “The guy you nabbed is as tight-lipped as the others. He’s not going to give you anything new to go on. Besides, bringing in the terrorists is the CIA’s and Homeland Security’s job. Your job is to find the money trail.”
Would I really get so little credit for my near-death experience? “We’ve made the rounds of all the MSBs,” I said, adding that we planned to make a trip out to Homsi’s mosque, apartment, and workplace today.
“When you’re done with today’s visits,” she said, “you’re done with the case. You two have spent a lot of time spinning your wheels with nothing to show for it and we’ve got a backlog I need to assign. I can’t loan two of my agents out indefinitely. Our tax cases have to take priority.”
I slumped in my seat in shame. I knew it was unrealistic to expect we would nail every bad guy we went after, but in the months I’d been with IRS Criminal Investigations I had yet to leave a case unresolved. It wasn’t in my nature to give up or give in.
But, hell, what else could we do? Agents Zardooz and Wang hadn’t been able to find the terrorists’ accomplice and they had received just as much training as Eddie and I. I had no new ideas short of rounding up a bloodhound and seeing if the dog could sniff its way to the person who’d helped them move their money.
“A bloodhound?” Lu repeated after I made the suggestion. Her false eyelashes accentuated her look of incredulity. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I supposed I shouldn’t mention that I’d consulted a psychic about the case. The Lobo would probably send me packing on the spot.
Lu pointed to a large stack of files on her desk. “Those are for you, Tara. Some new cases.” She gestured for Eddie to take another stack. “You two take a quick look. Let me know if you have any questions.”
I picked up the heavy pile, plunked them on my lap, and began to work my way down through them. The first was a routine tax evasion case against a divorced community college professor who’d claimed to be exempt from income taxes after having renounced his U.S. citizenship and declaring himself a personal corporation, as if such a thing actually existed. The goofball taught political science, including a course called Anarchy in Action. The audit department had already built a complete case against the professor and issued him seven demands for payment, all of which he’d refused. The only thing I had to do was arrest the guy. It should be a slam dunk.
The second was a high-dollar case involving a slew of people who’d conspired in a mortgage fraud scheme. According to the notes, the case involved building contractors, appraisers, Realtors, and mortgage brokers. Everyone involved was pointing fingers at everyone else. Ugh. That case would be a certain pain in the ass.
The final case involved alleged unreported earnings by various people who worked at a topless bar. Because the case involved both drugs and prostitution, the IRS would team up with agents from the DEA and Dallas PD’s sex crimes unit. I skimmed over the list of contacts and saw the name Christina Marquez. Knowing I’d be working with Christina again was the only good news I’d had this morning.
Nick’s name was also on the list, I noticed. At the moment, I wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. Normally, I’d be thrilled to work side by side with him. But with the mood he was in now, I wasn’t so sure that would be a good thing. After all, the man was armed and I could admittedly be a royal pain in the ass. I couldn’t much blame him if he decided to bust a cap in my butt.
“Nick’s assigned to the bar case, too?” I asked.
Lu nodded. “That’s a sleazy case if ever there was one. The investigation has the potential to become dangerous. I wanted to put some muscle on it.”
“I’ve got muscle,” Eddie said, holding up his arm and flexing it.
Lu cocked her head. “Your muscles have two little girls that need a daddy.”
Eddie sighed and lowered his arm.
I supposed I should have felt insulted that Lu considered me more expendable than my partner. After all, if something happened to me, my cats would be orphaned. But as long as someone fed them they’d likely get over my loss in a day or two. Hell, I bet Henry wouldn’t miss me at all, the furry little brat.
I crammed the paperwork back into the file. “Have you gone out with Harry yet?” I asked Lu.
“Yes.” She pursed her lips. “Another bust.”
“What was it this time?”
“He’s still hung up on his ex-wife. She was all he talked about. Raylene this and Raylene that. But I suppose I can’t complain too much. I got a lobster dinner out of it.”
“Gonna give the coach a try?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Might as well. What have I got to lose?”
Armed with our new files, Eddie and I returned to our offices to drop them off. When I glanced across the hall, I noticed Nick’s office was vacant. He was probably in the kitchen snagging a Red Bull. Damn. I’d hoped to have a chance to smooth things over before Eddie and I headed out. Again, no such luck.
