Death, Taxes, and Hot-Pink Leg Warmers
Page 30
I stepped into Nick’s office and closed the door behind me, leaning back against it. “I’m scared, Nick.”
He stood and walked over to me, putting a hand under my chin and forcing me to look up into his eyes. “It’ll be okay, Tara.”
“I’m not so sure.”
He pulled me to him, holding me tight. He ran a hand down my hair, grabbing my curls in his fist. “You’re Tara Holloway,” he said softly into my hair. “You always come out on top.”
“Are you talking metaphorically or about the sex last night?” Which had been mind-blowingly fantastic, by the way.
“Both,” he replied, flashing me a smile.
I glanced at the clock. “We better go. It won’t look good if I’m late for my hearing.”
We made our way to the conference room. The white-haired director of field operations sat on the far side of the table, along with an investigator from internal affairs and George Burton, the head of IRS Criminal Investigations who’d flown in from Washington, D.C., for the administrative review. Lu, who was down eighteen pounds and looking great, sat at the head of the table, nervously fidgeting with a pencil.
Merle was there to testify on my behalf, as was Christina. Aaron Menger was there, too, though given that he’d been unconscious at the time the relevant events took place, it was unclear whether his testimony would help or hurt me.
Unfortunately, the head of the SWAT team was also there. He’d been royally ticked off that I’d disobeyed his orders the night of the bust.
With so much at stake, I was beginning to wonder whether I should have hired an attorney to represent me. But surely the hearings officers would see that I did what I had to do, that my actions were to be expected under the stressful circumstances of that night.
Right?
The hearing began with the DFO asking me to detail the night of the bust.
I ran through the events, giving them a play-by-play. “The SWAT team wasn’t waiting in the parking lot as planned,” I told them, not wanting to disparage the officers but forced to explain why I did what I did. “While I was in the parking lot waiting for them to arrive, Merle called my cell phone. He told me that Aaron was on the floor unconscious and bleeding, that Nick was under attack, and that Christina had been drugged and dragged to the VIP room. I couldn’t simply sit there and do nothing. It was my duty to respond.”
I explained that the SWAT team didn’t arrive until I was already heading inside. I pointed out that I refrained from shooting Cyclops and only shot the three goons who had been attacking Nick. “I shot them in the foot to force them to back off,” I said. “I purposely took nonlethal shots.”
That showed restraint, didn’t it?
“I feared if I didn’t disable them, they’d turn on me and take my weapon.”
I testified that I’d found Christina in the VIP room covered with bite marks. “I didn’t shoot Prescott,” I told the men. No sense telling them I’d been planning to until Geils ran in with his gun. “When Donald Geils ran into the room with his gun aimed at me, I had no choice but to shoot him. But again, I delivered nonlethal shots even though a fatal response would have been justified.”
The DFO held up a document. “In the statement Don Geils gave to the police, he says you shot him in the leg three more times after he’d been wounded and after you’d retrieved his gun from the floor. Is that true?”
I felt my heart pick up its pace. “Yes, sir.”
“Why continue to fire your weapon, then?”
Because Don Geils deserved it.
Because he was an awful, evil, despicable man.
Because he’d put my partners at risk and I’d momentarily lost control.
“It was the heat of the moment,” I said. “He’d put my life and the lives of the other members of the team at risk.”
I would’ve been better off if I’d simply shot the guy in the head and put an end to him. There’s some irony for you.
The DFO glanced at the report again. “He says you didn’t fire the shots in rapid succession. He says you spoke to him between each shot.”
It was true. I was many things, but I was not a woman who would lie to save her own hide. Surely they’d respect that. “Yes, sir. I did.”
When they were done interrogating me, they questioned Aaron, Christina, and Nick, all of whom provided copies of their medical records to show the extent of their injuries.
Burton looked over Nick’s records. “Your injuries weren’t bad enough to require hospitalization?”
Nick glanced my way before turning back to Burton. “The doctor recommended I stay overnight, but I left against medical advice.”
Burton frowned at Nick. “The federal government provides good medical coverage. Next time you do what the doctors say.”
Nick ducked his head. “Yes, sir.”
Nick did his best to redeem me, telling the officers about the incident days earlier where I’d managed to take out a would-be murderer without firing my gun.
The men looked my way. “You threw a turkey at a hit man?”
I nodded, hoping they’d think me resourceful and quick-witted rather than insane.
Merle, too, came to my defense. “When I called Miss Holloway, I told her that Nick, Aaron, and Christina needed immediate help. Any delay could have cost them their lives.”
When the hearings officers were done questioning Merle, the SWAT commander offered his testimony. “I ordered Agent Holloway to wait outside the club. She directly disobeyed me even though we’d agreed at our planning meeting that I would be in charge of the raid. She ran into the club and the door closed behind her. We had to use the battering ram to get in, wasting precious time. Once I was inside I heard the shots she fired in the VIP room. Approximately four to five seconds elapsed between each shot.”
The DFO, investigator, and Burton exchanged glances, and I felt the warmth of adrenaline rush through me. What were they thinking?
When everyone finished testifying, we were dismissed from the room so the officers could deliberate my fate. At all of my previous hearings, my use of my weapons had been deemed justified and I’d received no formal punishment, not even a written reprimand. Surely the worst they’d do this time was send me to additional training or force me to attend anger-management classes.
Right?
I returned to my office and attempted to work on my other cases, but I was far too worried and distracted to get any real work done. After an hour, I walked to the break room, more to burn off nervous energy than for any real desire for refreshments. On my way, I saw Lu leave her office and head down the hall to the conference room. The hearings officers must have reached a decision.
Fifteen minutes later, my intercom buzzed. The Lobo’s voice came over the line. “Come on down here, Holloway.”
Nick looked up from across the hall. “Want me to come with you?”
I shook my head. Many people at the office knew Nick and I were dating, but I didn’t want to impress that upon the DFO and internal affairs. No sense letting them think I’d let my personal relationships affect my performance.
I hadn’t, had I?
I walked down the hall, feeling as if my legs had turned to noodles. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
All four faces looking at me bore stern expressions, though the Lobo’s eyes held a hint of compassion.
Lu held out her hand. “I’ll need your badge and your gun, Tara.”
The floor seemed to have shifted under my feet. I reached out to grab the back of a chair to steady myself. “Excuse me?”
“You’re fired.”
Find out what happens next to Tara Holloway in
Death, Taxes,
and Green Tea Ice Cream
Coming in October 2013 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks!
ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES
BY DIANE KELLY
Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure
Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte
Death, Taxes, an
d Extra-Hold Hairspray
Death, Taxes, and a Sequined Clutch (an e-original novella)
Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria
Death, Taxes, and Hot Pink Leg Warmers
About the Author
DIANE KELLY is a tax attorney by day, writer by night. A recipient of the 2009 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements, she has received more than two dozen RWA chapter awards. Diane’s fiction, tax and humor pieces have appeared in True Love magazine, Writer’s Digest Yearbook, Romance Writers Report, ByLine Magazine, and other publications.
For more information,
visit her Web site at www.dianekelly.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DEATH, TAXES, AND HOT PINK LEG WARMERS
Copyright © 2013 by Diane Kelly.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN: 9781466814776
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / June 2013
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.