Blood Money (Lone Star Mobster Book 3)

by Cynthia Rayne

  Plus, the Simon factor. She couldn’t start anything with Jasper until she’d shut Simon down for good. Although, it’s not like Jasper wanted to entertain the notion anyway.

  So, what’s the friggin’ point? Ugh.

  Vick felt like slapping somebody. When she got outside, Vick found a tall, lanky fellow propped against the hood of her car. Vick hesitated, wondering if Simon hired somebody to harass her, but the man pulled out a badge and flashed his FBI credentials.

  And then she remembered him from the other night— the cowboy from the strip club. She knew he’d been up to something.

  “Mornin’, Ms. Hale.”

  And he knows my name. Terrific. Could this day get any worse?

  Wait a second. Don’t tempt fate.

  “You have me at a disadvantage Mr.…?”

  “Hawthorne. Special Agent Jim Hawthorne, to be exact, but most folks call me Thorne.”

  Hmm.

  The name rang a bell. A couple months ago, Byron had a run-in with Hawthorne, but the agent had been lying low ever since, no doubt gathering evidence. Byron had mentioned it at a meeting and told them to keep an eye out for the fed.

  Hawthorne wore a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots, faded Levi’s, and a shiny silver belt buckle. Unlike most of the FBI agents she’d met, this one didn’t wear the requisite blue or black suit. Instead, Thorne had a buttoned-up black shirt and a silver cross around his throat.

  He looked to be in his early forties, judging by the gray hair at his temples and the lines carved into his forehead. A couple of days’ worth of stubble covered his square jaw. He was a real looker, in a rangy sort of way.

  And his eyes missed nothing. Thorne scanned her up and down, as though gathering info for his next report. There’s no telling what nasty thing he had in store for them, and the outfit had to be prepared.

  “You’re the new head of the organized crime unit out of Abilene, right?”

  “That’s right.” He smiled in an aw shucks kind of way, meant to disarm. “Byron Beauregard, tell you about me?”

  “Maybe. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s more like what I can do for you. Mind if I have a word?”

  Yup. Vick was up to her eyeballs in frustrating men and didn’t want to add another into the mix, but Vick had to know what he was up to.

  “About what?”

  “Your employer.”

  Yeah, like I said, awful day.

  Vick silently counted to ten as she tried to rein in her temper. The FBI must’ve figured her for the weakest link in the organization. So, they’d decided to put the screws to her, to get information.

  “Ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

  She pointed her key chain at the SUV and unlocked it, so she could shove her groceries inside. As soon as she got home, Vick would call Dix and spill every detail of the encounter.

  “Why don’t you hear me out at least?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Let me help you out then.” Before she could protest, he’d grabbed a couple sacks and stashed them in the backend. Vick felt like smacking his hands away but doubted it’d do much good. Together, they unloaded her buggy. As Hawthorne worked, he ran a hand along the trunk surface. Was he searching for hidden compartments?

  “Stop feelin’ up my car.”

  He shrugged. “Force of habit.”

  Yeah, right. When Vick got home, she’d do a sweep for bugs, in case he’d left a little something behind.

  After they finished, she shut the trunk with a loud thunk. Vick didn’t thank him for the assistance either since she hadn’t asked for any help.

  “You tryin’ to sweet talk me into helpin’ you, Agent Hawthorne?”

  “Why? Is it workin’?” He tilted his head to the side.

  Lord help me, the agent’s flirting. Hawthorne was a handsome man, and he knew it. From the time he’d hit puberty, Hawthorne had probably persuaded girls to do things his way, and they’d been happy to oblige him. Not Vick. She’d had enough of gorgeous, infuriating men to last her a couple of lifetimes.

  “No.”

  He snickered. “Then, I’m just bein’ neighborly.”

  “You ain’t my neighbor.” Vick swung the keys around her thumb. “Have a nice day. Bye.” Before she could round the corner, he caught her arm. Vick stared at his hand until he released it.

  “What’s a nice girl like you doin’ with a bunch of hardcore thugs?”

  “Which thugs?”

