"You can't do this to me."
"I just did."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"I've obliterated your business," Brett continued. "You've caused pain and heartache and bled people dry. Those days are over. About an hour ago all your victims received emails from you stating they were off the hook, and the pictures and information you held over their heads has been destroyed. You also confessed to the crimes of blackmail, extortion, intent to defame, demandin' money with menaces, and a few other crimes I can't quite recall. If they choose to, they can take those emails to the authorities."
"You'll never get away with this!"
"Did I mention the fumigators?"
"What?"
"In case you and Andrew have hard copies of your nasty pictures, experts are arrivin' at your home and his condo as we speak. They'll find whatever you have, wherever it's hidden. They have extremely hi-tech equipment. Now I'm gonna give you a warnin'! Mr. Hoffman. Whatever computer you buy, whatever firewall you put up, whatever security you think you have, it won't make a lick of difference. You'll be monitored. If there is even a whiff of your old ways, those computers will be blown up as well, but in addition your bank accounts will be drained, and your house will fall victim to very efficient thieves. Do I make myself clear?"
"How? This is impossible."
"No, it's not impossible. You tried to con the wrong cowboy. I have friends in the Ukraine," he lied, the idea suddenly popping into his head. "They're very upset with you. You wanna talk about cyber crime? These guys can hack into places I don't even wanna mention. Mess with anyone again, and you'll lose everything. Any questions?"
"I, uh, I…"
"Good. Don't move," Brett said, and rising to his feet, he texted Amber.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Amber had just pulled into the hotel parking lot when she received the text from Brett.
Her heart skipped.
"Why am I so nervous?" she muttered as she hurried from her car. "Shit. Do I even want to do this?"
Trying to calm herself, she entered the hotel lobby and headed for the stairs. Taking them two at a time, when she reached the hallway she stopped to take a deep breath. Determined to meet Robert Hoffman appearing confident and poised, she walked slowly forward, then knocked loudly on the double doors. When Brett opened them and shot her a wink and a smile, the last of her fears evaporated.
"I'm glad you made it. Your former publisher has something he'd like to tell you."
She'd been expecting someone robust, well-dressed and intimidating. Seeing the thin, creepy man on the couch, a thought flashed through her mind, the words leaving her lips before she could stop them.
"You're lucky you weren't on that hill with your slimy photographer. The owl would have mistaken you for a weasel."
"How dare—"
"I wouldn't'," Brett barked, cutting him off. "Say what you're supposed to."
"Amber, I've transferred one-hundred thousand dollars into your account," he mumbled. "I hope that will make up for, uh, everything that's happened."
It took a moment for her to process his words, then a slow heat burned through her body.
"You think I want your blood money? Give it back to the people you stole it from, you fucking leech."
"Amber," Brett said calmly, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Hold on a second."
"No! I don't want it. I don't want one red cent from this scumbag."
"Mr. Hoffman, tell Amber where that money came from."
"I dabble in real estate. The money came from there."
"What about the people you've ripped off? What are you going to do about them?"
"I'm gettin' to that," Brett declared. "He's payin' back every last cent, aren't you, Mr. Hoffman?"
"But-but-that's impossible."
"You've gotta pile of money sittin' in, let's see, Wells Fargo, Bank of America, First National, Capital One, and you have investments with several brokerage houses, not to mention a few rental homes. Seems to me you've made a bundle off the cash you stole."
"How the fuck do you know all this?"
"My Ukrainian friends hacked into your life, remember?"
"Dammit to hell."
"When you get back to Beverly Hills you'll arrange the repayments. You'll be—"
"But—"
"I haven't finished'," Brett snapped. "You'll be under twenty-four hour surveillance. You have seven days, and you'll be knockin' on doors with cash in your hand. Does that answer your question, Amber? The blood money is goin' back to the victims. Your payment is comin' from his real estate business, not his slimy publishing company."
The room fell silent.
She shifted her eyes to Brett.
He sent her a silent message.
