Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10)

Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10) Page 4

He was being awfully familiar with her, holding her hand. Was he making sure she wouldn’t bolt? The onlookers who were beginning to return to their tables parted to let them pass.

Five minutes later she was sitting alone at a table in a private dining room, waiting for Agent Kincaid to come back. A waiter had brought her a glass of ice water. She reached into her purse and retrieved her inhaler. All the commotion on the terrace had made her a little short-winded. She had been treated with some powerful drugs when she was a child, and one of the side effects was a touch of asthma. She never went anywhere without her inhaler.

She decided to call her boss, Royal Thurman, to let him know she was going to be late. He wouldn’t really care, she knew, but it was the courteous thing to do. His phone went to voice mail, and she had just finished leaving a message when another call came in. She didn’t recognize the number, but as soon as she heard the loathsome voice, she thought she knew who it was. Carl Simmons, her father’s attorney, was on the line threatening her again.

“You were told to stop interfering,” he said in a muffled whisper. “This is your last warning.”

“Who is this?” she demanded, knowing full well Carl wouldn’t tell her. Still, there was always the hope his temper would get the better of him, and he’d let it slip.

“You’re forcing us to silence you. Do you want to get hurt?”

“You can threaten me all you want. I’m not going to stop.”

Olivia didn’t wait for a response. She ended the call and placed her phone on the table just as Agent Kincaid walked into the room. He had a small plastic bag with him.

Her hands were shaking. The phone call had gotten to her, but she didn’t want the agent to notice, so she put her hands in her lap. He pulled out a chair, sat down facing her, and handed her the bag of ice. Then he asked her to tell him what led up to Jorguson’s attack.

She held the bag against the left side of her jaw while she talked. Twice during her explanation she put the bag down, and each time, he picked it up and put it back in her hand.

“Did you happen to hear any of Jorguson’s threats, Agent Kincaid?” she asked.

“Call me Grayson,” he said. “And, no, I didn’t hear the threats. Tell me.”

She repeated what Jorguson had shouted and added, “He was furious and out of control. ‘One phone call and you’re a dead woman.’ He actually shouted that. He didn’t seem to care who was listening. You and the other agents were planning to catch him today, weren’t you? I’m guessing I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and somehow that really botched up your plan.”

“It wasn’t the right plan to begin with,” Grayson admitted.

She could hear the irritation in his voice and surmised that the fault for the fiasco lay at the feet of Agent Poole, though Grayson wasn’t going to say it.

“What happens to Jorguson now?” she asked.

“We’re taking him in. We’re not through talking to him.”

“I’m sure his lawyers are already on their way.”

“It doesn’t matter how many lawyers he has circling him. Jorguson isn’t going anywhere until I’m finished with him. Can you recall what he said to you?”

She repeated everything she remembered of the conversation and added, “You might want to ask him who his friend at the SEC is. I doubt he’ll tell you, but it’s worth a shot. I’m not even sure he was telling the truth. He’s a braggart and very full of himself.”

“Jorguson knew you worked for the IRS?”

“Yes. Maybe he thought I was out to get him.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you were?”

She didn’t answer the question, but said, “Do you think I would have interviewed for a position in his company if I were investigating him?”

He laughed. “Good point.”

“Any other questions, Grayson?”

“No, I think that’s it,” he said. “I have your phone number. If I think of anything else, I’ll call you.” He handed her his card and added, “And if you remember anything pertinent, you call me.”

“Yes, I will,” she agreed. She laid the bag of ice on the table and stood to leave. With a sigh she said, “Too bad Jorguson couldn’t have waited until after lunch to attack me.”

“That is a shame,” he said with a smile. He handed the ice back to her. “Let’s eat.”

She laughed. “I was just kidding. I should go. I’ve got so much to—”

“Aren’t you hungry? I’m sure you must be, and I am, so let’s eat. You took a hit for the FBI. The least we can do is offer you lunch. If you like seafood, the chowder’s great.”

