Crossing Double (A Heartbreaker Novel Book 3) Page 2

  Brent leaned back in his chair. Her mother was stinking rich too, so Sara probably didn’t have to worry about money from her father. “They never married, right? Your parents?”

  “He asked, but my mother said no. Can’t wait for dear old Dad’s wedding number five this weekend. To Veeeroonica.” She turned away and stared out the window. “You probably think I’m stupid for not paying attention to that account. But the few times I looked, it was pretty much empty.”

  It took all his control to stop his brows from lifting. That made zero sense. “Did you actually see the statements?”

  “Mr. Barker only showed me when I pressed him.” A sad sigh escaped before she said, “I still really miss him. He was like a grandfather to me.”

  Barker’s death created the job opportunity the FBI had pounced on to place Brent inside to take over as Holden’s business and estate manager. They thought they’d hired a person who’d had a string of bartending jobs since graduating with a business degree from a local community college, not a highly trained agent.

  Ignoring the tug at his heart for her obvious loss of a loved one that he knew well, he asked, “Maybe he showed you the wrong account? I’ve found a few mistakes since taking over.”

  “Doubt it.” Sara shook her head and pulled her attention away from the window and back to his desk. She picked up the Rubik’s cube he often used when he was thinking. As she twisted, she said, “My father is that type who’s there for me when things are fine, not so much when things get tough—or he’s about to remarry again. He loves me. I try to focus on that. But I don’t depend on him. My mom promised to help me as long as I’m in school. After I graduate, I’ll be on my own and happy for it.”

  “And yet you asked me for a hundred-thousand-dollar donation the other day as if you expected the money to be there.” Maybe he’d catch her in a lie. It made his heart rate pick up.

  She nodded. “When I called and asked my father for a fifty-thousand-dollar donation to help save the shelter last week, he said I could use my own money for a change. Evidently, he’d sold some real estate for me I never knew I’d owned. I thought I’d better grab it before it was all gone again, so I doubled the donation. When you didn’t blink at the amount, I figured I’d gotten lucky and the money was still there. I’d rather give it to a good cause than one of his many ex-wives.”

  Or maybe her father needed a tax write-off. Laundering money through real estate and donations was a common way to clean up tainted cash.

  What kind of father would use his only child’s account to do that? Or was she involved too? Because her account was certainly involved.

  He didn’t want to give her the five hundred thousand to pay her scumbag spoiled ex back, though. It was money he might be able to return to injured parties. “Maybe you should let the lawyers work things out. If they say you have to pay, then we’ll give him the money back. I’d hate to see Scott win.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled weakly and set the cube back in its place. All the colors perfectly matched.

  He picked the cube up and turned it around in his hands, checking to see if all the sides were correct. “Wow. You did that really fast.”

  “Yeah. Old party trick. So, how much is in my account?”

  Party trick? He’d never met anyone who could solve the puzzle faster than he could. It was a little annoying. “There’s just over two hundred million now.” He turned his screen filled with transfers into her account.

  She blinked in stunned surprise as she studied the screen closely, as if she couldn’t believe her own eyes.

  Her reaction seemed genuine.

  She finally whispered, “Holy crap. I guess we’ll be fine, then, if I have to pay Scott back.” She stood to go. “If you’re not busy on Christmas Eve, we always have a dinner for everyone who’s still in town. You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

  He ignored the invitation. “You don’t go to your mother’s house?”

  “My mom’s plane always picks me up at nine to take me to Albuquerque right after. You should join us for dinner. Zoila will be offended if you don’t come and eat her food.” Sara pointed to the illustrated mug on the desk. “Caffeine. Funny. See you around.”

  After the door closed behind her, he picked up his coffee cup. He’d totally forgotten which one he’d chosen to use, but she’d been right. It had a picture of the molecular structure of caffeine on it, but no label to identify it.

  Seemed the spoiled little princess was smarter than she let on. Perfectly capable of orchestrating the elaborate money laundering scheme he’d yet to fully crack. But something inside him still didn’t want to believe Sara was involved. Confusing as it was, he couldn’t screw up his first solo undercover assignment.

