For Love & Bourbon (10 page)

“So we have no idea what the charges are?”

“None.” Feeling her energy waning, she sat down beside her mother and sighed. “And we won’t know until Daddy gets home.”

On edge, Adam walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of whiskey. He brought it and the bottle to the living room and sat down across from his family. After taking a sip, he passed the glass to Ava.

She accepted it, meeting his eyes. “Sorry you had to find out from Beau. It slipped my mind.”

His head dipped in a nod. “I get it. I can be easy to forget.”

Ignoring his statement, she drank the last of the whiskey, then refilled it and handed it to her grandfather.

“Thank you, dearie.” Joe held it in his hands, giving her a cheery grin. “We’ll get this straightened out. Don’t you worry.”

“How can you be so calm?” she managed. She looked to her mother. “Both of you. You make me feel like I’m overreacting.”

Sandra patted her knee. Before she could speak, the front door opened.

Ava’s eyes shot to the entryway. Her father came in, set his briefcase down like normal, and removed his coat.

All the words she wanted to say seemed stuck in her throat as she stared at him, going about his routine like nothing was wrong. It took Adam saying something for her to snap out of it and jump to her feet.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Adam asked, storming up to their father as he entered the room.

Ava was at his side in an instant. “The FBI? What do they want?”

Ty let out a slow exhale, his eyes tired as he faced his children. He attempted a reassuring smile. “It’s just a routine thing. Nothing to worry about.”

“Routine? How so?” Ava demanded, wanting nothing more than to wrestle the truth from him. Already it felt like pulling teeth.

“The IRS is concerned I may not have paid taxes on a bit of money. I’ve already spoken with the attorney and we’re in the process of gettin’ this cleared up.”

“So why is the FBI searching your computers?” Ava frowned.

“They’re just looking into the financials of the company to verify where the money went and if there’s any other money that went unclaimed on the tax return.”

Though she wanted to be reassured by her father’s words, Ava couldn’t let go of the dread she felt. And though she was certainly no expert, she found it implausible that the FBI would bother with something as mundane as tax evasion. “This is all just about taxes, then? Nothing more?”

“Nothing more.” Ty rubbed her back, then faced his son. “I promise.”

Adam let out a rush of breath, relieved. “Well, that’s good, then.”

Sandra smiled and rose to her feet. “See? I told you kids it’d be just fine.”

Joe also stood and went to his son, slapping him on the back. “Damn tax man can never take enough, can he?” he joked with a wink.

Ty’s gaze drifted to Ava’s, and she knew he could tell she wasn’t satisfied by his explanation. He pulled her in close for a hug, and she tried to let his presence comfort her.

“Don’t worry, baby. Everything will continue on just like normal.”

She wanted to remind him that the whole town was already in a gossipy frenzy over the news. In the end, it wouldn’t help.

Instead, she’d check in on their little FBI friends in the morning and make sure everything was as it seemed.

THE FIRST
thing Cooper did upon returning to his hotel room for the night was open the bottle of 101. He didn’t even give it a second thought—he simply twisted off the top and poured himself a shot. He lifted the glass, sniffed, then swallowed.

Ready for the burn, eager for it, he sucked in a breath and let the whiskey warm his insides. It sank into his bloodstream with a hot kick that sent a shiver down his spine.

Feeling marginally better, he lowered himself into the desk chair. He stared at the whiskey, tilting the glass to admire the color of it in the light. It was a vivid, rich gold, much darker than the Honey or Distiller’s Choice he’d tried the day before. The 101 was heavier in every sense of the word. And at that moment, he was pleased with his choice. Beer, as much as he loved it, just wouldn’t do the trick. Something stronger was needed after the day he’d had.

They hadn’t found anything usable on Ty’s computers. Not yet, anyway, he reminded himself. Regardless, he thought they’d be swimming in evidence after the first sweep. Instead they were coming up empty and it frustrated the hell out of him.

The Swiss account alone was proof that Ty was hiding something. It was the very piece of evidence that had brought them down to Kentucky in the first place. If they were unable to prove Ty knew the money was being withdrawn by someone in Dublin, most likely Ned Brannon, then the entire case may fall apart. They needed something more substantial to tie him to the Irish side of the family, something like emails detailing dollar amounts or phone calls timed conveniently with the withdrawals.

Cooper knew he had to have faith in his team to find it, whatever it was.

In the next room over, he could hear the faint sound of the football game Marco was watching. Because it reminded him of home, he settled back in his chair and began to relax.

He’d come a long way from the lively streets of D.C. He wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of finding the truth. Not even whatever twisted form of guilt he felt for involving Ava the way he did.

Impartiality in a case usually came naturally to him. Never before had he felt the need to protect someone he didn’t even know, had no connection to. She was just another case file, an unfortunate bystander in the storm her own father created. Whatever happened to her or the Lucky Fox Distillery was none of his business. All he was allowed to care about was proving Ty Brannon’s guilt.

