In It For the Money Read online

  “Aren’t you taken?” Laurie interrupted.

  Who knows? “Details.” Holly rocked her hand. Apparently, she was in relationship limbo. “Ball Cap Guy was ready to literally sweep you off your feet.”

  “Speaking of off my feet.” Laurie tucked her crutches into place. “I need to sit down.”

  They edged onto the sponsors’ lawn in front of the tent. Laurie hopped across the grass to a row of plastic chairs. Holly carried their wine. The seating area offered a clear view of the assorted rock formations, sand pits and mud holes which made up the various obstacle courses the trucks would have to tackle.

  Within minutes, the Chen rig, tricked out with Tate’s new suspension, had lumbered to the starting line. As the crowd watched—waiting with cheers and jeers for either a screw-up that stranded the rig or a successful run—it laboriously climbed and splashed and crabbed its way to the end of the course.

  Holly cupped her hands in a makeshift megaphone. “Go, Tate! Go, George!”

  “I feel like I’m back at a Friday night football game.” Laurie high-fived her when the truck passed the finish line.

  Another rig edged up to the first set of boulders.

  George and his group of men returned to the concourse. Other men wandered over, backslapping and smiling. Fragments of conversations reached Holly.

  “Good run.”

  “Nice rig.”

  And best of all, there seemed to be lots of glowing comments about Tate’s new suspension.

  The men stood in front of them, blocking their view of the course, so Holly and Laurie people-watched instead.

  “What a day.” Laurie stretched her arms across the adjacent seat back. “Blue sky. Sunshine. We got trucks. You and me. Throw in a dog or three, and JC would be in his element. Why isn’t he here?”

  Good question. “He’s working.” Not that Holly was avoiding the question... She simply wasn’t sure how to answer the real question.

  She and JC Dimitrak, a Franklin County detective and her ex-fiancé, were in that weird grey area between having a relationship and not having one. She’d reconnected with him during a recent murder investigation—an investigation in which he’d initially considered her a suspect—and she’d seen him constantly. Since then? Not so much. He’d repeatedly canceled their dates due to his work schedule.

  Back in college, JC used to claim his initials stood for Just Crazy. Now…maybe it should be Just Confusing.

  Hopefully, his workload would lighten up now. He’d arrested a guy in a different murder case he’d been working—obsessing over—during the past week. Obsession might be a good characteristic for a detective. Weren’t they supposed to work tirelessly to catch the criminals? But weren’t they entitled to a life?

  And it seemed like there was always more paperwork, or a new case, or—

  “Any idea when JC will be finished?” Laurie interrupted Holly’s morose thoughts. “Rick asked me to go hear that new group playing at Atomic tonight. The four of us can get pizza and beer.”

  Holly gave a long-suffering sigh. “Didn’t I tell you not to date Rick Stewart? He works for me.”

  “It isn’t a date,” Laurie insisted. “It’s a get-reacquainted-with-an-old-friend thing.”

  “I still don’t want you messing with my best employee.” With my friend. Holly doubted Rick would survive a fling with Laurie with his heart intact.

  “I won’t mess with him. And does this over-protection of Rick mean you’ve decided to stay in Richland instead of beating feet back to Seattle?”

  “Who says I’m beating feet?” Holly folded her arms and tried to look offended.

  Was she going to stay in Richland? That was the real question.

  When Holly’s father had a mid-life brain fart and dumped her mother for his yoga instructor, Holly had taken a leave of absence from Falcon, Inc, and moved home from Seattle. The original plan had been to help her mother stage the family accounting firm for sale to a larger practice. If her mother sold Desert Accounting, Holly would return to Seattle...and Laurie could date whoever she wanted.

  But over the past seven months, Holly had found she liked the personal nature of the local business. With things so unsettled between her and well...everything—but especially unsettled with JC—however, she wasn’t committing to anything. “No comment.”

  “Coward.” Laurie finished her wine. “Is Tate staying in town after this whatever-you-call-it truck thing is over tonight? Ask him to come with us to Atomic.”

