Climbing Heartbreak Hill Read online

  “It can’t be that bad.” He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms. Her breath came in sharp gasps. “It will be all right. Breathe for a minute.” He crowded her close to his chest, whispering calming words into her ear. He trailed his fingertips up and down her back. Eventually, her breathing eased enough that she could form a full sentence.

  “I think Charles is trying to defraud the IRS.” Her words spilled out like water from a faulty fire hydrant. “And he’s going to pin it on me.”

  “What? How?” He wanted to wrap his arms around her and protect her from everything related to Charles. His fancy cream cheese, his cheap innuendos, and his smarmy grin. She was working so hard, but Charles did nothing but make it more difficult. Ryan eased her over to the waiting area and encouraged her to sit. He perched on the seat next to her and stretched his bad leg out.

  Tara waved her hand as if trying to clear the dust away and read an explanation of the situation. She jumped from her seat and dashed to her desk. She grabbed a folder with papers stuffed haphazardly inside and one of the stacks of paper from the floor. When she sat and opened the folder on her lap, the papers fluttered to the ground. Ryan reached to the carpet to scoop up the ones he could reach. A quick scan told him it was a list of numbers and dates and codes, but nothing made sense to him.

  “What are these?” He handed the sheets to Tara. She shuffled them together, but the papers wouldn’t cooperate. They caught each other’s edges and rolled the wrong way.

  “The e-file reports. I file the returns at the end of the day and get this report once they’ve all gone through. It tells me if anything has been rejected and why. I checked the errors and double-checked those returns, but then tonight there was one with an incorrect social security number. I went to verify them with the original return and found this.” She switched to the pile of papers from the floor and held out two pages.

  “What was wrong with it?”

  “Nothing at first. These returns were filed and accepted by the IRS, but the file should be closed.”

  “Closed, what does that mean?” Ryan eased around in his seat so he could see Tara’s face. Tension etched lines along her jaw. He itched to smooth away the marks on her skin. She blinked rapidly. Was she going to cry? Tears? He didn’t think he could handle those. Besides this couldn’t be that bad. It was someone’s taxes. For all he knew, they could send in a corrected return and it would all be fixed. Well, that and a few interest payments if they owed the government money.

  “We close a file when a client dies.” Confidence built in Tara’s voice as she explained their procedures. She knew her stuff, and she wouldn’t make a mistake like this. The way she zipped through his, it was obvious she understood the implications. Her boss wouldn’t be encouraging her to get the degree if she didn’t pay attention to details. “Most people don’t need to file a return more than for the year they died, unless they have huge estates, which isn’t any of our clients. We have a lot of multi-generation families with similar names or even the same names, so we lock the file so we don’t accidentally do something like this.”

  “File a return for a dead person?” Every word Tara spoke made Ryan more glad he didn’t do his own taxes. There was too much complication to keep it all straight.

  “Yes. If this was the only one, I would think it was a mistake and call the IRS and clear it up, nightmare that that would be. But—” She turned to the next paper and the next, indicating lines on each one. “There are several of them. All posting returns with refunds in the form of checks instead of direct deposit and all going to the same P.O. box.”

  “So it’s not a mistake.” Ryan knew he was being Captain Obvious, but he didn’t know what else to say. He’d never actually witnessed fraud before.

  “It’s identity theft. The IRS went after a bunch of tax preparers last year for it. But that’s not the worst of it. See this code?” Tara pressed a manicured nail against the last column on the page. “This is the tax preparer code. It’s mine.”

  “Doesn’t the whole office use the same one?”

  “No. They are individualized. I created one for Charles, since his old one was expired. See. It’s here.” She pointed to another line. “This return is completely legitimate.”

  “He’s trying to frame you.” A ball of ice sunk in Ryan’s stomach. He finally understood what had Tara so agitated. This was her career on the line. Her confidence in her ability was shaky already. This knocked out three legs of the overloaded table. He’d like to take an opportune swipe at Charles’s shins with his cane.

