half-dressed and
vulnerable, and sexier than any woman had a right to be.
Damn but she was good. He had always prided
himself on being able to tell the true criminals apart from the innocent. He
had a pretty good track record, too, if you looked at convictions. The trouble
with Jessica Kingsbury was that his instincts told him that she wasn't really a
criminal, but the evidence they had been gathering in the money laundering case
made her look guilty as hell, assuming they could pin it on her. If Cutlass had
a witness with something solid...
He threw back the covers, giving up on the thought
of sleep and padded to his desk. He had copies on his laptop of many of the
same news articles that were in her file at the office. He started skimming
them again, starting with the flurry of blog posts and leaked photos of her and
the Tennessee senator that had hit the tabloids about a year before Charles
died.
Someone had stuck a camera lens through a window
and captured scenes of her sitting in the senator's lap, of his hand on her
mini-skirt-clad bottom, and of her appearing to kiss the man. The photos made
Noah's stomach turn.
Senator Grant Wilson was not a young man, nor was
he what most people considered an attractive older man. Some of the women
around the office had said that he had a certain charisma to him. But the whole
affair made no sense. She was already married to a rich, older man. Why risk
her marriage—and the eventual inheritance of his estate—by dallying with a
less-rich older man?
An anonymous tip, traced back to someone in the
Senator's Tennessee home, had accused her of blackmailing him with those
photos. But then Wilson himself went on national television, owned up to the
affair, and apologized to his wife.
The original investigation into the blackmail
fizzled at that point, but forensic accountants had already begun digging into
the Kingsbury financials, and the money laundering case was born.
An anonymous tip.
Noah stared at those photos again. Why the hell
would she do it? What did she have to gain from an affair with a married man?
Why blackmail someone when she had, by all accounts, plenty of cash of her own?
He just couldn't see it.
But he did see something else. Noah clicked back
and zoomed in to the photo of Jessica sitting on Wilson's lap, and saw
something he hadn't noticed before. She was wearing the Hearst Diamond
necklace.
Noah pushed back in the chair and lowered his sore
arm. The wound throbbed and the muscles of his back were tight from lying on a
plastic-wrapped hospital bed for a day. It wasn't the shot that kept him home,
but there was no way the bureau would let him work field duty or tote a gun for
a couple of weeks with a concussion.
Helpless and pissed was a bad combination.
He dialed Cole's cell.
“Do you even care what time it is?” In the
background, Noah could hear bells and voices.
“I hear Vegas never sleeps.”
Cheers went up somewhere near Cole. “What do you
need?”
“Any leads yet?”
Cole muttered something and the phone went fuzzy
for half a minute, then quieted. “Damnit, Noah. You better not be calling about
the case.”
Noah smiled into the phone. “Of course not. I just
wanted to know if you'd won anything yet.”
There was a pause. “Nope. Worst run of luck ever.
What do you think I should try next? Craps? Sports?”
“Why don't you give up on gambling and hit the
spa?”
The noise level on Cole's end increased again. He
must be walking through the casino floors. “Good call. I could use a facial.
Whatever the hell that is. Look, Noah, my signal is weak in here. Go to sleep.
I'll call back when my luck turns around.”
Noah clicked off the phone. Cole's luck wouldn't
turn around. Jessica Kingsbury wasn't in Las Vegas. He took another look at the
photo of her and the senator, then googled the man. He found his political
website and clicked over to the man's bio. Noah skimmed the words on the page
listing endless charities and law firms,
vulnerable, and sexier than any woman had a right to be.
Damn but she was good. He had always prided
himself on being able to tell the true criminals apart from the innocent. He
had a pretty good track record, too, if you looked at convictions. The trouble
with Jessica Kingsbury was that his instincts told him that she wasn't really a
criminal, but the evidence they had been gathering in the money laundering case
made her look guilty as hell, assuming they could pin it on her. If Cutlass had
a witness with something solid...
He threw back the covers, giving up on the thought
of sleep and padded to his desk. He had copies on his laptop of many of the
same news articles that were in her file at the office. He started skimming
them again, starting with the flurry of blog posts and leaked photos of her and
the Tennessee senator that had hit the tabloids about a year before Charles
died.
Someone had stuck a camera lens through a window
and captured scenes of her sitting in the senator's lap, of his hand on her
mini-skirt-clad bottom, and of her appearing to kiss the man. The photos made
Noah's stomach turn.
Senator Grant Wilson was not a young man, nor was
he what most people considered an attractive older man. Some of the women
around the office had said that he had a certain charisma to him. But the whole
affair made no sense. She was already married to a rich, older man. Why risk
her marriage—and the eventual inheritance of his estate—by dallying with a
less-rich older man?
An anonymous tip, traced back to someone in the
Senator's Tennessee home, had accused her of blackmailing him with those
photos. But then Wilson himself went on national television, owned up to the
affair, and apologized to his wife.
The original investigation into the blackmail
fizzled at that point, but forensic accountants had already begun digging into
the Kingsbury financials, and the money laundering case was born.
An anonymous tip.
Noah stared at those photos again. Why the hell
would she do it? What did she have to gain from an affair with a married man?
Why blackmail someone when she had, by all accounts, plenty of cash of her own?
He just couldn't see it.
But he did see something else. Noah clicked back
and zoomed in to the photo of Jessica sitting on Wilson's lap, and saw
something he hadn't noticed before. She was wearing the Hearst Diamond
necklace.
Noah pushed back in the chair and lowered his sore
arm. The wound throbbed and the muscles of his back were tight from lying on a
plastic-wrapped hospital bed for a day. It wasn't the shot that kept him home,
but there was no way the bureau would let him work field duty or tote a gun for
a couple of weeks with a concussion.
Helpless and pissed was a bad combination.
He dialed Cole's cell.
“Do you even care what time it is?” In the
background, Noah could hear bells and voices.
“I hear Vegas never sleeps.”
Cheers went up somewhere near Cole. “What do you
need?”
“Any leads yet?”
Cole muttered something and the phone went fuzzy
for half a minute, then quieted. “Damnit, Noah. You better not be calling about
the case.”
Noah smiled into the phone. “Of course not. I just
wanted to know if you'd won anything yet.”
There was a pause. “Nope. Worst run of luck ever.
What do you think I should try next? Craps? Sports?”
“Why don't you give up on gambling and hit the
spa?”
The noise level on Cole's end increased again. He
must be walking through the casino floors. “Good call. I could use a facial.
Whatever the hell that is. Look, Noah, my signal is weak in here. Go to sleep.
I'll call back when my luck turns around.”
Noah clicked off the phone. Cole's luck wouldn't
turn around. Jessica Kingsbury wasn't in Las Vegas. He took another look at the
photo of her and the senator, then googled the man. He found his political
website and clicked over to the man's bio. Noah skimmed the words on the page
listing endless charities and law firms,
Similar Books
