Deadly Justice (11 page)

“What's the name of the spreadsheet, ma'am?”  While she'd been toying with Carpenter, Carlisle already had her computer booted up and running.  Man, the guy was quick. 

“Cash-BD.” 

“Got it.”  Carlisle went back to his typing.

“Mitchell International is a huge conglomerate with satellite offices throughout the world.  Import and export.  Communications.  Natural gas and resources.  Why would Lawrence Mitchell ever hook up with Webster?  There's something here I'm not seeing.”  Carpenter walked over to stand at the French doors behind Carlisle, with a view overlooking the garden, and she watched him pinch the bridge of his nose.  Probably had a headache from information overload.

“That's correct.  Each division is coordinated and supervised by local vice presidents and senior staff who report to Mitchell's chief financial officer.  Mitchell deals with the board of directors, mostly family members.”  She volunteered the information, figuring they already had it anyway, but it might look better if it seemed like she was cooperating.

Too bad she was lying through her teeth.  She knew exactly who Jacob Simmons A.K.A. Richard Webster was, and more importantly, she knew precisely where he was, or at least where he'd been twenty-four hours ago, and she'd be damned if she had any intention of sharing with the rest of the class. 

She'd worked long and hard for the information, gave up years of her life for one goal.   A single-minded purpose that kept her on the path she'd undertaken with no regrets, and that goal was finally within her reach.  Justice would be served with one fateful act of vengeance. 

Killing Richard Webster.

S
he was hiding something.  Carpenter was adept at reading people, and on the surface Andrea Kirkland appeared to be exactly what she claimed, an executive assistant to Lawrence Mitchell.  But scratch below the obvious and there was something more there, and he wouldn't stop until he had the answers.  The woman was the key to finding his nemesis and finally bringing the man to justice. 

How many men and women lost their lives to the junk Webster imported into the country?  To say nothing of the weapons he smuggled across the border.  Money went a long way, and he'd willingly spend every dime he had to end the trafficking of weapons and drugs across the U.S. border.  But taking down Webster—that was personal. 

One stinking night in Brownsville had made it personal. 

He rubbed the inner crease of his elbow as memories flooded him.  The emergency room doctors had battled for hours to save his life.  The hallucinations had been horrific, bloody, and haunted him still. 

The worst part at the time had been losing his job with the DEA. He left under a cloud of suspicion, humiliated, and his name disgraced.  Even though he'd worked under an assumed identity with the DEA's full knowledge and blessing, he'd more than earned his place on the team.  Then all hell broke loose. 

After Brownsville, he'd been accused of murdering his entire team.  His true identity had surfaced and spread like wildfire throughout the intelligence community.  They considered him the poor little rich kid, playing at being an agent.  Hell, if he hadn't had access to the best lawyers money could buy, he'd probably be sitting in a Supermax Prison today. 

Funny how no matter which department he'd turned to or how many stones he uncovered, nobody found hide nor hair of Richard Webster.  The man had disappeared without a trace.  Or somebody was erasing his trail.  Somebody high enough in the government and with deep enough pockets to stall his investigation.  Not that it mattered.  He'd never give up—not until Richard Webster was behind bars. 

“Boss, something's not quite right with your gal.”  Gunner lounged in the chair where he'd sat since their earlier meeting, sprawled within its comfortable depths.   The food Ms. Willie had provided was long gone.  He had no idea where Gunner put it all, but the man had a sweet tooth that rivaled his own. 

Andrea had gone upstairs, pissed because he wouldn't let her leave.  He couldn't.  Not until he had more answers.  Hell, if he had his way, she'd never leave again.  She fit him in ways he couldn't fathom, but anything more than a professional relationship would have to wait—catching Webster had to come first.  He remained priority number one, and the son of a bitch needed to pay before Carpenter could even think about having any kind of life outside of vengeance.  Vengeance for a girl nobody on his team ever met, but Carpenter carried a reminder of her every single day. 

“You're good at reading people, Gunner.  What do you think she's hiding?”  Carpenter watched his teammate closely. 

“Honestly?  On the surface, she's sweet, friendly, the All-American girl.  One who just happens to be gorgeous and have an ass you just want to…”

“Keep your eyes off her ass.”  Carpenter bit out the words and Gunner grinned.  Damn it, he'd let his friend get a rise out of him without even trying hard.  He usually had better control over his emotions than this. 

“Got it.  Her ass is off limits.”  Gunner shot him a military-style salute and Carpenter shot him back a one-fingered response. 

“What about you, Carlisle?  Anything show up in Ms. Kirkland's background check?”

“No, it's perfect.  You ask me, it's a little too perfect.  I'm digging, but my gut says government.  Maybe one of the alphabet squads.  Probably FBI.  Though if it's not, whoever she's working for has a damn fine computer expert.”  His fingers continued tapping as he spoke.  “If she's in any database, I'll find her.  They might be good—but I'm better.  Stepbrother's clean as a whistle.  Though you might find it interesting that he's pals with Anthony Marcus.” 

