Sex, Lies & Bourbon (Sex and Lies Book 5)

by Kris Calvert

  Powell placed readers on the tip of his nose and peered over them at me in between glancing at the paper in his hand. “Agent Grace, there’s been chatter.”

  It was worse than I thought. Agent to agent relationships were frowned upon at the New York Office and the last thing I needed was for my clandestine affair and even more private breakup with Win Holloway to come center stage at the office. It seemed as if it was going to unfold in front of my very eyes. I choked one word out, hoping to not sound guilty. “Yes?”

  “The Potenza family is branching out of New York, covering their money trail and laundering through legit businesses. They’re making it harder to track their activities.”

  I smiled and rocked on my heels with delight. “Yes, sir. That was in my report.”

  He nodded. “Don’t gloat Grace. You’re still on my shit list for putting another agent’s life at risk.”

  I nodded and took a deep breath.

  “Potenzas are buying up profitable businesses tucked away in smaller towns—using them as money laundering rings. They’re making offers owners can’t refuse. Winter Bourbon is on their list.”

  “Does Win know this?” Suddenly my relationship with Dickless Piece of Shit was no longer personal. He was business.

  “I don’t know,” Powell said with a sigh. “I think it’s best for you to get down to Kentucky, stick to him like glue and be on the lookout for any indication the business is about to be sold. If there’s any connection between this murder and the Potenzas I want to know. Murder is a slam dunk and I’ll take them down on anything I can get.”

  “Winter Bourbon? Sell out?” The shock in my voice was apparent.

  “Is that so hard to believe, Grace?”

  Bracing my hands on the back of the office chair, I looked to my feet and back to my boss. “That Bourbon business has been in his family for one hundred and fifty or so years. I don’t think they’d sell. And to Cosa Nostra? Surely Win’s too smart for that.”

  Powell’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath and exhaled with a resounding sigh, punctuating his frustration with me. “I don’t need you to tell me what you think, Agent Grace. I need you to go to Kentucky, stick to him like fucking glue and report back what you find. You’re a pain in my ass, but you’re the most thorough agent I have. Don’t fuck this up. For me or for you. Understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  My phone buzzed again. This time it was a text message from Dickless Piece of Shit.

  No need for you to travel middle seat in coach. My plane is taking off from Teterboro at 2. There’s plenty of room.

  “Now,” Powell began. “See my secretary for travel arrangements. I want you in Kentucky tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pulling the phone from my pocket, I replied with one word and whispered three.

  Okay.

  “God help me.”

  3

  WIN

  My cell rang for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Yes?” I asked, my tone filled with exasperation.

  “It’s me.” Lena sniffed on the other end, her voice cracking with each word. “I was wondering if you knew what time you were leaving the city.”

  “I’m packing now. I have confirmation that we’re wheels up at two, a car will be waiting in Lexington. I’ll call as soon as I land. At that point I’ll be a half an hour away. How are you holding up?”

  “Packing? C’mon Win. You’re stalling. Everything you need is here—at home.”

  “Lena, I know you’re upset. I am too.”

  “No, you’re not, Win. You’re not,” she sobbed.

  I let out a heavy sigh, wanting to disagree with her, but she had me dead to rights and we both knew it. Still, I did my best to convince her I wasn’t taking my time finding my way to Kentucky. “I’ll be home soon. Try to hang on until I can get there—until I can get to you.”

  “It’s weird thinking that it’s just us now. You know? It’s just you and me.”

  “We still have Cee Cee. Speaking of—”

  “Cee Cee’s fine—stoic. He’s grumpy but handling everything like the gentleman he is.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed as I sat on my bed and stared at the photograph of my mother with my grandfather and me. It had been twenty-three years, and I still missed everything about her. “Well, he’s ninety-something Lena. When I’m his age I’ll probably be cantankerous too.”

  Lena scoffed at me. “When you’re his age? You’re the grumpiest thirty-two-year-old man I know, Win.”

