Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Liam's work hours get even crazier, so he’s leaving early every morning and coming home after dark. He picks up extra cases, volunteering for things he normally wouldn't.
He figures there isn’t much reason to go home.
When Rachel left, she only took a suitcase, but unfortunately half the furniture was hers. A week after she ran off to Buenos Aires, her two sisters came and packed up the rest of her things, including her clothes, the dining room table, bookcases, and all her other odds and ends.
Her sisters were apologetic and kept telling him they thought Rachel was making a huge mistake.
"It's a good thing you guys weren't married," they said. "At least you won't have to deal with lawyers."
A familiar refrain from everyone—as if that should ease the humiliation of being dumped.
He and Rachel used to talk about getting married someday, but it was only offhandedly. After two years of living together, it never occurred to him to propose.
"I think I always knew we'd break up," he says to Matt, a friend on his squad. They're having a beer at Jake's, a local sports bar they sometimes go to after work. "It never felt completely right with her, even before things went south."
Matt picks up his bottle of beer. "You have to follow your gut. When I met Amy, I knew on our first date she was the one I wanted to spend my life with."
Liam nods. Ironically, in his own life, he's surrounded by happy couples. Most of the guys on his squad are married. His parents have been together over four decades. His grandparents too.
He always thought he'd be the same. He's never been a player and didn't see the appeal of dating a lot of women when all he wanted was one good one.
Yet here he was in his mid-thirties and still single.
Some of the guys told him he was lucky, that he should have some fun and enjoy himself. Plenty of women thought the G-man thing was hot.
"Listen." Matt leans forward with an embarrassed smile. "Amy has a friend from work she wants you to meet."
Liam's brows shoot up. "You want to set me up with someone?"
"It's Amy's idea. Her friend Shelby is single. You might like her."
"What does she look like?"
"She's not bad."
"Not bad?"
"I mean, she's cute. Brunette with green eyes. A good body. "
"What's she like otherwise?"
Matt thinks about it. "She's nice, actually. Divorced for a few years. Athletic. She runs marathons."
Liam takes a swig from his beer and considers this. He enjoys staying fit. It harkens back to his days playing ball. He runs every weekend, lifts weights when he comes home most nights. Rachel was never into it, not that he cared, but it might be nice to date someone athletic for a change. Maybe they'd have more in common. "That doesn't sound bad. I like to stay in shape."
"Should I have Amy set something up, then?"
He doesn't reply right away, only thumbs the neck of his beer bottle. He doesn't know why he's hesitating. For some reason, he's still thinking about Tori. He's even considered calling her since he knows where she works. It riles him how after all these years, she still hates his guts for something he didn't do.
He keeps wondering if they ever found her minivan, Mable.
Not that he should care.
Who treats their car like it's a person?
She must have known the way her brother came after him in high school.
He needs to forget he ever saw her again.
Liam frowns to himself. This is his problem in a nutshell. The reason why he's still single.
He's attracted to the crazy ones.
"Sure, tell her to set it up." He lets go of the beer bottle. "Shelby sounds great."
It's been a month since Rachel left, and it’s time to stop licking his wounds every night. To take some kind of action and move on.
Though he wasn't exactly licking those wounds alone, since he still had her dog to contend with.
In fact, that furball was turning into a real problem.
Every night he came home from work to discover some new mess she created. It was like living with a tiny delinquent. She destroyed everything she got her paws on, shredding magazines, books, and toilet paper, knocking over the garbage can and tearing into the trash. For a dog with an injured leg, she managed quite a bit of destruction.
He figured she was bored being alone, so he went online and found a forum for dog owners. He leaves the radio on for her every morning. He bought a variety of dog toys for her to play with during the day. None of it seems to make any difference.
"Great," Matt says with a grin. "Amy will be thrilled that she gets to play matchmaker. And who knows? Maybe you and Shelby will hit it off."
By the time Liam gets home, it's dark outside. He left a couple lights on for the dog this morning. He wonders what kind of trouble she's gotten herself into today, hoping it’s nothing too bad. When he walks in the door, the radio is still on.
Nothing prepares him for the sight of his house though.
For a surreal moment, he thinks it's covered in snow. There are piles of white fluff everywhere. Finally, he realizes it's the stuffing material from inside his couch which has been chewed straight through.
