A Fortune to Die For (White Oak - Mafia Series Book 1) (15 page)

“I was talking about a different meeting.”

“Then send me two lists. One for the meeting on Wednesday. And one for the secret meeting you failed to mention before. And list everyone you invited to each meeting. I don’t care if you don’t know if they’ll show or not. I want to know who you invited. And if you fail to send those lists to me in the next hour, you are fired. Are we clear?”

“You’ll have the lists,” he snapped and hung up the phone.

She leaned back and growled.

Steve chuckled. “You might be taken by con-artists, but you eat lawyers for breakfast.”

“Speaking of which, I’m starving. Can we go somewhere and eat?”

He frowned.

“Steve, you can’t keep me in this apartment forever. If you need me to wear a Kevlar jacket, I’ll do it. But I have stuff to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like eating, finding a new lawyer, buying some more suits as nice as this one, finding flatter shoes, getting a car…unless you plan to drive me everywhere.”

“I wasn’t planning for you to leave this apartment,” he grumbled.

“Do you really want to take me on?” she challenged and stood up, placing her hands on her hips.

He held his hands in surrender. “No ma’am.”

Flipping open his phone, he called someone. “We’re going to need transport. On your way over, pick up breakfast from the place on the corner. I’m putting in an order now.”

He hung up, muttering about being a waitress, then punched in more numbers. “I’d like to order three breakfast meals, all the same. Scrambled egg sandwich on whole-wheat, flat bread. One strip of sun-dried tomato on each. Three apples and three large bowls of oatmeal with blueberries and walnuts. Three V8s and a quart of cranberry juice. Excellent. My driver will be by to pick it up in fifteen minutes. His name is George. Yes, he’ll have money to pay for it.”

She smiled at him. “How did you know exactly what I eat for breakfast?”

He slapped his forehead as if he’d just been a bonehead. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

He sighed. “I placed a camera in your kitchen so I could evaluate your mail as you opened it. To be honest, I was afraid if you received another package, you wouldn’t call, given the embarrassment you felt about calling me the first time.”

She opened her mouth to object but closed it. “I wouldn’t have called you again, so you assessed the situation correctly, but I still think you violated my rights by putting a security camera in my kitchen. Which strikes me odd since you are very strict with following protocol.”

He banged his head against the center support post a few times while soft curses escaped. Finally, he stopped abusing his head and faced her. “Okay…full disclosure…which you can never discuss with me or anyone else again. Do I have your word?”

She nodded, but only because she was certain he’d refuse to tell her anything unless she did.

“We matched one of your deaths threats to a serial killer the FBI has been after for fifteen years. Unfortunately, he bounces across the country in a seemingly random fashion, making it impossible to catch him.”

Her mouth fell open in shock, but he continued on before her brain could form any words.

“Given the probability he would eventually show up at your house, and you requested our help, the judge granted the FBI clearance to place one camera in the kitchen where he always kills his victims.”

She pushed herself up from the couch, her body tense and wired, ready to run. “Are you serious? I had a serial killer after me?”

He met her eyes. “Yes. It’s why we helped you change your identity and insisted you move.”

Her fisted hand rose. A part of her wanted to pound his rock hard chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because our top priority is to catch the serial killer. If you had warned anyone on your block of the potential danger, the media would have gotten wind of it, and the guy would’ve marked you off his list and gone on to the next victim.”

God, this Lottery Curse just keeps on giving.

“So did he come?” Did she cause the death of an innocent neighbor?

“Not yet, but we have no idea how long he waits after he sends the warning letter.”

“Maybe he came, but saw the house was empty and left.”

“We have a blond agent living in your house.”

“And what about my neighbors? True, they all hate me now, but they don’t deserve to die for it.”

“He has never killed anyone but the person he sends his death letter to.”

She opened her mouth to object, but how could she? They were trying to catch a madman! It’s not as if she would ever live there again.

“If I’d have known, I would have cleaned up better before I left,” she muttered.

He smiled. “You did sign a release allowing agents into your house.”

Had she? She mentally went through the inch-deep stack of papers she signed. Yes…she had. “I thought I was giving permission to maintain the place.”

