There was a problem. Despite his mandate to uncover financials and the threads that would lead from them, Theodore found himself outside the steakhouse at six fifty-five. A habit of his was arriving a few minutes early that he might check things out.
A Lion’s Pride Steakhouse was a well-known eatery owned, no surprise, by the Pride Group—who also made their money in luxury hotels and hair products, of all things. Yet they seemed a little too successful. Given some of the things he’d gleaned from the files, he knew for a fact they had to be dealing in some shady stuff, too. If he could ferret out the secret, he’d be in for a promotion and a raise.
There were a few ways he could tackle this. There was the actual tax fraud angle, which was the most obvious easiest. The ammo itself was black market stuff, and thus no taxes had been paid. And then there was whatever the Pride Group was hiding. It must be big given Melly Goldeneyes appeared quite earnest when she claimed she’d been training and accumulating weaponry for work.
Brass knuckles. How did a pretty and petite thing like her expect him to believe she fought bare knuckles?
And what kind of employee thought she needed to shoot down helicopters to do her job?
The hum of an engine had him eyeing askance the single light bearing down on him. The motorcycle screamed to a stop and he knew who sat on the seat straddling the big motor.
“Theo! There you are, and right on time, too, I’ll bet.” She swung a leg off the bike and peeled off her pink glitter helmet. She shook out her dark hair. The leather jacket and jeans she wore were form fitting. The toes of her boots scuffed.
They couldn’t have looked more mismatched. “Evening, Ms. Goldeneyes.”
“So formal, Theo. Call me Melly. Just don’t call me your sexy bitch, or I will jump you. In a dirty good way of course.” She winked.
He tried to steer her in a better direction. “Do you have the paperwork I requested in order?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re just going to tell me I can’t claim any of it, so what’s the point?”
“The point is without those deductions you’ll owe thousands.”
“Yada. Yada. We’ll discuss business later,” she said. “Ready for the best steak of your life?”
He’d not meant to eat. He’d planned to get her to hand over the stuff. Then, as she claimed, reject them, thus giving her the choice of paying for her crime or rolling on someone else.
Instead, when she grabbed his hand, he followed docilely as she led him inside. She never looked before she tossed her helmet at the podium, yelling, “Heads up, Clara.”
Clara gave her the finger with one hand and caught the helmet with the other.
Melly didn’t wait to be seated but led him away from a dining room half full of diners to an even bigger one past some swinging doors. Rowdier, too, until they walked in. Too many sets of eyes zeroed in on him. Was it him, or did a few of them glow golden?
Melly waved. “Hey, biatches. This is my new friend Theo, the IRS guy I was telling you about.”
A good chunk of the room suddenly evaporated. He blinked, and bam, they were gone. He’d never get used to the irrational fear people had of someone who worked for the Treasury Department. Obey the laws, file the paperwork, and pay the correct amount of tax. How hard could it be?
Hard enough there was no shortage of investigations.
Melly didn’t seem perturbed one bit that her choice to bring him had caused half the place to clear out. She grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to a recently vacated table in the middle of the room.
Immediately he began to itch. His nose also began to twitch. Did they let animals inside the restaurant? Someone should call the health inspector on them.
Before he could sneeze, Melly shoved something at him. A little pink pill.
He waved a hand and his head. “I don’t do drugs.”
“It’s for your allergies.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please. Your eyes are getting ready to water, and you look like you’re about to bust a lung sneezing.”
“I am not taking medication from you.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
Her lips curved. “You mean you don’t trust me. Smart man. But here’s the thing. If I wanted to drug your ass, I wouldn’t make it obvious. I’d slip something into your water. Or food.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“I also wouldn’t waste any of my happy drugs on someone who wouldn’t appreciate them.”
“You use drugs?”
“Sometimes, but only if it’s safe. Arik’s got rules about us losing control in public. Social media ruins all our fun.” Her lips turned down.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” He handed the pill back, and his hand brushed hers. A shock went through him, and his startled gaze met hers.
Someone in the room gagged.
The moment ended. He sat down, briefcase on the floor. “If you’ve decided not to claim anything, then there’s really no need for this meeting.” He’d move onto the next person on his list. Maybe they’d be easier to crack.
“Well, you’ve got me all worried now about what I can claim. You’re saying no to all the best stuff. Bet you’re going to tell me next bullet-making classes don’t count under education.”
He resisted an urge to remove his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. She did it on purpose. Totally on purpose. Being ridiculous in the hopes he’d just go away. But he couldn’t leave. He eyed her. “This isn’t funny.”
“Never said it was.”
“You have all kinds of things on here that don’t make sense. “Bullet-making is not an acceptable educational choice.”
“Even if it saves the company money?” she countered.
“Does Pride Industries make ammunition?”
“No.” And he could just tell by her expression that she wished they did.
