For Love & Bourbon (8 page)

Cooper stifled a yawn. “Damn right.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night?”

He thought of the bottle of Lucky Fox 101 sitting on the dresser in his hotel room. Most of the night he had stared at it, unable to stop thinking of the woman who had sold it to him. He couldn’t bring himself to taste it just yet, not while knowing his investigation would soon turn the Brannons’ world upside down.

“You know how it is. Stiff bed,” Cooper replied easily. He ducked past his partner into the Lucky Fox office.

The waiting area held a traditional oak receptionist’s desk, leather arm chairs, and a hunter green sofa. Paintings of the Kentucky landscape and warm, neutral tones gave the space a cozily inviting look. Not at all what Cooper would have expected the corporate office of a multi-million dollar company to look like, but then again, this wasn’t some New York City high rise.

This was small town Kentucky.

The white-haired receptionist glanced up as they entered, her cheerful smile faltering. Behind gold, wire-rimmed glasses, confusion filled her eyes. “Can I help you?”

Marco whipped out his badge. “Agent D’Amico and Agent Lawson with the FBI. We’re here to see Ty Brannon.”

The woman eyed his badge with surprise. “Oh, my. Yes, one moment, please.”

She ducked down a hallway into an adjoining office, speaking in a hushed whisper to the person inside. Moments later, Ty Brannon appeared, clad in a trim business suit with his dark hair neatly combed. Cooper studied him, getting the impression the man had expected them.

“Come in, please.” He ushered them into his office and closed the door.

Cooper turned to him. “Mr. Brannon, we—”

“I know. The tax thing, right?” Ty offered a tight smile as he settled behind his desk. The room had similar oak and leather furniture as the front, with the family portrait that Cooper recognized from the Lucky Fox website hanging on the wall behind Ty’s desk. His eyes hovered over Ava’s face before he reverted his attention back to Ty and sat down. “I assure you, I’m cooperating fully with the IRS and the issue has been handled. I don’t know why they sent you.”

“We have a warrant to seize your computers,” Marco began, handing Ty the paperwork. “The details are enclosed.”

Ty examined the pages, his face draining of color. “What do you need my computers for?”

“Financial records, proof of money transfers and communications with your cousin, Ned Brannon,” Cooper supplied. He waited until Ty’s gaze met his before he continued. “Are you aware that Ned is on Ireland’s SDU watch list for suspected terrorist activities with the Irish Republican Army?”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” Ty replied, setting aside the warrant. He folded his hands, likely to keep them from shaking. “I know nothing about the IRA. If he’s involved somehow, I have no part in it.”

“But you send him money.” Marco crossed his legs, relaxed. “Under FATCA we were able to uncover your overseas Swiss account. The same account withdrawals have been made from consistently for over twenty years from a bank in Dublin.”

Ty wet his lips. “Look, I’m aware some of the money may have slipped through without taxes being paid. I’m willing to pay those penalties—I’ve already spoken with an IRS attorney who’s made the arrangements. But I don’t know anything about withdrawals or about Ned’s business.”

“Why put the money in a numbered Swiss account, then?” Cooper asked. “Unless you wanted to hide its purpose?”

“Why does anyone use Swiss accounts? That doesn’t make me an instant criminal.” Ty closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Look, you have your warrant. I can’t stop you. But I won’t answer any more questions without my lawyer present.”

“That’s your right.” Marco rose, tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “The team from the Louisville field office should be here any minute. They’ll be processing the files on all the computers in this office, and any you have at home, as well.”

“I just have a laptop at home. Should I go—”

“I’ll get it,” Cooper cut in, facing Marco. “You hang out here, wait for the team. I won’t be long.”

“Agent,” Ty called out before Cooper could leave. Concern deepened the lines of his tired face, giving him a vulnerability that Cooper steeled himself against. “When you see my family, don’t tell them anything more than they need to know. I don’t need my reputation slandered prematurely.”

Cooper nodded. “You’ll need to close down the office for the time being. The team will set up base here to go through everything. We’ll be as discreet as possible, but I can’t guarantee people won’t talk. You may want to consider telling your family the truth.”

Ty’s face reddened. “They’re my family. I’ll decide how and when to tell them.”

Cooper left the office, a copy of the warrant in his coat pocket. Hopping in the department issued black sedan, he whipped out onto the street and headed for the Lucky Fox Distillery.

“THERE ARE
eight hundred and twelve barrels in this building. That amounts to just over forty three
thousand
gallons of whiskey.” Ava enjoyed the surprised faces of her tour guests as they gazed around in awe at the barrel house. “Fun fact, there are actually more barrels of bourbon in Kentucky than there are people. In case you couldn’t tell, we really enjoy our whiskey.

“That beautiful aroma you smell is what we in the business like to call the ‘Angel’s Share.’ It’s the small amount of water and whiskey that seeps through the barrels as they breathe.” She walked over to a barrel resting on the closest rack and pointed to a sap-like substance crusted around a crack in the wood. “Sometimes it’s even visible, like this, on the outside of the barrel. We call this barrel candy, and yes, you can eat it. It tastes a bit like caramel, believe it or not.”

A few visitors snapped off pictures. “Another thing you’ll notice is that it’s pretty darn chilly in here. Kentucky’s cold winters and warm, humid summers actually help with the aging of the whiskey. As the temperature rises and falls, the barrels expand and contract, allowing the whiskey to seep into the wood and pull out the flavors.”

