Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria (16 page)

“You’re probably right.” She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

Rap!
The noise of knuckles on the passenger window made both of us jump.

I looked up to find Nick looking in at me. He didn’t look happy.

Uh-oh.

He stared—
glared?
—in at me for a moment, then held up the black GPS device between his thumb and index
finger.

Busted.

I shrank back against the seat. No need for a cigarette lighter to ignite my cheeks.
I could feel them flaming hotter than any Molotov cocktail.

Nick made a motion for me to roll down the window.

I punched the button and the window came down. “Uh … hi, Nick,” I said, forcing a
jovial tone and a smile.

He said nothing, just tossed the device into my lap and walked away.

Damn.

“You know that ‘evil genius’ comment I made earlier?” Alicia said.

“Yeah?”

“I take it back.”

chapter fifteen

Lots of Bull

When I arrived at work Friday morning, I scurried into my office and closed the door,
hoping to avoid a confrontation with Nick. No such luck. Just seconds after I’d shut
my door he opened it without knocking.

“It’s polite to knock,” I said.

He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’ve
suddenly developed a sense of boundaries?”

Another hot blush raced to my face and ears. Even my scalp felt hot. My hair threatened
to melt.

“Eddie got pulled into an urgent case this morning,” Nick said, thankfully dropping
the subject of my botched attempt to spy on him. “Lu wants me to go out to Bulls-Eye
with you.”

Despite my embarrassment, my girl parts shouted,
Yee-ha!
Spending the morning with Nick would be an unexpected treat, like an appetizer for
the full meal to come once I talked with Brett tonight. My simile assumed, of course,
that Nick hadn’t decided to take his meals elsewhere, maybe somewhere with fresh vegetables
and milk and homemade apple pie.

Nick and I snagged a sedan from the fleet and headed out.

The day was partly cloudy, the sun peeking out, then retreating, unsure and insecure
just like me. Was I too late? Had Nick rekindled his flame with Natalie?

Since he’d returned the GPS to me last night, I had no way of knowing whether he’d
stayed at her house after their date. I couldn’t very well have driven by her house
to check. Not after being caught red-handed.

I wondered if he had gone to bed with Natalie when he’d taken her home last night.
I’d hardly slept last night thinking about the possibility.

I surreptitiously glanced over at him. The clench in his jaw told me he wasn’t a man
who’d experienced a recent physical release. Good. Maybe my bedbug scheme had worked.

Nick didn’t talk on the drive, didn’t ask me why I’d followed him last night. I wasn’t
sure whether that was good or bad. Didn’t he wonder? Didn’t he care?

While Eddie and I constantly fought over the radio, Nick and I were totally in tune,
both happy to keep the stereo dial set to a country station. Nick sang along with
the music as we made our way. While he pulled off a fairly decent imitation of Garth
Brooks, his Faith Hill could use some work.

As we drove, I thought about Brett, how my date with him that night could be our last.
Then I remembered the evening would also mark Josh’s first date with Kira.

“Think Josh will get lucky tonight?” I asked Nick. I wondered what type of birth control
two techies would use. The algorithm method?

Nick grunted. “I think it’ll be a miracle if Josh gets up the nerve to give Kira a
kiss. That boy may know computers, but when it comes to women he’s damn near hopeless.”

“Maybe you should teach him some of your tricks.”

Nick tossed me a naughty grin. “That would be like letting a child play with dynamite.
Josh doesn’t have my mojo.”

Bulls-Eye Taxidermy and Tax Processing was situated in a log cabin on a rural highway
southeast of Dallas. We performed a slow drive-by, checking things out. A red-and-white
Bulls-Eye was painted on the door. A Rebel flag hung from a pole mounted between the
front windows. A marquee sign on wheels sat at the edge of the highway in front of
the cabin. The plastic letters read:

WHETHER ITS DEER SEASO OR TAX S ASON

LET BULL EYE DO YOUR ROCESS NG

PENIS

No doubt kids had rearranged the letters on the sign as a prank. But the message was
still clear. No matter what hunting season it was—duck, deer, or javelina—it was always
tax season at Bulls-Eye.

