Read Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli (A Tara Holloway Novel) for Free Online Page A

and caffeine fueling my thoughts. “What about an art gallery?” I suggested. “You could sell pieces on consignment. A business like that wouldn’t take much time or money to get up and running. All you’d need is a sign and a few pieces to offer for sale.”
    His eyes narrowed skeptically and he cocked his head. “You think I can pass myself off as an art dealer?”
    He had a point. He looked much more like a cattle rustler than an art aficionado.
    “You’ll have to lose the belt buckles,” I said.
    “Hell!” He huffed. “You might as well take my soul.”
    “Perfect,” I said. “That kind of melodrama sounds just like something an art dealer would say.”
    His eyes narrowed in skepticism. “I’m not sure about this.”
    He might not be sure but I, on the other hand, knew Nick could do anything he set his mind to. “In the right clothes and with some blond highlights and a little hair gel you’d pass.”
    “You’ll have to dress me.”
    “I’d be happy to. As long as I can un dress you after.”
    He slid me a sexy grin. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
    I’d met a couple of avant-garde artists recently when working a case against a shady gallery that served primarily as a tax shelter for the owner. I pulled up their phone numbers in my contacts list and gave them to Nick so he could call them and see if they might have some pieces they’d like to place on consignment.
    As he entered the artists’ numbers into his phone, the waiter arrived with our bill. Nick paid it and we headed out, driving, of course, to the downtown Neiman Marcus store. There, I outfitted Nick with attire that was classy yet trendy. Slate-blue trousers. A diamond-print dress shirt with a club collar. A pair of burgundy tassel loafers.
    He scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Tassels are for strippers.”
    “Strippers and art dealers.” I thrust the box at him. “Trust me.” Besides, I was hoping Nick might do a little striptease for me at his town house later.
    After adding a second pair of pants and a couple more shirts to the mix, Nick paid for his purchases and we left downtown, heading to the closest Walgreens. We stood in the hair care aisle, looking over the color selections.
    “Here’s what you need.” I grabbed a box with a picture of a seductively smiling blonde on it. “Frost and tip.”
    “If you get to pick mine, I get to pick yours.”
    “I suppose that’s only fair.”
    He ran his eyes over the boxes, chose one in a bold and vivid red, and held it out to me.
    I pointed to the picture on the box. “That color isn’t exactly subtle.”
    “Maybe not,” he said, “but it’s sexy.” He wagged his brows. “You know what they say about redheads. Red on the head, fire in the—”
    I grabbed the box out of his hand. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
    “I imagine so.” He chuckled. “Besides, you’re fiery enough already.”
    I wasn’t sure the bright red was the right color for an undercover mission, but perhaps having such boldly colored hair would throw suspicion off me. Kind of like hiding in plain sight.
    Our shopping done, we drove back to my town house in the Uptown area of Dallas, just north of downtown. I’d bought the place a while back when I’d lost my roommate, my BFF Alicia, who’d decided to move out of the apartment we shared and move in with her then boyfriend. She’d moved back in with me when the two later had a temporary split. That boyfriend was now her fiancé. Apparently absence not only makes the heart grow fonder, it makes it get off its complacent ass and propose. Although Alicia had accepted the proposal, she’d decided to continue living with me until their wedding, which was only a few weeks away now. Though I was happy for Alicia, I had to admit I’d miss her when she left. It was nice having someone to chat with over my Fruity Pebbles in the morning.
    Nick and I went inside to find my fluffy Maine coon cat, Henry, sharpening his claws on the