Death, Taxes, and Silver Spurs

by Diane Kelly

  My head went dizzy and I felt myself wobble. I could barely force my words out between panting breaths. “I need to … talk … to you!”

  “I got this,” the security guard called over his shoulder to Brazos. He turned his attention back to me, stepping to the side to block my view. No matter. The image of Brazos gazing at me would be forever etched in my mind.

  The guard leaned down into my face, glaring into my eyes. “I said ‘beat it.’”

  As I mentioned, having two older brothers made me relatively fearless. It also made me a crafty fighter.

  “All right,” I lied. “We’ll go.” I took a step back then faked a left. When the guard shifted his bulk to the side, I rushed forward, slipping through the space between him and the guard next to him. Being petite, agile, and sneaky had its benefits.

  “We need to talk about your taxes!” I cried, sprinting toward Brazos.

  His brow creased in confusion. “My what?” he asked in his smooth, Southern-accented voice.

  “Your taxes!” I was a mere five feet from the shining star that was Brazos Rivers when the guards caught me from behind, grabbed my arms, and yanked me to a stop.

  “Taxes?” Brazos frowned. “Who are you?”

  “Special Agent Tara Holloway.” I struggled to free myself from the tight grips of the bouncers. “I’m with the IRS.”

  Brazos eyed me a moment as if processing the information.

  The bearded guard tightened his hold on me. “Don’t fall for it,” he warned the singer. “It’s just another bullshit gimmick to get back here to meet you.”

  The guards began to pull me backward, away from Brazos. Though I tried to dig in with my heels, the tiled hallway offered nothing for them to dig into.

  The singer raised a hand. “Hold on a minute. Why would anyone in their right mind pretend to be an IRS agent?”

  Good point. Brazos wasn’t just sexy and talented, he was perceptive, too.

  He jerked his chin upward. “Let her go.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  The guards released me. Unfortunately, my body was angled backward and with no more support from the sentries my ass hit the floor. Fwump.

  Brazos smiled his beautiful smile, lighting up the dim hallway like a human floodlight. He strode up to me, his spurs jingle-jangling as his closed the distance between us. He towered over me, his denim-covered crotch perfectly framed by the leather chaps, his open shirt giving me an up-close-and-personal glimpse of those well-defined abs and pecs. I stared up at him, simultaneously frozen in place while experiencing a hot, full-body blush.

  The man is just so … damn … sexy.

  Chuckling, he reached down. “You look like you could use a hand.”

  I looked at the hand in front of me, at the fingers that strummed the guitar, plucking number one hits. Dare I touch this sacred flesh?

  Oh, hell yeah, I dare!

  I grasped Brazos’s warm hand in my own. The Texas flag on his bicep flexed as he pulled me to a stand directly in front of him.

  “Come on back to my bus,” he said. “We can talk privately there.”

  Privately …

  Still holding my hand, he turned and headed down the hallway. I trailed along like a helpless stray puppy following a kid home from school, hoping to be taken in.

  “Tara!”

  On hearing Nick’s voice behind me, I dropped Brazos’s hand and looked back. Oh, my God. I’d totally forgotten about Nick. What was wrong with me?

  Two of the security staff continued to block Nick’s way. With his jaw set firm and his eyes ablaze, Nick looked none too happy about it.

  Brazos looked from me, to Nick, and back to me, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned toward me and whispered under his breath. “He your boyfriend?”

  Yes, of course, Nick was my boyfriend. But at the moment our personal relationship was irrelevant, right? We weren’t here as a romantically involved couple. We were here as IRS special agents to negotiate a tax settlement with Brazos.

  “He’s my partner.” Despite my words being true, my gut clenched with guilt. Nick was my partner, sure, but he was also so much more than that.

  “Your partner, huh?” Brazos ran his eyes from the top of my hair to the tip of my boots and back up again. “You look like a woman who’s capable of handling me all by yourself.” His pupils flashed darkly before he looked down the hall and addressed Nick directly. “She’ll be back.” His eyes narrowed in challenge. “When I’m done with her.”

  chapter five

  Whispers and Kisses

  When he’s done with me …

  What, exactly, did Brazos plan to do with me? And why was I going along so easily, helpless to resist, like a witless, innocent lamb being willingly led to slaughter?

