by Brynne Asher
“I’ll fill you in more when you get here, but your idea that you called me about last night? You’re onto something and it looks like you were right. Those shell corps in your name were created on February nineteenth of this year. But the thing is, you were in San Francisco at a dinner meeting. I have the credit card statements to prove it, the reservation, the car service, and the hotel statement. You even got a fucking pedicure that afternoon and stopped at Ghirardelli Square and dropped a mint at Helpers Bazaar. Your credit card statements prove it and that’s all before getting the alibi from the clients you took to dinner at the exact same time the dummy corps were created.”
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, silently thanking the sexy FBI god. “Don’t judge my love for Helpers Bazaar. Do you think it’s enough?”
“You were halfway across the country in meetings at the exact time these shell companies were created. I’m giving this to Lehmans and will check to see if the PI needs anything more from us. But this is a good start. Better than good. We might be able to douse this fire faster than I thought.”
I look up and Donny is waiting … and not patiently. I try not to think about what this means, that I’ve been set up by someone within my own company. “Thanks, Patrick. I’ll be in the office soon.”
Sitting up, I close Safari and go to the settings to clear the search history, just in case. When I get up to leave, Donny falls in line next to me and I wave a conciliatory hand. “Sorry. I was in the mood for a story this morning. Dr. Seuss is my favorite. As far as you know, that’s all I was here for.”
Donny shakes his head and throws me a smirk that says he’s irked but he loves me too much to care. It’s a look I’ve gotten from him all my life. “I think I’ve seen it all, Jenny. A Montgomery having to stop at the library to use a computer. This’ll be over soon. Don’t you worry.”
“It better be.” We walk through the automatic doors and make our way to the Escalade. He opens the back-passenger door and offers me a hand as I step up in my heels.
For the first time in the last seventy-two hours, I feel like I’ve finally come up for air. As Donny pulls out of the parking lot, I reach into my bag for the prepaid cell and bring it to life. Selecting the only number programmed in it, I start a new text string.
Me: Thank you.
Not waiting for an answer, I toss it back into my bag and pray the elderly man in the article was right and our modern-day prophet can do for me what he did for him. I could use a miracle in the form of a dismissal right about now.
Chapter 6
Governmenty
Eli
“Dammit, Eli. It’s been too long since you’ve seen him. You cannot leave everything to me. It’s time to step up.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shut my eyes and drop my head. I’ve been avoiding her calls for days because it’s always the same shit. I didn’t ask to be transferred to Texas. What the hell am I supposed to do from across the country?
“What do you want? For me to quit my job? I was there for three days after the trial. I can’t jump on a plane at a moment’s notice.”
“My plate is full—I work, too. You’re not the only one with responsibilities, you know. I haven’t had the luxury of disappearing for years and ignoring my family—”
“Stop right there, Sarah. I’ve had about e-fucking-nough. Don’t talk to me like I’m shirking my fair share on purpose. If I could be there, I would.”
I open my eyes when she pauses before I hear her sigh a heavy breath. No doubt from the weight of the world she’s carrying. But when I signed on with the Bureau, I didn’t have people to worry about—no responsibilities. Now I’m at the FBI’s mercy. Before I went undercover, life was normal. I came out and it was turned upside-down and twisted in a million directions.
Sarah’s tone turns pained and it cuts through me. “He asked for you the other day.”
I run my hand down my face. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck,” she mocks.
I ignore that. “You get my check?”
“Yes.” She’s not impressed, but it’s all I could do after I moved into my new-old crappily-furnished apartment in midtown so I’d be close to the office. “Just do me a favor and book a damned flight. I don’t give a shit about what you want anymore. He needs to see you.”
I shake my head but concede. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yeah. Do that,” she spits before hanging up on me.
I grip the phone before throwing the damn thing onto the passenger seat. All morning I’ve been poring over files for the new caseload they threw at me when Sarah blew up my phone. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I finally got my ass up and left for an early lunch to call her back. I was not spilling my shit at the office for everyone to hear.
It went just like I knew it would. Same conversation, different day. More of her shit—guilt laid on so thick I could chisel at it for a week without making a dent.
I start the government car I was issued the day I reported to Dallas and am about to head for the nearest drive-thru when the prepaid cell beeps with a text.
Jen: Thank you.
The text is only two words, but those two words are substantial. One, she finally initiated communication, and two, this might mean she found her alibi.
Happy to put all thoughts of Sarah and the rest of my shit life out of my mind, I text her back.
Me: Things are good?
I throw my car into park and wait until her next message appears.
Jen: Yes, I think so. On my way to the office now to find out more. In the meantime, I’m trying to figure you out, Eli.
Me: There’s nothing to figure out.
Jen: I don’t know about that. Did your parents name you after the boldest of God’s prophets?
I groan. The damn media—they had a field day with that quote from the old man. This is why I’ll be stuck staring at financial files for the rest of my career. I decide to ignore her comment.
Me: I warned you your devices are being tapped.
