Miranda Vaughn Mystery 01.00 - Chasing the Dollar (6 page)

Rob stood and walked to the sideboard and poured me a drink. He set the glass in front of me, and the scent of bourbon wafted up. I took a sip and felt the burn slide into my gut.

"
Miranda, I won't let them take the bakery," he said. "I promised Marie that I wouldn't let them take you away. I kept that promise, didn't I?" 

I looked up and saw the look in his eyes. It was a sheer determination that made my clenched heart relax a tiny bit. It was the look of a man who would do anything for the woman he loved.

I bit my lip and felt the tears burning again. Rob had been married once, Marie told me a long time ago. Marie had never married, and it was something that nagged at my conscience. She'd only been twenty-eight when I was dropped in her lap, and she had devoted herself to me. She'd dated some, but I couldn't remember anyone serious. Even after I moved out and went to college, she never mentioned any romantic interests.

"
You love her."

He smiled and actually blushed a little.

"That's not your concern," he said, patting my shoulder.

He turned and poured himself a drink and when he turned back, he was more composed. At least more composed than I was.

"Why don't we talk about the new fraud case?" he said. "Maybe some securities fraud will take your mind off your troubles."

My eyes were dry and burning from hours of staring at a computer screen at my dimly lit kitchen table. I
'd scanned thousands of pages of bank records looking for the transfers to some suspicious account, and my head was pounding.

Nothing made sense. Money flowed in from investors and then out to accounts where the investment guru was supposed to invest it in funds that would provide the best results for the clients. That
's where the transfers should stop. But they weren't stopping there. The money might pause for a breath, but then it looked like it was skipping off to vacation in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, Belize, and increasingly in Macau.

Patterson Tinker had offices overseas, including a thriving branch in
Macau, where the economic boon was ripe for quick profits. But the clients who invested in the Sahara Fund were generally older, close to retirement or already retired, and wanted low-risk investments. Building high-rise condominiums or wind-generated power plants in Macau was not a low-risk investment. It was the opposite of that. The subsidiary in Macau was involved in casinos, housing and other businesses that could experience huge growth—or collapse and leave the investor with nothing.

Ralph often traveled there, and Tim had gone several times, too. Many people in my office had traveled there for meetings. On the one trip to the
Asia office that I'd accompanied Tim on, I was stuck in a conference room for most of the week and didn't get much of a chance to venture out of the Patterson Tinker offices. I had a view of the city and the dozens of construction cranes and half-finished skyscrapers rising out of the urban landscape, over which a layer of dirty air lay. It felt miles away from the glamour and glitz of the casino scene, which Ralph and Tim raved about on the plane home.

There had been another trip planned, but I was arrested and fired about three weeks before I was supposed to leave. So reviewing records related to the
Macau office was leaving me with a very bitter taste in my mouth.

I closed the laptop and left it on the kitchen table, and then got a beer out of the refrigerator. I took it with me to the bathroom and turned on the shower, downing the beer before I finished washing my hair. The warm water and the cold beer worked to relax me, and by the time I stepped out of the tiny enclosure, I was certain that I
'd finally be able to sleep.

I dried off and wrapped myself in a towel and then stepped out of the bathroom to find some clothes. The nice thing about my tiny home was that everything was close at hand. The one-bedroom apartment was cozy. It was quirky. I
'd fixed it up just as I liked it.

At least that
's what I told myself.

My laundry basket was by the door, where I
'd dumped it after coming back from using Aunt Marie's washer and dryer. I picked it up, rested the basket against my hip and was starting to return to my bedroom when I heard a loud knock on the door just feet from me.

"
Jesus!" The sound came out of nowhere and startled the hell out of me. I glanced at the Mickey Mouse clock over the kitchen sink and saw that it was nearly 10 o'clock. Who the hell would be knocking at my door this late?

I flipped on the outside light and peered through the lacy curtain covering the glass panes on the door.

