Asking for Trouble (9 page)

And then he was gone. Morgan raised her hand to her mouth, touching her swollen lips.

The back door banged open. Tiny feet ran down the stairs.

“Morgan, what did he give you?” Kelley slammed into her side, her arms wrapping around Morgan's waist as the little girl bounced on her toes. “The bag. I heard it's a present. Ooooh. Is that it? What's in the box?”

“Th-the what?” What was it about the man that left her stammering? She dislodged Kelley from her person and walked over to the car, then stopped before she picked up the package. “My hands are dirty. Would you like to open it?”

Kelley scrubbed her eager hands down her dress.

Morgan pressed her lips into a silent smile as Kelley scooted the ribbon and bow off, then plucked each corner of the paper free.

Kelley huffed out a breath as the paper released and she lifted the lid and rose up on tiptoe to peer inside. Morgan moved in behind her. “It's your shoes.”

Kelley lifted them out and twirled around the garage, prism rainbows erupting against the car as the light caught the beaded straps.

“Can I have them please?” Morgan asked.

“Nope.” Kelley hugged them against her chest and shook her head with such defiance that Morgan frowned. But then the wonder erupted on the child's face. “You really are Cinderella.”

“I'm really not.” Morgan held out her hands. “Give me the shoes.”

“Uh-uh. I need to keep them safe for when Prince Charming needs them.” She dashed toward the back door.

“Kelley—” This little fantasy of hers was getting out of hand, but it was too late. Kelley was gone.

So were Cinderella's shoes.

“Pizza's on its way,” Officer Hallie “Bouncer” Thorne piped up from the far end of the conference table. “Who's doing the coffee and soda run? I'd volunteer, but . . .” The one finger gesture she aimed at the thigh-high cast on her right leg made Gage grimace.

“That's what you get for playing chicken with an '89 Cutlass.” Rojas, edging toward retirement after thirty years on the force, got to his feet and stretched. “Peyton's turn.”

“Peyton's turn for what?” Peyton, as stick thin as Rojas was round, carried yet another file box into the room and dropped it on the already overloaded table.

“Caffeine.” Gage set down the file he'd been skimming. How many times could he look over the same information before something popped? Not only were they sorting through the mess that was the Nemesis case, they had at least a dozen boxes of case files from additional closed cases they were expected to reopen in the next few weeks. They were running out of time when it came to keeping their focus solely on Nemesis. “Please tell me that's the last of the boxes from storage.”

“I sure as hell hope so,” Peyton grunted. “I recognize Brady's scrawl on the outside, so I'm thinking this—” He flipped the lid off, coughing as a plume of dust erupted. “Yep.” He sifted through papers and notes, looking for anything that might be relevant to the Nemesis case. “That's Brady's filing system. More Nemesis scribbles interspersed with his other open cases.”

Gage's frustration meter ticked up ten notches. No wonder Malloy's boss had been urging him to retire. What was a notation about Grant Alvers and Nemesis, a case that had been active for a few months, doing in a closed homicide investigation from five years ago?

“Guess this means our Friday night just went into lockdown.” Gage would be lucky to get home before midnight, but he couldn't stop wondering where his once meticulous training officer had gone astray.

There were piles of handwritten scribbled notes, some unreadable, others seemingly nonsense. Not one of Brady Malloy's three boxes of reports and photographs had been structured. Which explained why this case, or any case, hadn't gone anywhere under Brady's supervision. He'd known Brady wasn't in the best of health, but had he been this far gone?

“We live to serve,” Bouncer muttered, her lips turning down in disgust as Peyton dropped the box on the chair beside her. “I'm going to need more room and maybe a bottle of Scotch.”

As if she could buy a bottle without getting carded. At twenty-four, Bouncer was whip smart, balls-to-the-walls ambitious, and willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. Requesting her addition to the team while she recuperated from her injuries was logical. Having worked with her twice since he'd returned to Lantano Valley, Gage knew what to expect, knew how she worked. He could say the same about Rojas and Peyton, who had both known and worked with Brady.

He trusted them. They'd get the job done.

But Bouncer wasn't kidding about the lack of space or the need for a drink. If there was an inch of table showing from beneath the stacks of files and papers, Gage couldn't see it.

“Let's get anything that's not Nemesis related moved to the side tables.” As far as he was concerned, no other case mattered for the foreseeable future. By the time the pizza arrived and Peyton made a run to the quick mart across the street, they were in better shape and began filling up the six whiteboards they'd pilfered from other offices in the building.