And it needed to stay that way.

He stood and went to the window, pulling aside the drapes. From his view on the third floor he could see much of downtown Fox Hills as everything shut down for the evening. In the wash of moonlight and street lamps, he watched people drift in and out of the local bar across the street.

That was when he saw her. Face lit with laughter, Ava exited the bar and waved goodbye to whoever was inside. Though he couldn’t hear her, he imagined her voice in his head, that husky lilt such a warm contrast to the sharpness of her tongue. Keys in hand, she made her way to a blue pickup truck parked on the street.

Her gaze drifted upward, landed on his. He tensed, then lifted his glass of bourbon in a silent toast to her.

The smile she wore faded. She stared at him for a long moment, then climbed into her truck and drove away.

S
he did her best to run damage control. Though it took all her energy to put on a radiant smile and act like nothing was wrong, she felt she pulled it off. The townspeople had their answers, and her employees were confident the issue was being handled.

A little bit of unpaid taxes. Completely accidental, of course. Leave it to the government to overreact and send the FBI knocking to confiscate computers over an innocent little accounting error. Nothing more than a routine search, she’d assured them. The company was doing just fine and soon everything would get back to normal.

It had sounded so good that she almost believed it herself.

Ava didn’t want to doubt her father. The rest of the family seemed content with his explanation, so why wasn’t she?

Something in her father’s eyes had changed, she realized. There was a sense of apprehension in them now that never existed before. The cause of it could have been stress, but what if it was something more?

Shaking off the thought, she parked in front of the Lucky Fox office downtown and cut the engine. In front of her was a white van with the FBI logo and the phrase “Computer Analysis and Response Team.”

Irritation rushed over her at knowing tourists and locals alike would witness the FBI’s presence at her family’s place of business. Nothing she could do about that, she reminded herself. Nothing except save face publicly and hope the storm blew over quickly.

Taking a deep breath, she hopped from the truck. Though she had a key, she decided to knock instead. She wasn’t sure what to expect with the FBI rummaging around inside, but planned to weasel her way in to snag some paperwork and get answers.

A dark-haired man in his early thirties with an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth answered, looking like an Italian mobster straight out of
Goodfellas
, suit and all.

Marco grinned and gave a brisk nod, speaking around the cigar. “Can I help you?”

Ava eyed the cigar with a spark of outrage. “Are you smoking in my office?”

“What, this?” He pulled the cigar from his mouth and stared at it, then at her. “It’s just for show. You must be Ava.” He extended his free hand. “I’m Agent D’Amico. But you can call me Marco.”

She accepted the handshake, brows raised. “How do you know who I am?”

“Your picture’s on the wall inside.” He stepped backward, invited her in. “I love Lucky Fox bourbon, by the way. Big fan.”

“Is that right?” She spotted two more agents in the reception area, one working on the secretary’s computer and another seated on the floor, organizing stacks of paperwork into piles. Rock music played from a portable radio they’d brought in, and the middle-aged black man at the computer bobbed his head in time with the beat. The agent on the floor—a leggy blonde smacking on a piece of gum—gave her a passing, disinterested glance when she entered.

Ava faced Marco. “For someone who claims to love our product you’re sure going out of your way to see we stop producing it.”

He held up his hands in defense. “Hey, now. I don’t make the calls. I’m just a minion sent to take care of business. It’s not personal.”

“Not personal to you,” Ava replied, resting her hands on her hips. “It’s not your company under investigation for tax fraud.”

Marco’s mouth opened, then promptly shut again. She recognized biting one’s tongue when she saw it. Before she could press him on what he was about to say, a voice called out from her father’s office.

“Marco, where’s that cold cut sandwich you promised me? I’m going to starve in here.”

Ava shot Marco a knowing look, then walked down the hallway. She came upon the door to her father’s office and leaned casually against the frame.

“Hey, Slick.”

Cooper tore his eyes from the screen of Ty’s laptop, blinking at her from behind rectangular black framed glasses. “Oh, hey. You’re not my sandwich.”

“I’m afraid not.” She crossed her arms, nodded at the computer. “Find what you’re looking for yet?”

“Not yet.” He came to his senses and quickly closed the laptop, overturned some of the paperwork sitting on the desk. “How’d you get in here?”

“Your buddy Marco let me in.” She tried to catch what was written on the papers he was hiding, but he was too quick. “Is this not allowed?”

“Probably not.” He removed his glasses and rounded the desk with a friendly grin. He placed a hand on her shoulder to urge her from the room and back into the reception area. “But since you’re here, is there something I can help you with?”

“I just need some of the payroll paperwork.” She started for the receptionist’s desk, only to have him step in front of her, blocking the way. The agent sitting there eyed her suspiciously before returning to his work.