Sex, Lies & Black Tie Read online

“Jesus,” Elias sighed. “She’s really pretty.”

  “Yeah? Well if you help me get her back in one piece I can promise I’ll make the introduction. Anything else you can get from that laptop, let me know.”

  Leaning into Elias’s desk, I wrote my new phone number on a Post-it note, sticking it to the middle of his screen. “That’s my burner. If you find anything—and I mean anything, call me. If you hear from the bastards, call me.”

  “What do you want me to do about a pick up if they accept your bid?” Rory asked.

  “Will they give me a face to face?”

  Rory shook his head. “They’ll drop her off somewhere.”

  “Like an old abandoned bank?” I asked.

  Elias’s shoulders dropped. “Dude. No.”

  “Just keep me informed. I’ll let you know about the exchange place,” I said collecting my cocktail shaker and heading for the door.

  Letting myself out of the building, I squinted in the bright sun and felt my head pound a little harder in the light. I found Fuller waiting and on high alert as I approached the car.

  “Let’s go, chief.”

  “Where to?”

  “The church home. I want to question Brady Kurtz.”

  199.19.95.59

  submit for 477. 75k.

  Advise.

  12

  SAMANTHA

  The leaves hadn’t begun to turn on the grounds of Autumn Valley, the ultra-luxury senior community where Mimi lived, but summer was definitely over as I felt the cool breeze across my face. I parked the Bentley Mac had given me as a present in the visitors’ lot, turning off the ignition to the powerful car. Mac’s mother never drove, but Timms, Miss Celia’s father, had always driven her in her own Bentley. The idea that Mac wanted me to have a car similar to his mother’s was just one of the many ways he showed his love—honoring both her memory and me at the same time.

  Nancy was a special lady and after my conversation with Mac this morning, I felt like I wasn’t keeping my promise to her—to take of Mac and to be the kind of woman he needed in his life.

  Once through the front doors, I headed down Mimi’s wing of the building and straight for her apartment.

  “Knock, knock,” I said, pushing the door open.

  Sitting on her couch reading the National Enquirer, she peered over her reading glasses at me and smiled.

  “Mimi?”

  “Hey, baby girl. C’mon in. I’m just catching up on my gossip,” she said, holding the tabloid in the air.

  “Why do you even bother reading that?” I asked. “I thought I got you a subscription to the Wall Street Journal.”

  “You did,” she said pulling it from the bottom of the stack. “But labor relations in Asia aren’t as exciting as aliens on the set of my favorite television show.”

  I kissed her on the head and took a seat in the chair across from her. “There’re aliens in Hollywood?”

  She nodded. “The way this reads, they’re lousy with aliens in California and Washington, D.C.”

  I giggled and stared at her smiling face.

  “How’s my girl today?” she asked.

  I looked out the window, knowing I couldn’t get anything past Mimi.

  “Out with it,” she said.

  “It’s nothing. I actually came by to see if you wanted me to find you a new dress for the gala this Saturday.”

  “That’s a load of crap and you know it. I have plenty of gowns in storage I can wear this Saturday, so what’s the real reason for the visit. I know you Sam. You want to take me back to Lone Oak or out to lunch or tea when you’re feeling wonderful. When you’re down in the dumps, you come here to visit and bare your soul. Mind you, I don’t care—I’m just saying that I’m on to you.”

  I pursed my lips at my grandmother. She might’ve been old, but she was the smartest woman I knew.

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  “Really,” she repeated. “You’re not. I only know of three reasons you’re ever worried or upset.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “Dax, Katy and Mac. So which one of them is giving you trouble?”

  I let out a little laugh. For the world to be so complicated, Mimi had a way of breaking it down to its simplest form.

  “I’m worried about Mac.”

  “Where is he? Want me to talk some sense into him?”

  I stood from my chair and moved to the couch to sit next to her. Being in her presence made me feel safe. There was only one other person who gave me that overwhelming awareness that everything was fine—my husband. My biggest fear was losing one or both of them.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t need you to talk sense into him. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for a more loving and loyal man. He adores me.” Saying the words, I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

  “What is it? Problems in the bedroom? I’m pretty good with that too—although it’s been awhile. I’m old, but my memory is still quite vivid,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Nooooo, Mimi,” I whined. “Everything in the bedroom is fine. Mac’s taken a case in D.C. He’s not here to help me with the kids or oversee everything that’s going on at Lone Oak, and what’s more, he’s…”

  Mimi raised one suspicious eyebrow. “He’s what?”

  “He took this case because of Micah. It’s her younger sister that’s missing so he’s taking the lead on the investigation, and putting himself in harm’s way—again.”

  Mimi cocked her head and pursed her lips as if she was digesting everything I’d said, needing to access her years of knowledge to give me the perfect piece of advice. When she didn’t say anything and went back to her National Enquirer, I gasped. “Are you kidding me? You don’t have anything to say?”

  Dropping the paper to her lap she looked at me over her reading glasses. “There’s nothing to be said Samantha.”

  “Of course there is.” I stood to pace the room.

  “First off, sit down. Second, stop acting like a petulant child.”