  “Tate’s staying with me tonight, so unless George or Mikhail has a work-thing lined up for him, I’m sure he’d love to come.”

  “Call JC and tell him to meet us there too,” Laurie ordered.

  Holly hesitated, fingering the cell phone she’d tucked into her pocket. “I’m not sure when he’ll finish doing whatever he’s doing.”

  “Don’t the detectives work a shift? The patrol officers do.”

  Holly twirled her last bit of wine. “JC hasn’t shared that little detail.”

  Laurie blinked. “Am I hearing trouble in paradise?”

  “I think you have to actually see each other to argue.”

  During the investigation which had drawn Holly and JC together again, she’d seen him on a daily basis. But now, not so much. A nagging voice was already asking if he was really in love with her, or if the renewed attraction had merely been the adrenaline of that investigation...

  Screeeeccchhhhh.

  A metallic shriek cut off her thoughts.

  There was a collective intake of breath, a suspension of time.

  Bam. Screech. Krrr-runch.

  A series of crashes and bangs broke the spell.

  She and Laurie cringed and exchanged looks. After a too-recent series of car-related incidents, both were intimately familiar with the sound of crumpling sheet metal.

  The group surrounding George turned as one toward the boulder-strewn course.

  “What happened?” someone asked.

  “Anyone see the truck? The driver?” asked another guy.

  A babble of voices rose, the questions overlapping, even as the crowd shifted toward the track.

  Holly hurried across the grass and joined George’s group. She glanced back, impatiently waiting for Laurie to limp along and catch up.

  A man wearing a headset jogged up. “Doesn’t look good. You were right to have an EMT on standby. We’re also going to need help with crowd control.”

  “Call Franklin County dispatch,” George said. “They have deputies assigned for support.” He ran a hand over his head, looking concerned. “Is the driver okay? Damn, I was afraid something like this might happen.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mikhail, the blond distributor guy, said. “It’s just like NASCAR. The fans can’t wait for the wrecks.”

  “You gotta admit, it beats watching cars turn left around the same track over and over and over,” a younger guy said.

  “Accidents happen. It’s part of the business,” added another.

  The men hurried across the course to the knot of people forming around what must be the wrecked truck.

  Holly and Laurie hung back, eyeing the crowd. Having recently been on the receiving end of the coyotes-to-carnage voyeurism, neither was interested in craning her neck to see if there was any blood.

  “I hope the guy’s okay.” Holly fingered the still healing cut on her temple and glanced at Laurie’s pale face.

  “It looked like he was doing fine on the rocks. I wonder if his tire slipped, or he got stuck, or...”

  “You asshole!” The furious shout cut through the crowd noise. “I saw you messing with Shaw’s rig.”

  Chapter Two

  Hit Me With Your Best Shot (Pat Benatar)

  The dull smack of fists hitting flesh followed the angry shout. Hair lifted on the back of Holly’s neck as adrenaline flashed in the sudden tension. The crowd pivoted, the focus shifting from the wreck to the fight.

  “I saw you.” Rage bellowed through a barrel-che
sted man’s words as he threw a punch at Holly’s cousin, Tate.

  “Like hell,” Tate’s arm flashed out, blocking the fist. “Shaw asked me to help him.”

  Holly rocked on her feet as if the blow had landed on her. This guy was accusing Tate—her straight-laced, honest-as-they-came, former-Marine cousin—of messing with another man’s truck?

  The accuser got right in Tate’s face, stabbing a finger at him. “Bullshit. You fucked with Shaw’s rig.”

  A new voice rose, a bellowed curse. The crowd exploded into a fight, with men whaling away at each other. A pair stumbled through the ring of spectators, nearly knocking Laurie to the ground.

  “Woman on crutches, here!” She called as she swayed and replanted them in the grass.

  Both the fighting men and the crowd ignored her.

  Arms spread, Holly stepped in front of Laurie, as if she could provide a screen. “This is crazy. Stop it!”

