by Lucy Farago
“Noah, give me the keys.” Shannon held out her hand.
“Why?”
“Because I was supposed to pick you up from your hotel and take you here. It would make sense for me to have the car keys.”
“How in the hell are they going to know you don’t have the keys?”
“Prepare for the unexpected, every con man’s rule. Now what’s the big deal? Give me the keys.” The one thing JJ had pounded into her on a daily basis was to live and breathe the con. That way no turn of events would catch you off guard. JJ was a waste of oxygen, but she could credit him with one thing. She’d taken that same philosophy with her into the courtroom.
“Noah, buddy, she didn’t ask for your balls. Hand them over.”
“The keys,” Shannon said. “You can keep your balls.”
Damon laughed as she took the keys from Noah and dropped them into her purse.
Noah held the front door and she felt a hand at the small of her back while Damon allowed her to go first.
“What are you doing?” she heard Noah mutter to Damon.
“Helping the lady inside.”
A pretty hostess greeted them at the door. She talked to Shannon but kept sneaking peeks at the men. She understood. Even with Noah glaring at Damon, they were hard to ignore.
“If you’ll follow me,” the young woman said after she’d confirmed their reservation.
The historical setting of the restaurant, with its rich ornate paneling, embellished ceiling, and mission lighting spoke of old money and class. JJ would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Then again, he was the best at bullshitting his way through everything. He would have found a way to fit in.
They were taken to a table set for five. Noah sat to her right, Damon her left, and after she glanced up from the drink menu the hostess had set in front of her, she noticed that every woman in the place, including a couple of grand dame types, was trying to find a way to look at the guys. It was comical. One dropped her napkin—twice. Another kept rubbing her neck while she craned it to get a better view. An elderly woman seated next to them pointed to a painting directly behind them, but it was obvious it wasn’t the artist’s work she was admiring. Shannon overheard two ask for the ladies’ room but then choose to go in the opposite direction from where the waiter had pointed. When they passed their table they practically tripped over each other. The guys, however, either failed to notice or more likely were so used to it they ignored the rise of estrogen in the room.
A waitress took their drink order, and when Damon told her how he’d like his Scotch, Shannon swore the young woman had an orgasm right then and there.
As their “business” was in London, Damon was to play the role of British businessman. He’d nailed it. “Ever try that accent on a woman?” Shannon asked once the waitress had composed herself and left.
“Not my style. You look beautiful, by the way,” Damon said in that hot accent.
“Thanks.” Besides finding it odd that a federal agent on a case would comment on her looks, she imagined every woman in the place wouldn’t be able to make it to their table fast enough if they heard Damon speak.
“I can honestly say I fully understand now.”
“Understand?”
“Why he’s a complete and utter moron,” Noah answered for him.
What was up with these two? “So you were roommates?” Had they liked each other?
“Funny you should bring that up,” Damon said with a straight face that anyone with half a brain could tell wasn’t real.
“Should we order drinks?” Noah shot him another warning glare.
Damon was trying to tell her something and Noah wasn’t liking it. Interesting. How much of the pot could she stir? “We already ordered. So what is it you now understand, Damon?” Clearly whatever it was, Noah didn’t want her to know.
“Well, it’s like this: Let’s face it, guys spend their first year at school trying to get as many … dates as they can.”
“Yes, I know about the … dating … thing. I went to school too.”
“Then you know what it’s like on campus.”
“Sure,” she said. Parties and panties, every guy’s mantra.
“How much do you know?” Noah asked, suddenly on alert.
She rolled her eyes. “Go on, Damon. You have my full attention.” Her dating life at school was none of his business.
“If it wasn’t to go to class or the library, Noah never left our room.”
“Wait. Never?”
Damon shook his head.
“That’s a bald-faced lie.”
“Okay, you left for food.”
She turned to Noah. “No keggers, no sorority parties? Did you turn into a nerd?” He’d been good at school, with good study habits, but never unsociable.
“Nah,” Damon answered for him, “he was depressed.”
But before she could ask him what the hell he’d had to be depressed about, Noah put an end to the conversation. “They just walked in.”
Chapter Ten
Shannon looked up to see two men being escorted to their table. The three of them stood, and for the first time she went on high alert. Both impeccably dressed, she spotted a Rolex on the arm extended to her. From the manicured fingernails on the firm hand she shook and one very large diamond signet ring, it was obvious he had expensive tastes. She’d learned never to judge solely on appearance, so she wanted to reserve her final appraisal of the two until after dinner, but the pair resembled high rollers. Greasy high rollers, the kind who had something to prove.
“Miguel Santos,” he said. “And this is my associate, Tomás Santos.”
She shook hands with Tomás. Call it a gut feeling, but the badly inked tattoo she’d spotted peeking out of his shirt cuff warned her to tread carefully. She’d seen it before and was almost certain it was gang related. “Family?” she asked, now shaking hands with Miguel.
“Cousins,” he said, meeting her eyes with such an intense stare, she nearly took a step back. It was creepy. Instead, she forced herself to return his smile.
