Cat

by Carolina Mac

  Annie smiled. “Doesn’t matter where we are in our relationship, cowboy. I love you and you love me and that’s what counts in the end.”

  Jesse gave his keys to the valet when they arrived and escorted Annie inside. “Still chilly out there. I’ll be glad when we get some warm spring weather.”

  The hostess seated them, and Jesse ordered drinks. “How was your job in San Antone?”

  “Not great. I had trouble.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She shook her black mane of hair. “I’d rather not. I’ve been on a downer and I want to shake it off and have fun with you.”

  Jesse grinned. “Okay, let’s go with the fantasy that I’m a fun guy.”

  “Hey, that’s not a fantasy. You can be fun.”

  “I haven’t been fun lately, in anybody’s book,” said Jesse. “And I’ve been a total failure in your bed. I have trouble getting my head around that little stumbling block. It’s my worst nightmare.”

  “I love you anyway. Don’t brood about it.”

  “Can’t help it. On another note, I was thinking as soon as it warmed up enough for Charity to be outside, we could start planning some outings with the kids… like the zoo, and the park… and picnics and things like that.”

  “We should take the three of them to Disney for a week,” said Annie. “It’s warm in Florida, and we’d take Tyler of course. He wouldn’t want to miss seeing Charity with Minnie Mouse.”

  Jesse grinned. “Best idea yet. I’ll run it by Ty when I get home.”

  I-35 South.

  MRS. BROMWELL seemed like she wanted to help,” said Farrell as they drove out of Dallas. “She doesn’t think Reg was a thief. If he wasn’t, how do you explain the money? Did his brother give him back his investment voluntarily? Did Reg steal from the casino? Did he get the money from some other source? We’re talking a lot more money now… the money in the duffel plus the big check sitting in Mrs. Bromwell’s bank account.”

  “Don’t know what to think, bro. But if Reg got it all from one source that’s two and a quarter mil. I can see why the owner of the money is pissed.”

  “What’s next. How can we find out whose money it is?”

  “I’ll have to try our secret weapon,” said Blaine. “She’s all we’ve got left.”

  “Misty?”

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  CARM made chicken fried steak for dinner and Blaine could barely move when he was finished. “That was so good. I ate too much. I’m gonna blow up, Carmelita.”

  Carm giggled as she cleared the table.

  Misty stood up to help Carm and Blaine took her hand. “I want to ask you something, sweetheart.”

  “Do you need me to help you?”

  “Would you? Could you? I’ve been asking a lot lately, and I don’t like doing that. I know how it tires you out and drains all of your energy.”

  “What do you need?”

  “We need to go to the evidence locker, and I need you to touch some money.”

  “The money that was buried in the woods at Barton Wilderness?”

  “Yeah, that money.”

  “Oh, I thought you knew who the money belonged to,” said Misty. “You didn’t mention that you didn’t know.”

  “You sound like you do know,” said Blaine.

  “Harry Bromwell,” said Misty. “I saw the bag in my mind with a label right across it in yellow. Harry Bromwell.”

  “Fuck,” said Farrell, glaring at Misty. “You knew the whole fuckin time?”

  Blaine held up a hand. “We never asked her who owned the money, Farrell, only where it was.”

  “She could have added the name of the owner,” said Farrell, “just for fun.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Misty. “You never asked me that.”

  “I never did,” said Blaine. “Not your fault.”

  AFTER everyone had gone to bed and the house was quiet, Blaine headed into his office and closed the door. He booted up his desk top and Googled Harry Bromwell.

  A casino owner in Vegas came up and Blaine dug deeper. Yes, Harry Bromwell had a brother, Reginald, who was an attorney in Austin, Texas. The deeper he dug, the worse it got. Harry had bad friends—friends connected to more bad friends. It was possible that Reg had stolen mob money and those wise guys fuckin hate that.

