Page 7 of Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard 10)

  “I heard it was hilarious,” Ronan said.

  “I still don’t know how you did it. One day you’re running the investigation, and the next it’s on my desk.”

  “It took finesse,” Ronan boasted. “Someday I’ll teach you a few of my tricks.” Turning serious, he asked, “What about Poole? Have you talked to him yet?”

  “Yes, and he agreed to a transfer.”

  “He agreed?”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t really give him a choice.”

  “And in return?”

  “I won’t detail his latest screwup in his personnel file. Of course, his superior will, but I won’t. I won’t add fuel to the fire.”

  “You’re too soft, Grayson,” Ronan said with feigned disgust. “I almost got that out with a straight face. You’re a hard-ass, just like me.”

  “Maybe,” he allowed. “What’s going on with Jorguson? Have you heard anything?”

  “No, not yet. The only reason we got dragged into the middle of the investigation was because of that hothead, Poole,” he remarked.

  Grayson disagreed. “We weren’t dragged into the investigation. We were doing a favor for Agent Huntsman.”

  “Poole was told to shut down the operation, and he completely ignored the order. That’s about the third or fourth time he’s disregarded Huntsman’s instructions, right?”

  “Right,” Grayson said.

  “He should be fired or forced to retire.”

  “That’s Huntsman’s call, not ours, but I agree with you. Poole needs to get out.”

  “It’s a good thing we made it to the restaurant when we did,” Ronan said. “I don’t think Poole would have gotten to the bodyguard before he hurt Olivia MacKenzie.”

  “You remembered her name.”

  Ronan nodded. “I remember everything about her,” he admitted. “And I didn’t even speak to her. You interviewed her. What’s she like?”

  “Smart,” he said.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Grayson smiled. “That, too.”

  “So you did notice.”

  “Of course I noticed,” he said. “I’m not blind.”

  “Huntsman doesn’t have the evidence to prove Jorguson is laundering money for some of his clients, so he’s decided to do some pushing. I helped him get statements from six strong witnesses who saw Jorguson attack MacKenzie at the restaurant, and we have the cell phone video. Huntsman hasn’t contacted her yet to find out if she’ll testify. He’s charging him with battery. It’s not much but—”

  Grayson interrupted. “If that’s the only charge, Huntsman has to know it will never get to court. Jorguson’s attorneys will either get it thrown out or plea it down.”

  “Of course they will,” he agreed. “But Huntsman is going to keep them busy, flood them with paper. I honestly don’t know what he hopes to accomplish,” he said.

  “He’s frustrated.”

  “Yes, he is,” Ronan agreed.

  “I just finished my report and sent it over to him, and when he reads it, he’ll realize there’s a better way to go after Jorguson.”

  “What better way?” Ronan wanted to know.

  “Apparently Poole didn’t mention Olivia’s occupation to Huntsman. He was probably embarrassed because he couldn’t intimidate her.” Thinking about it made him smile.

  “What am I missing?” Ronan asked.

  “Olivia MacKenzie works for the IRS. Therefore, Jorguson attacked . . .”

  “An IRS agent.” He laughed. “Oh, that’s sweet. Huntsman’s going to love it. Did Jorguson know? Of course he did. He was interviewing her, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll contact MacKenzie—”

  “No, I’ll do it.” Grayson heard how eager he sounded and quickly added, “I want to get out of this office. I can’t breathe in here.”

  He thought he’d been smooth, but Ronan wasn’t fooled. “So you are, in fact, interested in her?”

  “I’m interested in helping Huntsman nail Jorguson. I already interviewed Olivia, and I think I should finish it up.”

  “A phone call would probably—”

  “No, I should do it in person.”

  Ronan stood. “Okay, I’ll get her phone number for you, and you can set up a time to meet.”

  Without thinking, Grayson said, “I’ve already got it programmed in my phone.”

  “But you’re not interested,” Ronan said as he strolled out of the office.

  Grayson could hear his laughter through the door.

  SIX

  Grayson wanted to meet with Olivia to discuss the Jorguson investigation, at her convenience, he insisted, as long as it was Saturday at five o’clock. It was the only time he had available, he explained, and he wanted to get this all tied up before Monday.

  “There are some discrepancies I’d like to go over as soon as possible regarding the incident with Jorguson.”

  “Discrepancies? How could there be any discrepancies? There were at least twenty people watching,” she said. “Some of those people were recording with their phones. And just for the record, Agent Kincaid, it wasn’t an incident. It was an attack.”

  “I know,” he said, placating her. “Jorguson’s attorneys are calling it the alleged incident, and Jorguson’s version of what happened is quite different from yours.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Sorry, no.” He heard her sigh. “Olivia?” he said after a long minute of silence.

  “I’m thinking, Grayson.”

  He liked the way she said his name. She dragged it out so he’d hear her frustration. He smiled in reaction. “Five o’clock. I can either come to you, or we could meet somewhere.”

  “You want to meet Saturday night?” she questioned. Didn’t the agent have a life outside of the office?