Jen: I’m not stupid, oh mighty one. I stopped by the library. You’re famous.
Me: You’re one to talk. I’ve never been featured in People magazine.
Jen: Shit. You have done your research.
Me: I’m an investigator. What did you expect?
Jen: The only good thing about that People article is that I was wearing my favorite shoes.
Me: I appreciated the whole package, but now I’m going to take another look at the shoes.
I get nothing back, so I wait.
Just when I was about to hit her back, I get another message.
Jen: I’ve got to get into the office. Thanks again, Elijah, the boldest of the prophets.
Me: If you don’t stop with the prophet shit, I’ll be forced to badge my way back into your building. And this time I’m not staying in the hallway.
Jen: How very governmenty of you. I’ve got a meeting with my attorney. Gotta go.
Me: I’ll see you soon.
I toss the phone back to the passenger seat and head out of the parking lot. She’ll learn that when I say something, I mean it.
I plan to see her soon.
Very soon.
*****
Jen
Last year I started investing in companies specializing in liquidizing natural gas. The process removes dust, acid gasses, and heavy hydrocarbons among other things, making it a cleaner fuel for the environment, with the added bonus of easy transportation to remote areas that don’t have access to pipelines. Everyone at MI knows I have a passion for clean energy. I’ve now invested in six of these plants across the country.
Patrick confirmed that the shell corps opened in my name are tied to the same address as one of these natural gas plants. But the kicker is, the shell corps were created using the static IP address on MI’s wide area network.
Someone was physically inside this building when those shell corps were created, which means I’m being targeted by someone within m
y own fucking company.
“Reset your passwords. I don’t care if you have to use cryptography. Make those PINs long and absurd.”
Patrick has been barking orders for the last fifteen minutes. If I weren’t so unsettled about someone within MI trying to frame me, I’d tell him to settle down. But I’m just as upset as he is, so I let it slide. I’m not taking any chances when someone is trying to frame me—I’ll take every step possible to protect myself.
“You know I memorize everything. I change them quarterly when IT alerts us, but I’ll change them right away,” I assure him.
“No one has them but you. I’ve had IT put an extra layer of protection on all your devices—be prepared for that. Kipp’s assistant told me he’s on his way back from his meetings across town. When he hears this, he’ll be on fire. I’ve talked to the PI, told him what I know, and we’ll let him go from there. Lehmans is getting with the U.S. Attorney and asking for a dismissal based on our evidence. We’ll see what happens.” Patrick is steamrolling ahead and nothing can stop him. Right now, I’m really happy he’s on my side.
When I walked into MI around lunchtime, it was like walking into a modern-day Twilight Zone. I look at everyone differently, wondering if each one is a mole or an enemy or a traitor, asking myself what they might have against me—besides the obvious. I did my best to avoid everyone, met with Callie briefly to confirm my schedule for the rest of the day, and came straight to Patrick.
I lean back in my chair where I’m sitting across from him. “I still can’t believe it’s someone from within.”
He tosses his pen to his desk and shakes his head. “I talked to our director of IT last night right after you called. He assured me no one could get through our firewall and we’ve had no other sign of breaches. This happened in February. It has to be someone on the inside. I have a list of people who were keyed into the building that night. We’re scouring through those names but, so far, we don’t think it’s anyone who works closely with you. Whoever did it was careful. I don’t know how you thought to check the exact time they were created, but good thinking.”
No way am I telling him about Eli, my federal-agent-savior. His playful texts sent my insides into overdrive. It doesn’t matter how good it felt or how much I might want it. Or him. Even if it’s just the idea of him. I’m not at the point where I can afford the time for a man.
He took a chance by barging into my building last night to tell me something I’m pretty sure he had no business sharing, all because his gut told him I didn’t do what I’m being accused of. Simply because he wanted to do the right thing. Which I appreciate. But some strange part of me that hasn’t surfaced in a long time wants it to be more.
Eli Pettit is intriguing and I can’t ignore him.
I want him to want me.
I want him not to care that I got my job because of my last name or that I’ve been handed everything I’ve wanted my whole life and, now that I make more money than ninety-five percent of the people in our company, I can afford pretty much anything I want. Or that I make more money than him. Because one of my last two relationships came down to that and the other one was because he wanted an in with Montgomery Industries and thought bedding me would be the way to his dream job.
He might have bedded me and I might have enjoyed it just a little bit but, when I realized his true intentions, I also kicked his ass out the door and, in the process, blackballed him from any refining company in Texas.
The last I heard, he’d moved to Minneapolis. I hope the asshole is shoveling snow right about now.
And if a man can’t handle a woman making more money than him, he needs to grow a pair.
If I remember correctly, that People snippet on me calculated the cost of my outfit, shoes, and tote. I don’t know why folks get off on that, but they do.
Knowing all this, Eli still badged his way into my building. He believes I’m innocent and wants to help prove it. And he’s right—I’m not only numbers smart. I can tell when a man is interested.
