Diane Kelly [Tara Holloway 08 Death, Taxes

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.But I was damn upset.It was dangerous enough working for a cartel.After all, they killed their own members regularly if they screwed up.But if anyone found out that Nick and Christina were undercover law enforcement they’d be in for some unique and special type of torture.El Cuchillo might decide to try out his entire Ginsu collection on them, starting with a paring knife and finishing up with a meat cleaver.What would I do if Nick were julienned to death?Thanks to these lovely thoughts, I’d managed to force down only a single piece of sushi at lunch.The new pantsuit I’d bought at Neiman’s afterward hadn’t helped much, either, though the glittery Michael Kors cap-toe pumps I’d scored for a mere $97 on sale improved my spirits slightly.I vowed to wear them on my first date with Nick when he returned from working the cartel case … if he returned from working the cartel case.Damn.Should’ve bought myself a new purse, too.Maybe some earrings.I’d looked over the selection of sunglasses, but none had looked as good on me as my Brighton knockoffs.I wasn’t willing to spend a hundred dollars on a pair of shades that didn’t totally knock my socks off.Eddie eyed me as I grabbed my blazer and briefcase.“You okay?”Eddie and I had been partners since I began at the IRS a year ago.He’d been the only special agent who’d agreed to train the newbie.We’d come to know a lot about each other over the months we’d worked together.While familiarity might breed contempt in some cases, our familiarity had somehow led to respect and understanding and the occasional good-natured ribbing.Each knew how the other worked, and we could sense each other’s moods.“Okay?” I let out a long, loud breath.“Not really.Nick’s going deep undercover.He won’t be allowed any contact with anyone until the case is resolved.”Eddie’s brows lifted.He knew without my saying that a deep cover investigation would be particularly risky.“So he’ll be completely out of touch?”I nodded.“God only knows for how long.”“That sucks.When does he leave?”“Tomorrow.He’s over at the DEA right now being debriefed.” Of course Nick and I had planned our own type of debriefing for later tonight, one last good-bye boink before he disappeared into the underworld like Hades descending into his realm.“You’ll just have to keep yourself busy,” Eddie suggested.“That’ll keep your mind off things.”“Busy? No problem there.” I gestured to the towering stack of files on my desk.“Lu’s given me enough work to choke an elephant.”Ironically enough, one of my cases actually involved an elephant.An auditor who’d been assigned to perform a routine records check on a tax-exempt animal welfare organization had referred the matter to criminal investigations when those operating the place hadn’t been able to produce any documentation.Eddie and I planned to drive out to the sanctuary tomorrow to see if we could get to the bottom of things.Eddie and I made our way to the elevator, rode down in silence, and headed to his G-ride, our name for the plain sedans assigned to us by Uncle Sam.I understood that we had to use the taxpayer’s money wisely, but did the cars have to be so darn boring? Why couldn’t we have souped-up cars like the Dodge Chargers driven by Dallas PD? After all, I might get into a high-speed chase attempting to catch a tax evader.It could happen.We climbed inside, snapped our belts into place, and settled into our usual routine in which the driver picks the radio station and the passenger plays navigator.Eddie, who had a penchant for easy-listening music, slid a Harry Connick, Jr., CD into the player while I used the GPS app on my phone to pull up directions to the Unic Art Space.The name was probably intended to be a creative way to spell “unique,” but my mind read it as “eunuch.” I supposed if you were a male who’d been castrated, you wouldn’t be distracted by sexual yearnings and your hands would have plenty of free time to finger paint.“It’s in Deep Ellum,” I told Eddie, referring to the nearby entertainment district that featured numerous art galleries, restaurants, and nightclubs.“Gotcha.” He backed out of the spot and headed out of the parking lot, taking a right onto Commerce Street, then easing over onto Main.In less than six minutes we circled back onto Elm and pulled up to the curb in front of the Unic Art Space.Eddie and I glanced up at the two-story red-brick building.While the commercial art galleries that flanked the museum on both sides featured colorful signs and displays to lure shoppers into their stores, the Unic’s front window bore only inch-high black lettering that read THE UNIC—OPEN MONDAY THRU FRIDAY 1 TO 4.Sheesh.That schedule made banker’s hours seem demanding.Eddie’s brow contorted in skepticism.“Doesn’t look like much.”“Didn’t expect it to,” I replied.The museum was run by Sharla Fowler, the mother of former NFL player Rodney Fowler.A Heisman nominee, Rodney had played for various teams back in the 80s and early 90s, earning one of the league’s highest salaries, before retiring from the Dallas Cowboys.Rodney, now in his mid-fifties, was divorced with three grown daughters.Two years ago, he’d decided to follow in the footsteps of philanthropic professional athletes Troy Aikman, Tim Tebow, and Serena Williams, and formed a charitable foundation called the Fifty-Yard Line Foundation.The Fifty-Yard Line Foundation funded the Unic Art Space.Although the organization’s mission statement claimed the foundation existed “to educate the public about the arts by funding a space where creative works will be displayed and contemplated,” I suspected the space truly existed for the purpose of enabling the former football player to shelter his income from high taxes by shifting it to family members and others to whom he or his family had close personal ties.It wouldn’t be the first time someone had established a sham nonprofit organization to evade taxes.Eddie and I climbed out of the car and stepped inside [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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