Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria Read Online Free Page B

to get his bad side. Unfortunately, Nick
     didn’t seem to have a bad side. He looked manly and sexy and absolutely gorgeous in
     each and every shot. Damn him.
    Finally, he ran out of patience and shot me an exasperated look. “Aren’t you done
     yet?”
    Snap.
    “This is the one,” I said, holding out the phone.
    Nick took a look and frowned. “I look grumpy.”
    “No, you don’t,” I lied. “You look dark and dangerous. That’s what women like.”
    He took another look at the photo, his expression skeptical. “If you say so.”
    Lu poked her head in the door. “Y’all having a party in here or what?”
    “Nick and Josh are signing up for an online dating service,” I said, standing from
     my seat. “They needed a female opinion on their profiles.”
    Lu crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “Uncle Sam doesn’t pay you boys to chase
     skirts,” she snapped at Nick and Josh. “He pays you to hunt down tax evaders and squeeze
     ’em dry.”
    “Speaking of dry,” Nick said, motioning the Lobo into his office, “you’ve been in
     a dry spell for too long, Lu. Your husband’s been dead for, what, ten years? It’s
     time for you to get back in the game. Let’s get you signed up, too.”
    Lu’s face flashed surprise. “Me?” She blinked her false lashes. “Really?”
    “Sure,” Nick said. “There’s men of all ages on here looking for love. A woman as hot
     as you? Heck, you’d have to beat them off with a stick.”
    Lu’s bright-orange lips fought a smile. “You’re as full of crap as the bull pen at
     the rodeo,” she said. “But God bless you for it.” She shooed me out of the way and
     plunked her plump butt down in the chair I’d just vacated. “Okay, boys, how does this
     online dating thing work?”

 
    chapter three
    The Wheels on the Bus Don’t Always Go Round and Round
    At home that evening, I ignored the dirty laundry spilling out of my hamper and sat
     down on my couch to watch some television and take a fresh look at the information
     on the terrorist case.
    A half hour later I closed the file Lu had given me and shut my eyes, shaking my head
     as if I could dislodge the horrifying images in my brain. The file had been compiled
     by the CIA and Homeland Security and contained a number of photos depicting the aftermath
     of terror plots. Homes destroyed, the families’ personal belongings strewn about.
     Bodies covered with blood-soaked blankets and lined up on the ground, awaiting identification
     and burial by grief-stricken relatives. A yellow school bus, the bright color at odds
     with the gaping hole in its side and the tattered young bodies being pulled from the
     wreckage.
    The worst thing I’d faced in elementary school was an oversized bully intent on robbing
     me of my lunch money. I hadn’t considered myself lucky when my arm had been pulled
     up painfully behind me, but everything’s relative, isn’t it? I’d take a bully over
     a roadside bomb any day.
    I’d faced some scary people in the few months I’d worked for the IRS, but none quite
     as heartless, as ruthless, as soulless as these terrorists.
    They had to be stopped.
    And the way to stop them was by cutting off their money supply.
    Agents at the CIA and Homeland Security knew that money had been sent from the United
     States to fund terror cells in the Middle East, Asia, and Africa. After receiving
     tips from undercover agents overseas, they were able to identify some of the financiers.
     Several lived right here in Dallas and had been arrested after weeks of careful surveillance.
     E-mails and text messages found on the computers and cell phones of the men linked
     them to terror cells in Syria.
    Unfortunately, the men had been far more cautious about covering their financial tracks.
     Despite their best efforts, the agents had been unable to track down the money trail
     and determine how the men had managed to move the funds.
    Someone had helped them do it. Someone with the ability to