Read Online Death, Taxes, and Hot Pink Leg Warmers by Diane Kelly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane Kelly
Ads: Link
My nipples perked up and a very unprofessional throb of need erupted in my nether areas. I wished we were somewhere other than the office, but even if this could only go so far I wasn’t going to let that stop me from enjoying the moment.
I pulled back and lowered my chin, forcing Nick to kiss me on the mouth now. His mustache was both soft and prickly, adding another sensory element to what was already a luscious, sensual kiss. We opened our mouths and our tongues joined in a slow, seductive dance I hoped would never end.
Rap-rap.
So much for my hopes.
“Damn,” Nick muttered.
Without waiting for a response to her knock, Viola opened the door and walked in with a fax. She dropped it into Nick’s in-box. “Get a room, you two.”
The mood spoiled, I climbed off his lap and stood to go. “See you tonight at the club.”
* * *
After leaving Nick’s office, I called my counterpart at the Texas state comptroller’s office to let them know GSM had amassed a huge federal tax liability and had likely underreported its state taxes, too. Next, I ventured down to Eddie’s digs. His chin bore two Hello Kitty Band-Aids today, the bandages applied no doubt by his young twins.
I gestured to the pink strips. “Cute.”
“That flame-throwing vacuum gave me blisters,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “That woman, Suong? What a nut job.”
She probably couldn’t help herself. If ever someone had a bad case of OCD, it was her.
“Check this out.” I showed Eddie the calculations I’d completed the night before and quickly ran through the paperwork with him.
“Three mil?” Anger flared in his dark eyes. “Let’s nail those guys to the wall.”
My partner and I sang a duet of “If I Had a Hammer” as we headed to the parking lot and climbed into his G-ride. We drove over to the FBI office.
Ackerman led us up to his office again for another strategy session. We were scheduled to meet with Pachuco and his attorney later that day, so we focused on the aspects of GSM’s business the home builder had been involved in.
I handed Agent Ackerman the spreadsheet summarizing my tax computations.
He spent a few minutes looking it over before returning his attention to me. “Good work, Agent Holloway. Get a copy of this over to Ross O’Donnell, okay?”
“Consider it done.”
Ross was a seasoned attorney with the Department of Justice, one who represented the IRS and FBI on a regular basis and had a good grasp on how to present financial evidence without confusing a jury or boring them to tears. With Ross handling the trial, we’d be in good hands. Once he received my spreadsheet, he’d add tax evasion to the list of charges brought against the Racketeers.
“I noted some questionable deposit data,” I told Ackerman, referring him to the dog-eared pages among the paperwork. According to the bank records, a number of checks had been deposited into the GSM account despite the fact that the checks were made out to Pachuco Custom Homes, Ltd. The memo line indicated the checks were progress payments for construction on various houses throughout the greater Dallas area. Jeffrey Pachuco, one of the Tennis Racketeers and thus one of the shareholders in GSM, was the owner of the home-building business. I’d searched the real property records online and learned that GSM owned the land at each of the sites in question.
“Why would checks made out to Pachuco Custom Homes be deposited in the GSM account?” I asked Ackerman.
“Good question,” he said. “Let’s find out.”
I called the bank that had issued the progress payments and asked for copies of the construction contracts. The bank representative informed me the construction contracts were for spec homes GSM was to build and sell. We decided to spend the morning making the rounds of the addresses noted on the checks, see if there was any information to be gleaned at the construction sites.
We first headed north to McKinney, to a new housing
I pulled back and lowered my chin, forcing Nick to kiss me on the mouth now. His mustache was both soft and prickly, adding another sensory element to what was already a luscious, sensual kiss. We opened our mouths and our tongues joined in a slow, seductive dance I hoped would never end.
Rap-rap.
So much for my hopes.
“Damn,” Nick muttered.
Without waiting for a response to her knock, Viola opened the door and walked in with a fax. She dropped it into Nick’s in-box. “Get a room, you two.”
The mood spoiled, I climbed off his lap and stood to go. “See you tonight at the club.”
* * *
After leaving Nick’s office, I called my counterpart at the Texas state comptroller’s office to let them know GSM had amassed a huge federal tax liability and had likely underreported its state taxes, too. Next, I ventured down to Eddie’s digs. His chin bore two Hello Kitty Band-Aids today, the bandages applied no doubt by his young twins.
I gestured to the pink strips. “Cute.”
“That flame-throwing vacuum gave me blisters,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “That woman, Suong? What a nut job.”
She probably couldn’t help herself. If ever someone had a bad case of OCD, it was her.
“Check this out.” I showed Eddie the calculations I’d completed the night before and quickly ran through the paperwork with him.
“Three mil?” Anger flared in his dark eyes. “Let’s nail those guys to the wall.”
My partner and I sang a duet of “If I Had a Hammer” as we headed to the parking lot and climbed into his G-ride. We drove over to the FBI office.
Ackerman led us up to his office again for another strategy session. We were scheduled to meet with Pachuco and his attorney later that day, so we focused on the aspects of GSM’s business the home builder had been involved in.
I handed Agent Ackerman the spreadsheet summarizing my tax computations.
He spent a few minutes looking it over before returning his attention to me. “Good work, Agent Holloway. Get a copy of this over to Ross O’Donnell, okay?”
“Consider it done.”
Ross was a seasoned attorney with the Department of Justice, one who represented the IRS and FBI on a regular basis and had a good grasp on how to present financial evidence without confusing a jury or boring them to tears. With Ross handling the trial, we’d be in good hands. Once he received my spreadsheet, he’d add tax evasion to the list of charges brought against the Racketeers.
“I noted some questionable deposit data,” I told Ackerman, referring him to the dog-eared pages among the paperwork. According to the bank records, a number of checks had been deposited into the GSM account despite the fact that the checks were made out to Pachuco Custom Homes, Ltd. The memo line indicated the checks were progress payments for construction on various houses throughout the greater Dallas area. Jeffrey Pachuco, one of the Tennis Racketeers and thus one of the shareholders in GSM, was the owner of the home-building business. I’d searched the real property records online and learned that GSM owned the land at each of the sites in question.
“Why would checks made out to Pachuco Custom Homes be deposited in the GSM account?” I asked Ackerman.
“Good question,” he said. “Let’s find out.”
I called the bank that had issued the progress payments and asked for copies of the construction contracts. The bank representative informed me the construction contracts were for spec homes GSM was to build and sell. We decided to spend the morning making the rounds of the addresses noted on the checks, see if there was any information to be gleaned at the construction sites.
We first headed north to McKinney, to a new housing
Similar Books
