Crossing Double (A Heartbreaker Novel Book 3) Read online

  Crossing Double

  A Heartbreaker Novel

  Tamra Baumann

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Tamra Baumann All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of Tamra Baumann.

  Published by Tamra Baumann

  Cover Art by Coverinked www.coverinked.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Crossing Double

  ISBN 9781947591035

  This book is dedicated to my critique group. Sherri, Louise, and Robin, I appreciate you all so much!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  About the Author

  Also by Tamra Baumann

  Chapter 1

  Sara Chapman slapped the button to silence her radio as she drove on the 5 to a charity event. She couldn’t take another moment of her fiancé’s voice—well, now her ex-fiancé as of two minutes ago. Who broke up with someone at a press conference? And then to drive the stake even deeper into her chest, Scott announced he’d be marrying her best friend? When had all that falling in love happened? And why was she the last to know?

  It was hard to see through her tears as she negotiated the busy California highway. Drawing in enough breath between sobs so she wouldn’t pass out was becoming increasingly difficult. And she might possibly throw up. The last thing she wanted to do was face the press she’d invited to the shelter. Embarrassed and humiliated, all she wanted was to go home and crawl under the sheets for a week.

  But, she honored her commitments, unlike her now ex-fiancé, so she wiped the mascara streaks from under her eyes, threw her shoulders back, and pulled herself together, probably the last to arrive at her own event.

  She parked her car in her usual spot at the rear of the shelter and got out. Plastering on a fake smile, she made her way past the barriers that held back the paparazzi stacked five deep. It’d be nice if the press would focus their cameras on the real celebrities who were there raising money for the LA homeless shelter. Not on a person who was famous only because her parents were. Except now she’d probably found her own fame—for the most embarrassing breakup in the history of the entire world.

  The thought made her want to cry all over again. She bit her bottom lip and focused on her anger instead.

  Unfortunately, after what Scott had just done, the day wasn’t going to be about a good cause anymore. The press smelled blood in the water, and they’d want their bite out of her, so she needed to make sure to keep the shelter front and foremost if she could. Scott had surely timed his announcement that way on purpose. He hated that she regularly volunteered to help “those people.”

  Sara stepped onto the raised temporary podium erected in the shelter’s parking lot and smiled at the aging movie stars, the local radio celebrities, and the soap stars she’d recruited. All of them whispering their condolences for her newly failed engagement as she hugged them in honest gratitude. It was as if they’d all gotten a push notification to their phones about her humiliation the way cell phones in the vicinity of bad weather approaching sounded an alarm.

  One of her mother’s good friends, Chantel Goodwin, once a Hollywood legend and now a host on the Southern Eats Channel whispered with her Alabama twang, “Wait until Annalisa hears about this, darlin.’ She’ll make sure that little spoiled pissant never works in Hollywood again.”

  Sara kissed Chantel’s cheek. “Mom’s too busy to worry about the likes of Scott. Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.”

  Sara made her way up to the mic. She’d had a nice speech ready, but quickly did some editing in her mind. She wanted to get out as fast as she could. “Hi, everyone. Thanks for coming today to support this amazing cause. Home for All thanks you.” She held out a hand toward all the wonderful stars who’d shown up at her request. “All these amazing celebrities thank you, and I thank you. I know the press has a ton of questions you’d like to ask me about Scott’s announcement a few minutes ago. I promise we’ll get to that, but first, we’re here today to help people who truly need our support. Let’s keep our eye on the meter over there and see how close we are to saving this amazing nonprofit shelter after I add this check for one hundred thousand dollars!”

  A cheer went up as the meter, which looked like a giant thermometer, rose slowly toward the goal. As it moved, the director of the shelter, Timmy Sanchez, whispered in her ear, “You’ve been amazing, but we’re still going to be short.”

  Sara whipped her head toward him. “I thought with my donation, we knew we’d have enough?” She’d invited the press to a victory party. Not another personal defeat. Two in one day was more than she could bear.

  Timmy shook his head as the meter moved excruciatingly slowly. “We had pledges, but only half made good on them.”

  Crap!

  Sweat dripped down Sara’s back as she stood in the warm LA winter sun. She had to save the privately funded shelter. The amazing things they did every day were a needed service the city couldn’t provide.

  She scanned the crowd for any possible late donors and noticed the press wasn’t even looking at the meter, they were just waiting for it all to be over so they could ask her about her failed engagement.

  What was she going to do? Maybe she’d call her mom and ask her for the money. She hated to ask, though, because she’d been trying to stand on her own two feet lately. “How short will we be?”

  “About two hundred thousand.”

  Roughly one hundred and ninety-nine thousand less than she had in her savings account. “Okay. Tell them to slow that thing down even more. I need to make a few calls.” She grabbed her phone to call some of her pals just as it dinged with a text. It was from the traitor, Scott.

