Blame it on Texas: Lightning in a Bottle (Kindle Worlds)

by Gina Ardito

  To her relief, he nodded. “Let’s see. What’s next? I told you how we met, how we got here, how she left. What else is there?”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Back in Chicago. Last I heard, she’d married a successful neurosurgeon. I’m sure his money and his busy schedule make her very happy.”

  “That stinks.”

  He drained his glass again. “Yeah, it does, but it could’ve been worse. We had an amicable break-up, no kids, no drama.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Thud. Drew slid off the chair cushion and onto the floor, passed out cold.

  “And…lucky me,” she murmured. Clearly, the discussion had come to an end.

  She got to her unsteady feet and staggered off to his bedroom to pull a pillow and blanket off the bed to make him comfortable.

  ****

  Drew woke, his cheek pressed to the pillowcase, his tongue coated with wet sand, and his head an active beehive. He struggled to sit up, his back aching, and smacked his lips to get some moisture generated. Where the hell was he, and how had he wound up here?

  “Good morning,” a cheery voice said from above him. “I made coffee.”

  The aroma hit his nostrils the minute she mentioned it, and he reached out a hand for some caffeinated salvation. “Gimme.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you can’t handle your scotch?”

  Scotch! The memories flooded back to him: drinking with Bo, trying to get her to open up about her ex by discussing his ex. His ex was now a doctor’s wife in Winnetka. Her ex was Robert Carlysle, current resident of a federal prison in upstate New York. The rest of the evening was a blur. “How is it you’re so chipper this morning? You drank as much as I did.”

  “More, actually.” She sipped the black brew, ignoring his still-empty grasp. “Good family genes, I guess. Apparently, I have a much higher tolerance than you.” Her tone was steady, filled with humor.

  He scrubbed his hand over his scalp—gently—to rouse some conscious thought. “Where did we sleep?”

  “You slept here.” She pointed to the Berber carpet he sat on then placed her mug out of reach on the coffee table with a clink that echoed in his ears. “I took your guest room. Gimme your hand.” Again, he reached for the mug, but she flipped his wrist and placed two white pills inside his cupped palm. “Aspirin first. You keep these down, I’ll give you coffee.” She picked up a glass of cool water, which she handed to him. “Bottoms up, Counselor.”

  He complied with her directive, but the effort nearly killed him. His gag reflex kicked in right after he swallowed, pushing the bitter pills to stick in his throat. Another swallow of water had him choking.

  “Easy,” she said. “Give it a minute.”

  The acrid taste slowly melted away, and he sipped the water gratefully. “Thanks.”

  “No charge.” With a smile, she held out a hand. “Ready to get off the floor now?”

  He took her hand and allowed her to help him to his feet. “What time is it?”

  “Seven-fifteen. I wasn’t sure when to wake you. You don’t have court today, do you?” He blinked several times to clear his vision, but the room still appeared swiped in Vaseline.

  “Not that I can remember. I’ll call Rosa as soon as I can speak without my voice thundering in my skull. Right now, I need coffee, then a shower and a shave.”

  “Are you hungry? I could scramble some eggs.”

  He glared at her through his aching, blurry eyes. “Are you kidding?”

  “It was just a thought.” She flitted her hand at him. “Go. Get yourself together. I’ll make eggs—enough for two, in case you change your mind.”

  “Coffee first.”

  “By all means.”

  He managed to find his way to the kitchen by rote since his vision was still pretty useless, and followed the alluring scent of freshly ground Kona beans to the coffee pot. After a few sips of the black elixir, the fog gradually lifted from his brain. By the time he drained the mug, the aspirin had kicked in, and he felt semi-normal again.

  “Better?” she asked from behind him.

  “Much,” he replied. “Remind me to never do that again. Thanks for the aspirin. And the coffee. You’re a lifesaver this morning. Makes me wonder what I ever did without you.” He moved closer to her, nuzzled her neck until her knees wobbled against his. “I don’t plan to let you go, you know.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a key. “Here.”

