Sex, Lies & Sweet Tea Page 25

  “That’s it?”

  “Well, I tried to get to you, but I woke up before I could.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What woke you?”

  “My father.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, it was weird. I saw a man walk out to be with you and Dax on the patio, and he turned around so I could catch a glimpse of him, and it was my dad.”

  “That is weird,” she agreed, still holding me tight listening to my every word. “What do you think it means?”

  “I’d like to think it meant that he loves you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I could tell by the look on his face. I think he was telling me that you’re the one.”

  “I like being the one. I like being your one.”

  I kissed her, lingering on the taste of her, the smell of her. Everything about Sam drove me wild and yet grounded me completely.

  “How are you feeling, my love? You’ve had a pretty big day.”

  “I’m a little drained.”

  “I would love to peel these old sweats off of you and make love to you right here, right now,” I confessed as I began to kiss her neck. I pulled the Cornell sweatshirt away from her to gain better access.

  “Are you asking permission?” she asked with a giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, meeting her face.

  “It’s just something Polly said to me.”

  “Really, what’s that?”

  “You mean before or after she asked if your penis was perfect.”

  “Holy hell, Sam,” I bellowed. “I’m convinced women are ten times worse than men. Y’all think we talk about you in the locker room, but it’s seriously nothing compared to the stuff you girls share with each other. Should I be embarrassed next time I see Polly?”

  “Not at all. In fact,” she continued as she stood, taking me with her. “You should be proud.”

  She unbuttoned and slid the jeans off my hips, stepping back so she could watch them fall to the floor. The grey T-shirt fell long over my body, but failed to conceal my ardent excitement.

  “I don’t think you’re gonna need this shirt,” she smiled, slipping it over my head.

  I had to kiss her. I brought my hands slowly to her face and held her there, lost in the moment. “I am totally naked.”

  “Yes, you are,” she drawled soft and slow.

  “You are not,” I observed. I slowly pulled the old sweatpants down, revealing red, lacy panties. “Do you wear sexy lingerie like this all the time? Because you couldn’t possibly have known we would be together tonight.”

  “I have ESP,” Sam cooed, as I pulled the red panties to the ground.

  “What’s that?” I asked sarcastically, kissing my way up her leg, meeting her face as I stood up to take off the sweatshirt.

  “Extraordinary Sex Perception.”

  “Is that like a dickth sense?” I asked, doing my best to keep a straight face.

  “Yes. I see horny people,” she purred as she dropped her hand and lightly stroked me, sending me through the roof.

  “Yes, you do,” I agreed, picking her up and laying her down in one motion on the soft grizzly bearskin rug in front of the fireplace—compliments of one of Dad’s big game hunts. “I’m going to have my way with you.”

  “I thought you already had,” she whispered.

  25

  MAC

  The phone woke me as usual, but this time it wasn’t my alarm playing Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was ringing and it was Micah calling.

  “Good morning,” I said, rolling over still too asleep to make sense to anyone.

  “More info on 56621,” she said.

  “What? No good morning? No how’s it hangin’? And by the way, do you ever leave the office, Betty Bureau?”

  “Good morning. How’s it hanging? And no, no I don’t ever leave the office because I have a dick of a boss.”

  “That’s more like it. Now give it to me.”

  “The Ansible Star Group is registered to a Richard Booker, son of one Stacy Little. Ansible Star has been paid over two million dollars in the last three years.”

  “That’s not a bad paycheck for a secretary.”

  “Assistant,” Micah corrected. “She’s been blackmailing Miller into letting her write her own ticket through the Physician’s Development Corporation as a so-called independent consultant for the expansion.”

  “Sneaky Miss Little,” I said, sitting up in bed. “What else?”

  “Stacy Little is scheduled to leave the Montgomery, Alabama airport tomorrow night. One ticket to Costa Rica, one way.”

  “Let me guess. Ansible Star is flushing money to Costa Rica.”

  “You got it.”

  “What about Miller? Is he a flight risk?”

  “He doesn’t have any air travel booked.”

  “One question, Micah,” I asked, walking to the bathroom and turning on the shower. “If Little was blackmailing Miller from the anonymous email account, then who else had access to send us the tips?”

  “Booker,” we said in unison.

  “Call the local authorities and have him brought in. I want to question him as soon as I arrest Stacy Little and James Miller. I can ID the kid too. Overheard him at the liquor store saying he was getting rid of his mom.”

  “I’ll inform the field office in Birmingham,” said Micah.

  “Tell them I’ll meet them at Autumn Valley in one hour. Nothing goes down until I arrive.”

  “Got it.”

  “And Micah?”

  “I know. Yak atcha later.”

  “Good job.”

  I called Sam’s cell and got no answer. I wanted to give her a heads up as to what was about to happen and it wasn’t something I wanted to leave in a voice message. I prayed she would be with Mimi and not in her office when we arrived.

  I showered and shaved quickly, dressing in a navy pinstriped suit and green tie. I was kicking ass and taking names today. Pulling the files from my desk in the study, I noticed the remnants of my night with Samantha. I put my badge on my belt and my gun in the holster. I left the house without saying a word to Miss Celia. Today, I was all business.

