by Diane Kelly
“Tara!” Lu grabbed me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. “You all right?”
“I will be,” I said, “once the painkillers kick in.”
Now that he’d verified that I’d survive and recover fully—eventually—Nick treated me to both a hug and his mischievous grin. “I always thought you had a smoking hot ass. Of course, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
I rolled my eyes. “Har-dee-har-har.”
Eddie gave me an intent look. “I know what you did out there, Tara,” he said quietly. “Thanks.”
I shrugged. “You’d do the same for me if our situations were reversed, right?”
“Oh, sure.” He nodded vigorously. “No doubt about it. Mm-hm.” He followed his snide remarks with a whistle, darting his eyes about.
“Jackass,” I said, though he wasn’t fooling me. Eddie and I had been through too much together, knew each other too well. I knew my partner had my back, would never leave me hanging.
Lu had ridden out to the hospital with Nick. Assured that Nick would get me home and look after me for the next day or so, Eddie said he’d drive Lu back to Dallas.
The pill kicked in and I slept blissfully on the drive back to the city, lying on my side on the seat of Nick’s truck, his comforting hand on my shoulder. When we reached his place, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me inside, taking me up to his bed. He laid me gently on top of the comforter.
Daffodil had followed us up the stairs. She propped her front paws on the edge of the bed, sniffing my charred skin with her cold, wet nose. Seeming to sense I was hurt, she hopped onto the bed and licked my face.
I ruffled her ear. “You’re a good girl, Daffy.”
With that and a big yawn, I slipped away into la-la land.
chapter forty-one
Posers
Eddie and I were chatting over coffee in the office kitchen the following Monday when Viola came in to fetch a fresh cup for herself.
“Well, well,” she said, “if it isn’t original recipe and extra crispy.”
Eddie groaned. “At least that’s a new one.”
After the explosion, our coworkers had seized the opportunity to razz us. One had posted photos of the two of us on the bulletin board with the caption “The Hottest Team in the IRS.” Another had affixed a sticky note to the microwave that read, “Out of Order. Use Tara Holloway’s Ass.” I couldn’t walk down the hallway that morning without someone asking if I was “fired up” or sniffing the air and asking, “Does anyone else smell barbecue?”
* * *
The next few weeks were a flurry of activity as the Brazos Rivers and PPE investigations came to their conclusions.
Larry Burkett had returned to his house the night of the explosion and was arrested there. The marshals who’d apprehended him came by the IRS office to give us the play-by-play.
“We dragged his sorry ass out of bed,” the first marshal said, smirking. “He was in his pajamas. We didn’t let him change.”
“Of course he denied any involvement,” said the second marshal. “He claimed he didn’t even know there’d been an explosion, that the battery in his Yukon had died when he was checking on the well and that’s why he’d left the SUV there.”
Of course nobody believed him. Clearly he’d left the car there to lure us in.
“He asked about you two,” the first noted. “Wanted to know how you were doing.”
I raised a brow. “His conscience was finally getting to him?”
“Hell, no. When I told him you’d both survived with only minor injuries he cursed.”
Burkett wasn’t the first tax evader to be disappointed by my survival. Dare I hope he’d be the last?
When later asked about the funds, Burkett claimed he’d been unaware of the cash withdrawals Katie had made from the PPE accounts. Nobody believed that either. He was charged not only with bribery and tax evasion, but also with attempted murder for rigging the well to explode when Eddie and I arrived.
Though Cobb wasn’t talking, we speculated that he’d had his lawyer place a quick call to Burkett after his arrest. Burkett had likely put two and two together and realized that the jig was up and we’d be coming for him now that we had Judge Craven and Russell Cobb in custody.
Michelson and his son identified Cobb in a lineup as the man who’d bought the Toyota from them. The evidence against him was insurmountable. He’d go down with the judge and Burkett. Unlike his coconspirators, however, he’d been released on bail. Since he’d committed no violent acts and had benefited the least from the crime, taking only a skim off the top, the judge went a little easier on him. No doubt he’d be looking at a year or two in prison, though. The other partners in his PR firm had promptly disassociated from him, reinventing themselves as Cushings & Beadle Branding.