Don't be an idiot. Take it.
"Yes, that answers my question," she finally said, then taking a step towards Robert, she lifted her hand and pointed her finger. "I don't know about Brett's Eastern European friends, but my dad has contacts at the IRS. One call and you'll be audited for the rest of your life."
"No! No! Fuck. Not the IRS."
"That's my promise. Make this right, and shut down Undercover Publishing, or treasury agents will be crawling all over your crap."
"This has to be a nightmare," Robert muttered, dropping his head in his hands. "It has to be. I'm going to wake up and—"
Lunging forward, Brett grabbed him by his jacket and jerked him to his feet.
"You're a slimy toad. Be grateful I stopped my friends from puttin' a bullet through your greasy skull," Brett said gruffly, dragging him towards the door as Steve hurried past to open it. "Don't even think about fuckin' with us, ya hear?" Brett continued, shoving him into the hallway. "Now, git."
"Oh, my gosh," Amber exclaimed as he slammed the door shut. "That was awesome!"
"Genius!" Spike proclaimed, marching into the room. "Ukrainian mobsters! The IRS! Sheer genius. You guys are brilliant!"
"We do make a pretty good team," Brett said with a chuckle. "What made you think of that, Amber?"
"The IRS scared dad more than anything when his business fell apart, and he's an honest guy. They'd crucify a slime ball like Hoffman, and he knows it."
"I'll ask my biker buddies in L. A. to follow him around," Spike offered. "They'll get a kick out of that."
"That would be great," Brett said gratefully. "I wish I could watch."
"I'll get them to shoot some video and make it obvious. That'll rattle his gonads, but I have to ask. When Hoffman gets back, won't he find his house untouched?"
"Not exactly."
"Brett, what have you done?" Amber asked anxiously.
"I know a couple of the managers who handle some of the names on Hoffman's hit list. I called them and let them know Andy Stern's in hospital, and Hoffman would be out of town overnight. The conversation was cryptic, but couldn't have been clearer. They now know Bobby Hoffman the realtor, is actually Robert Hoffman the blackmailer. They were shocked. Bobby had everyone completely snowed, and Robert Hoffman is a common name out there."
Spike slapped his thigh.
"You're a genius times two! I wish we could celebrate, but I have to pack up my stuff and hit the road."
"You are so clever," Amber declared, staring up at him. "I'm so glad this is over. I can't wait to get home. Will you drive us back in my car? I'm feeling shaky."
"Sure. Steve, here are the keys to the Rover, and thanks for bein' a part of this. Snap your fingers like twigs. Whatta line."
"When I thought about all the people he's hurt it was easy to imagine."
"I would've been happy to join you," Spike remarked. "What an evil bastard."
"Thanks again, both of you," Amber said with heartfelt gratitude. "I'll never forget what you did for me today. For me and for all the others. Spike, please come back for a weekend. We'd love to have you."
"Thanks, Amber. I might take you up on that."
"Have a safe trip back," Brett said, shaking his hand. "You were amazin'. Truly."
Leaving the suite and walking down the passage, Brett put his arm around Amber's shoulders, and leaning into him, she let out a long sigh.
"I know," Brett murmured. "Hard to believe you're outta that nightmare."
"Harder still to believe I've got a hundred-thousand dollars in the bank," then lowering her voice as they walked down the stairs, she added, "I know why you did that."
"We'll talk about it in the car," he replied, lifting his sunglasses from his breast pocket and sliding them on.
"You know they don't disguise you at all."
"Why didn't you tell me that when I left?"
"Uh, I'm not sure. I will next time."
"I need to have a brief word with Becky."
"Becky?"
"The girl at reception."
"You make friends way too easily."
"I bet you do too."
"I have my moments," she quipped, "but I'm sure you have more."
"Shush," he muttered as they approached the counter. "Hey, Becky."
"Hi. How can I help?"
"I just wanted to say thanks."
"You're welcome. Uh, Mr. Hoffman acted very strangely when he left. Is he okay?"
