by Diane Kelly
“Clyde and I go way back,” Lu said. “We worked together in the audit department for years before I transferred to Criminal Investigations. He’s the head of the Fort Worth audit office now. I gave him a call and he says they can use you over there.”
Several thoughts went through my head. The first was, Do I want to work as an auditor? The second thought was, Don’t be an idiot! Your mortgage is due in a matter of days, and you’ll be left with just enough in your bank account to survive a couple of months. Take the job! My final thought came out of my mouth. “Is George Burton okay with this?”
Lu pursed her lips. “I had to work on him, remind him that this agency invested thousands in your training. But he said as long as we don’t put a gun in your hand you’re welcome to come back to the IRS.”
I had mixed feelings about Burton’s comment, but I wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. Not only would it get my foot back in the door, it also might help with my criminal case. The fact that the IRS hired me back would make me look like less of a pariah. Auditing might not be so bad. It would be more routine work, surely less stressful. That was a good thing, right? Then again, I thrived on stress. I got a charge out of knowing my targets were bad guys, looked forward to taking them down, playing real-life cops and robbers. Still, just like Nick would have to get used to me not working in Criminal Investigations, I’d have to adjust, too.
“Did you mention the civil lawsuit and the excessive force case?” I asked.
“Of course I did.” Lu pursed her lips again, though this time her eyes blazed with mischief. “Then again, I might’ve forgotten.” She winked a false eyelash at me.
My heart sank. I couldn’t let Lu get herself in trouble over me. “Lu, I can’t let you—”
She cut me off with a karate chop motion of her hand and a pointed gaze. “You’re not trying to tell me what to do, are you?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I said. “But—”
“But nothing!” she barked. “I feel partly responsible for your predicament. If I hadn’t assigned you to that damn case none of this would have ever happened.”
I opened my mouth to protest further, but her narrowed eyes told me I’d best remain silent.
“You put your life on the line for this agency. Getting you a transfer to the audit department is the least I could do.” Lu ran her tongue over her orange lips, removing the remnants of pink frosting, then dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Clyde says to head on over Monday and he’ll get you set up.”
The Lobo had put herself on the line for me when she’d asked Clyde to give me a job and sought approval from George Burton. I wouldn’t let her down. I stood to go. “Thanks, Lu. I really appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “Now scat. I’ve got work to do.”
After I left Lu’s office, I figured I’d poke my head around and say hello to some of the other agents, let them know I’d landed on my feet. Or, more precisely, that I’d been hauled back to my feet by Lu.
I headed down the hall, stopping between Nick’s office and the one directly across the hall that used to be mine. With Nick in Tokyo, his office was empty and dark. My office, however, was lit and occupied. Sitting at my desk was a thirtyish black guy with short hair, a green-and-brown-striped tie, and a gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. On my bookshelf—make that his bookshelf—stood a framed portrait of him with his wife and three sons, ranging in age from toddler to ’tween. Situated around the family portrait were framed photos of his oldest son with a shiny trombone, the middle son in a basketball uniform, and the youngest on a wooden rocking horse.
Seeing my replacement in my office was like being hit with an emotional wrecking ball. I’d held out hope that one day I’d return to criminal investigations. Heck, The Lobo had kept Nick’s office vacant and waiting for him for three whole years while he’d been a wanted federal fugitive in forced exile in Mexico. But she’d put the new agent in my office, a sure sign she didn’t truly expect me to come back.
Time for me to face facts, huh?
The agent looked up from his laptop, his intelligent brown eyes assessing me. “Can I help you?”
“Um … sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. This used to be my office.”
He stood. “You’re Tara Holloway?”
I nodded.
“I heard what happened.” He cocked his head. “Why didn’t you just kill the guy?”
If I heard that question one more time I’d tie a cinder block around my waist and throw myself into the Trinity River. I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming, hoped my grimace could pass for a smile, and shrugged.
He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a silver pen, and offered it to me. “I found this yesterday behind the filing cabinet.”
I took the pen from him. Engraved on the side was IRS Special Agent Tara Holloway. My parents had given me the pen as a gift when I successfully completed special agent training earlier in the year. The pen had disappeared a couple of months ago. I must’ve set it on top of the file cabinet and it rolled off behind it.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’d been wondering where this went.”
He held out a hand now. “I’m William Dorsey. I transferred from the Tucson collections office.”
“Collections, huh?” That meant he was a rookie special agent, just as I’d been when I started with the IRS this past spring. I shook his hand. “What did you think of the special agent training?”
He groaned. “It kicked my ass.”
I didn’t want to like this guy, but I couldn’t help myself. He seemed genuine and friendly. Besides, it wasn’t his fault I’d been fired.
“Well … welcome to Criminal Investigations. I hope you’ll be as happy here as I was.”
Oh, Lord. I blinked back tears as I rushed out of the office. Leaning against the wall in the corridor, I fought to regain my composure. Deep breath. Deep breath. Okay. Good.
