New Moon Rising (Samantha Moon Origins Book 1)

by J. R. Rain

  A contented sigh escapes me as I snuggle up to the man of my dreams.

  I am a lucky woman.

  ***

  The alarm slaps me awake, still in my clothes except for shoes. Danny stirs and groans, rolling onto his side while clutching his arm. His right hand is as pale as a snowman, and about as dead as one.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Not your fault.” He grits his teeth as pins and needles come on.

  The morning is as normal as things can be. A shower, change, and breakfast later, I’m in the momvan driving the kids to Mary Lou’s on my way to the office. Another long day of pushing paper back and forth has a welcome break around one in the afternoon when Chad and I head to the hospital to confront the kid who tried to shoot me at Nick’s Super Burger. Sure enough, it’s him. The little bastard’s defiant. Won’t even look me in the eye. Alas, I can’t ID the other two since I only saw one with a bandana over his face. I only got a glimpse of the other one’s hand when he pulled the shooter in the fleeing car. Confirmation of the one is enough though, since the lot of them had blood all throughout the car, and the ballistics from slugs recovered in the car and the suspects matched our Glocks. Between Chad and I, we hit them almost twenty times. The shooter will be stuck in bed for a while due to a shattered hip, and he’s missing part of a kidney. Back seat guy lost a finger, and the driver took a handful of superficial wounds. They’ll all live.

  Speaking of living, Rosa Melendez pulled through. We visited her after the ID session, and she finally admitted the truth about Marty once I told her we’d found him. She’d already figured out he’d done something shady with HUD, but she’d been afraid we’d charge her for not reporting it. It’ll take her a couple weeks, but the doctors think she’ll get back to normal. The slugs they pulled out of her back matched the .32 revolver used by the baby-faced man who tried to kill me at the burger place. Chad thinks he’s going to make some guy in prison very happy.

  ***

  Wednesday at 10:08 a.m., Lorelei’s cell phone rings. I clear my throat and try to channel my inner airhead. By the way, Chad said I sounded like Brittany Spears on Ecstasy. The guys in the surveillance van were laughing themselves to tears the whole time listening to me with Brauerman.

  “Hello?” I ask, settling on ‘timid and ditzy.’

  “Miss Duke?” asks Martin Brauerman.

  “Oh, hi!” I chirp. “Marty?”

  “That’s right. I have great news! The bank approved the financing for your place. Come on in and we can discuss everything. If you like what you see, we can sign the papers and get things rolling.”

  “That’s awesome! I can be there in like two hours, is that okay?”

  “One moment, let me check my schedule…” He’s a hard mouse-tapper. “Two hours is fine. See you at noon.”

  “Okay.” I add a trace of giggle.

  The vapid voice gets Chad peering at me around his cube wall.

  As soon as the call ends, I wave the cell phone at him. “Fish on the hook. Got an appointment with him at noon. I am not wearing those shorts again.”

  “Aww.” He snaps his fingers in an overacted display of disappointment.

  After I tell Nico I got the call, he pulls us all into a conference room to run over a briefing. I’m (obviously) going to go in again dressed up as Lorelei. As soon as Martin commits to the offer and has me sign paperwork, the other agents are going to rush the place. We’ve got several warrants waiting already to raid every file cabinet and nanometer of hard disk space in his realty company.

  Other HUD agents in the Seattle area have already interviewed Kondapalli, who turned out to be another victim. He’s in country on a work visa doing programming, and thought he’d been renting the place from Marty not realizing he had a HUD mortgage. When his job ended and he found a new one in Seattle, he told Marty he was moving and took off. Brauerman wound up hacking Haresh’s Newvox account and added a second line.

  Anders, Rivera, and Montoya will wait outside the place and we’ll have one LAPD unit on hand for additional security.

  “Sounds pretty straightforward.” Nico nods at no one in particular. “This is about as clean and easy as it gets, but don’t let your guard down. This guy might have a gun tucked away somewhere.”

  Murmurs of agreement come from everyone.

  “Thanks guys.” I stand. “Guess it’s time for sexy pants.”

