The Detective

by Adrienne Giordano

  “Ya think?”

  Venom—pure and deadly—glistened in Lexi’s eyes. Ms. The-World-Is-a-Beautiful-Place had a temper. “Lex—”

  “Oh, Brodey. Just shut up. You’ve said enough.”

  All at once, his father let out a low whistle and McCall cleared his throat. Brodey had to laugh. Yes, indeed, quite a show. Time to get this conversation back on track. Later, he’d talk to Lexi, find a way to apologize for being a world-class moron. He turned to McCall. “You need to take this quilt into evidence.”

  “I’ll get the crime-scene people in here and do a supplement to the report from Lexi’s place last night. Did you get the badge number of the cop who responded?”

  “Yeah.” Brodey dug into his pocket for his notepad. “683. Ericson.”

  “All right. I’ll get a hold of him and add this.” McCall shrugged. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get some DNA or fibers.”

  Off to the side, Lexi shifted. “What happens then?”

  “Then,” Brodey said, “we hope like hell we get a hit on DNA from the night of the murder.”

  * * *

  THE SECURITY SYSTEM was in.

  Lexi curled her lip at the ugly keypad disrupting the flow of energy to the left of the doorway. All that time spent sampling paint colors and that eyesore had just wrecked her wall. She’d have to come up with a way to cover the nasty-looking thing. Make it more unobtrusive and perhaps use a hinged frame to hide it.

  As if it sensed her negative opinion regarding its appearance, the keypad beeped. Actually, it was more of a shrill, earsplitting whine.

  Dear.

  God.

  Brodey stopped pushing buttons and glanced at her. “Are you paying attention?”

  To the sqwauking, yes. His activity, not so much. She shook it off. “I got distracted. Sorry. Can we change the tone of the beep?”

  “I know you hate this. But it’s important.”

  “Just keep reminding me of that.”

  “I said you could come to my place.”

  “No. This is my home. I’m not running from it.” She gestured to the keypad. “Show me again how to use this beast.”

  Five minutes later, he’d reviewed all the buttons on the keypad and gave her a cheat sheet of the codes. One for motion detection, one for glass break, one for both. All of it was too much.

  “I think I’ve got it. As loud as that beep is, I certainly won’t forget to disarm the system when I come in.”

  What she needed now was food and a glass of wine. After this day, maybe she’d take the bottle. Seven o’clock and she’d just realized she’d skipped lunch. By the time they’d gotten through at the Williamses’ home, she was dangerously close to running late for her afternoon appointments and gobbled a handful of cashews she’d found in a bag at the bottom of her purse. From the look of the tattered bag, they’d been there awhile. She’d eaten them with gusto, though. What a life.

  And they still hadn’t talked about their little tiff today.

  Wow. That Brodey knew how to deliver a zinger. Between the overbearing protectiveness and the constant lecturing, he was far from perfect. But, unfortunately, part of her loved that about him and it made it hard for her to stay mad. After all, there were worse things than having a man worry about her. Considering the last man in her life never did—on any level.

  Brodey’s expertly delivered zinger had stunned and hurt her, but at least he’d recognized it and apologized. She looked over at him. “I want to talk about what happened today.”

  “Good. Me, too. I was wrong. Too wound up and I took it out on you.”

  “I didn’t like it.”

  He nodded. “As soon as I said it, I knew I screwed up.” He rubbed his hands over his face, held them there a second before dragging them away. “You scare the hell out of me. I don’t think you sense danger when you should.”

  “And I think you sense danger when you shouldn’t. Maybe that comes from being raised by someone in law enforcement and then seeing it firsthand, but I am who I am, Brodey. And I have no desire to change. If I wanted to see the world the way you do, I’d become a cop. Simple as that.”

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Easily, she could continue this conversation and pound on him more, but really...not her style. He’d apologized and admitted his mistake. That alone was worth something. A lot of men would have attempted to justify their actions. Make her question herself. Not Brodey. He owned it.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

  He angled his head, squinted a little. “That’s it?”

  “I said what I needed to.”

  “Huh.”

  “This may shock you, but I have no interest in making this a world crisis. It happened, you apologized, we move on.” She grinned in that tight way people did when sarcasm was needed. “I hardly think that transgression requires me to banish you from my life.”

  “Thank you. And, for the record, I think you’re amazing. I’d have definitely made me suffer longer.”

  “Yeah, well, remember this moment when I do something you don’t agree with.” She swirled her hands. “Come to the dark side, Brodey, and see the world with rose-colored glasses. You might like it.”

  He laughed. So did she, and the misery of the day suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Being mad at him took too much energy and zapped her creatively. All of her afternoon appointments had been a struggle. She’d managed a few good ideas, but not nearly her best work. She’d make it up to the clients. Without a doubt, her next ideas and sketches had to be spectacular.

  Even if it killed her.

  “So,” she said, “I need food. You?”

  “Starved.”

  “I’ll order us a pizza. I like veggie.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  She laughed. God, she loved how he made her laugh. “I wish you could see your face right now. No. I’m not joking. I like veggie pizzas. No meat. If you want meat I’ll get two smalls.”

