Undercover with the Heiress

by Nan Dixon

  Gonzalez? His body went on alert. Gonzalez family members were lieutenants in the Salvez cartel. The father, Jose, had worked his way up to underboss. Was it possible cartel members were in the Fitzgerald House ballroom celebrating?

  He touched the gun under his shirt. He couldn’t overlook the possibility that Hector Salvez might be upstairs with Heather Bole. His heart pounded.

  Kaden slid away from the table. “Excuse me.”

  Stepping next to Abby, he whispered, “Nigel said one of my jobs will be to set up for events. Do you mind if I peek into the ballroom?”

  Her reddish-blond eyebrows snapped together. “Sure.”

  “Third floor?”

  She nodded.

  “Let me take you up,” Cheryl volunteered. “I can see how things are going.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cheryl led him to a back stairway. As they neared the third floor, she asked, “Does this have to do with Issy?”

  What could he reveal? “Gonzalez is a name associated with the case. It’s a long shot, but it’s possible Salvez, Bole’s partner, is here.”

  Cheryl swallowed. “Do you think Heather is here?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  In the service hallway, trays of stainless steel covers and dirty dishes were neatly stacked on carts. The muffled clinking of silverware and the hum of voices came through the door. “How many guests?”

  “The estimate was one hundred.” She swung open the door.

  “Will I be able to see most of them from here?”

  “About half. We can stop here and then go around to the ballroom doors.”

  Stepping inside, he scanned the ballroom, looking for any of the faces he’d memorized from the Mexican cartels operating in Georgia. He didn’t recognize anyone. And no sign of Bole, either.

  “Let’s check from the entrance,” he said.

  The main doors were open. And at least one man looked familiar.

  There were two tables of adults near the back, with two older men at each table. No one noticed as he zoomed in with his phone camera.

  “That’s all I needed.”

  Now he had to wait to see the actual photos. And he wasn’t good at waiting.

  * * *

  COURTNEY SWIRLED HER GLASS, but her margarita was gone. The glass clinked as she set it on the courtyard table.

  Look what her life had come to. She couldn’t remember ever drinking alone. All because of dear old Dad. Gray insisted she be ready to work at seven thirty—in the morning. Back home she wouldn’t get up until nine or later.

  She missed her friends, missed Boston and missed a home where she didn’t have to think about getting up at dawn. “Damn it! Why is my life so screwed up?”

  Footsteps echoed along the path. They stopped on the other side of the hedge and a hand reached through. A deep voice asked, “Everything all right?”

  The handyman.

  “Just...getting away from the lovebirds.” She jerked her head up to Gray and Abby’s window.

  Kaden came around the plants and scanned the area. “Were you talking...to yourself?”

  Here was someone to take her mind off her troubles. The soft lighting in Bess’s garden set a seductive mood. It barely lit her quarry, the hot Mr. Kaden Farrell.

  She shook her hair so it cascaded over one shoulder. She excelled at wrapping men around her finger. “My life is in a bit of an upheaval right now.”

  His eyebrows lowered. “That’s hard to imagine.”

  She moved closer, swinging her hips. “I’m bored. I don’t suppose you know of any nightclubs or someplace we could have some fun?”

  She set her hand on his chest. His muscles bunched under her fingers. She smoothed her hand up to his shoulder. Nice.

  “I don’t have fun.” He caught her hand and pushed it away.

  She stumbled into his body and looked up into his icy blue eyes.

  His gaze flicked down to her lips and stayed there.

  Her stomach fluttered. The hum of attraction was so much nicer than wallowing about having to work for Gray. She licked her upper lip. His nostrils flared. She stood on her toes so he wouldn’t have to bend too low to kiss her.

  He stepped back. “Stop.”

  Kaden was rejecting her? A handyman? She wanted to curl into a ball and hide. Instead, she whispered, “Stop?”

  “I’m not here to entertain you.” He set a heavy hand on her shoulder, keeping her from moving closer.