My heart seized up at the sight of FBI Special Agent Jake Barnes.

"
Fuck."

It was the only word that came to mind. My knees wobbled, and my mind raced back to the last time I
'd had an unexpected encounter with the FBI—when they'd come into my office on a Friday afternoon and presented me with an arrest warrant.

"
Ms. Vaughn?"

I was still staring at him, frozen in place. I dropped the laundry basket on the floor and opened the door the few inches the chain lock would allow.

"Yes?"

"
I'd like to talk to you," he said. "Could I come in?"

He sounded polite, but I wasn
't going to be fooled again.

"
You got a warrant?"

He gave me a small smile.
"No, it's not that kind of visit."

"
Well, come back with a warrant, and I'll let my attorney know of your visit, Agent Barnes."

He looked surprised that I used his name, then uncomfortable.

"Please, Ms. Vaughn," he said. "I just need a few minutes of your time."

I shook my head, and my wet hair dripped onto my bare shoulders.

He paused, his lips tightened into a frown.

"
I may be able to help you," he said.

My resolve slipped a fraction of an inch, but I was still rooted to the spot.

"Help me with what?"

He ran a hand through his hair and peered through the three-inch crack in the door at me.

"Can I come in? I'd rather not explain it standing out here, under this spotlight."

Moths dive-bombed his head as he stood beneath the security light outside the door. Still I waited, unsure of what to do. I seemed unable to make a decision.

"I promise not to arrest you," he said. "This is important."

I tasted blood and realized that I was biting my lip.

"It's about Patterson Tinker," he said.

"
Wait here," I said, shutting the door. I picked up the laundry again, walked the twenty feet to my bedroom, and rummaged through the basket to find something to wear. Slipping on a pair of shorts and a tank top, I couldn't believe I was even considering letting a federal agent into my house. Rob had taught me better.

But he had information about Patterson Tinker, and that intrigued me.

I brushed my hair before it dried in a tangle and went back to the front door and unlocked it, opening it wider.

"
It's late, Agent Barnes," I said.

He nodded.
"I know. I apologize for coming by unannounced."

How polite. He made no move to come into the apartment, waiting on me to invite him.

Like a damn vampire.

I hesitated then opened the door fully.
"Come on in," I said with a sigh.

He gave me a nod and entered my home, his eyes sweeping over the kitchen-dining-living room combo—what might be called a great room if that weren
't so ridiculous in such a small space. I hurried to the kitchen table and swept up the paperwork and computer, stashing the documents on a bookshelf and putting the closed laptop on top of the pages.

"
I hope I wasn't interrupting anything," he said.

I shook my head.
"Just some work. Would you like to sit down?"

He glanced at the red couch that sat below the window overlooking the yard, and I quickly scanned the room for any bras or other embarrassing items lying around. The pitfall of living alone with few friends. He sat on one end of the loveseat, and I perched uneasily on the matching club chair across a low coffee table from him. The furniture had looked modern in my airy two-bedroom condo with a view of the city and the mountains in the background. Now the pieces looked like they were going slumming in my converted garage apartment.

"First, thank you for talking with me," he said. "This isn't about any investigation, doesn't have anything to do with your case."

"
But if it did, you wouldn't have to tell me."

I knew the rules. If I lied to a federal agent, it was a felony. But he could lie to me with impunity.

"That's true, but I promise I'm not investigating you."

That promise meant nothing to me, so I just shrugged.
"What is it you wanted to see me about?"

His lips tightened, and he appeared to struggle to figure out how to start.

"When you worked at Patterson, did you know Bill Macias?"

I nodded but kept my face neutral. I
'd just spent a lot of my evening studying Bill Macias's email traffic and transfers to and from his office's general account.

"
Are you investigating Mr. Macias?"

He shook his head.
"No, I'm not. I'm not here investigating anyone," he said. "Did you work with Bill?"