“Heads up,” Bouncer said as she crutch-hobbled into the conference room after a bathroom break. Gage glanced around the edge of the whiteboard he was making notes on and saw the D.A. step off the elevator.

“And here I thought it was Gage who couldn't leave this place at a decent hour,” Evan said.

“Opera in town?” Gage took in Evan's tuxedo, sans jacket that was draped over the D.A.'s arm. The poor guy looked as if his tie might strangle him.

“Don't I wish. Fund-raiser dinner for Representative Hotchkins.”

“Representative Douchebag,” Bouncer muttered, then realized who was in the room and added, “Sir.” She bit her lip.

“Man, I wish I could have said that,” Evan grumbled. “I saw the lights on up here and thought I'd see how things are going.”

“Got grilled by the constituents on the Nemesis case, huh?” Rojas flipped open one of the pizza boxes and shoved it toward Evan. “Hungry?”

“Starved, thanks.” He tossed his jacket over a chair, grabbed a slice with mushroom and olives, and popped open an orange soda. “And Rojas is right about getting grilled, but it was Agent Kolfax turning up the fire. Creepy little guy was waiting in the parking lot like a stalker.”

“What is this guy's fascination with this case?” Gage asked, back to wondering if it wasn't about Nemesis at all. Then again, his distrust of the FBI could be coloring his judgment. “We haven't found any indication that Nemesis has committed crimes outside the state. It's not federal. Besides, Kolfax is white collar, not treasury.”

“I wish I had an answer for you.” Evan reached for a second slice before polishing off his first. “But he did ask if you had a good time at the Tremayne Foundation event last week.”

Peyton covered his snort of laughter behind a well-timed cough. Bouncer grinned over at Rojas, who looked as if keeping a straight face was an effort.

“Good God, is there anyone who didn't see that damned picture?” Gage asked. “And since when do the Feds oversee someone's personal life?”

“Those of us with a personal life,” Bouncer quipped. “How the hell do you manage that?”

“By making it about
business
,” Rojas joked.

“Didn't look like business to me.” Peyton gestured with his own slice of pie.

“Any idea yet why the FBI would be looking at the Tremayne Foundation?” Evan wandered the perimeter of the room as if taking inventory of the information on the whiteboards.

“They aren't a cover for terrorist activities, if that's what you're asking,” Gage said, not liking where the conversation was headed. “I checked with some old contacts and there's nothing on file about the foundation being investigated. Hell, Evan, they're building a hospital for sick kids. It would take a pretty warped mind to use that as a cover for a crime syndicate. Trust me, Morgan might be many things, but deceitful isn't one of them.” Although she did seem as if she kept things to herself more than most.

“I've met Morgan on a couple of occasions, and her father was a big supporter of mine during the election. But that's two times the name has come up around Kolfax. That's no coincidence.”

Sensing there was more to this conversation than his team needed to hear, Gage grabbed the half-full pizza box. “Let's finish this in my office. Guys, head home. Hopefully I won't need you until Monday.” He waited until Evan was inside before he closed the door. “What's going on?”

“Exactly what I asked. Kolfax is sniffing around the Tremaynes, and no, this isn't me worrying about future campaign contributions. I like Jackson. I admire what his wife built, what his kids continue to build. The center can put Lantano Valley on the national map, provide jobs, be an example for the standard of care children can and should get. It's a win for everyone in this city, and I don't want the Feds fucking it up.”

“I agree,” Gage said. “Which is why I ran every possible check I could. I've looked at their incorporation papers, their financial status, and there is nothing off that I can find.” Which had been a huge relief. “Kolfax is seeing something that's not there.”

“Maybe. But he's not the dolt he pretends to be. I finally heard back from my connection in the agency. Kolfax has a reputation for not being able to let certain cases go, even after they're closed. About three years ago he went after a career con man named Mac Price, took too many steps over the line, lost the case and the collar. Price pled guilty without revealing the location of most everything he stole. Kolfax was convinced he had a partner, someone still working on the outside even while Price serves the better part of twenty years. He's spent the last few years trying to prove a theory no one in the agency believes.”

“And what?” Gage frowned. “You think that's why he's so keen on Nemesis? He's trying to redeem himself? Or is there some connection between these thefts and this Mac Price guy?”