  “I’m almost thirty-three.”

  She said nothing, and the ten seconds of awkward silence gave me pause. I felt guilty for not taking better care of my little sister. My hatred for my father had nothing to do with Lena, and yet she was collateral damage in the wake of our dysfunctional family in more ways than one.

  “Whatever Win.”

  “Okay, well…I love you…butthead.”

  “I love you too, doofus,” she whispered.

  “Snot bubble.”

  “Poop face.”

  Our usual juvenile name calling surfaced and I smiled for the first time in as long as I could remember. “Asshat,” I continued.

  “Dick licker.” She giggled the words through her obvious tears.

  “There she is,” I whispered into the phone. “There’s the sister I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

  I could hear her exhale on the other end and I hoped I’d settled her down, at least for the time being. When I would hug her for the first time in over a year, the tears would come—and not all of them hers.

  Lena as a child huddled in the corner, head resting on her knees with a blanket covering her tiny frame was the image that haunted me when I went away to boarding school at ten. My sister was sick and I was leaving her behind. We were two kids stuck in the middle of nowhere with a father who didn’t give a shit about anything but himself. He cared about money—not family. Still, I’d held the guilt of her mental illness close to my heart. She wouldn’t hurt a flea and used humor as a way to disguise her pain—but I often worried she would hurt herself.

  “Just come home, Skittle Tits.” Her voice cracked as she struggled to get the words beyond her mixed emotions.

  “You know, just the other day I was thinking of what to name my firstborn.” I waited for her reply, hoping my teary-eyed sister would hang up with a smile. Even if it would prove to be temporary. “Skittle Tits?”

  “It has a nice ring to it,” she sighed. “Skittle Tits Holloway.”

  “I’ll be home before you know it, Lena. We’ll figure everything out together, okay?”

  “See you soon…Phlegm-wad.”

  I looked to my watch and waited for Ginny to board the Gulfstream 650. She’d been on the plane before, so there was no need to explain to her where on the tarmac she would find the jet. It was emblazoned with a gold W—the same emblem on every bottle of Winter Bourbon. The distillery used it for corporate events, but since I was one fourth of the business, I used it whenever I wanted. That included weekend getaways when Ginny and I first met and fell hard for each other. She was the first and last woman I’d ever brought on the plane.

  Together for a year, I never knew my life could be so full of love and joy until Ginny. I’d limped along through relationships that were superficial and filled with sex but no emotion. It wasn’t until after she was gone I realized how lonely I’d always been. I was empty before her, but after, I was a bottomless pit.

  My head was muddled with guilt, grief and anxiety. I was going home—again. A place I avoided like the plague. I’d only returned for a few holidays, to see Lena when she crashed again in college and when Cee Cee forced me to deal with bourbon business. I’d gone from Columbia to law school and the Academy—something my dad really hated. It only made joining the FBI more appealing to me.

  I couldn’t believe Ginny was assigned to the case and coming home with me. I’d done everything in my power to stay away from her since the break up and here she was, right in th
e middle of everything I’d promised myself I’d keep her from. I was crazy in love with Virginia Grace—so much so, I let her go. With my emotions running high, I didn’t know if I was capable of being in her presence without my heart spilling wide open, exposing myself as a fraud.

  I fell in love with the feisty brunette from Kentucky with the lanky legs and knack for being a know-it-all the old fashioned way—by chance. We ran into each other at a local eatery on the outskirts of Quantico—literally. Toppling her tray filled with a salad and bottled water with my big elbows, my double cheeseburger and Cajun fries collided with her healthy food. Only when I likened the union of the dinner at our feet to Christian women in a whorehouse did I get her to finally smile. She was the smartest person I’d ever met—not to mention the prettiest. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Ginny Grace saw through me the moment we met, not taking any of my antics seriously. I had to work for her love and trust. I had to earn it and I adored every moment of proving myself to her. When she finally gave into our attraction, I knew I was had.