  “But we could... You’re a long way from Atlanta. Don’t you want...” Me? She never stumbled and stammered.

  “It’s late and I need to...rest.”

  He was making excuses? This couldn’t be happening. A handyman!

  “No one ignores me,” she whispered. Louder, she snapped, “Just...just...stay out of my way.”

  He pointed at her. “You’ve got it.”

  A man had never looked at her with that kind of...animosity. The bushes rustled as he stomped away.

  She slumped against the nearby palm tree. Why was her life out of control? She’d been ready to kiss him, and he’d shut her down.

  The jerk! No man did that. Not to her. Somehow, she would figure out how to bring Mr. Kaden Farrell to heel.

  And then she would treat him like the dog he was.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KADEN WHEELED HIS bag around the spot where Courtney had come on to him. Unbelievable. Just one more reason to ignore the way his body reacted to her.

  Courtney was bored.

  He was not here to distract a spoiled rich girl, even if she was gorgeous.

  Hell. He’d almost kissed Courtney. She’d pressed up on her toes and her lush lips had been a whisper away.

  He didn’t need a distraction like her. This undercover assignment was too important. He needed 100 percent of his energy focused on capturing Heather Bole. That meant ignoring Courtney.

  He used the key Abby had given him to unlock the carriage house side door. The lock was so flimsy, he could have opened it with his credit card.

  After trucking his bags upstairs and down the hall, he unlocked another flimsy lock. Home for the next little while.

  The B and B’s cleaning crew had been through the apartment. Everything was spotless and smelled clean—not bleach, but something tangy.

  Granddad had been thrilled Kaden was helping at the B and B. He wanted Kaden to take care of the Fitzgeralds. And he no longer felt guilty about occupying a Carleton House guest room.

  After unpacking, he set his computer on the kitchen table. As much as he would like to use the second bedroom as an office, the pink mural would be too distracting.

  He opened the file of pictures he’d taken last night. Zooming in, he focused on scars and visible tattoos, trying to match the faces with known drug dealers or cartel members. Nothing.

  But he forwarded the file to the team. They could run the pictures against their database, just in case his memory was failing him.

  He rolled his neck and the vertebrae cracked. He’d visited his grandfather. Packed and moved. Checked faces. Now what? He always had a backlog of tasks needing his attention at the Bureau. This not working was...unsettling.

  Time to check on what Abby needed.

  He headed down the stairs. Muffled voices and hammer strikes echoed through the wall. Nathan’s crew was working on the restaurant.

  Curious, he headed around the building and ducked through the open door. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim light, he waited. Nathan and three men walked a frame into place on the wall that looked out to the courtyard.

  “Be with you in a minute,” Nathan grunted as they shifted, leveled and added shims.

  Kaden relaxed as Nathan’s team worked together. Screw guns squealed. Then
they set glass doors into tracks in the framing.

  “Got this?” Nathan asked one of the crew.

  “Yup,” the man drawled.

  Nathan swiped off his hat, pushed back his hair and jammed his cap back on. Then he headed to where Kaden leaned against a pillar.

  “Great idea, having windows looking into the courtyard.” Kaden nodded at the windows. “People will love looking out while they eat.”

  “Abby can open them, too.” Nathan took a slug of water and splashed some on his neck. “And Bess is extending the patio, so there can be outdoor seating. It was Nigel’s idea.”

  “My grandfather’s?”

  “Yes.” Nathan stared at him. “But I doubt you came by to talk about Abby’s patio windows,” he whispered. “Anything pop in the photos you took?”

  “No.” Kaden kept his voice low. “I didn’t recognize anyone, but I sent the photos to the team.”

  “Good.”

  The crew laughed, opening and closing the windows.

  Nathan called over, “Guys, there’s another set of doors to install.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” someone hollered.

  “Anything you need?” Nathan asked.

  Kaden jerked his head to the ceiling. “I’ve moved in.”

