by Diane Kelly
I exhaled a long breath and rocked back on my heels until I, too, was sitting on the sidewalk.
Nathan looked at me and I looked back at him.
“Tara,” he said, his voice breaking, “I…I’m really sorry. For everything.”
I suppose if he could be big enough to apologize, I could, too. “I’m sorry your chair got broken.” Okay, so that was as big as I could be. I wasn’t actually sorry for any of the other stuff I’d done, and my mother didn’t raise any liars.
I stood and reached down to offer him a hand.
He looked up at me, his face contorted in embarrassment. “I’m afraid I wet myself.”
Yep, not a bad day at all.
Chapter Twelve
Tongue-Tied
I found Lu, Nick, Viola, and half a dozen special agents gathered in my office when I returned. While the other agents cheered and clapped me on the back, Viola forced a blank firearm discharge report into my hand.
“Give me a break,” I told her. “My gun hasn’t even cooled off yet.”
Her gaze nailed meover her bifocals. “Have that report completed and on my desk by the end of the day.”
Lu opted only to point an accusing finger at me as she turned to go. Was it just my imagination, or did her beehive wig turn around and point an accusing finger at me, too?
Nick remained behind after the others left. He stepped to my door and closed it, giving the two of us some privacy.
He stepped closer and reached out a hand to take mine. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. “There’s nothing sexier than the smell of Chanel Number Five mixed with gunpowder residue.”
I looked up at him. “Yeah, right.”
He chuckled, but his face became serious as he gazed into my eyes. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. But I was lying, trying to be tough when in fact all I wanted to do was cry. Looked like my mother had raised a liar after all.
I began to shake, the rush of adrenaline working its way out of my system, my body responding to the trauma my mind had suffered.
Nick released my hand and wrapped his arms around my back, pulling me to his chest, enveloping me in a warm, strong, safe embrace.
God, it felt good to be in his arms.
Eventually my body stopped shaking, and a sense of absolute exhaustion took over. Nick gently settled me into my chair and picked up Viola’s form from my desk. He knelt next to my chair and filled out the form for me, handing me a pen so I could sign it. “Wouldn’t want you to incur Vi’s wrath.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking over at him.
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes flickering to my lips as if he wanted to kiss me. Hell, I wanted to kiss him, too. But it would be wrong. Still, as wrong as it might be, it could be right, too. Maybe even more right than wrong?
This heartache was unbearable. A teardrop welled in my eye, escaped, and ran down my cheek.
Nick put a warm hand to the side of my face and used his thumb to brush away the tear. “Thanks, again,” I managed, forcing a weak smile.
He gave me a soft chuck on the chin and left my office, quietly closing the door behind him.
That evening, Brett took me to dinner and a movie as planned. But I only poked at my food and stared, unseeing, at the movie screen.
Brett did his best to be understanding about the shoot-out and its effects on me, but he’d never truly understand, would he? He didn’t understand what drove me to continue to work as a special agent despite the job’s obvious risks. Hell, I’m not even sure I understood. I just knew I felt called to be a special agent, to right wrongs, to promote fairness and justice. It was more a mission than a job.
And nothing would stop me from doing it.
Still, being with Brett was a welcome, perhaps even necessary, respite from my crazy world. Though he might not fully comprehend my feelings, he was nonetheless able to comfort me, serving as a calm, quiet refuge.
What would I do without him to keep me grounded?
I was afraid to find out.
Monday morning, I was back at work, sorting through the stack of files on my desk. Most were small cases. A neighborhood bar owner who’d falsified his expenses. A hotel manager who’d skimmed thousands from the earnings and failed to report the misappropriated income to either his boss or the IRS. A woman who ran a phone sex line from her home and hadn’t reported the two hundred grand she raked in last year. Not bad for a woman of sixty-three with a mustache and a goiter. Of course, the photo displayed on her website wasn’t her own. She’d bought the photo of the scantily clad buxom blonde for five bucks from a stock photo site. She’d produced a receipt so I’d have to allow her the deduction.
Even though Nick was working out in the field today, I found myself routinely looking across the hall to his office. Old habits are hard to break.
The phone on my desk buzzed and Viola’s voice came over the intercom. “Lu wants to see you.”
I punched the button. “I’m on my way.”
I walked to Lu’s office, stopping by the kitchen to grab a soda from the fridge on the way. When I arrived at her office, I found my usual partner, Eddie, seated in one of her wing chairs. Eddie was tall, thin, and dark-skinned, but he was much more PTA than NBA. He and his wife had two adorable daughters. He drove a minivan and liked Phil Collins’s music. Despite his status as a suburban family man, he was a top-notch agent and a great partner and mentor.
I popped the top on my soda and plopped myself down in the other chair. I looked from Eddie to Lu. Both of them wore intense, strained expressions. Uh-oh. “What’s going on?”
“The terrorist case is back on,” Lu said.
“What?” I sat up straight. I’d been thrilled earlier in the week when it looked like the case would be resolved without help from Eddie and me. The horrific information in the file had haunted me. I wasn’t sure I was emotionally equipped to work on the investigation. “I thought you said one of the guys who’d been arrested agreed to talk in return for leniency?”
“He did,” Lu said. “But that couldn’t happen until the details were worked out. It took a few days for the lawyers to come to an agreement. By then, one of the other terrorists had got wind of the deal.”
“So?”
“So it’s awful hard to talk when your tongue’s been cut out.”
All the air left my lungs. My chair seemed to spin and my head lolled about, suddenly too heavy for my neck to support.
Eddie put a hand behind my head and shoved my face down between my knees. “Breathe, Tara. Breathe!”
I looked down at the industrial-grade carpet and tried to inhale and exhale without hyperventilating. It wasn’t easy. Finally, I managed to get myself under some semblance of control.
I lifted my head, but I closed my eyes.
If there was one thing I’d need now more than ever, it was someone to lean on.
St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles
By Diane Kelly
Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure
Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte
Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray
Death, Taxes, and a Sequined Clutch
(e-novella only)
Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria
(coming in February)
KYLE CAVENER
DIANE KELLY is a tax attorney by day, writer by night. A recipient of the 2009 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements, she has received more than two dozen RWA chapter awards. Diane’s fiction, tax and humor pieces have appeared in True Love magazine, Writer’s Digest Yearbook, Romance Writers Report, ByLine Magazine, and other publications.
For more information,
visit her Web site at www.dianekelly.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DEATH, TAXES, AND A SEQUINED CLUTCH
Copyright © 2012 by Diane Kelly.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
www.stmartins.com
eISBN: 978-1-4668-1699-2
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / November 2012
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Also by Diane Kelly
About the Author
Copyright