  She eyed the shiny bit of metal, and a look of dread crept over her features. “What’s that?”

  “A house key.”

  “To what house?”

  “This one.”

  She stiffened. “I don’t think so.”

  He placed the key on the counter. “It’s not an engagement ring. It’s a key to my place. You know, in case you ever need to…water my plants.”

  “That’s the dumbest euphemism for sex I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s more than sex between us and you know it—even if you don’t want to admit it yet.” He picked up her hand, placed it over the key. “Sex, food, a good night’s sleep, whatever you need. Keep the key. Use it whenever you need to.”

  She took a giant step backward, away from him and the key, as if they were both poisonous. “I’m not giving you mine. I already have to deal with Quinn underfoot. Not that you’d be underfoot. I mean—”

  “Forget it. I know what you meant.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “Anyone who’s suffered through the implosion of a marriage goes through a phase where you don’t trust the people around you. I’ve had years to deal with what happened, but you probably still feel like you’ve got no one to count on except yourself and you look for ulterior motives in everyone who crosses your path.”

  “I just need time.”

  “I know. Hold onto the key, sweetheart. No strings attached. If you ever decide you want to reciprocate, I’ll accept it gladly.”

  Before she could reply, her cell phone sang out from the table. The noise resounded in his head, and he touched his fingers to his throbbing temples. “Answer that. Please.”

  She checked the screen and frowned. “It’s Mitch.” She put the phone to her ear. “What’s up?” Her posture stiffened, and a look of horror came over her face. “I’m at Drew’s house. Come get me.”

  The urgency in her tone dispelled the last remnants of his hangover. “What’s wrong?” She waved him off. “Is it the brewery?” The hand flew even faster as she listened to whatever Mitch was saying on the other end, but she nodded, and the panic in her eyes sent him into overdrive. “I’ll take you. Just give me ten minutes.”

  Bo dropped the phone away from her mouth. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “If you can fix me a coffee to go while I grab my cell, I’ll call Rosa on the way and you can fill me in on the details.”

  “I’m really sorry about this—”

  “Don’t be. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 12

  Bo barely waited for Drew to pull the Jeep to a stop before unbuckling her seatbelt and jumping to the ground. She raced to the front door, pushed inside, and only stopped when her gaze came upon a harried-looking Mitch headed in her direction. They met in the small space between the private room and the game area. “How bad is it?”

  “It’s bad, Bo. You better come with me.” He led her to the brewery floor where five other employees scrambled to clean out the skyline of tanks. The cement floor was wet and sudsy, and she had to step over a labyrinth of hoses to follow. Her test kit sat open on a nearby table, ready for use. He chose one of the instruments, dipped it into a nearby sample and showed her the display.

  She stared at the gauge, agog. “Jee-zus. What the hell happened?”

  “Somebody screwed with our fermenters’ heating coils, and all the yeast died. We’ve got vats full of garbage now.”

  “Who did it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “An employee?” She’d kick the crap out of anyone who’d da
red.

  “I’d say yes, but, Bo, I swear, I vetted every single one of ‘em. None of them would do something like this.”

  “What about those kids?”

  “The Pattersons?” He shook his head vehemently. “They finished their community service last week. They haven’t been here since Saturday. Plus, the older one wants a job, and I’ve been thinking about hiring him. He’s a hard worker, learned his lesson. Ian thought he showed potential. They both did. They’re good kids.”

  Hard to debate such a passionate defense. Besides, she’d liked them, too. She’d also respected their parents who insisted the boys take responsibility for their actions. Not every parent did. Okay, scratch the Patterson boys off her suspect list. “Who’s left?”

  “Well, I’ve thought about it, and the thing is, we’ve been doing group tours the last several days, so…”

  “So, if someone knew what he was doing, he or she could come in with a group, pilfer with the equipment when no one was looking and rejoin the group to finish the tour.” He nodded, which was not the answer she wanted from him right now. “And not one single employee would notice?”