  He needed to separate his attraction to her from the job. Besides it being a handbook violation to date suspects, Sara was waaaaay out of his league. No way he’d screw up his plans for any woman, no matter how beautiful. He’d joined the FBI for their stability and amazing retirement plan, and one day, he’d own that house on the water he had his eye on. Free and clear, so no one could ever take it away from him. Solving the mystery of Sara and her father would get him a promotion and one step closer to fulfilling his dreams. Nothing was going to get in the way of that.

  Especially not beautiful, smart, spoiled Sara.

  Chapter 2

  After her meeting with Brent, Sara headed toward the kitchen to find some empty carbs to drown her sorrows about losing Scott as a friend. But not as a fiancé. They would’ve never worked, and it was almost a relief now that she’d thought things through. Brandi, on the other hand, violated girl-code big-time, and that still stung.

  On top of that, she was still reeling from the news about how much money was in her account. But it’d never be there in four years. Her dad would divorce Veronica long before then, and she’d end up with it all. Why the man never insisted on a prenup was an unsolved mystery.

  How her dad had come up with that much money when he’d been complaining nonstop about the cost of his upcoming wedding was the bigger mystery, though.

  “Hi, my love.” Zoila, short, dark haired, plump, and like a second mother to Sara, dropped a spoonful of dough onto a cookie sheet. She looked up from the batch of chocolate chip cookies she was making. “How are you today?” She’d been trying to only speak English since Veronica banned Spanish from the house because she couldn’t understand it. Veronica was a pain in everyone’s butt.

  “I’m hanging in. Barely.” She reached out for a cookie and got a hand slap. “What?”

  “These are for Mr. Brent. They are his favorite.”

  “Oh. I thought you were making them for me. To cheer me up after what Scott did.”

  Zoila shook her head. “I told you Mr. Scott is never going to be the one for you. That he lack character. But me? I’m no gloater, so I make your favorite chocolate mousse anyway. In the fridge.”

  “You’re the best. Thank you.” Sara kissed Zoila’s cheek and crossed the kitchen and pulled out a little cup of goodness from the commercial-sized stainless fridge. She grabbed a spoon and planted herself at the kitchen island.

  A can of whipped cream suddenly appeared beside her too. Since she’d been a kid, it had become a tradition that Zoila snuck Sara a can of whipped cream all for herself whenever she was sad about something. It was a silly tradition, but she loved Zoila for it.

  While spraying on as much fluffy goodness as the cup could hold, she said, “I invited Brent to have Christmas Eve dinner with all of us. Doubt he’ll come, though.”

  “I invite him too. He say he busy. But Mr. Brent? Now he a man with character. Nice, likes my cooking, only two years older than you, and very, very handsome too.”

  Sara nodded as she stuffed her mouth full of chocolate decadence. “If you’re into the Superman/Clark Kent look.” He also had pretty blue eyes that contrasted with his dark hair, and he spent lots of time in the gym, not that she’d stopped and gawked or anything. She’d just noticed. B
ut he never smiled. It was odd.

  Sara scraped her bowl clean, then leaned her head back and sprayed whipped cream straight into her mouth. She mumbled around the fluff, “But who wears a suit every day to work in a home office? Mr. Barker wore jeans and polo shirts.”

  Justin, their house manager, flopped onto the stool beside Sara. “I’m into the Clark Kent look, but I think Brent is more interested in you, Sunshine.” He took the can and sprayed whipped cream into his mouth too.

  Zoila said, “Hey! That only for Miss Sara! Not pushy men who make themselves too much at home in my kitchen.” She grabbed the can away from Justin and threw it in the trash mumbling in Spanish about being a piggy.

  Sara hid a grin. “Brent thinks I’m an airhead. It’s written all over his face.”