  Instinctively, I obeyed her orders. “Mimi,” I said, dragging her name out in frustration.

  “Sam, who did you marry?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, who did you marry?”

  “Mac.”

  “That’s right. You married Mac Callahan.”

  “So?”

  “Was Mac Callahan an accountant when you met him?”

  “What?”

  “Just answer the question,” Mimi stated in an unforgiving tone.

  “No.”

  “Was he a barber?”

  “What?” I didn’t know where Mimi was going with her line of questioning, but she was starting to make me angry.

  “Was he a minister? A scientist? A doctor? A chef?”

  “What’s the meaning of this, Mimi?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Okay then Samantha, what was your husband when you met him?”

  “A Federal Agent.”

  “Did he chase bad guys and carry a gun when you met him, Sam?”

  “Mimi, this is ridiculous.”

  “Listen up, you came here to talk to me; don’t think it’s ridiculous when I get your goat. You merely don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

  “Yes, Mimi. He chased bad guys. He carried a gun.”

  “When you met him, was that a turn on to you? That fact that the man you were falling for carried a badge and a gun? That he was badass?”

  “Mimi?”

  “I have to say,” she began. “I thought he was hot as sin the first time I met him and he only got better when I knew he carried a gun and was a hero fighting to take care of people who couldn’t take care of themselves.”

  “Mimi,” I droned again.

  “Admit it, Sam. It was one of the reasons you fell for that man like a Bourbon Street drunk at three in the morning. I know it, you know it. Hell, everyone who even remotely knows you is aware of this.”

  “
Fine. I admit it.”

  “Good,” she said picking up her paper again. “I think I might wear my pale blue Oleg Cassini gown on Saturday night. You know the one with the pearls sewn into the bodice?”

  I stood and began pacing the room. “Are you serious right now?”

  She didn’t bother to drop her paper when she replied. “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Look honey, I’ve spelled it out in black and white for you. You can’t fall in love with a man for who he is and then try to change him. Mac Callahan is a bad ass motherfucker—for the love of God let him be one.”

  “Dear Lord, what a mouth you’ve got today, Mimi.”

  “Same one I’ve always had. I just don’t filter it anymore. It’s kinda like smoking a Lucky Strike cigarette. Something’s gonna kill me, I might as well be honest about it. So there. Just consider me unfiltered—like the cigarette.

  “Look, I want to let him be who he is, I do. I just worry.”

  “Baby girl, you can spend the rest of your life worrying that something bad is going to happen, or you can live each day like it’s your last. Now, Mac or you or the kids could have an accident today. You, of all people, know this. You could all be gone in an instant—all of us could. So be all in in your life, or get all out. Because there’s no halfway.”

  I knew she was right. She always was. Suddenly I felt guilty for holding Mac back from what he really longed to do—be himself.

  “But how?” I asked, walking to her window that overlooked the perfectly manicured gardens on the back of the property.

  “Here’s how it works, sweetie. Let him go, so you can hang on to him. I’m not saying by keeping him so close to you that you’d lose him, but he’s a man—and men are a little like wild animals. You can tame them, you can train them, but inside they’re still a little wild. Let him explore that, let him feel that,” she said balling her hand into a fist and holding it to her chest. “It’s that wild side that balances out the reserved. Y’all are good for each other. You tamed him from a balls out, devil may care man, into a father and husband. Let him walk you over to the unpredictable side. If he needs this—career—this gun toting, testosterone fueled take down job to feel whole—for God’s sake, don’t take it away from him.”

  “You think he doesn’t feel whole?”

  “Jesus, child,” Mimi said becoming frustrated with me. “Are you listening to me? Are you listening to yourself?”

  I nodded, holding back the tears. “I just love him, Mimi. I love him so much.”

  Holding out her arms to me, she beckoned me to her. “Here now. No tears.”

  Crawling into her arms, I laid on her chest, listening to her very old heart beat. “I know you love him darlin’, I know you do. He loves you too. He loves you so much, that for the past few years, he’s put off what he loves to be with the woman he loves. It’s time to set him free again. Let him be himself. A man who loves you this much isn’t going to go far before coming back to lie in your arms.”

  Mimi was right. I was doing all the wrong things to make Mac happy. I needed to let go and live. I nodded into her chest, letting her know everything she said made perfect sense without saying a word.

  “Finally,” she sighed. “Are you agreeing with me?”

  I nodded again, wiping the tears from my face. “I agree.”

  “Well it’s about damn time.”

  “You really should wear the pale blue Oleg Cassini gown with the pearls sewn into the bodice.”

  She smiled at me. “You’re wicked.”

  “Just like my grandmother.”

  Kissing her goodbye, I promised to get her dress from her house and bring it to her. Hurrying out the front door, I pulled my phone from my pocket. I needed to hear Mac’s voice.

  Without so much as a ring, the call went to voicemail, and I began my message with a sigh.

