by Ana Barrons
And that made him angrier than he’d been in a very long time.
“I told you you’d regret it,” she said. “And sure enough, now it’s all my fault.”
He shook his head and barked out a bitter laugh. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you? Damn, you’re good.”
“Okay, that’s it,” she said. “Stop the car.”
He didn’t answer, or look at her, or slow down. The click of her seat belt unfastening forced him to glance her way in time to catch her trying to open the door.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted.
“Getting out. You going to stop the car or what?”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, causing the car to veer. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Stop this damn car!” she shouted, pushing against him, one hand still on the door handle.
“Shit!” He pressed the brake pedal and Kate thrust her arms against the dashboard. The McLean road was twisty and narrow, with trees on both sides. He pulled off on to dirt and rocks at the side of the road then stopped abruptly. Kate’s head smacked against the windshield frame.
She muttered a curse and brought a hand to her head. Even then, she twisted to pull open the door, but Gabe’s hand banded her upper arm like a manacle.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded. “Did you—”
Eyes flashing, she tried to yank her arm away. “I’m getting away from you,” she said. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”
Yeah, and hell was going to freeze over. “You are not getting out,” he said, holding her in place. Her hair was wild, half in and half out of her ponytail, and her cheeks were red. “Now, let me see your head. Is it—”
With a grimace she whipped her arm around and slapped his face hard. It stung, and it pissed him off, but it was just another drop in the bucket. “Feel better now?”
“Shut up and let go, you bastard.”
He moved his free hand toward her head and she cowered. That’s when he let go of her arm. “Oh, for... Did you honestly think I was going to hit you?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “I wanted to check for a lump on your head.”
“What do you care if I have a lump on my head?” She was breathing hard, and it was obvious she’d hurt herself, but he wasn’t about to touch her again. Touching her was dangerous, even when she was acting like a madwoman.
“And since I’m not going to leave you here by the side of the road, I’d advise you to buckle up.”
“I can call a cab.”
“Do you even know what road you’re on? You’re not the most spatially gifted person I know.”
“Do you even know what a psycho you are?” she shot back. “You’re all over me at your mother’s house, you insist on driving me home and once we’re in the car, presto! You’re back to the snide comments and Jekyll and Hyde routine. I’m sick of you, Gabe. I’ve had it. I can’t take any more.”
“I know the feeling. Who did it for you?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Did you make contact with someone directly or get some lowlife from one of your charities to make the contacts?”
Her frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”
He quickly started the car and pulled back on to the road. “We’ll talk when we get to your house.”
After a moment she buckled her seat belt, but one hand was still pressed to her head. “You think I’m going to invite you in?” she said, then snorted. “You have got to be kidding.”
“We’ll see about that.”
There were news vans parked on the opposite side of Kate’s street. No big surprise. Neither was the black car in her circular drive and two men in suits leaning against it. The FBI was here. Gabe pulled the Honda in behind it and reporters descended on them.
“Stay here,” he said to Kate, and stepped out. He was immediately mobbed. “Out of my way. Mrs. Franklin has no comment.”
An attractive woman with red hair thrust a microphone at Gabe. “Can you identify yourself, sir?”
“No.” He walked around the side of the car and opened Kate’s door, then reached for her when she stepped out. Okay, after this he wouldn’t touch her again. “Stay under my arm and don’t say a word.”
“Go to hell,” she said, driving her elbow into his side. “Leave me alone.” She stalked to her door.
One of the agents, a man of medium height with rimless glasses and a receding hairline, stepped in front of her and held up his credentials. “FBI, Mrs. Franklin,” he said. “I’m Agent Jim Parker and this is Agent John Mancuso.”
Kate’s dog was barking up a storm on the other side of the door while she fumbled through her purse. “This man assaulted me a few minutes ago,” she said, indicating Gabe, who was right on her heels, with a nod. “Can you arrest him or something?”
Both agents turned to Gabe, frowning. He didn’t bother explaining. Instead he reached around Kate, grabbed her purse, pulled out the keys and shoved them into her hands. “You’re welcome,” he said.
It took her several seconds to get the key into the lock and open the door. When she was finally inside she squatted beside the old brown lab and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hey, Bruno,” she said. His nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he did his happy dance. For a moment she buried her face in his neck, then rose and turned to the FBI agents. “Do you have news for me?”
The taller, younger agent—Mancuso—said, “Yes, we do. May we sit down?”
“Sure.” She pointed toward the living room. “Make yourselves at home and I’ll be right with you.”
“We have to get some ice on your head,” Gabe said, and took a step in the direction of the kitchen.
Kate grabbed his arm. “I’ll get my own damn ice. You’re not staying.”
“Actually, I am,” he said. “I’m the MPD liaison with the FBI.”
Her eyes widened. “How is that possible? That’s a conflict of interest. You’re prejudiced against me.”
“Not at all,” he said, knowing it sure as hell was a conflict of interest, but one his lieutenant was willing to overlook in this case.
“If there’s a problem, Mrs. Franklin—” Mancuso began.
