Now it was her turn to sigh. “You’re testifying? I knew you’d been subpoenaed, but didn’t realize it was today.”
“Yeah. Today. Probably tomorrow. This never seeing each other has to stop. Here’s what we’re going to do. Friday,” he said. “Dinner with me. Wear a dress, one of those loose, floaty skirt ones.”
She did a mental search of her closet. Did she even own a dress like that? “Any particular reason?”
“It’s a surprise. You did suggest I be more innovative than dinner and a movie.”
“Are high heels required?” Intrigued, she was ready to play along.
“Optional.” From his tone, if he were standing in front of her, both dimples would be on display. “How about I text you when court lets out? If you can meet me for lunch, great. Otherwise I’ll see you Friday.”
“Sounds good.” Holly dropped the phone into her purse after saying goodbye. She’d see him Friday. Assuming he didn’t cancel again.
Chapter Ten
Blame It On Me (Chrisette Michele)
George’s office was bright and functional. A few family photos sat on his desk. Good pictures of area sunrises and sunsets filled the walls. There were none of the usual self-congratulatory photos or plaques. The desk and chairs were simple, IKEA or Office Depot versions rather than mahogany. Both the conference table and desk were positioned to take advantage of the view through the windows. A sweep of sagebrush faded in the distance to the high bank of the Columbia River.
“Thanks for taking time to see me.” Holly stopped a few steps into the office. “I wanted to check in with you. Rick mentioned you were working with the accident investigators. Have they determined whether Shaw was driving on your design when he had the accident?” She was ninety-nine percent sure Shaw had been using the new suspension, but it seemed like an easier way to ask exactly what had broken and caused the wreck.
George Chen paced from his desk to the windows with angry, jerky steps. The full sunlight glinted off his bald spot and emphasized the new scowl lines on his face. He wheeled and stabbed a finger at her. “This is your fault. I never should have agreed to go into this business.”
Years at the negotiating table had taught her to hold onto her temper. At least with clients, that is. “Please, sit down.”
He opened his mouth as if he planned to spew more nonsense.
“Let’s step back before either of us says things we regret.” She crossed the room to a small conference table, pulled out a chair, and gestured. She knew George was under pressure—the financial risk of the new venture, Shaw’s death—but she’d never seen him lose it like this.
He dropped into the chair in a graceless sprawl. “Shaw died. I can’t believe it. I never had to worry about death with the other parts we make.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Yes, it’s awful Shaw died, but we don’t have the official”—she leaned on the word—”cause of the accident. Even if it was something with the suspension, we don’t know it was the new part. The newspaper said it was a tie-rod. Besides, hello? Dangerous sport. There’s a reason the drivers sign all those wavers and weld roll bars to their rigs. If the safety harness had held up, Shaw would be fine, even if the suspension did fail. If you’re looking for a place to lay blame, focus on the safety equipment.”
“It was the suspension that failed.” George had a one-track mind. “And that guy? The one who started the fight with your cousin. He’s running his mouth to the press about Tate and the ‘dumb-ass part’ he invented.”
“The guy’s all mouth and no brain.” She hoped it was true even as she suspected the rumors were part of the reason behind JC’s focus on Tate at the hospital. Note to self—find a criminal attorney for Tate.
Just in case.
George swiveled his chair toward the window. A thoughtful expression slowly hardened his features. “I have to tell you, once we had the medical people dealing with Shaw’s injuries, my next thought was, ‘Did he use our part?’“ He gave a slow shake of his head. “It will be terrible if it was our design and the part failed under field conditions.”
“Your testing included those kinds of stresses,” she reminded him. The results from the testing lab had shown over ninety-nine percent met every standard. “Maybe this one failure was from a bad lot that didn’t get picked up in quality control testing.”
George didn’t respond. For a long moment, he silently stared out the window.
After what felt like an eternity, she glanced at her phone to check the time. How long should she sit there before interrupting? “George?”
He startled and glanced at her as if he’d forgotten she was in the office. “The family has already contacted the event sponsors. If our part failed and caused the wreck, I have no problem covering the medical bills and an appropriate settlement. I’m far more concerned about the impact on our reputation and future sales.”
“That’s my concern, too.” She liked that his first thoughts were about the injured—make that dead—man. “What’s your next step?”
His lips folded in a tight line. “We’re working through Franklin County Sheriff’s Department for access to the part. I want my people to determine exactly what failed.”
“So, it hasn’t been confirmed that it’s your part?”
“Not yet.”
“Hmm.” It felt as if an eternity had passed since the accident, but it had been less than two days.
He gave one short nod. “My thoughts exactly. I’ve arranged to meet with the investigators this afternoon.”
If JC was in court today, he wasn’t part of the investigative team after all. Relief loosened knots in her shoulders. Bad enough he thought Tate had done something wrong. Officially being on opposite sides could have disastrous results for their relationship. “What has Mikhail Petrov said about it?”
A thoughtful frown creased George’s face. “Very little. I suspect he’s in wait-and-see mode. His exposure is limited.”