  As I pulled into the parking lot at Autumn Valley, I could see the six plain black sedans waiting for me. Everything was a go.

  “Gentlemen,” I barked in a clipped tone. “The administration office is inside the door and to the right, you can’t miss it. I’ll take the lead. I want all the computers confiscated, and we’re going to take in one Stacy Little aka Stacy Booker and James Miller. Does everyone understand?”

  I felt a buzz in my pocket and pulled out my phone to see a message from Sam.

  Thank you for taking such good care of me last night. I’m already at work, but I can’t think of anything but you. xxoo S.

  None of this was gonna go over well. “Let’s move.”

  Everyone was armed, but I didn’t feel there would be an occasion to use force. I flashed Chuck my badge as we entered the front doors, “Mac Callahan, FBI. We’re going to the administration office.”

  “Yes, sir. Should I call locally for backup?”

  I was impressed with Chuck for the first time since I’d met him. “They’re on the way.”

  I walked down the hall, my rent-a-goons from the field office following me. Bursting into the administration office, I looked for Stacy Little behind the tall reception desk.

  “Stacy Little,” I called out.

  “Yes,” she squeaked, not seeing the lot of us. “Hang on, I can’t see you.”

  She walked around the desk and was stunned by the sheer number of black suits in her little world. “Stacy Little,” I continued. “FBI. I’m Special Agent in Charge, Callahan, and you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit, and committing mail and wire fraud, money laundering, and theft.”

  Shocked, she was unable to speak. She looked to the door as if she thought about making an escape and changed her mind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she protested
calmly.

  “Mac?”

  I could hear Samantha’s voice coming from the hallway. “Stacy Little, you have the right to remain silent,” I continued as another field agent took her by the arm and cuffed her. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. To have them present with you while you are being questioned. If you cannot afford to hire an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they’ve been defined here?”

  “You’re making a big mistake!” Stacy shouted.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Mac, what’s going on?” Sam asked, making her way into the commotion.

  “I’ll explain later, Sam. Right now it’s best if you aren’t here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she snipped, clearly frightened and upset.

  I rushed past her to James Miller’s doorway, beating with a force that shook the frame. “Miller, this is Mac Callahan with the FBI. Open up!” I shouted. “FBI. Open up. Open the door, Miller,”

  “What is going on?” yelled Samantha. “Mac? Tell me what’s going on!”

  “For Christ’s sake, get her the fuck out of here!” I yelled to one of the agents as I nodded toward Sam.

  Motioning for the others to surround the door, a young agent moved in with the battering ram. “Miller, I’m giving you one last chance to open up.”

  “Get her out of here now,” I yelled, pointing to Samantha. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the hallway and away from me.

  “Mac!” she yelled, but I couldn’t respond.

  “Miller, open the door or I’ll be forced to bring it down, and you can add resisting arrest to your list of charges.”

  I looked around the office to be damn sure no one else remained in the area.

  “Miller,” I yelled again, “Open the door!”

  I nodded to the young agent as we backed away and he swung the short battering ram with full force. Two blows and the door fell open.

  There sat Miller, gun inserted into his mouth, hand shaking, ready to fire a bullet into his own head. His face was red and sweat dripped down his forehead, lingering on his thick brow. He looked as if he was holding his breath, afraid to pull the trigger.

  I backed everyone off. “Miller,” I said, putting my gun away, showing him my empty hands. “We know she was blackmailing you. Now put the gun down and we can sort it out.”

  Tears streamed down his red face as he shook his head. I moved in slowly to go for the weapon.

  “You’re not in as much trouble as she is, Miller,” I said calmly, watching him shake with fear. “Now put down the gun. If you cooperate, I can give you immunity for helping us, but we have to talk, and you can’t talk to me with a fucking gun in your mouth.”

  He looked at me briefly and closed his eyes as if he was calmly falling asleep. I knew he’d made a decision.

  The gunshot was deafening. Blood spattered on the wall behind him as his tall chair caught the explosion of his head from the shot. He fell forward, the gun falling from his hand as he landed face down, slumped over his desk. Blood began to pool around his face.

  I could hear Samantha’s scream in the distance behind me. “Shit,” I muttered, dropping the tension in my shoulders. “What a fucking mess. Call the coroner.”

  I hurried to make my way to Sam. I could see her through the glass entrance, crying uncontrollably in the arms of none other than King. I hurried to her side, wanting to comfort her, shield her from what happened.

  “Sam?” I touched her shoulders, doing my best to turn her in my direction. I wanted her out of the arms of King. “Sam, sweetheart. Are you all right?” I wanted to rip her from him. Sam was mine—mine to protect.

  “No, I’m not all right,” she turned and yelled, breaking into a sobbing fit. “Is Mr. Miller dead?”

  “Yes,” I sighed, looking to King for help. She gasped and buried her head in King’s shoulder and sobbed.

  “Did you shoot him?”

