Sex, Lies & Bourbon (Sex and Lies Book 5)

by Kris Calvert

  “What dear?”

  She was also hard of hearing. “I said,” picking up the volume of my voice. “Please call me Ginny.”

  “Okay. Well, here,” she said shoving two envelopes and a flyer from the Chinese market down the street into my hand. “These are for Virginia Grace and that’s you, right?”

  I looked to my watch and saw not only was my heart rate dropping after my run, but I was behind schedule for the morning and needed to shower and get to the office.

  “I see no one else in or out of your apartment. You are alone, si?”

  Pausing, I wanted to tell her she was being a nosy Italian pain in my butt. Instead, I snapped the thin rubber band I wore on my left wrist just below my watch. It was my way of resetting my mind when my inner voice wanted to control my mouth.

  “Yes, I’m alone. Still alone,” I said under my breath. “You know you can just shove these under my door instead of waiting to give them to me. Okay?”

  She nodded then looked me over from head to toe.

  “Have a nice day.” I shut the door before she had another chance to speak. The last thing I wanted to have to fake this early in the day, was my ability to be cordial. I didn’t like people and I really didn’t like people meddling in my life. I liked life tidy, succinct and predictable. It was my coping mechanism and so far in my twenty-seven years of life it had worked pretty well for me. I planned, I executed and I succeeded—at least at work. My non-existent social life was another subject. It’s hard to make lots of friends and date when you really don’t like people. When I did open myself up to one man, it ended in disaster—complete disaster.

  I walked through my apartment, taking off my sweaty clothes and shoes with each step to the bathroom as I sorted through the mail.

  Honor your loved one with flowers this Memorial Day was on the top of the pile. Running my thumb under the flap of the envelope, I ripped open the yellow paper with zero finesse. “Dear Ms. Grace, Wouldn’t you like to honor the life of your loved one with a memorial wreath? Delivered to your loved one’s gravesite, the American Heroes association would like to extend to you this special offer.”

  I read the advertisement aloud, tossing it to the coffee table with the rest of the junk mail. I didn’t need the American Heroes to honor my father. I honored him every day.

  Picking up the photo I always kept with me, my father held me in his arms while my big brother Jackson clung to his leg. I stared into his eyes. I didn’t remember him, but my grandparents always said I had his spunk. He was part of the reason I wanted to be an FBI agent—Galen Grace, or GG, was the myth of my life. My father was the man I couldn’t remember, but was always on my mind. No one ever spoke of his work at the Bureau—as apparently he didn’t either. He was my silent hero, and I thought of him as my guardian angel. Turning over the photo, I ran my fingers across his initials, GG enclosed in a circle. It was his mark—now it was mine.

  I took a deep breath, trying to cool down from the run and looked around my pit of an apartment. My life was tidy—my apartment was not. Turning on the hot water, I closed the round shower curtain that surrounded the old claw foot tub and stared at my face in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes were the evidence I’d just wrapped my first big case. I had some paperwork to finish up, but for the most part, the only real investigation I’d ever run was a success. Working within a New York crime family, I’d been able to feel out the dynamic and find a rat who was willing to talk in exchange for immunity. I’d set up my very first informant, who would eventually testify when the time came and then ship off to Witness Protection. I knew my dad would’ve been proud.

  When it was all said and done my boss, Ryan Powell told me he thought I was a master at the inside job. He chalked it up to my calm and calculating nature. I decided it was because I had a knack for reading people. It didn’t take me too long inside the operation to figure out who would squeal and who wouldn’t. I also thought a lot of it was just good old fashioned women’s intuition—an edge the men at the Bureau would never have nor ever give credence to.

  At this point I needed a vacation, but time off was for people who didn’t worry about getting ahead. That wasn’t me. I’d braved two tough years to be taken seriously in the New York office and there was no way I was giving it all back.

  I showered, dressed in my favorite navy pinstriped suit and pulled my long brown hair into my signature bun. It was a style that gave the male agents a reason to say, Ginny, let your hair down. I heard it a lot.