He tilted his head in challenged.

It did sound stupid now she said it aloud. She gripped her head and groaned. “If you didn’t have the manpower to protect me, how could you have the manpower to ensure my furnace had fuel?”

She sighed and sat back down. “Clearly, I am naïve about the ways of the FBI, too.”

He joined her on the couch. “I’m sorry you feel tricked. But the team has been trying to catch this guy for fifteen years, and this is the best chance we’ve ever gotten.” His hand covered her tightened fist. “I was strictly forbidden to tell you anything about this case. So if you say anything when George shows up with the food, I’ll be fired before an hour has passed.”

She leaned against him. “How many people has he killed?”

“Twelve. Every victim had won significant money from some form of a lottery.”

“Man, he
really
hates people who don’t deserve their winnings.”

“And in his perspective, he gives them fair warning. We believe he first writes them a letter telling them why God wants him to have the money. If they send the money, presumably God won’t smite them down.”

His demand sounded like a thousand letters she’d received. “Has anyone ever done that?”

“We don’t know, but I cannot imagine anyone would. Based on the letters you’ve been receiving, a lot of wackos write similar letters. However, they are assessing your box of hate mail to see if you possibly saved his original letter.”

“But I threw those out,” she said, now angry at herself for doing so.

His hand slipped to the small of her back and rubbed in small soothing circles. “The BSU thinks even his ‘nice’ request could possibly fall into those you kept. This guy has a lot of rage inside him, and fifteen years into his demands, he knows you are going to ignore his request for the money God wants him to have because all the others have done so. They believe it is possible his rage is apparent even in his first requests. You had about fifty letters they think are candidates.”

She leaned into his chest, and his arms wrapped around her, soothing her panic.
My name is changed. The serial killer can’t find me now. All I have to worry about is the mafia.

“Sorry about griping about my rights. I’m glad my house can be used to potentially catch a serial killer. You know, except for the possibility of catching the creep and those two hundred thousand acres of trees I need to save, I really wish I’d never bought the damn lottery ticket.”

He tightened his grip, and she thought his lips pressed on the top of her head again. “We’ll get you your life back. If not here, then in some other state with a new identity.”

A loud sound came from either the kitchen or the bat cave, causing her to scream and leap up like a pond frog.

Steve stood as well, gripping her arm. “Settle down. It’s George with breakfast. Remember what I told you.” His worried eyes studied her.

She pantomimed zipping her lips, walked to the kitchen, and sat down on a stool next to the counter.

A few minutes later, Steve and the guy who drove them here the day before entered.

“You can’t remember one simple order?” George yelled at Steve.

Meg’s mouth fell open.
Oh God, they must have the bedroom-living room bugged.

Steve gripped her shoulder and squeezed as he responded to George. “Meg, this is a member of my team, George.” He then focused on George. “Eating healthy won’t kill you, and it’s safer if there’s no indication which order is Meg’s.”

She relaxed, now realizing Steve was being yelled at for ignoring George’s breakfast order.

George glared at her. “What’s wrong with bacon and pancakes?”

“Seriously?” she asked.

He sighed and watched Steve pull out all the items from the bag. “They charged me sixty-three dollars for this shit.”

“I’ll reimburse you,” Meg said. “And if we can go grocery shopping, there will be even less chance of me being poisoned. Then I can get George bacon and pancakes if he really wants poor health.

Steve chuckled. “I’ll sign off on the first part, but honestly, I like George, so I’d rather he not die of a self-inflicted heart attack.”

She wasn’t sure if it was her offer to reimburse or Steve’s gracious response, but George lost all his annoyance and became a pleasant fellow.

She was halfway through her breakfast when a little detail nagged its way to the top of her overloaded brain. “Oh! Sheriff Cobbs said my rental car burned up in the garage last night.”

George slammed down his spoon and stormed toward the bat cave.

Steve ran after him and redirected him to the bedroom.

If she thought she was going to get by so easy, Steve’s return corrected her misconception. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this at once?”

Good question. She recalled the conversation right after she got off the phone with Sheriff Cobbs. “Because you scolded me about taunting the Mafia.”

“So you thought ‘let’s not tell Steve something he needs to know’.”

