And, of course, men know best about everything, except what women know better.
― George Eliot
“While that’s an interesting clue,” Sam said, hoping he didn’t sound like his heart was pounding against his ribs, threatening to take out his chest…not because he thought Gordon had a case against Cici—the man didn’t—but because Sam wasn’t there to protect her from Gordon and his potential smear campaign, “that doesn’t mean Cici has anything to do with the person. She’s a popular individual in town.”
“I didn’t say she did,” Gordon said. “But it makes her a person of interest.”
Sam wished he could see Cici’s face, because he’d bet both Cici and Mrs. Sanchez were working hard to school their features.
“Just implied she did something wrong,” came a voice through the speaker. Sam wasn’t sure who else was there, but he assumed it was Devon.
“No one asked for your opinion, Officer,” Gordon snarled. “Why are you still here anyway? This is a federal case.”
Well…the situation deteriorated in a flash.
Thankfully, he was seated in a small office in one of the federal buildings near Tempe. Good thing, too, he and Jeannette had decided to arrive before the sun, especially with the way Cici’s day had started. The air-conditioning groaned on, and small puffs of air worked their way to Sam, trying to counterbalance the heat from the two large windows in his space. Sam’s spot only overlooked a parking lot and a highway, but at least there was natural light. He glanced around the room, unsurprised to find it looked like most other law enforcement offices he’d worked in—cheap laminate desk, decent desk chair in black, a bit worn at the elbows from the previous owners’ computer use, no doubt. The floor was industrial linoleum and the walls a watery beige.
Yep, felt like home even if Sam now boasted federal credentials and the need to wear a suit and tie every day.
Sam didn’t know Agent Gordon, which was strange. Living in a state with such a small population, he’d met or knew the name of most of the law enforcement agents. Gordon was new, and that worried Sam. Worse, he knew Gordon’s type well enough from the years he’d spent at various police departments: any belittling or embarrassment would be pushed back on Gordon’s believed perpetrator many times over. Sam sucked in a deep, long breath, striving for patience, though all the while wishing he were in Santa Fe and handling this newest mess in which Cici had managed to entangle herself.
He’d been gone mere days, and already she was neck-deep in a new problem. As if she realized what he was thinking, Cici said, “My dad’s calling. Maybe he can clarify if someone would have access to the property.”
She must have then stepped away before Sam could hear what she said to her father, though he strained to do so.
“Agent Gordon, my father would like to speak with you,” Sam finally heard her say. “And, Sam, Dad told me he has a caretaker looking after the place. A George Lundaway. I…I honestly had no clue he still owned it.”
Sam knew—both that Frank still owned it and that Cici hadn’t known. He’d made a point to keep tabs on Franklin Gurule’s Santa Fe doings long before Bresdeen had forced his hand. But Sam also knew Cici’s father hadn’t been back to Santa Fe since Anna Carmen’s funeral and that he’d spoken to a high-end real estate agent about listing the luxury property then.
Why Frank had chosen not to sell, Sam wasn’t sure, though Frank’s comment about leaving KaraLynn played through his mind. This was why Sam needed more time with Cici’s father—there were too many unknowns about the man’s history and future plans. Unfortunately, Frank had spent Tuesday through Thursday in court, defending the assets of a wealthy man who probably deserved a jumpsuit and prison time.
Sam had already checked with the courthouse, and the verdict—a dismissal of charges—had occurred late last night.
Up until Sam had found out about the federal money-laundering investigation, he would have done his best to support Cici in finding a way to forgive her father and rebuild that relationship. Now, Sam wasn’t sure Frank was the type of man Cici should know, especially if he was involved in illicit activities and had no qualms about defending men with track records of skirting the law.
Sam’s shoulders slumped. The evidence swirling around the older man pointed toward implicating him. If that was the case, Cici would be even more hurt by Frank—because of Sam. There was no good way out of this situation, which was exactly what Sam had worried about when Jeannette had told him about it.
“I’ll touch base with your father later, Cee,” Sam promised. “And I’ll call you later to make sure you’re doing okay.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
While he couldn’t see her, he knew her face was tightening and her lips were pressed flat—the face she made when annoyance seeped into her very bones. Granted, she seemed to make the face most often with and to Sam.
