Page 4 of Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard 10)

  Nope, she was going to be practical. Money didn’t grow on trees, according to her mother, even though as a child, Olivia never once thought that it did.

  It didn’t take much coaxing to get her to stay, especially after Grayson argued that it would be a professional courtesy.

  Grayson removed his suit jacket, and she couldn’t help but notice how broad his shoulders were and how muscular he was. He was certainly in shape, and she wondered how often he worked out to stay so fit. Dark brown hair and deeply tanned skin, he looked as though he’d just stepped out of an ad in a sports magazine. She also noticed how impeccably dressed he was. His suit was definitely designer label. The cut and fit were perfect. Probably Armani or Prada, she guessed. His shirt was crisp, and his tie had a subdued design in a dark hue. For such a big man, he certainly wore his clothes well.

  By comparison she was a mess. After she gave the waiter her order, she went to the ladies’ room to freshen up and got a good look at herself in the mirror. She had grass in her hair and a gaping tear in the top of her dress. If that weren’t enough, the left side of her jaw was already turning purple. She looked as though she’d been in a barroom brawl.

  There wasn’t much she could do to improve her appearance. She brushed her hair, put on some lip gloss, and tried to stop feeling embarrassed. Why did she care what Grayson thought about her appearance? After today, she probably would never see him again. She already knew he was out of her league. She had very little experience with men, but she had a feeling that Agent Grayson Kincaid was the James Bond of the FBI: a gorgeous man who loved women. Olivia knew she had no business judging him without knowing anything about him. She’d bet a month’s salary she was right, though.

  She returned to the table, and while they waited for their orders, they talked about living in D.C., and he asked her several questions about her work. He seemed genuinely interested. By the end of lunch she was over her bout of nerves and was glad she had stayed. Once she tasted the chowder, she stopped obsessing about the cost. It was worth the price. She sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and asked, “Did you grow up around here?” She was curious to know if he would share any personal information.

  “No, the family lived in Boston until I was in my teens. Then, because of my father’s business, we moved to Washington, D.C.”

  “You travel a lot, don’t you?”

  “I used to, before I joined the FBI.”

  “Ever been to Europe?”

  He smiled. “Yes. What about you? Have you traveled much?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve lived in San Francisco and D.C. Except for a few business trips, that’s it. No, wait,” she added. “I went to Colorado.”

  “To ski?”

  “No. One of my best friends went through the Air Force Academy. I attended her graduation. Samantha’s a pilot. She flies those sleek little jets now.”

  A waiter cleared the table while another placed fresh glasses of iced tea and dessert menus in front of them. His eyes were on Olivia, and he nearly knocked her glass over. She grabbed it before it spilled.

  Grayson understood. It was difficult not to stare at her. He waited until they were alone again and then asked, “What about you? Where did you grow up?”

  “San Francisco until I was eleven. Then I moved to D.C. I’ve been here ever since.”

  When he frowned, she realized the little slip she’d made. She hadn’t included her family when she told him she’d moved. Maybe he hadn’t noticed and was frowning about something altogether different. She hoped so. She didn’t want to talk about those first years in D.C. It was too personal and too painful to relive, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about her odd family.

  Grayson’s phone beeped, indicating he had a message. Olivia smiled. The distraction was just what she needed. “Why don’t you check it? I don’t mind.”

  He shook his head. “It can wait. You said you moved to D.C. Just you?”

  She pretended not to understand. “D.C.’s my home now. The crime’s a problem and you have to be so careful, but I love the energy. Don’t you?”

  “You didn’t mention family. You moved alone?”

  So much for distracting him. Grayson was an FBI agent, she reminded herself. Guess he was trained not to be distracted.

  “Yes, I moved here without family.”

  “And you were just eleven years old.”

  “Yes.”

  She suddenly felt as though she was being interrogated, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “Boarding school?” he asked.

  Sure. Why not? “Something like that.”

  Grayson knew he was making her uncomfortable, but he couldn’t figure out why. What was she hiding? Olivia checked the time and reached for her purse. He didn’t want her to leave just yet. He took a drink and casually asked, “Married?”

  The question surprised her. “No. You?”

  “No. Ever gotten close?”

  She smiled and relaxed. “No. You?”

  “No.”

  She laughed. “You’re FBI. You could find out anything you wanted to know about me.”

  “Yes. It wouldn’t be as much fun, though.”

  Grayson had a beautiful smile. She thought he might be flirting with her now, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t good at this. It was peculiar. Less than two minutes ago she couldn’t wait to get out of here, and now she wanted to stay.

  “You’re with the IRS,” he said. “You could find out all about me.”

  “You know I can’t do that. I can only work on the cases I’m assigned,” she said, and before he could pose another question, she asked, “How did you end up in the FBI?”

  “I finished law school and didn’t know what I wanted to do. None of the offers appealed to me. My cousin, Sam Kincaid, worked for the FBI. His specialty is languages,” he added. “He’s also an attorney, and he thought I’d be a good fit. Turns out he was right.”