I stand and move toward Patrick’s door. “I’ll be in my office trying to focus. Let me know if you hear from Lehmans.”
The last thing I hear as I leave is Patrick bark, “Change your passwords!”
*****
Eli
Bree slams her desk phone in its cradle at the same time she expels a string of cuss words. Since no one in their right mind can ignore that, I lean back in my chair and roll myself backwards until I see where she sits catty-corner from me in another cubicle. Dean does the same and we both watch her march toward the boss’s office.
“Who killed your dog?” Dean calls to her.
She stops abruptly and turns on an angry heel. “Montgomery’s attorneys have been busy the last couple days and filed a motion to dismiss. Something about an alibi for when the dummy corps were made.” Her face turns ugly, something between being aggrieved and hungry for revenge, when she goes on, “If she thinks she can waltz into court with her high-dollar attorneys and get out of this, she’s got another thing coming. I’ve worked too long on this case—no way am I letting her get off.”
I school my features but tip my head. “And how are you going to go about doing that?”
“I need to find out what her alibi is, but I’ll do what I have to do,” she growls right before marching off.
“It’s late on a Friday,” Dean calls after her. “Settle down. Nothing’s gonna happen in court ‘til next week.”
We both watch her turn the corner and disappear.
Since going undercover, I haven’t worked with other agents for a while. Partnering to work a case with someone else can be a delicate thing. An agent has to trust the person at his back and that isn’t built overnight. At this point I have no desire to work on anything with Bree and I’m still trying to figure Dean out.
I look over to him. “She always like this?”
Dean shrugs. “None of her cases have stuck. She’s become more and more determined to win over the past year and thought this was the one. The big one to make a name for herself.”
I nod and ask, “You still doing active surveillance on the case?”
“No, thank fuck. Covering Montgomery was the most boring thing I’ve ever done. She’s still tapped, but that’s it. I’ve finally got a free weekend for the first time in almost two months. All Bree does is work. She has no life.”
I nod and leave it at that.
Thirty minutes later, Bree storms out of the boss’s office without a word. She stuffs her shit in a bag and, when she grabs her gun and keys, she’s gone.
Dean watches her walk away with a frown and I do everything I can not to smirk.
Thirty minutes later, I watch Dean do the same. I follow suit soon after, wrapping up my first full week of work in Dallas. It’s nowhere near the same intensity as working undercover but it’s been interesting. I’m not used to having my weekends off, so I’m not sure what I’m going to do.
What I do know is, I’m starting it off with a phone call to an intriguing CFO.
Chapter 7
Elijah Pettit is an Ass Man
Jen
Eli called earlier on the prepaid cell, informing me he was bringing dinner to my place tonight.
I told him I don’t have dinner with strangers, but I’m sure he could hear my smile through the phone.
He said that was odd since I had no trouble dancing with them.
I had no comeback for that.
After informing him I wouldn’t be home for another few hours and he shouldn’t wait to eat, his response was “no biggie, that’ll give me time to hit the gym and grab a shower.”
He never asked me what I wanted for dinner.
He never asked how to get into my parking garage.
And he didn’t tell me what time he would be here.
Instead of doing what I needed to do—work on damage control with Birmingham because of the damned allegations—all I’ve been able to think about is Eli sweaty and Eli in the shower. I need to
get my head together and not act like a goofy sophomore in high school when the star senior quarterback glances at her in the hall between classes.
When I opened my door an hour ago, Eli was standing there holding two large, brown paper sacks and a six-pack of beer dangling from a finger. I opened my mouth to greet him, but he interrupted. “This is how it’s going to go. We’re not going to talk about your case, your job, or your company. We’re not going to talk about my job or anything that has to do with the FBI. I’m skatin’ a line being here and I know it. But since I don’t mind skatin’ that line and I really want to see the woman who caused me to lose my mind, I’m here.”
I don’t like people telling me what to do but I bit my lip and let him. He went straight to my kitchen where he proceeded to unpack more food than two people should consume in a day.
We sat on my sofa and ate dinner while watching the Mavericks. I chose a shredded chicken chimichanga drizzled in a sour cream sauce and a mountain of chips, salsa, and queso. I assumed Eli had a good workout because, along with the carne asada he inhaled, he had two tostadas and an enchilada. The fajitas, burrito, and quesadilla went untouched.
We haven’t said much since we settled into our meal and basketball. All I do is work and since Montgomery Industries, my recent drama with the feds, and his job are off the table as far as conversation goes, finding a topic to broach is as awkward as walking into a men’s restroom on accident. And I know this because I did it once at the airport when I had to fly commercial because I was so engrossed in a business call.
Setting my mostly empty plate on the coffee table, I reach for my Shiner and tip it to him. “I see you’re immersing yourself in our rich, Texas culture. Shiner and Tex-Mex—it doesn’t get better than this unless you add a blue margarita.”
“I’ve only been here ten days and I don’t go for sweet drinks.” He wipes his mouth before shoving another forkful of enchilada between his lips.