Wounded at Work Page 3

  “What’s it to be?” The overweight bartender wiped the old wooden bar that once may have been nice, but had deteriorated to the point where she could smell the alcohol soaked into the pitted wood.

  “Club soda.” No way would liquor ever pass her lips. Not after watching her parents kill themselves with it.

  “That’s it! You’re in a beer joint for a soda?” He groused and mumbled, as he took a bottle out of the cooler.

  The guy who had been pounding the jukebox came over and sat beside her. He had on overalls, a dirty T-shirt, and sported a beer belly. Lord, help her.

  “Haven’t seen you here before.”

  Carrie gave him a dazzling smile. “First time. Friends of mine recommended it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah! Said it was a fun place.” She looked around. “I think they must have been drunk.”

  He laughed, slapping his thighs with passion. “Who are your friends?”

  “Lizzie and Amy. Do you know them?”

  His brow knit into a frown. “Describe them.”

  “Both are pretty. Amy is a blonde, has blue eyes, and loves to dance. Lizzie is mixed blood, so she’s darker, with pretty brown eyes and can do hip-hop like a pro.”

  “I’ve seen them in here. They liven the place up. Haven’t been in for a while, though.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Why?”

  “No reason. Forget it.” She glanced away and took a sip of her drink.

  His brow wrinkled again. The guy was probably so liquored up he couldn’t think. “Probably a couple of weeks. Had just gotten my check. He counted on fat fingers. “Yeah, two weeks at least.”

  “Did they have anyone special they came or left with?”

  “You a cop?”

  She rolled her eyes and said nothing.

  “Naw! They came alone, and as far as I know, left the same way.”

  She set her glass down. “Anyone else around here who can tell me more about them?”

  He squinted and looked around the dim bar that held few customers. “Naw.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Can you dance?”

  “Not a lick.”

  “Too bad.”

  She slid off the stool and headed to the door. “Next time.”

  “Anytime, sweetheart.”

  Carrie took a deep breath when she stepped outside and hoped the other bars were not this bad. Otherwise, I’m going to ask for a raise.

  The next four were different versions of the same. What was wrong with those kids? Not actually kids, since they were in their early twenties—old enough to know better.

  She looked at the Mickey Mouse watch Matt had given her for Christmas a few years ago and smiled. It was after seven, just right for the going-home-from-work crowd. One more bar to go. She’d just as well get it over with.

  The same routine at Magee’s Bar and Grill didn’t bring anything she could use from the first two guys who struck up a conversation. However, the bartender’s eyebrows spiked with interest as he watched and listened.

  He knew something. Plus, he gawked at her with such intensity she vowed to stare him down. He broke eye contact.

  “What’s your name?”

  She gave him a winning smile. Maybe she could get more out of him. “Sandy. What’s yours?”

  “Benjie.”

  “Well, Benjie.” She leaned closer, let a little more cleavage show. “What do you know about my friends? Do they come here often?”

  He was still staring at her. Did he stare at every new face? She straightened her spine. She’d taken on guys bigger and younger than him and won.

  “Pretty regular.”

  “They like to have a good time. I’ll bet this place hops a little later.”

  “The customers don’t complain.”

  “When did you last see them?”

  “It’s been a while. Why do you ask?”

  “They hooked me up with some primo stuff. We had a helluva time.”

  “I’ll bet you wouldn’t have a bit of trouble having fun without them.” He leered, making her skin crawl.

  Benjie looked over her shoulder. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?” She didn’t turn around, just looked in the mirror.

  “Cops.”

  Not cops. FBI. What were Matt and another agent doing here? And why? The FBI wouldn’t investigate a missing person. Not right away. So, if they weren’t here about her missing person case, what were they looking into?

  “Give me another club soda.”

  “Sure.”

  Benjie put one on the bar in front of her. By then Matt and his partner were next to her. She looked up into hard brown eyes. This wasn’t the Matt she knew. “Hi.”

  He nodded, turned to Benjie, and flashed his badge.

  Benjie’s complexion went a couple shades lighter.

  Matt laid two photos on the counter. “Have you seen either of these women?”

  “Why?”

  He shoved the pictures closer. “Look at them.”

  “We get women in here all sizes and descriptions.”

  “Just answer the question. Have you seen them?”

  “Probably. I think they like to dance.”

  “Most women their age do. What else?”

  Benjie shrugged.

  “How about you?” Matt turned to her, stuck the photos under her nose. Not her missing person, thank God.

  She gave him one of her practiced smiles. “Sorry, big boy.”

  Matt gave her the squint-eye. She wanted to laugh. But knew better. Seeing Matt in action gave her a new perspective. He was just as cool, just as proficient, as she knew him to be in an everyday setting—only without the smiles.

  Interesting.

  She peeled a twenty out of her pocket and put it on the bar. “Gotta run, Benjie. See you later.”

  Turning to Matt, she winked. “Hope you’re here when I’m this way again. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll ask you to dance.”

  She enjoyed teasing Matt, but knew he would find a way to pay her back. He always did.