  “A law degree would certainly give you a leg up in the FBI.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Okay, now it’s my turn. How did a nice girl like you end up working for the IRS?”

  “During my third year of law school, I worked as a law clerk for Judge Bowen because I wanted to get as much experience as I could in family law. After I passed the bar, my goals changed, and I decided to learn about investigative work and tax law. I’m now an attorney with the IRS.”

  “An attorney, huh?” He didn’t know why he was surprised, but he was. He had pictured her sitting in a cubicle somewhere checking tax returns.

  “Isn’t everyone in Washington an attorney? I think it’s a prerequisite to living here.”

  He laughed. “That’s about right.”

  The waiter presented the check inside a black leather folder. When she argued that she should pay the bill, Grayson slipped his American Express card inside.

  “Next time you’re attacked during an interview, you can pay for lunch.”

  The likelihood of such a thing happening was ridiculous, but she decided to be gracious and thanked him.

  “Why were you interviewing with Jorguson’s company?” he asked.

  “Cutbacks, and since I’m one of the newer employees, I have to assume I’ll be one of the first to go. I was exploring other options,” she explained. “I hope I can stay with the IRS a little longer, though. I have a goal to accomplish there. I’m learning so much about how to investigate financial crimes. I hound the investigators with all my questions. They’ve been very patient with me.”

  “Would you stay with the IRS permanently if you could?”

  “Yes, I would. When I first started, I wanted to learn and then move on. My primary interest is children’s advocacy, but I now know I can’t do that full-time because I’d burn out too quickly. Working for the IRS is a nice balance. I h

ad assumed the work would be boring, but as it turns out, it isn’t.”

  “So what’s your goal at the IRS?”

  “It’s not important,” she dismissed with a shrug.

  Grayson tilted his head and studied her, wondering what he was missing. Olivia was being evasive, and he felt that she was leaving out an important detail. She reminded him of his nephew, Henry. Talking to the eight-year-old took endurance, and getting the full story was nearly impossible.

  He leaned forward. Olivia instinctively folded her hands in her lap and waited. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how tense she was. She knew he wasn’t through questioning her, and she also knew she was confusing him. Too late, she realized she shouldn’t have mentioned anything personal, especially her goal.

  “Let me recap,” he began, sounding very much like a professor now.

  “You want to recap?”

  He ignored the laughter in her voice. “Yes, I do. You said you enjoy working at the IRS. Is that correct?”

  She slowly nodded. “Yes.”

  “Assuming the cutbacks don’t come, you’d stay with the IRS.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Even after you accomplish your goal?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about children’s advocacy?”

  “I’m doing some work on weekends and evenings when necessary for Judge Bowen and Judge Thorpe. It can get intense.”

  “Is this goal of yours legal?”

  She laughed. “Yes.”

  Grayson suddenly realized how much he was enjoying this bizarre conversation. He liked being with her. When she smiled, a dimple appeared in her right cheek, and her eyes fairly sparkled. Damn, she was pretty. Everything about her appealed to him. Whatever perfume she was wearing was a real turn-on. It was so feminine and sexy. So were her legs.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me what your goal is?” he asked.

  She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. “No, not really.”

  THREE

  To his credit, Grayson didn’t pressure her to explain. She wondered how he would have reacted if she’d oh-so-casually said, “My goal? I want to put my father in prison . . . or die trying.”

  Okay, maybe the “or die trying” was a little over the top, but she was more certain than ever that she had to do something to stop him.

  Everyone has a breaking point, and Olivia would never forget the night several months ago when she’d reached hers. She had just passed the bar and wanted to celebrate with her aunt Emma. The day hadn’t started out great. In fact, it was hellish. It was a Saturday, she remembered, and there were a hundred things she’d wanted to get done before nightfall. Unfortunately the best-laid plans . . .

  She had overslept a full hour because she forgot to set her alarm on her iPhone; her right front tire had blown out while she was driving sixty miles per hour on the highway; she had tripped over a small pothole she hadn’t noticed when she was crossing the street, skinning both knees; and the strap on her favorite purse had snapped. The most upsetting offense of all: the leather on her brand-new shoes got scuffed. Needless to say, by five o’clock she wasn’t in the best of moods.

  Emma would fix that. Just being around her aunt made everything better. Olivia changed her clothes and headed over to Emma’s gorgeous colonial house to have dinner with her. Her aunt was such a sweet, loving woman; she had a knack for making everyone she was with feel good. Olivia would leave her frustrations and worries at the door, and she knew that by the time she sat down to a delicious dinner prepared by Emma’s longtime cook, Mary, she’d be laughing and having a fine time, listening as Emma regaled her with the most wonderful stories about her travels around the world. Whenever she spoke of her late husband, Daniel, her voice would soften and sometimes her eyes would get misty with her memories. After all these years, Emma’s love hadn’t waned, and some of the stories she told were so romantic.

  Olivia missed her uncle very much. He was a kind and generous man, and though he was an extremely successful businessman with tremendous demands on his time, he never left any doubt that Emma came first. It was obvious to everyone who knew them that they were crazy about each other. While Olivia knew better than to wish for marriage and happily ever after, she loved listening to her aunt talk about him and their life together.