  “I think so.” She flicked the edges of the papers with her fingernail. “I checked them all. My ID is on every single one of the fraudulent returns.”

  “Did he think you wouldn’t figure it out?” Ryan reached for the folder and flipped it open. He scanned the papers, but didn’t see anything that would do any good. Granted, he had no idea what he was looking at.

  “Probably. He’s more interested in the ounces of saline in my chest than anything between my ears.” Tara pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He said as much before he left today.”

  How Charles could ignore Tara’s competence, Ryan didn’t know. Actually, in the few moments he’d observed Charles, he did. Charles didn’t see any woman as more than her measurements.

  In Ryan’s estimation, Tara had phenomenal measurements and they had drawn him to her initially, but after spending time with her, he knew she had so much more to offer. Her intelligence and quick thinking were keeping this place afloat, despite what she thought. Charles wasn’t doing a thing to help her. If Ryan committed to staying in Carterville permanently, he’d consider much more with Tara than their occasional dinner and coffee.

  “So what are you going to do?” he asked Tara.

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. How can I prove I didn’t prepare these returns? They have my name on them. I’m responsible for them. Leslie’s only been out of the office for five days, and I’ve already destroyed her company. The IRS will eat me alive and completely ruin Leslie’s reputation.” She slumped forward, resting her head on her hands and her elbows on her knees. Her shoulders shook and he heard the tiniest sniff. She was crying, holding it in hard, but crying nonetheless. He had to stop the tears now.

  “There’s got to be a way around this. Something to prove you weren’t the one who prepared the returns. What about at what computer the return was prepared?” He suggested, grasping for anything that might help Tara and end the droplets of water that trailed down her cheeks.

  She looked up at him and eyes widened. “Oh my goodness. I hadn’t even thought of that. No wonder he thought he could pin this on me. It’s obvious I can’t think my way out of a paper bag.”

  It was ridiculous how easy the wrong person could shake someone’s confidence. Charles knew exactly which buttons to push for the desired result. What a worthless piece of carbon. “Don’t beat yourself up. You discovered it tonight. He’s barely been at it a week. That’s pretty quick, in my opinion. We have to make sure we have all our ducks in a row before you present this information to the authorities.”

  “We?” Tara squeaked and the tears stopped.

  “You bet. I’ve got your back. There’s got to be a computer trail, and we are going to find it.” He’d scour that computer system and make sure Charles took the fall for his scheme. If only to keep any more tears from Tara’s eyes.

  “Why are you helping me?” Tara sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Ryan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to his chest. He pressed his lips to her temple. He’d do everything he could to help her. That was what you did for people you cared about, right? “You deserve it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tara’s cell phone vibrated against her hip. She wiggled the phone out of her skirt pocket and scowled at the display. “Charles,” she said with a huff. “What’s his problem? Hot date fizzled and looking for a booty
call?”

  “Don’t answer it,” Ryan said. “Whatever his problem is, it can wait until Monday.”

  Tara wrapped her hand around the phone and nodded. “You’re right.” She slipped the phone back in her pocket. “Where should we start?”

  “I’ll get a backup started, so that he can’t go back in and change anything when he comes back to work.”

  “I’m not letting him back through the door. I’m calling Leslie in the morning to see if I can find someone else to help.”

  “I don’t see why you don’t do this yourself.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve only had Charles here a week, and he’s committed identity theft and fraud. How badly would I screw up if I was doing everything on my own?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t have Charles trying to put you in prison.” Ryan was cut off by the buzzing of Tara’s phone. She glanced at the display, snarled something atrocious and shoved it back in her pocket. “Charles again?”

