A Fortune to Die For (White Oak - Mafia Series Book 1) (11 page)

“No, but I’ll go sit in the hall with my computer while you two talk in private.” She grabbed the PC case and left.

She walked down to the end of the hall where there was a small sofa. Good thing, too, because Drecker opened the door and peered out a minute later. And where was Steve? Unless he was hiding under the bed, he didn’t appear to be in her room.

Working on her to-do list, she lost track of time. When Traver whistled for her, she jumped a half inch off the seat.

As she returned to her room, Mr. Drecker sighed heavily and threw up his hands. “I don’t normally trust all this bank wiring nonsense, but I’ll do it this time.”

She had shifted fifty thousand dollars to a local bank while waiting in her lawyer’s office this afternoon, so all she had to do now was transfer the total cost of the car and lease to his account.

“I understand why you have concerns. You rightfully shouldn’t wish me to know your bank account number. So this will be a blind transfer. I will send the information to my bank. Then they will notify you. You provide them with your bank account number, and they will credit your account.”

Drecker shook his head. “Just send it direct. I’ll give you my account number. Traver vouches for you.”

She stared at Traver. Why the hell would he vouch for her?

“That’s not the secure way to do this,” she protested.

“I don’t like complications,” Drecker said, “so I’m more comfortable if you transfer the money directly to me.”

She filled out the transfer form. He read off his bank name, routing, and account number while she typed. “Now, I’m sending you the money for my car and Traver’s lease.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She hit
enter
, and the screen showed
transaction complete
. She turned the screen to Drecker. “You can see the website address is my bank, and here are the details. I am screen saving this so when I get somewhere with a printer, I can send you a copy. However, it should show up in your account tomorrow.

Drecker smiled and shook her hand. “I’ll have the title documents completed tomorrow noon.”

“I thought you had them now.” She’d just sent this man thirty-eight thousand dollars
before
she had the car title? How stupid could she be?

“Didn’t know your name and address. Don’t you worry. I’m leaving the car with you. It’s yours.”

But Meg did worry. She didn’t trust Drecker…possibly because he was a car salesman.

Traver saw him to the door, then closed it, remaining inside.

“How well do you trust this guy?” she asked.

“More than most.” His arms slipped around her waist. “More than you.”

She pushed his arms away. “Stop mauling me.”

“Can’t. You deserve a reward for leasing me a truck.” He reached out to her, but she slapped his hand away.

“Reward? You’re drunk.”

He smiled. “Baby, women never complain, drunk or not.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell complaining. Traver, not three hours ago you were pissed as hell when you thought I’d only gotten us one room.”

“I was sober then…”

“Exactly my point. When sober, you don’t like women in general and me specifically. When drunk, you lose your good senses, but fortunately for us both, I haven’t.”

She pushed him to her door, opened it, and shoved him out. “Thank you and have a good night.” She then closed the door and double locked it. “Men!” she growled.

She kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her blouse. Grabbing her favorite PJs, she went into the bathroom and got ready for bed.

When she came out, she jumped at the sight of Steve sitting at her table.

“God! I’d decided you weren’t here when Drecker decided to check the room out first. Where were you hiding?”

Steve smiled and nodded to the door connecting her room to Traver’s.

“Isn’t it locked?”

He held up two key cards. “I have keys to both rooms.” She was about to ask how he obtained the key to Traver’s room but realized the extra key on the dresser was missing.

“I hope the bank account you wired money from didn’t have much more than what you sent him.”

“There should be twelve thousand left.”

“Good girl. You do just enough things right that I never deem you hopeless.”

She sat on the edge of her bed. “Besides not getting the title for the car before I sent the money, what other stupid things did I do or not do?”

“Did you get the keys?”

“Argh!” She pulled up her knees and pounded her head against her kneecaps, then fell to the side, curled in a fetus position. “I’m an idiot!”

The bed sank near her head and Steve caressed her hair. “You were played by pros.”