  Hey. Do me a favor? Return the ring to my mom. I’m going to repurpose the diamond for Brandi.

  Sara’s vision blurred as she reread the text. What a piece of…lying…no good… Who did he think he was? He hadn’t even had the balls to text her first before he’d simply announced to the world that he was dumping her.

  Timmy whispered, “It’s as high as it’s going to go. What are we going to do?”

  She glanced at the diamond gleaming on her finger. Hell would freeze over before she’d give Scott the ring back to give to someone else.

  She whispered, “Did Scott make good on his pledge? He’d promised to send fifty K.”

  “He didn’t.” Timmy cringed. “I wasn’t going to say anything after…”

  “No worries.” Surely her rich former fiancé had just forgotten to send in his pledge money because he was so busy falling in love with another woman. He’d definitely want to increase his donation as an apology.

  She turned to the mic again. “It looks like we’re a bit short. But as most of you probably already know, Scott, my former f
iancé, has plans to marry Brandi Walters now, and I wish them both well. But that leaves the question of what to do with this.” She yanked off her engagement ring and held it up high. The bright sun sparkled off the mammoth rock worth half a million dollars. She beamed a triumphant smile he would surely see later online.

  I won’t allow you, or any man, to humiliate me ever again.

  She handed her ring to Timmy. “Scott has always wholeheartedly supported this shelter, so he’d be happy for me to give this to you to cover our deficit. I’m sure someone out there would love to get a screaming deal on this gorgeous ring. So, crank that meter up guys, and let’s party!”

  The press all reached for their phones, no doubt searching their archives for the value of the ring that had been posted to every gossip site Scott could blab to after he’d given it to her. Cameras whirred as the celebrities led the way to the free champagne and food she’d arranged to be donated from some of LA’s finest chefs.

  In the rush for the food tents, she quietly slipped away to avoid any more questions. Everyone who’d seen the story knew Scott had blindsided her. He’d said as much in his announcement. What they didn’t know was that he’d done it to pay her back for changing from her party girl ways into a responsible person. She’d grown up, while he hadn’t. She’d known deep down they’d never work anymore in the long run. She’d just been too hardheaded, or maybe too softhearted, to accept they were over.

  She wouldn’t allow the tears that wanted to escape as she slipped out the back of the party and jogged toward her Porsche. Even though she’d changed, she’d thought she and Scott had truly been friends and that he would never do what he’d just done to her. Scott had been the only guy she’d given her full trust to. Watching her father dump one woman for the next had made her leery of men. Her mother never marrying hadn’t helped. Maybe all guys were like her dad.

  Men could go suck it as far as she was concerned. She’d just focus on finishing her degree. She didn’t need a man to be happy.

  When she leaned down to open her car door, a stab of guilt hit her. Was she any better than Scott for what she’d just done out of hurt and anger?

  Maybe she shouldn’t have donated the ring. But then, she was actually doing Brandi a favor. No woman wanted her former best friend’s engagement ring.

  Undercover FBI forensic accountant, Brent Keiser, AKA Brent Jackson for his current assignment, tossed the strap of his leather courier bag—one that held conflicting financial data—over his shoulder and then beeped the locks closed on his electric car. Drawing in the warm, salty ocean breeze into his lungs in mid-December and appreciating his relocation to Malibu even more, he walked to his office in Holden Chapman’s house.

  His buddy Rick, a former classmate at the academy, never let an opportunity pass to poke fun at Brent’s cushy assignment investigating a rich movie star. What he wouldn’t give to have just one exciting story from the field like his coworkers did on their Friday beer nights, though. Ledgers and stock trades dulled in comparison to the stories that included zinging bullets and high-speed chases.

  A red Porsche with music blaring from the open windows zoomed up the drive and skidded to a stop in front of the mansion. It was a Tuscan design with arched stone windows and tiled roofs, a home the size of a hotel.

  He started walking again before the occupant opened the door to get out. The long, tan legs owned by the daughter who lived there were a temptation he didn’t need. Sara Chapman was beautiful, and everything he’d never wanted in a woman. Not that he really knew her. Being a former homeless kid, he just didn’t care for what spoiled rich women like her represented.

  Sara called out, “Brent?”

  He stopped in his tracks. She knew his name? They’d only spoken once when she’d asked him to write her a check for a charity few days ago. He turned and forced his eyes to stay far above her pretty legs. “Yes?”

  Her dazzling smile shone as bright as her sunny yellow dress. She flipped her curly light brown hair over her shoulder and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute? I think I might have screwed up yesterday.”

