by Mimi Barbour
“Don’t be an ass. The only thing that scares me is a loaded gun pointed my way and the IRS.” She gestured to the men waiting in front of the meeting room. “They’re ready for us. They’ll be briefing you on what’s been discussed so far and see if you have anything to add. Something’s come up for me that we’ll need to deal with too.”
Chapter Fourteen
Alia led the way to where Don, Nigel and his former boss, Jack Harrison, the assistant director in the criminal investigative division, waited.
“Hey, Booker, it’s nice to see you back here.” Jack held out his hand, a cordial expression of pleasure covering his face.
Sloan accepted the gesture and politely turned aside so that he didn’t block Alia’s way. Score one for the hotshot! No doubt chivalry came easy to a man who, according to his mates, had scads of women falling over themselves to get into his bed.
Soon they entered the conference room and settled around the oval table, tablets in front of each person. They began scanning the data until Jack called them to order. “I’m happy to announce that Agent Booker has agreed to work on this case with us and will be temporarily reinstated. We also have Alia, Agent Hawkins, who’s agreed to pose as his stepsister, recovering from a broken romance. She’ll be moving in with him until—”
“Me and my son.”
Sloan’s head swiveled and he aimed a laser-like stare her way. “You and your what?”
“Sorry, gentlemen. Something has come up with my personal situation. I’ve lost my live-in babysitter, and since I don’t trust anyone else with Kean I’ll have to bring him with me to live at Agent Booker’s.”
Sloan’s voice hardened. “Not gonna happen! I’ll have enough trouble accepting your presence at my place. A bratty kid’s out of the question.” He crossed his arms, his obstinate attitude totally impenetrable. “No bloody way in hell.”
“Fine. Then you’ll have to find another woman to play the part of your live-in.”
Jack interrupted. His voice sounded low and calm. “Let’s just talk about this. Al, what’s going on? Why are you insisting that Kean comes with you? What’s happened with Ruby?”
She’d only discussed her personal situation with one person at the agency. When she’d come for her initial interview, Jack Harrison had made the effort to welcome her to Hawaii. He and his lovely wife, Marla, had taken her out for a scrumptious diner at the Cheesecake Factory, and their warm kindness had lulled her into talking about her personal arrangements.
Not about Paul though, only that she was divorced, but that she had a live-in nanny who she thought the world of, and that she was happy to be self-supporting and established.
Alia linked her fingers in front of her on the table, posture erect; she looked around at each person. Finally she cleared her voice and started, not sure of just how much she needed to share.
“Ruby’s my son’s babysitter and our live-in housekeeper. Her father’s recently become ill and needs her to return to Manila.” Her glance skimmed around the table and she saw everyone’s attention centered on her. Tightening her grip to where the bones in her fingers protested, she went on, “As you all know, I’ve only been here a little over a month and I’ve had no time to become acquainted with facilities where they care for eight-year-olds, or with any other sitters who I’d trust. Therefore, it’s my responsibility to keep my kid with me, and that’s what I intend to do… either at Sloan’s or not. Your decision!”
Sloan slid his fingers through his still uncut hair, shoving it to the back of his head. With his elbows on the table, his head cradled between his hands, he didn’t move. And neither did anyone else. Silence reigned until he finally began venting.
No one interrupted as he mumbled to himself, yet they all heard his words. “Shit! You gotta be kidding me – a stepsister and a kid? I can’t believe I’ve agreed to this. I must be crazy. Those two old bastards have finally driven me around the bend.”
Suddenly, he glared at Don, the one person who was grinning like an idiot and shot his forefinger at him, a gesture that produced a chuckle, and that seemed to piss Sloan off more. He growled a warning at his old partner, “You laugh, you son of a bitch. Guess who’s going to be taking care of this lot while I’m working my normal twelve-hour shifts.”
***
Everyone around the table knew Sloan’s penchant for overreacting, everyone except the woman glaring his way. They knew it for what it was: a way for him to deal. They also understood that he always made things work and usually in the best manner for everyone.
But he needed his rant time. And if she didn’t like it? Too damn bad. How much more could he take on and not blow. Caring for Les and Roy had pushed his patience to the limits these last few months. How in Christ’s name did they expect him to look after an eight-year-old used to a nanny and a female with a burr up her ass so deep, he wondered how the hell she sat down?
He glanced her way and saw her perched at the edge of her seat, hands clenched, her eyes cold and impenetrable.
Next he looked at Don and saw the slight nod his pal didn’t try to hide. He knew it for what it was, his way of saying… I’ll have your back, bro. Then he checked out Jack Harrison and knew that the smart man waited for his decision, with no doubts that he’d kick in and do his duty.
Their gazes met and Jack’s face wore his usual cool expression, composure in every line of his body. Then suddenly, Jack glanced at Alia first and then turned back to Sloan and winked. That spoke more loudly than if he’d demanded Sloan’s instant compliance.
Slapping both hands on the table, Sloan stood and went to the water dispenser to refill his glass. “Fine! Let’s get on with this session, so I can get back to the garage and maybe finish the day’s work before midnight.”