"
Not really. He was overseas, in London. Later he transferred to Asia," I said. This was information he'd easily be able to find out. Bill Macias was a vice president, and though Patterson was fond of giving out that title, Bill actually had responsibilities to go along with the nameplate.

"
Yes, I know," he said.

"
He headed up the energy group," I said. This, too, was easily accessed information. The company probably put out a press release on his promotion.

"
What can you tell me about the energy group?"

I frowned.
"That's a broad question, Agent Barnes."

"
Call me Jake, please," he said. "Macias had been working with the energy group for a couple years, right?"

I nodded.
"I believe so. I didn't have much interaction with him. Haven't seen him in years, since he was transferred overseas. We were on conference calls together. We emailed information to each other on occasion. That was the extent of my interaction with him."

"
Did he have the authority to transfer funds?"

This was starting to feel familiar—a lot like when Jake Barnes
's partner interrogated me about my job duties at Patterson Tinker. I crossed my arms and felt a chill even though the room was still balmy from the late summer heat. If I answered his questions, maybe he'd go away. But I'd thought that last time.

"
I think I'd rather not answer any further questions, Agent Barnes."

He frowned and looked away briefly, his eyes taking in the spare furnishings before returning to me.

"I need to know about his job, who he would work with, answer to, that sort of thing," he said.

"
Maybe you didn't hear me," I said, standing and walking toward the door. "I do not want to talk to you any longer."

I rested my hand on the doorknob, and he stood.

"This isn't about you, Ms. Vaughn," he said.

"
I don't care."

"
It's important."

"
Please leave."

"
You're being sued," he said.

The silence hung between us. I raised my eyes and looked at him.

"Yeah, so?"

I had done nothing wrong
. I repeated that mantra to myself and kept my gaze steady on his face.

He stood and nearly filled the space. If he reached up, he could easily touch the low, sloped ceiling. His shoulders were broad and his arms bulged under the thin fabric of his
T-shirt. I found my eyes on the muscles, my thoughts wandering to how they'd feel. I had a strong urge to poke one with my finger, to see if it was as hard as it looked. I resisted.

"
I need your help," he said, his voice softer. His eyes were serious, and if he caught me ogling his biceps, he gave no clue. "Maybe we could help each other."

"
The last time I saw you, you put me in handcuffs."

"
Well, technically, the last time we saw each other you were making love to a plate of carnitas," he said, a flicker of a smile at the edge of his eyes.

Okay, maybe he had caught me staring. But I didn
't want to flirt with Special Agent Barnes. Maybe if I'd never seen him before, didn't know what he did for a living. Maybe if he hadn't tried to get me thrown in prison for a decade. Then, maybe, I'd be open to a friendlier relationship. Oh, who was I kidding? I'd probably throw myself into those strong arms and against that wide, well-muscled chest.

I looked away quickly before I forgot who he was.

"If you change your mind—"

"
I won't." I opened the door and held it for him.

He passed by me, and up close he was even larger than I
'd remembered from our previous encounters or noticed while he was sitting on my couch. The scent of soap and something very male followed him. He paused, and I had to look up to look at his face. I was barely five-and-a-half feet tall and was trying to kick out a man who towered over me. And I was doing it while wearing next to nothing—just the shorts and tank top that I had picked out of the clean laundry.

Jake paused at the threshold and held out a hand. I hesitated then shook it. His firm grip made me feel small again, and I pulled back quickly. He took a card from his pocket and offered it to me.

"My cell phone is on the back. Call me if you change your mind."

I took the card, but shook my head.
"I won't."

He smiled and nodded.
"I understand."

I doubted that. He walked down the steps to the alley that doubled as my driveway, and a moment later I heard a motorcycle start up and then drive off into the dark night. The rumble faded into the sounds of the city, and I stayed on the landing, looking into the deep shadows of the yard and watched the strings of party lights from Aunt Marie
's patio reflecting off the still water in the swimming pool.