Riding High Page 19

  “Hello,” she answered and wandered back into the living room.

  “Why didn’t you answer your cell?” It was Flynn.

  “I didn’t hear it ring.” It was at the bottom of her purse, which she’d left in the bedroom. “What’s up? You make it to Sacramento all right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, but something on the TV caught her eye and she barely heard him. “What are you doing?”

  “I just got home.” She focused on the flat screen.

  “Sit down for a second.”

  “Flynn? Why is Rufus Cleo on the nightly news?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “Hang on.” She found the remote and unmuted the sound only to catch the tail end of the report. “I missed it.”

  “You sitting down?”

  Gia took her spot on the couch and continued to stare at the screen, hoping there would be more. But they’d taken down the photo of Cleo and the anchor had moved on to a protest in Des Moines. “I am now.”

  She could hear Flynn breathing on the other end of the line, but he didn’t say anything. “Flynn?”

  “I’m here. Hang on a sec, I’m getting a text.” She heard him mutter an expletive.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Evan Laughlin’s been implicated in Rufus Cleo’s murder.”

  “What?” she asked, confused. “Did they find Evan?”

  “No. But they’ve linked the murder weapon to its owner, who’s rolled on Evan.”

  “Dear God. Murder? That can’t be right.” Gia’s heart raced. “Who is he?”

  “A parking garage attendant with a couple of priors.”

  “Evan didn’t fraternize with parking garage attendants. This can’t be right, Flynn.”

  “He worked in Evan’s building.”

  Gia was silent, a million possibilities swirling through her head.

  “Have they arrested him?” she finally asked. Because maybe the attendant was lying. With all the news about Evan, the attendant could’ve thrown out his name as a bargaining chip.

  “Yep. Last night around midnight, East Coast time. Gia, don’t panic. This doesn’t involve you.”

  None of it involved her. But that hadn’t seemed to matter. So hell yeah she was panicking.

  * * *

  Flynn spent Monday in the office with Toad hunting down every lead they could find. The parking garage attendant was nothing but a petty crook. A fence who’d participated in a few smash and grabs. Flynn found it hard to believe a guy like him could gain entrance into Cleo’s high-rise office building after hours. The place had more security than most financial institutions.

  More than likely his main role had been supplying the gun to the actual killer. To Flynn’s mind that had to be Laughlin, who Cleo would’ve buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation. Who knew the real story? Flynn had friends in New York’s FBI office, but no one was talking. He relied on the media for information, which was sketchy at best.

  “You taking off?” Toad asked as Flynn gathered up his paperwork and shoved it into his briefcase.

  “Yeah. I’d like to get to Nugget before dark.”

  “You babysitting our client?” There was a world of sarcasm in the way Toad said “client.” Not everyone would’ve heard it, but Flynn had known the investigator a long time.

  He fixed him with a look that said don’t go there. “I figure the news will cause her more problems, especially with the media. You should’ve seen those two bozos digging through her trash the other night.”

  “You sure she’s not in on this?”

  Flynn opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out the thumb drive he’d confiscated from the Tattletale reporter’s pocket, and plugged it into his computer. “What does this look like to you?”

  Toad came around the desk and stared over Flynn’s shoulder. “A bunch of names and a bunch of numbers.”

  “I searched the names. They’re members of the carpenters’ union, which invested millions in Laughlin’s fraudulent scheme. A lot of construction workers lost their entire pensions.”

  “Where’d you get that and what’s its relevance?” Toad asked.

  “One of the trespassers filched it from Gia’s garbage.”

  Toad grabbed a chair and pulled it closer to Flynn’s monitor to study the screen. “What do you think those numbers mean?”

  “I don’t know. I showed them to Bellamy and he thinks they’re addresses, and these over here”—Flynn pointed to figures on the other side of the spreadsheet—“are dollar amounts.”

  “She’s been sending them money?” Toad sounded as floored as Flynn had initially been.