Chapter Fifteen
On his drive back to the garage a few hours later, Sloan thought about the strange meeting he’d just left. Near the end, they’d been joined by others from Homeland Security, who’d presented the intelligence they’d collected so far. Information they’d journalized about Samir and his family and their previous lives in Pakistan. They’d had scads of lists and reports he’d have to read as soon as he found the time.
Also, they’d organized the equipment Alia would need for surveillance and just looking at the list made his ass tighten. Where the hell would they store all this shit?
Come to think of it, his house had two bedrooms and a sunroom at the front. The square footage worked well for one person but add two more, along with all this crap, and it would be a disaster.
Taking a deep breath, he’d swallowed the cuss words and scanned the table instead. He’d observed that the agents in the room were comfortable with each other, with one exception.
There’d been a noticeable constraint with Agent Hawkins. The only ones who seemed at ease with her were Don and Jack Harrison. He’d heard both of them refer to her as Al; probably a nickname and she’d gone along with it.
Guess if she liked someone, she’d let it pass. From the icy attitude she threw his way, he figured he’d be calling her Agent Hawkins, rather than something friendlier, like Alia or ‘little sister’, till the end of the case.
According to the plans they’d prearranged, she’d be arriving Sunday at lunchtime, when the Amans would be at his house for a barbecue. Everyone in the neighborhood took turns cooking outdoors and had gotten into the habit of going to a different house on the cul-de sac-each week. As it turned out, his turn to host the event was this coming weekend. It couldn’t have worked out better.
Don, Roy and Les would be there to help with the arrangements, do most of the work, and he’d be the guy manning the barbecue. That he could handle and do it well.
He thought back to the arrangements they’d discussed earlier. Don had suggested, “Al and Kean should appear as if by magic and Sloan can act totally shocked… but welcoming. That way, the whole neighborhood will get the story all at once.”
Sloan had broken in there. “What story?”
�
�That Sloan Booker has family staying for an unspecified amount of time. She’ll have her cover and you won’t have to tell everyone about her. They’ll see her arrival with their own eyes and the word will be out.”
The rest of the people around the table had nodded, agreeing, even Alia. Sloan’s groan hadn’t been heard by anyone but himself. He had two days left of freedom, a neat house and no gorgeous chick running around in her undies… one he had to keep his hands off.
Chapter Sixteen
Once back at the garage, Sloan decided to approach Roy first to explain about his short stint as Special Agent Booker. He’d always known the old man had fretted about him wearing a badge and his involvement with the lower life forms that cops had to deal with – Roy’s words for the scum who broke the law.
Sloan had thought his joining the FBI and getting off the streets as a beat cop would lessen Roy’s anxieties, but that hadn’t happened. He’d known the old worrywart had carried a St. Christopher’s medal for him, exactly like the one he’d forced on Sloan. Hell, if it would have given the old man peace of mind, he’d have worn fucking pearls!
He remembered that after his announcement, while he’d trained to take a position with the Honolulu Police Department, Tommy, had been proud, strutted around and bragged to anyone he could corner.
Les had enrolled him for training in martial arts and made sure he knew how to take care of himself.
But it had devastated Roy. Danger was danger and, as far as Roy had been concerned, anyone wearing a badge was a target for every crazy with a gun.
Instead, Roy had celebrated when Sloan had quit law enforcement and began working fulltime at the garage. But sensitive to Sloan’s feelings, he’d not done it overtly. He just couldn’t seem to wipe the gleaming grin off his face in contrast to Sloan’s scowls.
Approaching the pit area where Roy and his small crew worked their magic on any overhaul they had, Sloan heard his two reprobates talking, their voices low. That caught his attention immediately because the norm was for Les to tease and Roy to holler in defense.
“I still think we should tell Sloan about that phone call you overheard, man. He deserves to know our suspicions about why his old man died.”
Roy argued back, his voice shaking with conviction. “Tell him what? That I overheard Tommy threatening somebody, ordering them to leave town and take their illegal activities with them, or he’d blab to his FBI agent son about what was going on? I don’t think so. That’s no proof that Tommy was killed.”
“Get real, genius! We both know the man hadn’t taken a bloody drink since the time after Wai took off. He’d lost his mind for those two years following her leaving him, but he’d straightened out.”
“I know.” Roy’s grudging words were spoken low, leaving no doubt that he didn’t want to agree.
“Remember the day he swore off the booze? He’d been driving shit-faced with Sloan in the baby seat and he drifted into the oncoming traffic. He came close to killing both of them. I’ve never seen you so mad, dude. I thought you were going to kill him.”
“I almost did. He had our son with him, the idiot.”
“You scared the shit out of him, threatening to get a paternity test to see which one of us was Sloan’s real dad. It smartened him up. After that, the dumbass seldom touched a drop, right?”
“Right.”
“Then why – on that very day – did the son of a bitch get liquored up, drive off the cliff at Laie Point and kill himself?”
“I don’t know,” Roy groaned the words. “But it was months ago. Why do you have to keep bringing it up?”
Sloan stepped out from where he’d stayed hidden. “Yeah, Les, why do you keep bringing it up to Roy, and yet not once have you mentioned it to me?”
Both of the old men twirled his way, shock covering their faces. Roy looked devastated, while Les appeared relieved.