“Not that anyone's found, not that Price is admitting to. When I asked my guy about Nemesis, he looked into any connections between Price and Lantano Valley. The only thing he came up with was Price had made some investments with Jackson Tremayne just when his investment business was getting off the ground. Other than that?” Evan shrugged. “You and I both know what obsession can lead to. Kolfax might not be the most popular agent, but he's good enough that they're keeping him on the job. Or at least he was valuable until about eighteen months ago. Something about him screwing up some big investigation he was running. But I don't want him bringing his vendettas here, especially at the expense of one of our own.”

“I can't see where there's anything for Kolfax to latch onto,” Gage said as he pounded a knuckle against his desk. “If something odd was going on with the Tremaynes, there'd be a hint of it somewhere.” But dammit, he didn't like the doubt creeping along the periphery of his mind. “The entire family is devoted to finishing Catherine's work. None of them would do anything to jeopardize that. Especially Morgan.” And Gage definitely didn't like the idea of Kolfax focusing his attention on her.

“Know her that well already?” Evan arched a brow. “Look, I agree with you, but Kolfax thinks he's got something and the fact that he's hinting about it to us tells me we should be paying attention. Or at the very least be on the lookout for whatever damage he wants to do. All the more reason for you to stay close to Morgan.” Evan grinned. “If you need an excuse, that is.”

“We can end this now and just flat-out ask them. No offense, Evan, but I thought our focus was supposed to be on Nemesis.”

“It is. Just . . .” Evan shrugged. “If something presents itself, if there's an opportunity to find out more about what Kolfax is really interested in—and that could very well be Morgan and the rest of her family—look at it as an opportunity to get yourself in with the Feds. If that's what you want.”

“They should be trying to get in with me.” Gage walked over to the window, stared out into the black sky and regretted, not for the first time, accepting Evan's job offer. The chaos that had ensued from his time working with the FBI had left the foundation of his life in shambles. He hadn't known who to trust, where to go. His only choice, once he came out of the fog of pain meds, was to come home and attempt to regain some semblance of solid footing and figure out what he was meant to do from here. Finishing what Brady had started—the case that had literally been the death of his friend—seemed the ideal solution. Except . . .

Sometimes he felt so damned tired and he wished he could just turn his brain, his suspicions, off. Then he wondered what the hell he was still doing on the job. “I don't think there's anything to Kolfax except the inability to let go of the past. He's digging where there's nothing to be found and then he saw that picture of me and Morgan in the paper. He's using her, using his suspicions to get into my head, into our investigation. This is about Nemesis. It has to be. What better way to restore his reputation than to bring down a criminal that would be a coup for any law enforcement agent.”

“Then might I suggest you close the case before Kolfax burrows any deeper. I don't want that guy in my town any longer than necessary.”

“Oh, don't worry.” Gage set his jaw, imagined Kolfax's head as the center of a bull's-eye. “He can play whatever games he wants with me, but I'm not letting him near Morgan or her family.”

***

“Can you put that phone down for ten seconds and at least try to relax?” Sheila kicked Morgan in the shin and sent the bowl of lavender water on the manicure table sloshing onto the towels. “Sorry.”

Morgan tapped her phone. Shit. Elliot Dunbar had an opening in his schedule sooner than expected. She added the appointment to her calendar.

Sheila smiled at the nail technician, who looked irritated as she swiped the smudge of pink polish off Sheila's thumb. “Morgan, please. You promised.”

“Okay, you're right.” Although it felt like amputating a limb, Morgan dropped her phone into her overstuffed purse, settled in the chair custom made for the Winstead Salon and Spa, and lowered her feet into the swirling sea salt–infused water. Ahhhh. Okay. Yeah, that was better. Wait. She gripped the arms of the chair. Did she reschedule that conference call with the board of directors?

“If you didn't switch that thing to vibrate, I'm going to smother you during your seaweed wrap.”

“My what? Sheila, I don't have time—”

“Excuse me.” Sheila pulled her hands free and held up a finger, and the technician sat back with a sigh. Next thing Morgan knew, her sister's fingers gripped her chin and turned her face so she could glare into Morgan's eyes. “One day a month is not a lot to ask. It's four hours out of your overscheduled life. So turn. Off. Your. Brain.” She offered her hands back to the tech.

“It's not just four hours,” Morgan argued. “I'm losing tomorrow, too.” That meant this weekend's tasks were going to roll into next week and snowball from there. She was never going to catch up.

Sheila rolled her eyes. “Cry me a river. A gorgeous man wants to take you to meet his family.”

“I'm a means to an end,” Morgan tried to explain again, but the more she tried to downplay the date with Gage, the more ridiculous she sounded. “He's trying to get his mother off his back.”