John Craven spent three days in the hospital, but was expected to make a full recovery from his gunshot wound. Despite everything that had happened and even though his wife had hidden the illicit funds from him, he continued to stand by Trudy. Part of me thought he was an exceptionally devoted husband. Another part of me thought he was an idiot.
Burkett’s son took over the helm at PPE. The class-action lawsuit against the gas company was promptly retried in another court. Although the defense attorneys found a more respectable scientist to testify on PPE’s behalf in the second trial, the judge nonetheless found in favor of the plaintiffs on every claim. Given the size of the judgment, it was unclear whether PPE would be able to remain in business. At any rate, if the company stayed viable, Burkett’s son vowed to clean up the company’s act, to ensure that all health and safety regulations would be carefully followed, and to do whatever it could to minimize the environmental impact of its drilling activities.
Both Katie and Doug Dunn left their jobs at PPE. Thanks to a recommendation letter from me, Katie landed a new job with the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development in Fort Worth. The position had much more upward potential than her dead-end job at PPE, and offered better benefits than Mr. Burkett had provided. Doug took a new position with the Fort Worth water department. They sold their mobile home and bought a small brick house in the western part of the city, trading in their country life to become city slickers—or at least suburban slickers, if there was such a thing.
Jacqueline Plimpton and Ross O’Donnell worked out a plea deal for Brazos Rivers, who’d finally stopped lying and resisting and decided to cooperate. He’d spend nine months in jail and be forced to complete two hundred hours of community service. No doubt photos of him spearing trash on the highway would make the front pages of the tabloids.
His record company was under strict orders to send the singer’s royalty earnings directly to the IRS until his taxes, penalties, and interest were paid in full. Ironically, the attention brought about by his arrest increased sales of his songs threefold, which would allow Uncle Sam to recoup the amount due much quicker. When I last checked, we’d already garnered a cool $3 million.
The plane sold for $2 million at auction. The Ferrari went for $350,000. The sale of the tour bus to Armadillo Uprising brought in another hundred and fifty grand. Heck, the boots brought in $2,000 a pair, the singer’s trademark silver spurs a cool $5,000. Of course I’d never sell the spur he’d given me at the photo shoot. They were my own personal memento, a reminder to keep my head out of the clouds and never again to let my personal feelings affect my professional judgment.
In late March, just when I thought I’d finally catch a breather, Lu traipsed into my office and plunked an enormous stack of files on my desk. “Got some fresh cases for you.”
She didn’t bother giving me time to voice a protest before traipsing right back out.
“What are they?” I called after her.
“Charity fraud,” she called back. “And someone posing as an IRS agent.”
I pulled a few files off the top of the stack. The cases were something new for me. With charity fraud, people pretended to be collecting for worthwhile ca
uses when in actuality they were playing on people’s emotions and keeping the ill-gotten profits for themselves. Despicable, huh?
The case at the bottom of the stack was something new, too. Someone in the Dallas area had indeed been posing as an IRS employee, making phone calls, sending threatening letters and e-mails. As Brazos had once said, why would anyone in their right mind pretend to be an IRS agent? One glance at the file told me why. Under the ruse, the culprit had tricked people into providing their Social Security numbers, birth dates, and bank account information. Armed with this data, the perpetrator had emptied the victims’ accounts. The file documented over twenty-five victims in the last six months, over $85,000 stolen.
They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but in this case the imposter was only making the IRS look bad. Many of the victims seemed to think the guilty party could actually be someone within the IRS.
Could it be true? Was one of my coworkers abusing their position to access personal data and steal from taxpayers? Or was the perpetrator someone on the outside with the savvy to successfully sell themselves as an IRS employee?
Looked like it was time to get to work and find out.
