Taggart sighed, clearly unhappy. “You might be making the wrong move here, Linc.”
It was possible, but no way was he putting Carly in that kind of danger. He and the FBI agent had parted ways and Linc had returned to his office for the chopper ride back to Blackland Ranch.
It was ten to seven when he walked Carly across the roadhouse parking lot, Frank discreetly covering their progress.
Linc’s cell signaled as he reached the swinging double doors leading inside. Frank moved casually into position out front and Carly paused next to Linc as he pulled out his phone and checked the caller I.D.
It was Millie. Since his assistant usually texted, he figured it was important. “What’s up?”
“Glen Barker called.” Glen was the CPA going over the Drake accounting records. “He says it’s urgent he speak to you. I’ve got him on the other line.”
He flicked a glance at Carly. “Patch him through.”
Glen’s familiar voice floated over the line. “Mr. Cain, I’m sorry to bother you this late, but I’m calling in regard to those records you asked me to review.”
“What about them?”
“Someone’s stealing, and it’s been going on for quite a while.”
Anger sifted through him, making his jaw feel tight. No wonder Joe’s company was going broke. “How long?”
“Nearly two years. Whoever’s doing it is logging the payee into the digital record as if the account is legitimate, but when you pull the actual checks, the recipient doesn’t match what’s in the records. It’s a simple but effective technique if the person doing it is a trusted employee. No one is physically going back to make sure the checks and the records match.”
“Who’s the money actually being paid to?”
“The payee is a bank routing number. The money’s sent directly into the account.”
“How much are we talking about?”
“In the last two years, nearly two hundred thousand dollars.”
Linc clamped down on a fresh shot of temper. Jesus, more trouble Carly didn’t need. At least it explained what had been happening, why Drake was edging toward bankruptcy.
“Thanks, Glen. I appreciate your work on this.” Linc hung up the phone.
“What is it?” Carly asked.
He settled a hand at her waist and guided her through the swinging doors into the roadhouse, needing that beer more than ever. This early, the place wasn’t packed, but there were plenty of people sitting at tables.
From behind the bar, Rowena waved and smiled at Carly, and Linc urged her in that direction, not looking forward to the conversation they were about to have.
Row tossed back her long dark red curls and grinned. “Hey, Linc, hey, Carly. Good to see you guys.”
Carly climbed up on a bar stool. “You, too, Row.”
When Linc settled himself next to Carly at the bar, Row’s gaze shot back and forth between them.
“So . . . I didn’t expect to see the two of you in here . . . together.” Row flicked a what-kind-of-friend-are-you glance at Carly, whose cheeks turned a little pink. Sometimes she could really be cute.
“Linc’s been helping me with some problems,” Carly said.
“I’ll just bet he has,” Row said with a grin.
Fighting not to smile, Linc studied the row of taps behind the bar: Buffalo Bayou, Alamo, New Republic, Texian. “How about a couple of beers?” he asked. “A Shiner Bock sounds good. Carly?”
“I’ll have a Lone Star.”
“You got it.” Row glanced at Linc. “On your tab?”
