Lone Star Santa (13 page)

He was mad. She got that. But he needed to ditch the patronizing attitude. “Well, I’m not a bank teller. And I never finished college,” Kristen snapped. “So do you suppose you could tell
me
what’s going on? Use little words.”

Mitch’s expression didn’t change. “Money laundering.”

Kristen had visions twentieth-century gangsters in baggy pinstriped suits. “For real?”

He nodded.

“How do you know?”

“All the activity and the shell companies. The whole point of money laundering is to hide cash that comes from crime and make it appear as though it was legitimately earned. This—” he waved at the papers “—is the ideal setup. Yeah.” He stared at Kristen’s chart. “Perfect.”

“Show me.”

Mitch stood and came over to her side of the booth. Kristen slid over to make room, sighing for the lost tequila-salt-lime-tongue opportunity. The mood was so over.

“Okay.” He turned the papers around to face them. “There’re three parts to money laundering—placement, which is getting the excess cash into the system, layering, where it’s mixed all around with legit money, and integration, where it can be withdrawn without attracting suspicion.”

“There are three parts and they’re named?”

“Oh, yeah. Underground money is a huge problem. There are organizations and Web sites devoted to fighting money laundering. Annual conferences are held all over the world.”

“I didn’t realize.” And it sounded as though Mitch was in worse trouble than she thought.

“Anyway, say you’re a crook and you’ve got a whole lot of cash. It attracts attention you don’t want. So you look for businesses where a lot of cash is used like casinos, restaurants, bars—”

Kristen gasped. “Strip clubs! Think of all the tips.”

“Exactly. Oh, and banks or, say,
financial services firms
.”

“Omigod.” Kristen was getting the picture and it wasn’t pretty.

“But financial institutions are trickier to use because you need somebody on the inside. Or even better, somebody who can be fooled into being a cash conduit.”

“And that was you.”

He nodded. “Apparently so. Except I would have been suspicious if a client had handed me a suitcase of cash, so I wasn’t the entry point. I just sent the money into the machine to be washed.”

“How?”

“I’d set up an account. I’d make some legit investments, as I always do. But the client can also make deposits and withdrawals.” Mitch pointed to the twisted trail of companies. “They’d transfer money here and shift it around so many times that no one could ever trace it.” He ran a finger along Kristen’s chart. “Here
you didn’t really follow one sum of money. What you did was link the shell companies that did business with each other.”

“Oh.” There went two days of her life.

“Hey.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “You did good.”

“Thanks.” She nudged him back. “So what about Jeremy’s dad? Does he know?”

Mitch looked down at her, his expression grim. “What do you think?”

“Just considering my mother’s reaction, I’d have to say guilty, guilty, guilty.”

“I’d say that, too, because guess what’s one of the favorite ways to get money back out of the system?”

“Well, it’s got to be something to do with real estate.”

“Buying and selling property. Lending money to buy and sell property.” Mitch folded the chart. “Big ticket stuff. The sales price is recorded on the county tax roles for anybody to see all nice and legal. And so the money is back from the cleaners.”

Mitch continued to gather the papers as Kristen struggled to understand. “So…this isn’t like a one-time thing.”

“Oh, no.”

“It was a setup.”

“And a good one.” Mitch handed her the papers and then inexplicably salted a lime wedge and bit into it.

“You can order—”

“No.” He signaled the waiter for the check, reached for his wallet and tossed some bills on the table.

It was a generous tip. Mitch probably earned less than the waiter.

“Let’s go.” Mitch dropped his keys into Kristen’s hand.

Suddenly liking him very, very much, she squeezed her fingers around them.

“B
UT WHY DOES
J
EREMY
need to launder money?” Kristen asked. She’d asked lots of questions. Questions that made Mitch think. He was tired of thinking.

“Because it’s very profitable.” He got in the passenger side of the car and slammed the door.

Kristen walked around to the driver’s side and got in, flashing lots of leg as she did so. “But where did he get the money to launder?”

“I don’t know. Just start the car!”

She gave him a look that was withering and poutily sexy at the same time.