  They all clap, except for Nico, who pats me on the shoulder. “Really nice bit of investigation there, Moon. Brauerman covered his tracks pretty well.”

  “Ehh. I got lucky. Looked at two records back to back and happened to notice the handwriting matched. Oh…” I flash a cheesy smile at Montoya. “I found something else.”

  The room goes pin-drop silent.

  “All but a few recent tenants were part of Donnie Vento’s caseload,” I say.

  Everyone cringes like I just shouted ‘Voldemort’ in Hogwarts. Vento caused so much havoc here, he’s become the agent who shall not be named.

  “I wonder if he might’ve been working with Brauerman,” I say.

  Nico gasps. “That would make so much sense, but I think Vento was just an idiot… but if he is complicit, I think the team will erect a statue in your honor.”

  Montoya stares at me in wonderment for a long minute before stating in a matter-of-fact tone, “I am going to kiss you full on the lips.”

  “Sorry, Ernie.” I wag my wedding band at him. Oh, shit. I gotta take that off again for the undercover. “I’m taken.”

  “If he’s involved in this, you’ll never pay for lunch again as long as you work here,” says Montoya.

  Rivera and Anders nod.

  I laugh. “I can’t take that much from you guys. I’ll settle for one nice dinner.”

  “And you shall have it.” Anders bows like a knight to a queen.

  Heh. What a pack of oddballs.

  ***

  A few minutes before noon, I limp that old Cavalier into the parking lot by Martin’s office.

  Today’s outfit is far more functional than last time: jeans, sneakers, and a loose flannel shirt over a sports bra. The unbuttoned front shows enough skin to keep Marty distracted, but it hangs low enough to hide the holster behind my back and the handcuff case next to it. As long as I don’t do jumping jacks in there, they should remain out of sight.

  My tight jeans cause some stares on the walk to the door, but the reaction is much tamer than last time. The receptionist gives off three seconds of an ‘oh, it’s you again’ smirk before putting on her work smile.

  “Hi again. Can I help you?”

  You know, I probably could be an actress. I grin at her like I’m thrilled to see her. It’s easy to fake since in an ‘I know something you don’t know’ kind of way, I am happy. “Marty called me and said I had to come in to sign some stuff. I have like an appointment at noon.”

  She looks at her computer. “Oh, I see it. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Thanks.” I take a seat while she sends him an IM or something. At least I assume so since she doesn’t call him.

  Marty appears in the hallway a minute later and waves me to follow him. “C’mon back.”

  I grin and scurry after him. It’s not too difficult to act excited, only a new house on the cheap isn’t the present under my tree. Martin pulls one of the leather chairs out for me before going around his desk to sit.

  “I must say I’m pleasantly surprised. Given your income level and… well… if I may be blunt, your background, I’d expected to have to fight a little harder for you.”

  “Oh.” I blink, acting innocent. “Is that bad? What’s wrong with my background?”

  He waves dismissively. “I’ve found a certain loophole in the finance industry that allows me to help people out who are in your situation. It’s obscure, and not too many know about it. The way it’s designed, it’s… look, Miss Duke, I won’t mince words. It’s set up to benefit those of a somewhat darker persuasion.”

  I fak
e a sneeze to hide the glare I felt forming. This’ll be even more satisfying. Not only is he skimming off people, he’s a bigot. One of those people who buys into that conspiracy HUD exists to seed minorities in ‘communities too good for them.’

  “Bless you,” says Martin.

  “Sorry.” I wipe at my nose. “Oh, I get it. But why would the bank be nicer to me if I was like Hispanic or something?”

  He shrugs. “Affirmative action and whatnot.”

  “Oh.” I play dumb, like he thinks I am. “I don’t really understand what that is.” It’s difficult to conjure a vapid smile, but I manage. “I’m glad they said okay. That’s affirmative, right?”

  His smile falters. For an instant, I get a pitying stare before his saccharin grin returns. “I am quite glad as well. A promising young actress like yourself deserves a safe place to sleep! The city can be unkind enough to the innocent. I’m glad I can help keep you secure at night.”

