“I love Italian.”
Croft went to the refrigerator for another beer. “Christopher, do you want one?” he asked.
“I can’t. I’m driving.”
Greyson popped the cap on a second one anyway. “We have a car service. They’ll drive you home and bring your truck.”
He started laughing. “Why am I not surprised? Do you realize this is all so totally bizarre? I walk into a security checkpoint, and then up to the largest condo I’ve ever seen, only to find my detective dressed like Bettie Page while cooking dinner in her kitchen.”
Croft took a seat beside him. “This is our everyday life. Did you expect to come in and find us dressed in work attire? You’re getting a glimpse of us that we don’t let many see. Out there, we’re Director and Detective Croft, but in here, we’re simply Greyson and Emma.”
She had to agree. “I cook dinner every night and I happen to have a thing for vintage clothes. I can’t wear a dress to work, so I wear them when we go out and around the house.”
“This is the real us,” Croft said.
The man looked over at the FBI director. “You’re a lucky bastard,” he stated, starting to laugh.
Croft knew he wasn’t referring to the condo. “I’m well aware. She takes very good care of me.”
“Yeah, well you’re cut off with the beer, babe. You know you’re going to want bourbon and cigars later. I’m only so nice, and you’re not that lucky.”
Croft roared with laughter. “See. I’m not the boss here. The pretty woman in the dress rules this roost. I just play boss most of the time,” he winked lasciviously at Emma.
She blushed and went back to the salad.
Greyson started the discussion towards work. They’d save the bulk of it for dinner, but for now, they’d get the basics out of the way. “Did Booker try and get a hold of you?”
At that, Ford laughed. “He’s been tracking my ass all damn day. I had to sneak into my office to get that file,” he said, pointing at papers on the counter beside him. “He was desperate by the end of the shift.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and passed it off to Croft. “Check out the text messages alone.”
Greyson scrolled through them, reading out loud so Emma could continue cooking.
They ranged from brief messages to ones of worry.
“Wow,” Emma said. “I’m surprised he isn’t calling you personally, Grey.” Since she knew why the man was dying for answers, Emma was well aware it was only a matter of time.
The timer dinged.
“Dinner is ready. Greyson, can you get a bottle of wine and the garlic bread while I carry in the lasagna?” she inquired.
“What can I do?” Ford asked, feeling oddly at ease and comfortable in their personal space. Maybe his snap judgment on the Fed had been wrong.
“Can you bring the salad?”
He came around and picked it up for them. “Where to?” he asked, looking around.
Greyson pointed to a room off the living area. “The dining room is over there.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Of course there’s a place to eat, and it probably has a giant table in it too.”
Emma started giggling. “This is Greyson’s castle, of course it does,” she teased. “He’s going big or nothing at all.”
Croft didn't mind the kidding. He liked their home, because it was definitely them. Walking by her, he slapped her on the derrière and grinned wickedly.
Again, their guest stared incredulously. “I know I’m in Wonderland. You just manhandled my detective and she didn't kick your ass.”
Emma stared up at her husband, loving the possessiveness in his very sexy eyes. “At Castle Croft, I’m Greyson’s wife first, being a detective is just my job.”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, loud enough for their guest to hear. “Exactly.”
Ford shook his head as he carried the salad to the dining room. If he wasn’t jealous before, he sure as hell was now.
Greyson Croft was the man.
Emma served them lasagna, salad, and garlic bread, and then sat not far from her husband. She really loved using their dining room. It wasn’t often they got the chance. Generally, they sat at the island to eat. No one wanted to deal with the hassle on a nightly basis, especially since they often worked late hours.
As everyone ate, they tried to keep the work to a minimum, but as dinner was coming to a close, it was getting time to spill it all to the captain.
If on cue, there was a call from the other room.
“Mom, Dad, I’m home! I smell lasagna! You didn't eat without me did you?”
Emma started laughing. She could tell by the look on her boss’s face, he was perplexed. “Curtis transferred out here to work with Greyson, and we’ve just never been able to get rid of him. The big joke in our home is that he’s our adult adopted child.”
Croft grinned, “And if you’ve worked with him, you would see that it’s not far from the truth.”
He entered the room. “No fair! I was doing the leg work and you get to eat Emma’s lasagna? I think I just got screwed with more drone work.”
Emma watched the man steal her plate as he sat beside her. “Sure, I was done with that,” she laughed, ruffling his hair.
“Curtis, do you realize that I pay for the food and I get to eat it when I feel like it?”
Briggs cut off a giant piece. “Well, yeah but I add spice to your boring life, old man.”
Emma kicked him.
“Ouch!”
Pointing at him, she didn't need to say a word.
“Christ, okay! I won’t call him old!” He retracted his comment, and then opted to discuss a safer topic, like work. “I did your runs for you. You’re not really going to be happy,” stated Briggs, handing the file to Emma. “I searched for any variation of spelling of Torrance Burns that I could find. I flipped his name, I misspelled it and I even just searched by Torrance and we have nothing.”
Yeah, Croft didn't like that at all.