The tequila had quenched the burning fires of rage—and also colored Mitch’s thoughts with over-wrought drama.

The tequila had not quenched the burning fires for Kristen, which had ignited back when she’d opened the door to her house. If anything, it had fanned those flames.

As though he had any chance with her at all now.

He didn’t know for sure, but he had the impression that dating her would be problematic while he was in jail.

And it was all thanks to his buddy, his pal, his one-time roommate, his partner, his amigo, Jeremy.

At least now he could think the name without danger of rupturing a blood vessel.

Mitch hadn’t known he was capable of such anger—a lot of which had been directed at himself. Jeremy shouldn’t have been able to fool him and now Mitch was taking his anger out on Kristen.

This would be the same Kristen who was his only ally. The Kristen who had spent untold hours digging around when he’d been stringing Christmas lights and waiting for Jeremy to fix everything.

Oh, he’d fixed everything all right.

Mitch stared across the car at Kristen and forced himself to inhale and exhale deeply.

He should have drunk more tequila because as much of a mess as he was in and in spite of knowing that she had been pretending tonight, she was still wearing an outfit that revealed a whole lot of skin, which he liked. The skin and the outfit.

Kristen signaled and merged onto the freeway. “Has that tequila kicked in yet?”

“As much as it’s going to.”

“Feeling any better?”

“I will after I apologize for snapping at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Not really.” Mitch rubbed his eyes. “I haven’t even thanked you. You spent hours on this, Kristen.”

“I sure did. And don’t think I won’t remind you when I need a favor some time, like when I’m rich and famous and need someone to handle all my money.”

“I’m not going to be doing any favors from jail.”

“Are you giving up?”

“Nah. I’ll go through the motions, but…” He made an
L
with his fingers and pressed his forehead. “Loser.”

“Hey! I don’t hang out with losers. Oh.” She grimaced. “Okay, I’m not going to hang out with losers anymore, starting right now. With you.”

“Great. Now I’m a charity project.”

“I’m not that altruistic. I’m with you because I want to be.”

Sure she was. “So you’re saying that dumb, gullible, number geeks appeal to you?”

“Now you’re just being morose. It’s not attractive.”

“Too bad, ’cause there’s a lot more morosity where that came from.”

Kristen grinned. “
Morosity
isn’t a word.”

“So what? Are the language police going to send me to vocabulary jail?”

“You have now moved on to petulance. I’m not seeing that as an improvement.”

“I wasn’t trying to improve. There’s no point.”

“And depression makes an appearance.”

“Kristen, this is not an emotions quiz. You don’t have to identify each one.”

“But you’re going through them so fast.”

“Not as fast as you drive. Wanna back it off a little?”

He expected an objection, but didn’t get one. Kristen eased her foot off the accelerator.

There was silence, blessed silence in the car. But that meant he could think and his thoughts weren’t pleasant. “I never suspected anything. I wonder how long…when it all started. I saw Jeremy every day. How many of those days did he look me in the eye and lie to me? I have no idea. He’s the same Jeremy he’s always been. We even shared an apartment for four years! How could he do this to me? And why did I never sense this about him?”

He looked over at Kristen. “You’re not saying anything.”

“No.”

“Smart girl.”

“Yes.”

He smiled, surprised he still could.

He stared out the window as the big city lights of Houston faded from view and the flat land opened up.

So now what? Jeremy had set him up but good. The guy was smarter than Mitch had given him credit for. Or his dad had helped him. Or both.

If Mitch reported his suspicions to the police or the FBI, they’d just figure he was trying to save himself. Which he would be. But it was such a sweet system. They’d never believe he had no clue. Even he couldn’t believe he’d had no clue, no inkling, no suspicion. And the way Jeremy had become the front man and left Mitch with all the technical details—pure brilliance. Jeremy would act shocked. His father was a respected small-town businessman.
He
would act shocked. They were good with people. They’d know just the right things to say.

And they’d had weeks to practice. Weeks to clean up. Weeks to make Mitch look guilty.

