Ellie Ashe - Miranda Vaughn 02 - Dropping the Dime (14 page)

"Where do you think they're going?" I asked.

Jake shrugged. "Let's hope they're not heading all the way to Reno to elope," he said, flashing me a grin.

The overnight bag Alexi threw in the trunk had me a little concerned. If they were going someplace far enough that they planned to spend the night, that might mean I was in for a long night.

But it was a long night with Jake, and it wasn't like I had plans anyway.

"How come Agent Buchanan isn't with you?" I asked.

"I didn't tell him where I was going," he said.

"Aren't you two partners?"

He was quiet for a moment, and I glanced at him, his profile lit by the headlights of the oncoming traffic.

"He was in court today, and I just found out about KAL, Inc. Thought I'd check it out myself first."

"Were you following Alexi, or did you stake out the house?" I was still trying to figure out why Kathryn had lied to me, but I couldn't talk to Jake about that. In truth, I was sort of hurt by that. I thought we two math nerds had a sort of friendship connection. I'd sympathized with her predicament, admired her moral compass and her strength in going to the authorities with her suspicions.

"They're going to take the next exit," Jake said.

I snapped out of my thoughts and saw that Alexi had merged to the right lane. His blinker wasn't on, but I trusted that Jake had done this a time or two, so I followed suit.

"Stay back, I'll keep him in sight," he said.

I followed the sedan and several other cars off the freeway. The exit led to a stoplight. Those turning left would travel over the freeway into one of the suburbs surrounding the city. But Alexi and Kathryn turned right, driving off onto a darkened two-lane road that wound into the foothills below the Sierra Nevada mountain range.

Jake instructed me to give them plenty of space. "They're the only ones on the road, so it won't be hard to find them," he said.

I nodded and kept following. We'd been driving for about an hour, and I was worried we were going to end up at Lake Tahoe or Yosemite at this rate, but then I saw a blinking red light, and Alexi turned left onto another road.

"Don't turn. Keep going straight," Jake said. "But slow down when you pass the road he turned on."

I followed his instructions as Jake turned in the passenger seat to watch out the back window.

"Okay, make a U-turn," he said.

I pulled over and checked for traffic, but the road was empty and dark. I reversed course and headed back to the intersection where we'd lost Alexi and Kathryn. Once on the road they'd taken, I squinted into the dark.

"We lost them," I said.

Jake shook his head. "No, it's okay. Keep going."

The road curved, and I saw red taillights in the distance.

"Where are we?" I asked, trying to place the road. I'd grown up in Sacramento and now owned my family's cabin near Lake Tahoe, but I wasn't familiar with this area that lay to the south of those two locations.

"We're nearing Plymouth, off Highway 49," Jake said.

"Oh, sure," I said, remembering a childhood trip to Angels Camp. "The old Gold Country highway, right? I went to Columbia, the Gold Rush town, when I was a kid."

"Yeah. More wineries than gold mines now."

I'd been meaning to come out this way for a visit, but hadn't gotten around to it. The area was dotted with small family-owned wineries and B&Bs and was booming with tourism.

"Is there something out this way where they could be heading?" It still looked like a lot of empty fields.

"There are a few wineries up ahead," Jake said. "I know Maison d'Or has a bed and breakfast. Five-star restaurant. Very romantic."

"Oh, really?" I asked, giving him a curious look.

"I went to a wedding there," Jake said. "Last year. My former partner got married there."

"Uh huh," I said, turning back to the road.

The car fell silent again as I concentrated on the pavement lit by my headlights. It wasn't any of my business what Jake did, or what romantic setting he did it in. Or with whom. At that thought, I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Jealous? Yes. But I was moving on. I'd almost kissed a guy the other day.

But then I didn't because I was still thinking about Jake.

Damn it
.

"They're turning into the winery ahead," Jake said, and I saw the brake lights ahead near a wide, sweeping entrance to the Maison d'Or Winery and Restaurant.

The Maison d'Or Winery sat up on a hill that overlooked a gentle slope of vineyards and the valley below. Jake and I watched as Kathryn's car disappeared around the main building and into the parking lot.

"Does Kathryn know what you drive?" Jake asked.