  Brazos ushered me out the back doors of the arena and into the crisp air of the parking lot, the cold air snapping me back to reality. Sure, Brazos was an internationally renowned songwriter and country-western star. Sure, he had one of the finest asses ever to sport a pair of chaps and the bluest eyes a girl could dream of. Sure, he had an income an Arab sheik would envy. But those things didn’t make him superhuman. And they didn’t exempt him from paying his due to the U.S. government.

  His enormous tour bus stood waiting in an enclosed area, the engine idling. The transport bore the name BRAZOS RIVERS in large red letters along the side underneath the windows. A vertical panel near the back featured an enlarged photograph of the star leaning back against a red barn, wearing his trademark cowboy hat, boots, and silver spurs. The specially equipped tour bus was valued at $230,000 according to the documentation provided by the collections department. Quite a ride.

  The doors swung open, operated by unseen hands, as Brazos approached.

  Brazos ascended the first step, then turned to offer a hand down to me. “Watch your step. The first one’s a doozy.”

  “Thanks.”

  My red boot had barely touched the first step before Brazos hoisted me up to the floor of the bus and encircled me with his arms. The fan-girl in me nearly swooned. The federal agent in me thought he was getting a little too personal. Still, too personal or not, I let myself enjoy his touch for a moment while I glanced around the bus.

  The visible part of the vehicle contained an extended living area with three leather couches forming a semicircle around a coffee table. Farther back to the left was a built-in dining table with padded booths on each side, wide enough to seat six people comfortably. On the right was a small kitchenette and fully stocked liquor cabinet complete with a polished wood bar and built-in stools with a brass footrest. Between the dining area and kitchen was a closed door that presumably led back to the sleeping quarters. Per the article in Stud Farm, the bedroom contained a hot tub and a king-sized bed with black satin sheets.

  “When I’m done with her…”

  The roadies, the girls in the halters, and the Boys of the Bayou milled about the main space, grabbing beers from the minifridge, flopping back onto the couches, using a remote control to channel-surf on the big-screen TV mounted on the wall.

  Brazos grinned down at me. “You’re awfully cute, you know that?”

  Had he seen my hair right after Hilda had groomed it this afternoon, he’d have surely felt differently.

  I took advantage of our proximity to give him an up-close-and-personal once-over. He was damn fine, no doubt about it, but up close like this a few minor imperfections became apparent. For one, he smelled a little sweaty. But who could blame him? He’d spent the last two hours dancing and singing and playing his heart out under hot spotlights. The sweat had washed away some of his stage makeup, and the skin underneath was a little ruddy. Not a problem. He was still sexy as hell. And I wasn’t naïve. I’d known the magazine photos of Brazos were airbrushed. Nobody’s pores were totally invisible like that. I also noticed that the roots of his sunny blond hair were a mousy brown. So the guy had his hair colored. No big deal, right? You’d expect a celebrity to try to look his best. These rea
lities did nothing to dampen my infatuation. In fact, meeting Brazos in the flesh, feeling his hands around me, only made him seem less like a fairy-tale prince and more like a real man, a real possibility.

  Yet, as much as I enjoyed his touch, I had to put an end to it. I was here as a special agent now, not an adoring fan. I put a hand on each of his wrists and eased his arms back. “Let’s talk about your taxes.”

  He took a step backward. Though the grin had left his mouth, his eyes still twinkled with merriment. “What’s the matter? You don’t mix business with pleasure?”

  “It’s not allowed.” Getting involved with a taxpayer who was the subject of a tax-evasion case was a huge no-no. We’d been warned against such entanglements in our special-agent training, and the manual strictly prohibited agents from working any case in which they might have a real or perceived personal interest. That said, a silly celebrity crush wouldn’t disqualify me from pursuing the taxes Brazos owed, so long as I didn’t let my infatuation cloud my judgment.