  Zoila turned to put another tray of cookies into the oven, so Justin snatched two that were cooling and handed her one. “That’s not what his face was saying the other day. I was trying to have a scintillating conversation with him, and then you walked by wearing that killer blue dress. You know, the one you wore with the Versace pump platforms? His head turned so fast, it’s a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. Which reminds me. Your mom’s monthly clothing shipment arrived an hour ago.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “Try not to get too excited there, Debbie Downer.” Justin’s shoulder bumped hers. “To quote your mom, ‘One must always look camera ready. Especially because you are a Botelli.’ Good words to live by, if you ask me.”

  Those words had been drilled into Sara’s head by her mom since she’d been old enough to walk. Sara and her sister, Dani, had high standards to live up to when out in public. Her mom’s reputation meant the world to her, while her father seemed totally indifferent to his.

  “But maybe just once, on a lazy Saturday afternoon, I’d like to look like a Chapman.”

  “Why would you ever want that?” Justin shook his head and leaned closer. “Tell your mom when she’s tired of you, I’m available for adoption. You’re an ingrate.”

  Zoila called out, “What you don’t know, Mr. Smart Mouth, is that Miss Sara donate all those clothes. Many single mom and poor high school girl have nice things to wear for proms and job interviews because of Miss Sara.”

  “You do?” Justin frowned at her. “How do I not know this?”

  Sara opened her mouth, but Zoila interrupted, “Because she not all braggy like you, so stop poking at her. She need a break. She sad about losing her friends. Even if they both have no character. Not that I ever say so.”

  Justin grinned and rolled his eyes at Zoila’s gloating. “Brandi’s always been about as loyal as an alligator, and screw Scott. Especially when you could have Superman with a snap of the fingers. Unfortunately for me, Brent’s just not into blond men who look like pop stars.”

  Justin did look a little like a pop star. Tall, thin, and often dressed in tight leather. Always much more blinged out than her. Her tastes ran toward the simple.

  Zoila turned back to her cookies and gave them both the stink eye for stealing Brent’s treats. “Well, Mr. Brent. He a good man. He not give me a hard time about the food budget like cranky Mr. Barker did.”

  Justin grabbed another cookie, just barely avoiding Zoila’s swat. “I’ve called your beloved Mr. Brent over here because we’re all having a fitting. Veronica and Holden just finished theirs a few minutes ago. The new M-R-S wants all the staff to look presentable at the wedding on Saturday. It’s my job to dress you hooligans. Luckily, Trina brought tons of choices.” After Justin finished off his second cookie, he said, “And you, Sunshine, have to look amazing. Scott called and asked if he could bring Brandi as his guest. Veronica said yes, of course, because having both of you will be good for publicity.”

  Sara’s stomach dropped. “Nope. Not happening. I’ll talk to my dad. He’ll uninvite Scott.”

  Justin grabbed her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Your father loved the idea. He wants the press there too.”

  Utter betrayal filled her for the second time in as many days. She stood and rinsed off her bowl and then put it into the dishwasher. “Dad really needs another big part. I guess he could use all the publicity he can get right now.” At her expense. What else was new?

  When she looked up, Brent was standing next to Zoila. How long had he been there? The guy moved as quietly as a ghost.

  She circled the island to settle onto her stool again with Brent’s cool gaze, like ice cubes on the back of her neck, sending a tingle down her spine. The guy really didn’t like her.

  Justin, with pity etched on his face, said, “We’ll make Scott sorry he ever let you go. Can you find a date?”

  A date? She’d been engaged. It wasn’t like she kept a harem of men waiting in the wings. “The wedding is day after tomorrow. There’s no time for me to find a date on such short notice.”

  She met Brent’s steady, steely blue-eyed gaze. Betrayal moved aside to be replaced by absolute mortification. She was already a loser in his eyes, and now she was one who couldn’t even find a date for a wedding. She quickly looked away and said, “Maybe I’ll just go to my mom’s early for Christmas break. Skip the wedding. My dad won’t even miss me.”

  Zoila shook her head. “We will miss you. Especially on Christmas Eve. This house is only happy because you make it for us, sweetheart.”