They didn’t look anything like each other. Of course, Tomás’s nose having been broken many times over might have had something to do with it. Both men had black hair, and while Tomás had dark eyes and a five o’clock shadow to match, Miguel’s were bright blue, giving his baby face an angelic quality she bet fooled women.
“Family,” Miguel added, taking a seat. “Like you and your father.”
Family was a word she’d never use to describe her and JJ. But she smiled anyway. They finished the introduction, then sat and exchanged pleasantries until their drinks arrived. Reading the menu, Noah, who’d been introduced as Noah Oates, claimed to have never had clam chowder and announced he’d be trying it. Shannon, never a fan of the local favorite, opted for salad. Everyone ordered steak except her. She chose sea bass. Orders in, Shannon did as they’d planned and brought up the reason for this get-together.
“As we discussed over the phone, these gentlemen are interested in opening their business to outside investors.”
Miguel Santos, the obvious leader, replied, “Yes, JJ said as much. I also understand you have a lucrative car dealership.”
“Two. Profits are good,” Noah agreed.
She’d known the plan was to eventually get this guy to “invest” in the dealerships, but she guessed they hadn’t expected him to show interest this soon.
“We’ve expanded to include luxury vehicles and are looking at other cities for additional growth. Perhaps San Francisco. It seems more and more people want their toys.”
“What’s a man without a few toys here and there? I myself was considering a Maserati.”
“Maybe we can help make that a reality,” Noah said, including Damon with a nod.
“I would like that, but first let’s discuss how you came to meet Ms. Lewis here. JJ told us you both live in Los Angeles. Why would a California-based company use a Vegas accounting firm? Ms. Lewis is a beautiful woman,” he said, eyeing her as
if she were on the menu, “and I could see why you might want to do business with her, but it would make more sense to use someone who understands California tax laws. Nevada has its own unique rules.”
“As I said, we expanded our dealership. Vegas seemed like a good place to start.”
If these people dug into Shannon Lewis’s past, they’d find she’d graduated from Morrison University with fairly decent grades, and from there she’d gone to work for a prominent but not over-the-top accounting firm. Her client list was 100 percent made up, but if someone chose to go snooping, there too the feds had done a good job of creating “real” people and companies where there were none.
The scowl Miguel wore said he wasn’t buying Noah’s story. “I just find it odd that JJ never mentioned he had a daughter, or that he was tapping into her client list.”
Was he mad that JJ hadn’t told him he’d brought his daughter in on the scam or was he suspecting a setup?
“I’m not sure I understand what the problem is,” Damon said. “We have what you’re looking for. Does it matter that we knew Mr. Lewis through his daughter?”
Something wasn’t right. This guy should be trying to appease Noah and Damon, not antagonize them. After all, he needed them.
She leaned in, putting a forearm on the table, and opted for a little bit of truth. “JJ,” she said, “unfortunately was one of those people who didn’t trust anyone. He never wanted anybody to bypass him and come straight to me. I had resources he didn’t. It also worked the other way. I couldn’t have people learn of my connection to my father and his … business dealings. The IRS watches accountants like hawks. So. Better to stay in the shadows.”
She sat back and sipped her wine, then licked her lips, making sure she had his full attention. “Can I be honest, Mr. Santos?” Lying to slime didn’t count.
“Please,” he said, tipping his head.
“My father was a two-bit flunky, limited by a feeble imagination and an inflated ego. The private placement program that first caught your attention was my idea. Only the dumbass chose to run an ad in the paper and I decided to pull out. No way was I risking getting caught. Shortly after that, you contacted him, but by then I was out of the picture.” She prayed JJ hadn’t lied about that when he’d first been approached.
“Yes, we wondered about that.”
“These men are eager for bigger and better opportunities,” she said. “I hope you can trust me in this because I’m certain your collaboration will prove fruitful for all concerned.”
“Eager. That’s a good word to use,” Noah agreed.
A slow smile curled Miguel’s lips. “Let’s talk money,” he said and turned his attention to Noah and Damon.
The appetizers were served and the men talked and ate. Honestly, all the numbers stuff lost her, but because she was supposed to know what was going on she did her best to feign interest. What did pique her interest, however, was how the conversation kept going back to the dealerships. Santos seemed more interested in those than anything else.
Before their entrées were served, she excused herself, figuring the guys had this in the bag and she was no longer needed. She could feel Miguel Santos staring at her and she was never more relieved to be in a ladies’ room. She checked the stalls and made certain she was alone before she made the call. Maggie, the traitorous wench, picked up right away.
“Wow, it’s almost like you were waiting for me to call.” Like she hadn’t ratted her out to Noah.
“I hadn’t heard from you in a few days.”
“You’re a newlywed. Why would I bother your fornicating?”
“Are you in a public place?”
“Ladies’ washroom. Why?”
“Because that’s not a word you would normally use when discussing sex. Did we take our being-less-crass pill today?”
“Ha, ha. Don’t think to ply me with niceties. You cleared Noah to my condo’s security.”
“And you cleared Christian when we’d switched places.”
To protect Maggie’s parents, they’d traded addresses in case the press went looking for Maggie. A serial killer hunting down women who worked for her tended to make the papers and Maggie wanted her father’s reputation left out of it.