  A stray elbow caught Holly in the cheek. “Oww.” She staggered to the side, clutching her face.

  Laurie whacked the guy with her crutch. “Hey! Already in a cast, you jerk.”

  The guy pivoted, arm drawn back, fist clenched. His glare dropped about a foot until he found Laurie’s pixie face staring up at him. His arm lowered, just as another guy landed a punch. Other men jumped the coward who’d sucker-punched the first guy. With a roar, he spun back into the fight.

  Holly dragged her friend back into the viewing tent and watched, horrified, as men jabbed and hooked and swung roundhouse punches at each other.

  Beer and testosterone—always a bad combination.

  “Crap, what do we do now?” Holly asked.

  “I think we stay out of the way.”

  Security waded into the fracas, separating the guys who’d piled into the mob scene. Pushed and shoved aside, most retreated to the sidelines, nursing sore spots and wiping away blood. A few of the rowdier ones ended up face down in the dirt with zip-tied hands. Finally, the two men at the center of the riot became visible.

  “Oh, my God.” Holly stared at the battered man on the right. Blood ran from his nose and one eye was already swelling. His shirt was ripped and everything about her cousin was off-kilter. “Tate!” Leaving Laurie in the tent, Holly pushed past the men still ringing the battleground.

  A black-shirted security guard intercepted her. “Step back, ma’am.”

  “But he’s hurt.”

  “He’s also going to be arrested for aggravated assault.”

  “He didn’t start it. That other guy did.” Holly jabbed a finger at a stockier guy who didn’t look in much better shape than Tate.

  “The deputies will be here in about two minutes,” the security guard said. “They’ll sort it out. You go sit down.”

  Damn, even a security guard thought he could tell her what to do. “You have no authority over me.”

  She stepped past him. Or rather, she made it one step past him before he grabbed her wrist, spun her around, and twisted her arm behind her back.

  “Ow! Let go of me.” Her struggles earned her a tighter twist of her arm.

  Behind her, Laurie yelled, “What are you doing to her?”

  Holly howled in protest. “You’re breaking my arm.”

  She heard rather than saw the crowd’s attention turn in her direction. A murmur of voices rippled away, humming with curiosity.

  “You.” A male voice cut through the chaos. “Hands off the woman.”

  Holly’s breathing stopped. No. No-no-no-no-no-no. It couldn’t be.

  The pressure on her shoulder increased. “She’s interfering—”

  Doubled over, in pain, she still recognized him.

  “I said, let her go.” Frank Phalen’s steely voice demanded obedience.

  Abruptly, the security guard released her. She staggered, then straightened and found herself nose to throat with a recurring nightmare.

  Frank Phalen.

  Former Seattle police officer.

  Head of security for one of her clients.

  Subject of her restraining order.

  Head spinning from the rough release and Frank’s unexpected reappearance, she swayed and took a wobbly sidestep. Some reptile remnant of her brain might have been screaming, Run!

  “Are you okay?” Frank grabbed her arms. Now the guy in a black security shirt was holding her upright instead of manhandling her into submission.

  She stared at Frank, mouth agape, trying to put the disparate pieces together. She knew she should thank him for springing her from the guard. But being nice to Frank could mean she’d end up in the same position she’d run from Seattle to escape. Instead of paying attention to her rambling mind, her body focused on his hands grasping her biceps. The restraint unleashed a stampede of memories—all of them bad. A massive spasm shook her.

  “Holly?” Concern puckered his eyebrows.

  Her brain tried to process the unthinkable. The last time she’d seen Frank was three weeks ago, after her car wreck, when he’d admitted following her. Can you say stalker? He’d claimed he was trying to protect her.

  Yeah, like she believed that assertion.

  “What are you doing here?” Her words quavered more than she wanted.

  Apparently, he was still following her.

  And still thinking he was protecting her.

  She took a deep stabilizing breath. Except, well, he had helped her both times. But there was still that stalker thing to consider.

  Another deep male voice of authority sounded. “Hands off her.”