“Do you eat here often?”

“Every once in a while.”

Olivia was torn. She loved seafood chowder. Really loved it. If the iced tea was twelve dollars a glass, she could only imagine what the chowder cost. She would insist on paying for her own meal, so the question was, did she want to spend a small fortune on lunch? No, she should go home, change her clothes, and eat a peanut butter sandwich. It would be dry because she was out of strawberry jam. Come to think of it, she was out of bread, too. And she really wanted chowder, now that Grayson had mentioned it.

Nope, she was going to be practical. Money didn’t grow on trees, according to her mother, even though as a child, Olivia never once thought that it did.

It didn’t take much coaxing to get her to stay, especially after Grayson argued that it would be a professional courtesy.

Grayson removed his suit jacket, and she couldn’t help but notice how broad his shoulders were and how muscular he was. He was certainly in shape, and she wondered how often he worked out to stay so fit. Dark brown hair and deeply tanned skin, he looked as though he’d just stepped out of an ad in a sports magazine. She also noticed how impeccably dressed he was. His suit was definitely designer label. The cut and fit were perfect. Probably Armani or Prada, she guessed. His shirt was crisp, and his tie had a subdued design in a dark hue. For such a big man, he certainly wore his clothes well.

By comparison she was a mess. After she gave the waiter her order, she went to the ladies’ room to freshen up and got a good look at herself in the mirror. She had grass in her hair and a gaping tear in the top of her dress. If that weren’t enough, the left side of her jaw was already turning purple. She looked as though she’d been in a barroom brawl.

There wasn’t much she could do to improve her appearance. She brushed her hair, put on some lip gloss, and tried to stop feeling embarrassed. Why did she care what Grayson thought about her appearance? After today, she probably would never see him again. She already knew he was out of her league. She had very little experience with men, but she had a feeling that Agent Grayson Kincaid was the James Bond of the FBI: a gorgeous man who loved women. Olivia knew she had no business judging him without knowing anything about him. She’d bet a month’s salary she was right, though.

She returned to the table, and while they waited for their orders, they talked about living in D.C., and he asked her several questions about her work. He seemed genuinely interested. By the end of lunch she was over her bout of nerves and was glad she had stayed. Once she tasted the chowder, she stopped obsessing about the cost. It was worth the price. She sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and asked, “Did you grow up around here?” She was curious to know if he would share any personal information.

“No, the family lived in Boston until I was in my teens. Then, because of my father’s business, we moved to Washington, D.C.”

“You travel a lot, don’t you?”

“I used to, before I joined the FBI.”

“Ever been to Europe?”

He smiled. “Yes. What about you? Have you traveled much?”

She shook her head. “I’ve lived in San Francisco and D.C. Except for a few business trips, that’s it. No, wait,” she added. “I went to Colorado.”

“To ski?”

“No. One of my best friends went through the Air Force Academy. I attended her graduation. Samantha’s a pilot. She flies those sleek little jets now.”

A waiter cleared the table while another placed fresh glasses of iced tea and dessert menus in front of them. His eyes were on Olivia, and he nearly knocked her glass over. She grabbed it before it spilled.

Grayson understood. It was difficult not to stare at her. He waited until they were alone again and then asked, “What about you? Where did you grow up?”

“San Francisco until I was eleven. Then I moved to D.C. I’ve been here ever since.”

When he frowned, she realized the little slip she’d made. She hadn’t included her family when she told him she’d moved. Maybe he hadn’t noticed and was frowning about something altogether different. She hoped so. She didn’t want to talk about those first years in D.C. It was too personal and too painful to relive, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about her odd family.

Grayson’s phone beeped, indicating he had a message. Olivia smiled. The distraction was just what she needed. “Why don’t you check it? I don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “It can wait. You said you moved to D.C. Just you?”

She pretended not to understand. “D.C.’s my home now. The crime’s a problem and you have to be so careful, but I love the energy. Don’t you?”

“You didn’t mention family. You moved alone?”