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE soaked for a half hour in a French Vanilla bubble bath before bed and planned her strategy against Dougie the Dog. Her mission wouldn’t be over until the Dog was buried like a dog bone in the backyard.

  It was almost midnight when she slipped into bed and turned out the light. Her phone signaled a message and she groped for it in the dark.

  “Good night, girl. I’m thinking about you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Friday, January 30th.

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  AT BREAKFAST, Blaine told Farrell about Harry Bromwell, and his connections.

  Farrell frowned, “Okay, casino guy, and I can see where he could be mixed up with some heavy hitters, but would he send people to torture and kill his own brother?”

  Blaine shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that, but I’m trying to get us on a flight. I’m busy most of the day. It’ll have to be later.”

  “Can’t say I’m anxious to brace mobsters,” said Farrell. Then he grinned. “I better have another coffee.”

  The Capitol Building. Austin.

  BLAINE DRESSED for a day at the Capitol in clothes he wasn’t comfortable in and avoided wearing whenever possible—black Armani slacks, a dark purple silk shirt and a fitted leather jacket. He removed the tag from a black silk tie he’d never worn and shoved it into his pocket in case he was forced to wear one. He fiddled with his long hair, brushed it twice, tried it tied back in an elastic, thought he looked like a fuckin dork, then cursed and left it down long. A splash of cologne and he was ready.

  Goddammit, I didn’t tell Cat I was meeting her for lunch in her office before the big meeting.

  He grabbed his cell and pressed her contact number.

  “Hey, sweetie, what’s up?”

  “I forgot to tell you I was coming to your office for lunch before the other fuckin thing starts.”

  Cat giggled. “What if I have a lunch meeting?”

  “Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Order us something like you did before.”

  “I’m all over it.”

  A half hour later, Mrs. Warburton greeted Blaine in the outer office and opened the door to the Governor’s office for him. Cat was sitting in the lounge area of her office near the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking over a document. She wore a pale blue designer suit that Blaine had never seen before, and he wondered if it was new. Her briefcase was open on the leather sofa next to her.

  She looked up and smiled at him. “Ooh, don’t you look hot today in your purple shirt.” She winked. “The women in the meeting are going to lose it.”

  “How many women?”

  “Two or three.”

  Blaine winked. “I can handle up to a half dozen.”

  “I bet you can.” She lifted the lid on the lunch tray. “Help yourself to whatever you like. There will be pastries and coffee at the meeting, so I didn’t bother ordering dessert.”

  “But is there coffee, now?”

  “Of course.” She pointed at the tray on the sideboard that Mrs. Warburton kept an eye on. “I’m happy you came early. Was it for fun or was there another reason?”

  Blaine nodded as he scooped salmon and rice onto a plate. “We need to talk about Reg’s brother, Harry.”

  “I don’t remember Reg ever mentioning a brother.”

  “Might have been prudent on his part. His brother seems to have friends in low places, and maybe old Reggie didn’t want you to know.”

  “Jeeze, this gets worse and worse. What was I thinking when I started seeing this guy? I never even thought twice about having him vetted. I figured he was an attorn
ey from the top firm in the city, and he must be okay. Was I that lonely, I let him bullshit me right from the get-go?”

  “Reg was a smooth talker with the ladies,” said Blaine. “He looked good for forty-nine and he was a sharp dresser.”

  “You said you found out he was a womanizer,” said Cat. “Who told you that? Someone with reliable information?”

  Blaine nodded. “Lil told me. She managed the legal office for years for Dave Powell, before it came to me, and she saw everything that went on—day to day.”

  “I’m disgusted with myself and with every new fact you dig up, I feel more and more like an idiot.” Cat pushed her almost full plate away. “Why do we care about his brother?”

  “My best information tells me Reg obtained the money from his brother—somehow, whether it was a loan, or stolen—somehow Reg got hold of over two mil to pay out his wife and make the divorce happen. He sent a check to her attorney for one point five for the settlement, then buried seven hundred and fifty thousand in the woods at Barton Creek.”