  He didn’t look her in the eye. “It’s possible.”

  Yeah, it was, and that misstep chilled her to the gut. “How much is ruined?”

  “All of this week’s wort, plus the tank of Angel Food brew that was supposed to go to canning tomorrow.”

  “Nearly sixty barrels’ worth of work?”

  “I told you it was bad.”

  Bad? No, this was horrific. Disastrous. To stem the growing panic, she took a deep breath. Then another. Her gaze strayed upwards to her office, picturing Quinn sitting with his feet on her desk. He wouldn’t…

  No. He definitely wouldn’t. Her brothers loved a good prank, but sabotage like this went way beyond joke status.

  Another deep inhale and exhale, and she focused on keeping a steady rhythm to her breathing. A full minute passed while her brain compartmentalized the damage and what she needed to do now. Meanwhile, her lungs inhaled and exhaled over and over, this time without her prompting. “How bad is the damage to the equipment?”

  “In the grand scheme of things, minor. This was more a nuisance tampering than anything permanent. I’ve already got Jake repairing them. He says he can have us up and running again within the hour. It’s catching up on what we lost that makes this a bit more severe.”

  “Okay. Tap some guys for overtime,” she told Mitch. “Looks like we’re going to pull an all-nighter. And get me the name and number of our security company. We’ll be adding cameras back here to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

  “Bo?”

  She turned to face Drew and winced. She’d completely forgotten he’d dropped everything to drive her here. “I’m sorry. Thanks for bringing me here, but you should probably go. Looks like I’m gonna be working way into tonight.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No, thanks. It’s messy, time-consuming, back-breaking work, but we’ll manage.” She covered her face with both hands and scrubbed them down to her neckline to hide her frustration.

  “You sure? I can tell Rosa to cancel my schedule for the day, if you need an extra set of hands.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but we’ll be all right.” She took a step toward him and, in front of everyone, kissed him. Full, deep, and very satisfying. When she pulled away, they both swayed on their feet. “To be continued…”

  He wagged a finger at her as if chastising a child. “Make sure you don’t overdo it. I know you’re up against a clock, but at least take breaks for food now and then. Otherwise, you’re going to run yourself into the ground before the weekend.”

  She twisted her lips at him. “I’m pretty sure I had to nurse you this morning, not the other way ‘round.”

  Before he could come up with an argument, Mitch stepped between them. “Don’t worry, Drew. We almost lost her that way once. I can guarantee you it won’t ever happen again. Me, Ian, Quinn, we’re all determined to make sure she slows down when she needs to and stays on solid footing this time around.”

  “Bo’s standing right here,” she retorted. “No need to talk about me like I’m the village idiot.”

  “If you take care of yourself and remember to eat,” Drew quipped, “we’ll revoke your title.”

  Mitch snorted, and she shot him a “don’t-you-dare” look. “Let’s get to work.”

  “One last thing,” Drew said before she could walk away.

  “What?”

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “You may not be a girly-girl, but you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. And any guy who may have told you differently in the past did so because he wasn’t man enough to appreciate you. But I am.”

  Her jaw dropped as she watched him walk away, but inside her, a spark of hope lit up like lightning. With a broad smile, she turned to face her crew, ready to tackle the problems at hand. “Okay, guys, we can fix this.”

  ****

  Once in his office, Drew worked until four on his pending cases. For the last hour of the day, he went into research mode. He typed “GPF embezzlement case” in his search engine and watched the dozen pages of results pop up. He started by reviewing his knowledge of the original charges against Robert Carlysle, how the man went from a New York financial wizard to the city’s most-hated-resident, second only to Bernie Madoff. He even found an interview with the call girl involved in the scandal, a young woman who called herself Kitten Claus.

