She wanted to totally blow off the decision. Her parents could sort out their own problems.
Why not go back to Seattle? She had a good life waiting for her there. A great job. Money. Respect.
There’d be none of these stupid emotional ups and downs she’d been running through with JC over the past weeks.
But there’d be no JC.
He’d made it clear long ago, Seattle wasn’t an option for him.
She slumped, hands flat on her desk.
Going back to Seattle also meant abandoning Tate, just when he’d stumbled into a mess.
What the hell was she going to do?
Rick knocked on the open office door. “Got a minute?”
She lifted her head and pasted on a smile. What now? “Sure.”
Taking in his worried expression, she shelved her personal concerns.
He perched on the visitor chair. “I talked to George Chen. The initial report is back on Shaw’s rig. The axel shaft broke near the U-joint. The stress seems to be related to a suspension failure. The report doesn’t say it’s the component George built, but it looks like Shaw might have been running his design. The report just says the suspension isn’t a standard design.”
Well, for better or worse, there was the confirmation. Shaw had been using Tate and George’s new part.
“George asked for access to the wrecked truck to see if it’s his component. He called in his engineering staff today to figure out why it failed.” Rick shifted, bracing himself. “George mentioned a sub-assembly. Didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t sound happy about it.”
Holly spread her hands in a vague “And?” gesture. She had a really bad feeling about the direction of Rick’s comment. If she were a guy, she’d start sweating. Instead, her stomach cramped. She’d been involved in evaluating the companies for George’s sub-assembly. Surely, there wasn’t an issue with that.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“From what we know right now, a piece of the suspension failed. If it is George’s product, Cascade Precision makes the part, but subcontracts one of the components. The whole thing is then assembled in Mexico.”
Tell me something I don’t know. She blew out a deep breath. “What failed? The part or the sub-part?”
Rick didn’t answer directly. “When I was leaving, I overheard two of the engineers. Apparently, somebody has already mentioned a lawsuit.”
“Oh, crap.” Her shoulders slumped. “You think Shaw’s family is threatening to sue them?”
Another disturbing thought hit her. Who are they threatening to sue? Boulder Bounders? Cascade Precision? Or Tate and George? She swiveled toward the window. Another gorgeous blue sky day was visible. Would she ever get a chance to enjoy one?
“Don’t know. It could be George plans to sue the subcontractor. It’ll depend on how, exactly, the part broke.”
She swung back to face Rick. “Thanks for letting me know. I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard spot, in the no parking zone.”
“Why?” Surprise or maybe concern wrinkled his forehead.
“I’d hate for my client to be responsible. George is a good guy and he was trying to keep jobs in the area when he went into the car part business. But if it isn’t a defective part…well, JC was all over Tate this morning. Apparently someone accused Tate of sabotaging Shaw’s truck.”
“But Tate would never to that.”
Thank you. “Seriously.” Holly frowned as another scenario occurred to her. “Go back to Cascade Precision for a minute. You’re more involved with their finances than I am. How thin did they stretch themselves with this expansion? When they started making Tate’s new part.”
Rick leaned back and crossed his legs, propping his ankle on his knee. “They got the bank loans a while ago, so they had financing when they set up the joint venture to make the parts. It got tight for a while when the design and testing phase took longer than planned. After Mikhail Petrov invested in the joint venture and made a cash infusion, they had some breathing room.”
Her fingers tapped the arms of her chair. “No worries about the bank loan getting called?”
“They still have good cash flow on their other projects at the Hanford site.”
“So they’re meeting the covenances and making payments?” That was a relief. It didn’t sound like George had tried something stupid like substituting cheaper materials to save money.
“They have enough cash to carry them until the new part starts selling in general distribution.” Rick scratched his cheek.
“As long as this wreck doesn’t get blamed on the part being crap, you mean.”
“Exactly. They’ve already taken the financial hit.” His foot dropped to the floor. Leaning forward, he ticked off the elements. “Construction. Engineering. Testing. All that costs big money. They haven’t sent over the numbers for the fall quarter, but I took a look at the second quarter. Like I said, they have enough cash for the short term, but if that part doesn’t sell, they’ll be hurting.”
Damn, she was afraid he’d say that was the case. “That bad?”
“Overall, the company’s in good shape.” He laced his fingers. “They waited to expand the building. They had room in their existing location for the design and scale-up phase.” The joint venture operated out of Cascade Precision’s facilities, since the motive for moving into the truck parts business was to keep Cascade’s employees busy. “When they were ready to expand, the contractors were hungry for work, so George got a good price on the building. I was going to recommend you bring in that engineering firm you’ve been working with and propose a component analysis. Be good tax planning.”
“Was?” She quirked an eyebrow.
“Once this is settled, I’ll pitch it.”
She took in Rick’s grim expression. She might need to talk to George and do some reputation damage control of her own.