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 (an e-original novella)
Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria
Death, Taxes, and Hot Pink Leg Warmers
Death, Taxes, and Green Tea Ice Cream
Death, Taxes, and Mistletoe Mayhem (an e-original novella)
Death, Taxes, and Silver Spurs
Paw Enforcement
Praise for
DEATH, TAXES, AND EXTRA-HOLD HAIRSPRAY
“As usual, the pace is quick without being frenetic, and the breezy narrative style is perfection—fun and sexy without being over the top.”
—RT Book Reviews
“This is a rollicking adventure that will have you rooting for the IRS for once—and you won’t want to put it down until you find out how Tara will overcome all the obstacles in her way. Keep turning those pages—you’ll love every second as you try to find out!”
— Reader to Reader Reviews
“If you’ve never read one of Diane Kelly’s Tara Holloway novels, I strongly recommend that you rectify the situation immediately. The series has gotten better with every single installment, and I’d be shocked if you didn’t see these characters gracing your television screen before too long (USA and HBO, I’m looking in your direction). Get on board now so you can say you knew Tara Holloway when.”
—The Season for Romance
“Diane Kelly knows how to rock the romance, and roll the story right into a delightful mix of high drama with great characters.”
—The Reading Reviewer
DEATH, TAXES, AND A SKINNY NO-WHIP LATTE
“Readers will find Kelly’s protagonist a kindred spirit to Stephanie Plum: feisty and tenacious, with a self-deprecating sense of humor. Tara is flung into some unnerving situations, including encounters with hired thugs, would-be muggers, and head lice. The laughs lighten up the scary bits, and the nonstop action and snappy dialogue keep the standard plot moving along at a good pace.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Readers should be prepared for a laugh fest. The writer is first-class and there is a lot of humor contained in this series. It is a definite keeper.”
—Night Owl Romance
“A quirky, fun tale that pulls you in with its witty heroine and outlandish situations … You’ll laugh at Tara’s predicaments, and cheer her on as she nearly single-handedly tackles the case.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“It is hard not to notice a sexy CPA with a proclivity for weapons. Kelly’s sophomore series title … has huge romance crossover appeal.”
—Library Journal
“An exciting, fun new mystery series with quirky characters and a twist … Who would have ever guessed IRS investigators could be so cool!”
—Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
“Kelly’s novel is off to a fast start and never slows down. There is suspense but also laugh-out-loud moments. If you enjoy Stephanie Plum in the Evanovich novels you will love Tara Holloway!”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“Diane Kelly gives the reader an action-packed thriller bursting at the seams with humor.”
—Single Titles
DEATH, TAXES, AND A FRENCH MANICURE
“Keep your eye on Diane Kelly—her writing is tight, smart and laugh-out-loud funny.”
—Kristan Higgins, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
“A hilarious, sexy, heart-pounding ride, that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Tara Holloway is the IRS’s answer to Stephanie Plum—smart, sassy, and so much fun. Kelly’s debut has definitely earned her a spot on my keeper shelf!”
—New York Times bestselling author Gemma Halliday
“The subject of taxation usually makes people cry, but prepare to laugh your assets off with Diane Kelly’s hilarious debut.”
—Jana DeLeon, author of the Ghost-in-Law series
“Quirky, sexy, and downright fabulous. Zany characters you can’t help but love, and a plot that will knock your socks off. This is the most fun I’ve had reading in forever!”
—New York Times bestselling author Christie Craig
“With a quirky cast of characters, snappy dialogue, and a Bernie Madoff-style pyramid scheme–hunting down tax cheats has never added up to so much fun!”
—Robin Kaye, award-winning author of the Domestic Gods series
About the Author
Diane Kelly is a former CPA and tax attorney, who had several brushes with white-collar criminals during her career. When she realized her experiences made excellent fodder for novels, her fingers hit the keyboard and thus began her Special Agent Tara Holloway romantic mystery series. 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. You can also find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dianekellybooks, or follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/dianekellybooks.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DEATH, TAXES, AND SILVER SPURS
Copyright © 2014 by Diane Kelly.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN: 9781466849129
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / August 2014
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