"Dammit, dog! Where are you?" He strides through the house, kicking stuffing material out of the way.
He finds her sitting in bed. On Rachel's side, naturally.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asks, furious. "You think I like coming home to find my furniture destroyed? Do you know how much a new couch will cost me?"
She glances up at him and gives a small grunt, as if to say whatever .
"At least have the decency to look guilty."
She doesn't though. Instead, she licks her mouth. And then, he can't believe it, the dog yawns. She actually yawns. Afterward, she gets up and goes over to the large basket at the end of the bed, steps gingerly onto it, and then hops gracefully to the floor.
She walks with a limp right past him.
A furball of destruction.
"Jesus." He snorts. "Tell me how you really feel. "
Except he's had enough. That's it. This dog isn't running his life anymore. He digs into his pocket for his phone and calls his sister. She answers on the second ring. "Listen, is that offer to take Miss Fancy Pants still open?"
"Of course. Is everything okay?"
He shakes his head. "This dog hates me."
"I doubt that. Why would she hate you?"
"She blames me for Rachel leaving."
"That's not true. I'm sure she only misses her."
"Yeah," he mutters to himself. "That makes one of us."
The next night, Liam comes home to a dog-free house.
Peaceful and serene. No trash to clean off the kitchen floor. No shredded magazines or books to contend with. No destruction at all.
He dropped Miss Fancy Pants and all her paraphernalia off at Elena's this morning. The dog didn't look thrilled. In fact, she seemed surprised. But he knew she'd figure it out soon enough.
He felt a small twinge of guilt leaving her there, then dismissed it. She brought it on herself. There's no reason to feel guilty.
At least she won't be alone all day. Elena works from home as a technical writer, so there's usually someone around.
Liam pours himself a glass of iced tea and brings the Thai food he picked up on the way home into the living room. It’s time to relax.
He sits on his lumpy couch. Last night he tried to shove the stuffing back into the cushions, but it was hopeless. Flipping channels, he brings up his favorite ESPN station. They’re showing NCAA Division I highlights, and he watches them as he eats dinner. He’s looking forward to the College World Series next month.
Eventually he lies back and puts his feet up. The lumps in the couch feel like he's lying on a sack of potatoes. "That damn dog," he mutters. "This is ridiculous. "
Since Rachel left, he's been sleeping out here most nights. He should probably move back into the bedroom.
Despite the discomfort, he closes his eyes and drifts off.
Until his phone rings.
Startled, he grabs it from the coffee table, wondering if it's work. Even though his squad is White-Collar, problems can arise at any hour.
He sees his sister's name on the screen and notices the time. It's well after midnight. "Elena? Is everything okay?"
There's a high-pitched sound in the background and then his sister's voice. "Not exactly. We have a problem."
Liam sits up all the way now, more alert. "What is it? And what's that noise?"
"It's Miss Fancy Pants. She's okay, but she won't stop howling."
He can hear the dog. She almost sounds like a wolf. "Why is she doing that?"
"I don't think she wants to stay here. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to come get her."
Liam wipes a hand over his face. Dammit . He sighs. "Yeah, all right. Give me a minute, and I'll be there."
By the time he pulls up in the driveway to his sister's house, he's muttered every curse word under the sun.
As soon as he gets out of his truck, he hears the dog through the front door. Glancing around the nice suburban neighborhood, he's surprised no one's called the police.
Elena swings the door open before he can even knock. "Oh, thank God you're here! I've got all her stuff packed and ready to go."
When Miss Fancy Pants sees him, her howling abruptly stops, like hitting the mute button. She's silent, staring up at him. Her long white coat appears neatly combed and is pulled up with a hair band on each side of her face.
He unzips the pink carrier, but the dog won't budge. Elena watches as Liam tries to coax her inside .
"I don't think she wants to go in that thing," his sister says, stating the obvious.
"Come on, dog." Liam brings the case closer, getting annoyed. When he tries to pull her inside, she growls. "For the love of…."
"Maybe put her on a leash. She can still ride in the car like that."
"Fine. Give me the leash."
She hands it to him, and he clips it to the dog's collar.
"I'm sorry it didn't work out. I was really hoping she'd like it here."
Liam nods. "Me too. Thanks for trying."