“As in plural?” She pushed herself up. “Traver was in on this, too?”

He nodded.

“I knew he was a jerk, right off.”

“And yet, you leased him a truck for a year.”

“What? No! For a week.”

“Did you read the tiny print?”

“In this lighting. It wasn’t even a possibility… Crap! Do I have
chump
written on my forehead?”

He gripped her head and stared at her brow. “Nope.” He then released her. “If it’s any consolation, I tape recorded the whole thing, so we will be able to prosecute if you wish.” He walked over to the table and reached under it, retrieving a small black box.

“Why wouldn’t I wish?” she asked cautiously as she sat up.

“You might conclude you have more than enough people wishing to kill you without adding the Iowa mafia to your tally.”

“The mafia? Drecker’s not an Italian name.”

“It’s an alias, as in Danny the Drecker, which is German for ‘he who excrements on you’.”

She buried her face in her hands. “Crap!”

He returned to the bed and softly rubbed her back. “Want my advice?”

She nodded.

“Just walk away from this. Write it off as a life lesson. And buy your next car the proper way.”

“I tried to buy it the normal way. I went to a car dealership, but they only sold Fords.”

“There’s a Subaru dealership just down the road, which you could have easily located with your PC.”

He was right. Instead, she’d let Traver take the lead and handle matters. Good old Traver, who hated her. What the hell had she been thinking? “I used to think I was so smart, but against con-artists, I’m an idiot.”

“Most people are. It’s why a con-artist can be successful for so long.”

“So what do I do now?”

“Well, you actually need to have a place of residence before buying a car. So perhaps tomorrow you should look for an apartment to rent.”

“Could I use Helen’s address?”

“You could, but a rental would be better. Then when you need to move, your driver’s license won’t tie you to a place you might want to have in the future.”

Tears started to rain upon her lap. She roughly wiped them away. Angry at their existence, angry at her stupidity, and most of all angry at the horrible way she treated Steve the last time they had spoken.

“I owe you an apology,” she said.

“No, you don’t.” He sounded surprised.

“I do. I was cold and obnoxious the last time we spoke in Danville.”

“After you kissed me on the cheek?”

She nodded. “And then you said something—I don’t remember what—and I thought you were flirting with me, and my defenses went up. So I became an ass.”

“In my line of work, people aren’t always at their best. A great deal of anger gets directed my way despite the fact I’m just trying to help.”

“It’s just I kept falling for these perfect guys who liked all the stuff I liked.”

“They profile you and then present themselves to be your perfect man. The good ones, male and female, are extremely successful. And it’s not uncommon for the mark to ask for a prenup. What is rare is someone who won’t budge on the matter and whose Will makes it unprofitable to kill her.”

“My Will doesn’t mention anyone murdering me,” she grumbled.

“No, but it locks in how your money will be allocated, and a very small amount goes to any husband you might acquire.”

“My lawyer wrote it up. When the first guy walked, I accused him of not wanting me to find another true love.”

“He was protecting you. I’ve had background checks run on your four fiancés. One has lost four wives in suspicious manners. His case is being revived by our Cold Case department because of you.”

“Which one?”

“The first.”

She sighed and gripped his hand. “Thank you for telling me. Up until this moment, I’ve wondered if I’d made a mistake not throwing out the prenup and marrying him.”

“He would have wanted the Will changed as well.”

She opened her mouth to argue but closed it. She’d been about to suggest that maybe he’d have been willing to live his life with her while they spent her money together but realized with four dead wives, that wasn’t his M.O.

“How many wives has he had?”

“Twelve. The others didn’t require prenups. He divorced those a few months into the marriage.”

“Wow.” Which would be worse? Being murdered or robbed by a man she thought was her true soul mate.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you,” he muttered.

“No. I needed to hear it. At least, I can now consider the possibility it’s not my fault I can’t find love. This is just one more aspect of the Lottery Curse, and it says nothing about me.”