“Be that as it may, I’d like to talk to you,” he said, his voice soft.
Jeannette hurried over, carrying a folder. She tapped her foot, her features a symphony of impatience.
“Fine,” Cici said.
“I have to go.” Damn, he regretted those words. “Agent Gordon?”
“He’s talking to la reverenda’s father, Detective,” Mrs. Sanchez said.
“Is the phone still on speaker?” Sam asked.
“Not now,” she said.
“Good. Listen. I don’t like this situation. Agent Gordon is ambitious and new to the area. At least I’m pretty sure he must be, because I’ve never heard of him.”
“That was for the best,” Mrs. Sanchez muttered.
“Worse still, he doesn’t seem to be the brightest bulb.”
Irritation tugged at the corners of Jeannette’s mouth, and she crossed her arms, tapping the file against her hip.
Mrs. Sanchez snorted. “You’re telling me.”
Sam held up his finger, which caused Jeannette to narrow her eyes. “He’ll close the deal. Whoever gets in his way will pay for their disloyalty to him. You understand what I’m saying?”
“You seem to forget who you are talking to, Samuel,” Mrs. Sanchez said. Her use of his first name was intentional, to remind him of her elder status. “I’ll put a call in to Lionel now. And don’t worry about our Cici. I plan to watch her closer than a hawk.”
That actually made Sam feel better. “Thank you, señora.”
“I don’t do it for you, Samuel. La reverenda is special. The daughter I never had. Comprende?”
The tensed muscles in Sam’s shoulders and back eased enough for him to draw a full breath. Even though she was giving him the business, Sam appreciated Mrs. Sanchez’s protective instincts. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You finish whatever task took you away, because we need you here. I do not like the goings-on, the stress for Cici so soon. What if she’s pregnant? This would be terrible for a baby. And this…Gordon lacks not just the correct skill but also a soul.”
Sam bit his tongue to keep from voicing his agreement or worry that Cici had been left unprotected to handle a man with a chip on his shoulder and a petty willingness to hurt anyone he deemed to have embarrassed or disrespected him.
“Thank you, señora. I’ll be in touch with Cici soon.”
“Do that,” she replied.
Sam squeezed the back of his neck, wishing it would relieve the tension slamming into his head.
At least they had a potential direction to drive this case—one that wasn’t Cici’s father. But Sam didn’t hold out a lot of hope that he’d get any more breaks.
He rose from his desk, grabbing his jacket and buttoning it up. Jeannette handed him a cup of coffee as they headed out into the hall.
“We’re going to be late to the meeting I set up,” she said. “You know how hard it is to get all the alphabets together. Even if it is something as important as a year-long investigation into money laundering and racketeering charges.”
“Is Cord going to be here?” Sam asked.
“No.” Jeannette curled her lip. “He whined his way out of sticking around town yesterday, apparently. My understanding is he got a safe house on the east coast until Bresdeen deems the potential threat past so he can return to active duty, but I haven’t heard anything more.”
“East coast, huh? Where’d he come from?”
“DC, I think.”
Sam stopped walking, the coffee partway to his mouth, eyes wide as he stared at Jeannette.
She turned to face him, exasperation flashing across her face. “What now?”
“Cici’s family home was broken into,” Sam said.
“So?”
“Exactly. So? Why is a federal agent already on the scene talking to her, claiming this is a federal case?”
Jeannette’s eyes widened as she lowered her coffee.
“Bresdeen,” she whispered.
“What?”
She gnashed her teeth. “You said he told Cici about the case against her father. Him, not you.”
Sam nodded.
“And now Cici’s being harassed by a federal agent.”
Sam rolled his neck and stared up at the dusty ceiling tile above him. “Ah, hell. Bresdeen removed me to get to Cici.”
“To see what she knows about her father’s illegal activities. He’ll put pressure on her via the crime at the house, use it as leverage to force Cici to implicate her father.” Jeannette’s mouth twitched, anger causing her cheeks to flame.
“The problem with that scenario is the theory that Cici and her father are close enough to communicate about his illegal activities,” Sam said. “But they’re not.”
“They don’t have to be close for Bresdeen to try to use Cici as a bargaining tool—in case Frank’s got his money laundering too tight for us to penetrate.”