I continued down the hall, stopping briefly to greet Josh Schmidt, the office’s technical expert, before moving on to Eddie’s digs.
Eddie was on his phone as I stepped into his doorway, but he gave me a wave in greeting and gestured for me to come inside. Like Agent Dorsey, Eddie was black and married with children. A pang of jealousy sliced through me when I realized Eddie would probably prefer William as a partner. The two of them had much more in common than Eddie and I ever had.
“Exactly,” Eddie said into his phone. He paused a moment. “I can give you until the third, but that’s it.” Another pause. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye out for the paperwork.” He hung up his phone.
“Fun case?” I asked.
He tossed the file into his in-box. “Not at all. Sorry about the butt dialing, by the way.”
I shrugged. “No biggie.” I slid into one of his wing chairs. “I met William Dorsey. He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is,” Eddie said. “Much nicer than you ever were.”
“Ass.”
“He can’t handle his Glock as well as you, though.”
“Neither can you.”
Eddie raised a brow. “Now who’s being an ass?”
Touché.
Eddie tilted his head. “What brings you by?”
“Lu called me in. She pulled some strings and got me a position with the audit department in Fort Worth.”
Eddie leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his ribs. “Auditing in Fort Worth, huh? The commute will suck, but otherwise that could be an okay job.”
It could be an okay job. The problem was, I didn’t want an okay job. I wanted an exciting job, one where I could put bad guys out of business, where I could be a hero of sorts. “I guess I just thought that … you know … maybe someday…”
I didn’t finish my sentence, but I didn’t have to. Eddie knew exactly where I’d been going.
Eddie sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead before looking me directly in the eye. “Tara, as much as I hate to say this, I think it’s best if yo
u let go of your hopes and move on.”
I knew Eddie wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was only trying to be honest. Still, his words were like a punch to my gut.
“I came to the same conclusion myself when I saw Dorsey in my office.” I stood to go. “The grand jury is meeting as we speak, deciding whether to indict me.”
Eddie groaned. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Let me know how that turns out the minute you know something.” Eddie stood now, too. “And stay in touch, okay?”
“Sure. Maybe I’ll come across some good cases I can send your way.”
We stared at each other for a moment, unsaid words passing between us. In the few short months Eddie and I had been partners, we’d been through a lot together. I’d been slashed by a nut wielding a box cutter. Eddie had been shot in the head. A violent target had threatened Eddie and his family, forcing them into hiding. Terrorists had come after Eddie and me with explosives. Together we’d taken down an abusive tax preparer who called herself the Deduction Diva and had come after us with a letter opener. Frankly, her enormous breasts had been more scary than the blade. They’d been like the Grand Tetons coming at us in an avalanche of flesh. Eddie and I might not be partners anymore, but the bond we’d formed working together was still intact.
I stepped to the doorway, stopping to look back. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”
“The best,” Eddie said. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
I pretended not to notice the slight crack in his voice. “I will.”
chapter seventeen
Truth and Consequences
As I exited the IRS office, my cell phone bleeped. I checked the readout. Hairy Ass.
It was the moment of truth.
Light-headed with emotion, I punched the “accept” button. “What did the grand jury decide?” I was too anxious for niceties.
The caller turned out not to be Anthony Giacomo but his secretary. She said that Anthony wanted to see me as soon as possible.
My pulse kicked into double time as I repeated the question, hoping she could provide me an answer. “The grand jury. What did they decide?”
“He didn’t say.”
Damn!
I ran to my crow-crap-covered car, hopped in, and activated the wipers to remove the white droppings impeding my vision. Stupid birds! I drove the few blocks to the skyscraper that housed Gertz, Gertz, and Schwartz. Tires squealing, I whipped into the garage, parked, and leaped from my car as if I’d been ejected. I sprinted to the elevator. I jabbed the “up arrow” button eleven times in quick succession—like that was going to help anything—and climbed on, silently cursing each person for whom the car stopped on my way up.
I dashed across the foyer of the firm to the receptionist’s desk, hovering over her as she buzzed Anthony’s office. She looked up at me as she spoke to him. “Tara Holloway is here to see you.” She paused a moment. “I’ll send her back.”
I didn’t wait for her to give me the okay. I shoved open the glass doors leading back to the offices and raced down the hall, nearly colliding with a clerk pushing a mail cart.
“Sorry!” I called back over my shoulder as I hurried on.
Momentum nearly carried me past Giacomo’s office, and I grabbed his doorjamb to slow myself, spinning halfway around as I entered his office.
I grasped the back of his wing chair, holding on tight, my fingers digging into the fabric. “What did they decide?”
From his throne behind his desk Anthony offered a placating smile. “Take a seat, Tara.”
I stepped around to the front of the wing chair and dropped into it. My knees quivered and my hands shook like an addict coming off a bender.
Anthony leaned back and put his palms together as if he were praying. “The grand jury voted to indict you.”
Holy shit. I was going to be put on trial.
Fireflies darted around in my peripheral vision. My lungs began to spasm and I gasped for breath. Uh-huh-uh-huh-uh-huh! Sheez. I sounded like Nutty after he’d struggled up the stairs.