“A much healthier view. However, about your apology to me. None was needed. I don’t recall what I said either, but I do recall I stepped over a line.”

“Is that why you didn’t stop by anymore?”

“No…my cover got blown, and I had to be extracted.”

She looked up. “What happened?”

“One of the politicians involved got a tip about who I was. Sad to say, the call came from within the FBI.” He gripped her hand. “So I understand the pain of betrayal you seem to go through on a daily basis.”

God, she liked him. But nothing more. She was holding her feelings at
like
. For one thing, he was too damn cute with his short, black hair and wolf-blue eyes.

Suddenly, Steve leaped from the bed and drew his gun. She had no idea why until she realized odd, sharp thunking sounds came from the other room.

“Get in the bathroom and lock the door. Lie in the bathtub,” he ordered. She flew to the bathroom, locked the door, and listened as definite gun shots rang out.

The waiting went on forever. She glanced at her watch. Seriously, forever. It was two in the morning. Needing rest, she gathered up the robe and towels, made a soft nest in the tub, and crawled in. She huffed as her head hit the folded towels, feeling overwhelmed with her crazy life. What did she have to do to escape this curse?

Steve knelt beside the bathtub and held out a ring. “Megan, marry me. I’ll sign the prenup and honor your Will. I need you. You are the perfect wife for me.”

She stared at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You want to marry me?”

“I do.”

“But why?”

“I’ve been lost in the ranks of the FBI, but since I’ve met you, it’s been one crime after another. With you at my side, I’ll make Director within two years.”

Steve placed his hand upon her forehead. “Meg, how can you sleep at a time like this?”

She opened her eyes and focused on his amused face. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Marry you. I’ll help you catch all the criminals you want, but I need to be loved to be married.”

He chuckled. “I think you need to wake up.”

He reached down and helped her sit up in the bathtub amongst the towels and robes she’d been sleeping on.

Meg struggled to make sense of her environment. What the hell? She glared at him. “You proposed to me in a bathtub?”

Steve held his palms up in surrender. “I think you were having one strange dream.”

It wasn’t a dream. Steve had asked her to marry him for the worst of reasons. Only what had happened to the ring? It had vanished. She ran her hands through her hair and groaned. “Nightmare more like it. People were shooting it out in Traver’s room, and you wanted to marry me for my ability to attract criminals.”

He grinned for a second, then sobered. “The gunshots were real, but no one seems to have died. Traver was awake and packing his bags when someone entered his room with a gun and silencer. The guy shot the bed Traver had stuffed with pillows to look like he was still sleeping. Traver came out of the bathroom and shot back. Since his gun didn’t have a silencer, the hall became a circus soon after with a disturbingly large percentage of guests possessing firearms.

“Is he okay?”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Why would you care?”

Why did she care? The bastard had helped rip her off. “Not sure. Because he’s a human being?”

“Do you care about the guy who thought he was entering your room to shoot you?”

Her eyes widened and her heart pounded as Steve’s words filtered through her brain.

Steve pulled her from the bath and against his chest. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No…I think I need to know when people are trying to kill me.” She looked up, meeting his worried gaze. Her heart tightened into a hard painful knot. “They aren’t just writing hateful letters now. They’re actually trying to kill me.”

God, she’d never felt so wiped out and exhausted in her life.

Steve’s voice deepened. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Why did his voice sound so odd? Like it was slowing down…

Suddenly, her world went black.

***

Meg woke in a tidy, well-styled, but impersonal bedroom.

Where the hell was she?

She had some vague memories about being rushed from the back entrance of the hotel, crammed first into an SUV and then into a small Cessna.

The vague image of her new lawyer asking if they were buckled in and ready settled her confusion. Her lawyer must have flown her to Des Moines early this morning as they’d planned.

Steve must have gotten her a hotel room somewhere…only this didn’t look like a hotel room, or at least not an affordable one.

The ceiling had a small crystal chandelier hanging over the bed. And the bed had high-quality linen.

