“Is everything okay?” Leon asked.
“Yeah, no problem. Just an issue with an investor.”
“You look pretty upset. What was that all about?”
None of your damn business. “The guy’s pretty demanding, that’s all.” When Waverly decided to move into his in-law’s neighborhood, he hadn’t anticipated that they would spend more time at his house than their own.
Waverly walked past his father-in-law and returned to his seat next to Deidra. He tried to focus on the movie, but his mind kept wandering back to Rico’s call. How did Rico know Billington was dead? A weird feeling told him something was wrong.
“Don’t kill me,” Waverly said to Deidra. “But there’s some work I need to do.”
Rico claimed he read about Billington’s death in the newspapers. Waverly wanted to find out if that was actually the truth.
Deidra huffed. “The movie just started. Can’t it wait?”
“I won’t be long.” He rose from the chair. “There’s something I need to look up on the Internet.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Leon asked.
No, you nosey bastard. “No, thanks,” Waverly said, heading for the door. “I won’t be long. Just enjoy the movie.”
CHAPTER 41
Dre stepped off the elevator onto the second floor of Angela’s building carrying a bottle of red wine and a bouquet of calla lilies wrapped in cellophane. He glanced down at his groin and cringed. There was no way he could show up at Angela’s door in his excited state.
Checking the numbers on the apartment doors, he scoped out Angela’s place, then made a U-turn and walked in the opposite direction. He spotted an exit sign, opened a door leading to a stairwell and stepped inside. He kept the door open just a crack so he wouldn’t lock himself out.
Dre rested his back against the wall and tried to think of something—anything—except the fact that if his luck held out, he was about to get buck wild with a woman he’d been fantasizing about for months. He was so excited that he’d probably blow the second he saw her naked.
Five minutes later with no change in his condition, Dre gave in to the fact that his Johnson had a mind of its own. As he made the short walk back down the hallway, he hoped Angela was in a better mood. Since the death of her coworker, nothing seemed to cheer her up. She’d basically kept him at bay for the past few days, not even showing up at the gym. Then, out of the blue, she had called, inviting him over for dinner.
Dre positioned the flowers at waist level, then rang the doorbell.
The door slowly swung open and there she was, standing in front of him in a short, frilly chiffon skirt, which showed off her long, beautiful legs. Her red stiletto heels were a serious turn on. Her T-strap top was low cut and barely able to contain her voluptuous breasts. Nice.
“Welcome,” she said with a smile. “You’re my first official houseguest.”
“Don’t move,” Dre said, stepping across the threshold, closing the door behind him. “Just stand there and let me look at you.”
Angela angled her head, put both hands on her hips and crossed one leg in front of the other.
Dre was smiling so hard, his cheeks hurt. The good girls are always the freaks.
“Dang, you look good, girl.”
“Thank you, sir. And you’re looking pretty nice yourself. Is that a new shirt?”
Actually, it was, but she wasn’t supposed to know that. “Uh, naw. Just haven’t worn it that much.”
Dre sensed that Angela was just as nervous as he was. They stood there smiling at each other like two middle school students about to have their first slow dance. He wanted to bum rush her, but knew he couldn’t treat her like a tramp. Playing it cool, however, would be hard.
“Are those for me?” Angela finally asked.
“Oh . . . uh . . . yeah.” He handed her the flowers, but held onto the wine bottle.
Angela smiled and took a whiff of the flowers. “How’d you know I liked calla lilies?”
“I know a whole bunch of stuff about you,” Dre said, grinning. “But I got that info from your assistant.”
Angela’s smile widened. “You definitely get some extra points for that. I’ll go get a vase.”
He watched her turn and walk toward the kitchen, seemingly adding a little swish to her step. The back view was just as magnificent as the front. The girl’s got major body. Cornell is a fuckin’ idiot.
Dre followed her, no longer embarrassed about his very noticeable boner. When she bent down to open a cabinet beneath the sink, positioning her gorgeous ass high in the air, Dre lost it.
When Angela stood back up, he was right there, almost on top of her. Dre placed the wine on the countertop, then took the flowers and vase and set them aside. He gripped both sides of her waist and softly kissed her as he backed her into the tight wall space between the refrigerator and cabinet. When his tongue traced Angela’s lips, he felt her whole body shiver.
“You have no idea how happy I am to finally be with you,” Dre mumbled.
“Is that right?” Angela moaned softly into his ear. “If we don’t stop, our dinner’s going to get cold.”
“I’m sure you got a microwave.”
Dre’s hands slid underneath her soft skirt and he gripped her ass, pulling her to him. She gasped with pleasure when he eased his hand between her wet thighs.
While his lips roamed everywhere, her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her breasts, Angela unbuttoned his shirt and explored his body with her hands. Dre unbuckled his pants and let them fall to the floor as Angela’s hands traveled down his body. Her fingers slipped into his boxers and grazed the tip of him, so lightly, so sensually that he almost screamed. They continued to squirm and thrash against each other, their kisses and moans and pants totally unrestrained.
Without warning, Angela’s moans abruptly stopped. Dre felt her hand flat on his chest, pushing him away.