  “I know, insane. But Bellamy is trying to nail it down for sure.” The forensic accountant was the best in the business and Flynn had the utmost faith in him. “But to answer your question: Yeah, I think she’s sending them money.”

  Toad scratched his chin. “Why? There are thousands of victims. Why them?”

  “Best I can guess is that people like them were hit the hardest . . . blue-collar workers, too old to keep swinging a hammer. They were relying on their pensions to get them through retirement.” It certainly fit in with Gia’s modus operandi. Her own impoverished upbringing made her want to save the world.

  “Shit,” Toad said. “Can she get her hands on that kind of money?”

  Flynn shrugged, but he suspected that was part of the reason for the day trading.

  “You think this clears her?”

  “It’s certainly not the actions of a crook.” Flynn pulled out the zip drive and shut off his computer. “But I plan to have a long talk with her about it tonight. Maybe we’re wrong. But I want to know why she kept a spreadsheet.”

  Toad turned his gaze on Flynn and studied him for a beat. “I got a good vibe off her, but approach this with your head, not your dick.”

  Too late. Though nothing had happened yet, Flynn’s dick had become fully invested. “I’ll call you tomorrow. In the meantime, anything you can find on the garage attendant, Laughlin, or Cleo could be helpful. I’ve got a feeling the feds are about to ramp up their investigation and put a lot of pressure on Gia.”

  “Oh yeah,” Toad said. “You’re not kidding.”

  Flynn made good time to Nugget and was glad to see Gia’s security gate closed when he got to Rosser Ranch. She was following protocol. He let himself in using the clicker, pulled his truck into the driveway, got out, and knocked on the door. When there was no answer he used the key she’d given him.

  “Gia? You here?” He wandered around the house looking for her, found her car in the garage, and walked to the barn to see if she was there.

  She could’ve gone out with one of her friends. He hadn’t told her he was coming. But when he got to the stable Rory was gone. He saddled up Dude and followed the trail Gia favored. About a mile into the ride he caught up with her.

  Gia twisted around as he came up behind her. “Hey.” She smiled. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  “You still using that dopey saddle?”

  She flipped her hand at him. “You worry about your own saddle—which, by the way, could use some TLC.”

  The leather was worn and frayed, but it was a working saddle intended for comfort and practicality, not show jumping.

  “You have news?” she asked.

  “Let’s ride for a while.” It was a beautiful evening, balmy and clear. The days were getting longer and Flynn figured they had at least an hour before the sun set.

  “So you do have news?”

  He put his finger to his lip. “Hush. Take some time to enjoy the great outdoors.”

  Gia let out a snort that rivaled one of Dude’s. “Are you like the bossiest person in your family?”

  “No, my brother Wes is. Bossiest sumbitch you’ll ever meet.”

  “You two don’t get along?” Gia clicked her tongue, urging Rory to catch up to Dude so they could ride side by side.

  “Yeah, we get along. He’s my b
est friend.”

  “Who’s older?”

  “He is, by two years. He married his high-school sweetheart and they have two kids, a boy and a girl.”

  “Nice,” she said.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in marriage.” Dude bent down to munch on grass and Flynn pulled up on the reins.

  “It’s fine for other people, just not me. Did you have a high-school sweetheart?”

  “Tina Alessi.” He smiled at the memory of the cute brunette. She’d married a college professor and, last he’d heard, they lived in Boston. “Her family owned the only Italian restaurant in Quincy . . . gave me free food.”

  “Is that why you dated her?” Gia teased.

  “Nope.” He gazed at Gia and let his eyes soak in the sight of her in the tight riding breeches that hugged her hips and thighs like a second skin and the clingy shirt that outlined the rise and fall of her perky breasts. With her hair tied back she looked impossibly young . . . and beautiful. “I dated her because she put out.”

  “Classy.” Gia snorted again and Flynn laughed. He loved riling her.

  “The truth: She was whip-smart. Class valedictorian . . . nothing hotter than that.”

  “I would’ve thought you were the class valedictorian.”

  “I was salutatorian. She beat me out by half a grade point.”