  I grabbed my messenger bag, pulling it over my head and across my body, and was locking up my apartment just as my back pocket rang.

  “Agent Grace,” I said cradling the phone at my neck.

  “Grace, it’s Powell. Where are you?”

  My boss never called me, because I was always at the office. Of course the one day I’m running late he needs me. “I’m on my way, sir.”

  “Hurry up. I have a case for you and we’re sending you out tonight.”

  “Sending me out?” My voice rose with my question. “But I’m still wrapping up the the Potenza case.”

  “Do you give the orders around here Grace?”

  “No sir.”

  “Then get here and be ready to listen.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen.” The heat rose in my cheeks from being schooled by my superior so early in the morning.

  “Make it ten.”

  Powell hung up without saying goodbye and I shook off the embarrassment to think of the fastest way into the office.

  I’d never handled a case outside of New York. There had to be special circumstances and I could tell by the tone of Powell’s voice he wasn’t in the mood to give them to me over the phone.

  It was a mere ten blocks to the office but I knew if I rushed I’d be a sweaty mess. I was still cooling down from my run and shower. Powerwalking in my sensible heels, I hurried without being obnoxious or overly-anxious. Who was I kidding? Anxious was my middle name.

  I security badged my way into the building and up to the fifth floor. Dropping everything on my desk, I breezed to Powell’s door while saying a silent prayer and knocked.

  “Yeah, Grace. Shut the door. Take a seat.”

  Shut the door and take a seat meant one of two things: either I was about to get my butt chewed for something I did wrong, or some serious cockadoody was going down. Confidently, I sat. Inside, I was losing my mind. “Yes?”

  “Something has come up. A case we think you’d be an asset to.”

  There was that word, asset. I wasn’t in trouble. Thank the Lord. I furrowed my brow and did my best not to seem relieved. “I’m always willing to jump in and help out, sir.”

  Powell sighed. “Yeah, I know you are.”

  I sat up in my chair, eager to hear what he wanted to tell me, yet he remained silent. “Sir?”

  With a deep breath he closely examined a paper on his desk. “Sometime before dawn this morning, Robert Holloway was murdered.”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Robert Holloway was a man I had no business knowing about, yet I did. I’d never met him personally, but I knew him—I knew him well. I took a shallow breath, forcing my next words and lied. “Who is Robert Holloway?”

  As he tossed a crime scene photo across his desk, I leaned in to take a look. Immediately I recognized the fancy staircase and the marble floor. “Holy…” Unable to control myself, I looked away from the picture. It was one thing to see a dead body, it was an entirely different visceral reaction when it was someone I knew of—like a punch to the gut. I’d never met him, but I’d heard plenty. The man lying dead and half naked in his designer silk robe was the father of the man who’d stripped me of my heart and dignity—Win Holloway.

  “Throat was slit. He bled out fast. His daughter, Karolena Holloway found him this morning. This, unfortunately, is our own Agent Win Holloway’s father.”

  My heart raced and my breathing became shallow. Being briefed on the murder begged the question. I swallowed th
e lump in my throat and began. “It’s a terrible thing, sir and I’m sorry for his family, but what does this case have to do with me?”

  “You’re proven yourself an asset on the inside Grace. You know the area, being from Kentucky yourself—”

  “But, sir…” I caught myself. What was I going to do? Tell my boss I didn’t want to take the case because the man it was attached to broke my heart into a million pieces? What would I need? A note from my psychiatrist explaining that I could survive the mob, but not Win Holloway? As quickly as I opened the can of catastrophic thinking I snapped the rubber band on my wrist, walking myself back into reality. I operated in a man’s world and I needed to think like one. If Powell wanted me, I’d work the case like a badass mother of a biscuit-eater.

  Agent Powell raised one eyebrow, narrowing his gaze. “Yes, Agent Grace?”