Such a strange woman.
“Given it doesn’t relate to your employment, and is a hobby, you can’t use it as a deduction.”
“Figures. All the things to help me survive the zombie apocalypse are being repressed by the government. I swear, it’s like they’re doing it on purpose. Don’t let us learn how to defend ourselves, taking away our guns.”
“You can learn to shoot, you just can’t ask for a rebate on your taxes for it.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “Mind not telling anyone though? I’m already going to be in trouble. I mean when Arik finds out we didn’t use an accountant to file our taxes, he’s gonna murder us.” She dragged a finger over her throat.
Instantly, his focus changed. “Are you worried he’ll harm you?”
“As if Arik would hurt me.” She laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair.
“A ‘no’ would have sufficed,” Theodore said stiffly.
“But you’re so cute when you’re silly.”
The insult bound in a compliment warmed and annoyed at once. “I am assuming from your own statement that your employer is unaware of the tax fraud you perpetrated.”
“Say nothing, Melly.” A woman sprawled over the booth and smiled at him. Her tawny skin was offset by golden hair and vivid green eyes.
“Excuse me?” Theodore frowned at the woman rudely interrupting. She didn’t seem daunted at all as she slid into the seat beside Melly.
“Did you fart?” the stranger asked.
He gaped and sputtered. “No.”
“Didn’t think so. I would have smelled it. So why are you apologizing?”
“I was actually trying to politely comment on your rude interruption of our discussion.” Theo’s stick rammed him straight in the seat.
“No discussion because Melly knows better than to talk about Pride business to outsiders. Right?” The green gaze zeroed in on Melly, who didn’t seem daunted in the least.
“He’s with the IRS.”
“Blood-sucking vulture,” the woman muttered.
“Ignore Zena,” Melly said to him. “She’s antiestablishment.”
“And I am also the Pride’s top lawyer, meaning if you want to ask Melly questions, they go through me.”
“She isn’t under arrest,” was his stiff reply.
“Does this mean no handcuffs later?” Melly winked.
Given the image he suddenly had involved cuffs, Melly, and no clothes, he was happy the tablecloth fell partially over his lap. “Meeting here wasn’t a good idea. We should reschedule.”
“Don’t leave.” Melly reached out, leaning over the table to do so, and grabbed his hand.
He looked down at her fingers on him, the skin of hers calloused compared to the softer skin on his. But that surely wasn’t the reason he felt a thrill every time she touched him. “We aren’t getting anything done.”
“Good. Keep it that way,” the lawyer snapped.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Melly said.
“Actually, I can. Conditions of your contract and all.” Zena smirked. “But never fear, I’ll handle this fine government agent.”
“Paws off, Zena,” Melly growled. “I saw him first.”
“Don’t make me tell your mother.”
Theodore ping-ponged his attention between the women.
“Tell her what, that I’m having dinner with a guy? Go right ahead,” Melly sassed. “She keeps bugging me to settle down and make some cubs for her to spoil.”
“So long as it’s not with him.” Zena slewed him an unimpressed look before slinking away.
He felt the need to reiterate two things, “We won’t be having sex, and there’s no need for a lawyer yet. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”
“An arrangement with no sex. I’m intrigued. But later. Business can wait. Let’s eat.”
Despite not having ordered, a plate layered with crispy calamari rings arrived as she spoke. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few bites.
An hour later, he was groaning and Melly was still eating. He’d only managed one piece of the dessert before he gladly gave her the rest. She ate it, plus the sixteen-ounce steak, the potato, the salad, the fried mushrooms. He’d never seen a woman with a healthier appetite.
Never known anyone so vivacious and bubbly. She might act dumb, but she was a lot smarter than she let on. He wondered how much of the bubbly-airhead thing was an act.
Melly leaned back, patted her belly, and said, “Thank gawd I wore my stretchy jeans. Teach me to have a snack before dinner.”
“What did you have?”
“Two burgers and a shake.”
“That’s a meal.”
“No, a meal has fries,” she corrected.
“How do you eat like that and remain…” He paused before saying sexy. “Trim?”
“I have a good metabolism.” She winked. “What do you do to work out?”
He shrugged. “This and that.” Of late, since he’d been assigned new tasks, he’d not had as much time as he’d like to work out.
As they ate, the initial crowd that had disappeared at the announcement of the IRS in their midst returned, their conversations a hum of background noise. The gazes only straying every so often with curiosity.
Theodore had allowed himself to relax. His guard came down. But it was past time he did the job he’d been tasked with.
Just as she placed her lips around the last piece of cake, the door to the dining room was thrust open and a loud voice shouted, “Don’t try anything funny or we’ll shoot.”
As if to make his point, the leader of the invading force brandished a weapon.
Melly uttered an “uh-oh.”
And Theodore went into an epic sneezing fit.