  “I don’t mind the veggies, but you sure as hell need some meat on there. Get me a supreme.”

  “Ew. Hope you weren’t planning on kissing me tonight.”

  “Honey, I’m planning on doing a whole lot more than kissing you.”

  And oh my, that sounded promising. “I guess we’ll see about that.”

  He dropped onto her sofa and tossed his messenger bag on the coffee table. “After you order, wanna help me look at the Williamses’ bank statements? You’ve got the eye for detail.”

  Lexi ordered their pizza, poured two glasses of wine and joined Brodey on the sofa. “You do drink wine, don’t you?”

  So much she needed to learn about this man.

  “I’m more of a beer guy, but wine is good, too.”

  “Got it. I’ll add it to the list.”

  The carefully arranged photography books were moved off the coffee table and set on the floor. A week ago, she’d have gutted him for disturbing the balance of her carefully crafted room. Now? After all he’d done, she’d suck it up and allow him these minor intrusions. As long as it didn’t include breaking her heart. That, he was not allowed to do.

  He spread the statements across the bare surface of the table and snap, snap, snapped his fingers in front of her face. “I’m losing you again.”

  “No. You’re not.” She nudged him with her elbow. “That time I heard you. We’re looking for a break in the pattern. Anything that looks odd.”

  “Correct. I looked at these this morning, but didn’t have time to study them. McCall told me Williams moved money a lot. He constantly played with his own portfolio. You’ll see all the transfers.”

  Lexi scanned the rows of numbers on one statement then moved to the next...and the next. Holy moneybags. Page after page indicated tens of thous
ands of dollars randomly withdrawn from the accounts.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Yep. He kept a money-market account he parked cash in every month. If they ran low, he or Brenda—she was a cosigner—would move funds from the money market into their checking account. He liked to have a minimum of twenty grand liquid at all times.”

  “Nice slush fund.”

  Someday she’d have that slush fund. Unlike Jonathan Williams, she’d use it for security purposes. To make sure the mortgage and bills were paid.

  “Sometimes,” Brodey said, “the amounts varied from five hundred to thousands of dollars. We don’t know how much of that money, considering the Feds were investigating him, was his own.”

  He pushed one of the reports away and slouched next to her, resting his head back. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he appeared focused and—well—male. Incredibly, beautifully male. She’d love to sketch him at this moment, capture the intensity, the curve of his jaw, his straight, sculpted nose, his lightly curling hair. Not in this lifetime would she call Brodey Hayward pretty. Some men were. Her ex for instance. Perfectly groomed, well dressed, all of it screaming privilege. Never Brodey. Brodey was a man’s man, rugged and strong and comfortable in torn jeans because that was who he was and accepted it.

  Touch him. Go ahead. Why not? If it ended the way it had last night, she didn’t imagine he’d complain. Giving her the invitation she needed, he closed his eyes and she moved closer, trailing her fingers over that perfect nose. He flinched and nearly got his eye poked for his troubles.

  “What?” He rubbed his nose. “A fuzz or something?”

  “No. I wanted to touch you. Really, I want to sketch you, but I don’t think you’ll let that happen.”

  “Good guess there.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll let you do other things to me.”

  Such a man. “I’m sure you would. As soon as we finish going through these reports and you tell me I can rip up that laundry room. Ticktock, handsome. With each day, I see my bonus—and my assistant—slipping away.”

  “You’re saying if I let you rip up that floor, you’ll have sex with me?”

  She laughed. “This is what it has come to. I’m bargaining myself for a laundry room.”

  “You can rip up the floor.”

  What? She pulled back an inch, opened her mouth, closed it again. Really? “Are you teasing me?”

  “No. I’m not. Whatever was in there is gone now. I have to accept that and let it go. Tear it up. Let’s see what’s under there.”

  * * *

  LEXI’S HEAD DIPPED forward and Brodey bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “I know it’s shocking, but try to control yourself.”

  Her face—that gorgeous face that kept him awake at night—lit up, all perky and relieved, as if he’d just handed her the assistant she’d otherwise kill for.

  “Thank you, Brodey.”

  He leaned over, dropped a light kiss on her lips. “The crime-scene people went through it again today when they grabbed the quilt. There’s nothing there that’ll help us. But we’ve got the break-in at your place, the quilt and the link between Ed Long and the Williams family. Now we figure out if that link goes further than the defense attorney and how. There’s a reason Long is checking you out. He’s nervous.”

  And people who were nervous had something to be nervous about. Particularly criminals. But according to his rap sheet, Ed Long wasn’t a violent guy. Unarmed robberies made up his sheet.

  Hold up here. Brodey lurched forward, ran his hands over the financial statements on the coffee table, shuffling through them. Pfft, pfft, pfft. Nothing. He moved to the next stack.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “There are no SAR reports.”

  “SAR?”

