Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses (A Tara Holloway Novel Book 8) (14 page)

The man led me to a table for two in the back corner, as if trying to hide their pathetic, lonely patron away from the eyes of their happier, accompanied customers. After pulling out a chair, he snatched the second set of silverware from the table as if not to embarrass me further.

Ugh.
Maybe treating myself to dinner had been a bad idea.

As I began to look over the menu, a man’s laugh floated across the room.
A man’s laugh that rang a familiar bell.
My gaze followed the sound and I found myself staring at my ex Brett and a pretty woman who had to be his new girlfriend, Fiona. Or should I say his fianc
é
e? A rock the size of an escargot graced the ring finger of her left hand.

No doubt about it now.

Treating myself to dinner had
definitely
been a bad idea.

I contemplated whether I could sneak out without being seen. Brett and I had ended our relationship on good terms, or on as good terms as possible when you mutually decide to go your separate ways. Still, I didn’t want him to see me sitting here, without a date or even a friend, like some pathetic loser. And I had to admit, even though it was clear the two of us were not meant to spend the rest of our lives together, it hurt a little to see that he’d moved ahead so quickly.

Quicker than Nick and I.

Ouch.

I’d just stood to attempt a quiet escape when my phone went off in my purse, booming “Gunpowder and Lead” across the restaurant.
Dammit!
Every head in the place turned my way, including the heads perched on the shoulders of Brett and Fiona.

All of a sudden, my French came back to me. Well, at least the word I needed now, which was “crap.”

Merde. Merde, merde, merde!

I gave Brett a wave and a forced smile as I settled back into my chair. I pulled the phone from my purse and jabbed the button to accept Eddie’s call. “Hi, Eddie,” I said, keeping my voice as low as I could so as not to disturb the other diners any further.

“I’ve found us an art appraiser,” he said. “The art teacher at the twins’ school has a masters in fine arts from SCAD.”

“Scab? What’s scab?”

Despite my attempts to keep my voice to a whisper, a woman at the next table overheard me, quirking her lip in disgust.

“It’s
SCAD
,” Eddie repeated. “Savannah College of Art and Design. It’s one of the top art schools in the country. Mrs. Windsor also spent three years working as a curator at the Guggenheim. She knows her stuff.”

“Fantastic. It’ll be nice to get a professional opinion.”

The waiter approached and I asked Eddie to hold while I placed my order, not only for my wine but for my food, as well. I wanted to eat as quickly as possible and get the heck out of there. My peripheral vision told me that Brett had cast a glance or two my way since my wave.

“She can take the afternoon off next Tuesday,” Eddie said. “Does that work for you?”

“That works fine. Thanks, Eddie.”

As I ended the call, I noted a waiter approaching Brett and Fiona’s table with an appetizer of
boudin blanc
. The instant the server set it down between them, Fiona’s face turned green. She leaped up from her seat and dashed to the ladies’ room.

Sheesh.
You’d think a woman who was a professional chef wouldn’t freak out over a little white sausage.

When the waiter left his table, Brett stood and came over. “Hi, Tara.”

A warm flush rushed up my neck. I hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Hi.”

His gaze moved over my face. “You look great.”

“I just had a facial.” I circled an open hand in front of my face. “All this skin is brand-new.”

He chuckled. “How’re things going?”

That was a hard question to answer. Hard, at least, to answer
honestly.
Since Brett and I had broken up I’d been nearly run off the road by a thug hired to kill me, shot four men in a strip club, been fired from the IRS, engaged in a shootout at a truck yard, and had my ass burned in a gas well explosion. And that was just for starters. But I’d also fallen in love with Nick, evened the score with my college nemesis, and been rehired by the IRS after a jury found me innocent in my excessive-force trial.

I looked up at Brett. “You know how things always are for me. Totally nuts with a side of crazy.”

He offered me that boyish smile that used to turn my knees to mush. “You wouldn’t want it any other way.”

True that.

“I noticed Fiona’s ring,” I said. No point in pretending otherwise, right? “Looks like congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks.” Brett glanced in the direction she’d run. “It’s kind of hard to believe I’m going to be someone’s husband.” He looked down for a moment, then back up at me. “And someone’s father.”