"No, I don't think so."

"Go on up, but go slowly," he said.

By the time the Golf Ball crawled into the parking lot, Kathryn's car was empty. Jake directed me to a parking place on the other side of the small lot then started to climb out of the car.

"Stay here," he said.

"Wait!"

He leaned back in. "What?"

"I have to go to the bathroom," I said.

"No."

"It's not a yes-or-no issue."

He sighed, and I'm sure he was regretting not bringing Finn with him now. Or anyone who knew not to drink a Big Gulp before a stakeout.

"Okay, just wait," he said, shutting the door.

I squirmed in the seat and tried to think about anything else as Jake disappeared into the dark.

Maison d'Or's main lodge was a two-story structure that seemed to be entirely made of massive timbers and windows. A sign at the entrance of the path to the main doors indicated that there were cottages nearby. Another large building rose up from the other side of the parking lot and looked like a reception hall, its windows dark. It was too early to be wedding season, when this place was probably booked solid. I turned off the engine and then studied the lodge.

Through the large windows I could see a warm and welcoming lobby with cozy chairs facing a large stone fireplace. There were just a few people milling around the entrance, which made sense as it wasn't exactly high season for events yet. I couldn't see if the people in the lobby were Kathryn and Alexi, and I'd lost sight of Jake completely.

I heard the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel just seconds before the driver's side door opened, startling me.

"Oh, it's you." I exhaled as Jake knelt next to me.

"They're dining at the far end of the restaurant. You can probably get in and get to the ladies' room, but be careful. Don't let them see you," he said.

I jumped out of the car, ready to agree to anything if I could get inside to a restroom. "Yep, you bet."

"And hurry," he called to me as I trotted across the parking lot.

Inside, the warm lobby air enveloped me like a cozy blanket. Soft jazz music muted the murmur of conversation from the dining area. No one was standing behind the front desk, so I ducked down the hall toward the restrooms without being spotted. Once in the swanky ladies' lounge, I hurried so I didn't get caught by Kathryn, even though I couldn't resist sampling the fancy complementary hand lotion.

I stepped back into the hall and started toward the main lodge, but then paused and looked in the other direction, which led to the dining area. Slowly, I crept down the hall and peered around the corner.

The dining area was several steps below the main lobby, so I had a clear view of my target at the other side of the restaurant. Kathryn and Alexi sat in a corner near the windows. She was facing away from me, but I could see his face clearly as he leaned across the table with a smile on his full lips. Alexi held her hands in his, caressing her fingers. He was heart-breakingly handsome. The candles on the table and the soft lighting emphasized his strong jaw and high cheekbones.

It was his eyes, though, that drew my attention. His eyes were focused on Kathryn with an intensity, an adoration, that gave away his true feelings. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and even from my vantage point, I saw Kathryn's slight shiver in response.

Holy hell.
That man was in love.

I heard a sigh and realized it was me.

I shook myself out of my stupor and hurried back down the hall, through the lobby and into the damp outdoors. Jake was standing by the Golf Ball waiting for me.

"Better?" he asked, his lips twitching into a smile.

"Yes, thank you."

"I don't think we need to hang out here any longer," Jake said, opening the passenger side door for me. "I'll drive back."

I hesitated, but then shrugged. If he wanted to drive the Golf Ball, with its worn clutch and sticky brakes, he was welcome to it. He adjusted the driver's seat so he'd fit behind the wheel, started the car, and pointed it toward home.

"Did you know about Alexi and Kathryn?" I asked.

He was quiet for a moment before he answered. "No."

"Do you think they're framing Simon?"

He frowned. "I don't know."

I sighed and settled back into the passenger seat. My stomach growled, and I realized that I had missed dinner. It was now close to eight o'clock.

"I don't suppose you could find a place to eat. An In-N-Out Burger? A taco stand?" I asked.

He looked over and gave a little laugh. "Probably not out here."

It was true. We were in a remote area, probably forty-five minutes or an hour from where we'd left Jake's car parked outside of Alexi's house.

"I thought Alexi lived in the Garden of the Gods neighborhood," I said.

"Yeah, that's what Kathryn said."

