In It For the Money

by Cathy Perkins

  JC said, “No” and the same time she said, “Yes.”

  “Good thing you cleared that up.” Tate crossed to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. “I’ll be downstairs.”

  “Actually, I need to talk to you.” JC rose and reached into his jacket.

  From the corner of her eye—when had she gotten so completely attuned to JC?—she saw the subtle shift as he morphed into full investigative mode.

  Tate paused, beer in one hand, an opener in the other. “About?”

  “What do you think? He’s going to ask more questions about Shaw and what you did to injure him so badly the guy died.” She gave JC her best hairy eyeball. “He doesn’t want to hear anything that says you’re a good guy who would never hurt a friend.”

  Both men stared at her. Tate incredulous. JC with his solid cop face.

  “This is the hospital, round two.” She shook a finger at JC. “You were there because you were notified about Shaw’s death. And lucky you. Your main suspect fell right into your hands and opened his mouth without a Miranda warning or an actual attorney. You must’ve been doing a major happy dance behind that cop face you use.”

  JC didn’t try to deflect her with humor. “We were asked to investigate Shaw’s death.”

  “Who asked?” she challenged.

  JC shook his head. “Active investigation.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Can’t discuss. Got it. But it was an accident. Danny crashed his truck. Rig. Crawler thing. Tate had nothing to do with it.”

  “Holly.” Tate hadn’t said a word until then. “If I have questions, it’s reasonable to expect the cops would have them too.”

  “And any questions the cops have should be asked with your attorney present.” She gave Tate another warning glare.

  “What questions do you have?” Tate asked.

  JC opened the notebook he’d retrieved from his jacket.

  She dropped her head and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Tate, just shut up. Don’t say anything.”

  JC blew out a long breath. “Okay. This is where we are. The autopsy report came back. Shaw didn’t die from the injuries he sustained in the wreck.”

  “What did you say?” A stunned expression plastered Tate’s face.

  Holly jerked her head up and stared, partly due to JC voluntarily divulging information and partly because of what he said. “What killed him?”

  JC pushed the notebook aside. “The only reason I’m telling you this is because the press will have it soon, if they don’t already. He was suffocated.”

  Fury rampaged through Holly’s chest. It twisted her stomach and tap-danced on her heart. “Only because the press is going to announce it? You couldn’t just tell my cousin about his friend? Not even to be nice?”

  “Suffocated.” Tate placed the unopened beer on the counter. “When? How?”

  “Why are you here?” she demanded. “If Shaw died from suffocation at the hospital, after he was admitted, then it clears both Tate and George Chen of any responsibility for his death.”

  “Where were you early Monday morning?” JC directed his question at Tate.

  Are you freaking kidding me?

  She opened her mouth, but Tate beat her to the punch. “In jail. Should be an easy alibi to confirm.”

  “What time were you bailed out?” JC picked up his pen.

  “Eight. Maybe a few minutes later.”

  “What about you?” JC flicked a glance at her.

  She recoiled as if he’d hit her. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

  “Where were you?”

  Anger tightened her hands to fists. “I had zero, repeat, zero reason to hurt Danny Shaw. But to answer your stupid question, home. Office. Then the courthouse to bail out Tate.”

  “You didn’t get to the hospital until nearly ten.” JC wrote without looking at her.

  “He needed a shower.” She hooked a thumb at Tate. “Your jail doesn’t provide those in a holding cell.”

  “What time did Shaw die?” His expression still stunned, Tate braced his hands on the countertop.

  “Best estimate is between five and six AM.”

  “You already knew we didn’t get to the hospital until after he was dead.” She shook her head, incredulous. “I can’t believe you actually thought one of us killed him. That’s unacceptable.”

  “I never said I thought you killed him. You both were at Boulder Bounders with Shaw and had a tenuous connection to the victim, Tate more so than you. Clearing you”—JC pointed at her—”was a formality.”

  “Good to know you consider me capable of murder and what you think about my opinion. Did it occur to you to say, ‘I have to do this. It’s closing off a line of questioning, or clearing you and Tate?’ However you want to phrase it. ‘I can talk to him at your house or at the station.’” She folded her arms, fingers clenched against her biceps. “I wouldn’t have liked it, but I would’ve understood. But no, you had to the blur the line and use our relationship to get yourself through the door.”

  “I wanted to do this in person—to be here with you—because in spite of your opinion, you don’t know what Tate’s capable of. You haven’t seen him in years.”

  Beside her, Tate straightened. “Hey.”

  Holly slashed a hand to keep Tate quiet. “I know him. You don’t change who you are, not on the inside.”

  JC looked her straight in the eye—and gutted her. “He’s been in the Marines. In the Middle East. Even you have to be aware that damn war screws with people’s heads.”

  “Not Tate.”

  “I’m in the room here.” Tate lifted a hand, waved it, then tapped his chest. “I can defend myself.”

  “You shouldn’t have to.” She glared at JC. “Now that you have incontrovertible proof about the time of death, you know he couldn’t have done it. So now do you believe me? I told you Tate didn’t have anything to do with Shaw’s death.”