  “Early Saturday night,” he corrected.

  Ah, so he did have plans, probably a late date, she speculated as she took another sip of the orange juice the nurse had given her.

  Jane was checking messages on her phone and wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation.

  “Three o’clock works better for me,” she told him.

  “No, that won’t work for me. I’m tied up until four thirty.”

  “Then it will have to wait until Monday.”

  “No.”

  “No? Can’t you be a little flexible? I have plans, and I can’t change them.”

  “What plans?”

  He sounded suspicious. Was he simply curious, or didn’t he believe her? Olivia pictured Grayson tackling that horrible bodyguard, saving her from certain harm, and she decided the least she could do in return was cooperate.

  “I’m going to a formal affair,” she said. “I have to get ready and be at the Hamilton Hotel by seven thirty. If clearing up discrepancies will only take ten or fifteen minutes, then fine, we’ll meet at five.”

  “It could take longer than that. What’s the formal affair?”

  “The Capitol League Benefit.”

  “That’s Saturday night? I thought it was next weekend.” Grayson had received an invitation and had respectfully declined, but he had also made a substantial donation to the charity because he believed it was a good cause.

  “Then you’re planning to attend?”

  He thought about it for a second or two, then said, “Yes.”

  She felt a little burst of pleasure that took her by surprise.

  “Then perhaps we could meet at the hotel. It shouldn’t take all that long to discuss Jorguson’s blatant lies, should it? Unless you have plans . . . or if you have a date and it would be rude to leave her while you discussed . . .”

  “Jorguson

’s lies?”

  She could hear the amusement in his voice. “Yes. Do you have a date?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  He laughed. “Really. I’m working, remember? The Jorguson investigation.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about you? Do you have a date?”

  “No,” she said. “I sound boring, don’t I?”

  “Olivia, there isn’t anything boring about you,” he said, and before she could respond to the compliment, he asked, “Were you planning to go alone?”

  “Yes. My aunt is being honored at the event, and I promised her I’d attend. I was planning to meet her there. Unlike us, she has a date.”

  “Who is your aunt?”

  “Emma Monroe.”

  “Why don’t I drive you to the hotel? We can talk on the way there.”

  “Yes, all right.”

  “Listen . . . I might as well . . .”

  “Yes?” she asked when he hesitated.

  “I might as well take you home after . . .”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  He ended the call, turned back to his desk, and noticed Ronan standing in the doorway. He didn’t ask him if he had listened to the awkward conversation. The look on his face told Grayson he had.

  “Man, that was painful,” Ronan said. “What happened to you?”

  Grayson shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

  * * *

  Olivia told Jane about her conversation with Grayson while she wheeled her friend back up to her hospital room.

  Always the artist, Jane asked, “Give me a visual. What does he look like?”

  “He’s tall, well over six feet, and he has dark hair, a really great mouth, and a firm jaw. Good bone structure . . . you know, patrician,” she explained. “His eyes are intriguing. Now that I think about it, he’s very sexy and quite handsome.”

  “You sound surprised. Didn’t you think he was handsome when you met him?”

  The elevator doors opened, and she backed the wheelchair in, then waited for Jane to push the eighth-floor button. “Yes, I did think he was nice-looking, but . . . you know . . . he’s FBI . . .”

  “Would I want to paint him?”

  “Oh yes, you would. He wouldn’t let you, though. From the little I know about him, I think he’d be mortified if you even suggested it. He’s an agent, very straitlaced and professional. So, of course, a relationship is out of the question. He’s interesting, though. Very sophisticated. No rough edges. Aunt Emma would like him.”

  “And you’re going out with him tomorrow night.”

  “No, I’m going to the Capitol League Benefit. He’s going to drive me there and drive me back home.”

  “Will he go inside with you?”

  Olivia laughed. “Of course he will.”

  “Then you’ve got yourself a date.”

  “It isn’t a date,” she argued. “It’s work related. We’ll be discussing the Jorguson investigation.”

  “How romantic.”

  Olivia pushed the wheelchair into Jane’s room and parked it in the corner while Jane got back into bed. There were two thick books on her bedside table, a biography and a book about addiction recovery. On top of the volumes was an AA pamphlet. Jane was obviously taking her brother’s new sobriety seriously, and Olivia knew that her friend would do anything she could to help Logan stay on the right path.

  Olivia didn’t want her to be disappointed again. She decided not to mention the reading material or bring up the fact that Logan’s addiction wasn’t just alcohol but also cocaine. Maybe AA would work for that recovery, too. For Jane’s sake, she hoped it would.

  Olivia stood at the foot of the bed and waited for Jane to get settled. Her arms folded across her chest, she was frowning at her friend as her thoughts went back to their conversation about Grayson Kincaid.

  “What?” Jane asked when she noticed how serious Olivia looked.

  “I don’t want tomorrow night to be romantic. How crazy would it be for me to get involved with him? Even assuming he would be interested . . .”

  “Of course he would be interested. How could he not? You’re fairly intelligent, somewhat sweet when you aren’t being bitchy, and beautiful.”