On the back of the door, a hook held a very nice blue jacket and skirt with a white silk blouse. Not her wrinkle-free clothes, but quality stuff. There was a note attached to them.

Curious, she got out of bed, noticing she still wore her PJ’s from the night before. She walked closer so she could read the note.

Meg,

I flew you and an FBI agent to Des Moines this morning. You slept the whole way over. If you wake and read this before 3:00 pm, please dress in the suit, fix yourself up, and get a bit to eat in the kitchen. We have a meeting with the governor, only I have been forbidden to disturb you. However, if you wake on your own, I am allowed to take you to our meeting. Don’t worry about your presentation. I have had copies made from the one you left me.

If you do not wake in time, then I will go on my own and present your case. According to the FBI, we need to proceed with this land donation ASAP to ensure your safety.

Your lawyer,

Joe Cane

Meg glanced at her watch. 3:10.

“Damn it!” She threw on the clothes in superwoman speed, cursed at the shoes with heels, and scurried into the hall in search of the kitchen. She found the library, a large and distinguished one, but no Joe. So she returned to the hall.

“Joe!” she yelled. “Do
not
leave without me!”

God, where was he? And where was she? This place was huge.

Next room was some sort of useless parlor with uncomfortable looking Victorian chairs.

“Joe!”

A maid stepped out from a door and waved her forward.

“Where’s Joe?”

“You must eat first,” she said.

“Forget about food. Where’s Joe?”

“I’m in the dining room,” he called out from an open door further down.

She rushed forward, pretty much running over the poor woman. “Sorry,” she called back to the servant as she hurried down the hall and into the dining room.

The room held the longest table she’d ever seen. It could probably hold fifty or more people. It had three doors to the hall and two doors on the far end. Fortunately, Joe sat at the corner nearest to her, so she didn’t have to hike to the other end. “Thank God, you haven’t left. This is my project. I need to present it.”

“I agree,” he said and rose, having finished his meal. His eyes shifted to her right. “Angie, bring Meg whatever she wants to eat, but first find her a hairbrush.”

Meg turned to discover the woman she’d run over in the hall leaving the room.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sit, relax. We have plenty of time. The meeting isn’t until six.”

“Six? Then why did you make my deadline for three?”

His brow furrowed as he grimaced. “Because all the women I know take minimally two hours to dress. Although you should take a bit more time with your hair, I think.”

What was wrong with her hair? Running her hand through her locks, her fingers caught in a tangle. Shit, she’d failed to brush it at all. “We are in Des Moines, right?”

“Yes. And even your FBI agent has declared this house highly secure.”

Meg silently tagged “and pretentious” to his claim. “Is this place yours?”

“No, it’s presently used by my brother-in-law.”

Good. She’d didn’t want to be billed for staying in this place. It would cost a fortune.
“When and where is our meeting?”

“Whenever the governor arrives. He thinks about six.”

“He’s coming here?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t it be more respectful for us to go to him?”

“He prefers to come to us.”

Alarms went off in her head. “Why?” she challenged.

Joe chuckled. “Because he prefers the home section of the mansion to the conference rooms. This is the governor’s mansion. All he has to do is walk up a flight of steps.”

She stared at him, watching for fluttering eyes or moistening of the lips, all signs of lying. When she saw none, she realized what he was saying. “Your brother-in-law is the governor.”

“Yes. I’m surprised Jonas didn’t tell you.”

“No. He just said you had more experience and better connections than him when it came to land donations.”

Joe chuckled and waved the servant forward. “Just in case he comes home early, perhaps you should fix your hair now.”

The woman handed her the brush and stepped back. Since Meg had no mirror, she left it up to Joe to tell her if she was fit to be seen. “Does it look okay now?”

“Remarkable. Now get some food in you while I set up the library for your presentation.”

“Good, I liked that room,” she said and headed toward the door she suspected held the kitchen.

“Meg. Just tell the servant what you want, and she’ll bring it.”