  He’d seen what she’d done on the news. Everything Sara did was newsworthy because she was the daughter of two of the most famous stars in Hollywood. Well, her mother was still at the top of her game, but her father had been struggling for parts and up to some criminal financial dealings, according to their intel. Hence the undercover assignment. “What can I help you with?”

  “My ring.” She transferred her behemoth purse to the other arm and lifted her left hand that sported a white circle on her finger. Once, a huge engagement ring that could’ve supported a family of four for years had occupied that finger. She said, “Scott is threatening to sic his lawyers on me. I might need some more money from the investment account. I’ve only got a grand or so in my personal account.”

  Brent started walking again, trying his best to ignore how nice Sara smelled when the light breeze tossed her pretty scent his way. Like purple flowers and fresh linens. “He didn’t care for your donation on his behalf to the homeless shelter?” The same homeless shelter she’d had to perform community service at two years ago after a night of partying with her spoiled friends had gone bad. He wasn’t sure yet if she donated because she cared or to repair her reputation. Or perhaps to legitimize dirty money as a tax write-off.

  Sara caught up with his long strides and walked beside him under the portico that led to his office. She only came up to his shoulder because she’d opted for flat sandals rather than her usual skyscraper heels. It was his job to notice those things, or so he told himself every time he started to appreciate her beauty.

  She sighed loudly. “I’d just read a text from Scott asking me to return the ring because he planned to repurpose it. When the director of the shelter said they were still hundreds of thousands short, I just sort of lost it.”

  He slipped the key into his office door lock and tried his best to hide his grin. As much as he didn’t care for Sara’s lifestyle, no one deserved to be dumped on national television like she had been. He couldn’t blame her for slipping off the rock and making a show of donating the engagement ring to the shelter in front of the press. Served the guy right. “You could’ve chucked it into the ocean. At least you gave the ring to a good cause.” He’d spent his share of nights in shelters growing up. Not that he’d ever tell anyone that.

  “Right?” Sara flopped into one of the guest chairs in front of his desk and crossed tanned legs. “He’s just mad because the public is on my side.”

  Brent slipped his bag’s strap off and sat behind his desk. “This sounds more like a legal problem than an accounting one.”

  “That’s where I just came from. The lawyer. She said an engagement ring is a conditional gift, and it matters who breaks up with who. Everyone with a pulse saw him break up with me real time on TV. So that’s on my side.” She stood and paced. “Scott is claiming something about emotional abandonment, though, because I hadn’t been to the set to visit him in four months. We’d been drifting apart.”

  Four months? That was a long time not to see a fiancé. “I’m not qualified to…”

  “He wouldn’t listen.” She stopped pacing and laid her hands on his desk. “I’m writing my thesis. I have just one more semester to go. I can’t jet off at the drop of a hat anymore. I have responsibilities now I didn’t have before.” She closed her eyes. “Everyone has dropped me, if you want to know the truth. None of my girlfriends even bother to ask me to go out with them anymore. They say I’ve become boring.” She flopped into the chair and blinked away tears.

  He needed to get her back on track before he’d feel the need to wrap her in a hug and console her.

  Besides, she could be a criminal. He hadn’t proved all the players’ involvement yet, but something was going on with her account. “Where do I come in here?”

  “Sorry. Stressful week.” She wiped her cheeks. “I wanted to know if I have five hundred thousand dollars to give to Scott. If the press g
ets wind of his abandonment allegations, it’ll become even more embarrassing. I just want to focus on finishing my counseling degree and getting a job.”

  Who didn’t know how much money they had in the bank? He’d been acutely aware of every cent growing up. Was it a clever ploy because she and her father were onto the investigation? Had his cover been blown? “Let’s check and see.”

  He tapped keys on his computer but could have told her to the penny how much was in her account. He’d lived and breathed all of her father’s complicated accounting mess for the past six weeks. That and because, unbeknownst to him until college, he was apparently a genius, especially with numbers, according to the FBI. That’s why they couldn’t “waste” his talents with typical fieldwork.

  Sara glanced around his office as she waited. “Why didn’t Justin decorate for Christmas in here? The rest of the house looks like Toyland on steroids.”

  “I told him not to bother.” He continued to tap keys. “I don’t believe in celebrating holidays.”

  “None?” She leaned forward and tilted her head. “Not even a picnic on the Fourth?”

  “Nope.” Not since his mother had died. What was the point? He had no one he cared about enough to celebrate with. “How much do you think you should have in your account?”

  Sara’s bewildered frown still lingered. “I have no idea.”

  Maybe she could act as well as her parents? “Not even a guess?”

  Her palms lifted. “I don’t get control of that money for four more years. When I’m thirty. My father controls the account. He still resents that my mother made him start that investment account before he got married the first time. She’d correctly predicted his numerous marriages and the mountain of alimony bills he pays each month. She’d been looking out for me.”