Mikhail could lose the funds he invested in George’s company if things went seriously south, but otherwise he was isolated from any financial repercussions. She made a mental note to ask Rick if there were other distributors for the parts—if Mikhail had an exclusive arrangement—and what kind of product return policy was written into his contract. If returns were limited, that policy could save George if Mikhail tried to claim all the parts as unsalable.
“He hasn’t been in the Tri-Cities long. My understanding is he knows a lot of people in the car and sports industries.” Holly drummed her fingers on the table. “Maybe he could offer some informal feedback on what other people are saying.”
“Good idea.” George made a note on his tablet.
“I’ve taken enough of your time. Please let me know if Rick or I can do anything to help you with this.” She gathered her purse and briefcase.
Minutes later, she waded into lunchtime traffic. The meeting with George had been shorter than expected. JC hadn’t texted. Depending on how morning testimony went, he could still be in court. Or the session could’ve recessed right after they talked and he’d already eaten without her. If he didn’t call or text in the next few minutes, she’d call him that evening, after work. They could just talk. Chat about the day, like other couples did.
What would that be like, having a conversation when neither could reveal the details of their daily routine?
Chapter Eleven
Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Maroon 5)
An incoming text message chimed as Holly cruised Highway 240. Tempted to sneak a peek, she waited until she exited the highway near the mall and stopped for the light.
JC: Taco truck?
Holly: Best u can offer?
JC: Quick. Short recess. More interested U.
Holly: Good answer. See u 5.
She turned around in the mall parking lot and headed across the Blue Bridge to Pasco, the courthouse, the taco truck and JC. Moments after she parked at the courthouse, JC trotted down the wide external stairs, spoke to the security guards, mak
ing them laugh, and strolled toward her. The wind carried a bite, but fall sunshine offered enough warmth he hadn’t buttoned his jacket. The cut showed off the width of his shoulders and the taper to his hips. A touch of swagger—he knew she was watching—lifted the jacket far enough away from his body to offer flashes of his weapon.
Oh, yeah.
Armed.
Dangerous.
“Hi, gorgeous.” He slid an arm around her waist, pulled her close and laid a kiss on her that said, “Hello, you’re mine. If we weren’t in public...”
About the time she was ready to wrap a leg around him, a car horn blared. Whistles and “Frisk her, officer!” floated across the parking lot.
Laughing, they disentangled. “Happy to see me?”
“Always.” He shifted the pistol, along with a more discrete body part adjustment. “Ready for lunch?”
She leaned close. “What are you offering? A room would be nice.”
A hot gleam flashed in his eyes. “Hold that thought.”
He grasped her hand and tugged her toward the sidewalk. “As long as we’ve waited, we’re not having a quickie in the car.”
“You got that right.” The quickie part was less an issue than the backseat of her econobox in broad daylight.
“You look nice.”
“Thanks.” She snuggled against him. Warmth flowed around her. “This suit isn’t exactly practical. I’m freezing my butt off.”
“That happens when you wear a thong.”
She leaned away and cocked an eyebrow at him. His expression was as deadpan as his tone.
“And you know this how?”
A grin teased the corner of his mouth. “Remember I mentioned those great powers of detection?”
“That was my line. And I remember your hand on my butt a few minutes ago.”
“There is that. And may I add, it’s a really nice butt.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
He laughed and snugged his arm tighter around her shoulders.
The line at their favorite truck was long but moved quickly. “What’s your case about?”
“Drugs.”
He did his cop awareness thing and she wondered what had caught his attention. She scanned the area but didn’t see anything interesting. Just the usual mix of courthouse people and blue collar workers crowded around the trucks. People chatted. Nobody fought.
“Going well?” she asked.
“I hope he pleads out during the break.”
“Meaning you have a good case and the jury doesn’t look sympathetic.”
“Got it in one.” He grinned and nodded at the open window of the food truck. “You ever hear the story about the taco trucks?”
“There’s a story?” She inspected the Hispanic guys in the truck. They took orders, cooked, made change and stuffed takeout bags at warp speed.
“One of the owners—not this one—got busted a while back.”
She shot another glance at the truck. “For? Please tell me it wasn’t food poisoning.”
The grin widened and his dimples appeared.
Damn but she liked those dimples.
“If you wanted to score your drug of choice, you ordered a strange food combination, paid for it at the register and your takeout had an extra bag.”
“Huh.” Actually it wasn’t a dumb system.
They reached the front of the line and ordered.
“One-stop shopping if you get the munchies?”
He laughed and tucked his wallet back into his pocket. “I think the munchies just go with cannabis.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, well, that’s legal. No problem-o.” Not that she was interested in pot. “How’d they get caught?”
“The wrong person ordered the special and got more than they wanted.”
A skinny kid called their order number and handed over two grease-spotted paper sacks. Holly pulled a stack of napkins from the dispenser and handed half to JC.
“What’s in your bag?” Holly craned her neck and peered suspiciously at the foil-covered bundles.