Never had she felt more like a hayseed in a jewelry shop. “What do you have?” she asked the woman patiently waiting for her order.

“What do you want?” the servant asked in return.

She thought of her meal at Helen’s. “Fresh grilled salmon on a bed of brown rice with broccoli and squash.”

“And to drink?”

“Green tea…with lemon grass if you have it.”

The woman smiled and left the room. As had Joe. He’d evidently left while she’d been ordering lunch. Hopefully, to set up for their meeting. A moment later, the servant returned with iced green tea with lemongrass.

Having no wish to sit at a table built for fifty people by herself, she carried her ice tea about as she studied the some-fine and some-not-so-fine paintings of former governors. At least, she assumed that’s who they were. They certainly didn’t look related to each other, but they sure looked bossy.

Except for two. Samuel Kirkwood looked a bit like a goofy postman and George Wilson looked like a promising comedian with an exaggerated, upturned, tight-lipped smile. Maybe George had given the artist instructions to make him likable to his constituents, and this was the odd result.

“You must be Meg Williams,” a booming voice declared.

A well-dressed, finely coifed man in his forties entered the room, hand extended. Given the black-suited secret service men who now stood by the door, she replied, “Governor, thank you for your hospitality.”

“I’m ravished. Would you mind keeping me company while I eat?” he asked as he cupped her elbow and led her to the giant table.

“I’d be honored. In fact, I only put in my order for food minutes ago.”

“Excellent. What are you having?”

When she told him, he smiled and looked at the servant who had returned. “I’ll have the same.”

He held out a chair at the corner of the table for her. Once she sat, he took his seat at the head. Leaning back, he studied her. “I understand your desire to save a few trees has put your life in danger.”

“It’s not just a few trees. I believe it’s the largest forest of white oaks remaining in this state.”

“It is. I had it verified. But my question is why do you, a native of New Jersey, care about our trees?”

His question worried her. He shouldn’t have known she was from New Jersey. “Have you had someone investigate me?”

His brow furrowed. “Do you only intend to tell me what I already know?”

The fact he knew she was from New Jersey had to mean he knew her former identity since Meg Williams was from Pennsylvania. Without question, she needed to come clean about who she was.

“There are three types of wealthy people—those who earn it, those who inherit it, and those who acquire it by some odd roll of the dice.”

He smiled. “There are other ways as well, but their omission only makes me think the better of you.”

“I was modestly the first type until I had the misfortune to give into a friend’s insistence and buy a lottery ticket.” She shook her head, still baffled as to why she’d done it. “I’d never played before and certainly not since. One ticket changed my life, and mostly for the worse. I first intended to find charities to give the money to, but I’m a financial analyst, and when I investigated these charities, I was appalled at how little of the money actually went to solve the problem they focused upon, and how even those efforts often made the problem worse.”

He sighed and nodded.

“I received in the mail a package with gorgeous pictures of woods, hills, and wetlands I’d ever seen. The writer, Helen Campbell, explained she owned two hundred thousand acres, and she would sell them to me at a below market price if I promised to keep them in their current form and, before my death, to sell them to someone else who would do the same.”

Now for the hard part of the story.

“A great deal of people feel those who win a lottery haven’t earned their money and thus don’t deserve to keep it. So they write asking for money to cover their problems. When I ignore their demands, the letters get hateful, and eventually the death threats show up.” She met the governor’s steady gaze, betraying none of his emotions. “A policeman, who turned out to be an undercover FBI agent, was very concerned about some of the letters. So the FBI helped me get a new identity, and I came to Iowa to save those beautiful trees.”

“I imagine you’re rethinking matters now.”

“No, I’m not. Helen and her great-granddaughter took me on a day hike through some of the forest and wetlands. The health of the trees is incredible, the trails are well laid, well marked, and superbly maintained by Tess, the granddaughter who is majoring in Forest Management to gain the credentials for what she already knows how to do.” She leaned forward. “These woods are remarkable, and I’ll gladly risk my life to protect them.”