  Tara didn’t have to answer because the office phone rang. Tara thanked God one more time for the invention of caller ID. It was after hours, and she would only answer the phone if it was important. But when Hammerin’ Hank’s Towing Service’s number appeared on the display, curiosity got the better of her. Hank wouldn’t be calling her this late unless he was towing her car. She craned her neck to see the rust bucket still corroding in the parking lot. She picked up the phone. “Hey, Hank, whatcha need?” Her voice sounded surprisingly more cheerful than she felt.

  “Can you get this idiot out of his car?” Hank bellowed into her ear.

  She had a bad feeling about which idiot Hank was referring to, but asked for confirmation anyway. “Who are you talking about?”

  “I’m out by Bubba’s and that fancy-pants you work with hit a deer and put his swanky car in the ditch. And now Bubba’s out here, scoping out the deer carcass and Mr. Fancy-pants won’t get out of his blasted car with that Neanderthal waving his shotgun around.”

  If Hank was calling Bubba a caveman, Bubba had to be putting on a big and horrifying show. It was tempting to tell Hank to let Bubba shoot Charles. She didn’t want to lift a hangnail to help him out. Frustration and exhaustion warred with each other. “I can’t help you.”

  “C’mon, Tara. I’ve got three calls to get to tonight, and Angelina is home with the twins who have been puking their guts out since dawn. She’s gonna break my neck if I don’t get home before midnight. And this moron won’t get out of his car.”

  “Tow the car with him in it. Park him at Dave’s garage, and he can cool his heels there until he decides to get out of the car.” Ryan was nodding. Tara took that to mean he liked the plan. Her confidence boosted a smidge.

  “I can’t tow a car with a person in it. My insurance would get yanked, then I’d be up a crick for sure.”

  “Then leave him there. I don’t care.” Tara rubbed her forehead. She didn’t want to deal with this now. She’d rather find a way to save her own butt than rescue Charles’s. Ryan raised his finger and mouthed something to her, but she couldn’t make out his message.

  “Just talk to him. He’ll listen to you,” Hank said.

  Tara squeezed her eyes shut and murmured the words, “Put the moron on the phone.” Then she realized, she didn’t actually say anything. She repeated the words loud enough for Hank to hear.

  “I can’t. He won’t even open his window.” Tara picked up a pencil from her desk and crammed the eraser end down on to a manila folder. She was surprised Hank hadn’t already broken the window and yanked Charles through the jagged glass. She raised her eyebrows. The idea had appeal. Shredding Charles’s freshly dry-cleaned suit on the shards… Then Hank asked, “Can you call him?” shaking her out of her revelry.

  “Hank!”

  “My life’s on the line here. You know Angelina. She’ll bust my chops if I don’t get home.”

  Tara knew he had a point. Few people could scare Hank, but his wife led him around on a leash. They had three sets of twins and each one got a bigger dash of mischief in their DNA. On their best behavior, they made Boppy seem like the teacher’s pet. Sick? Tara shuddered at the thought. “Okay, I’ll call him. For Angelina. And next time my car takes a dump, you’re there in five minutes.”

  “You got it. It’ll be a freebie,” Hank promised and hung up.

  Tara dropped the handset back into the receiver. She jammed her hands on her hips, her head filling with the things she’d rather do than dial Charles’s number. Ryan stood and picked up his cane.

  “If we pick him up, we’ll know where he is and be able to keep an eye on him.”

  She turned to look at Ryan. “Pick him up? I don’t want to call him on the phone, let alone see his smarmy face right now.” She snarled at her phone. “Best get it over with.” She pressed it to her ear. The tones buzzed, only to be followed by a canned voice directing her to leave a message. “He probably burned out his battery.” She slumped against the edge of her desk. “I don’t want to go out there.”

  Ryan came over to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Think of it this way. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  “I don’t want to keep him within a baseball throw.” She slid a skeptical glance to the side, but leaned into his muscled chest anyway. No matter what she said, having Ryan here helped.

  “We pick him up. His car is totaled, so he can’t skip town. Once we figure out how to prove the fraud, we can have him arrested. He won’t get away with this.”