He couldn’t count on help from the FBI. They thought they had their man—him.

This was one time when doing the right thing would be the wrong strategy.

Kristen took the Sugar Land exit off the freeway. As she turned to go beneath the overpass the dingy shadows and concrete reminded Mitch of the black-and-white films he’d been watching. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m living a film noir. You’re the femme fatale. I’m the doomed patsy.”

“Mitch, will you please get over yourself?”

“It’s true. A favorite theme is the innocent man being
framed and trying to prove it. He has to fight both the bad guys
and
the good guys.”

“So what happens?”

“Somebody usually gets shot.”

“I nominate Jeremy.”

“No.” Mitch straightened. “That won’t do it. I need to clear my name. I need revenge. And I need for Jeremy to realize that he’s not as clever as he thinks he is.”

“And that you’re not as stupid as he thinks you are.” She nodded. “I get it.”

“We’re not using the
s
word. But, yes. That, too.” He looked over at her. “If I’m going to get him, Kristen, I’ll need your help. You in?”

She flashed him a huge grin. “I am
so
in.”

Chapter Eight

Kristen rested her chin on her hand and looked through the doorway of her father’s office to where Mitch sat at her desk.

She’d driven directly here once Mitch had decided to fight back. She hadn’t wanted to chance him sleeping on it and changing his mind.

In an ideal world, he could go to whatever entity was in charge of catching money launderers. This was not an ideal world. Kristen knew that. And Mitch pointed out that even if it was established that he’d been completely unaware, who would want to hire a money manager who hadn’t known that his own portfolio was being used in money laundering?

So this was both personal and professional with him.

But it was three a.m. and they still didn’t have a plan. They were gathering information. Okay, fine. But Kristen was bored. Yes, she knew what was at stake. She was still bored. This was the tedious part they skipped in books and movies.

Her assignment had been to investigate Jeremy’s father and his company to find anything Mitch could use.

Kristen smothered a yawn. Where was the glamour? The excitement? The hot sex?

That
would wake her up.

Not that she was in the mood right now, but Mitch didn’t know that. He could at least try something. When she said she’d help him, she’d meant it, sure, but she’d expected some breaks where he felt moved to express his gratitude. And she would feel moved to express her, um, gratitude for his gratitude. But he hadn’t made eye contact with her, not even when she’d spoken directly to him.

He’d lost his mojo, that’s what had happened. He was embarrassed.

He had no reason to be, as far as Kristen was concerned. He’d trusted. Jeremy was scum. And son of scum.

Kristen stretched her arms over her head. She needed to plug Mitch’s testosterone leak before he became a mere shell of a man. It was the right thing to do.

“I’m getting tired,” she announced, her arms still over her head.

No response.

“And my back and shoulder are aching.” She arched her back and held it until the muscles started to cramp.

He didn’t look up.

Oh, come on. That had been a great pose. His peripheral vision should have alerted him.

Maybe she was too late and he was nothing but a husk of a man. This called for emergency resuscitation.

She got up and approached him. “Want a bottle of water? Coffee?”

He gazed at the monitor. “I’m good.”

Kristen walked behind his chair and deliberately placed her hands on his shoulders. His muscles tensed. “I figured if my shoulders hurt, yours must, too.” She pressed with her thumbs and kneaded with her fingers, really going after the knots.

He allowed it for a few brief seconds and then tried to shake her off. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.” Kristen yanked the rolling chair out from the desk, spun it around and sat in his lap.

“Kristen!” After a brief surprised look, he fixed his gaze over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Mitch.” She touched his jaw. “Look at me.”

He jerked his jaw away, but met her eyes.

Nope. No mojo there. She shifted on his lap. No mojo anywhere. “Mitch, being set up like this could have happened to anyone.”

“But it didn’t. It happened to me.”

How could she convince him? “I don’t want you thinking that I look down on you or anything.”

“Okay. Thanks. We should get back to work.”

A girl could get a complex. “Mitch, I…” This was so difficult when he gazed at her with all the expression of a statue. “I’m trying to say that this…situation doesn’t make you any less attractive.”