  “No,” I said. “He shot himself. He was going to jail. Stacy Little is already on her way there. The whole office is involved in embezzlement and money laundering.”

  “What?” she cried from inside King’s shoulder.

  “Sam, look at me.” I needed to see her face. If she could just see me, she would understand I was only trying to protect her.

  “What do you want?” she asked, turning and staring me down. “Do you think I’m involved?”

  “Samantha, don’t be ridiculous. I need to clean up this mess, and I need to talk with you.”

  “Clean up your mess, Mac, but don’t worry about me.”

  “Callahan!” I heard someone shout from behind me. “D.C.’s on the horn for you.”

  “Sam—” I begged, but she looked away, and buried her face into King’s chest. He gestured for me to back off.

  You motherfucker.

  “I’m coming,” I said. Walking away, I felt my heart ache. “Get all the computers, and there are stacks of papers in the last office on the left and in the board room. Pack it all up.”

  “Wait!” shouted Samantha from outside the office. “You can’t take my computer. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “No, you haven’t,” I agreed, turning and looking her in the eye. “But your computer has some valuable information. We need it and all your files.”

  “What?” she shouted, following me back into the office. “You used me.” Samantha seethed through her tears. Pointing her finger right into my heart, she poked my chest. “You used me.” The second time she said it, I could see the wheels in her head turning.

  “Sam,” I interrupted, taking her wrist in my hand. “I’m going to have someone take you home.”

  “Sir, shouldn’t we detain everyone in the office for questioning?” asked one of the rent-a-goons.

  “No, I’ll take responsibility for Miss Peterson,” I said, knowing I was destroying her even as I vouched for her. “She’s clean.”

  “You would know,” she whispered under her breath.

  “Sam.” I begged her with my eyes, taking her by the elbow. “Please go home. I will come by and see you a little later today. We have a lot to go over.”

  “Like what? Do you need more information for your case? It’s all in there. Or do you need to strip search me or some nonsense to finish?”

  “Of course not. I just want to explain.”

  “Don’t bother,” she sobbed, snatching her elbow from my grip. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

  Sam stormed back down the hall. “Sorry ma’am, I can’t let you in here.” said the agent guarding the hallway that led to her and Miller’s offices.

  “Just try to stop me,” she shouted, shooting me an evil look over her shoulder.

  “Samantha, let me get your things.”

  “I don’t trust you,” she spat.

  I nodded to the agent to let her pass. Sam walked slowly down the long hall—deliberately turning her head away as she walked past Miller’s office and quickly emerged again with her purse and briefcase.

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” I droned, not wanting to take my FBI role further. “You’ll have to leave your briefcase here.”

  She hurled the leather satchel across the room, nearly taking out an agent who ducked just in time, and opened the top of her purse to show me the inside. Grabbing her keys and wallet she threw the purse and its contents at my feet.

  “Stay away from me!” she shouted through her tears and walked away into the waiting arms of King.

  “Guys, get everything in this room,” I said, pointing to the boardroom. “And someone get me a bead on Booker. I want to know where the hell he is. Now!”

  “They’re at his residence, sir,” replied a field agent from the back of the room, holding up the phone for me. I took it from his hand and watched Samantha drop her head into her hands as King wrapped his arm around her.

  “Callahan.”

  “It’s Dan.”
>
  “We’ve got Little in custody. Miller is dead. Shot himself in the head when we tried to take him in. I’ve got agents out to pick up Richard Booker.”

  “Fuck. He would’ve been out in a couple of years.”

  “The photos were his greatest concern,” I explained as I watched King walk Samantha away. My heart ached and I was finding it hard to breath.

  “The strangest shit always goes down in the small towns,” said Dan.

  “Yeah, well, what-tha-fuck-ever.”

  “Sir,” I heard behind me. “Local has picked up Richard Booker, they’re taking him to the office for questioning.”

  I gave him a quick nod.

  “They’ve picked up Booker,” I repeated to Dan. “I’m heading to the Birmingham field office to question him after I make sure we’ve got everything from here.”

  “Call me later,” Dan ordered. “And Mac?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know it was messier than you’d hoped, but it’s over.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But I might’ve just screwed up my whole future.”

  I hung up and turned to the agents meticulously packing and categorizing the evidence. “Pack everything up that isn’t nailed down.”

  26

  SAMANTHA

  How did this happen? How did I allow this to happen? I cried, crumpled in the backseat of a cab. Polly still had my car, and I couldn’t get her on her phone while Dax was at school.

  “Miss?” asked the cab driver. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  “Yes.” But I suddenly began feeling queasy in the rear of his smelly taxi. “Actually, no,” I admitted. “Please pull over.”

  As he pulled the car to the berm I opened the back door, leaning out to hold my head away from the car and braced myself with my arms against the door. Suddenly I let everything inside me loose. Retching uncontrollably, I puked until I could no longer breathe. I began to dry heave and finally wept uncontrollably, only stopping long enough to accept the paper napkin the cab driver handed over the back seat. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Thanks for asking me to pull over.”

  “I don’t know what came over me.”