This really wasn’t turning out to be my day.
Before leaving, I stopped by Josh’s office and gave him Kira’s note. He ripped through the staple and read the page, a big grin spreading across his face. I had no idea what she’d written, but it was clear she was giving Josh a second chance.
Josh looked up at me. “Thanks, Tara.”
I waved my hand, letting him know I’d been glad to help.
As I left his office, I had to wonder. Why was I so good at helping other people fix their relationships and so bad at handling my own?
* * *
Both Agent Zardooz and Agent Wang accompanied us on our rounds today. We struck out at Homsi’s mosque and apartment. One of his Islamophobic female coworkers said the guy had always creeped her out, spoke too loudly in his “gibberish language” on his cell phone, and had taken his coffee with two sugar packets, but that didn’t really give us anything workable to run with.
Our final stop was the government impound lot, where we searched through the men’s cars. Nothing incriminating or suspicious there, though I noticed Nasser’s auto insurance card had expired since his arrest.
By mid-afternoon, we were done. The four of us stood at our cars and shook hands, saying things like “it’s been nice working with you” and “you can’t win them all.” We promised to contact each other if any of us came up with a sudden bright idea, though I doubted any of us really expected to ever hear from the others.
I looked up at the sky. The sun was shining. Shining on us and shining on the person who’d helped fund the terrorists, too. Yep, somewhere out there, someone was getting away with aiding and abetting murder and mayhem.
* * *
I dropped Eddie at the office and decided to pay a visit to the community college where Larry Horst, the tax-evading college professor, taught classes. I was tired of feeling frustrated and incompetent. I needed an easy arrest and Horst was just the ticket.
After the events that had taken place at the airport, I decided it was best to make sure campus security knew I was on-site and that I’d be arresting Professor Horst. I phoned the campus police and told them of my plans.
“Good luck,” said the officer on the phone. “That Horst is one bizarre bastard.”
I sent Nick a text next. Plz don’t B mad.
I didn’t receive a reply. Damn.
I parked in a visitor spot and ventured onto the campus. An enormous concrete fountain graced the entrance, a cascade of water billowing from the top, its huge bowl
filled with pennies, nickels, and dimes students had tossed into the water as if it were a wishing well. If I had to hazard a bet, I’d say each and every one of the coins represented a wish for an A+. Or maybe to get laid. I wondered how many of those wishes had come true.
After a few minutes of aimless wandering around the campus, I eventually stumbled upon a dark brick building with a sign outside identifying it as the shared home of the poetry and political science departments. Looked like they’d chosen to divvy up space by alphabet rather than discipline.
A glass-enclosed bulletin board near the elevators contained a list of the professors and their office numbers. According to the list, Horst’s space was in room 214B. I took the elevator up with two skinny college boys who were discussing the basic tenets of Marxism, apparently for an upcoming test next week. They climbed off on the second floor and I ventured out behind them.
I found room 214 with no problem. Not easy to miss a door spray-painted with a red circle A, the symbol for anarchy.
The room was divided into two cubicles, one for Horst, another for a poetry professor, judging from the framed portrait of Maya Angelou hanging on the wall on that side of the space.
A large black flag was draped over the wall of Horst’s cubicle. Blue books, potato chip wrappers, and paper coffee cups, many still containing liquid, were scattered haphazardly over the desktop. His in-box overflowed with unopened mail, some of it having fallen to the floor.
Clearly, Horst had attained tenure.
On his bookshelf rested copies of classic political science books. Writings by Plato, Aristotle, John Locke, and Friedrich Nietzsche. The Communist Manifesto. Even an English translation of Mein Kampf. While his desk and bookshelf were cluttered, the chair in his cubicle remained empty.
I stepped over to the other cubicle. “Hello,” I said to the black woman sitting there. “I’m looking for Professor Horst. Any idea where he might be?”
“Where he might be,” she repeated, raising a hand and sweeping it through the air. “He might be here; he might be there.” She clenched her fists in front of her chest and boomed, “What might he be if he be mighty?”