JC laughed and drew his lunch out of reach. “Nothing for you.”
The sole picnic table in the truck parking area was occupied. She glanced at the courthouse. “Steps or my car?”
They crossed the street. JC steered her toward the building. “Not enough room in that rig you’re driving.”
She nudged him toward the car. “But it’s out of the wind.”
He draped an arm around her waist, pulled her close and nuzzled her ear. “I can keep you warm.”
She glanced up at him and he laid another of those hot kisses on her.
“Stop.” Don’t stop. Heat warmed more than her cheeks. She planted a hand on his chest and pushed.
“You’re killing me.” He clamped a hand over his heart and staggered.
Laughing, she angled across the parking lot and opened the car door. She slid into the driver’s seat and shifted her briefcase to the backseat. “I test-drove a car this morning.”
“Oh?” He folded into the passenger seat.
“I might buy it.” She opened her lunch and inhaled the rich flavor of caramelized onions and beef. She took a giant bite, chewed and swallowed. “I can guarantee we aren’t eating Mexican in it.”
An older car puttered past them, the brakes and suspension squealing at every pothole. She nibbled the burrito and watched the car’s slow progress. Silently, she compared it to the slow moving rigs from the Boulder Bounders event. Cars constantly needed maintenance and new parts. Shaw’s rig should’ve had new parts. What went wrong? Why had it crashed?
“You’re awful quiet. Everything okay?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Just thinking.” He wouldn’t want to hear she was worried about Tate. And George.
And the repercussions for all of them if Tate’s part broke under the stress of the competition.
JC polished off his enchilada and smashed the foil into a tight ball. “I know you’re worried about Desert Accounting. Buying it, I mean. I checked. I can pull equity out of my house. If I cash in my investments, I have $250k.”
She gave him a classic double-take. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “JC.” She stopped and made sure her tone was the right pitch. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take your money.”
“Why not?” He stuffed the foil and napkin into the paper sack.
“For starters, we aren’t married. And generous as it is, I don’t think you realize how much money is involved.”
“We’re a couple. If not being married is a problem, we can walk across the parking lot.” He gestured at the courthouse. “There are probably five judges who’d be completely happy to do the ceremony right now.”
“Before either of us rushes in and does something rash…” She shook her head. “We aren’t ready to get married. And you need to understand the business side of buying the practice. The tax ramifications. You’d be an investor in my business. It’s not like buying a car.”
An offended note entered his voice. “I’ve made investment before. So, how much money do you need?”
She sat very still, aware of the minefield she’d just entered. “I won’t know precisely until I talk to a valuation expert, but the practice is worth millions.”
“Are you serious?” His expression matched his stunned tone. “You have that kind of money? You make that kind of money?”
“That’s the other thing we have to talk about. My condo in Seattle is worth a lot. I have investments. I’ll talk with a banker about a loan package if I move forward.” She pushed the half-eaten burrito into the sack. “Salary…” She sucked in a deep breath and pushed ahead. “With the weird position I’m in, I’m not making anything right now, but in a normal year, I’ll make two or three times what you do.”
His mouth opened and closed. He shook his head as if clearing his eyes. Or his mind. “Why?”
“Excuse me?” She knew some guys had a hang up about being the main wage-earner, but she
hoped JC had evolved past that.
“Why do you make that much?” His hands twitched in a vague encompassing gesture. “It’s numbers.”
Apparently he hadn’t. She glared at him. “Don’t you dare call me a bean counter.”
He pulled a hand down his face. “Of course not. But what you do isn’t exactly life and death, is it?”
She hoped George’s case wasn’t life and death.
Other than Shaw’s death.
“You don’t have a clue what I do, do you?” Her voice stayed amazingly calm, but her stomach twisted and cramped.
He shrugged. “You do tax returns. Stuff like that.”
She shook her head while another little piece of her heart crumbled. “That whole mess with Marcy’s murder? You drove me insane with questions and taking advantage of my language skills, but I got to see you in action. I have a pretty good idea what you do. You’re good at it. But it’s becoming crystal clear that you not only don’t know what I do, you don’t respect the time, effort and ability it took to get me here.”
“I know you work hard.” His face said he knew he’d stepped in it.
“Working hard barely scratches the surface. I do business planning, risk assessment...” She swung her hand, clearing an imaginary slate. “A whole range of business items you clearly aren’t interested in.”
He leaned forward, as if he planned to jump in, but she kept talking.
“It may not be as obviously life and death as the murder you worked last week—for all hours of the day and night, by the way—but in case you’ve overlooked a really obvious fact, loss of livelihood can be just as devastating as loss of life.”
His hand sliced the air. “You know I had to stop those guys before they killed another woman.”
“That’s what you got out of what I just said?” She shook her head. “You’re missing the point.”
“What do you want from me?” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You know what I do. Sometimes it’s insane. The past month with back-to-back homicides isn’t usual, thank God. I’m hoping the dumb-shit criminals’ biggest problem between now and Christmas is a speeding ticket.”
In It For the Money Page 8