  “It won’t be that simple.” Tara shook her head, but liked Ryan’s thought process. If Charles could leave, they’d never catch him. He had scammed enough money to skip the country — once the checks came in. Nothing had been delivered to his P.O. Box yet. They had a little time.

  “It just might.” Ryan squeezed her closer.

  Chapter Twenty

  They found Charles’s car angled in the ditch with the rear tires about four inches off the ground. Hank paced behind his truck with his cell phone plastered to his ear; his rotund figure defied gravity. Bubba had made quick work of the deer and disappeared from the scene, leaving a pile of entrails about two feet from the driver’s side door of the swanky car.

  Hank snapped his phone into the clip on his belt as Ryan and Tara climbed out of her sedan. It had seen the back of Hank’s tow truck for more miles than she’d dared to count. That her car wasn’t being hooked to the truck was the only thing going in her favor tonight.

  He gestured helplessly toward Charles. “I think Bubba scared the crap out of him.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. Charles probably thinks his filet mignon appears on his plate by magic.” Tara flexed her shoulders and marched over to Charles’s car. Ryan took the straps Hank handed him and started untangling them, while Hank prepared to winch the car onto the flatbed.

  Tara sidestepped around the remains of the deer and inched her way down the weed-entangled ditch. Her heels caught on the dried grass, but she righted herself before she face-planted into Charles’s window. Charles was hunched into the seat, his head barely visible above the upturned collar of his coat. He must have glimpsed her movement out of the corner of his eye because the locks clicked, reiterating that the vehicle was his little foxhole in the rural wilds.

  After all the characters he had met with tonight, the most dangerous to him was rapping on his window, Tara thought as she pounded her palm against the tinted glass. She took special glee in watching him flinch. When he recognized her, he unlocked the door, then scrambled out. His foot caught the edge of entrails and he slipped into the weeds. He frantically scrubbed his heel against the grass, before dashing across the road into the shotgun seat of her car. He pressed the lock button, only to have the mechanism pop open after every try.

  “I always figured if someone stole the car, they deserved what they got,” she called as she climbed out of the ditch.

  “Get me out of here,” Charles called back, fumbling for his seatbelt and snapping it in place.

  If
she didn’t think what Bubba did to the deer was too good for Charles, she would have laughed hysterically. She’d never seen a grown man act like a frightened four-year-old.

  Hank clapped her on the shoulder so hard her knees buckled. “Thanks,” he grunted. “It’ll take me a few minutes to get the car hooked up. Where should I take it?”

  “Keep it at your yard. I’m taking him to the Lilac Bower.”

  “The Bower? Don’t you think he’s had enough for one night?” Hank raised an eyebrow.

  “Not even close.”

  “Okey-dokey.” Hank climbed in the cab of his truck and shifted into reverse. The lights on the truck flashed.

  Tara shivered and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. An April night still wasn’t warm enough to stand out in the cold for more than a few minutes, but if risking pneumonia meant avoiding Charles’s presence for another five minutes, she welcomed her chances with the cold.

  Hank loaded the car onto the trailer with practiced efficiency. They were quickly on their way back into town. Ryan had crammed himself into the seat behind Charles while Tara drove and Hank followed with the tow truck.

  Charles watched Hank’s lights in the side mirror vigilantly. When Hank turned off to his garage, Charles jumped in his seat. “Where’d he go with my car?”

  Tara wanted to remind him if he had actually talked to Hank, he would know, but having words with him, civil or otherwise, was not among her talents tonight. She kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel. It was all she could do to not sideswipe the passenger side of the vehicle into each telephone pole she passed. Ryan stepped in and explained Hank would have a certified mechanic look at the damage in the morning.

  “How’d you end up out by Bubba’s?” Tara asked as she adjusted the heater vents, so the warm air blasted against her frozen hands. She didn’t care if Charles was shivering.