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"Are you sure my breast implants aren't tax-de-ductible?" The blond bombshell sitting across from Keeley Davis tapped her acrylic nails around the rich brown maple desk. "That exotic dancer in Indiana got hers deducted and they weren't a ton of bigger than mine."
Keeley turned faraway from her laptop screen, where she was reviewing Sugar's tax return. Tax season was finally wrapping up, and none too quickly for a poor, worn-out accountant. "Sorry, Sugar—it'd be an extended shot. The tax court is cracking recorded on what you regard as frivolous deductions and I doubt we could get it past them. We can write off your costumes along with the tinted latex nipple makeup, but that's about it. No personal care like tanning, manicures or hair extensions."

"And we simply cannot appeal? I only got the implants for professional reasons, you know." Sugar pursed her pink glossy lips.

Keeley had known her friend and client too long to fall to be with her act. She peered in the tops of her glasses. "And you get no personal benefits from them?"

Sugar smacked her arm playfully. "Oh, all right, you naughty girl. I did not lose any nerve sensation from your surgery and my last boyfriend and I did enjoy them."

"Thought so." Keeley pushed her glasses backup her nose to concentrate around the computer again. "And if we make an issue over this, the IRS might want to check directly into simply how much of your respective cash tips you are reporting as income." Keeley wasn't a newcomer to IRS audits, but didn't exactly enjoy them, either.

"Hmmph." Sugar backed down, like Keeley thought she would. As a certified public accountant, Keeley couldn't take part in tax evasion within the type of under-reporting garter or G-string tips, but she had a good concept that Sugar salted away her personal cash stash, and who could blame her? Keeley would do the exact same thing in the same situation.

But Keeley was around the straight and narrow, just using the figures Sugar gave her and plugging them in to the tax program, although sometimes she raised an eyebrow in an obviously low figure. Sugar would revise it upward without blinking.

Keeley added in a very handful of last-minute expenses Sugar had brought over today. Sugar, it's unlikely that any to sit still for virtually any duration of time, paced throughout the small office. Her long legs took her rapidly from one terra-cotta faux-painted wall on the other, the beige Berber carpet muffling her sneaker-clad steps. Like some dancers, Sugar had foot problems in support of wore high heels onstage and so on dates.

Keeley rotated her very own brown-pump-clad foot under her desk. Her shoes matched her hair, her eyes, her jacket and her skirt. She was a huge brown wren when compared with her flashier blond friend, but accountants couldn't exactly sport cleavage T-shirts and midthigh denim miniskirts.

Sugar stopped to eye a couple of watercolor prints of Florence, Italy. Keeley had never been there, but the red tile roofs matched the whole rich, Tuscan, trust-me-with-your-finances theme she planned to emphasize. After all, accountants doing work in Renaissance Florence had invented double-entry bookkeeping.

Keeley printed the return and eyed it one last time before passing the web pages to Sugar. "Read these over before I file electronically."

Sugar sat and speed-read with the papers. She looked like she was skimming, but Keeley knew she was tallying every number for the penny. She finally raised her blond head and smiled. "I suppose that's just like it gets without writing off of the breast implants."

Keeley shrugged, palms upward. "If you desperately want me to try…"

"No, I guess not. After all, pigs get fat, but hogs get slaughtered." Sugar signed the underside page for her own records.

"That's right." Keeley'd heard that saying over once growing up in downstate Illinois. Not there ended up enough to even get slightly plump on. "Off it goes to Uncle Sam. Since you've made your quarterly payments, you don't owe any greater than usual."

"Whoopee. I'll need to schedule myself at Frisky's a few more nights to produce up for it."

"If any of one's clients work for the IRS, charge them double." And after this that Keeley's highest-earning season was almost over, she'd need to save her money to create it last as long as you possibly can until next winter.

Sugar passed the papers to Keeley. "By the way, Keel, I recommended your accounting services to a classic friend of mine."

"Oh, who?" That will help tide her over while she built her client base.

Sugar grinned. "Binky Bingham."

"Boy, whenever you said 'old,' you weren't kidding. I believed he croaked last fall after hot-tubbing with that dancer from Chicago Gentlemen's Club." And why that is known would Binky Bingham, billionaire, need accounting services from her fledgling business?

"Alive and kicking. He's still one of her regulars, in and out from the club."

Keeley designed a face. Binky fancied himself quite the ladies' man and had the cash to generate it so. Sugar was Binky's occasional arm candy, especially when he wanted to scare his children and grandchildren into thinking he was going to leave his money to her. He was lucky they hadn't had him declared legally incompetent and locked him up somewhere.