He winds up helping Miss Fancy Pants into the passenger side of his truck. The dog sits on the seat demurely, though once they start moving, she shifts to her hind legs with her paws on the edge of the window.
He grips the steering wheel. "You've become a real pain in the ass, you know that?"
Her ears twitch toward him, but she seems more interested in the scenery outside.
"You couldn't handle it there for one day? Not even twenty-four hours? You might have liked it."
She pats the glass.
"You should have given it a chance," he mutters, then huffs in frustration. He runs a hand through his short hair. "Listen to me, talking to you like you understand what I'm saying."
The problem is he didn't grow up with a dog and knows nothing about them. He's never even considered getting one. If he had though, it wouldn't be a dog like this. No way. He’d get a big masculine dog. A black lab or a German shepherd.
Not this fussy little thing with pigtails.
Miss Fancy Pants continues to paw at the window. She yips softly a couple times.
"I should take you to animal control and be done with it," he tells her. "It's not like you're my dog."
He knows he could never do it though. It isn't in him to be unkind to an animal. For better or worse, he's stuck with this furball until Rachel sends for her.
If she ever sends for her.
Miss Fancy Pants barks once at the glass, then looks at him like he's an idiot.
"Fine." He sighs. "I get it." He hits the switch that lowers the passenger side window.
The dog immediately sticks her face out to catch the breeze. He watches for a second as her tongue lolls out and her eyes close. It's almost like she's smiling.
He didn't know dogs could smile.
"Well, how about that," he says. "At least one of us is happy."
"What about a dog sitter?" his sister suggests on the phone the next day. "You could find someone to come by and walk Miss Fancy Pants while you're at work. Maybe she wouldn't be so destructive."
"Where am I going to find someone willing to do that?"
"There must be agencies that hire out or something."
Liam rolls his eyes. How had this gotten so complicated?
"I don't see how you have much choice. Even if you gave her to someone else, I think she'd start howling again."
He knew his sister was right.
"Plus, I feel sorry for her," Elena continues. "It must be hard being ditched like that."
Miss Fancy Pants isn’t the only one Rachel ditched, but he doesn't say that aloud. "I'll call around and see what I can find."
They hang up as he pulls into the FBI's field office in North Seattle. He has a meeting with a few of his squad members to go over a couple of the cases they've been working on. Walter Yates has risen to the top of Liam's list, and he has an appointment to meet with the man downtown.
The squad meeting is over in less than an hour, and they decide Matt will come with him to Yates’s, staying behind as backup. Neither of them expects any trouble, but they're still cautious. As far as Yates knows, Liam is a program manager at Microsoft whose uncle recommended the fund.
They park in a garage near Yates's Seattle office building. When Liam first joined the FBI years ago, he was placed with a Violent Crime unit in Virginia. Ironically, since transferring to Seattle and joining White-Collar Crime, he's done more undercover work than he ever did working VCMO—Violent Crime/Major Offenders.
Liam rides the elevator to the twelfth floor. The snug weight of his Glock rests in the hidden holster at his waist. He's wearing a loose shirt and a lightweight jacket to hide the slight bulge. Luckily, he doesn't anticipate having to use it.
When the doors open, he's let out into a spacious office with an attractive young woman at the reception desk. There are a couple guys there too, tall, fit, and dressed in black. Obviously security.
He has to wonder why a simple hedge fund would need this kind of muscle hanging around.
"Hello. You must be Mr. Sanchez," Yates says, coming out from his office. He smiles and puts his hand out.
Liam smiles in return, recognizing him from his photo. "You can call me Pete."
"And please call me Walter."
They shake hands, and Liam sizes the man up. He already knows Walter is fifty-five years old. He's a big guy, overweight with a head of thick gray hair. He comes across as easygoing and friendly, but from the evidence Liam's seen, Walter is, in fact, cold and calculating, robbing people of their life savings with a smile on his face.
Liam can't wait to take him down.
"How can I help you?" Yates continues in his congenial way. "I understand you're looking for a place to invest some money you inherited."
"That's right."
Liam follows Walter into a spacious and well-kept office. This was the primary address shown on the hedge fund's paperwork, though after a little digging, there were a couple of warehouses also listed.
In fact, the deeper Liam's been digging on this case, the more he's convinced there's more to Walter's operation than meets the eye. He suspects running a Ponzi scheme may only be the tip of the iceberg. However, Yates seems smart and careful.