  “We both know you work for the Lone Star Mafia.”

  “Do we?”

  Vick could play dumb with the best of them. This wasn’t the first time she’d been harassed by an officer of the law.

  “Don’t play games with me. You won’t like where it leads.”

  “You started it.” She scowled. “Let me guess. Thought I’d go all weak-kneed over you? Then blurt out everything you wanna know?”

  “Well, I am easy on the eyes.” He rubbed his square jaw for effect.

  Vick had the sudden urge to assault a federal officer. She imagined punching him one, right in the kisser. It’d serve him right.

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, but the men I work with, aren’t exactly homely. It’s gonna take a lot more than a handsome face to throw me off my game.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “The kind I’m not at the liberty to divulge to a perfect stranger.”

  “That right?”

  She smirked. “Propriety information and such. You understand.”

  “Oh, I do.” He sneered at her. “And here I thought you were a good girl mixed up with some bad men.”

  Vick rolled her eyes.

  “Given your background and education, I figure you’re the tech expert, right? Searchin’ through databases to uncover all kinds of useful info?”

  Good guess. But she didn’t confirm or deny his suspicions.

  “Well, I learned a thing or two about you. You supported your brother after your mother died in a drunk driving accident. Didn’t she injure two other people in the wreck?”

  Vick clenched her teeth and didn’t reply.

  “Then you went to college on a mixture of scholarships and loans.” He folded his arms across his muscled chest. “But why didn’t you take a legit position? Workin’ for one of those Silicon Valley bigwigs?”

  “So, you’ve been Googlin’ me.” He hadn’t told her anything that wasn’t a matter of public record.

  “I have and a bit more. You ain’t the only one with computer skills. Why, we got a whole unit searchin’ for info. So, you see, it’s only a matter of time before we find somethin’. It’s why I came to you first. You’re the only halfway decent human bein’ among them. So, I figure, if we give anyone a deal, it should be you.”

  Vick didn’t take the bait. The agent might be trying to spook her into giving up details. Law enforcement loved to trip a person up with misleading information. This could be a huge fishing expedition for all she knew.

  “Hmph, you don’t say.”

  “From what I can tell, you haven’t killed anyone. You don’t have a record, although your brother’s been in and out of jail and rehab for drugs. Where is he now, by the way?”

  And now he’d gone too far. “None of your business.”

  “I see. And why’d your daddy leave?”

  “Don’t know.” She blanched. How the tables had turned. Usually, she was the one burrowing through someone’s past, looking for useful pressure points Dix could push. It put her job into perspective.

  “Ain’t surprised. From what I understand, you were a bitty thin’ when he up and disappeared. Bet your momma didn’t bring it up much.”

  “Are you finished? Because my ice cream’s meltin’.”

  She’d bought a few pints of Ben and Jerry’s. Usually, she shared the frozen treat with Jasper. Although, she’d be eating it by herself now, probably while watching a Lifetime movie and crying, like a freaking cliché.

  “Not quite yet. How do you know Simon Caldwell?�
�

  Her stomach clenched. The agent knew about Simon?

  “You been tailin’ me?”

  “Perhaps. What’s the nature of your association?”

  “The kind protected by the Bill of Rights. You can look it up under freedom of association.”

  “From what I’ve read, you’ve known him since college, right?”

  “How did you…?”

  “Like I said, we got a whole department.”

  “Isn’t that nice?”

  “See, we can’t find any payments.”

  He knows. “Payments?” Vick shut her eyes. She felt lightheaded, like she might pass out.

  “Simon was smart about it, but we do have several cash withdrawals which coincide with your little rendezvous. Was he your sugar daddy? That's how you paid off your college bills?”

  At least he hadn’t called her an escort. Although, wasn’t it nearly the same thing?

  “Bullseye.” He made a gun with his hand.

  “If you’re finished, I have to go.” She stomped over to the car door.

  Hawthorne followed her. “Hey, now, I understand. A beautiful girl like you has options. It’s the way of the world. So why are you seein’ him again?”

  She glared. “None of your darn business.”

