Armed 'N' Ready (Federal K-9)

by Tee O'Fallon

  Contempt flared hotly in the man’s eyes. Finally, some emotion. She’d thought he was angry, but in actuality, he was royally pissed. And he was right. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was innocent. If Joe hadn’t violated the federal crimes outlined in the warrant , then nothing she said to these men could hurt either of them. If he really was guilty, something she still had difficulty wrapping her brain around, could her responses to their questions make things worse?

  I don’t know anything, so how can I hurt him?

  Then again, talking about him to the police seemed like a betrayal. She needed to hear it directly from Joe. He wouldn’t dare lie to her. I’d know if he was lying. Wouldn’t I?

  She didn’t know anything, not for sure. They’d lied to her at her old job, and she hadn’t known until it was almost too late. A sob rose in her throat. Maybe Joe’s been lying to me for years.

  Then something else occurred to her, and she narrowed her eyes on Sgt. Houston. “Aside from me being in his house, why do you seem so certain that I’m involved in whatever Joe is doing?”

  Without hesitation, he grabbed a folder from the table and pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to her. As he did, his eyes were as hard as shards of gray ice. She took the document and began reading. It was a wire transfer from her bank dated less than a month ago. Her name was listed as the account holder, but she couldn’t recall making any wire transfer from that account. Ever. And was that… “A hundred thousand dollars?” She jerked her gaze first to Houston’s then Cox’s. “What is this? I didn’t authorize this transfer. I couldn’t have. I don’t have a hundred thousand dollars.”

  Since the day she’d opened the DPC—the Dog Park Café—she’d been struggling to bring in new customers and stay in the black. The most she’d ever had in that account at any given time was about twenty grand, and that was used to pay all the restaurant’s monthly bills, salaries, and the mortgage.

  Houston stared her down. “If you didn’t authorize that wire, then who did?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked away, her mind reeling with how this could possibly have happened.

  A memory popped into her head, one of Joe sitting in her office at the DPC while she’d been writing monthly checks. Could he have somehow taken note of her bank account information? But how could he have gone so far as to authorize the transfer of so much money without her knowing it? It had never shown up on any of her monthly statements.

  Or had it?

  “Something you want to tell us?” Cox looked at her with raised brows.

  “Last month my bank statement didn’t come in the mail.” She liked paper, so had opted for hardcopy delivery. “I realize I could have checked my account online, but I was so busy with the restaurant, I didn’t bother. I’m meticulous with my money, and I balance my checkbook to the penny, so I wasn’t worried about missing a transaction.” Clearly, she’d missed one. A very, very critical one.

  Her heart began beating faster. Numbly, she handed the document back to Houston. “I swear I didn’t authorize this. Someone had to have deposited a hundred grand into my account and wired it out right away because I didn’t see it in this month’s statement, and my account balance has always been correct.”

  Sgt. Houston pursed his lips. “The money was wired in, then wired out less than twenty-four hours later.”

  “Then there should be a record of where it came from and where it went, right?” She held out her hand in question.

  Cox adjusted his chair to face her directly. “As for the source account, we don’t have that information yet, but we will. The money was transferred to an offshore account in Belize.”

  “Look.” She fisted her hands. “This is ridiculous. I have nothing to do with this, and I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  Sgt. Houston sat on the edge of the table, too close to her for comfort. “We froze your bank account.”

  “What?” she whispered, praying she’d misheard him.

  “Yesterday, we served your bank with a court order freezing all assets in that account.” Sgt. Houston nodded to the document in his hand. “Because of this wire transfer, your entire account is now considered tainted. You can’t touch anything in it until we say otherwise.”

  “You can’t do that.” She stared in disbelief at the crumpled paper. Panic spread through her like wildfire. “That account is all I have for the café. It’s how I pay my bills. All my bills. We’re hanging on by a thread as it is, and if I can’t pay the bills, I may have to shut down.”

  To her dismay, neither Houston nor Cox showed anything resembling remorse or an iota of understanding.

  This is not good. This is beyond not good. Someone—Joe?—had used her bank account without her knowledge, and right now she couldn’t prove it. She covered her face with her hands and groaned.

  “Talk to us,” Sgt. Houston said. “Could Myer have initiated this wire?”

  “I don’t—I don’t know.”

  “What are you thinking?” Houston asked, clearly picking up on her hesitancy.

  In an effort to put more space between them, she leaned back in her chair and let her hands drop to her lap. “He helped me set up that account when I moved here. He introduced me to one of the managers, a personal friend of his.” Could he have used that connection to access her account?

  “I want to call Joe.” She pressed her lips together, growing angrier by the second. “I need to talk to him. If he really did this—and I’m not saying he did—then he’ll clear my name. I’m sure of it. My phone is upstairs. If you let me get it, I’ll call and ask him directly.”

  The two men exchanged looks.

  “Nick? What do you think?”

  “Can’t hurt,” he said to Cox. To her, he added, “As long as you put the call on speakerphone, so we can hear what he says and record the conversation. Will you consent to that?”

  “Don’t you need a wiretap or something?” Even she knew the police couldn’t just listen in and record phone conversations anytime they wanted.