What the hell?
Angela was saying something, but Dre’s head was all fogged up and she was panting so much he couldn’t understand what she was saying.
“What’s wrong?” Dre felt like he’d just been doused with ice water.
“Condom.” Angela still found it difficult to speak. “Did you . . . did you bring condoms?”
Dre pressed his hand flat against the wall behind her, then dumped his forehead on her shoulder. “Uh . . . yeah,” he said, “but I left ’em in the car.”
Angela started to laugh and so did he. They stood there cracking up for several long minutes.
“Okay,” Angela finally said, “let’s eat dinner first, then we can pick up where we left off. I made chicken lasagna. And it’s really good if I do say so myself.”
Dre stepped back, awkwardly pulled up his pants and rebuckled his belt. He didn’t bother to button his shirt. What he really wanted to do was run down to the car so they could finish what they had started. But he didn’t want to appear desperate. If she could wait, so could he.
“Here.” She thrust the wine bottle into his hand. “The corkscrew’s in the drawer next to the dishwasher.”
He opened the bottle as she took wineglasses from the cabinet. They finally sat down at a small table near the kitchen, facing each other.
Dre had not eaten since lunch, but he had no appetite. He put a forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “This is really good,” he said, barely tasting it.
“Thanks,” Angela said. “How was your day?”
“Fine. How was yours?”
“Not bad. I didn’t have any court appearances today, but tomorrow I—”
“Hold up,” Dre said, his frustration obvious. “I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and make small talk with you like this.” He put down his fork and stood up. “I’ve waited way too long to be with you and if I have to wait another minute, my balls are going to explode. I’m going to my car. And when I get back, be ready.”
Angela smiled and watched as Dre pulled his keys from his pocket. He was inches from the door when she called out to him
.
“Hey,” she said, “do me a favor.”
What now? “Yeah?”
“Hurry up because I can hardly wait. Promise me you’ll run all the way to the car and all the way back.”
Dre grinned and grabbed the doorknob. “Baby, if I could fly there and back, I’d do it.”
CHAPTER 42
Jon’s funeral, like most, was both sad and uplifting. Several attorneys recounted funny stories about him, most involving his love of cars. Angela shared how he ribbed her about being on Weight Watchers and praised him as one of her favorite case agents.
Jon’s death reenergized the Operation Buying Time task force. They had no evidence that Jon was the victim of foul play, but everyone on the team believed he was. They reported their suspicions to the D.A.’s Office, but didn’t plan to sit on the sidelines. The murder of a federal agent in the line of duty was a federal offense, squarely within their jurisdiction. They would find Jon’s killer.
A few days after Jon’s funeral, Salina gave the team a detailed report which contained a list of fifty-three clients whose insurance policies Waverly Sloan had brokered. It surprised Angela that half of his clients were already dead and more than a third of those died only weeks after selling their policies. Ten of them suffered accidental deaths: six from car accidents, two in fires at their homes, one in a boating accident and one after being shot during a robbery.
Angela was glad that her other cases and the work on the task force kept her too busy to dwell on the state of her personal life. Her mother still wasn’t speaking to her after learning that she’d called off the wedding. Her sister Jada, on the other hand, wanted to throw her a party. The first few days after she moved out, Cornell had called her almost every day insisting that they meet for dinner to talk. She finally stopped answering his calls and, to her relief, they abruptly stopped. At the moment, her relationship with Dre was the only thing in her life that felt right
Zack barged into her office without knocking. “Take a look at this.” He slapped a piece of paper on her desk.
Angela picked it up. “What’s this?”
“The second complaint filed with the Department of Insurance against Live Now. This woman claims her stepfather pressured her dying mother to sell her insurance policy, then killed her. And guess who brokered the deal?”
Angela grew excited. “Waverly Sloan?”
Zack nodded with glee.
Angela skimmed the complaint. “Is she alleging that Waverly Sloan was in cahoots with the stepfather?”
“Nope. Sloan’s name is nowhere in there. According to the daughter, she was the sole beneficiary on the policy. Her stepfather got half the money she was supposed to get. If her mother hadn’t sold the policy, he wouldn’t have gotten a dime.”
“How much?”
“Two-fifty. The face value of the policy was half a million.”
“No wonder the daughter’s so pissed.”
Zack had an exuberant look on his face. “That’s not the most interesting part. Guess who the stepfather is?”
“Zack, how would I know that?”
“True. You’d never guess in a million years. Okay, it’s Lawrence Erickson.”
Angela’s forehead crinkled. “Who’s he?”
“The chairman of Jankowski, Parkins, Gregorio & Hall.”
Angela whistled. “The stepdaughter is accusing him of murder?”
“You got it.”
“Is there anything to it?”
“I’m not sure. My L.A.P.D. contact says the daughter’s a little whacko.”
“How’d the wife die?”
“She had pancreatic cancer. The daughter’s been demanding an autopsy. But, so far, there’s no indication there’s going to be one since she was under a doctor’s care and presumably died from cancer.” Zack’s eyes gleamed. “Do you know what going after a rich, powerful guy like Erickson could mean for our careers?”