  “Kitten” was as different from Bo as a shard of broken glass from a flawless diamond. She wore the hard look of someone who’d seen and done too much too fast in her young life. The reporter quoted Kitten’s explanation of her relationship with the financier: “He used to tell me his wife was too much like her brothers, that she didn’t know how to appreciate a man like him. He’d buy me frilly, lacy outfits in lots of bright colors, high heels, and delicate bits of jewelry because he said she would never wear that kinda stuff. He said the last time he saw her in a dress was at their wedding. He even had me weave flowers in my hair sometimes…”

  Obviously, Robert Carlysle had never understood his wife. Bo didn’t need lace, jewelry, and flowers in her hair to be beautiful. All she needed was someone who knew her true worth.

  After reading through several autopsies and timelines of the fraud committed, Drew clicked on a video of Rob interviewed a few months before his empire crumbled. The man was, as Bo had said, charming, at ease in front of the camera, with a smooth, almost seductive, manner that would make people want to believe in him, no matter what lies came out of his mouth. No surprise there.

  It was when the interviewer mentioned Bo that Drew sat up and took notice. “He credits his wife for the majority of his success,” the woman intoned.

  “Belinda keeps me going. She constantly challenges me, which makes me want to do better,” Rob said.

  Drew snorted. Belinda. Did Rob even know how much she hated the name? Or did he insist on using it because he found it more “feminine” than Bo? He rewound about fifteen seconds back on the video and played the bit again. Ah, there it was! He hadn’t imagined the subtle inflection Rob had placed on the word, “challenges,” that suggested he resented Bo’s influence more than appreciated it.

  “Belinda,” the woman in the video added in voiceover, “is, of course, Belinda Sheehan, only daughter of Malcolm Sheehan, the magnate behind Sheehan’s Scotch Whiskey.”

  Drew nearly fell out of his chair. Sheehan’s Scotch Whiskey was a multi-million-dollar enterprise. Sheehan’s could be found in bars, restaurants, and stores all around the world, but had also been licensed for use in marinating sauces, charcoal briquettes, jellies, chocolates, cigars, coffee, nuts, cheese, and now that he thought about Bo’s brew, Robber Baron, in beer. Hell, he had a bottle of their diamond label in his office closet for rough nights or special clients—sometimes both—as well as the bottle they’d polished off at his house last night. Bo was a part of that empire and had neve
r bothered to tell him.

  The fuzzy parts of last night’s conversation came into clearer focus. … And when all the money from my trust fund was gone, I sold everything I had. My apartment, the furniture, all my jewelry, including my wedding and engagement rings…

  Jeez. Her father’s wealth could buy the entire town ten times over. How much money had she given away, leaving her living in a shoddy rental house in Silverton, Texas with nothing but a fledgling brewery to support her? And what the hell did she see in him, a geeky country lawyer whose annual income was probably less than what she used to pay for one month’s rent?

  His intercom buzzed, and Rosa’s voice blared into his consciousness. “It’s that nice Mr. Carpenter on the phone for you.”

  With several boisterous taps on the keyboard, he closed all the windows on the computer screen. Oh, boy. This couldn’t be good. He picked up the phone. “Mr. Carpenter, what can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to tell you I got another of those letters in the mail today.”

  Crap. Distracted by Bo, he’d forgotten he wanted to address Wade’s latest escapade.

  “This one reminds me there’s a time limit on getting payment to them before eviction proceedings will begin.”

  “Is it okay if I stop by and pick up the letter?” It was time for him to confront Wade face-to-face.

  “Well, okay, but this’d better be the last one. If I get another, I’m going to the cops myself.”

  “I understand and I’m sorry for your inconvenience.”

  “Nah, son, I’m sorry about yours. This has gotta be a real pain in the patoot for you, havin’ someone steal your name and your reputation like this.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  He hung up, and Rosa popped her head in. “Everything okay?”

  “No.” He signaled her to come into his office, and when she sat, he filled her in on Wade’s scheme.