Chapter Eight
Respect (Aretha Franklin)
Brittzz. The annoying doorbell cut through the music playing in Holly’s kitchen later that evening. She dried her hands. She really needed to change out that sucker. Figuring it was JC, she started to yell, “Come on in,” just to get a reaction. Instead, she boogied her way to the front door as Aretha belted out R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
“Hi, gorgeous.” And he was gorgeous. Tousled dark hair, damp from the shower, giving him a right-out-of-bed, sinful vibe. Eyes like deepest darkest chocolate. Leather jacket molded over his jeans and wool shirt.
A pistol on his hip.
Looked like he was on duty.
Yeah, well. Couldn’t have everything.
“Come on in.” She exaggerated the sweep of her welcoming hand.
He stepped forward and kissed her. “You’re in a good mood.”
“You mean a better mood than you reduced me to this morning?” Still shaking her hips in time to the song, she pointed a finger at him. “Careful how you respond.”
Both dimples appeared. “The smart move is probably not to answer.”
“You got that right.” So she kissed him again.
“Where’s Tate?”
“Downstairs. He went to bed about fifteen minutes ago. He about fell asleep in his food. I don’t think he got much sleep last night.” She didn’t want to talk about Tate, extreme sport driver serial killers, defective car parts, or any of the issues they’d argued about earlier.
“Nobody Does It Better” drifted into the foyer from the kitchen. She hooked a thumb in that direction. “I was cleaning up. Have you eaten? There’s extra.”
“I’m good.”
They walked through the empty living room. JC hooked an arm over her shoulders. “I swear I’m going to bring you some folding chairs so there’s something to sit on in here.”
“Hold that thought.” She slipped out from under his arm, crossed to the dishwasher and started it.
Her upbeat tone must have given her away. “Oh yeah? What’s going on?”
She picked up the remote and lowered the mus
ic’s volume. “I have news. The ever-popular good news/bad news kind.” Her heart banged against her ribcage. She wasn’t sure if it was the dancing or nerves.
Okay, it was nerves.
“So tell me.” He pulled out a chair and held it for her, then took his favorite position at the head of the dining room table.
Eyeing his curious expression, she took a deep breath. “I might move my furniture out of storage in Seattle.”
“Really.” His eyebrows shot skyward as he absorbed the implications. “Because...?”
“Dad emerged from the Woo-Woo Wigwam and announced he wants a divorce.”
“This is good news?” JC’s tone remained cautious.
She straightened the placemat, holding off looking at him. She wasn’t exactly nervous, but all of a sudden, talking about staying in Richland looked like a much bigger issue than she’d initially thought. “Not really. It sucks that they—he—gave up on the marriage. But it’s been over seven months. I guess Dad decided it was put up or shut up time.”
“So the good news is…?”
“He hit Mom with divorce proceedings today.” Holly glanced at JC, gauging his reaction to a divorce discussion. His ex was still a sore subject. “Dad wants half the value of Desert Accounting in the settlement.”
“Oh.” It took less than a second. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to decide. Stage Desert Accounting to sell, which was my original plan, or buy him out.”
“You’re staying here?” A smile played around the corners of JC’s mouth. Granted, he was an optimist where their relationship was concerned, but he was also smart enough to figure out the “good news” part.
“It’s a huge decision. I have to figure out how to structure the buyout and run a lot of numbers to see if I can afford it.” She raked her fingers through her hair. Put the real question on the table. “And there’s us.” She met his gaze. “We’re doing whatever it is we’re doing… Where do you see us headed?”
“I’d marry you tomorrow.”
“JC.” She blew out the breath she just now realized she was holding. Exasperation tilted her head.
His brown eyes were perfectly steady. “I’m serious.”
That’s what scares me. “I feel like we’re headed in that direction, but we have some issues to work out first.”
“Yeah.” His lips thinned, as if his dinner or her news were suddenly giving him heartburn. Then his expression brightened and heat flared in his eyes. “We should celebrate. Think Tate’s asleep?”
“What? Oh.” Desire shimmied down her spine. “He’s a really sound sleeper.”
JC’s phone chirped and he fished it out. His expression hardened as he glanced at the screen. “Damn. I have to take this.”
“I figured you were on call when I saw your gun.”
“My weapon,” he corrected as he tapped the cell’s screen. “Dimitrak.”
While he listened, she rose and finished cleaning the kitchen. As she rinsed the last pot and placed it on the drain, JC’s arms snaked around her waist. He pulled her back against his chest. “I want to hear more about your staying here, but I have to go.”
She rocked her butt against the hard bulge of his erection. “Right now?”
He kissed her neck and his hands rose to caress her breasts. “Please don’t make this harder.”
She turned to face him. He was already wearing his jacket.
“I really do have to leave.” He gave her one more toe-curling kiss and strode to the front door.
Yeah. His job was one of the issues they needed to discuss.
Chapter Nine
The Long Way Around (Dixie Chicks)
The car salesman chattered as he chirped open the BMW 440’s doors. Holly tuned out rates of acceleration, engine volume, and a mess of car statistics. She wanted to see how the car handled. How it accelerated. If this new vehicle drove as well as her beloved—and totaled—old car.
The sales guy rattled off more statistics when the doors closed. She pressed the start button and the dashboard hummed to life. The engine purred. The seat adjusted around her.