  Chapter Three

  Matt watched in the bar mirror as Carrie sauntered toward the door. Every male in the room stared until the door shut behind her. What the hell was she doing here? Undercover, for sure, but he had no idea what case she was on. The FBI didn’t have an ID on the victims, so his brothers’ PI firm couldn’t be involved in this case. For a moment his heart stuttered. Carrie had red hair and green eyes. Was she putting herself in danger? But, he reasoned, her hair color didn’t come from a bottle. At least he didn’t think so. Tension eased a bit. Still, he wondered how the killer knew so much about his victims.

  “Who’s the redhead?” Matt questioned the bartender.

  “She’s out of your league, Mr. FBI.”

  Matt shrugged. They had a job to do. He nodded to Carl who nodded back. They would show the victims’ pictures to the patrons and see if anyone could tell them anything.

  Matt had his badge and photos at the first table just as the potato-potato-potato rumble of Carrie’s motorcycle roared. Damn woman was going to get in trouble one of these days.

  Most of the tables were full, the bar the same. This could take a while.

  By the time they made the rounds, only two men admitted they had seen one or the other of the victims. “You two, come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Benjie, I’m going to use your back room. Point me in that direction.”

  Knowing the routine, Carl kept one of the guys at the bar while Matt took the other into what Benjie called the office. The only thing in the room that resembled an office was a desk and a couple of chairs. The desk was cluttered with paperwork. A phone peeked out from beneath dozens of pieces of paper. The carpet looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned this decade. The rest of the room held stacks of boxes. A quick glance told Matt some held liquor, others paperwork.

  It was better than nothing.

  Matt took a seat in
one chair, pointed to the other for the guy to sit on.

  “I don’t know much of anything.”

  “Whatever you tell us could help in our investigation. Is it all right if I record our conversation?”

  The man nodded.

  “For the record, will you give me your name, address, and phone number?”

  The man did as he was told. “What’s going on? What have the women done?”

  “Just answer a few questions and you can be on your way.”

  The guy, who had to be in his forties and was dressed in an off-the-rack dark suit and tie, eyed Matt. “I don’t know anything.” He stood. “I made a mistake. I never saw either woman before.”

  “Please. Sit down and tell me what you know.” More people than not, refused to get involved in an FBI investigation. But without information, Matt’s case would die. “We won’t be long. Did you ever see either of these women?” The man nodded and pointed to one of the photos.

  “For the record, would you say yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  The man wasn’t eager to give out information. “Did you talk?”

  “Not much.”

  “What did you do? Drink?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  The guy’s face flushed. “We went to a motel.”

  “Did you have a conversation?”

  “Not really. She said her name was Mona and that she hadn’t been in town very long.”

  “A last name?”

  “No.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Did you ask about family? Or where she lived?”

  “No.”

  “Any part of your conversation could be beneficial.”

  A shrug. “There was nothing.”

  Matt walked the man back to the bar. The other guy was ushered in and Matt went through the same routine.

  This guy was in jeans, western shirt, well-worn boots, and was obviously younger. “Did you see either of them here at the bar or anywhere else?”

  “Yeah. I spoke to both of them on occasion. Once in a while, I bought them a few beers.”

  “Together or apart?

  “Sir?”

  “Did they come in together? Did you talk to them together or separately?”

  “If you’re asking if they knew each other, I would have to say no. The only night they were in here at the same time, they didn’t even look at each other. At the time I thought it strange.”

  “Why is that?” Matt ignored the vibrating phone in his pocket.

  “They looked a lot alike. Both had the same body type. Both had red hair and green eyes. Both were lookers.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just thought they might be related.”

  “Did they give you a name?”

  “This one,” he pointed to one of the photos. “…Said her name was Mona, the other one called herself Nancy.”

  “How about last names? And do you think they told you their real names?”

  He shrugged. “No last names. I can’t say whether they told the truth or not. I know I gave them my first name.”

  “Did you happen to ask either if they had family?”

  “I asked this one,” he pointed to the photo of Mona, “…if she knew anyone in the area. She laughed—told me she had no one. Period.”

  Matt thanked the man and he left. Carl walked in.

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “Some. The women looked enough alike to be sisters. Though possibly promiscuous, they weren’t prostitutes. At least one of the victims had no family. I would bet the other didn’t either. And I have two names, Mona and Nancy.”

  Thirty minutes later, they were in Matt’s office. He went to the murder board, turned it to face the room, and penciled in the names. He needed more. “I think what we found out tonight confirms what we already knew, or suspected. And it could be important.”

  Carl looked at his watch. “Can we go over this tomorrow?”

  Matt gave his watch a quick glance. It was after eight. Flannery was going to kill him. He was more than an hour late for their appointment. Little wonder his cell phone kept buzzing. “See you tomorrow.” He grabbed the file and ran for the door. He’d look it over again tonight.

  By the time he walked into Flannery’s office, the old man was spewing. “I should have left—should have let you deal with this alone.” A fist went down on the neat stack of documents on his desk. “I would have, if this wasn’t so damned important.”