  I needed Ginny. I couldn’t be without her. I found myself planning our lives together long term and it scared the shit out of me knowing being with me meant dealing with my family. When my father called to tell me he knew I’d been home, he asked about the young woman I’d brought to Winter Haven. Did I plan on marrying her? Pissed off and full of righteous indignation I told him that as a matter of fact I did love her and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Ginny. He was quick to let me know I would be disinherited and kept from Lena forever. That girl as he referred to her, was forbidden. She was off limits. Don’t make me take care of this, he’d threatened.

  Ginny didn’t come from money, she came from working class stock, her father an FBI agent himself. In my father’s eyes, she couldn’t be associated with me or our family—our crazy-fucked-up-beyond-belief family. It wasn’t that I was afraid of losing the money—I didn’t give a damn about the money. He would keep me from Lena and do everything in his power to make my life, and Ginny’s, a living hell. I’d seen what he could do to a person. I refused to allow Ginny to fall prey to him. Ginny deserved happiness, not dysfunction and deceit. It wasn’t fair to set her up for a life of misery.

  I ended our relationship abruptly and without warning. She was crushed and I fell into a deep depression. Drowning my sorrows in a string of meaningless one night stands and women at the Bureau, I purposely made our break up even worse, guaranteeing she’d never want to be with me again. It was self-sabotage and it worked like a charm—a twisted, screwed-up charm.

  “Welcome back, Miss Grace,” I heard the flight attendant say down the open staircase. I straightened myself in the seat and took another sip of bourbon. My third shot on an empty stomach in less than a half an hour, I was feeling no pain. Between going home and facing Ginny, I needed to numb my emotions. I only hoped I’d not lowered my inhibitions to the point of stupidity or worse, honesty.

  Making the turn into the main cabin, she breezed through the plane like a breath of fresh air. Virginia Grace was exactly that—grace personified. It was clever camouflage—a gun-toting, deadly weapon disguised as a beautiful woman. She was everything I’d ever wanted—smart, sexy, lethal with a gun and in the bedroom. I loved her kindness and I loved her ability to put others at ease—something a Southern girl knew all too well how to do. Reminding me so much of my mother, she worked on me like a back alley voodoo love potion. I was out of control and head over heels from the moment I laid eyes on her. When she opened her sweet, sassy mouth, I was done.

  After the breakup I’d learned to turn off my emotions. I was a stone wall of narcissism as one woman had called me, but seeing Ginny’s flushed face and tousled brown hair brought it all back—every taste, every touch, every single heart-stopping feeling.

  I eyed her from head to toe without thinking, and admired the long legs I used to wrap around my body for hours on end. Her conservative navy pinstriped pants and jacket were useless at disguising her exquisite specimen of a body—the oxford shirt barely holding her come lay your head on me cleavage at bay. Still, I played it off as best I could, giving her an innocuous nod. “Virginia Grace.”

  With zero emotion she replied. “Win.”

  Taking the seat behind and not across from me at the table I sighed, knowing I deserved every bit of the cold shoulder she intended to bestow upon me.

  I wanted to flip the switch at the bottom of my seat and swivel the chair to meet her head on. I could be my old charming self and possibly make her smile. I wanted to look into the dark brown eyes that always made me feel like I was something special. I wanted to hold her in my arms and have her lovingly caress my face like she had so many times before, following the hours of exhausting and glorious lovemaking. But now Ginny was purely a fantasy, the one I held in my head each time I had sex with another woman. In my mind it was her—it was always her. Ginny Grace was now merely a cruel illusion and no longer my reality.

  Seeing her again only reinforced the anguish I’d felt from the moment I broke up with her. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, saying goodbye to Ginny. When I told her I wanted out of our relationship I did more than end it—I bold face lied. Now I wasn’t merely lonely, I was forced to act out a charade. My acting skills weren’t up to the task of pretending I didn’t love her with all my heart.