  “Not a wiretap,” Cox said. “We have blanket authorization from the U.S. Attorney’s Office to monitor and record any conversations for this investigation. All we need from you is your consent to utilize your phone to do it.”

  Sgt. Houston pulled her phone from his thigh pocket but didn’t hand it to her. Until that moment she hadn’t known he’d taken it from the bedroom.

  “Fine. I consent.” She held out her hand, but Houston ignored her.

  “What’s the passcode?” One of his fingers hovered over the phone.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What if I don’t want to give it to you?”

  Houston pursed his lips, emphasizing the concavity of his lean cheeks. “If you cooperate and give us the code, you stand a significantly greater chance of getting it back sooner, rather than later. Much later.”

  Reluctantly, she rattled off the code and watched him enter it before handing the phone to her. The pink case was still warm from being against his leg. “Can I tell him about the search warrant?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Houston nodded. “If he answers, ask him where he is, then try to convince him to come home. If he doesn’t answer, leave a message that it’s urgent he calls you back.”

  After pulling up Joe’s cell number from her contacts, she was about to make the call but hesitated when Cox clicked a button on a small digital recorder and set it on the table in front of her. A tiny red light glowed steadily on the top of the device. “Are you going to arrest him?”

  Houston didn’t hesitate. “Eventually, yes.”

  She held his gaze for a moment. The thought of Joe—her former lover and friend—in handcuffs was positively frightening. Please let this be the right thing to do.

  Taking a deep breath, she touched the call button, then the phone’s speaker button. It went directly to voicemail, and she found herself somewhat relieved. She let the message play out, then left word about the search warrant and that he should call her urgently. She
ended the call, but before she could pocket the phone, Sgt. Houston smoothly took it away.

  “Hey, give that back!” She jumped up and made a grab for it, plowing into his chest—a chest so hard she bounced off him and practically fell right back into the chair she’d been sitting on.

  “No can do.” He extended his long arm and handed the phone across the table to the baby-faced agent, who slipped it into a clear plastic bag. “This phone is now evidence.”

  “I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “That phone is mine, not Joe’s, and it has nothing to do with his business dealings.”

  “The phone was located on the premises during service of a federal search warrant.” Cox pointed to the warrant. “You’ll get the phone back, but it will probably be months before we can return it to you. Right now, it’s seizable pursuant to Attachment A, paragraph eight, describing cell phones and computers.”

  “Speaking of which,” Houston interjected, again towering over her, “does Myer have a laptop?”

  “Yes.” She frowned. In addition to his expensive house and car, he’d been inordinately proud of his brand-new, lightweight Mac Air.

  “We didn’t find it here or at his office. Did he hide it somewhere on the premises?”

  “No. I don’t know. At least, I don’t think so.” Again, she twisted her hands together. “He never used to hide his computer.” Or anything else, for that matter.

  “Do you and he send emails to each other?” When she nodded, Cox slid his pad to her, handing her a pen. “Write down your full email address and his.”

  She did, knowing they could pull that information off her phone, anyway. If she gave it to them outright, maybe she’d get the phone back sooner.

  “Found something.” Officer Malloy handed Cox a stack of envelopes, cash, and several sheets of paper stapled together. “We found cash in the safe, and these envelopes in the locked mailbox. The envelopes are loaded with more cash.”

  “Did you count it yet?” Houston asked.

  Malloy pulled a piece of paper from her vest pocket. “Thirty grand, total.”

  What is Joe doing with that much cash? They both knew that any cash not in a bank was lazy money because it wasn’t earning interest.

  Cox handed the bills to the baby-faced agent, then began flipping through the other documents. The only words Andi had been able to make out were in a large font on the first page: Last Will and Testament.

  He looked up from reading. “Is your real name really Andromeda Hardt?”

  She nodded, a little embarrassed by the celestial name her astronomy-loving parents had seen fit to bestow upon her at birth. “Too many syllables. Everyone calls me Andi.”

  “Understandable.” Sgt. Houston smiled, making him appear only slightly less serious. As a distraction, she tried visualizing what a genuine smile would do to his chiseled-from-rock face.

  Probably nothing. And probably wouldn’t change his similarly humorless personality, either.

  “Did you know you’re the sole beneficiary of Joe Myer’s estate?” Cox raised both brows.

  “What?” Her mouth fell open.

  He handed her the document, and she quickly read the section to which he referred. I, Joseph A. Myer, bequeath 100% of my estate to Andromeda Hardt. The will was dated only a month ago.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered, more to herself than to the men seated around her. For Joe to do this without telling her…something was very, very wrong.

  They were friends now, but nothing more. Why would he give me everything if he died? He had family—a mother, father, two sisters and a brother. What was going on with him that he’d drawn up a will only a month ago? The presence of state troopers and federal agents in his house did, in fact, give her a major clue.

  She shut her eyes as reality slammed her in the face all over again. Whatever was going on, Joe was in deep, deep trouble, and he’d dragged her into his mess.