So much for distracting him. Grayson was an FBI agent, she reminded herself. Guess he was trained not to be distracted.

“Yes, I moved here without family.”

“And you were just eleven years old.”

“Yes.”

She suddenly felt as though she was being interrogated, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Boarding school?” he asked.

Sure. Why not? “Something like that.”

Grayson knew he was making her uncomfortable, but he couldn’t figure out why. What was she hiding? Olivia checked the time and reached for her purse. He didn’t want her to leave just yet. He took a drink and casually asked, “Married?”

The question surprised her. “No. You?”

“No. Ever gotten close?”

She smiled and relaxed. “No. You?”

“No.”

She laughed. “You’re FBI. You could find out anything you wanted to know about me.”

“Yes. It wouldn’t be as much fun, though.”

Grayson had a beautiful smile. She thought he might be flirting with her now, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t good at this. It was peculiar. Less than two minutes ago she couldn’t wait to get out of here, and now she wanted to stay.

“You’re with the IRS,” he said. “You could find out all about me.”

“You know I can’t do that. I can only work on the cases I’m assigned,” she said, and before he could pose another question, she asked, “How did you end up in the FBI?”

“I finished law school and didn’t know what I wanted to do. None of the offers appealed to me. My cousin, Sam Kincaid, worked for the FBI. His specialty is languages,” he added. “He’s also an attorney, and he thought I’d be a good fit. Turns out he was right.”

“A law degree would certainly give you a leg up in the FBI.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Okay, now it’s my turn. How did a nice girl like you end up working for the IRS?”

“During my third year of law school, I worked as a law clerk for Judge Bowen because I wanted to get as much experience as I could in family law. After I passed the bar, my goals changed, and I decided to learn about investigative work and tax law. I’m now an attorney with the IRS.”

“An attorney, huh?” He didn’t know why he was surprised, but he was. He had pictured her sitting in a cubicle somewhere checking tax returns.

“Isn’t everyone in Washington an attorney? I think it’s a prerequisite to living here.”

He laughed. “That’s about right.”

The waiter presented the check inside a black leather folder. When she argued that she should pay the bill, Grayson slipped his American Express card inside.

“Next time you’re attacked during an interview, you can pay for lunch.”

The likelihood of such a thing happening was ridiculous, but she decided to be gracious and thanked him.

“Why were you interviewing with Jorguson’s company?” he asked.

“Cutbacks, and since I’m one of the newer employees, I have to assume I’ll be one of the first to go. I was exploring other options,” she explained. “I hope I can stay with the IRS a little longer, though. I have a goal to accomplish there. I’m learning so much about how to investigate financial crimes. I hound the investigators with all my questions. They’ve been very patient with me.”

“Would you stay with the IRS permanently if you could?”

“Yes, I would. When I first started, I wanted to learn and then move on. My primary interest is children’s advocacy, but I now know I can’t do that full-time because I’d burn out too quickly. Working for the IRS is a nice balance. I had assumed the work would be boring, but as it turns out, it isn’t.”

“So what’s your goal at the IRS?”

“It’s not important,” she dismissed with a shrug.

Grayson tilted his head and studied her, wondering what he was missing. Olivia was being evasive, and he felt that she was leaving out an important detail. She reminded him of his nephew, Henry. Talking to the eight-year-old took endurance, and getting the full story was nearly impossible.

He leaned forward. Olivia instinctively folded her hands in her lap and waited. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how tense she was. She knew he wasn’t through questioning her, and she also knew she was confusing him. Too late, she realized she shouldn’t have mentioned anything personal, especially her goal.

“Let me recap,” he began, sounding very much like a professor now.

“You want to recap?”

He ignored the laughter in her voice. “Yes, I do. You said you enjoy working at the IRS. Is that correct?”

She slowly nodded. “Yes.”

“Assuming the cutbacks don’t come, you’d stay with the IRS.”

“That’s right.”

“Even after you accomplish your goal?”