  “Sorry. I was handed a new case this morning.”

  “This is a mockery.” His fist went down on the papers once more.

  “What do you plan to do about it?” Matt watched the old man throw a temper fit and didn’t blame him one whit.

  “I would like to burn this and forget it ever happened. As it is, I’ll have to answer and see what the hell Reed has that he thinks is strong enough to merit half the Trust.”

  Matt handed the attorney the original copy of the summons before sinking into a chair. “Whatever he has, we’d better be able to counter.”

  “You’ve seen your cousin off and on over the years, has he ever given a hint that he was owed an inheritance?”

  “Never. But Reed was a sneaky kid, this proves he still is.”

  “I’ll hire investigators. We’ll prove his claim is illegitimate.”

  “My brothers are already on the job. We’ll find the proof we need to counter Reed’s claim. Only we need to know what we’re looking for—we need to know what he has to back up his claim.”

  “This is a travesty. Nothing we learn will make me believe Reed Montgomery has a scintilla of proof to justify this. When they find out this…this…accusation is a scam, will you send your cousin to jail?”

  “We’ll address that when and if it happens. Until then, I’ll bet my brothers and I will find the truth.”

  “If Reed Montgomery has a legitimate claim, and if they find records that prove it, we need to discuss the consequences.”

  Matt sighed. “Then we split the Trust.”

  Flannery’s face turned red. Was the guy going to stroke out?

  The attorney leaned across the desk, looked into Matt’s eyes. “We will not give the man a penny. If worse comes to worse, we’ll take it to court. The only thing is, a case of this magnitude could drag on for years. We can’t let that happen. The Trust will be frozen and we won’t be allowed to distribute a dime to the charities.” He sat back, wiped his face with a handkerchief. Then he leaned forward so fast Matt wondered if the old man was going to fall out of his chair. “That’s it!”

  “What?”

  “How many times have you given Reed money? So many you’ve lost track. And you never put up a fight. Reed gets what he asks for. He knows where the Trust money goes and he’s betting you won’t let a case drag through the system and deprive the charities. He’s gambling you’ll pay him off.”

  Matt took a pen off the desk and gripped it tightly between two fingers. “I’m not sure Reed’s that smart.”

  “Of course he is. Or he has an attorney who is. He’s biding his time.”

  “Are you saying he doesn’t have proof of his claim? If that’s true, we can dispense with our investigation and go about our business.” Matt tossed the pen back on the desktop.

  “Most likely, he has proof of something, or thinks he does. We’ll find out what. But my guess is he’s betting on you and your soft heart.”

  Matt looked at the man across from him. How old was he now? Eighty-five—ninety? “We could turn this over to one of your associates if you don’t want to deal with it.” There were four attorneys working with Flannery. All had a good record.

  The old man leaned over the desk, his face a mask of fury. “I was a youngster the day I stood by my father when your great-grandfather turned this responsibility over to him. When my dad died, your grandfather handed it to me. He told me to treat is as if it were a sacred trust, just as my dad had. Do you think I would let
some young whippersnapper take over just because we have a little glitch? If you do, you don’t know me very well.”

  Little glitch?

  If they didn’t disprove Reed’s allegations, this little glitch could cost the Trust billions. “What did the board have to say?”

  “Don’t ask. They’re up in arms and ready to do battle.”

  “Good. We may need them.” What the six man, two woman, board could do was unknown. All eight of them had been on the board for years. Matt trusted each of them. The least they could do was talk to the oldest members—those who had been around the longest, and see if they had heard anything years ago that even hinted that Reed’s great-great-grandfather was an equal partner in the business that made Matt’s great-great-grandfather a billionaire.

  “I’ll talk to each of them and see if they heard anything in the past that would warrant this claim. We’re on the clock. Our next distribution is less than four weeks away. We have to get this cleared up before then.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? As soon as I go to court, the Trust will be frozen. That doesn’t give us much time to get to the truth and put this matter to rest.”

  Matt stood, and once more ignored the phone buzzing in his pocket. “We’ll find it. Call if you need me for anything.”

  The old man stood to walk Matt to the door.

  Flannery muttered. “Over my cold, dead, body,” over and over as he made his way back to his desk.

  Closing the door to Flannery’s office, Matt took his phone out of his pocket. He’d missed several calls from Flannery and two from his brothers. One was from Carrie.

  He’d handle Carrie first. A laugh escaped him. Did anyone handle Carrie? She was one of a kind. He recalled the outfit she’d had on at the bar. She had looked good enough to kiss.

  Where the hell did that thought come from?

  He punched in her number.

  Chapter Four

  Carrie paced the living area in her two-bedroom apartment as she waited for Matt to return her call. It was after nine o’clock. Late. Had something happened?

  Going to her small kitchen, she refreshed her cup of coffee. What was it, her third? No matter. She wouldn’t sleep tonight, anyway. Seeing Matt at Magee’s was disturbing. From the questions he’d asked, he wasn’t on her missing persons case. More like a murder investigation.