  Brazos cocked his head. “What if it were allowed?”

  I’d boink your brains out!!! I offered him a beguiling smile. “Let’s not go there.”

  With a chuckle, Brazos stepped over to the bar, pulled a glass from a shelf, and poured three fingers of bourbon into it. “Can I get you something?”

  I was intoxicated just drinking him in. “No, thanks.”

  “Let me guess. Alcohol’s not allowed on the job, either?”

  “Right.”

  He raised his glass in salute. “Here’s to our faithful public servants.”

  A few of the others raised their glasses and beers, too, calling out, “Here-here,” or, “Bottoms up!”

  Brazos tilted his head to indicate the booth. When he slid into one side, I slid into the other. The star set his glass down on the table and looked at me expectantly.

  I pulled a file from my oversized purse and pushed it across the table. “Our records show you’ve never filed a tax return.”

  He cocked his head. “You putting me on?”

  I shook my head.

  His blue eyes went wide. “That can’t be right.”

  He opened the file and flipped through the contents. A transcript showing the earnings reported to the IRS by the various companies he’d done endorsements for. Reports for royalties earned on the sales of his CDs and music downloads. Summaries of concert revenues, every show a sellout. All in all, he’d earned $43 million in the five years since he’d launched his singing career, the majority of it in the last twenty-four months as his popularity gained momentum.

  I pointed to a spreadsheet at the bottom of the stack. “As you can see, the estimated tax due is nearly twenty million dollars with interest and penalties.” What’s more, interest was continuing to accumulate at the rate of $2,191.78 per day. Luckily for Brazos, current rates were low, only 4 percent.

  Brazos closed the file and sat back, a dumbfounded look on his face. “This is the first I’ve heard about a tax bill. My CPA was supposed to take care of my taxes. Something must’ve fallen through the cracks somewhere.”

  “You didn’t get the notices the collections department sent you?” They’d sent a dozen or more.

  He shook his head. “With me being on the road so much, I have all my mail sent to a forwarding service. I don’t recall receiving anything from the IRS. Of course, I get so much fan mail the notices could have gotten lost in the shuffle.”

  I could understand where the guy was coming from. After I’d pursued both a charismatic televangelist and the leader of a secessionist group, I’d received mail by the tons, too, from outraged parishioners and infuriated separatists. Though I supposed calling the letters “fan mail” would be inaccurate. It was unlikely the letters to Brazos began with Die, bitch, die!

  The fact that Brazos had been nonresponsive and impossible to access was part of the reason the collections department had turned his case over to the criminal investigations division. Like most celebrities, the man was insulated by layers of staff and managers and bodyguards, a whole regiment of gatekeepers. The collections agent had never been able to break through the barriers and speak directly with the star.

  What’s more, despite the fact that Brazos had millions in assets, collecting the taxes due proved impossible. He maintained only nominal cash balances in U.S. banks, and his hard assets—his tour bus, his private jet, his sixty-eight-foot yacht dubbed the River Rat—were mobile, constantly on the move, their whereabouts impossible to pinpoint at any given time.

  “Who’s your CPA?” I asked.

  Normally we expected the taxpayer to take action to resolve outstanding tax issues, but in this case I’d be willing to cut Brazos some slack and contact his CPA myself for information. After all, the poor guy toured virtually nonstop according to the schedule on his Web site and, looking at him across the table, at the confounded expression on his face, it was clear the guy had no clue how to handle this problem. He might be a talented singer and songwriter but, like many celebrities, he seemed to have no idea how to run the business end of things. He’d relied on others, and those others had let him down. It wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened. Besides, the tax bill didn’t take his expenses into account. It was only fair to get the data from his CPA so his bill could be adjusted downward to account for his costs. Heck, the gasoline for this behemoth bus alone probably cost fifty grand a year or more. What’s more, the penalties were negotiable. If he cooperated, the penalties could be significantly reduced or eliminated entirely.