  “Nothing, sir. What else is there?” I asked, leaving my personal life on side of the road like a bag of unwanted kittens. I looked around the room and tapped my fingers over and over on the arm of the black leather chair.

  “Calm down Grace.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I asked, looking him in the eye.

  “You’re an excellent agent, but you’re going to get pegged as someone who tries too hard if you don’t watch yourself.”

  “Sorry sir?”

  “You heard me and I know you know exactly what I mean.”

  I sat back in the leather chair, causing it to burp. I did know. I was a hell of an agent, but I’d struggled with keeping my opinions to myself—especially when I knew I was right. I wore my emotions on my sleeve. By the look on Powell’s face, my rubber band wasn’t working as well as I’d hoped. With Win Holloway thrown into the mix, I’d need to be careful. I couldn’t exactly go around snapping a rubber band against my wrist non-stop.

  “The work you did on the Potenza case is second to none, Grace. But you cut a wide path with the other agents along the way. Not too many of the men want to work with you, and the female agents…”

  I gazed at my hands and began to pick at a hangnail before lifting my chin to look him dead in the eye. “Yes, sir. I understand. But in my defense—”

  “Let’s just leave it where it is, Grace. Hopefully you can gain a little bit of your team-playing ability back while in Kentucky.”

  “Yes sir.” I went back to the hangnail. There was nothing I could say that would change what happened when I went operational on the Potenza case. I realized in the end it was a rookie mistake—not covering for another agent who was hung out to dry and now was recovering from a gunshot wound sustained when he was ratted out—but I was worried about my case, not my life. His life got in the way somehow. I’d learned what not to do the hard way, but now many of the other agents weren’t too thrilled about working with me—on any level.

  “What’s the word from the scene?” I asked looking to the photo, hoping the change of subject would dissipate the heavy fog of my guilty conscience hanging over our heads.

  Agent Powell ignored my question, glancing over my shoulder to give a nod to whomever was walking through his door. He stood and I immediately followed, not turning to see who he was addressing. “Damn this is gonna suck,” Powell muttered under his breath.

  In my mind I prayed it wasn’t anyone who’d worked the Potenza case. If those agents needed a break from me, I needed a break from them.

  “Agent Holloway.”

  My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as bile rose in my throat. It was even worse.

  “Win, do you know Agent Grace?”

  My first thought was to run, but when the fight or flight instinct subsided, I bit the corner of my lip to keep it from quivering. Doing the best I could to hold it together, I turned at a snail’s pace to face the man who’d ruined me in more ways than I could count on two hands. There was only one human being on Earth who’d given me sleepless nights and hours of tears—Winterbourne Holloway the Fourth.

  There he stood. Six foot three, a body as tight as a drum, the blonde haired, green-eyed wonder boy who looked more like a California surfer than an FBI agent, was as handsome as ever. Exceptional with a firearm, he was also as gifted as they came in martial arts. Completely disarming in his tactics, Win Holloway was a deadly weapon—in more ways than one.

  I mustered a fake smile and extended my hand to shake his. “Good to see you…Agent Holloway.”

  My voice didn’t even sound like my own and I felt as if I was having an out of body experience while firmly shaking the hand that had roamed my bare and defenseless body on countless nights. I looked to our fingers as they touched, remembering with painful detail how he would covertly squeeze my knuckles under the table at Quantico. He’d told me it was our secret—our secret love. Others sat around us discussing the M.O. of a suspected killer while he toyed with my pinky finger and my deepest emotions.

  Avoiding looking him in the eye, I couldn’t help but focus on his touch. His large mitt enveloped mine and I watched my hand disappear inside his grip.

  The dark suit he wore hung on his body like he was doing it a favor—the Italian lines only accentuating his strong shoulders and slim waist. The problem was, I knew he looked just as spectacular out of it. Wearing a white shirt, as he always did, and a solid cobalt blue tie, I knew without looking the color made his eyes sparkle. I bit my tongue inside my mouth and quelled my emotions—the rubber band too far out of reach.

