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Chapter one
Samantha Kerr jolted away from her computer, her concentration broken by a man’s enraged voice on the other side of her office door. Sam tiptoed around the creaky spots on the antique wood flooring and put her ear to the gap between the frame and door.
Her office, an old brick building on a corner of downtown Marcus, Montana, should be the safest place in the world. The tiny town was known for mountains, rivers, and the associated outdoor sports, not organized crime, intimidation, and harassment. But that had changed when a man with ties to the Russian mob tried to take over her best friend’s bakery. John Scott of TriWestCo Holdings should have taken “No, thank you” for an answer and moved on, but he wouldn’t. Deb Boulanger, with the help of their friends, was fighting tooth and nail to keep control of Deb’s Bakery.
And the fight, which should be a simple exchange of offers over email, had turned into a battle that belonged in a war zone, not small-town USA. Gun battles and explosions shouldn’t be happening, but they were, because John Scott, aka Igor Koslov, was actually the Russian mob’s accountant. Koslov believed Marcus was the perfect money-laundering location. Sam suspected that was true, because Marcus City Bank’s president—and Erin Moore’s mom—seemed to be cooperating with him.
With Murphy’s encouragement, Koslov had gone after Deb’s Bakery. When Deb refused every offer, she’d tweaked his ego, too, and he’d reacted violently. They were all jumpy.
Sam turned and glanced through the slats of the half-closed blinds. Nothing but sun shining through the trees on an empty sidewalk, with excited children chattering on the lawn of the Marcus Library next door. Staying close to the wall, she breathed through her nose, trying to slow her heart rate.
“We’re the FBI. We don’t need an appointment.” The man sneered, his arrogance shining through.
Sam’s assistant, Mary Walker, fired back. “You certainly do need an appointment. We have processes and procedures for everyone’s protection. The FBI should understand that and encourage it.”
Sam scowled. Behind the schoolmarm tone, Mary’s voice shook with anger and fear. Sam put her hand on the doorknob. She wouldn’t allow anyone, especially government authorities, to threaten her people.
“Schon, I thought you’d set everything up.”
Sam stepped back. That couldn’t be Trevor Mills. The FBI had been very clear with her—they didn’t need a small-town attorney’s help. And everyone—including Mills—knew she never, ever wanted to see him again.
“What’s to set up? We go in and talk. Now go get Kerr.” The man’s voice grated.
“Mr. Schon, you can speak to me respectfully or you can leave.” Mary lost the fear and went to incensed. “I don’t care who you work for.”
“Geez, lighten up, honey.”
Wow. The FBI must have dragged the bottom basement to find such a sexist man from the last century. Mary could handle that kind of idiot on her own; she’d done it many times before. Sam could sit back and enjoy the show. Besides, she didn’t want to see Trevor Mills. He’d put a knife through her back, straight into her heart. She put a hand on her chest. She’d moved on, but the memory of that pain lingered.
“I am NOT your honey, and you can show yourselves out. If you leave your cards, I will see when Ms. Kerr can fit you in. But only if she agrees. Is that clear?”
Sam clamped her lips together. If she laughed, she’d ruin Mary’s perfect speech. Good thing she hadn’t intervened. Mary deserved her moment of triumph.
“I apologize, Ms. Walker. I thought someone had called ahead and made an appointment. Is there any chance we can get in to see Ms. Kerr, or is she booked with clients all day? It is relevant to an ongoing case with some urgency. It’s making all of us a bit testy.” That was Mills’ voice, but she’d never heard such a conciliatory tone from him. “And Ms. Walker? If you can keep the fact that I’m here and especially with the FBI to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”
“I thought you looked familiar.” Mary’s voice trembled, then firmed. “How’re your parents?”
“They’re fine, Ms. Walker. Same as always.” Trevor’s tone was bone-dry.
His parents would never change. Sam did her best to avoid them, along with hers. Neither set liked change. Or authorities. Or their own children, although they still tried to control them.
“I don’t gossip about clients or anything to do with Ms. Kerr’s practice. Nor do the rest of us in the office.” A pause and wheels rolled—Mary was leaving her desk. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to our conference room, then check with Ms. Kerr. She’s preparing for a trial tomorrow, so she may not have time.”
“We would appreciate it, Ms. Walker. I’m sorry we’re making extra work for you.” Shoes thudded across the ancient wood floors.
Sam waited a few moments, then left her office. Mary marched toward her, fists clenched at her side, a scowl creasing her usually friendly face. “The nerve of that man!” She shuddered, then tilted her head. “You’re going to see them, I assume?”
“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “That was Trevor Mills, right?” She didn’t want to, but she was an adult, not a devastated child.
Mary put a hand on her arm. “Yes. I’m sorry. I can send them away.”
“No. With everything going on, I need to talk to them. I just hope Mills can be more reasonable than that loudmouth you put in his place so nicely.” She had little hope. Trevor had always been impatient and demanding. But she’d changed; maybe he had, too. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt, but very little. And she’d be on guard against all of them, although dealing with the loudmouth would be easier than the betrayer.
Mary scoffed. “There’s more than a few of those relics left around here, but I’m too old to put up with that. I’ve probably scared away some business.” She grimaced.
“That’s business I don’t need or want. You know those people are the worst about not paying their bills.” Sam scowled. “Besides, they’d touch me inappropriately, and I’d have to deck them, and then you’d end up bailing me out of jail.” Sam smirked. “And speaking of that, guess I’d better see what the FBI wants.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Calm, cool, collected, professional; she was all of those and more. She wouldn’t let past trauma control her current actions.
“You’ve got this, Sam. You’re a strong, successful woman who knows the law and can’t be intimidated, especially by a spoiled brat ex-boyfriend from high school.” Mary squeezed her hand and let go, then gave her three business cards.