  “Bitchy? Fairly intelligent?”

  Jane laughed. “Only you would focus on the negatives. I did say beautiful.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, because as soon as my father is arrested . . . if I ever find the evidence to get him arrested . . . I’ll become a leper. No one in this city will want to be seen with a MacKenzie. My family will call me a traitor, and, in fact, that’s what I am. They can’t be surprised by what’s coming, though. I’ve pleaded with Natalie and her mule-headed husband, George, and my mother—who, by the way, is a completely lost cause—to get their money out of my father’s investment firm, but no one will listen to me. I don’t want to hurt them, but I don’t know what else to do. If he continues, he’ll not only ruin them, he’ll destroy the lives of hundreds of other innocent people.”

  “Do you have any solid evidence yet?” Jane asked.

  “No,” Olivia admitted. “But I know I’m right. My entire life I’ve seen how my father operates. He’s very charming. He has a way of getting people to believe he’s the most sincere and candid person they’ve ever met, and he looks very successful, so when he presents an investment opportunity, they trust him. Sometimes I think he actually believes what he tells them. It’s almost like a compulsion and he can’t help himself.”

  Olivia wished she could look away and let things play out, but she couldn’t. She knew what was coming and she couldn’t just stand by as more and more people got sucked in. She’d seen it happen before. When she was young, she knew her father was different from other dads, but it wasn’t until she was older that she realized what he was and finally could see what he’d been doing.

  One of his first ventures was in oil. He had convinced hundreds of people that geologists had discovered incredibly rich oil deposits off the coast of Texas. All he needed was enough money to invest in the drilling equipment to extract it. People gave him millions because he assured them that they were taking a small risk. He made them believe they were going to make a hundred times what they’d put in. People were greedy. No one knew how much drilling actually went on, but within a year he announced that the wells had come up dry; the geologists were mistaken. The investors walked away with a loss, but somehow Olivia’s father moved on to bigger and better.

  He formed another company a couple of years later. This time he invested in technology. He managed to find enough people to believe that he had collected a group of engineers who were on the verge of developing a revolutionary battery, one that would solve all the country’s energy problems. That turned out to be a flop, too, but while the investors lost every dime and the company went under, her father’s lifestyle became more lavish.

  Those were just a couple of his so-called business ventures. Now he’d gotten even bigger. With his new firm, he’d collected massive amounts of capital from investors, big and small, with promises of phenomenal returns. Somehow he’d convinced them that their money was safe, but there was no way he could maintain the big profits he’d been claiming.

  “Is there any way he could be legitimate this time?” Jane wondered.

  Olivia thought about Jeff Wilcox facing prison because of her father’s lies. How many more were there? She shook her head. “No, it just doesn’t make any sense. I try to warn people, but until I find proof, no one will pay any attention to me.” She took a breath. “Actually, that’s not quite true. My father’s law firm, Simmons, Simmons and Falcon—or as I like to call them, Slimeball, Slimeball a

nd Slimeball—did get wind of what I’m trying to do, and they’re trying to stop me. They sent a nasty threatening letter. If I don’t desist with what they called my insane and inflammatory accusations, they’ll have me arrested.”

  “On what charges?”

  “They don’t have any. It’s all bogus. I haven’t done anything illegal. They’re just trying to scare me. If they were to try to sue me, they’d have to let me see my father’s financials, and trust me, Jane, they’d kill me before they’d let that happen.”

  “Good God, Olivia. Don’t talk like that.”

  “They should all be in prison.”

  “Then go after them. Just don’t . . .”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t get killed.”

  Olivia laughed. “That’s the plan.”

  SEVEN

  Olivia was ready by six thirty Saturday night and spent the next half hour catching up on e-mails. She wore a black floor-length gown. The silk hugged the curves of her body, but it wasn’t obscene, by any means. The scooped neck showed a little cleavage, nothing that would have men ogling, she thought. Her neck was bare, and her only jewelry was a pair of teardrop diamond earrings that her aunt Emma had given her for her birthday. Her hair was swept up in a cluster of curls. A few tendrils escaped at the base of her neck.

  Grayson was five minutes early. She opened the door and stood there staring up at him, speechless. The man was even more sexy in a tux. James Bond, all right, she thought. No, she corrected. Better.

  Neither of them moved for a few seconds, and then Grayson said, “You look nice.” He sounded hoarse.

  “Thank you. So do you,” she said as she stepped back. “Please, come inside. I’ll just get my purse and wrap.”

  He stepped into a small foyer and followed her into the living room. Olivia lived in an upscale neighborhood on the edge of Georgetown. The building was old, the third-floor apartment was spacious and comfortable. Tall arched windows and worn hardwood floors were the backdrop for her overstuffed sofa and two matching chairs. The walls had been painted a pale blue, the windows were trimmed in white, and the furniture was a soft yellow color. A black square coffee table sat in front of the sofa with a stack of books on one side and a white vase filled with fresh daisies in the center. Colorful rugs brightened the area.