  Without warning, Frank released her. This time, she ended up nose to throat with a gorgeous hunk of man, aka her current sort-of boyfriend, ex-fiancé, and Franklin County detective, JC Dimitrak.

  If she were eighteen rather than twenty-eight, her heart might’ve done a little happy dance.

  JC glared at Frank. “You aren’t supposed to be anywhere near her.”

  Frank’s jaw hardened. “I’m working this event. I had no idea she was here until I responded to our All Hands alert.”

  This had the makings of Tasers at ten paces. Which wouldn’t help anybody, especially not Tate.

  Holly stepped between the two men. “It’s okay. Let him do what he’s supposed to do,” she told JC.

  Both of them glanced at her briefly before continuing their stare-down.

  “Come on.” She tugged at JC’s hand. “I need to talk to you.”

  His expression clearly shouting he was only backing down because she’d asked him to, he stepped away. He shifted his laser glare of death from the security guard to her. His concerned gaze swept her face and cheek, which still ached from the blow she’d received.

  His expression softened. His hand rose and his fingers skimmed her cheekbone. “What happened here?”

  She grimaced. “Stray elbow.”

  His fingers slid down her neck and caressed the tight muscles. “You okay?”

  “That arm lock hurt—from the first guard, not Frank—but I’m fine.” In the privacy of their personal space bubble, she quietly added, “Thanks.”

  His massage shifted to her shoulders and she groaned with pleasure. “In about half an hour, I might ask you to stop.”

  He grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

  As he worked his magic, she watched Frank move over to the cluster of walking wounded. She scanned the area for Laurie and found her with Ball Cap Guy.

  “You okay?” Laurie called.

  Holly smiled. Trust Laurie to land jelly-side up. Eyes-closed, she sank into JC’s massage. After only a delicious few minutes, his hands stilled. She turned her head and found him watching the security detail, a disgusted expression on his face.

  As if realizing he’d stepped in something he shouldn’t, the first security guy—the one who’d arm-wrestled her—had already edged back. He probably would’ve run for it, if JC wasn’t drilling him with a glare.

  “You requested backup?” JC asked him. “To handle an accountant?”

  Holly decided to treat the cont
empt in JC’s tone as directed at the guard and not a slam on her or her profession.

  “No. Over there.” Security Guy hooked a thumb toward Tate and another zip-tie trussed man.

  She pointed. “He started it. The other guy. Not Tate.”

  JC’s attention jumped back to her. His hands left her shoulders. “Tate? As in Tate Price, your cousin?”

  “That other guy jumped him. I saw him.”

  “Don’t say another word.” JC’s face had gone to total cop mode. He drew her away from the crowd, closer to the seats near the sponsor’s tent. “You’re a witness. One of the other deputies will take your statement, but you cannot get involved in this. You promised to not go off investigating and getting in the middle—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill. But if you’re referring to that conversation we had in the vineyard after the unfortunate side trip with Marcy’s killer, I agreed to never go joyriding—”

  “Right.” He cut her off. “Got it. Go get Laurie, give your statements, then leave.”

  Holly hung onto her temper and smiled. She figured it probably looked like gritted teeth. “I can’t. I’m here with a client. He’s one of the sponsors of this little shindig.”

  JC cursed, blew out a sigh and pulled her close. “Not again.”

  His breath ruffled her hair and the warmth of his body surrounded her. His scent set off little explosions that had her heart and her hormones working overtime. Damn, they had to figure out their work schedules and spend some real time together. At their current rate of non-contact, they might have to resort to phone sex, which would make a really lousy substitute, given the way the man could...kiss.

  “I nearly lost you less than three weeks ago,” he murmured. “That isn’t an experience I care to repeat.”

  “I’m not looking for round two with the crazy people, either.” No way was she mentioning the prime crazy person, Frank Phalen. He had a legit reason to be at the Rockcrawler event. He was not going to obsess over her again.

  Dammit.

  Not happening.

  Besides, JC had it all wrong. She had absolutely no intention of getting in the middle of this dispute. And there wasn’t anything to investigate.