  “God, I miss you. But I know what you’re doing is really important. I’m sending all my love and good thoughts to you today, and I’ve said prayers for you, Micah and Frankie. I just want you to know how proud I am of you and how much I love you. Do your job. And when you get home, I’ll be here waiting for you—waiting to wrap my arms around you and kiss you until you have no breath left in your lungs. And then…” I paused to shut the door to the car for total privacy. “And then I’m going to make love to you so hard and so long, you are going to see God. So conserve your energy taking out the bad guys. You’re going to need it.”

  Pressing end, I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and wiped the remaining mascara from under my eyes. “Pull it together Sam. Nothing is too big or too much.”

  I started the car and it purred like a kitten. With a smile, I put it in drive and said two words to myself. “Let’s go.”

  13

  MAC

  Fuller drove us to the Mission on a Hill home for men. It was a church sponsored organization that gave people who wanted to turn their lives around and the tools to do it. According to their website, they provided clean clothes, a place to live, a community to thrive in, and help with resumes and job skill matching. It was only a couple of years old, but they seemed to be doing good work with marginalized people in D.C.

  “I called ahead to make sure he was here,” Fuller said as we pulled into the parking space marked Visitor. I gave him the side-eye and he immediately piped up.

  “I used the burner phone. This isn’t my first rodeo, Agent Callahan. I’m new, but I’m not green.”

  “I didn’t say a word,” I replied.

  The old apartment building looked as if it was built sometime in the late sixties. Air conditioning units dotted the side of the building like pock marks and the crumbling foundation let me know they were working on a shoestring budget. In a parking lot littered with trash and grass growing through the broken pavement sat a rusted out church van with the words Jesus Saves painted on the hood.

  “Welcome,” the gray-haired man said, holding the front door open to motion us in. “I’m Melvin Glass, but you can call me Chops.”

  “Chops?” I asked.

  “Nickname. I worked in the meat packing district for too many years to count,” he said, placing a nearly empty pack of cigarettes into the pocket of his western, snap button shirt.

  I shook his strong grip. I liked Chops already.

  “Agent Fuller explained why we’re here?” I asked, hoping we could be expeditious in our visit and questioning.

  “He did. But I have to tell you, Brady isn’t all too keen on speaking with you,” Chops said ushering us into a space that looked as if it was once a party room for the building. The gold shag carpet still smelled of mildew even though the freshly painted walls tried their best to hide the odor.

  “I can understand that,” I said taking a seat in one of the metal folding chairs placed out for us in a small circle.

  “I’m going to stay in here with you boys while you talk with him, if you don’t mind. I think it will help him to feel more at ease.”

  “I hope he knows we’re not here to question him. He’s not in trouble—not in any way,” I began. “We think he may have some information that could help us. That’s all.”

  “Agreed,” Chops said.

  The door to our right swung open and in walked a gangly, blonde haired, blue eyed kid. I knew from the file he was nineteen, but he looked more like fifteen. With little to no meat on his body, I could see his collarbone clearly through the nondescript white t-shirt he wore.

  Standing, I watched him creep into the group of chairs. The walking wounded, he looked like a dog that had been beaten one too many times and was now afraid of his own shadow.

  “Brady.” I held out my hand out for him to shake. “I’m Mac and this is Jason,” I said nodding my head toward Fuller.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  His voice was soft and deeper than I thought it would be. With a downturned nod to Fuller, he took a seat. Leaning back, he kept his eyes on the ground.

  “Did Chops tell you wh
y we’re here?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  I watched the kid swallow hard, finally bringing his eyes to meet mine. “Do they have someone you know?”

  “Who’s they?”

  “The deal maker—you know—the seller, the pimp.”

  I nodded.

  “How old is he?”

  “She. Nineteen.”

  “Me too.”

  “Brady.” I leaned into the circle propping my arms on my knees. “We don’t know if it’s the same group of people, but we have one link and we hoped maybe you could help us. I know you didn’t talk to Metro about anything. The report says you didn’t want to give a statement or try to press charges.”

  “Still don’t.”

  “Do you mind if I ask why?” I sat back in my chair and rubbed my still throbbing head.

  “Because I know what happens to people like me who talk.”

  “What’s that?”

  Brady scoffed and for the first time let some emotion show on his face in a tight, sarcastic smile. “They end up dead, man. I was just happy to get out and still be alive.”

  “Brady’s been doing wonderfully in our drug rehab program,” Chops said. “I’m really proud of him.”

  Brady dropped his head again.

  “Were you on drugs before you were picked up and made part of the—” I paused, not wanting to call it what it was, a human trafficking ring, “the deal making?”

  He bit his lip and gazed up at me. With his all-American looks he could’ve just as easily been the star on a high school basketball team. Instead, he was trying to kick drugs after being used as a human pincushion for sexually depraved men.

  “I was stupid enough to get picked up off the street. I only wanted to buy a bag of weed. The girls in the van, you know, they lure you in. But they’re already so high, you don’t know what’s going on until it’s too late. They knock you out, shoot you up with smack until you’re hooked, then send you out to work.”

  “Do you have family?” I asked. “Someone who maybe filed a missing person’s report?”

  “Brady’s mom died a couple years back,” Chops interjected. “His father was already gone when he was a kid.”