  “Buried it?” Cat made a face. “Reg took money to the wilderness area and dug a hole with a shovel like some pirate?”

  “Yep, that’s what he did.”

  “I find that hard to swallow,” said Cat. “Reg was so…”

  Blaine paused with a forkful of salmon. “He was so… what?”

  “He was a person who wouldn’t get his hands dirty.”

  “You thought,” said Blaine.

  “Did you find the buried money?”

  “The dogs did, with Misty’s help.”

  “She can find buried money?”

  “I know you don’t like her, Cat, but don’t put her down. She can’t help being different.” There was an edge to Blaine’s voice and he didn’t apologize for it.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. And I don’t dislike her. She’s a beautiful woman, although she has a few quirks. I think she’s wrong for you, that’s all.”

  “I thought so more than once. She’s a lot older than me, and our views on so many things are at the opposite end of the spectrum, but I do love her.”

  “Okay, that’s the important part. The subject is closed. Move on.”

  Blaine refilled his coffee from the carafe on the sideboard and walked back to his chair. “The brother has a casino in Vegas and he’s connected. Reg might have borrowed mob money. The mob got pissed off and they killed him. I don’t know that’s what happened, but it would explain a helluva lot.”

  “I think Reg would have been smarter than that,” said Cat. “Why would he take the chance and do something that risky?”

  Blaine pointed. “He wanted to be married to the Governor of Texas.”

  “I was his motivation?” Cat shook her red mop of hair. “I do not want that to be true.”

  “Maybe it’s not true. I’ll find out. Farrell and I are flying to Vegas on a seven o’clock flight.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Why not?”

  Blaine checked the diamond studded Cartier on his wrist. “I’ll explain why later. Meanwhile, we better get set up where ever we’re setting up.”

  “I’ll show you.”

  “Can I be first? I want to do my thing and go. I have to pack.”

  Cat made a pouty face. “The agenda for the afternoon has already been printed.”

  “Where I am I?” He took the sheet of paper from Cat’s hand and looked. “I’m fuckin last.”

  She smiled. “I wanted you last because you are my big impact at the end—my grand finale.”

  “You’re first. Switch with me and you lay the hammer down at the end.”

  Cat giggled. “You make me laugh. Okay, I’ll introduce you, then save my dynamite stuff for the end.”

  BLAINE HATED speaking in public. He had to do it more and more, but it wasn’t getting easier and he didn’t like it. He walked into the meeting room with the Governor a little ahead of him and four dozen pairs of eyes focused on him. Most of the attendees were Mayors and Police Chiefs from around the state, a couple of Senators and some Congressmen.

  The only people Blaine recognized were Chief Calhoun of the Texas Rangers, Perry Leighton, Austin DA, and the Chief of Austin PD.

  Cat walked straight to the podium, laid her notes down and picked up the microphone. Blaine followed and sat in one of the chairs provided for the speakers. Cat began and welcomed the participants. She did a brief overview of the material to be covered in the meeting, then said, “You will notice on your agenda, Mr. Blackmore-Powell is last to speak, but he’s on a case and has to catch a flight, so I’ve switched with him. He’ll be first, and I’ll put the hammer down at the end.”

  Everyone laughed and the tension in the room eased.

  “His words, not mine.” She smiled and adjusted her glasses. “He needs no introduction, so here he is, my friend and my inspiration, the head of the Violent Crime Squad for the great state of Texas, Blaine Blackmore-Powell.”

  Cat sat down amid a flurry of clapping, Blaine took her place at the podium and spoke into the mic. “So y’all are clear, I hate speaking in public, and continuing in that vein, I’ve provided y’all with an in-depth report on most of what we’ve been doing under the radar.”

  “In order to make a difference in crime in the long term we have to start with education. That means starting with the kids. Some of you know, I was in a bike gang when I was fourteen years old, and if I hadn’t had help to get out and turn my life around, I would have been dead at fifteen because I was useless to the club—a skinny kid who couldn’t intimidate anybody—not producing the required amount of income per month—couldn’t pay my dues and therefore, marked for elimination.”