Her eyes shot to the doors of the barrel house as a man entered. It threw her momentarily off balance to see it was the whiskey novice from the day before, looking just as slick in his suit and tie and windswept blond hair. An easy smile played over his lips as he strolled toward the group, his hands tucked into his pockets.

She returned the smile before switching her attention back to the tour guests, not willing to give him more acknowledgment than that. “Y’all want to see the inside of one of the barrels?”

In the center of the room was a square table with a halved barrel propped up on top of it, displaying the charred interior. She patted it with a grin. “I said before how the true magic of bourbon is in the barrel. By law, bourbon must be aged in charred, new white oak barrels for a minimum of two years. We age most of ours anywhere from five to eight years.

“First we toast the inside of the barrel with radiant heat, no flame, for about twenty minutes to cook the sugars and bring out the caramel and vanilla flavors that are in the wood to begin with. Then we turn up the heat for twenty seconds and char the wood, just enough to burn off a few layers without ruining the toasting. This charring is what gives bourbon its rich, golden color. No other flavorings can be added—what you taste is all natural. In fact, these bourbon barrels have so much flavor that we even re-use them to age our Irish whiskey.”

“So what was the Irish whiskey aged in originally?” the mystery man in the suit asked from the back of the group. “You said Joe got into bourbon making later, so I can’t imagine he had bourbon barrels lying around.”

Ava angled her head, impressed by his memory. “Sherry barrels. That’s what the Brannons have always done. But Joe discovered that the bourbon barrels actually add a unique flavor to the whiskey that rivaled what his forefathers produced.”

She fielded a few more questions, then set the group loose to explore the barrel house or head back to the visitor’s center for a tasting.

Cooper watched her shake hands with a few of the guests, biding his time to get her alone. His gut twisted when she turned to face him, as if knowing he wanted to speak to her.

“I see you’re alive and well. I take it the 101 didn’t hurt too bad?” she teased, resting a hand on her hip.

“I didn’t have the chance to try it yet, actually,” he admitted.

“Oh. That’s a shame.” She motioned around the barrel house. “So, what do you think?”

Cooper stared up at the sky-high racks of barrels and breathed in the earthy sweet scent of the air. “It’s pretty cool.”

She laughed. “It’s more than just ‘cool.’ It’s a time-honored tradition. There’re barrels here that won’t be ready for nearly a decade. Can you even
imagine
life that far ahead? We have to. If we don’t, then we run out of whiskey and our company fails. That’s why this room is so important. The future sleeps here.”

His eyes caught hers and held. The passion he saw there—for her family’s company, for the product they created—brought on a wave of guilt knowing he was seconds away from damaging it. Maybe not permanently, perhaps barely at all. But there was no denying it would sting her pride.

She glanced down at her watch. “You missed the first part of the tour, but I have a few minutes to spare if you’d like me to give you that little lesson we talked about yesterday.”

“I’m afraid my business here is not entirely personal.” He reached for the warrant in his coat pocket, brought his badge out with it. She eyed both curiously, her smile fading as he flipped open his badge and showed it to her. “I’m with the FBI.”

Ava’s lips parted in surprise as she grabbed his badge and studied it. “Is this a joke?” He was smiling in his picture, but there was no trace of it on his face now. Only a hint of regret behind a mask of steely resolve. The contrast startled her.

“No, it’s not.”

“So why are you here…” She read the name on his badge and sneered. “Agent Cooper Lawson? We haven’t done anything wrong.” She shoved his badge back at him, hackles rising in defense. “You tricked me. Came in here, all curious and flirtatious. What were you doing? Scoping out the place?”

Since he couldn’t deny it, he pocketed his badge and handed her the warrant instead. “I have a warrant to confiscate Ty Brannon’s personal laptop. I’ll need you to take me to it.”

Dread dropped heavy in her stomach as she scoured the warrant. It said nothing of the charges, only what the FBI was allowed to confiscate and what they could look for.

Financial transactions from the company. Personal bank records. Email correspondence.

Good Lord. What was her father involved in?

She started to rip into Cooper, only to notice a few of the tour guests and two of her employees frozen in place, gawking at her. She cursed under her breath, struggling to quell her temper. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t refuse a warrant and she sure as hell wouldn’t cause a scene. Until she figured out what was going on, she had to keep up appearances.

Bringing her eyes back to his, she lifted her chin with a tight-lipped smile. “All right, Agent Lawson. Follow me.”

She folded up the warrant and nodded reassuringly to her employees as she passed, knowing they would be hopping on the gossip wagon the second she left. An FBI agent didn’t just trot into Fox Hills every day, flashing his badge and presenting warrants. It would be the talk of the town by sunset, guaranteed.

Grumbling obscenities under her breath, she took Cooper to the four-wheeler parked out back. She hopped inside and scowled at him.

“Get in. I’ll take you up to the house.”

He hesitated, eyeing the four-wheeler doubtfully. “Why don’t I just follow you in my car?”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you think I’m gonna do? Take you out back and shoot you?”

His mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Oh, that’s real nice, funny guy. You may not be welcome here, but my mama still raised me with some damn manners.” Her temper came roaring back, and along with it came the worry and the fear. Pride wouldn’t allow her to display any of it, though it simmered just under the surface. “Just get in. I don’t have all day.”

He did as he was told, though he sat on the edge of the seat as far from her as possible. He gripped the bar that supported the vehicle’s roof, silently wondering how fast it could go and if she’d push it to the limit just to punish him. He wouldn’t put that past her, either.