  Brazos shrugged in response to my question. “Honestly? I don’t know who my CPA is. My agent said he’d hire someone for me.” He leaned forward across the table. “Look, Tara—”

  Oh, my God! He said my name! Ugh. Guess I couldn’t totally quell the fan-girl in me.

  “I want to straighten this out,” he continued. “Let me get this information sent over to my agent so he can take care of things. Sound good?”

  I looked into the depths of those river-blue eyes and found myself nodding like a bobblehead doll in a car driving over a cattle guard.

  “Great.” Brazos flashed his hundred-watt smile before looking back down at the file, noticing the magazine underneath and pulling it out. “What’s this?” When he realized it was a copy of Stud Farm he laughed, a rollicking, natural laugh, like water flowing over rocks in a stream. “Want me to autograph this?”

  “Would you?”

  “For you, Tara? Anything.”

  Take me, Brazos! Now! Right here in this booth!

  “Got a pen?”

  “Sure.” Anything else you’d like to put your hands on, just let me know.

  I retrieved a pen from my purse and handed it to him, embarrassed to notice my hand trembling. Brazos scrawled something on the centerfold page, then closed the magazine and handed it back to me. “I’ll walk you out.”

  When I stood from the booth, he put a hand on the small of my back to guide me to the door of the bus. I found myself slowing my pace to increase the pressure of his touch. A desperate move but, hell, Brazos Rivers was touching me!

  We reached the exit and descended the stairs to the parking lot.

  “It was wonderful meeting you,” he said.

  “You, too.”

  It had been more than wonderful. Meeting Brazos had been a dream come true.

  He glanced around before reaching into the front pocket of his jeans and easing my red lace panties out. He leaned his head down until his lips were mere inches from my cheek. “Want these back?” he whispered, his breath soft and warm on my skin. “Or can I keep them to remember you?”

  As a federal agent pursuing him for unpaid taxes, I probably should’ve been mortified that he’d realized I’d been the one to throw the red lace panties. But as a female fan, all I could think was, Brazos Rivers touched my panties! Would’ve been more fun if I’d been in them at the time, but I’d take what I could get. I gazed back into his eyes. “Keep them.” And, please, don’t ever forget me. />
  He offered me a sexy grin and leaned in even closer, his mouth—those lips!—aiming directly for mine.

  Holy shit! Brazos Rivers is going to kiss me!

  At the last second, I turned my head away. As much as I adored Brazos, as much as I worshipped the very ground upon which he walked in those boots with their jingle-jangling silver spurs, my heart simply wouldn’t let me betray Nick. Brazos might have seemed more real to me tonight than ever before, but the chances of the two of us developing a relationship were laughably low. Besides, what I had with Nick was close to perfect. No way would I risk that, even for my celebrity crush.

  Chuckling, Brazos pressed his lips softly to my temple. “You’re acting awfully shy for a girl who wears red lace panties.”

  “I’m an enigma.” An enigma wrapped in a mystery going commando.

  “Everyone on board!” A thirtyish, dark-haired woman with a clipboard and a headset marched toward the bus, waving an arm to round up the stragglers. “We’re heading out!”

  With a final grin, Brazos Rivers stepped away from me. “Bye, Tara.”

  “Bye, Brazos.”

  chapter six

  Finished

  I made my way back into the arena, feeling simultaneously proud that I’d managed to resist Brazos’s many charms and stupid that I’d passed up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to suck face with the superstar. Maybe I could have taken a sample of his saliva to the biology department at SMU to get a clone made. If the scientists in Jurassic Park could bring dinosaurs to life after billions of years of extinction, surely creating a Franken-Brazos from fresh spit should be no problem, right?

  The hallway where Nick and I had had our standoff with the security guards was empty now. I walked up the corridor and spotted Nick and a uniformed marshal just outside the glass front doors. Nick leaned back against the building, his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face. The marshal stood nearby, smoking a cigarette and looking up at the Dallas skyline.

  When I stepped outside, Nick cast a disgusted look my way. “Brazos all done with you now?”