  The horses took the trail at a slow, easy gait. Flynn saw a cluster of his cattle in the distance. They looked content, munching on grass as the day turned to dusk. Despite the drought, the Barlows were poised for a good year.

  “How ’bout you?” he asked. “I bet you were valedictorian.”

  “Nah. I didn’t really do well academically until college.”

  “You have a high-school sweetheart?”

  “No,” she said. “Those years were tough for me.”

  She seemed like the popular type to him. Smart, personable, and pretty. But scrounging for your next meal left no time to campaign for homecoming queen.

  “What changed in college?” he asked.

  “Blind ambition,” she said, but he suspected she never wanted to be poor again. Clearly it had left permanent scars and had motivated her to start a program for impoverished women and to secretly send money to construction workers who’d lost everything they had. “Why did you go to law school?”

  Nice subject change. “Because I wanted to get hired by the FBI. They like lawyers and CPAs and I was never good at math.”

  “Why the FBI?” she sneered. Flynn couldn’t blame her. She and the Bureau weren’t on the best of terms.

  “All the cliché reasons. I wanted to fight crime, make a difference. . . carry a gun.”

  She arched her brows. “Apparently you still like the gun part.”

  “I wouldn’t talk if I were you.” He was remembering their first meeting . . . she and that Winchester. “Until you figure out where the safety is, keep your day job.”

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t have one anymore.”

  “Does that mean you’re no longer day trading?” They were going to have a long conversation about that, but for now he just wanted to enjoy their ride . . . and flirting with her. She was an exceptional flirt. No giggling or batting her eyelashes. Just truckloads of attitude.

  “I wouldn’t really call that a job.”

  “I’d call it crazy.”

  “I know what I’m doing and I’m extraordinarily good at it.”

  “And modest too.” He reined his horse to stop.

  “What are you doing?”

  Flynn pointed to a herd of deer: three mamas and their fawns. “Don’t scare ’em.”

  “They’re so sweet,” she whispered, “I wish I had my phone to take a picture to send to my mom.”

  Flynn pulled his off his belt and snapped a few shots. The deer were good enough to cooperate, lingering in a copse of trees. “I’ll email them to you.”

  “Thanks. Can you believe this is mine?” She regarded the countryside with wonder. “It’s so beautiful here. When Evan disappeared and the criminal investigation started New York felt so cold and scary. One trip here was worth a year’s therapy.”

  “Yup.” He too stared up at the majestic mountains. “The Sierra is a special place.”

  “Is your family’s ranch like this?”

  “It’s about half the size but equally beautiful.” He grinned. “A fine place to grow up.”

  He thought it time they headed back. The sun had started to drop and they needed to talk. He nudged Dude with his knees and made a wide loop in the direction of the stable. Gia and Rory followed.

  “You want to see it . . . my family’s ranch? You could come for Sunday dinner.” He didn’t know what possessed him to invite her. It had been a long time since he’d brought a woman home. Flynn told himself it was for his mother’s sake . . . she could tell her friends that Gia Treadwell ate in her kitchen.

  “Uh . . . sure.” Gia seemed as surprised by the invitation as Flynn was that he’d asked. “Is Sunday dinner like a big thing?” She also sounded nervous, which was cute, because she was the celebrity.

  “It used to be mandatory, even when I was going to law school and living in Palo Alto. But Wes and Jo are busy with the kids, I’ve got my practice and the cattle, and life is more unpredictable now that we’re all older. But we still try to do it as often as possible.”

  “With the whole family?”

  “Yeah, that’s the idea. What are you worried about? You’ve already met my mom, and there’s a good home-cooked meal in it for you.”

  “What about your dad? Does he know about me?” Flynn knew the subtext of that question: Does he think I ripped off thousands of people in a Ponzi scheme?

  “My dad doesn’t get too involved in the news. He’s a grizzled rancher whose motto is: ‘Don’t believe anything you read or hear and only half of what you see.’”

