Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses (A Tara Holloway Novel Book 8) by Diane Kelly Read Free Book Online

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    chapter five
    G oing Under
    Tuesday morning, as I drove down to Nick’s place, my stomach and head seemed to be rotating in opposite directions as if they were playing a game of rubber baby buggy bumpers. The problem was caused in part over my worry about Nick and in part because, last night after I’d returned home, I’d downed two thirds of the pitcher of peach sangria I’d made for Alicia. Talk about trying to drown your sorrows.
    Nick stepped out of his house into the gray, drizzly morning with Daffodil dancing on his heels. Poor girl. She probably thought he was taking her for a walk when, in reality, he was taking her for an indefinite stay with grandma.
    Nick situated Daffy in the backseat of my car, then slid into the front. He leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Good morning.”
    I didn’t want to be a downer, but I couldn’t minimize my feelings, either. I was nothing if not an emotionally honest person. “I’ve had better.”
    “Me, too.” Nick stared out the rain-spotted windshield with a faraway look on his face before turning back to me. “But we’ll have more good ones. Soon. You’ll see.”
    I reached over and ran the back of my fingers over the dark stubble on Nick’s cheek. “This is sexy.”
    He cut his eyes and a soft smile my way. “Does it make me look tougher?”
    “Hell, yeah,” I said.
    “Maybe my stubble will stop a bullet if someone tries to shoot me in the face.”
    I knew Nick was only trying to lighten the mood, but I didn’t find his attempts at humor to be funny at all. “Stop it. You’re only making me worry more. Besides, it’s not bullets I’m worried about. It’s that knife.”
    “There’s just no pleasing some people.” He reached out and gave my knee an affectionate squeeze.
    I slid the car into gear and we drove to his mother’s house. As we climbed out of the car, Bonnie opened her front door with a worried frown on her face. Bonnie’s hair was dark like Nick’s, though longer and streaked with hints of silver. Her blue eyes were clouded with worry. Before we could even reach her door, she began to throw a hissy fit like the one I’d thrown the day before.
    “You’ve done enough for that agency!” she told Nick. “You haven’t even been home from Mexico a full year yet. There’s got to be someone else in that office who can handle this case instead of you!”
    “They assigned me to the case because I know Spanish,” he said, giving her a peck on the forehead. “Besides, I’m the baddest badass on the force.”
    “Oh, ho!” I called, stepping up behind him to give Bonnie a hug. “I beg to differ.”
    Bonnie looked from one of us to the other. “You might both be badasses,” she said, “but you’re both crazy, too. Why don’t you two hang out a shingle and start a tax firm together? Pratt and Holloway, CPAs. It would be much safer than working for the IRS and I bet you’d rake in the dough.”
    I’d asked myself the same question time and time again. Why do we do this? The IRS paid reasonably well, but the private sector would likely reward us better, with partnerships, perks, and client dinners at Dallas’s most exclusive restaurants. But it wasn’t about the money. Never had been. Never would be. Serving as a special agent wasn’t so much a job as it was a calling. And the call, once received, couldn’t be ignored. Sort of like a persistent bill collector.
    Nick retrieved Daffy’s bed, toys, hairbrush, treats, and food from my car and brought them into his mother’s house. The dog sat in the front hallway watching him, a confused and frightened look on her face, like a child beginning to realize her parent was leaving her. Nick bent down, cupped her furry chin in his hands, and looked into her eyes. “It’s going to be okay, girl. Daddy will be back in a few weeks.” He gave her a kiss on the snout.
    He stood and repeated the same basic process with his mother. Though it was clear Bonnie was trying her