  JC held her gaze for a long beat. “It’s not about trust or believing you. You gave me your opinion earlier. I have to deal in facts.”

  “Got it. Just doing your job.” She turned to her cousin. “Tate, if you’d please set up the movie, I’ll be downstairs in a minute. JC was just leaving. Apparently I need to lock the door behind him.”

  When it came to her future, Devon had been right. Take care of yourself. No one else will.

  “I thought you wanted to talk to me.” JC didn’t move.

  She scooped his jacket off the stool and threw it at him. “You’ve already told me everything I needed to know.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  How to Save a Life (The Fray)

  Thursday morning, Sammy leaned across Holly’s desk. She’d juggled the staff schedule to deal with the Tom Tom Casino’s—the DEA’s—questions. Her resident whiz at spreadsheets and data analysis, Sammy was the natural choice for the project. She’d taken him off his other projects in order to get Frank and the DEA agents’ work finished as quickly as possible.

  Sammy pointed to various sections of the spreadsheet, and explained the process he’d used for the regression analysis of the casino dealers’ tips. His presentation complete, he sat back and picked up the remnants of his bagel sandwich.

  Holly studied the information, making sure she understood the results. “This is great. It’s exactly what I needed. Thanks for pulling it together so quickly.”

  “It was kinda fun.” He smiled. “Something different.”

  She considered the due diligence project for Raintree. “Would you like to do more of this work? Say, some of the due diligence work like I did in Seattle?”

  “I’d love it.” He swallowed the last bite of his breakfast and sat up straighter. “Are we going to do that?”

  “Maybe. It’s something I’m considering. I’ll let you know.”

  “Great.” He picked up his laptop and stood. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  “Least I could do when I asked you to come in early. One more thing.”

  He cocked his head. “Yeah?”


  “Those farmer friends of yours—”

  “I told you I was sorry about the pig.” He backed toward the door, as if ready to run.

  Earlier that fall, the Future Farmers had sent a pig to Desert Accounting’s office as part of a fundraiser. She’d shelled out personal money to get the caged animal—and its stench—out of their lobby.

  A grin twitched her lips. “No, no. The pig was funny.” After it was gone. She held both hands up, stopping him. “Do they still have the llama?”

  Surprise lifted his eyebrows. “I can...find out.”

  “Let me know.” Sending the spitting farm animal to the police department while JC was chasing a murderer would have been wrong. But the way he was acting now... A llama would be even funnier.

  Especially if it spit.

  At JC.

  Then again, all things considered, she’d still rather send the pig.

  After Sammy left her office and headed to his cubical, she downloaded a copy of his spreadsheet to her laptop’s hard drive. Now she just had to explain it to Frank and the DEA agents.

  Shuddering, she tightened her hand around her coffee mug. Another session with Frank. The fourth time this week she’d had to deal with him.

  Straightening her spine, she channeled her inner Scarlett O’Hara. I’ll think about that tomorrow.

  She had plenty of other things to worry about now.

  Setting her coffee mug aside, she finished her own bagel while reading the newspaper’s latest explosive article about the Boulder Bounders disaster. As JC had said it would, the lead article featured Shaw’s death and the autopsy report. The first paragraphs stated the facts. The autopsy revealed the cause of death was suffocation. While injured in the accident—of course, they called it a wreck and dredged up the questions about sabotage and/or defective parts again—Shaw’s injuries had not been life threatening.

  Unfortunately, the story continued with more rumors about “bad blood” between Shaw and her cousin, and continued the earlier negative speculation about the suspension part’s design.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  At least the article didn’t accuse Tate of being the murderer.

  She put calling the attorney on her To Do list. As far as she knew, no one from the paper had contacted George or Tate to refute the “opinions” expressed by the newspaper’s source. She’d talked with Tate the previous evening about the libel, using the discussion to avoid talking about JC’s visit. Unless sales of the part dropped dramatically, Tate wanted to hold off meeting with Walt about a lawsuit. He planned to run it past George and then decide what to do.

  Maybe she should check in with George, as well. She picked up the landline and pressed the button for an outside line.

  “Morning, Holly.”

  Stifling a shriek, she dropped the phone and whirled toward the door. JC was leaning against the doorway.

  “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Sorry.” He didn’t look especially apologetic.

  Her gaze flicked to the clock on her computer. 7:42. The office wasn’t officially open. “How did you get in?”

  A smile played around his mouth. “Tracey.”

  She shook her head. She’d seen Tracey practically crawl over the counter when JC flirted with her. “Why is it scoffed at when a woman uses her looks to get what she wants, but it’s A-okay for a guy to use his charm?”

  “You think I’m charming?”

  “Tracey does.”

  “Look, I’m really sorry about last night.” He straightened. “I handled it completely the wrong way.”

  Ya think?

  “And? Why are you here? You have more irritating questions about your investigation?”

  He walked into her office like he owned the place. He sat in the chair Rick complained about as if it were the comfiest recliner in a guy’s man cave. “Ever occur to you I might want to see you?”