  “Oh, thank you, Marty. You’re so sweet.” I fidget. “Umm. So, how does this work?”

  “Well.” He pushes some papers across the desk to me. “Here are the documents. Your monthly rent payment will be $550. I realize that’s about two weeks’ pay for you, but it’s as low as I could get it. Now, one thing I can suggest is for you to get a roommate. But, if you do that, you’ll need to be careful.”

  “Oh, yes. What if they turn out to be a creep or a psycho.” I nod.

  He chuckles. “Well, that too, but I mean, if anyone from the government ever shows up, you can’t tell them you have a roommate. They know about the loophole I use and they look for any technicality to kick people off that plan. Whenever I rent to someone in your position, they like to show up and claim they can inspect the place. It’s better to let them do it, but don’t admit to the roommate. Tell them it’s just a friend visiting. Normally, they get deportation happy, but you won’t have that problem. But, they can evict you and revoke the whole deal if they think you have any extra income, and having someone else there to help pay your rent counts as income.”

  “Oh.” I flash my best ‘someone shot my dog’ expression at him. “Isn’t that like against the law to lie to the government?”

  He shakes his head, grinning. “No, no, my dear. They’re just inspectors. Guys in suits with nothing better to do than hassle people who don’t make much money. An extension of the big banks who want wealthy people to get in the door of your house so they can make more money. It’s all one big, corrupt machine.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Yeah it is, but you’re one of the little people, Miss Duke. Don’t let the government push you around. They only care about corporations and banks. Now…” He slides another paper over the desk toward me. “The way my special arrangement with the lender operates, you’ll be making your rent payments to my property management company, MBM, Inc. You won’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything else. Leave the worrying to me.”

  I let out an airheaded giggle. “Okay. That’s so sweet of you!”

  “Any questions?” asks Martin, toying with a pen between his fingers.

  “Umm. If I’m renting from you, what’s a bank involved for?” I ask, laying on the innocence.

  He smiles. “It’s a requirement in California. Think of it like a credit card. Before I can get the approval to take on a new tenant at your income level, I need to convince a bank to secure the rental in case something unfortunate happens. That way the property’s taken care of until a new tenant can take it over.”

  “Oh. I’ll try not to miss any payments.”

  Martin takes out a packet with some more pictures of the house I picked. Monday, the HUD paperwork came in like Lorelei Duke submitted it herself, and the handwriting matched the others. The property I selected is in a depreciated area, so it’s not too expensive for California. The full mortgage is $880 per month and HUD is covering $600 of it. I should be paying $280, but Marty needs his $270 cut. Wow, this guy’s got no qualms stealing most of an eighteen-year-old aspiring actress’ pay for a week. The way he’s smiling and acting all warm and protective makes my skin crawl. How many other Lorelei’s have been in this chair feeling like they’ve just gotten the break of their lives?

  “Okay, so all I have to do is sign this here and I’m renting this house from your management thingee?”

  “That’s right.” He grins. “It will take a few weeks for me to hammer out the legal stuff in the background before you can move in. Do you have a checking account?”

  I nod. “Yeah. My mom got me one when I turned sixteen.”

  “That was nice of her. Gotta teach financial responsibility to kids these days. To continue, we’ll need a check to cover the first month’s rent, plus a $175 document processing fee. I’d waive that if I could, but it’s going to the government. They never miss a chance to take a bite out of our butts.”

  “Yeah.” I fake a frown. “Stupid government.”

  Chad and the others are probably laughing their asses off listening to me.

  Martin taps his fingertips together, looking concerned. “Is that something you can swing?”

  “Umm. $550 plus $175… that’s like six hundred… no. Umm. I’m not good at math. Sorry.” I grab his pen and scribble random numbers for a moment. “Oh, $750?” It’s actually $725, but I want to see what he says.

  “You got it.” He grins. “See? You’re not that bad at math.”