“Why don’t we just focus on nailing Jon’s killer rather than a headline, okay?”
“We can do both,” Zack said. “By the way, I came up with the perfect name for my TV show. The Zack Attack. You like it?”
“Never mind that. Tell me more about Erickson’s stepdaughter.”
“Don’t know much yet. Except that she apparently despises the guy.”
“If that’s the case,” Angela said, “then I might question her motives more than his. What’s Erickson’s side of the story?”
“According to the daughter, Erickson claimed they sold the policy to pay for an experimental cancer treatment, but the wife decided not to do it. Neither the wife’s sister nor the daughter knew anything about it.”
Angela read the complaint more thoroughly this time, then picked up the telephone.
“Who are you calling?” Zack asked.
“I think we should interview the daughter,” Angela said. “Since Waverly Sloan brokered her mother’s policy as well as Jon’s, she might have some information that could help us.”
Three hours later, Angela and Zack were sitting at a sandwich shop a few blocks from their office waiting for Lawrence Erickson’s stepdaughter to arrive.
A petite blonde with a jittery disposition entered the café and glanced around. Angela headed toward her. “Ashley?”
The woman acknowledged the greeting by walking over, but didn’t speak. She was dressed like a college student: faded blue jeans, white ducktail shirt, large red shoulder bag. She looked much younger than twenty-four.
“I’m Angela Evans and this is Zack Hargrove.” Angela led the way to their table. Ashley sat down across from them.
“Thanks for meeting us,” Angela began. “We—”
“Is somebody going to charge that asshole with murder?” Ashley demanded.
Angela gave Zack a quizzical look. “Any investigation into your mother’s death would be handled by the D.A.’s Office. We’re with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. We’re looking into an insurance fraud scheme.”
Ashley glared across the table. “Insurance fraud? But you said you wanted to talk to me about my mother’s death.”
“And we do,” Angela said hurriedly. “We have some questions about your mother’s decision to sell her insurance policy.”
“She didn’t make any decision. The asshole pressured her to do it so he could keep me from getting the insurance money.”
“Are you referring to Lawrence Erickson?” Zack asked.
“Yes. The asshole. That’s what I call him because that’s what he is.”
Angela wasn’t sure what to think of the hostile young woman. “We understand that your mother sold her policy to undergo an experimental cancer treatment.”
“Really? Then why didn’t she have it? And why didn’t she tell me or my aunt about it? You want to know why? Because the asshole made it up, that’s why. Selling the policy was the only way for him to get his hands on that money.”
It crossed Angela’s mind that Ashley might be falsely accusing Erickson of murder to get back at him for cheating her out of the insurance. “Do you know anything about Waverly Sloan, the broker who sold your mother’s policy?”
“I told you we knew nothing about her selling the policy until after she died. The asshole handled everything.”
“Your mother would’ve had to sign paperwork authorizing the sale.”
“And she probably did. The asshole could convince her to do anything.”
Zack rested an elbow on the small table. “May I ask why you seem to have such animosity for your stepfather?”
“Because he’s an asshole.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
“I hated the way he controlled my mother. She did whatever he wanted. She sent me away to boarding school because that was what he thought was best.” Ashley slumped back in her chair. “I only got to come home for two weeks in the summer and a week at Christmas.”
Angela understood now why the D.A.’s Office had not followed up on her allegations. This girl had issues.
“Do you know if your stepfather knew Waverly Sloan before he sold your mother’s policy?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe they had a deal to kill her and split the money. The asshole knows lots of people. I wouldn’t put something like that past him. You should look into that. My mother hasn’t even been dead a month and he’s already dating a woman half his age.” Ashley paused as if she had suddenly remembered something important. “I need to tell you about something he did right after my mother died.”
Both Zack and Angela leaned forward in anticipation. “He had the audacity to call me and ask me if I wanted the two-fifty. Can you believe that?”
There were two ways to look at that, Angela mused to herself. It was either the action of a guilty man or an innocent one.
“That’s how I know he did it. He’s trying to shut me up. But I told him to keep the money because he’s going to need it to buy stuff at the prison commissary.”
Angela and Zack asked a few more questions, then headed back to the office.
“What do you think?” Angela said to Zack, as they strolled up Spring Street. “Ashley didn’t have a shred of evidence to support her allegations against Erickson.”
Zack shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill his wife.”
“True,” Angela said. “There’s somebody else I think we should talk to.”
Zack turned to face her. “Who?”
“Waverly Sloan.”
CHAPTER 43
You won’t believe this!” Erickson barreled into Becker’s office.
“Believe what?” Becker looked up from his computer screen.
“I just got a call from the White House. Cervantes is out and I’m in!”
Becker shot out of his chair. “What? I thought Cervantes’ Senate confirmation hearing was supposed to start tomorrow.”
“It seems there was a legal matter she neglected to disclose. She pulled some strings to help her nephew beat a drunk driving charge two years ago. I’m taking a red-eye to Washington tonight. They’re announcing me as the new nominee tomorrow morning.”
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