  “Annie Powell saved my life the same way she saved dozens of other kids. She gave me a new life and a new start, and because of her and my love for her, I’m trying to give back to the state of Texas. On the VC report, y’all will see the names and details of programs Jesse Quantrall and I have put into place in schools and in after-school clubs for boys and girls across the state. It will never be enough, but it’s a start.”

  He shifted his notes. “Next, what have we done lately?”

  Laughter.

  “CNN was generous with praise for the ATF this week for the two tractor trailers of guns the agency recovered, and for the takedown of the Rule motorcycle club in Houston and granted they did help out at the end. But without the crime squad’s surveillance teams, and tireless efforts of our people beforehand—not taking anything away from the feds—that bust never would have happened.”

  Clapping.

  Blaine gave a couple more examples of what the crime squad had been doing, then opened the floor for questions.

  “I’ll take a few questions if I’m not encroaching on anyone else’s time?” He glanced at Cat.

  Smiling, she shook her head.

  Blaine pointed to a lady near the back of the room who had her hand in the air. “Go ahead, ma’am.”

  “I was totally unaware of all the work you’ve been doing with young people in your anti-crime program, and I applaud your efforts. My question is about the funding. Who’s paying for these programs all across the state.”

  “The Quantrall Educational Foundation, administered by Bob Quantrall, has committed to half the cost and I’m paying the other half. No cost to Texas.”

  Buzzing and then clapping.

  Blaine pointed to another gentleman with a question. “What kind of a budget does the Violet Crime squad have, or is it none of our business?”

  “We’re privately funded, sir.”

  “That means you and Ranger Quantrall are using your own money?”

  Blaine nodded. “That’s what it means. Uh huh.”

  Another man stood up and asked a question. “If y’all are privately funded, who determines what cases you take?”

  “Chief Calhoun has a hand in those decisions, along with another couple of individuals. The Chief keeps a sharp eye on us and sees that
proper procedures are followed, and detailed reports are submitted.”

  Chief Calhoun gave a nod.

  Blaine nodded to an older gentleman with his hand raised. “In the greater scheme of things, Ranger Blackmore, who do y’all answer to?”

  Cat stood up and came to the rescue. “I’m afraid that’s all the questions we have time for. Thank you so much, Mr. Blackmore-Powell for being here today. We appreciate your time.”

  Clapping.

  Blaine gave a little wave as he left the room.

  Barb Bromwell’s Residence. North Dallas.

  TRAVIS and Fletcher drove to Dallas with Mrs. Bromwell’s address programmed into the nav system. Her home was in the north end of the city. A substantial two-storey brick house on a large lot, but not the biggest or the most impressive house on the block by any means.

  They parked under a large maple, two houses away where they had a clear view of the front door and the driveway. One vehicle, a dark blue Lexus sat in front of the garage. Travis didn’t know if she had more than one vehicle, but that was something he needed to know. He called Lily and asked her to find out from DMV.

  Travis and Fletcher watched the house for an hour and nothing. Mrs. Bromwell didn’t come out and peering nonstop through the binocs, Fletcher never saw her near any of the front windows.

  Lily called back. “Just the Lexus. That’s the only thing registered to her.”

  “Okay, thanks,” said Travis. “I didn’t know if there was something else in the garage.”

  “Nope. Shouldn’t be. How’s it going up there?”

  “Super boring.”

  Lily laughed.

  Austin-Bergstrom Airport. Austin.

  AT SIX FIFTEEN Blaine and Farrell checked their luggage and picked up their boarding passes.

  “We gonna have any time to play poker or do fun stuff?” asked Farrell.

  “Would be nice, wouldn’t it? Let’s see if we can get a couple games in while we’re there.”

  Farrell gave him a fist bump. “I so want to.”