  “That’s a relief.” Nathan’s shoulders relaxed a little.

  “Are you replacing the locks on the exterior door and apartment?” Kaden asked.

  Nathan frowned. “Why?”

  “Flimsy. I could open them with a credit card.” And if he could, any felon would know the trick.

  “I’ll take a look,” Nathan said.

  Kaden waved his hand. “What kind of security is going in the restaurant?”

  Nathan’s knees popped as he stood up. “I can show you the plans.”

  “Thanks,” Kaden said. “I’d also like to add cameras around the B and B.”

  “You really think Heather will show up?” Nathan’s hands formed fists.

  He hoped not. Not with the company she was keeping. Everywhere Salvez went, he left a trail of bodies. “If she does, I want to be forewarned.”

  Nathan’s tan face paled. “I’ll do what’s necessary to keep Issy safe.”

  Kaden clasped his shoulder. “Is there some way to ensure Abby and her sisters don’t get suspicious if I add extra cameras?”

  Nathan paced. “I’ll...figure out something to tell them.”

  “FBI will provide the cameras and software. I’ll place the equipment. Can you tell Abby I’ve done security installations in Atlanta?”

  “Sure.”

  Kaden left Nathan and headed across the courtyard to the Fitzgerald House kitchen, already creating an inventory of the equipment he needed. Roger should be able to overnight what was required unless he wanted Kaden to tap the Savannah department. He snorted. Not a chance. His boss wanted Kaden’s presence in Savannah kept quiet.

  He knocked on the door and stepped into a heavenly smelling kitchen. He picked out BBQ, sugar, spices and something earthy.

  Abby sat at the table with an open notebook. “Did you get settled?”

  He nodded. “Not much to unpack.”

  She put down her pen. “What can I do for you?”

  “Can you let me know what my granddad was working on?”

  “Absolutely.” Her green eyes lit up. “Let me show you Nigel’s system.”

  She moved to a set of cubbyholes next to the back door and pulled out a wad of paper. “We leave notes for Nigel here. He has a workshop in the first basement.”

  Kaden followed Abby down the stairs and waited for her to open the room. A table saw occupied the corner. Along the wall, batteries charged next to electric drills and screwdrivers. Even through the scent of sawed wood, he caught a hint of Granddad’s aftershave, that odd combination of sandalwood, ambergris and verbena. Calm swept over him like a hug.

  Above a counter, tools hung in their pegboard outlines. The shelving held various wood trims and paint cans labeled in his granddad’s bold print. He picked up a can—Julia Grant. The next was labeled Rosalynn Carter. He frowned. “What are these?”

  Abby laughed. “My mama named the Fitzgerald House rooms after presidents’ wives. My sisters and I named Carleton House rooms after Savannah squares.”

  “Right.” He set the can back on the shelf.

  “You’ll need a master key card. It will open all the rooms in Fitzgerald and Carleton Houses.” Abby made a note on the tablet she always carried. “I’ll get those.”

  “Thanks.” He stroked a finger down an ornate gilded picture frame set in a vise.

  “Nigel was repairing that.” Abby stepped next to the worktable. “I don’t know what we’ll do without him around.”

  “I know what you mean.” He checked the bulletin board.

  Paint J Kennedy bathroom

  Clean gutters FH CH

  Reorg Bess’s storage

  Okay. He might have to check with Granddad on some of these. But cleaning the gutters gave him a chance to check for camera angles.

  Abby straightened her shoulders. “Let’s get you set up.”

  In the kitchen, he sorted through the notes in Granddad’s box. Kaden had worried about not having enough work? Problem solved.

  * * *

  “DID YOU CALL the plumber?” Gray called to Courtney from his office. “I need confirmation he’ll meet me this afternoon at two.”

  “Not yet.” She rolled her eyes, not that her brother could see.

  Courtney sat at a small desk in Gray and Abby’s sitting area. She flicked a finger at the printout of people to contact. He’d only given it to her thirty minutes ago. Her plan was to get through the day with minimal effort.