Sugar laughed. "Don't take a peek at me like that. In addition to dancing for him at Frisky's, I sure never spent any time naked with him, hot tub or no."

"That's a relief." Binky Bingham was older than dirt and doubly ugly. Keeley was glad to listen to Sugar hadn't slept using the old goat.

"You're telling me. Not even all of his money will be enough. For a real financial genius, he sure wasn't thinking using the right head. Viagra, a hot tub along with a previous heart attack? Why didn't he just step before a bus? Potentially less fatal and definitely less embarrassing."

"You know Binky is incompetent at embarrassment."

Sugar raised a perfectly French-manicured finger. "Personally, no. But professionally, yes. That is why your company name came up." She leaned in the desk. "You absolutely cannot tell anyone what I'm going to tell you. Promise?"

Keeley narrowed her eyes. "I can't be party to anything illegal, you already know that."

Her friend shook her head. "Not illegal—not so far."

"So far? Sugar, this doesn't sound great at all."

"It's about Binky's company. He thinks certainly one of his executives is stealing money in the trust funds."

Keeley gave an astonished whistle. Bingham Brothers was the granddaddy of Chicago's financial companies, managing a huge selection of millions of dollars since before the 1929 stock market crash. "It's possible, of course, but there are a lot of safeguards to theft. These huge companies have hundreds of people overseeing the books."

"Binky grew on top of those books, anf the husband has a gut feeling they're bad. He went to the office many times to poke around and says the atmosphere is pure poison."

"Hmmm." Keeley given over possibilities in her mind. "Why doesn't Binky call for an audit?"

"And flush his company's reputation down the toilet? Not to cover his family's reputation. Hot-tub hijinks are one thing, but missing money is unforgivable."

Keeley nodded. A whiff of scandal as well as the company would bottom out. It had happened before to Chicago financial firms, usually involving bankruptcy, corporate dissolution and prison terms. "So precisely what does Binky think I could do? I am unable to exactly walk in off the trail and search in the books. It would take months to get a whole team of auditors to check everything."

"He includes a smaller, specific band of accounts to audit first. when I told him you'd completed a certificate in forensic accounting, his wrinkly little face just lit up. He said his representative would be in touch to get you inside for any covert audit."

"A covert audit?" Despite her misgivings, Keeley's investigative antennae perked up. She loved digging for money, from the time she was a kid checking the couch for loose change.

"So you'll do it? Binky knows absolutely everybody and can allow you to get for the fast track if he recommends you to his friends. And you understand you can bill him a bundle."

Binky may possibly expect her to bill a respectable hourly consultant fee. She wouldn't gouge him, but she could legitimately bill more for doing the audit for the sly, and probably expert witness fees also whether it was a matter for your courts. Although she'd worked her way through school along no student debt, she did have obligations. "I'll listen as to what his representative says. Did he say who that is?"

"No names were mentioned, just he was considered one of Binky's protégés and totally trustworthy."

Keeley snorted and Sugar giggled. Men were so naive. Nobody was totally trustworthy, particularly when large sums of greenbacks were concerned.

"I WOULD HAVE BEEN pleased to come to your office, Binky." Dane Weiss leaned on the small table to shout into his elderly friend's ear in the pulsing rock music. "Or your condo." Penthouse, rather, overlooking Lake Michigan and also the rest with the city. Binky had an entire floor in Lakenheath Towers, among Chicago's most exclusive buildings.

But Binky preferred another type of penthouse— the kind with naked women in it. "And miss the lunchtime show at Frisky's? At my age, I can not stay awake for that evening show." He cackled and gestured expansively to the nubile chicks cavorting above them on the runway. One flipped over and slid down a pole using just her thighs, and Dane winced. He'd never figured that they did that without friction burns, but probably some trick of the trade involving baby powder.

It wasn't as if he were a stranger to those places, having worked his way through grad school as Binky's driver/personal assistant, but he did his best to overlook the buffet of female flesh literally spread looking at him. He wasn't there for the lap dance—not that Binky would mind if he did partake.

Although the lunchtime dancers weren't quite the A-string team of their G-strings, Binky didn't care. With his overtipping, he was the life with the party. "Here, sweetheart, this really is for you." He slipped a fifty in the nearest girl's garter.

Dane tried to stop him, not because Binky had to watch his pennies, but because another girls spotted Ulysses S. Grant's bearded scowl and flocked to...