"Nice office," Liam says. "Have you been here long?"
"About ten years."
Liam knows he’s only been here three. "And this is your only office?"
The man's washed-out blue eyes study him. "Yes, it is. We like to keep the fund small and selective. More personal attention that way." He shifts back to his easygoing veneer. "Were you expecting something larger?"
"Not at all." Liam shrugs and acts casual. Working undercover is tricky. You want to push your subject, but not too hard. "I prefer parking my money with people I've met and feel I can trust."
The man smiles and motions for him to have a seat. "I feel the same way. We like to think of our clients as family."
There's a picture on his desk of a young woman. "Is that your daughter?"
"Yes, she's headed off to college soon. Plans to study finance just like her old man." He chuckles.
"Good for her."
Except Walter doesn't have a daughter. From the intel they've gathered, he has a wife and son. The son lives on the East Coast, and the two of them appear to be estranged. It’s obviously a stock photo which means Yates guards his private life zealously, and lying is second nature to the man.
Of course, Liam's been trained to spot a liar.
It's what made all of Rachel's sneaking around on him so ridiculous. Did she really think she could fool him? That he wouldn't notice all of her clumsy attempts at deception ?
The way she told him she was staying late at work when he could hear sounds of a restaurant behind her. The times she snuck out of bed to go in the backyard and talk on her phone. After living together so long, you think she'd have noticed he was a light sleeper. To make matters worse, he could hear her through the open window.
Then there was the way she tried to hide the texting she did at all hours. She didn't seem to realize he could see the light from her screen beneath the bathroom door at midnight. When he pointed it out once, she babbled on about how she couldn't sleep and was working.
Rachel was such a sloppy liar that he was embarrassed for her.
Embarrassed for himself too.
The dieting and new clothes. The constant subtle criticisms toward him. When he asked her why she joined a gym halfway across town, she claimed it was easier to drive there, though it obviously wasn't.
They’d stopped having sex months ago. He'd lost all desire for her.
As soon as the first lies started, when the first suspicions crept in. He traced it back to those appointments with the podiatrist, the adrenaline-fueled Dr. Schoen.
Liam's not sure why he didn't confront her. Hell, he could have gotten the truth out of her in a matter of minutes.
"And your cousin is Rick Sanchez?" Walter asks. His light gray shirt is too tight around his waist.
"No, I'm his nephew."
"Ah." He nods and reaches for some paperwork. "That's right. I understand Rick and his wife, Pam, are traveling to the Bahamas soon. It sounds like quite a trip."
"He hasn't mentioned anything to me. And my aunt’s name is Gwen."
Walter appears momentarily confused, though Liam knows it's an act. "Yes, excuse me. I'm thinking of another client. "
He already knows Walter called Rick to check out his story. It only confirms Yates is careful.
"The minimum deposit for any of the funds is one hundred thousand," Walter says in a fatherly tone. He rattles off some information about redemptions and the various fees involved.
Liam interrupts him. "I can have the money wired to you next week from California. It's from an inheritance. I'm just waiting for the funds to clear."
He goes still and appears concerned. "I thought you were giving me a check today, and that was the purpose of this meeting."
"I was planning to, but there’s been a small snag." Liam plays it cool and relaxes in the chair, though he's anything but relaxed. "It's resolved now. I figured it would be good to meet in person anyway."
"Sure." He nods cautiously.
"In fact, I'm planning to invest a little more than I initially told you." Liam leans forward and pretends to act chagrined. "My uncle told me how well he's done with you, and I realize now I was being overly cautious."
Walter's brows rise with interest. "How much more?"
"A few hundred thousand."
Yates seems to consider this, and Liam sees that greed is winning out. It also means Walter isn't always careful. Greed is a powerful motivator for many people, and it makes them sloppy.
"All right, then," Walter says. "Let's get started opening an account for you, and you can send the money once you've got it." He appears to relax and goes into his sales pitch. "I'd hate for you to miss out. A couple of these funds are bringing in double-digit returns right now."
"Sounds great." Liam smiles to himself at the lie. He’s already contacted the SEC and a prosecutor with the U.S. Attorney's Office. The wheels to take Walter Yates down have been fully set in motion.