It took a moment for his words to register. “Fiona’s pregnant?”
Wow.
He hadn’t wasted any time once we’d split up, had he?

He nodded, looking a little embarrassed. “It was a … surprise. But it’s one I’m happy about.” The soft smile he offered was genuine.

“You’ll be a great father,” I said. He would be, too. He doted on Napoleon, his Scottie mix, as well as Reggie, a pit bull he’d taken on after Christina and I had arrested the dog’s owners. Any child of his was sure to be hopelessly spoiled.

His smile morphed into a look of concern and his eyes cut to the empty seat across the table from me. “How are things with Nick?”

I debated my answer. Frankly, I was still upset with Nick for taking on the undercover assignment in the cartel. Not that he’d had much choice in the matter, but he didn’t have to be so eager about it. Still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to air our dirty laundry, especially to Brett, what with his pretty bride-to-be and a baby on the way. Not that it was a competition or anything, but, if it were, Brett would definitely be winning. By a wide margin, too.

“Things are good,” I said finally. “He’s working a dangerous undercover case that’s got me a little worried, though. I came here hoping the cr
è
me br
û
l
é
e would take my mind off things.”

“The cr
è
me br
û
l
é
e
is
pretty mind-blowing.”

Less than a year ago Brett and I had shared the dessert at this very restaurant. Things had changed so much since then.

“Tell you what,” Brett said as my waiter approached, “your dessert is on me.”

At one time, he might have meant that literally and suggested I eat it off his naked body. Now, though, a plate would be involved.

He asked my waiter to bring me a cr
è
me br
û
l
é
e and add it to his tab.

“Thanks, Brett.”

“Any time.”

Fiona reappeared at the other end of the room, looking a slightly lighter shade of green now. Brett bid me good-bye and returned to his table. Fiona glanced my way and said something to him, probably asking who I was. I was curious what he’d said in return.

An old friend?

The girl I left for you?

Just somebody that I used to know?

Choked up with emotion, I had a hard time getting my dinner down. I felt worried and lonely and, admittedly, a little jealous. I’d only recently got an “I love you” from Nick, but Brett had already given Fiona a diamond and a zygote. Not that I was necessarily ready for those things quite yet, especially the zygote. How could I chase down bad guys if I were suffering from morning sickness like Fiona? Adding a kid to the mix would definitely complicate things for me and Nick jobwise, too. It was one thing for a single guy to go undercover inside a dangerous cartel, but it would be another thing entirely for a father to risk his life that way. Given that I was the best shot in the office, Lu often assigned me to investigations where gunplay was likely. Should a mother with a baby at home put her life at risk? If—
when?
—Nick and I decided to settle down and reproduce, we’d face a lot of tough decisions.

But why worry about that now? I forced those complicated thoughts aside and decided to just enjoy the delicious cr
è
me br
û
l
é
e the waiter was placing in front of me.

I jabbed the top with a spoon to break through the hard top and scooped up a piece of the hard glaze along with the creamy goop underneath. I loved the stuff, even if it was a bit like eating glass. I stuck the spoon in my mouth and closed my eyes to savor the delicious flavor.
Yummm.
It was almost enough to make me forget that Christina and Nick could be dead right now.

Almost.

chapter thirteen

P
hone Calls and Carbohydrates

At three o’clock Friday morning, the sound of rumba music pulled me out of a fitful sleep. My head felt foggy, my eyes droopy, my limbs heavy. But at least now that I was regaining consciousness, the nightmares involving El Cuchillo fled to the dark recesses of my mind. The killer had been running through my head all night, slashing and stabbing indiscriminately, leaving a trail of bloody, dismembered bodies in his wake and leaving my heart pounding so hard it was a miracle blood wasn’t spurting out my ears.

As my skinny, creamy cat Anne stirred beside me, lifting her furry white head, the rumba notes kicked in again.

Wait. There’d been no music in my dreams. What’s making that sound?

The secret cell phone, that’s what!

Snapping fully awake, I sat bolt upright, upsetting the cat, who scampered to the end of the bed. I grabbed the phone from my nightstand and frantically clawed it open. My mouth started speaking before the phone even made it to my ear.“Nick? Nick, are you there?”