"How do you mean, strangely?"
"When he arrived he was, well, chatty, but when he left he bolted out the door."
"He didn't bother you, did he?"
"Not really."
"He's a business acquaintance more than a friend, and our meetin' didn't go the way he wanted. I'm sorry if he offended you."
"He didn't, but thanks."
"I'll be seein' you, Becky. Take care now."
"You too. Bye."
"She seemed to know you," Amber said as they walked outside.
"She works at Chips, and you have nothin' to be jealous of. Not ever!"
"I'm not the jealous type."
"Say what? You were jealous when I was drivin' a rusty old truck, didn't have a bean, and none of the girls liked me. Keys please."
"Here," she said, handing them over, "and I was not!"
Unlocking the car, he opened her door, then walked around and slid behind the wheel.
"Brett, what I said earlier. The hundred-thousand. I know you did that because you figured out I, uh, I'm in a bit of a jam. Thank you seems so inadequate."
"I did that 'cos he owed you," he replied, driving from the parking lot. "Now I wish I'd asked for double that. He and that dirtbag photographer put you through hell."
"But you knew I was in a bind."
"I was. I am, but, uh…"
"Is there a problem?"
"No, not a problem, but I am curious about how you got my account numbers. Hoffman couldn't have transferred the money without them."
"Are you worried I asked Spike to look into your finances?"
"Did you?"
"No, Sassy Lassy. All Spike did was get me the information Hoffman would need to send the money."
"I can tell you now. My student loans. That's what I have hanging over my head. I thought I'd never get out from under them."
"You can now."
"I can. Wow. I'm having trouble wrapping my brain around this."
"Before I forget, Spike said you need to change your email service and your screen name. That way you'll know your privacy is assured."
"I already figured that, and I will when I get home. This road always takes forever. So many twists and turns."
"Sure does. Uh, Amber, I've gotta question for you. How did you get to The White Feather Lodge so fast?"
"Excuse me?"
"When I called and said you could come down, you arrived in what? Ten minutes?"
"I don't know what you mean," she said quickly. "I'd like to make dinner for us tonight. I was thinking maybe—"
"Nice try," he retorted, cutting her off. "You must have already been half-way down the hill."
"You're confused."
"And you, Sassy Lassy, had better quit lyin'."
"I'm not lying."
"Come on, 'fess up," he insisted, turning onto his private road that led to the gates. "You don't wanna make me ask again."
"I thought I'd hang around the village and—"
"Okay, stop right there. I'm already gonna put you over my knee for the first lie. You want me to add the hairbrush for the second?"
"Fine. What if I was on my way to the lodge? I didn't know your room number. I had no intention of bursting in or anything."
"Damn, girl, you just tried to pull a fast one!"
"I would have told you at some point. I would have. Honest."
"Uh-huh."
As he pulled up to the keypad and punched in the code, she willed her butterflies to calm down, but as he drove to the front of the house and pulled to a stop, they began fluttering even more frantically.
"Amber," he said quietly, turning to face her. "Do you remember when you tried to pretend you could ride?"
"Of course."
"What did I tell you?"
"Uh, you said I'd need to get up early to, uh…"
"Go on."
"Con a cowboy."
"What else."
"I don't remember."
"You wanna try that again?"
"Shit."
"Shit? Nope, that's not what I said. Last chance."
"If I try to get the better of you, the only thing I'll get for my trouble is a hot butt."
"And that is exactly what's gonna happen. Go upstairs, strip naked, and wait for me bent over the bed."
The glint in his eye told her not to argue, and climbing from the car, she hurried inside. Brett waited a minute, then followed, making his way into the kitchen to pick up a wooden spoon. Climbing the stairs slowly to give her time, he had to smile. She loved being a brat and she loved to be spanked, probably as much as he loved being her authority figure and disciplinarian. They were a matched set. They always had been.