“No, I just forgot it. It’s not like we can do anything about it now. The fire evidently happened last night.”

“Son of a bitch!” Steve yelled and slammed his hand against the doorframe.

“I’m sorry!” she yelped.

He breathed in deep and then let it out before speaking softly, but his hands remained fisted. “I’m not angry at you. I’m furious with Cobbs. He’s a former agent. He should have known we’d want to know the second the fire began.” His hands slowly uncurled and flattened out on the counter as he breathed in and out again. “Did he say how long the fire had been out?”

“Actually, he said it was still burning, but they had it under control now.”

The fingers re-curled into fists.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t say anything.”

“And I’m sorry I yelled at you. This is not your fault.”

“Well, you’re angry at someone,” she muttered.

He nodded and activated his blackberry phone. “I want a full dossier on former agent Lee Cobbs, specifically any hints of impropriety or connections to the mob… Yesterday would have been really useful, but get it to me as soon as you can. He just helped destroy a major piece of evidence.”

Once he hung up, Meg raised her hand.

“What?” he asked in a semi-feral tone.

“I didn’t say he set the fire.”

“No, you didn’t. However, it’s damn likely he did. As of now, you are to have no further communication with the son of a bitch. And if he manages to contact you and suggests you need to come visit him, you let me know at once and stay the hell away from him.”

She wanted to protest Cobb’s innocence because she’d really liked the old sheriff. But she had four ex-fiancés she’d loved with all her heart, and they proved to be nothing but fortune hunters and con-men. She’d leave this matter in Steve’s hands.

The car fiasco resulted in George storming out of the apartment a few minutes later. Steve stayed, but by his clenched fists and rigid jaw, man, was it killing him to do so.

“May I presume all travel plans for today are canceled?” she asked softly, trying not to set him off.

He released a long stream of air, calmed a bit, then met her gaze. “Yeah. And I’m going to need to commandeer your bedroom. Also, I need you to consult with me before you make any communications whatsoever.”

His intense stare silenced her.

“This is serious, Meg. The mafia doesn’t normally act so boldly against the FBI. While you are still important, this case just got a lot bigger than you.” He gripped her arms and pulled her against him. “I need you a hundred percent trouble free. Otherwise, I’m afraid my boss will cut you loose as we go after bigger fish. Can you do this for me?”

For the first time since her life of hell had begun, she was truly terrified. And of what, she had no clue. However, the worry in Steve’s eyes struck her hard.

The only way she could prevent herself from breaking down into a sobbing ball of Jell-O was to think professionally. “May I call and invite Mr. Barkman to visit my land with Tess as his guide?”

“You can’t go with them.”

“I understand.”

“Then you may call and arrange his tour.”

“And may I google various people on my computer?”

“Just don’t call anyone without clearing it with me. And if I say no, just accept it. This day is going to be a nightmare.”

She nodded.

“Then I’ll get my computer and stay in here…until I need the bathroom.”

His hard eyes studied her face as if trying to find deception. Finally, they softened and he caressed her cheek. “Thank you for trusting me. I know it’s not easy.”

Oddly, it had been. The moment all hell broke loose, he was her rock.

She hurried from the room and gathered her computer and purse.

He stared at the purse long and hard. “Remember, don’t accept or make any calls unless you clear them through me.”

“I won’t.” She then rushed back to the kitchen and plugged her laptop into the apartment’s 1-gigabit fiber-optic internet service.

Joe had sent her two lists. The first one was for the meeting on Wednesday, which had forty-two people attending. He hadn’t arranged a meeting; he’d gathered a riotous angry mob.

The other meeting had three names listed: the governor, Joe, and a Mr. Callinici. She Googled Callinici and discovered him to be the governor’s public relations advisor.

Bullshit! Nothing meshed with what Joe had said on the phone.

First, she called Mr. Barkman. “Mr. Barkman, I’m Meg Williams.”

“The woman who recently bought two hundred thousand acres of the finest trees left in the state. I’m glad you called. I asked the governor for your number, but he didn’t know how to contact you.”