Two pickups were parked in front of the building. We knew from the plates that the
Ford F-350 belonged to Jimmy John McClure, the owner of Bulls-Eye. The other presumably
belonged to a client, but whether the client was at Bulls-Eye for tax or taxidermy
services was unknown. Either way, we didn’t want to put an innocent person in a dangerous
situation. Our research indicated Jimmy John owned no fewer than a dozen firearms.
No doubt he’d have at least one of them on hand. We’d wait until McClure was alone
before confronting him.

There wasn’t much else around, other than a taco stand and an XXX-rated book and novelty
store. There were two cars at the taco stand, at least a dozen at the sex shop. Barely
11:00
AM
and the perverts were already at it.

“Tacos or glory holes,” Nick said. “Your call.”

Ew.
No question here. “Tacos. Definitely tacos.”

We drove through the stand and picked up food and soft drinks, parking at the edge
of the lot where we could keep watch on the log cabin. We ate in silence, other than
the crunch of the taco shells and the squeak of the plastic drinking straws, that
is.

While Nick ate he toyed with his phone, sending and receiving texts, smiling and chuckling
at something witty he’d received. I assumed they were from Natalie.

Don’t fall for her again!
my mind screamed at him. I hoped his subconscious would pick up on my message.

Nick turned his phone so I could see it. “Check this out.”

On his screen was a photo of a butternut squash that looked like Jay Leno.

“Hilarious,” I said, forcing a smile I didn’t feel.

“I don’t know where my mother finds this stuff,” Nick said.

Okay, feeling the smile now.

We finished our lunch and looked up to see the pickup truck drive out of the Bulls-Eye
parking lot. Presumably Jimmy John was alone now.

We drove across the road and into the gravel parking lot. Nick chose a spot near the
door. We slid into our ballistic vests and raid jackets and made our way inside.

The interior of the cabin was dimly lit and smelled gamy. A stuffed brown bear posed
in an attack stance greeted us as we entered. A flock of stuffed pheasants dangled
from the ceiling, aimed upward as if in flight. Along the upper walls hung a wide
variety of animal heads affixed to wood mounts. A wild boar with tusks. A twelve-point
buck. A bobcat with a Dallas Cowboys cap on his head and a party blower in his mouth.
How humiliating.

Jimmy John sat on a stool behind the counter, sorting through a coffee can of glass
eyeballs, apparently looking for a matched set. He was a beefy man, nearly as wide
as he was tall, and was dressed head to toe in camouflage print. He wore his brown
hair in a buzz cut. Behind him was a set of metal shelves on which wood head mounts
and tools were arranged.

He glanced up as we approached. “Howdy, folks. How can I help ya?”

The HVAC unit rattled as it kicked on overhead. Nick and I stepped up to the counter
and showed Jimmy John our badges.

“We’re from IRS Criminal Investigations,” Nick said, taking the lead. “We’ve got evidence
you’ve prepared a number of fraudulent returns. We’re here to take you in for arraignment.”

“Say what now?” Jimmy John stood, his close-set, beady eyes flashing with alarm.

“Keep your hands where we can see them,” I said, my hand instinctively reaching toward
my hip holster.

“You’re under arrest,” Nick clarified. “Raise your hands and step out from behind
that counter.”

Jimmy John held up his palms, but only shoulder high. “Hold on just a cotton-pickin’
minute here. You telling me you’re from the federal government?”

“That’s right,” Nick said. He placed a copy of the arrest warrant on the counter.
“We’re authorized to take you in on charges of tax fraud.”

“Gimme a minute to take a look.” Jimmy John went to pick up the warrant with his left
hand, but I noticed his right hand slip under the counter.

I drew on him in an instant. Unfortunately, he was nearly as quick. Both of us had
our guns aimed at each other at point-blank range.

“Well, hell.” Nick drew his weapon, too. He slanted his eyes at me. “I should’ve known
if I teamed up with you there’d be gunplay.”

“It’s not my fault,” I said. It was
never
my fault. “I have bad luck, that’s all.”

Jimmy John alternated aiming his gun at my face, then Nick’s.
Dang.
A ballistic vest provided no protection for a head shot. Really, someone should invent
a ballistic ski mask or maybe some type of bullet-repelling makeup foundation.

