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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 also weren't very much bigger than mine."
Keeley turned from her laptop screen, where she was reviewing Sugar's tax return. Tax season was finally wrapping up, and none too soon to get a poor, worn-out accountant. "Sorry, Sugar—it'd be an extended shot. The tax court is cracking upon what you regard as frivolous deductions and I doubt we could obtain it past them. We can write off your costumes as well as the tinted latex nipple makeup, but that's about it. No personal care like tanning, manicures or hair extensions."

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

Keeley had known her friend and client a long time to fall on her act. She peered over the tops of her glasses. "And you obtain no personal benefits from them?"

Sugar smacked her arm playfully. "Oh, all right, you naughty girl. Some lose any nerve sensation from the surgery and my last boyfriend i did enjoy them."

"Thought so." Keeley pushed her glasses back up her nose to focus about the computer again. "And if we make a worry over this, the IRS might want to look directly into how much of your respective cash tips you've been reporting as income." Keeley wasn't just starting out 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 in the form of under-reporting garter or G-string tips, but she'd a fantastic idea that Sugar salted away her very own personal cash stash, and who could blame her? Keeley would do the exact same thing inside the same situation.

But Keeley was about 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 at an obviously low figure. Sugar would revise it upward without blinking.

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

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

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

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

Sugar sat and speed-read through the papers. She looked just as if she was skimming, but Keeley knew she was tallying every number to 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 really want me to try…"

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

"That's right." Keeley'd heard that saying a much more than once becoming an adult in downstate Illinois. Not that there have been enough to even get slightly plump on. "Off it would go to Uncle Sam. Since you've made your quarterly payments, you never owe any more than usual."

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

"If any of the clients work for your IRS, charge them double." And now that Keeley's highest-earning season was almost over, she'd ought 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, if you said 'old,' you weren't kidding. I figured he croaked last fall after hot-tubbing your dancer from Chicago Gentlemen's Club." And why on the planet would Binky Bingham, billionaire, need accounting services from her fledgling business?

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

Keeley created a face. Binky fancied himself quite the ladies' man coupled with the cash to create 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 look at me like that. Aside from dancing for him at Frisky's, I sure never spent whenever naked with him, hot tub or no."

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

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

"You know Binky is not capable of embarrassment."

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

Keeley narrowed her eyes. "I can not 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 one of his executives is stealing money from your trust funds."

Keeley gave an astonished whistle. Bingham Brothers was the granddaddy of Chicago's financial companies, managing hundreds of millions of dollars since prior to the 1929 stock trading game 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 up with those books, and he features a gut feeling they're bad. He went in to the office many times to poke around and says the atmosphere is pure poison."

"Hmmm." Keeley surrended possibilities in their mind. "Why doesn't Binky call on an audit?"

"And flush his company's reputation on the toilet? Not to mention his family's reputation. Hot-tub hijinks are certainly one thing, but missing funds are unforgivable."

Keeley nodded. A whiff of scandal and also the company would bottom out. It had happened before to Chicago financial firms, usually involving bankruptcy, corporate dissolution and prison terms. "So exactly what does Binky think I can do? I cannot exactly walk in off the path and look at the books. It would take months for the whole team of auditors to look at everything."

"He includes a smaller, specific band of accounts to audit first. Once 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 obtain you inside for the covert audit."

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

"So you'll do it? Binky knows absolutely everybody and may ensure you get on the fast track if he recommends you to definitely his friends. And you know you can bill him a bundle."

Binky would probably 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 in every likelihood expert witness fees as well when it was a matter for that courts. Although she'd worked her way through school together 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 which 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 income were concerned.

"I WOULD HAVE BEEN happy to come to your office, Binky." Dane Weiss leaned on the small table to shout into his elderly friend's ear on the pulsing rock music. "Or your condo." Penthouse, rather, overlooking Lake Michigan as well as the rest in the city. Binky had a whole floor in Lakenheath Towers, one of Chicago's most exclusive buildings.

But Binky preferred another form 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 the evening show." He cackled and gestured expansively on the nubile chicks cavorting above them for the runway. One flipped over and slid down a pole using just her thighs, and Dane winced. He'd never figured the way they did that without friction burns, but probably some trick with the trade involving baby powder.

It wasn't just as if he were a stranger to the telltale places, having worked his way through grad school as Binky's driver/personal assistant, but he did his best to ignore the buffet of female flesh literally spread before 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 inside their G-strings, Binky didn't care. With his overtipping, he was the life from the party. "Here, sweetheart, this really is for you." He slipped a fifty to the nearest girl's garter.

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