What a crock! All he’d have had to do was ask his brother-in-law for the number. But she held her temper and focused on the task at hand. “It is my hope to donate this land and make it a state park in perpetuity.”

“Then you don’t intend to harvest the trees?”

“We will need some parking lots for visitors, but otherwise no.”

A sigh of relief and a small chuckle traveled over the phone. “I’ve been worried sick since I heard the land had been sold. You’ve just made my day.”

“I’m glad to do so. There’s a meeting planned for Wednesday to discuss the details.” She glanced at the list of names, not finding his. “Are you planning to attend?”

“No, I heard about it, but I never received an invitation.”

“Well, the person who set up the meeting made a huge error then. I apologize. I really want you to go. It’s at noon in the governor’s conference room.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’m hoping you can tour the forest with Tess Campbell before the meeting. I know it’s short notice but—”

“I will certainly make time to see it,” he assured her.

“Great. Would you call Tess and set up a time for your hike? She’s been maintaining the property for years, and she knows it better than anyone other than Helen.” She then gave him Helen’s number, recalling some concern Tess’s phone was bugged. “This is Helen’s number, but Tess is staying with her.”

“Thank you, I’ll call the moment we get off. I have to admit I was literally sick when the governor said it was slotted for development.”

“When did he say that?”

“Yesterday.”

“It must have been before I talked to him.”

“Well, I’m very glad to hear your plans. You’ve no idea how precious those trees are.”

“Helen made sure I did. But I’m thrilled you feel the same. It will help move this donation along.”

Once she hung up, she took notes. It was possible he talked to the governor before she’d met with him. But after her discussion earlier with Joe, she suspected the governor was going to try for an imminent domain land grab, and Joe had been laying the groundwork for it when he brought up the possibility of Indian mounds.

She moved up firing Joe to her number one priority. But first she’d need a new lawyer to take over matters. Once on the internet, she searched for lawyers who had dealt with land donations. To her amazement, there was an abundance of lawyers claiming expertise in the area.

Too many.

So she tried a different angle. Instead of looking for lawyers, she searched for major land donations in the past. She sorted through the documents until she found the name of the lawyers involved. For each land donation, she noted the size of the deal, if it had to get legislative or gubernatorial approval, and length of time from the first document to completion.

It was lunch before she finished, but she had located the lawyer most qualified to help her. She rewarded herself with a long needed bathroom break. Running from the kitchen through her bedroom to the bathroom, she waved at Steve as he yelled at someone on his phone.

When she came out of the bathroom, Steve waited on the other side. “Sorry about my language. Nothing is going my way.”

She pressed her hand to his heart. “Welcome to my world. However, I found the lawyer I want. He’s done twenty-three major land donations, including several parks. Had I done my homework the first time, I would have chosen him.”

“How did you end up with Joe?”

“Jonas recommended him.”

“And the new guy is?”

“Sedgewick Collins.”

“Give me an hour to clear him.”

Her stomach growled.

He frowned her way.

“I didn’t growl at you. My stomach did. Any chance we can get food delivered?”

“Crap!”

“Or not…”

He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. “I’ll get you food. But you’ll have to cook.”

She nodded.

He released her and gently pushed her toward the kitchen door so he could no doubt return to yelling at people.

An hour later, he led five agents carrying bags into the kitchen to the six cooling and freezer units. “Set ’em down here.” He then glanced at Meg as if debating something.

“I can put the food away,” she offered.

In return, she received earnest thanks from everyone. The five agents practically ran from the room and Steve followed.

She hoped he was only bolting the door after the men left.

When he rushed back through the kitchen into the bedroom suite, she smiled with relief. She had no idea what the hell was going on, but she was very glad Steve remained with her.

It took her over a half-hour to put everything away. Steve must have memorized her entire eating habits when he watched from the camera he’d installed in the kitchen of her New Jersey home. The thought of him waiting for the serial killer to arrive put chills down her back.

What if the monster had come? Could he have saved her? Or would she have been victim thirteen by the time the police arrived?

She recalled how much happier Steve seemed the last day he’d stopped by. She had her new identity and the only issue holding her up was her refusal to let the broker cash in her stock so they could send cash. Steve had quickly pointed out how foolish she was being for not just cashing out and buying back the same stocks in her new name.