“Put your weapon down,” I ordered, trying hard to keep my voice calm. Not easy when
you’re looking down the barrel of a gun.

Jimmy John’s upper lip twitched. “Kiss my ass.”

Next to me, Nick exhaled sharply. “Do what the lady said,” he told McClure. “Set your
weapon on the counter, nice and easy.”

“You can kiss my ass, too.” Jimmy John’s nostrils flared.
Ick.
The guy really needed to trim his nose hair.

Nick and I exchanged glances.

“Look,” I said, attempting to reason with McClure. “You’ve got two guns aimed at you.
If you shoot one of us, the other will take you out. There’s no way you’d get out
of this alive.”

His left hand shot under the counter and came up gripping another gun. He aimed one
weapon at me, the other at Nick. “How do you like me now?”

Damn.

Nick and I exchanged glances again, neither of us sure what to do. We’d be perfectly
justified shooting the guy. He’d drawn on us, after all, and with not just one gun,
but two. But were his weapons loaded? If we shot the asshole and it turned out his
guns were empty, there would be hell to pay. Law enforcement officers were constantly
raked over the coals for decisions they’d had to make in the heat of the moment without
benefit of complete data. But should we just stand here like sitting ducks? Many a
cop had hesitated, given someone the benefit of the doubt, and died as a result. McClure
had quick hands and a weapon aimed at each of us. What if he took both Nick and me
out? If we survived the shooting, we’d look like idiots. If we didn’t survive, well,
we’d look like dead idiots.

There was only thing I knew for sure. And that was that I didn’t want Nick to die
without knowing how I felt about him.

“Nick?” I said, watching him in my peripheral vision. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to break up with Brett for you. I’m planning to tell him tonight. I tried
to do it on Monday, but Alicia barged in crying over Daniel and I wasn’t able to do
it.”

Jimmy John snorted. “Well, now. Isn’t that special?”

I risked a quick glimpse at Nick. His already-clenched jaw clenched even tighter.
He kept his eyes locked on McClure’s hands. “You thought now would be a good time
to tell me this?”

“I don’t want you to die not knowing how I feel about you. And I don’t want to die
without telling you.”

“You think we might die?”

“Possibly,” I said, gesturing at McClure with my weapon. “Look at this guy. He looks
stupid enough to shoot us.”

Nick cocked his head. “He does look stupid. I bet his parents were cousins.”

“They was not!” Jimmy John’s eyes flared with anger. “Well, not first cousins, anyway.”

Urk.
I couldn’t imagine having a husband who was also a cousin. What would that make him?
A
cousband
?

A bead of sweat rolled down McClure’s cheek and onto the collar of his camouflage
tee. The guy was getting nervous. Not good.

Nervous people did desperate things.

Our best bet for a good outcome was to put some distance between ourselves and McClure.
I was a virtual sharpshooter, but McClure’s shots were less likely to hit their target
if the target—
us
—was farther away.

I slowly eased backward. Nick’s gaze darted in my direction for a split second and
returned to McClure, but he eased backward, too.

We’d backed up halfway to the front door when it flew open and a man in gray coveralls
stormed in. When he saw Nick and me with our guns trained on McClure, he yanked a
gun from his boot and aimed it at Nick. “Don’t worry, Jimmy John!” the man hollered.
“I got you covered!”

Shit.
This arrest was rapidly turning into a major cluster fuck.

“We’re federal agents,” Nick told the man who’d come in. “IRS Criminal Investigations.
Set your weapon down on the ground and go back outside.”

“How do I know you’re for real?” the man asked, slitting his eyes at us.

I took a quick glance at his coveralls. The patch sewn on the chest read: “X. PAREDES.”
“You’re Xavier Paredes, right?”

The guy glanced down at his coveralls. “Not exactly hard to guess,” he said. “It’s
not like there’s many names that start with
X.
”

True. How could I convince this guy we were who we said we were?

I searched my memory banks, trying to pull up a visual of the fraudulent tax return
McClure had prepared for this man. “Your wife’s name is Gina and you’ve got three
children,” I said. “Grace, Angelina, and…” What was the name of the other kid? Tyler?
Taylor? Tyson? Hell, I couldn’t remember. “I forget the other one, but I think his
name starts with a
T.
”