Entering the bedroom and seeing her beautiful bottom poised for punishment, he marched across the room, sat next to her, and placing the spoon on the bed, he ordered her over his knee.
"You know what to say."
"Please, sir, will you punish me?"
"For?"
"Uh, leaving the house when I said I wouldn't, and saying I didn't."
"What else?"
"I don't know, Sir."
"Jealousy. You're gonna have to keep that in check."
"Sorry, Sir. You're right. I did feel a twinge."
"Lock your fingers together and keep them that way. I'm gonna make this quick and sharp. Right cheek for breakin' your promise and leavin' the house, your left for bein' jealous for no reason, and your sit spot for lyin'. Are you ready?"
"Yes Sir."
Raising his hand, he landed it with a sharp smack, followed by two more in quick succession.
"When I give you an instruction I expect it to be obeyed," he said sternly, "and when you make a promise I expect it to be kept."
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry."
He began to spank in earnest, delivering the slaps in a steady rhythm on the same spot, continuing until her skin blushed bright pink, and her squeals sounded sincere.
"Oh, Sir, I won't break a promise ever again," she whimpered. "Ouch, ouch. Please rub it."
"Nope, not 'til I'm done," he replied, moving his hand to her opposite cheek. "Jealousy. When we're out in public you're gonna see women flirt with me like crazy, and you've gotta get a grip or you're gonna be one unhappy girl. You know I love you, and I don't wanna see that green-eyed monster. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
As he resumed the punishment, she buried her head in the bedcovers. His hot, hard hand hurt, and she couldn't stop herself from yelping, but his words rang true.
"Sir, I understand, I do," she cried. "Please. I'll be good, and if I'm feeling weird I'll tell you."
He paused.
"Now you're talkin'. Be straight with me and I'll reassure you."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Lyin'. Shame on you," he scolded, picking up the woo
den spoon. "You're gonna get six swats, and whatta you gonna say after each one?"
"I'm sorry I lied, Sir. Thank you for punishing me."
"You ready?"
"Yes, Sir."
Tapping the spoon against her sensitive sit spot, he let it fly.
An angry red stain bloomed to life.
"I'm sorry I lied, Sir," she wailed. "Thank you for punishing me."
Moving the spoon to the opposite side, he tapped and swatted. Squealing loudly, she repeated the phrase.
"I've gotta feelin' I'm not gonna have any more problems with you thinkin' you can con me," he declared, landing the third. "Am I right?"
"Yes, Sir, yes, yes. I'm sorry I lied, Sir. Thank you for punishing me."
"If you do, you'll be havin' a conversation with this spoon again," he warned, delivering the fourth.
"I'm sorry I lied, Sir, Honestly. Thank you for punishing me."
"Except it won't be just six," he promised, dispatching the fifth. "I'll tan your backside. Are we clear?"
"Yes! Clear! I'm sorry I lied, Sir. Thank you for punishing me."
"Just as well," he declared, landing the last.
"Oooh, I'm sorry I lied, Sir. Thank you for punishing me."
Laying the spoon on the bed, he rubbed her scalded backside until she settled, then helped her onto the bed and brought her into his arms.
"I hope I managed to spank the brat outta you."
"You did, Sir," she murmured, then gazing up at him, she added. "For the moment."
"Yeah, I know," he said with a grin. "Tell me what you learned."
"Keep my promises, don't lie, and I have no reason to be jealous."
"Funny how things come in threes," he purred, leaning over her and planting soft kisses across her face. "You wanna hear about the other two ways I'm gonna remind you to behave?"
"But, uh, I thought…"
"You thought wrong," he murmured, sliding his hand down her body to cup her sex. "I'm gonna tease for a long time."
"Ooh, but I want you so badly."
"So it seems," he whispered, pressing his finger into her wetness. "You're gonna cook me dinner tonight wearin' only an apron, and after we're done eatin', while I have dessert, you'll be under the table havin' yours. Will that help you remember your place?"
To Con A Cowboy (Hunks and Horses Book 3) Page 18