  “Ever occur to you I might not want to see you?”

  “I considered the possibility. Which is why I’m here.” He leaned forward and braced his foreman on his thighs. “Where did we get off track?”

  Holy crap. JC was finally asking direct relationship questions?

  She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, probably around the time you accused my cousin and me of sabotage and murder.”

  He sighed, tightened his hands into fists, then released his fingers on the exhale. “Listen. I had a hard time believing your cousin was involved. I was listening to your instincts. But I have to follow the rules. I have to follow a process that will stand up in court. I did my job and now he’s cleared. Why are you so mad? You told him at that first meeting at the hospital he could trust me to do my job. Why don’t you?”

  She propped her elbow on the desk. Her fingers pressed circles into her temple. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not saying don’t do your job. I may not like it, but I do understand the constraints you operate under. I don’t ask you about your cases because I know you can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”

  “You’re right. I can’t discuss my cases. But I know the past few weeks were crazy. I’m sorry I had to cancel our dates.”

  “I’m not saying your job isn’t important.” Beyond frustrated, she jammed her fingers into her hair. “I also realize, most of the time, you’re really good at what you do. What drives me insane is the way you dismiss every freaking thing I say. Why can’t you ever acknowledge I have a valid point? We could talk through that opinion or instinct to find a way to get those facts you have to have.”

  “That’s not the way—”

  God, she wanted to scream.

  “It is—” She jerked upright, cutting off the argument. Fingers spread, she shoved down the anger and exasperation. “The past few weeks, when you were chasing that killer, I understood you had to work and focus.” She dropped her hands on the desktop and met his gaze. “I wasn’t personally involved with any of those people. I didn’t have any insights, so I stayed out of your way. But in this case, I know my cousin. I know my client. Don’t make me chose between family and what I think is right and what you think—”

  He leaned forward. “I’m not asking you to choose—”

  She cut him off again. “You constantly ask me to choose. To accept the police version of events. I’m not saying it’s pure BS like the newspaper. I know junk like this article”—she flicked a hand at the paper—”is all innuendo and speculation. I’ve already talked to an attorney about it.”

  He glanced at the paper. “I can’t blame you for being annoyed about the paper. I can’t control what they say. We gave them the autopsy results in a press release. I have no idea where they came up with the rest of that...garbage.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And you don’t care what some guy’s saying? About Tate? About his new suspension?”

  “If it isn’t relative to my case, I’m only pissed off if you are.”

  She started counting to ten again, but only got to two. “Glad we’re on the same page about something. Have you considered the possibility the lies might be related? Investigated their quote, unquote, source?”

  “Holly.” He sighed and straightened. “Maybe we’re both out of practice.”

  “With?” She cocked her head and waited, using the time to wrestle her temper under control.

  “Sharing what’s going on in our lives.”

  She gave him a long, measuring look. Did he think that was the real issue? Was he simply deflecting the problem? Or was he actually trying to make things better?

  “We may look like the same people we were back in college,” she said evenly. “Older, but the same.”

  “I know.” He wasn’t wearing his closed off cop expression. Good sign.

  “But we’re different from those kids,” she continued. “A lot’s happened in those years. We relate because we share a past, but events changed both of us. Especially”—she forced back the bile climbing her throat—”events with Meredith.”

  According to his version of that
disaster, Holly had sent him tumbling into Meredith’s oh, so open arms.

  And legs.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “She jaded me on women.”

  “Including me?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I love you, but I was really angry at you and how things ended.”

  She blinked. Was that “love” referring to back then or now? Or...

  No. She was so not getting into that right now.

  “Is that part of what’s wrong between us now?” she asked.

  His gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t let me in. Your life’s this...containment zone.”

  “I do let you in. Some...” His eyebrows furrowed. Not angry, but like he was finally getting a glimpse of what she was trying to explain.

  “I want to change that. Are you willing to let go of the idea of who you think I am? Or rather, who I was in college? Get to know the woman I am now?”

  He was quiet, thinking. Finally, he looked up. “You’re right. A lot’s changed.”

  “Question is, what are we going to do about it?” She leaned back, trying to keep her expression and posture as open as possible.

  “Look.” He tapped his fingers on his thigh. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “I’m listening,” she said when he didn’t continue.

  “This isn’t my investigation, but I’ve heard there are concerns.”

  His investigation? That’s where his mind went with the lead in she’d given him?

  Then again, did he say investigation?

  “About?”

  He blew out a long breath. “Your client, George Chen. And his partners.”

  Those words were the last thing she’d expected. “George? I always thought he was the proverbial straight arrow. What have you heard?”

  “I don’t have details. Just heard there are questions about them. Their company. That maybe they’re doing something they shouldn’t.”

  She glanced at the newspaper and back at JC. “Questions like that unnamed source is asking? Am I to take it you include Tate in this global warning?”

  “I don’t know enough about it to say who’s included.” He hesitated. “I’m trusting you not to repeat this next part. Shaw had Fentanyl in his system when he arrived at the hospital after the wreck.”