  I wince. “I didn’t bring my checkbook. Like no one ever uses them anymore.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. This is going to take a couple of weeks anyway. You can drop the check off any time, though the sooner you do, the faster things will start. There’s going to be a rental approval meeting in a few weeks where you’ll need to sign a bunch of paperwork. Again, it’s a formality the government requires. It’s important that you don’t say anything about our arrangement, just sign where they tell you to sign. I’ll be right there with you as your realtor.”

  “Okay.” I scoot forward and grab the pen from the desk. “So, I need to sign this and I’ll have my own place? Well… rental anyway.”

  “Right.” Martin leans over his desk and points out where I need to sign.

  This is all some kind of weird formality. He’s already forged my signature with HUD. As far as the bank is concerned, this deal’s already on its way to closing. I scribble a giant, girly L with an indecipherable squiggle after it as a signature, and spend the next few minutes initialing here and there where he points. Right when I think I’m done, he points out another eight places for me to sign. Geez. This is giving me flashbacks to when Danny and I bought our current house. I’m basically filling out a mortgage form, but he’s got little green Post-it arrows covering certain critical things like the word ‘mortgage’ and ‘housing assistance,’ and of course, the true payment amounts.

  Wow, I guess no one really ever looks at what they sign. The true amount was right in front of everyone’s nose and they didn’t catch it. Or maybe the ones who did ran for the hills? Anyway, I eventually finish signing the whole thing and lean back in the chair acting exhausted.

  “Wow that was a whole lot of signing.”

  He chuckles condescendingly and winks. “Well, don’t worry your pretty little head about anything. In a month or so, you’ll have a nice house to move into.”

  “Is that it? Are we done?”

  “All set… uhh, except for your first deposit. Drop it off with Marissa as soon as you can and I will call you to let you know when the review meeting is.”

  “Okay.” Wow, it’s exhausting pretending to be an airhead. “Time to move in.”

  Martin stands and offers a handshake over the desk. “Not quite yet. Won’t be moving day for about four weeks.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Marty.” Samantha Moon’s smile emerges from under the Lorelei veneer. I take his hand and shake. The strength of my grip catches him off guard. Martin’s eyebrows rise in time with the squeak of the front door opening. A quick tug and spin pulls hi
m over the desk like a landed fish. I swoop around to pin the arm behind the back, and tug the badge out of my pocket.

  “What the hell are you doing?” shouts Martin.

  Marissa shouts, “Hey, you can’t just go back there!” followed a second later by, “Get off me!”

  I lean my weight on him and hold the badge where he can see it. “Federal agent. Martin Brauerman, you’re under arrest for wire and mail fraud, forgery, and conspiracy to defraud the federal government.”

  Martin struggles as I try to get the cuffs on him, but goes still when Chad and Bryce Anders stride into the office, their badges obvious on their belts. “Fuck…”

  “That’s one way to put it,” says Chad.

  I haul Martin up from the desk and guide him over to Chad before pulling the blonde wig off. “Damn this thing itches.”

  Marissa, seated in the back of a LAPD car, shakes and sobs. We’re just borrowing the car for the moment until we figure out if we’re detaining her on a more permanent basis. When I walk out front, she looks up and stares at me in shock. Her jealousy’s out the window, and she gives me this pleading face. Okay, my cattiness curls up to take a nap.

  Bryce and Montoya load Martin into one of our fed SUVs.

  “Chad? You mind overseeing the search for a little while. I want to interview the receptionist. Something tells me she’s probably not involved.”

  “Knock yourself out.” Chad gestures at the car.

  Crap. I have to remember how the Miranda warning goes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Every Precious Second

  Wednesday night, I can’t sleep. Danny’s long since passed out beside me. The kids are tucked in and comfy, and here I lay, staring at the ceiling with too much adrenaline to let me close my eyes. I’m excited, happy, and relieved all at once. I got home late, but it was worth it.

  Marissa claimed not to know that Martin ran a scam on the side, but she did suspect something weird might be going on given all the “poor people” who showed up at the office. She didn’t set off my BS detector, so I cut her loose and warned her to stay in the area in case she’s needed at Martin’s trial. Unfortunately, she’s also unemployed now.