“Take some time to think about it,” Roman told him. “Beau Preston has lived in Cool Springs his entire life, and he owns a lucrative business. As a horse breeder he’s well-known for his champion bloodlines. I doubt he’s going anywhere.”
“I think this is something that my brother and I should discuss in private,” Graham said, rising from his seat to shake Roman’s hand. “Thank you for not giving up on this and solving the case. It means so much to us.”
“Don’t thank me. If it hadn’t been for Sutton, I would still be spinning my wheels.”
Looking shell-shocked, Brooks rose and shook Roman’s hand. Maybe this would bring him some peace, and he would finally be able to let go of the irrational anger and hatred he’d held for the Winchester family. With Brooks it was hard to say.
Now that he and Gracie were exploring a relationship, Roman was happy to put the whole matter to rest, before he found himself sucked into the middle of another scandal. Because he knew that Brooks, despite his humbled state, could turn on a dime with a renewed thirst for revenge. Roman supposed that all they could do was wait, and time would tell.
“Will I see you at the wedding next Thursday?” Graham asked him.
“Wedding?” Roman said, unsure of what he was referring to. Next Thursday was Thanksgiving, but he and Gracie hadn’t yet discussed spending it together.
“Nora and Reid’s,” Graham said. “I just assumed, since you and Gracie...” He paused and said, “I’m sorry, did I speak out of turn?”
If Gracie wanted him there, she hadn’t said so. She still needed time, and he understood that. It was a slow process gaining back her trust. But it would happen. Because as far as he was concerned, they were meant to be together.
“Don’t apologize. What Gracie and I have is very...complicated.”
After the men left, Roman sat there for several minutes thinking about his relationship with Gracie, and that maybe they needed to have a talk. He was in no hurry. He was fine with letting their relationship progress naturally. Maybe he just needed to know that they did have a future together.
They had spent the entire weekend together, and even carved out time for lunch together yesterday. He’d met her at her office and she had introduced him around to the junior designers on her staff. He didn’t know a whole lot about the fashion industry, but he was impressed with what he saw, and her employees seemed to have the utmost respect for her. And from the looks of it, she was wildly successful. But he always knew that she would be.
He considered calling her just to say hi, then changed his mind. She was probably busy, and he had meetings to prepare for. They would talk later that evening. They did every night. Usually for an hour or more. And they were usually both still at work wrapping things up for the night. Like him, she was a workaholic, and typically hung around the office long after her employees went home for the night. Though he was sure that he would work less and delegate more if he had something, or better yet someone, to come home to.
As Roman was leaving the conference room, his secretary, Lisa, stopped him in the hallway.
“You got a call while you were in the meeting,” she said.
“From who?”
“A Special Agent Crosswell, from the FBI.”
Roman frowned. The FBI? What could they possibly want from him? “Did he say what he was calling for?”
“No, but he asked that you get back to him right away. He said it was an urgent matter. I left his contact information on his desk.”
“Thanks, Lisa.”
She eyed him quizzically. “Anything I should know about, boss?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
She smiled. “Fair enough. I’m leaving to run some errands and pick up lunch. Would you like me to bring you back something?”
He was too distracted now to eat. “No, thanks.”
He went to his corner office. He’d bought the company from a college friend who after a decade in the business decided the life of a PI wasn’t for him. What had started as a three-office, four-employee operation was now a thriving business in a swanky downtown location. The agency took up an entire floor of the building and he now employed over three dozen people. And he still couldn’t keep up with all the business coming his way. Unless things slowed down, he would have to look into expanding again. It was as if everything that he’d ever wanted in life was being dropped at his feet.
Well, almost everything. With Gracie it was a little more complicated.
He called the number Lisa left him and got the agent’s voice mail. Annoyed and curious as to what he wanted, he left a message, then sat back to wait for a return call, going over a list of potential new clients.
Not five minutes later, the agent called back, and as he answered Roman felt an unusual sense of apprehension. “Roman Slater.”
“Mr. Slater, my name is Rudy Crosswell. I’m a special agent with the FBI’s fraud division. I was hoping you would be willing to meet with me this afternoon.”
Well, you didn’t get much more direct than that. “In regard to...?”
“I’d rather speak to you in person. Could we set something up?”
“Am I being investigated? Should I have counsel?”
“No, sir, nothing like that,” he assured Roman. “The truth is, we need your help.”
Well, that was good to know. His afternoon was booked, but this being the FBI, he felt it took precedence. “Can you be here at four?”
“Actually I was hoping you could come to the field office. It’s a matter of the utmost secrecy.”
Now Roman was really intrigued. “I’ll work it in.”
They decided on a time and when Lisa returned two hours later Roman asked her to cancel everything on his schedule for the afternoon. When he arrived at the field office Agent Crosswell met him in the lobby at the metal detector. The man was middle-aged, and looked to be ex-military with a graying buzz cut and serious eyes. Roman had to surrender the firearm he always kept strapped to his ankle and the knife from his inside coat pocket. Then the agent handed him a guest badge and led Roman through an open area crammed with cubicles and bustling with activity to his office in the back. The fact that he had an office said that he was fairly far up the ranks.
Roman’s suspicion that he was military was confirmed when he saw the medals displayed in the agent’s office, including a Medal of Honor and a Purple Heart. Otherwise the room was small, plain and a little outdated with its ’90s-era furniture.
“Please have a seat,” he told Roman.
Roman sat in one of two uncomfortable-looking chairs. “When did you serve?”
“Gulf War,” he said, sitting at his desk, which was as clean and organized as the rest of the room. Another military trait. “I’ll get right to the point. And what I’m about to tell you doesn’t go past this office.”
“Of course.”
“I’m heading up a task force investigating political corruption on the state level. I need someone to do some outside digging.”
“On who?”
“Dax Caufield.”
Son of a bitch. Roman knew there was something not quite right about the senator, which made Gracie’s affiliation with him that much more disturbing. “You think he’s corrupt.”
“I know he’s corrupt. I just can’t prove it yet. Two months into office it was rumored that he was taking bribes from business lobbyists in exchange for his support