“There’s no problem,” Gabe said.
“Yes there is,” Kate said. “Get another liaison. I don’t want this creep in my house.”
“Take it up with my lieutenant.” Gabe followed Mancuso into the living room. The agents sat in wing chairs facing the couch. He chose to lean against the wall inside the arched entry.
A smug smile broke over Mancuso’s face. “That went well,” he said to Gabe.
Gabe’s nostrils flared, but he held his tongue. A minute or so later Kate returned, head high, shoulders squared, her long hair loose around her shoulders and halfway down her back. She’d obviously freshened up. But her lips were still red and a bit swollen from his kisses, which sent an unwelcome infusion of tenderness through him. Jesus, he had to watch his step around this woman.
She sat on the couch, leaned back and slowly brought a bag of frozen peas to her head, wincing as she did it.
“Are you all right?” the shorter agent, Parker, asked her. He shot an accusing look at Gabe.
“Just a bump on the head.” Kate didn’t look at Gabe. “It’s feeling better already. So, what do you want to talk to me about? Do you have news about the explosion or do you want to question me some more?”
“Was your husband cheating on you, Mrs. Franklin?” Parker asked.
For a moment nobody moved or spoke. Then Kate let out a long breath. “I couldn’t swear to it one way or the other, but even if he had been cheating on me I wouldn’t have killed him over it.”
The three men were silent for a moment, and then Parker said, “Your first husband, Steven Hugo, died two and half months after he sold his software business. Five weeks after you married him.”
“Yes, well, that’s been all over the news.”
“He left you forty million dollars. Gi
ve or take.”
“Yes.”
“Which you invested in real estate, stocks—”
“What’s your point, Agent Parker?” she interrupted. “Everyone is suddenly focusing on how much money I have, which is surprising in a town full of exceedingly wealthy people. Many of whom are a lot richer than I am.”
“Have you had any unusual expenses lately, Mrs. Franklin?” Mancuso asked. His deep voice carried a hint of condescension, which irritated Gabe as much as the man’s slicked back hair, heavy cologne and arrogant expression.
“No,” she said. “I can’t think of any unusual expenses. Other than the reception here after my husband’s memorial service.”
“Did you and your husband have different accountants?”
“Yes, but Drew takes care of—” She caught herself. “Took care of most of the money.”
“Even though the lion’s share of it was yours?”
She flipped over the bag of peas and pressed it ever so gingerly against her head. “First tell me why you’re asking all these questions about my finances, okay? Then maybe I’ll understand what kind of answers you’re looking for.”
Mancuso held up a palm. “Please, a few more questions and then we’ll get right to the bottom line. Why did your husband take care of your money?”
She sighed. “Finances are not my strong suit. Investments and portfolios and playing the market—that doesn’t interest me. So Drew dealt with all that.”
“I see,” Mancuso said, but he shot a look at Parker.
“What about your charity work?” Parker asked. “I understand you have millions invested for various causes.”
“Yes,” she said. “I give a lot of money to several underserved groups.”
“Like People for Prisoner’s Rights,” Mancuso said with that little smirk that was really getting on Gabe’s nerves.
To her credit, Kate met the agent’s gaze head-on. “Yes, I support prisoner’s rights, and the rights of lesbian and gay partners, and prostitutes who’ve suffered abuse, and their out-of-wedlock children, and any number of causes that are unpopular with my husband’s constituents.”
Gabe couldn’t help but admire the unapologetic way she’d thrown that back at Mancuso.
“So, your husband stayed out of that work,” Parker said, his tone nonjudgmental.
“Yes,” she said. “I have my own people who deal with that. They also deal with bequests and trusts and so forth.”
“What about private donations?” Parker asked. “Money for relatives, friends... That sort of thing. Who took care of that?”
“If it’s a large sum of money I generally have my accountant write a check out of a separate account he keeps for that purpose. Smaller amounts I take care of myself.”
“Personal checking accounts, credit cards... Your husband took care of that record-keeping?”
“I have my own checking account.” She turned to Mancuso. “Which I manage and balance.” Turning back to Parker she said, “But Drew liked to be in control of the credit cards and savings accounts and investments, and that was fine with me. I don’t really care about the money. I’m not a particularly big spender.”
Mancuso made of point of swiveling his head, letting his eyes roam over the deep red Persian rugs, the sumptuous white couches and chairs accented with red-and-green patterned pillows, the built-in cherry cabinets filled with gleaming crystal stemware, the elegant marble fireplace. He needn’t have bothered with the obnoxious body language—it was evident in a single glance that this house was filled with high quality, expensive furnishings.
Kate frowned. “What I mean is, I don’t buy a whole new wardrobe every year, or blow money on expensive jewelry.” She waved a dismissive hand at the room. “And I wouldn’t have bothered with all this.”
Parker leaned toward her to redirect her attention. Gabe wondered if he realized what a horse’s ass Mancuso was. “But your husband needed your signature to move money, isn’t that right?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
The two agents glanced at one another. “You’re not sure?”