  Gia chuckled. The rooftop of the stable came into view and Flynn had to tighten his reins to keep Dude from racing across the field. He noticed Gia was holding Rory back too. It had been a nice ride; Flynn wished it didn’t have to end.

  Clay’s boys were at the barn waiting.

  “Sorry, guys. I forgot to text again.” Flynn swung down from Dude and Justin led the gelding to a post to tie his lead rope and unsaddle him. “You don’t have to do that, son. I’ve got it and I’m paying you anyway.”

  Flynn helped Gia down and Cody took her horse while Justin brushed Dude down with a curry comb. They were getting five-star treatment.

  “We’ll do anything to stay out of the house right now,” said the younger McCreedy.

  “Shut up, Cody!” Justin said, and Gia and Flynn exchanged glances.

  “Everything okay?” Flynn didn’t want to pry, but clearly Cody wanted to talk about it.

  “Dad and Emily have been fighting all day.”

  Justin shot Cody a dirty look. “It’s no big deal and it’s none of your business, Cody.”

  “You and Justin fight?” Flynn asked Cody. All brothers did.

  “Sometimes.”

  “It happens when people live under the same roof. It’s natural and nothing to worry about.” Clay had once confided in Flynn that after his first wife was killed in an auto accident, Cody had begun suffering from anxiety issues. He didn’t want the kid to get himself worked up over something that was probably nothing.

  Unmoved, Cody frowned. Flynn wished there was more he could say. But he could tell that discussing it was making Justin uncomfortable. The boy was old enough to know Cody had talked out of turn.

  “You guys want to go into town for dinner and ice cream?” Ice cream had always been the answer to every problem in the Barlow home.

  Cody momentarily perked up until Justin said, “No, thanks. We’ve got chores at home and it’s a school night.”

  The boys finished helping with the horses and went on their way, cutting across Gia’s property to take the shortcut home. Flynn put Dude and Rory into their separate stalls and closed the barn u
p for the night.

  “What do you think they’re fighting about?” Gia asked as they walked back to the house.

  “Haven’t the slightest idea and it’s none of our business.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “You think it’s fun when people talk about you behind your back?”

  “Were you always a Dudley Do-Right or did that happen after law school?” she teased.

  If Gia knew half the things he wanted to do with her, she wouldn’t call him that. If she knew how many times he’d stared at her ass in those riding pants when he thought she wasn’t looking . . .

  “You want to go to town to eat?” He opened the door for her.

  “Can we get ice cream too?” she teased.

  “Only if you’re good.”

  Chapter 17

  “Don’t cry. We’ll work through this,” Clay didn’t know whether it was the hormones or if he was doing everything wrong. “Emily, honey, I’m sorry. I just thought you’d be more excited is all.”

  She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m trying to be, I really am. It’s just so unexpected.”

  For him it was the best kind of unexpected. Since discovering the test stick on Saturday, he’d been walking on sunshine. Not Emily. She’d been depressed, crying on and off, and hiding in their darkened bedroom.

  Both times his first wife had been pregnant he’d been deployed, first to Afghanistan and then Iraq, so he didn’t know if this was normal. But he suspected not. And this morning he’d lost patience with Emily.

  Two years ago, when they’d gotten married, he’d wanted them to try to have a baby. Neither of them was getting any younger and after Hope . . . well, he thought a baby would make her happy. But she’d insisted on waiting. Waiting for what? He didn’t know. The boys couldn’t love her any more if she were their biological mother and they had a wonderful life. Trips in his plane, great friends, a beautiful home, and a job that fulfilled her. Most of all they loved and respected each other. Not a night went by when they didn’t lay in each other’s arms and he didn’t feel the intensity of their love coursing through them. It was as constant as breathing.

  That’s why he didn’t understand why having his baby had made her so unhappy. Clay realized babies were hard work. Because he hadn’t been around to help with his first two sons, he wanted to change diapers, wake up for nightly feedings, and be there every step of the way for this child. If his help wasn’t enough they’d hire a nanny. Whatever Emily wanted.