  “Suspicious activity report. S-A-R. They’re reports on funky transactions. Filed by financial institutions—banks, brokers, you know—and sent to the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network. FinCEN. It’s part of the Treasury Department and helps the Feds identify terrorists and money launderers. Law enforcement can get subpoenas for copies of reports from FinCEN. Helps us figure out if a suspect is moving money around.”

  “So if the banks think something is hinky, they fill out one of these SAR reports?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can anything trigger the report?”

  He shrugged. “Anything suspicious, yes. The banks watch for patterns. If someone suddenly deposits six grand every week after only depositing hundreds for a while, that could trigger it.”

  Lexi picked up one of the bank statements. “The dollar amounts are all over the place. There’s no pattern.”

  “That could mean this is a dead end or it could mean Williams knew—because he was a broker and would have been familiar with SARs—if he kept to his pattern it wouldn’t look suspicious.”

  Lexi threw her shoulders back, smacked him on the arm. “Yes! The SAR would have jeopardized his Ponzi scheme if investigators checked his finances.”

  He touched her nose, grinning at her because—holy hell—he might be crazy about this woman. “I love intelligent women.”

  Obviously wanting to play, she tapped his nose. “I love intelligent men. Especially ones who offer to sleep on my sofa—instead of trying to get lucky—so I don’t have to be alone.”

  “But I did get lucky.”

  “After you said you’d sleep on the sofa. See how this works?”

  Brodey cracked up.

  Again she reached over, ran the tips of her fingers along his jaw, and that feeling, that surge of power, ripped through him. If she sensed it she didn’t care because that hand kept roaming over his face.

  “Please let me sketch you.”

  Maybe he could work this sketching thing to his favor. “What do I get out of it?”

  She hopped up and grabbed her sketch pad. “You’ll get something. We can talk while I’m sketching. It helps me think.”

  “Right. Sure. Just don’t spread it around. This gets out, I’ll never live it down.”

  Lexi sat across from him, tucking her legs underneath her into her go-to sitting position. She glanced up at him, a tiny smile playing across her lips and—damn—he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do way more than kiss her, which, if she lived up to her end of this sketching bargain, he’d be doing before the night ended.

  While she kept busy, he leaned back, focused on the financials and possible next steps. All these random numbers could have been Williams trying to fly under the radar. But what about Brenda? She had to question their money being moved. He glanced at Lexi, whose hand flew across her sketch pad. “I wonder how involved Brenda was in maintaining their household accounts.”

  “Meaning, did she know about all these transactions? Lift your chin a bit. Not too much...perfect.”

  “According to Jenna’s notes, Brenda didn’t know about the Ponzi scheme. But if she even looked at their bank statements she’d have seen the constant movement.”

  Lexi shrugged. “If I married a broker, I don’t know if I’d question it. And Jonathan Williams was slick. I mean he swindled people out of millions of dollars and they didn’t know it. Convincing his wife of something would be simple. She loved him and trusted him. It’s easy to be fooled by someone you love.”

  That, he knew, was her voice of experience, but this time, when she mentioned her ex, she didn’t sound as...what? Affected. That was it. Score one for Team Brodey if she was ready to move on from her former idiot fiancé.

  “And the bank wouldn’t flag small transactions—small to Williams anyway.”

  Still sketching, she waggled her free hand. “Turn a little to the left.”

  Seriously? What was he? Some kind of art experiment? He rolled his eyes.

  “Brodey, don’t be a wuss.”

 
; He turned left. “Just warning you, I’m cashing in when this is over.”

  “As if that’ll be horrible?”

  He grinned, loving this casual banter between them. He could thank scumbag Ed Long for that at least. Had he not allegedly—God forbid a detective should accuse someone of something without adding allegedly—broken into Lexi’s place, they probably wouldn’t be sitting here cracking jokes about getting lucky.

  “Ed Long,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I missed something.”

  He sat up and riffled through the reports on the coffee table until he found one from the month before the murder.

  “Hey! I wasn’t done.”

  “Sorry, babe.”

  She set the sketch pad down. “What is it?”

  “This guy isn’t the brightest bulb. He’s also, as we know from him skipping on his rent, strapped for cash.”

  “And?”

  He held up the report. “And we need copies of his bank statements to see if any of the transactions on Williams’s bank statements match Long’s. My guess is if the bank suddenly sees Long depositing large amounts they’re going to—”

  Lexi smacked her sketch pad on her leg. “File a SAR.”

  “Yep.”

  “How do we get that information?”

  “We tell McCall to get a subpoena.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Hayward,” Brodey groaned into his phone.

  He blinked a couple of times, working the morning fog from his brain while he focused on the fact that McCall was calling him at six in the morning. A morning that came after another night of shortened sleep thanks to the beautiful, if not sometimes annoying, Lexi Vanderbilt.

  “Junior,” McCall snarked, “you gettin’ soft since you been on leave? Get the hell out of bed.”

  Beside him, Lexi rolled over, her arm flinging sideways and blasting him square on the beak. Yikes. It was like sleeping with a circus act. Slowly, trying not to wake her, he shifted sideways, got to his feet and went to the still-dark living room, where the Chicago dawn had yet to do its magic and light the place up. “What’s happening?”