“Well, we owned everything jointly, so I’d guess we needed both signatures for some things, and just one for others. Like bank withdrawals. I can withdraw money with only my signature, and so could he.”
Parker shifted in his chair, and Gabe knew he was about to lay it on the line. “Mrs. Franklin, huge sums of money have been moved out of your accounts over the past twelve months.”
They all watched her face. She frowned as though puzzled. “Was it done electronically?” she asked. “He paid the bills online, so I imagine he did a lot of other financial transactions online too.”
“No, Mrs. Franklin,” Mancuso said. “Our records indicate that you did.”
“Excuse me?”
“We have records of bank withdrawals, stock transactions and other financial dealings all bearing your electronic signature. What was done on paper generally bore only your signature.”
She lowered the hand holding the bag and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “What are you talking about? I don’t know the first thing about stock transactions, or real estate or anything else, and I have not moved any money around.” She looked between the agents, and this time her gaze even stopped at Gabe for a moment, before she quickly looked away. In that moment, though, when their gazes met, he was struck by the accusation in her eyes. “How do you even know all this?”
“We’ll get to that.”
“Get to it now,” Gabe said. “Explain to her why the FBI is sniffing around her finances.”
Both agents shot him dirty looks. Parker leaned forward. “There is close to a hundred million dollars of your money currently unaccounted for, Mrs. Franklin.”
Kate went still, and Gabe watched the color rise to her cheeks. Finally she said, “That’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is,” Parker said. “It’s all documented. In addition to the electronic records, we have reams of documents with your signature and initials on them.” He opened a briefcase and pulled a sheet of paper out of a thick file. He placed it in front of Kate on the table. “Is that your signature?”
Her eyes followed his finger to where it pointed and studied the signature there. “It—it looks like it,” she said. Her voice sounded higher. Younger. She lifted the paper and held it closer, then ran a finger over the signature. “It sure looks like it, but...where did you get this?”
“From your husband’s accountant.” Parker held up a hand. “I assure you we’re entitled to be in possession of these documents.”
“What is this?”
“It’s a document authorizing the sale of two hundred thousand shares of IBM stock.” He pulled out another document and held it up. “A hundred and fifty thousand shares of Google stock. And there’s more. Amazon stock. Yahoo! Shall I go on?”
She blinked up at him. “But...I never signed anything like that. I was only vaguely aware of which stocks we owned.”
Parker gestured at the paper. “Yet your signature tells us you did, in fact, sign all of these documents.” He pulled out several other sheets from the file and passed them across the table. She took them but had begun to move in slow motion. Gabe recognized the signs of emotional shock. The glazed expression, slowed reflexes. The appearance of dullness.
She looked at each sheet of paper closely, asking Parker what each one was for, taking in the explanations with a slow shake of her head. All the while this was going on, Agent Mancuso studied her, taking in every last detail of her reaction while keeping his own expression blank. When she handed the last one back, she pulled her knees up and hugged them.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said slowly. “Did Drew do this?”
“You tell us, Mrs. Franklin.”
“Tell you what? I see my signature on these papers, so I guess I signed them... But I didn’t know what I was signing.”
Gabe was tired of biting his tongue. “Were you in the habit of signing legal documents
blindly?”
She turned to him looking shell-shocked. “Drew was a lawyer. If he told me to sign something, I signed it. Usually it was first thing in the morning, when he was rushing out the door. I always asked what it was, but I couldn’t have taken the time to read it if I’d wanted to. It always had to be signed right that minute.” She shrugged, spreading her palms. “He was my husband, for God’s sake. I trusted him. Why would I second-guess him?”
“Do you recall signing a lot of legal documents over the past several months?” Mancuso asked with an irritated glance at Gabe.
“Well...maybe. There were sometimes several things he wanted me to sign at the same time.”
She pressed the frozen peas against her head. Curled up the way she was, with her hair hanging over her face, she reminded Gabe so clearly of herself as a teenager. Back when he’d first met her and considered her a sweet kid with a body and face to die for. He remembered clapping Steve on the back for bringing home such a fox. Now, she looked young and confused and a little scared.
She looked up. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, glancing quickly at Gabe. “You think I hired someone to bring my husband’s plane down. Is that what you’re saying?”
The two agents stared at her. “Did you, Mrs. Franklin?” Parker asked after several seconds.
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it, then opened it to say, “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Parker said. “We’re very, very serious.”
Kate turned to Gabe. “So it’s not just you.” They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, and then, for the second time that day, she burst out laughing.
The two agents were looking at her like she’d lost her mind. She bent over, holding her stomach like she had at his mother’s house earlier, tears running down her cheeks as she continued to laugh like a lunatic. Gabe pushed off the wall and went to the kitchen, poured her a glass of water, then put it down in front of her. He squatted beside her.
“Kate,” he said quietly. “Stop this before you start crying again.”
“Go to hell,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Mrs. Franklin,” Mancuso said sharply. “I know this is a lot to take in, but this is no laughing matter.”