Oh, yeah.
She inhaled the leathery scent as she drove the floor model off the dealer’s lot. The only smell better than perfume was eau d’ new car. Tate’s comment had spurred her to push her agent and insurance companies to settle on her claim. Her insurance company had agreed to give her Blue Book value for her wrecked car. The other insurance agency would eventually pay enough to make up the price difference for a new one. A gap in her Tuesday schedule had shouted, “Car shopping!”
“What do you think?” The salesman leaned toward her, eyebrows raised.
“In the thirty seconds I’ve been driving it?” She shot a sideways glance at him. She wanted the car, but showing eagerness would blow her negotiating position.
He stayed quiet after that, other than making occasional turn recommendations that weren’t actually optional. They made one more right-hand turn and headed back to the dealership. “In addition to the coupe and Gran coupe, it’s available as a convertible.”
Like that was so practical in eastern Washington.
“It addition to the classic Alpine White, the 440 comes in other colors. If you don’t like the conservative Glacier Silver or Mineral Gray, you might find Melbourne Red, Estoril Blue or Sunset Orange appealing.”
Holly rolled her eyes. Implying she’d chose a car based on the color wasn’t any more effective than sputtering too technical patter. She parked and surrendered the toggle.
“Come inside and I’ll work up the papers.”
“Let me think about it.” Holly tucked her hands in her pockets. “There are a couple of other cars I want to test drive.”
His face fell.
Somebody needed to teach the guy how to sell cars.
She waved and crossed the lot to her rental. The dealership had probably sent the new guy over to talk to her because they’d figured she couldn’t afford the expensive car.
Back in the econobox, she squirmed in the driver’s seat, trying to get comfortable. With nothing pressing—relatively speaking—on her schedule, she should go talk to George. Find out if he was making any progress in identifying the problem that made the suspension part break.
The traffic lights cooperated and she cruised west until Highway 240 jogged toward Vantage and the Pacific Northwest Labs. A few minutes later, she threaded through the cluster of businesses that had spun off from the Labs. Like the surrounding buildings, Cascade Precision was a plain, metal, flat-roofed box. No trees or shrubs broke the sea of asphalt surrounding it.
The phone rang as she pulled into the parking lot. She fumbled the cell from her purse. Damn, she missed her Bluetooth device. She hadn’t replaced the one she’d lost in an orchard beside the Snake River.
“Nobody uses them,” the clerk at the mall kiosk had informed her.
“We don’t carry them,” the assistant at the local wireless carrier stated.
Okay, fine. She was a technology dinosaur. At least she could program the phone to sync with her new car.
Later.
In her spare time.
After she actually bought the car.
She fumbled with the lock on the phone face, catching the call before it went to voice mail. “Hello?”
“I’d really like that breathless tone if it didn’t make me wonder what you were doing.” JC’s warm, amused voice answered her.
“Sorry to pop your bubble, but I’m doing my job. You know, that accounting gig I have. What about you? Find that monster truck driver serial killer yet?”
“Captain doesn’t want me wasting time on a simple assault.”
A flutter of relief spread through her chest. Maybe the police didn’t consider Shaw’s death a homicide. “Randy and Tate?”
“Always admired that steel trap mind of yours.”
She pulled the keys from the ignition. “Yeah, yeah, flattery might get you out of my personal dog house.”
&nbs
p; “Good to hear that’s a possibility.”
She blinked. Had he actually been worried? Then again, he’d only mentioned the fight. Nothing about the wreck and Shaw’s death. “So you’re dropping the idea that Tate sabotaged Shaw’s truck?”
“Can you meet me for lunch?” he asked.
“JC.” Exasperation bled into her voice. “Come on. Tell me where things stand.”
“You know I can’t discuss active investigations.”
Damn. He was investigating Shaw’s wreck.
“I’m looking forward to having Tate around for a few days.” He would work at Quality Distributing’s local office since he needed to stay in town until his court date. She hoped the attorney was right and Tate would receive only a fine and probation, since the assault charge was his first offense. “But it isn’t fair to make both of us worry when he didn’t do anything wrong.”
JC paused a beat, as if either waiting to see what else she’d say or making a decision about how much he could tell her. “Let’s just say there are no new developments.”
Which could mean anything.
“So. Lunch?” His tone was downright perky.
She glanced at the dashboard clock. Eleven twenty. “I’m parked outside a client office. Where are you?”
“Downtown. The courthouse. I can run over the Blue Bridge if you’re heading back to your office.”
She figured he meant the Franklin County Courthouse, his usual base of operations. “What, no taco truck today?”
He chuckled, a warm rumble she’d missed.
“Are you talking about having lunch now?” She hauled her briefcase out of the backseat and checked for her “George” notes. “Much as I’d love to, I don’t see how I can.”
He sighed.
“Can you meet me later? I’m not sure how long this meeting might last.” She opened the car door.
“It’ll depend on when court recesses. I haven’t been called yet. They probably won’t get to me before the lunch break. Then I’ll have to be back when court reconvenes.”
In It For the Money Page 7