  He whistled. “Gotta admire your fire. Knew I’d like you.”

  “The feelin’ ain’t mutual.”

  Hawthorne chuckled. “You should watch out for Simon, he’s a dangerous man. Then again, you seem to have a knack for findin’ those.”

  “He is?”

  His brows knitted. “You don’t know then…?”

  “Know what?” Vick felt like grabbing the agent by the shirt collar and shaking him until he spit it out. She’d had enough cat and mouse games, thank you very much.

  “Ain’t at liberty to comment. Unless you’d like to cooperate with me?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Fine, but I’ll give you a hint, since I’m such a good guy. If a person has the right connections and enough money, he can make a lot of problems go away.”

  Well, duh. But what the heck does it mean?

  “Byron Beauregard can tell you all about it.” His lips twisted. “Hmm. I’m bettin’ your employers wouldn’t be too happy about Simon. A situation like that could attract attention. What would happen if they found out?’

  “Are you threatenin’ me?”

  “Of course not. I’m an FBI agent, darlin’. I make promises, and I keep ‘em, too. Have yourself a good mornin’, Ms. Hale.” He tipped his hat and then ambled off.

  Well, somehow I managed to land in even deeper dog doo.

  Chapter Ten

  Please let this be short and to the point.

  After a terrible morning, Vick wanted to get back to the office so she could tap away on a keyboard in peace and quiet, but Byron had called an emergency meeting. Since she’d called Dix after her run-in with the agent, Vick guessed it was her own darn fault.

  Lone Star staff meetings were held at Jumbles which specialized in used merchandise. Personally, Vick was a Target girl, but the store was real popular with locals.

  Compared to the rest of the shops on the strip, Jumbles looked, well, junky. A black guitar lettered with the store name hung above the awning, which had seen better days. At one time it’d probably been white, but it’d faded to a rusty brown. Nearly everything in Texas got coated with prairie dust, and it had to be wiped off every so often.

  All the goods were piled up. One old bookcase held door knobs balanced on wooden slats. Two shelves had mismatched dishes—plates, cups, bowls, teacups, canisters, and other items were stacked precariously on top of one another. Vick worried she might bring it all smashing down by getting too close.

  On the wall, hung two old longhorn antlers and mirrors situated next to dusty, still life paintings. One unraveling straw basket contained a collection of what looked like old maps.

  This place brought out her OCD tendencies. Vick wanted to walk through the aisles with trash bags, tossing items in as she went.

  At the front counter, stood Moss Mosby. Back in his prime, he’d been a hitman, but now considered himself “retired.” He had thick salt and pepper hair, a trimmed beard, and full lips. Mossy was sixty-six years old, tall and still fit. He made it a point to walk three miles every day. This morning he wore a pair of ragged jeans, and a black V-neck shirt. A swirl of black ink adorned his clavicle. Around one of his wrists, he wore a leather cuff.

  “Hey there, darlin’.”

  “Hey, Mossy.” Vick attempted a smile.

  “Pretty thin’ like you should be out enjoyin’ yourself, not cooped up in a room with a bunch of ornery cusses.”

  Since Mossy was an old school gangster, he’d had trouble accepting a female member of the outfit. As far as Vick knew, she was the first. Though, she didn’t quite consider herself one of the fellas, she didn’t even have one of their telltale tattoos. All the members had a star tattoo flanked by a pair of pistols.

  “Aw, don’t worry about me none. I love spendin’ time with such a handsome assortment of men.”

  When all else failed, she turned on a touch of southern belle charm. In her experience, it got men all befuddled, until they forgot what they’d been going on about. Vick had learned the trick as a teenager, and it’d never failed her.

  As a cam girl, she’d managed men through a mixture of sass and flirtation. More than one client had told her he’d appreciated her backbone. Privately, she thought men liked women who put them in their place, albeit in a flirty, yet feisty fashion.

  While Mossy didn’t want her in the outfit, at least they agreed on the no cussing issue. Sitting next to Mossy at the counter was a tall Mason jar with the words “Curse Jar” painted on the front.