  “I need to know they’re coming,” Gray called to her.

  Channeling Christina Applegate in Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead, she lied, “I’m on it.”

  She turned back to her phone and glared at Gwen’s Facebook feed. Her BFF had posted a ton of party pictures. Gavin, the man who for the last month had begged Courtney for a date, had his arm wrapped around Gwen’s shoulders.

  Courtney gritted her teeth. How could Gwen? Courtney had refused to date Gavin. His family was on the fringe of their social group. Gwen should have respected the rules they’d set on who they would date.

  When she opened Instagram, more pics of Gavin and Gwen filled her feed. Her BFF hadn’t even called for advice. Courtney would have told Gwen “hands off.” She closed the app. Gwen and Gavin deserved each other.

  Picking up Gray’s list, she looked at all the people she had to call. Sucking in a breath, she dialed the first contact and waited until a man answered. “Hi, I’m calling for Gray Smythe. He wants to confirm that you’ll be at—” she rattled off the office address written on the top of the page “—this afternoon at two.”

  “This afternoon? Are you sure?” the man asked. There was a rustle on the other end of the phone. “I’ve got the walk-through scheduled for...next week.”

  “Gray wants you there today,” Courtney said.

  “I guess I can be there, once I shuffle some jobs.”

  She then confirmed that all the vendors on the list would arrive in the afternoon.

  “Done,” she called to her brother.

  Next she tackled boxing up the files Gray was moving to his new offices. Abby and Gray really needed servants to handle menial tasks.

  She pulled open the first case and grabbed a stack of files. How much money was she making for each handful? She grabbed another and the file case tipped. She bumped the drawer closed with her hip, opened the next drawer and unloaded half of the files.

  “I’m out of boxes,” she said to Gray from his office doorway.

  Gray didn’t glance up from his co
mputer. “There’s a case next to the bookshelf.”

  She headed back to the sitting area. “Not here.”

  “You have to put the boxes together.”

  Courtney knelt, not an easy feat in her sheath dress. She hadn’t brought clothes for this kind of activity. She ripped off the plastic wrap, then pulled out white and blue pieces of cardboard. The instructions were simple. All she needed to do was pull up flaps and fold things in.

  She tugged, folded, manipulated and...voilà—a box. She grinned. “Not so hard.”

  Next was the lid. Slot A fitted into hole B. Easy peasy. This wasn’t as hard as trying to find the perfect lipstick. She could do this.

  Bringing over her first completed box, she pulled open another file drawer. After she’d tossed in the files, she grabbed the box through the handles she’d punched out. Lift with your legs.

  Cardboard screeched against cardboard. Files and papers spilled out the bottom. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  “What?” Gray yelled.

  “Nothing.” She sank to the floor. Riiipp. The back seam of her beautiful dress gave way. “Damn it, damn it.”

  “What the hell is going on out here?” Her brother glowered from the doorway.

  “I ripped my dress!”

  “Your dress?” He pointed at the mess on the floor. “What about my files?”

  “The box was defective.” She kicked it.

  Gray stomped over and picked up the box. With a few quick moves, he reassembled the box and handed it to her. “You have to pull up the bottom to make the base.”

  “I followed the directions.” Hadn’t she?

  He rolled his eyes and assembled two more boxes. “Can you handle the lids?”

  “Yes.” She yanked the last box out of his hand. “I have to change first.”

  “Wear something more...appropriate.”

  Courtney stomped downstairs and flung herself on her bed. This was her normal daywear. A nice dress, in case she stopped for lunch or drinks. Was she supposed to take her fashion cues from the Fitzgeralds? If so, she’d be wearing shorts and tank tops.

  Give her a cocktail party or a fund-raiser. That was her milieu. Not filing or making phone calls. Well, phone calls she could handle. But it grated on her nerves to have Gray telling her what to do.