  I can do this. I can do this. Just be cool, Ginny. Be cool.

  When he gave my hand the squeeze, I instinctively lifted my face to meet his gaze. My head was on autopilot but my heart stopped cold.

  Blood rose in the fair cheeks that complemented the wavy blonde locks he brushed straight back. His eyes were just as bright as ever—the eyes that saw through my every want and need. Unintentionally, I allowed a gasp to leave my lips.

  When his shoulders hitched with his intake of breath, I took refuge in the idea he was as surprised to be in my presence as I was to be in his.

  “It’s lovely to see you,” Win began with a heavy sigh and an even heavier southern drawl. “Agent Grace.”

  I looked into his eyes, turning away when I realized I’d stared too long. Focusing my attention back to the stern expression of my boss, I dropped Win’s hand and moved to sit down in my chair.

  “So you know each other. Good,” Powell said, now shuffling through a stack of papers on his overloaded desk. “Have a seat.”

  Win walked around me, taking the extra chair. I could feel the heat of his eyes on me, but I refused to look at him. I didn’t know what was going on in his mind, but I needed to focus on work—and fast.

  “First off, Agent Holloway. On behalf of the Bureau, I want to offer my condolences on everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

  “I know you’re going home to take care of family business.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your instinct will be to get heavily involved in the investigation,” Powell continued.

  “I want to hold someone accountable if that’s what you mean, sir—bring someone to justice.” Win’s voice trailed off and I could see he was shaken. I’d known many sides to Winterbourne Holloway. This wasn’t one of them.

  “I understand, son. I do,” Powell said, pretending to be interested in the papers on his desk. “But I also know it’s never a good idea to get emotionally involved in a case. You’re too close to this. I think you know that.”

  I watched Win swallow hard. “My father is dead, sir—murdered in cold blood at Winter Haven—my family’s… my…” he hesitated and I heard the sincere sorrow in his voice. “My home.”

  The pain on Win’s face tore at my heart and as much as I wanted to hate the man—and I did—I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. “I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of my mouth and I instinctively placed my hand on top of his for a split-second before retreating.

  He nodded, but refused to look at me. Win Hol
loway was on the verge of losing it and I couldn’t help but think of the endless tears I’d cried over him and into my own pillow.

  “Go home, Holloway,” Powell said, breaking my thought. “Take as much time as you need to sort through your personal affairs. This office and plenty of assholes will be waiting for you when you get back.”

  “Yes, sir.” Win stood and I followed suit.

  “Agent Grace will be traveling to Kentucky to oversee the investigation on our behalf. The Louisville field office is on the case.”

  “Thank you, Gin—” Win paused. “Agent Grace.”

  I gave the man who crushed my soul with his unexplained goodbye a quick nod and stared at the floor, unable to stand the look of desperation on his face. “No problem.”

  “Agent Grace is shipping out tonight,” Powell said, adjusting his waistband, clearly not knowing what to do with himself. I suspected touching Win’s hand when I delivered my condolences was reason enough to make Powell realize Agent Holloway and I knew each other well beyond the bounds of the office.

  With a nod, Win turned and left, his head hanging low as he shut the door. With deliberate pause, I turned to face my boss and wondered what he was going to say about the exchange that had just taken place. My gut instinct kicked in and I took the initiative. “With all due respect sir, you could’ve told me he was here.”

  “Sorry you got thrown into that without a real briefing. I didn’t know he was in the building. I did want to talk with you first.”

  I felt a buzz in my pant pocket and knew my phone was ringing. Pulling it out to give it a quick glance and send the call to voicemail, I saw the contact name displayed: Dickless Piece of Shit. It was the name my brother Jackson had given to Win in my Contacts last Christmas when I was at his house in Lexington and crying in my wine every day. Hitting the button to send to voicemail, I looked back to my boss for the instructions I fully expected to make my stomach ache.