  I downed my last sip of bourbon and the flight attendant rushed to take my empty glass.

  “We’ve been cleared for take off, sir.”

  I buckled my seatbelt. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

  “Can I get you anything, Miss Grace?” she asked, looking over my shoulder.

  “No. Thank you.”

  Just the sound of her voice calmed me. Closing my eyes, I leaned back in my chair as the plane taxied. Inhaling, the sweet smell of her perfume wafted up to me. I let out an audible sigh and wondered if she had any idea what she was doing to me.

  I missed sharing everything with Ginny. She was the first, last and only person I could just talk to, and we talked about everything—our hopes, our dreams, our futures as agents. She’d told me once I was the only person besides her brother she could speak with about her parents.

  Her mother died of cancer when Ginny was in high school; her father killed in a car accident on a highway in Kentucky when she was only four. She and her brother were raised by her aunt and grandparents in Lexington.

  I told her of the night my mother died—something I never discussed with anyone. What struck me most about Ginny was her ability to parse out what could be judged and what couldn’t. She never judged me for not wanting to be with my family, but was critical when I wouldn’t participate in family events for the sake of my sister. She brought out the best in me and I threw it all away. On purpose. She was too good for me—too good to be a Holloway—a fact I needed to remind myself of now that we would be spending time together.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  Her voice was soft, but still I could hear it over the roar of the airplane’s engines. Unbuckling myself, I stood and walked to the seat across the aisle from her. Between the booze and the flood of emotion I’d ridden like a tidal wave all day, just seeing her again caused me to tear up. I swallowed hard and ran everything I wanted to say to her through my head. None of it seemed adequate.

  She stared through me with her dark eyes and I had to look away. The temptation to do and say things I shouldn’t was overwhelming. She was like a priceless jewel and I a thief. I wanted to kiss her, but I had no right. She wasn’t mine—not anymore. Still the notion tugged at me—pulled at my heart and controlled me like the moon ruled the ocean tide.

  Resting my face in my hand, I stared out the window as the city below became a distant memory, holding my emotions in my throat like a pill that refused go down.

  “Hey,” she said now kneeling at the side of my chair. “Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t look at her. If I did every emotion, every frustration I’d had for the last year without
her would rush out and wash her away. I needed to be strong. I needed to hold on for as long as it took to make it through the burial of my father so I could get back to my life without her—my cold, controlled, lonely life.

  “Thanks for the fancy ride home,” she said when I didn’t answer. Standing, she took the seat across from me on the couch. “This is much better than—”

  “Much better than what?” I asked, pulling my sad-sack face from the window to look at her. My deceitful ruse was merely my deepest desire wrapped in a blanket of indifference.

  “Nothing. I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “How is Lena holding up?” she asked. “Have you spoken with her?”

  I nodded, thinking back to my sister’s distraught voice on the phone two hours earlier. There was nothing about this trip that was going to be easy.

  “Look, I’ve got a bunch of stuff to go over, so I’m just going to leave you alone,” she said.

  In my twisted mind, I longed for her to tell me she still wanted me—even after everything I’d put her through—everything I’d put us through.

  The bourbon buzz in my head disarmed the filter on my mouth and the phrase tumbled out easily and honestly. “I don’t want to be alone.” I whispered the words as if saying them somewhere between my thoughts and out loud would make it less true. Dropping my face into my hands to hide my emotion, I loathed myself for so many reasons. “Jesus.”

  “Hey.”

  Her hand was soft and cool on my wrist and I relinquished my position without a second thought, standing and taking her with me. Holding her inside my arms, I squeezed as tight as I could without hurting her.

  “Shhhh,” she whispered.

  Burying my face in the soft brown hair that covered her shoulder, I pulled her even tighter. Ginny was the one woman who really knew me. The fact that she was in my arms when I needed her most could only be chalked up to divine intervention.