“He didn't have any large sums of money coming in, but I can also tell you that he also didn't have direct deposit of his salary.”
Ford found that odd. “Really? Who gets a paper check anymore?”
“Someone with a hidey hole for their cash,” stated Emma. “He was keeping his assets liquid in case he had to go under. If he had to make a big withdrawal, everyone would see it. So, that means it has to be somewhere.”
Croft thought about it. “What else, Curtis?”
“I acquired everything the FBI had on him. You know all the secret stuff, and there’s nothing to worry about there. He has no flags on his file.”
That didn't sit well with Ford. “The government has files on people?”
All three at the table laughed at his naivety.
“Never mind, since it’s probably best that I don’t know. I better stop ordering porn on pay per view.”
There were snickers from the men at that table, and Emma stared at both of them. “I’ll cut the damn cable line myself,” she promised. Then to torment her husband, she ran her bare foot up his leg. When his eyes flickered over to hers, she could see him getting all stirred up.
“What about his cell phone?”
Curtis hated not working on his tablet, but they were keeping this hush hush, and their tablets were linked to the FBI database. Anyone with high enough clearance could sneak a peek.
Flipping to the page, he scanned it. “He called work, his bank, of which I checked, and a few pizza places. His call log looks exactly like that of a bachelor living alone. I can tell you that five days a week he had pizza and the other two he had wings and subs. He was a creature of habit.”
Ford opened the file that he had brought with him. “I’m sure I don’t have nearly as much on him as you do, but I can tell you that he was passed up for detective twice, both times by women. One of them was when Emma was hired externally.”
Briggs whistled. “If I was on the take and someone offered me money to take t
he woman who beat me out for a job, I’d do it.”
Croft looked at his wife. “Can you slap him for me, I can’t reach him.”
She did just that.
“That came out wrong. He’s a man, so imagine how emasculated he had to be when this babe strolls on in and gets the gig out of the blue. That had to put his nuts in a twist.”
Emma stared at him. “Babe?”
Briggs grinned. “For the record, and to be politically correct, you call your husband that all the time. So, I don’t think you should be offended.”
She shook her head.
Ford snorted. “Anyway, he also had a few disciplinary actions against him.”
“What were they?” Croft asked.
“They were all for excessive force.”
He sat back and began to think about it. “We have a man who dislikes women, has violent tendencies, and yet was shot in his recliner as he sat face to face with his killer.”
Emma finished. “He wasn’t worried. He was cocky enough to have that ‘eff’ you attitude. Burns was in his home and the person who hired him swings by to pay him maybe?”
“There might not be any money,” Briggs offered, eating his salad. “That’s why we couldn’t find it.”
Ford thought about it. “No, there’s got to be something. I’d bet he has it stashed somewhere that he deems safe.”
“I think Curtis should keep searching,” Emma suggested. “If anyone can turn something up, it’s him.” Standing, she began to clear the dishes.
“I’ll help,” Ford offered. “I don’t mind.”
Emma accepted.
Croft stood to leave, but was stopped by his partner. “Hey boss, I need to talk about Fed shit,” he said, nonchalantly as the other two left.
He sat back down. “What’s up?”
Curtis slid closer, pulling something out of his pocket. “The team swept the asshole’s house and found this in his digital camera. He took pictures of Emma.”
Croft saw red.
“Max retrieved it and called me in, and I picked it up. Only he and I saw them. We decided that she didn't need them going public or used when we find the person who hired Burns.”
He wanted to crush it in his hand. “How bad are they?”
Briggs didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to send his boss over the edge either. “Let’s just say that I don’t think you should tell her about them. If you want, it’ll die here and now between us.”
Croft thought about it. Part of him wanted to look at them to see what he did to his wife, but the rest of him didn't know if he could handle it. The rage was there right below the surface.
“Man to man, tell me what he did.”
Curtis didn't like this part at all. “She’s naked in them and on his bed.”
There was no choice as he handed it back to the man. “Erase that SD card. Strip it, and then destroy it. Break it into pieces and put it down the disposal. Then go through his email to make sure the asshole didn't send them out.”
Briggs took it back. “I already began working on that when I found out about them. I’m sorry, boss, I didn't want to have to tell you, but you needed to know. Max thought it would be easier coming from me.”
He stood and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Curtis. I appreciate what you just did for her and for me.”
Briggs watched the man he idolized leave. He’d keep them safe as much as he could.
He’d also keep fast to their motto. Family wasn’t always blood. In his heart, Greyson Croft was his brother.
There was no doubt.
After they cleaned up, Briggs excused himself to go work in his room. He had to take care of the situation for Greyson and also work on his data on the other case they were handling. As much as he’d love to hang out and smoke a cigar and have really old bourbon, work called.
Emma knew that the big part of the evening was coming, and her husband wanted to drop the big bomb the best way possible. It meant bourbon and cigars. As the men took their seats, she noticed her husband looked a little bit off his game. Normally, he was cool and collected, but right now he appeared to be rattled. That was so unlike him.
