Page 19 of They All Own Me

"Very funny comedian." Dominic's gravelly voice holds a hint of amusement. "Keep your day job, princess."

The line goes dead just as my personal cell buzzes with a call. James's name flashes across the screen.

"Please tell me you've got something good," I answer, sliding into Thomas's leather office chair.

"Oh, I've got something alright." My brother's keyboard clicks in the background. "Those guys you had me look into? They're connected to Esteban Rodriguez."

The name hits like ice water. "Like the 6 o' clock news Esteban Rodriguez? The drug kingpin?"

"The one and only. What the hell are you mixed up in, Tate?"

I spin the chair to face the window, watching our perfectly manicured lawn. "Would you believe me if I said I'm making new friends?"

"Cut the shit. These aren't the kind of people you want to mess with."

"Neither is your brother in law." My fingers trace the edge of his desk. "Besides, they're already involved with him. I'm just... evening the playing field."

"Jesus Christ, Tate." More furious typing. "You need to be careful. These guys-"

"Are probably more honest than our fearless leader." I stand up, straightening my dress. "At least they're upfront about being criminals."

"That's not funny."

"Wasn't trying to be." I check my watch. "Look, I've got to go play Martha Stewart before his highness gets home. Thanks for the intel."

"Tatum, wait-"

I end the call, tucking both phones into my purse. Time to turn the crock pot on low while I prepare to meet with a mobster and pretend I haven't just committed corporate espionage against my husband.

Chapter 11

Dominic

I leanagainst my truck in the dimly lit parking lot, checking my watch for the third time. The meet was set for seven sharp. Politicians' wives and punctuality don't mix, apparently.

A sleek white Mercedes pulls into the lot, not the black one she drove during her very brief career of being an amateur PI. She whips it into a parking spot with precision, its engine purring to a stop.

The door opens and out steps Tatum Cope in a navy cocktail dress that probably costs more than most people's monthly rent. Her heels click against the pavement as she approaches, designer purse swinging from her arm.

"Not exactly dressed for covert operations," I say, crossing my arms.

She raises an eyebrow. "What would you prefer? Combat boots and a ski mask? That'd really fly at the country club."

"Point taken. Though maybe something less..." I gesture at her whole ensemble. "Noticeable?"

"Trust me, if Thomas came home and I wasn't dressed like fucking Kathy Griffith, he'd know something was up. The man notices everything about my appearance." She hands me a small flash drive. "Speaking of appearances, your 'flat tire' diversionmust worked perfectly. He called and asked me if we still had Triple A."

"And you're sure you weren't followed?"

"Yes tough guy. Took three different routes to get here, just like you suggested. I may be new to this whole espionage thing, but I'm not stupid."

I turn the drive over in my hands. "Could've fooled me with that off brand surveillance attempt yesterday."

"Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures." She shrugs. "Besides, if I hadn't been so bad at it, we wouldn't be having this lovely parking lot rendezvous, now would we?"

I pocket the drive. "You're awfully cavalier for someone mixed up with dangerous people."

"You speak like Thomas is a fucking monk. Trust me, you guys are a breath of fresh air."

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