I could hear the cynicism in Jake's voice. Kathryn had told us a lot of things. Lying about where Alexi lived was probably the least of her fabrications.

"She said that Simon gave all his kids houses there so they'd be close to him," I said.

Jake sighed. "There is a house there in Alexi's name. His dad's on the title, too," he said, as if he didn't want to concede Kathryn might be telling the truth. "But that doesn't mean he lives there."

"The house where they met up tonight, is that in his name?"

"No. The title's under KAL, Inc."

As the miles sped by, I tried to piece the increasingly complicated puzzle together. If Kathryn and Alexi were setting up Simon, what would they gain by it? Mark Ramsey had told Burton and me about Alexi's failed development company and how Simon was probably the person who guaranteed his son's venture tanked. Was that enough of a reason for a son want to see his father go to prison? My head pounded at the thought. I wanted to talk it out with Jake, get his opinion, but I couldn't. Everything Burton and I learned was covered by the attorney work product rules, which kept everything we did on Kathryn's behalf confidential.

My stomach growled again, and this time I wasn't sure it was due to hunger. Though it had been a while since lunch.

Jake looked over. "I know a place to get a bite to eat. Just hang in there."

"Where? We're in the middle of nowhere."

"You'll see," he said.

A few miles later, I saw the sign for the freeway. But instead of turning right and heading back to Sacramento, Jake turned left.

"Where are you going? Home's that way."

He grinned. "Your home's that way. But mine is this way."

Jake parked the Golf Ball in the deep driveway that ran along the side of a bungalow-style house. The cozy house sat on a quiet street lined with old trees. The town of Azalea had been around for a century, but the west side had grown recently in the last housing boom. The town was within commuting distance, but just barely. Jake lived on the east side, which still had the look of a classic neighborhood with a town square and an old shopping district.

"Nice house," I said, following him up the steps to the front door.

"Thanks," he said.

"How long have you lived in Azalea?"

"On and off, my whole life," he said. "I grew up about a mile from here. My parents still live in the same house. My sister and her kids are about four blocks away."

Jake's sister, Molly, was part of the reason we had been thrown together last year in Macau and Belize. Her ex-husband, Bill Macias, had worked for my former employer, Patterson-Tinker Investments—on both the legal and illegal side of its business. When he'd tried his own double-cross, it had cost him his life. I wanted to ask how Molly and her two children were handling the loss, but it seemed too personal. Our relationship, such as it was, hadn't involved sharing family confidences. At least, not by him. He seemed to hold me a little away from that part of his life.

Jake unlocked the door, but instead of holding it for me, blocked the entrance with his body.

"Hold on," he said.

I paused and then heard the sound of scrabbling paws on hardwood floors, followed by whining and joyous barking. Then a giant ball of fur and paws and floppy ears flung itself at Jake's body. He caught it and wrestled the dog to ground.

"Down, Hank."

The dog whined again, flopped to the ground and rolled onto his back—completely blocking the door. Jake stepped over the massive body, reached down, and then pushed the dog out of the threshold.

"Sorry. He's still learning his manners," he said, standing up.

"How long have you had him?" I asked.

Jake sighed. "Three years."

I laughed, and the dog sprang up at the sound. He approached me sniffing, and I let him smell my hands before reaching out and stroking his huge square head.

"Hi, Hank," I said. He licked me from fingers to elbow in one wet swipe.

"Oh, sorry," Jake said, pulling him back.

"No, it's fine. I like dogs," I said.

"Do you have any pets?" he asked, closing the door and turning on the lights in the living room.

"No. Well, Aunt Marie has a cat, Kvetch. But he hates me," I said.

"He hates you?"

"He hates everyone except Aunt Marie."

I stood in the middle of the living room. The brick-faced fireplace and built-in bookshelves seemed to suit him. The 1920s-era house had been lovingly restored or had been kept as pristine as the day it was built, down to the leaded glass windows on the doors that led to the dining room. How much of the restoration work had he done himself? The man was good with his hands, I recalled.

"Come on," Jake said, leading me to the dining room. "I'll give you the tour, then we can find something to eat."