Her life had been in mortal danger while she fretted over four hundred thousand dollars. He couldn’t tell her about the serial killer. He could only try to prod her along. Poor guy was probably getting an ulcer from the stress.

And how had she rewarded him? She bit his head off the first time he let her see he had feelings for her. If only she could take it back.

God, how she wished she’d never bought the damn lottery ticket. But if she hadn’t, she would have never received the death threats, never given the town money for a new police station, and thus never met Steve.

Meg needed to stop wishing for a different past and take care of her life from here. Another rumble from her stomach told her where she could start. Opening one of refrigerator units, she extracted a slab of salmon and cut it in two, placing one piece on a platter before putting back the rest. After seasoning the salmon, she placed it on a lightly oiled baking flat, and placed it in the oven. Then she worked on the accoutrements.

A half hour later, Meg placed a small fillet on her plate and a bigger one on Steve’s, both served with brown rice, grilled tomatoes, squash, asparagus, and broccoli.

Proud of the meal she had concocted, she opened the bedroom door. Steve was on the phone, pacing intensely. When he noticed her, she pantomimed eating, but he shook his head. Sighing, she returned to the kitchen and placed aluminum foil around his food and put it in the refrigerator…then ate alone.

She wished she understood why one stupid garage fire turned the world upside down.

The rest of the afternoon she googled each of the men invited to Wednesday’s meeting and grew angrier by the moment. Why the hell would the head of the labor union for construction workers need to be at the meeting? And three of the men worked for Jeffrey’s partner, the developer. Five of the men didn’t even register on google. What bureaucrat didn’t have his name on something?

Damn it all, this wasn’t a meeting for her to explain her plan. This was a lynch mob.

She wished Steve would tell her if she could contact her
new
lawyer.

Finally at three o’clock, he entered the kitchen, fatigue and anger etched upon his face. “Any chance there’s any food left?”

“Sit. I’ll warm it up.” She slid the platter in the microwave and poured him a glass of ice tea. He downed it in one long gulp. After pouring him another, she left the pitcher with him.

“Sedgewick comes back clean. You can call him. Don’t say anything about the mafia. Just tell him what you’re planning to do with the land.”

She brought him his food. “I think he needs to know a few more details. The meeting Joe set up for Wednesday has people I want uninvited.”

He paused in the devouring of his food. “Like who?”

She named off the ones she wanted removed. “Then there are five who Google can’t even find.”

“Let me see.”

She pulled up the email and pointed them out.

“Son of a—” He gripped the edge of the counter and closed his eyes. “You may contact your new lawyer on Thursday. Have him set up a new meeting, calling in only people absolutely necessary to get this donation completed. Do not call Joe or cancel his meeting. However, under no circumstances will you attend.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.” He met her stare. “Just trust me. You don’t want anywhere near this place.”

“I invited Mr. Barkman, so I’ll need to call and let him know Joe invited too many people and Joe can talk to this mob while I have a smaller and hopefully more productive meeting.”

“No. Let him attend this one. If they let him in, you can apologize later.”

“But I need to get this moving along.”

“Right now, you can’t leave this apartment. Any meeting you have must be done over the internet.”

“I don’t think I can get this done if I can’t talk to people face to face. What if I bring you and your posse with me?”

Steve met her gaze. “Sorry, it’s a lynch mob, not a meeting. And while tables are turned over in outrage at your stealing jobs, and chairs are being thrown for ruining their lives, at least, two of these are known aliases of hit-men who will take you out. And since you have not written a Will under your new name, nor have any known relatives, all your assets will go to the state.”

Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest.

She gripped his arm for comfort. “I would like to leave Iowa and handle this matter far, far away from here. I’ll move the land to a trust, which will run it as a private park in perpetuity, and I’ll leave everything else to you.”

“I’d love to get you the hell out of here, but we have zero confidence in the police force. We cannot safely move you right now. As far as the trust idea, hold off on creating it. This may be over sooner than you think.” He then stood and pulled her tight against him. “And for your clever idea to leave your cursed money to me, not happening. Leave it to someone you hate. And that had better not be me.”