  Olivia arrived at Emma’s house at dusk. She drove through the gates and up the long driveway that circled in front of the three-story Georgian mansion. A dark sedan sat parked near the steps that led to the main door. Olivia didn’t recognize the car, and as she got closer she could see the figure of a man sitting in the driver’s seat. She had to pass the car to reach her usual parking space behind the house, and when she was a few yards away, she recognized the man. He was Carl Simmons, her father’s attorney. He was looking down at his phone and didn’t turn his head or look in her direction. Olivia felt a knot forming in her stomach. If Carl Simmons was here, that meant her father was inside with Emma. She hadn’t counted on running into her father tonight, and she didn’t look forward to the encounter. She pulled around the house and parked outside the garage as was her habit when she had lived with Emma. She entered through the back door, and as soon as she walked into the kitchen, she could hear raised voices. The housekeeper, a robust woman named Harriet, looked relieved to see her.

  “What’s going on?” Olivia asked.

  Harriet put her finger over her lips in an unspoken command to keep silent, then motioned for Olivia to follow her into the laundry room. She pulled the door shut behind her and whispered, “I’m so thankful you’re here. Mary certainly got hold of you quickly, didn’t she? She only just went upstairs to get her phone so she could text you.”

  As if on cue, Olivia’s phone beeped, indicating she had just received a text.

  “No, I stopped by to have dinner with all of you. I heard shouting when I came into the kitchen.”

  “It’s a fight,” Harriet said, nodding for emphasis. “A big one. Your father and your aunt are having it out. Something terrible happened and Emma is enraged. Mary and I have never seen her like this. And your father is getting meaner and meaner. He threatened her, Olivia, and he’s saying such terrible things about your mother.”

  “The fight’s about my mother?” she asked, trying to understand.

  Harriet shook her head. “I don’t think so, but your father dragged your mother into it. From what I overheard, it’s about some charity that lost money.”

  The poor housekeeper was beside herself with worry. She kept folding and refolding a dish towel. “Emma never raises her voice,” she whispered. “So you can see how serious this situation is.”

  “Yes,” Olivia agreed. “Harriet, you said my father threatened Emma?”

  “He did. Something to do with your mother. Whatever it was upset Emma.”

  Olivia opened the door. “All right. I’ll go in now and see what I can do.”

  “May I offer a suggestion?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “If I were you, I’d listen at the door to find out what’s going on. Once Emma sees you, she’ll stop the argument, and you’ll never know what it was about.”

  Harriet was right. Since Olivia was a little girl, Emma had tried to shield her from any unpleasant family conflicts. Even though Olivia was an adult now, Emma continued to protect her.

  Olivia didn’t like the idea of eavesdropping on a private conversation, but she thought she just might linger at the door for a few minutes to get the gist of the argument. That wouldn’t be considered eavesdropping, would it? Of course it would, she admitted. But right or wrong, she was still going to do it.

  As it turned out, she couldn’t lean against the door because Mary had gotten there first. That didn’t matter, though. Olivia could hear every word from down the hallway.

  Her father’s voice was furious. ?

??If you try to make trouble, I’ll leave Deborah, and you know what that will do to her. She says she can’t live without me. Shall we find out?”

  “Do it,” Emma challenged. “Leave my sister. You’ve made the threat to divorce her how many times now? I’m not giving you any more money to stay with her. I made that mistake years ago, and I won’t make it again. My sister may be a fool but she deserves better, and if she can’t see it, then she’ll have to wallow in self-pity when you leave.”

  “If Deborah does anything crazy, it will be on your hands.”

  “Are you suggesting she might harm herself? What do you suppose that will do to your reputation, Robert? Investors want stable managers, and they don’t like scandal. Tell me,” she continued, “did you ever love Deborah?”

  Olivia stopped a few feet from the door. Mary, Emma’s cook for the past twelve years, a sturdy German woman who always wore her silver-gray hair pulled back in a tidy bun, stood in front of her, unaware that she’d approached. Looking embarrassed to be listening in on a conversation that had become so personal, Mary turned to leave and saw Olivia standing behind her. After giving her a sympathetic smile and a pat on the arm, Mary went down the hall toward the kitchen. Olivia stepped up to the door. It was open a crack and the voices were loud and clear. She waited for her father’s answer to Emma’s question, but she didn’t hear one.

  Then Emma asked, “Are you capable of loving anyone but yourself?”

  “The question’s ridiculous. You still haven’t told me what you plan to do—”

  “About Jeff Wilcox?” Emma asked. “That depends on you. Are you going to stand by and do nothing while Jeff goes to prison because of your lies?”

  Olivia leaned forward and peeked into her aunt’s study through the tiny opening in the doorway. She saw her father pick up a magazine from the desk and flip through it nonchalantly as he responded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Stand by and do nothing. I didn’t put a gun to his head and force him to give me the money and make the investments for his charity.”