He flipped on lights as he walked, illuminating a tiny formal dining room that lacked a table. This lead to a spacious kitchen with black and white square tiles on the floor that was in the midst of a renovation. A shiny white retro-style refrigerator sat against one wall, and a matching stove against another. Between them, an L-shaped cabinet that was missing a countertop. Opposite the fridge, a wide counter stretched under a row of windows that faced the long driveway along the side of the house. The cabinet here was topped with a sheet of plywood that had been cut to provide a countertop, crude as it was. The upper bank of cabinets was painted white, but lacked doors, showing off canned food, stacks of plates and rows of glasses.

"It's a work in progress," Jake said.

"Are you doing the work yourself?"

"Most of it," he said, opening the fridge. He took out two beers and held them up.

"Sure, thanks," I said. "It looks like a lot of work."

"I leave the electrical to the pros, but otherwise, I like doing it myself," he said, popping open the beers, then reaching up into the open cabinet and grabbing two mugs. "How does pasta primavera sound?"

My stomach rumbled in response, and he laughed. "Have a seat," he said, kicking a bar stool toward me.

I sat and leaned my elbows on the plywood counter, watching him pull items out of the fridge and the cupboards.

"How long have you lived here, in this house?" I asked, stroking Hank's soft ears.

"Five years," Jake said, filling a pot with water and setting it on the gas range. "My sister's a real estate agent. When Molly said it was a good buy, I made an offer. I didn't know when I signed the papers it needed a complete renovation. I was living in Washington at the time and by the time I got down here to look at it, it was too late to back out. So I had to learn how to refinish floors and replace pipes."

He took a cutting board down from a cabinet, then moved back to the refrigerator and began pulling vegetables from the crisper. Hank's ears perked up and his tail thumped against the floor. Jake turned and gave the dog a grin.

"Yeah, Hank, I didn't forget about you," he said.

He dropped the vegetables on the countertop next to the sink and walked into a laundry room. Hank jumped up and nearly tap-danced with joy as he heard the kibble hit his bowl. Jake set the bowl on the floor and refilled the dog's water dish on the faded linoleum then whistled, and Hank bolted toward him, his feet scrabbling for traction on the slick floor. Jake narrowly missed being run over by a hundred pounds of hungry dog.

I stood and moved to the sink and rinsed the zucchini and yellow squash. Jake came to my side, pulled a knife from the magnetic strip over the counter and began chopping the vegetables, which he then scraped into a bowl. He set a pan on the stove and poured in a bit of olive oil, then chopped an onion, which hit the pan with a hiss. This was followed by a clove of garlic. He worked efficiently, with practiced moves, and I enjoyed watching him prepare the meal.

Within a few minutes, my stomach was rumbling from the savory scent of the sautéed vegetables. Jake added the boiled pasta to the pan, tossed it, and sprinkled it with fresh herbs and grated Parmesan cheese, then plated it in two shallow bowls.

"Silverware's in the first drawer. Can you grab it?" He didn't really have to tell me, since there was no countertop over the section of cabinet where the silverware drawer lived. I reached in without opening the drawer and grabbed utensils.

Jake set the plates on his kitchen table then returned to the fridge for a couple more beers.

"This smells delicious," I said, leaning over the steaming plates.

We ate in silence for several minutes. I had about a thousand questions I wanted to ask him but kept coming up with reasons not to. Was he investigating Kathryn? Did he think she was stealing from Leonidis Development? Or trying to set up her boss? And what was Alexi's role in this? And why hadn't he called me in the last few months?

I figured he wouldn't answer my work questions, so I kept quiet. And I was afraid of his answer to the last question.

Hank flopped on the floor near the table and let out a contented sigh. I knew how he felt. That pasta had hit the spot, and the two bottles of ice-cold beer had relaxed me.

The scenery wasn't too shabby, either. Jake's hair was a little mussed, but it complimented the hint of a five o'clock shadow. It occurred to me that this was the most time we'd spent together in months, since just before I started working for Rob. We'd talked briefly at Lake Tahoe in November then he'd disappeared. For work, but I had no way of knowing that then. And then I began my job for a criminal defense attorney who had a healthy practice in federal court—meaning he represented the people Jake arrested and built cases against.