She knew what would cheer him up. “Grey, would you and Christopher like some bourbon?” she asked, sweetly. When he finally looked over at her, she winked.
It made him smile.
“Yes honey,” Greyson replied, his heart lifting a bit. No matter what, he had her now. He tried to keep telling himself that over and over. “Chris, do you like cigars?”
The man laughed at the question. “Who doesn’t? Maybe not the ladies, but any man who’s going to say no to Kentucky Bourbon and smoking isn’t right in the head.”
Emma poured them both a glass and walked it over to them. “Here you go,” she offered, before returning to get his humidor.
“Thank you,” Ford said, sipping the really good bourbon. “My grandfather used to drink whiskey every night but back then it was like turpentine.”
Croft recalled his own childhood. “Mine too. In fact, that’s his humidor. My wife tracked it down for me for Christmas.”
Emma walked to her boss’s side first, handing him the clipper and opening the box for him.
Ford went to reach into the box, and then stopped to close his eyes. “I’m going to pretend that they aren’t Cubans because I’m damn sure, that being in the FBI, you’re aware that it’s contraband.”
Croft shrugged. “Then I better smoke the evidence. I wouldn’t want my wife to go to jail, since she procured them for me.”
“Really, Greyson!” She couldn’t believe he just ratted her out to her boss.
Croft laughed, watching his wife flick the zippo, lighting the man’s cigar.
Ford watched her bring the box back to the shelf. “Not smoking?” he asked, curiously. What man had Cubans and passed it up?
“I am,” he stated, patting his lap, as his wife crossed to him with his cigar in her hand. She clipped it and handed it to him before crossing her legs as she rested against him. As she flicked the lighter, he leaned forward, eyes locked on hers. “Thank you, Emma my sweet,” he said, getting comfortable.
Chris Ford was enthralled as he watched it all. “Okay, I have to say something and I really hope that I don’t offend you both. I want to just be you for one day, and then I’ll be a happy man.”
Croft laughed, as Emma held his glass for him so he could wrap his free arm around her waist. “Sorry, but I can’t live a second without her, and I don’t share.”
“Damn. Okay, do either of you know where I can get a woman who cooks, has a full time job and will sit in my lap as I smoke a cigar?”
Emma grinned, leaving a kiss on the side of Greyson’s face. “Much like my husband, I like vintage. It’s my personality. I think Grey and I should have been born a different time, right babe?”
He nuzzled his wife’s neck. “Probably.”
Ford really was fascinated with the entire situation. Granted, every time Croft sent his wife flowers or presents at work, he just assumed it was to say sorry for some mistake. Now, he saw it. The Fed was actually romancing his wife. Who did that anymore?
Hell, if this was part of the benefits, he might even begin to try that theory out. The man was definitely old school.
“As much as I’m enjoying this part of the evening,” began Croft, “we have one last piece of information that you need to know about.”
“I figured. Just let me have it. I know it has to be pretty big if you’re plying me with expensive booze and Cuban cigars. In fact, it scares me shitless.”
“The FBI is currently investigating a situation.” Croft filled him in on the last director, and how he was very dirty and was serving time in jail for refusing to spill his contacts.
“Yeah, you mentioned this was to get at you. It pisses me off that these types of games are going on here. I’m not shocked, this is Vegas after all, but I am sickened by it.”
“You’re not the only one,” Croft assured
. He loved his home and didn't like how it was becoming a mire of lies, death, and deceit.
That had to change, and would, if he had anything to say about it.
Emma played with the back of his hair at his neck, running her fingers through it. When the man got the news on this one, he was either going to believe it or tell them pound sand.
“Just spill it, Croft.”
Greyson took a puff of his cigar and stared into the man’s eyes before answering. “The FBI has a suspect and the investigation is ongoing.”
“Who is it?” Ford questioned.
“Commissioner Thomas Booker.”
Ford simply stared.
Yeah, there weren’t enough bourbon or Cubans to prepare him for that information.
Chapter Seventeen
Silence engulfed the room, as no one spoke for a few minutes. They gave him some time to digest it all. From the look on his face, he was battling the twin emotions of incredulousness and disbelief. One minute, he would stare at them like he was waiting for the punch line to some joke that he was missing, and then he’d look horrified at the implications of their wordlessness.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
Emma shook her head. “He’s serious, Chris, and it’s a big mess.”
The man stood and began pacing. “So, you’re telling me that my boss is funneling bribes through his job? Who’s funding that?”
Croft watched him pace, and he understood exactly what he was feeling. “We at first thought it was Randall Mason, but since digging deeper we found he’s not involved directly.”
Emma continued, “He would be the likely person, as the richest man in the city, but we’ve all but cleared him.”
“Oh Christ, this is a mess,” Ford said, chugging his bourbon. Then, he realized how stupid that was. “Shit,” he hissed, as the burn took over.
“You okay, Chris?” Emma asked, laughing.
“No, I’m not okay. My boss is being investigated by the FBI. Next thing that you’ll be telling me is that I’m next.”
Christmas is Killing (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 3) Page 40