  An ominous silence pervaded the room, and she opened her eyes to find everyone staring at her, waiting for her to say something. “I wasn’t aware he’d designated me his beneficiary. I swear I had no knowledge of this.” Why she felt she had to swear to it, she didn’t know. Then again, she could understand their perspective.

  A person didn’t normally make someone his sole beneficiary unless there was a close personal relationship. If nothing else, Joe’s will made her look guilty of lying. Again, begging the question as to whether or not she should seek legal representation before answering more questions.

  “Do you know where Joe is?” she asked Cox, thinking they might be lying to her for some reason. It wouldn’t be the first time a man had lied to her. The FBI agent seemed to be in charge, but the way Cox repeatedly deferred to Houston left her with the certainty that the state trooper was a major player in this investigation.

  Cox shook his head. “We don’t, and we’re concerned for his safety. He booked a flight from Logan to Vegas but never boarded the plane. That’s pretty odd behavior, don’t you think?”

  With everyone eyeing her suspiciously, she suddenly made the connection between Joe being missing and his will. “You think I knew about the will and killed him to inherit his estate? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She stood, clenching her hands.

  A growl came from beneath the table, and the black shepherd leaped to its feet. She uttered a shriek and stepped back, nearly tripping over the chair. Sgt. Houston grabbed her upper arms, tugging her against his chest until she’d regained her balance. She automatically reached for him, her fingers closing over the hardest, thickest biceps she’d ever felt.

  “Platz,” he said, and the dog immediately backed off and lay down.

  Her heart beat faster, partly because the K-9 was so intimidating and partly from the shock of being pressed up against Sgt. Houston so intimately from her head to her toes.

  “You all right?” he asked. “Saxon won’t hurt you.”

  The dog still lay on the floor, his head tilted so that he could watch Houston. The intensity of those gold canine eyes was alarming, although she understood dogs well enough to know this one was only trying to protect what it perceived as an imminent threat to its master.

  “I’m fine.” She lifted her gaze to find Houston watching her with undisguised suspicion. “Except for the fact that you actually think I could have murdered Joe. I love him as a friend. I don’t ever want to see him hurt.”

  He released her abruptly. The tightness of his mouth and the frigid animosity in his eyes obliterated any images she’d been trying to conjure up of how a smile might transform all those hard planes and angles. She’d been wrong. No way would this man ever smile, let alone exhibit even the tiniest morsel of warmth toward another human being.

  “I didn’t say that,” he answered in a flat tone.

  She rested her fists at her hips, still glaring at him. “Then why are you concerned for his safety?”

  “Because”—he crossed his arms—“there’s a bounty on his head, and no one knows where he is. When someone in the illegal gun business disappears, they tend to show up only when someone finds their body.”

  …

  For some reason Nick couldn’t pinpoint, the image of Andi stuck behind bars didn’t sit well with him.

  Not your problem.

  Fear and worry spread across her features as she absorbed his words, and he was hit with the irrational urge to comfort her—a suspect.

  What the hell?

  Needing space, he reached for Saxon’s leash. His dog leaped to his feet, ready to go to work again. “Back in five,” he said to Cox, then headed for the kitchen, taking his first breath in the last ten minutes that wasn’t mingled with the distracting scent of Andi’s shampoo or whatever was making her smell like that flower in the boutonniere he’d worn at his sister’s wedding.

  He began opening cupboards, searching for a plastic bowl for Saxon, when a female voice came from behind him.

  “Looking for a water bowl?”

  He tu
rned to find Andi had followed him into the kitchen. As she passed Saxon, she paused, hesitantly laying a hand on his dog’s back and running it along his spine. Saxon turned his head, his nostrils flaring as he gave the back of her hand a sniff.

  “You’re gorgeous.” She continued stroking, and since Saxon didn’t seem to mind, Nick didn’t stop her.

  As her fingers sifted through the thick, shiny coat, he stared at her blunt, neatly manicured nails. Saxon had scared her at least twice, but she’d barely hesitated to pet him, and it was done in such a natural way.

  No shit, Sherlock. She owns the Dog Park Café. Shouldn’t come as a shock that she likes dogs. Speaking of which… “Where’s your dog?”

  “Locked in the bedroom.” She jerked her head up, worry filling her eyes. “Why?”

  “Will she be okay up there?” Not that he gave a shit if the dog crapped all over Myer’s pristine bedroom carpeting or tore everything in the master bedroom to shreds, but he didn’t want the animal stressed more than she must be already by being locked up.

  “We were up early and went for a long walk. She’ll be fine.” Her gaze narrowed on him.

  “What?” For some reason, his inquiry about the dog’s welfare seemed to make her think he had some kind of ulterior motive.

  “Nothing. I was just…” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Trying to figure you out.”

  Don’t, he wanted to say. The last thing he needed was a woman rummaging around in his messed-up head. “Cox give up questioning you?” he asked, sorely needing to shortcut her train of thought.

  “One can only hope.” She scrunched her lips in a way that made her look cute. “He’s filling out paperwork for me to sign, so we’re taking a break.” She opened another cupboard door and reached for the china bowl next to the box of Pop-Tarts. As she did, the box fell on the floor, and Saxon lunged for it.