  Since his wife had died, he’d gotten some outlandish notions in his head. While she’d gone “upstairs,” Mossy was convinced he’d be headed to the other place. He’d stopped drinking, smoking, and swearing. He also fined other people for cursing, especially for taking the Lord’s name in vain.

  To placate him, Vick put a quarter in the curse jar.

  One brow lifted. “But you didn’t swear.”

  “Yeah, but I really wanted to this morning.” Vick kissed his cheek. “See you in a few.”

  Vick walked down the hall to the boardroom. She crossed to the sideboard and grabbed a cup of coffee. Unlike the junk shop out front, this space was pristine with a mahogany table and leather chairs. It looked like a meeting room in any other legit business, except for the star and two pistols which had been engraved in the center of the table.

  On the walls hung several spooky quotes. Vick supposed the menfolk liked to beat their chests.

  “Before all else, be armed,” by Machiavelli. “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt,” by Sun Tzu. “You can get much farther with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone,” by Al Capone.

  Unlike the Italian mafia, the Lone Star boys had a more fluid organizational structure. The members weren’t all connected by blood, though some people like the Beauregards were.

  Most potential Lone Star members offered themselves up as soldiers and worked their way up the ranks. Except for Vick, she’d taken her place without any grunt work. It literally paid to have a special skill set.

  She sat near the head of the table and snatched a butter pecan cupcake from the pink pastry box. Pastries were a tradition at their functions.

  Vick glanced around the room. Ten, Rebel, and Salty Mosley had already walked in.

  Salty was Mossy’s son and looked like a forgotten member of ZZ Top with his long, rusty-red beard and loud taste in fashion. Today, he wore a flame orange suit which made him look like a gigantic highlighter.

  Just then, Jasper strolled in the door. Vick’s gaze flew to her cupcake, and she studied the icing as though fascinated. He didn’t approach her, though, and Vick didn’t know whether she was grateful or pissed of
f.

  And this is why it doesn’t pay to fool around with co-workers.

  Jasper grabbed a seat on the opposite side of the table, and Rebel took the chair next to his. Rebel was in his late twenties with dark hair and eyes. He wore an ill-fitting Walmart sort of navy blue suit, but she’d take it over Salty’s getup any day.

  She slid a glance at Jasper, who opened his mouth, and then shook his head. They had a discussion coming, but she was glad to put it off, if only for a few more minutes.

  “Why’d you grow a beard?” Ten asked Salty.

  As per usual, the question had come flying out of nowhere. No one knew what kinds of things rattled around in his cryptic noggin. Vick didn’t spend much time with Ten, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  “Chicks dig the whiskers.” Salty stroked his facial hair.

  “Why?” Ten frowned.

  “Cuz, it tickles their sensitive skin.” His lips twitched.

  Gross.

  Ten frowned but didn’t comment further.

  Lord help me.

  Sometimes, she suffered from too much testosterone exposure. Working with a bunch of knuckle-dragging Neanderthals could be exhausting. Every now and again, she wished, the outfit had hired more women, if only because she needed reinforcements.

  Brax Beauregard, Hayden Swift, Colt Dawson, Will Butler, and Raleigh McCoy all filed in and took a seat. Byron and Dix were right behind them.

  Brax looked a lot like his big brother, only he didn’t have the mobster street cred. He’d recently gotten kicked out of school for petty theft and generally being a great big jerk. Vick wasn’t a fan of his either.

  “Okay then, let’s get this party started.” Byron sauntered to the front of the table and then went through the usual order of business—liquidity in the accounts, upcoming projects, and such. And then he rubbed his hands together. “Now for the real reason, we’ve assembled this mornin’. Vick had a run-in with our friend, Agent Hawthorne.”

  She could feel Jasper’s gaze like a weight on her shoulders, but Vick ignored him.

  “And since he’s popped up a couple of times, I think it’s fair to say we’ve got ourselves a problem.” Byron turned to her. “You’re gonna get up close and personal with him. Comb through every database you can sneak into and don’t stop diggin’ until you find some dirt.”