“Shit, man. You sure know how to make an entrance.”
Sloan leaned against the side wall, his arms crossed and every muscle in his body clenched tighter than a stripper’s legs on her pole. “Spill. I want it all. Les, you go first.”
Les shrugged. “It’s like the old fool says, kid. I’m making a mountain.”
“No, sir. You don’t get to back off now. I heard you, Les. You were seriously suspicious about Dad’s accident. Why didn’t you say anything when I got back from L.A.?”
Same as Sloan, Les caught Roy’s expression and must have seen the tears there. “There’s nuthin’ to say. The bastard took a few drinks, obviously had no tolerance and drove stupid. End of story.”
Furious, Sloan turned to the fidgety man who’d suddenly taken a seat on the nearby stool. “I want the truth, Roy. You’re controlling Les and preventing him from telling me everything, but it’s wrong and you know it. Tom Booker was my father…” He saw the quick glances shared between the other two and a sledge hammer of doubt weakened his knees.
Chapter Seventeen
Alia couldn’t believe Sloan had given in after his initial outburst. His over-the-top reaction hadn’t affected the others but she’d taken it personally. Now she was stuck with the plan.
She’d be moving into his house in a couple of days, and Kean would be coming with her. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. Fretting over her options, she drove home and noticed what looked to be the same car parked down her street that had been there a number of times.
Yep! It had the exact sticker on the trunk revealing the name of a rental agency. From her front window yesterday, she’d seen a glint from sunlight on glass and her suspicions had risen. When she’d gone out to confront the person, they’d driven away. This time, she’d sneak up on them and get some answers.
Fury driving her actions, she pulled up on the street, parking behind random cars rather than turning into her driveway. Making sure her weapon was visible on her waist, and her badge next to it, she strolled past the vehicle and saw the woman busy with binoculars aimed toward her house.
Backtracking, she snuck up on the driver’s side and blocked the woman’s view. In seconds, she jerked the binoculars away and appeared shocked to see Alia bent over, leaning into her window. She arched away, her expression laughable. Except for Alia; this wasn’t a laughing matter.
“What the hell are you doing?” Blonde, with too much eye makeup, chewing gum and bright pink lipstick smeared on her teeth, the woman’s attitude ramped up to obnoxious in the time it took for Alia to inspect the front passenger seat and look for a weapon.
“Funny thing – that’s what I want to know too. What are you doing on my street, across from my house, spying with those?” Alia pointed at the field glasses the idiot hadn’t tried to hide. The weirdo quickly threw them on the floor as if by putting them out of sight, she could pretend they hadn’t been there in the first place.
“I was checking out the properties on the street, ‘cause, ahh… I’m thinkin’ of buying a house.”
“Ain’t none for sale around here.”
“Yeah, well, I was just looking. No law against that.”
“How about harassment? I’ve seen you spying here before, and that constitutes a criminal act in my book.”
“Your book? What the hell would I care about you for? Get out of my face.” Pushing open the door so it forced Alia to back up, Blondie stepped out of the car.
Alia didn’t care if the female topped her by twenty-five pounds and stood a foot higher in her spike heels. She wanted answers. “You have a license to snoop on me? I can’t imagine Paul hiring someone who isn’t legal.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Suddenly the wiseass noticed Alia’s gun and her face paled.
Raising her hands, she changed her attitude. “Look, I don’t want no trouble. Some guy hired me to watch the gardener; he figures maybe his wife and the dude are getting it on and he wants proof.”
Gardener? “The only place on the street able to afford one of those pretty boys is my next door neighbor. You workin’ for Ralph Graves?”
Eyes narrowed, the woman pretended a deviousness that gave away the truth. “I might be. Not in my best interests to say, not if I want to keep any clients. I’m just doing my job. ”
“You got a card?”
“Why?” Blondie’s gaze became focussed, her act diminishing.
“To prove you are who you say you are.”
Reaching into the open window for her purse, the PI slipped her hand in a back pouch and passed over a white card with one name—Libby—and the name of her firm, Private Lies. A byline, Your secrets are ours! was emblazoned on the front in gold embossed type, and one website address sat alone on the back.
Taking the card, Alia added, “You stay off my property, you hear? Otherwise I’ll get you for trespassing.”
A crafty look appeared and the other nodded. “Yeah, I know. Just trying to make a living. Won’t bother you no more.” Moving faster than Alia would have imagined, the other woman got in her car and, in no time at all, her taillights had turned the corner.
Alia hated having to let Blondie go without questioning her further but she hadn’t really broken any laws, at least none that would stick. Harassment would be thin, not easy to prove.
One thing she did know: Ralph Graves and his wife were in their seventies, and the gardener was their grandson.
***
“Hey, Paul. Libby here. She made me. I had to back off. But the kid and the nanny live with her, and you were right about the street.”
“Only because I was fortunate when old friends of ours said they’d seen Alia running one morning. When they pulled up to talk with her, she disappeared around the corner and by the time they’d turned the car, she was gone. They didn’t know we’d split, and wondered if we had a summer house in Honolulu.”
“Pure bullshit luck that they remembered the exact area.”