When he spoke, his voice was hushed and hurried. “We can’t reach anyone on our outside team. I need your help.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to follow a car, see where the driver goes.” He gave me a color, make, and model—
black Toyota Sequoia SUV
—and a Texas license plate number. “It’ll be heading south on Central Expressway from Plano in twenty minutes or so. Can you get up there by then?”

“If I haul ass.”

“And what a sweet ass you haul.”

“Aww,” I replied. “You’re making me blush.”

“Take your gun,” he said, “and don’t get out of your car under any circumstances. The guy in the Sequoia is extremely dangerous. He’d slit his own mother’s throat if she got in his way.”

“Got it,” I said. “Take my gun. Stay in my car.”

“Don’t call me back,” he said. “I never know when someone’s going to be with me. I’ll call you later for the information.”

“Okay.”

“Tara,” he said, his voice tinged with worry. “Be careful.”

“Always am,” I said.

“That’s a lie.”

He was right. I’d been known to take some crazy risks. But, hey, I was just doing my job.

“Where are you?” I asked, almost afraid to know the answer. Though we had our share of drug violence here, much of the most gruesome violence took place south of the border.

“Our targets are expanding their network in north Texas. I’m still here in town.”

I closed my eyes.
Thank God.
My heart squeezed painfully. “I miss you, Nick.”

“Good,” he said. “The more you miss me, the better the sex will be when I get back.” With that, he gave me a “gotta go” and disconnected.

Leaping from my bed, I ripped off my nightshirt and headed to my closet. I grabbed the first thing I found, a pair of blue scrubs with
BAYLOR MEDICAL CENTER
printed on the chest. I’d bought the scrubs at a secondhand store months ago when I’d been staking out a post office and needed some undercover disguises. Last time I’d worn the scrubs, people had assumed I was a real nurse and asked me all kinds of personal and disgusting medical questions about warts, and infected tattoos, and issues
down there.
Since I’d be doing surveillance from my car tonight I wouldn’t have to worry about that.

I slipped into the scrubs and a pair of sneakers, forgoing a bra and socks. There was no time for undergarments. I scurried downstairs, hurdling Henry, my furry Maine coon, who lay on the rug at the bottom. He tossed me a dirty look.

“Count your blessings, cat,” I told him. “You could be a lion in a teeny cage.”
Poor Simba.

Grabbing my father’s old field glasses from the coat closet and my purse from the table in the foyer, I ran into my garage, punching the button to raise the door.

“Dammit!”

Alicia’s black Audi was parked behind my car in the drive, blocking me in.

Closing the garage door, I darted back inside, once again hurdling Henry, who refused to move.
Pompous cat.
I glared down at him. “You are not the center of the universe.”

The look he gave me in return said both that he pitied my ignorance of astronomy and that I could go straight to hell. Assuming, of course, I filled his food bowl first.

I fished around in my roommate’s bag for her car keys and ran out front with them, my nipples hardening in the cool night air. At least there was no one around to see the peep show. I bleeped the Audi’s door locks open. I’d driven Alicia’s car only once before, when she’d downed a few too many Mexican margaritas, but I knew she wouldn’t mind my taking it tonight. It was an emergency, after all. I slipped inside, started the engine, and threw the gearshift into reverse.

Ten minutes later, I sat on the shoulder of the southbound 75 freeway with the lights and engine off and my dad’s oversized field glasses resting on my lap. With any luck, I’d look like a motorist having car trouble. With more luck, Dallas PD and the driver of the Sequoia wouldn’t pay any attention to me.

I’d been waiting only three minutes when a vehicle fitting the description drove past. Raising the binoculars to my eyes, I checked the license plate.

Yep. That’s the one.

I started the engine but kept the lights off until I’d eased into the traffic lanes. Hanging back a dozen car lengths, I followed the Toyota for several miles before it took the exit for the 635 loop. I took the exit twenty seconds later. Shorty afterward, the driver headed off the freeway and onto the surface streets, eventually pulling into a Waffle House on Jupiter Road.