I wasn't entirely sure how to navigate around those conflicts, or if Jake was even thinking the same thing I was. The fact that I knew something key to the case only added to my angst. I'd been so adamant to Rob and Jake and pretty much everyone else that Kathryn was an innocent bystander in this fraud, but now I knew she had a motive to frame her boss. Or at least her secret lover did.

Oh, God. What if she
was
an innocent bystander? What if Alexi was using her to get revenge on his father?

I set my fork down, my stomach too jittery with nerves to eat any more of the delicious pasta dish.

"Is everything all right?"

"Uh, what?" I asked, jerking my head up and meeting his eyes.

His smile grew from a slight upturn to a wider grin at my confusion.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "It's been a long day."

"Working on this case?" Jake asked, leaning back from the table.

I paused, but then nodded. I'd spent most of the day poring over the same documents we'd already shared with the FBI, so I didn't think that I'd be sharing any secrets by disclosing that.

"Yes, I've been reading the financial records Kathryn gave us."

"Me, too."

After seeing his response to my spreadsheet presentation, I was a little surprised by this. "What did you think?"

He frowned. "Lots of gobbledygook."

"Well, yes…" I paused before continuing, and Jake's eyes narrowed at my hesitation.

"You're the numbers expert. What do you see?"

Trouble
. Both in the books and sitting across the table from me.

"A subdivision I can't afford." I matched his grin.

"Are you looking to buy a house?"

"I'm starting to feel like the third wheel at Aunt Marie's. Which would be fine, but since her new boyfriend is my boss, it's a little uncomfortable."

Jake laughed. "Rob's a nice guy," he said. "You know, for a defense attorney."

I smiled. "He says something similar about you."

"I bet he does." Jake stood and began clearing the plates. "It's nice working with him, instead of against him."

I wondered if that was still true. Finn seemed eager to believe Simon Leonidis was guilty of
something
and wanted Kathryn's suspicions to pan out. But Jake's attitude about her role was harder to read.

"Why did you get Kathryn's bank records?" I asked, joining Jake at the counter with my empty glass. I looked for a dishwasher, but found only an empty hole below the plywood countertop.

"No dishwasher yet. It's on my to-do list," Jake said, pulling a dishpan from under the sink. "I'll get this kitchen finished eventually."

"How long have you been working on it?"

"The kitchen? About nine months. It took more time than I thought, and I sort of jumped in at the wrong time," he said.

I did the math and realized that his remodel would have started just before he and I had our adventures in Macau and Belize. When he came home, he had a bullet wound in his shoulder and was off work for a couple of months. That would tend to slow down a DIY project.

"So, Kathryn's financials…" I prompted, not willing to let him avoid the question.

He shrugged and tossed me a dishtowel. "It's not uncommon. We need to know everything about our witness," he said, giving me a curious look. "I don't want to be surprised later."

It made sense, but I just wasn't buying it. We washed and dried the dishes in silence.

"So, you're not investigating Kathryn?" I asked.

The question hung in the air between us in the quiet kitchen. Jake reached up and put the plates away in the open cupboards, then turned and leaned against the counter.

"Should I?"

"No," I said. "You shouldn't. She's a nice person who just tried to do the right thing."

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know her."

"I know her better than you do. She's not a criminal."

"She's lying. She's lying to you. And she's lying to the FBI, which is a federal crime," he said, his expression hardened.

"Kathryn is not lying!" I had nothing to back that up. "She's smarter than that."

"She's just going to get herself in trouble if she doesn't come clean with us," he said. "Look, Finn is happy to finally nail Simon Leonidis, but I'm not looking at this as a personal vendetta. If we're going to prosecute him, we need evidence. Not just his CFO's suspicions."

I knew that, but for some reason, I had a feeling there was more to it than that.

"You just don't believe her, do you?"

He crossed his arms, and I was momentarily distracted by the way his biceps flexed. I looked away quickly.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about work," he said.

"That's a good idea," I said then paused. What else would we talk about? All of my interaction with Jake had been work related, in one way or another, starting with our first encounter when he arrested me. Was my attraction purely lust? Based on nothing of substance?

"So, how was your day?" he asked, a slight smile on his lips.