“He’s a federal agent; he’d have found you sooner or later.”
“Christian works for ICU. He’d have found you sooner or later.” And her ass needed protecting. “I did a good thing. You married him, didn’t you?”
“And you once loved Noah.”
“Once is the key word here. Suffice it to say your horrible attempt at matchmaking landed me back in Tweedsmuir working for the feds. Someone killed JJ and guess who they suspected?”
“What the hell? Shannon, I’m sorry.”
Shannon bit back a laugh. “Did you just cuss? Maggie the saint, swearing?”
“There’s a time and a place for letting one slip. Has Noah lost it? Why would they suspect you of murder?”
“Long story.” Now wasn’t the time to explain to her best friend why she hadn’t told her about JJ’s blackmail. “Is Christian there?”
“Yes, why?”
“Can you put him on?”
“Why?”
“I don’t have time to get into the details. I’ll call you later tonight to explain.”
“Fine,” she said. Clearly it wasn’t. “Go ahead, you’re on speaker.”
“Christian?”
“I’m here. Is this about Noah Monroe?”
“You know him?”
“I was FBI. I also know he contacted Monty earlier in the week. He wanted footage from the Boston airport. He had Monty looking for you.”
“What?” she heard Maggie say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t my place to leak FBI information. Besides, it was supposed to have cleared Shannon. Shannon, it cleared you, right?”
“He never told me about contacting your friend. I figured they’d have had access to my returning the rental car. He knew long before he threatened me with an arrest that I was innocent.”
“He threatened you?” Maggie screeched. “And you didn’t tell me?” Shannon assumed that question had been directed at Christian.
“Listen up, lovebirds. I don’t have time for this. Christian, do you know a Miguel Santos?”
There was a pause and then, “Do you know a Miguel Santos?”
“I’m having dinner with him and his cousin Tomás.”
“Shannon, I don’t know what kind of bull Monroe has dragged you in to, but get the hell out of there.”
Damn. She knew it. Something wasn’t right about those two. “I can’t right now. I’d be leaving two agents hanging.”
“Screw them. They’re the ones who brought a civilian into whatever they have cooking.”
“Who are they?”
“Not very nice men.”
“Be more specific, please.” She appreciated his wanting to protect her, but he wasn’t helping.
“Drug cartel. Shannon, listen to me: As soon as you can, get on the next plane home.”
It took a few seconds for her mouth to work and then a few more to control her temper. “Oh,” she said, her teeth clenched, “I plan to.” This wasn’t only about hiding money from the IRS. This was about laundering drug money. Noah hadn’t exactly lied to her. He’d told her the goal was to lure this guy with the overseas company but then extend their ties with the car dealerships. But she’d assumed this was to trap a major fraud ring, not some drug lord.
“You need to leave,” he repeated.
“No shit,” she muttered to herself. “Thanks. I have to go.” She’d been in the bathroom way too long.
“Shannon,” Maggie called out, “be safe.”
“I’m not you,” she said and ended the call. Okay, so she was a little peeved that Maggie hadn’t warned her about Noah. She’d call Maggie tonight and they’d kiss and make up like they always did. God only knew how many times Maggie had had her pacing the floor, worrying about the crap she’d g
otten herself in to.
She quickly checked her hair and reapplied her lipstick, then rushed back to the table. She’d just sat down, ignoring an assessing look from Noah, when the server arrived with their entrées. Dinner was more of the same conversation, only now that she knew exactly what it was Noah was after, rather who he was after, her skin crawled even more with every leer Miguel Santos tossed her way.
She should be royally mad. He hadn’t told her the whole truth, but what had she expected? Total honesty from a guy who’d blackmailed her into helping him take down a drug lord? Right.
When the waiter came and asked if she’d finished, she nodded and edged closer to Noah for her plate to be removed. Their arms brushed up against each other and for the briefest of moments she missed him, or missed what they’d once had. He used to make her feel things no else ever had and hadn’t since. Around him she wasn’t a pawn in someone’s game or the ticket out of the nuthouse or the bad influence on the preacher’s daughter. Besides Maggie, he was the only one who saw her as who she was, Shannon. Even Mrs. P had never known the real her. That had changed the moment he’d handcuffed her. Tonight only served to solidify the truth of it. She was yet again someone else’s pawn.
“Well, this was a very productive meeting,” Miguel Santos said.
God, she couldn’t believe she’d just had dinner with a drug lord.
“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing Noah and Damon, “I look forward to a lucrative association.” He stood, adjusted his shirt cuffs and buttoned his jacket.
The rest of the men joined him.
“And let me know when you find my car. I’ll fly out.” Miguel grinned as he reached forward to shake Noah’s hand, reminding Shannon of a twenties mobster: debonair, slicker than an oil spill, and twice as slimy.
Miguel Santos was an attractive man but cocky. He was the guy in the bar who never took no for an answer because he couldn’t imagine anyone saying no to him.
“Thank you, Ms. Lewis, for arranging this meeting.” He extended a hand to her as well. “If you don’t mind? A word in private?” he asked, failing to release her.