  Brent cleared his throat. “Why am I here?”

  Justin’s grin turned mischievous. “Because Sara needs a date for her father’s wedding. And tag, you’re it.”

  When a frown crossed Brent’s face, Sara dropped her forehead onto the cool granite countertop. One more rejection to top off her week.

  Can things get any worse?

  Brent glanced at Zoila to see if Justin had been kidding. Her head bobbed up and down with excitement, and she said, “You make a good date for Miss Sara.”

  Apparently, it wasn’t a prank.

  The last thing Brent wanted to do was accompany Sara to her father’s wedding. He’d planned to use the wedding as an opportunity to check out some of the people whose names he kept seeing on various real estate contracts. The guest list had shown most of the people involved in Holden’s business dealings would be in attendance.

  Sara, her forehead still on the countertop, whispered, “Give Brent a break guys. He clearly doesn’t want to take me.” The defeat in her voice warred with his conscience.

  Even though his mother hadn’t been the most reliable, or made the best decisions in her life, she’d insisted on one thing: that her son never treat women the way she’d been treated by men who never saw past her bimbo exterior. “I’d be honored to be your date, Sara.”

  Sara’s head whipped up from the island, and she blinked at him. “You would? I thought you couldn’t sta—”

  “Perfect!” Justin grabbed Brent’s arm and tugged. “I’ll start with you. I have just the suit in mind. Trina can tailor it for you if need be. Sara, you come too, please.”

  Tailor? Crap. How would he explain his gun?

  He stopped walking, and Justin, who couldn’t weigh more than a buck thirty-five to Brent’s two-ten, almost pulled his own arm out of the socket. “Why are we stopping?”

  Brent glanced at Sara, who was still looking at him like she expected him to take his invitation back. “I’ll email you guys my measurements. I have something pressing.”

  Justin shook his head and tugged again, but Brent stood his ground.

  On a long sigh, Justin said, “You work for Holden Chapman, therefore, there is nothing more pressing than making sure his wedding is perfect. Am I right, Sara?”

  She nodded. “It won’t take long. Trina’s fast.”

  If they busted him for the gun, he’d make up something about living in a sketchy neighborhood. From what they were “paying” him, that’d make sense. “Fine. After you, then.” He held a hand out for Sara to go first.

  “Thank you.” Sara led the way toward the rear of the home, past a large, plant-filled solarium that looked o
ut over the ocean. He’d never been past the kitchen before, so he took mental notes of the layout. Sara continued down a series of wide hallways past what must be a theater based on the little lobby area with a ticket booth, candy counter, and a popcorn maker like in a real theater. She finally stepped into a large room filled with rolling racks of clothes.

  “I’ll be right back, guys.” Justin hurried inside and started rifling through the racks.

  Sara stood quietly beside him as he checked out the rest of the room. To the right was a beauty salon set-up his cosmetologist mother would have loved to work in, complete with sinks, dryers, and shelves of hair dyes to choose from. On the opposite wall, big padded chairs stood in front of huge lighted mirrors. There were counters filled with a selection of makeup like he’d never seen before. Even more little plastic boxes and brushes than when his mother had worked at the department store doing eye shadow demos.

  Holden and Veronica, the future bride and groom, were sitting in the chairs getting their hair and makeup done, looking like blond gods. In the mirror’s reflection, Holden’s eyes locked with his, and Sara’s father lifted his chin slightly in greeting. When Holden’s gaze connected with Sara’s, he quickly looked away. Probably feeling guilty for inviting Sara’s ex to the wedding. Who’d do that to their kid?

  Veronica winked at him as she droned on about something into her cell phone. Her knowing smile was the same she’d worn the last time she’d rubbed up against him when they ran into each other in the kitchen a few days ago. She’d made it clear she’d like to get to know him better in the biblical sense.

  Sara must’ve seen him cringe as a woman put lipstick on her father, because she whispered, “Don’t worry, we won’t make you wear any lip gloss today.” She smiled as her gaze lowered to his mouth.