Anthony came around his desk, put a hand on my back, and forced my face down between my knees. “Take deep breaths, Tara. Everything is going to be fine.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one facing the possibility of several years in prison. Win or lose, he’d still collect his fee, he’d still have his freedom. Then again, I should cut the guy some slack. He’d agreed to see me on short notice and the timing of my case was obviously screwing up his holiday vacation plans.
I forced myself to take full, slow breaths. A couple of minutes later, when the fireflies had flown off, I sat up.
Anthony leaned back against his desk in front of me. “The threshold for going to trial is extremely low, Tara. We talked about that. Remember?”
Of course I remembered. But when he’d mentioned it I faced only the possibility of being indicted. Now I was facing the reality of it. It was no longer a question of “if” I was going to trial; it was a question of “when.” I supposed I’d been hanging on to some shred of hope that the grand jury would decide to give me a break. Didn’t they know I was on Santa’s “nice” list?
Anthony reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, looking into my eyes. “We’ll win at trial, Tara. Don’t you worry.”
Don’t worry? my mind shrieked. Are you crazy?
He walked back around his desk. “We’ll need to be in court first thing Monday morning for your arraignment. We’ll plead not guilty, of course. I expect the judge will require only a small bail, if any, and will release you on your own recognizance, but there’s always the outside chance the judge will order you to be immediately arrested. You should arrange for someone to take care of your bills, check your mail, that type of thing.”
Despite my best efforts to stay calm, I began to tremble again.
“I know this is frightening for you,” my attorney said, “but I’ve been through this hundreds of times before. It’s standard procedure.”
I closed my eyes and put my hands over my face for a moment, giving myself one final moment to freak out before forcing aside my terror and summoning my courage to replace it.
I was Tara Holloway, dammit. I was no stranger to conflict and adversity. Hell, I’d faced down money launderers, drug dealers, and murderers and lived to brag about it. A federal criminal trial? Ha! This was nothing. Small potatoes compared to what I’d dealt with.
Nerves settled and resolve mustered, I opened my eyes. “All right. Where do we go from here?”
“We start preparing for trial.” He situated his legal pad and held a pen, the fingers of each hand pinching a respective tip. “I need a list of people who would make good witnesses on your behalf. The local cop who worked the case with your team. The other federal agents who were on duty that night. Your supervisor at the bar who phoned you when the fight broke out. What was his name?”
“Merle Vasilakis. You can reach him at the Guys and Dolls Dinner Theater.”
Anthony jotted notes, adding phone numbers as I provided him with both Nick’s cell and home numbers and scrolled through the contact list on my cell phone to find numbers for DEA Agent Christina Marquez, Lieutenant Aaron Menger of Dallas PD, and Guys & Dolls.
When Anthony finished writing the numbers down, he looked up at me. “Their prime witnesses are likely to be Don Geils and the officer who led the SWAT team. They might even call Wesley Prescott since he was in the room when the shooting occurred.”
With the help of Geils and his bartender, Prescott had drugged Christina with a glass of tainted champagne and dragged her into the strip club’s private VIP room, where he planned to do unspeakable things to her while she lay unconscious, unable to defend herself. By the time I’d made it to the room, the sick bastard already had removed her blouse and covered her with bite marks.
Anthony continued. “Since Christina was unconscious, she won’t be able to testify to what exactly happened in the VIP room. Besides Geils and Prescott, you were
the only other one there. I don’t normally like to put my clients on the stand, but, depending on how things go at the trial, you might have to testify in your own defense.”
I forced down the fist-sized lump that had formed in my throat despite the courage I’d attempted to summon. I’d testified in tax fraud cases before, so I knew the drill. Still, serving as a witness against some jackass who’d cheated the government and serving as a witness in my own defense would be two totally different things.
“We’ll run through some practices to prepare you,” Anthony said. “You’ll do great.”
I hoped so. Everything was riding on this trial.
My freedom.
My future.
My relationship with Nick.
This trial had the potential to change the entire course of the rest of my life. If I was convicted, the state board of accountancy would yank my license, and then what? I’d never work in accounting again, yet I wasn’t qualified to do anything else. Who would hire a convicted felon? If I was lucky enough to even find a job after I was released from prison, I’d end up doing some type of unfulfilling, menial work, like picking up garbage or stocking shelves at night at a discount store, where the manager would ride herd over the “violent felon” they’d hired.
“What about your boss at the IRS?” Anthony asked.
“Lu?” I thought for a moment. “She’s always been supportive. She’s fighting for me to get back my job in Criminal Investigations and got me reassigned to the audit department in the meantime.” But if The Lobo testified on my behalf in court, would that mean she’d have to address my history with the service? The many times I’d used my gun? Wouldn’t that hurt my case? Still, it was my attorney’s job to collect as much information as he could, talk to every potential witness, before deciding how to present my defense. It couldn’t hurt for him to talk with her. I provided him with her phone number, too.