Well, well, isn't that interesting.  Tony Marcus was a mover and shaker in Louisiana and Texas.  Reputed to be one of the wealthiest men in the world, he lived the life of a playboy without a single goal except finding the next party, the next prize to purchase, and the next beautiful woman.  Carpenter smirked.  He'd known the man for years.  So did Jean-Luc.  Quite a coincidence, wasn't it, how Louisiana connections kept popping up and sticking their noses into his business?

“I wonder how Zach Bennett and Tony know each other?  Probably has no connection to Webster, but maybe I'll give my friend a call, see what he knows.” 

“That lightweight?  He wouldn't know anything except maybe the bra size of the next Sports Illustrated model,” Gunner said with a frown.  There was no love lost between Tony Marcus and Gunner.  They'd taken an instant dislike to each other, and it had only intensified over time.

“I can’t shake the feeling we need to concentrate on Jacob Simmons.”  Nate drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair where he perched.  He'd shown up and been briefed on everything that had gone down.  “I did a little more checking into Simco.  Jacob Simmons launched the company five years ago.  Barely struggling along, financially in the weeds after the first two years, and ready to file bankruptcy.  Then all of a sudden, they have some technological breakthrough and bam, money starts pouring in.  Gotta be suspicious, boss.” 

“I agree.  Simmons needs to be top of the list, right below Webster.  Carlisle, have we got a photo of Jacob Simmons?” 

Carlisle's fingers tapped a couple of keys and he frowned before typing some more.   He growled at something on the screen.  “Oh, no you don't, you dirty bastard.” 

His fingers flew across the keys and Carpenter strode around the desk to peer over his shoulder.  Line after line of text scrolled past, with Carlisle cursing under his breath the entire time. 

“Gotcha, you son of a bitch!” 

A sudden loud screeching sound poured from the computer's speakers, and he winced, cupping his hands over his ears.  A black and white skull and crossbones flashed on the laptop screen followed by a message which turned his blood icy cold.

You've got to try harder than that, Sammy.  Better luck next time. 

The screen flashed totally black and the power clicked off.  Despite multiple attempts, Carlisle couldn't get the machine to power back up. 

“Sorry, boss.”

“What the hell happened, Carlisle?”  Carpenter ran a hand through his hair.  He'd been so close, yet Webster always seemed to know his every move.  How'd he know they were on to him?

“I found a backdoor to Simco, tapped into their Human Resources Department.  When I tried accessing Simmons' file, I got slammed with a fast-moving virus.  Pretty expert one, too, because I've got the best antivirus protection on the market, and some stuff that isn't commercially available.  Son of a bitch just fried my laptop.”

“Why would they have a system-killing virus on a personnel file?  Doesn't that seem a little…excessive?” 

Carlisle shook his head.  “Not if you're a conspiracy theorist or paranoid.  I've affixed little trick-or-treats on our own files, though none of our important files are on any computer connected to the internet.  Classified info is stored on a separate secured system.  Hell, I even wipe the memory of the copy machine nightly.” 

Carpenter never would have thought to do something like that, and he was as paranoid as the next guy.  “Good thinking.”

Carlisle grinned.  “That's why you pay me the big bucks, chief.” 

“Okay, everybody back to work.  Nate, work with Carlisle, find me a photo of Jacob Simmons.  This sucker is connected with Webster, I know it.  He will not get away this time.”

Everybody grabbed their stuff and headed for the door.  Gunner snatched the last cinnamon roll off the cart on his way out and Carpenter chuckled.  The man really was a bottomless pit. 

Sinking down into his leather chair, he leaned back, and tried to figure out how he was going to deal with Andrea.  Maybe he'd taken the wrong tack with her to begin with, but there was no turning back now.  The woman knew way more than she was telling, though she was good at hiding it. 

Even knowing she didn't trust him, not completely, he still wanted her.  He couldn't explain this inexplicable pull he felt toward the mysterious female.  He'd dated women more strikingly beautiful.  Within his financial echelon, it was not only expected but practically a prerequisite.  When he attended charity events, or needed cover at some of the more fashionable soirees to delve into the rancid drug dealings of the
hoi polloi
, individuals most people never thought about as being involved in drug trafficking, having a stunning woman on your arm was the perfect accessory as well as excellent cover.

The public never considered the extremely wealthy as drug merchants, yet so many Americans made their fortunes on the backs of drug mules and gang bangers, keeping their own hands lily white and pristine.  Being considered one of the privileged, it made him the perfect weapon for the war on drugs.  Nobody suspected the rich spoiled playboy to be anything except what he appeared, until they ended up in DEA custody. 

His former DEA teammates only knew him as Samuel Barclay, field agent.  Most of them had no clue about his real financial worth, never realized he could buy and sell most of the people hosting the parties he attended undercover. 

The privileged elitists were no better than the dealer standing on the street corner as far as he was concerned.  Leeches.  They were a drain on society.  Cockroaches spreading disease everywhere they scurried.  The rich kept getting richer, while the dealer on the street corner ended up with a bullet in his brain or earned an eight by eight cell with a tattoo-covered roommate named Bubba. 

“Everyone leave?”

He'd heard her walk in, but waited for her to make the first move.  When she'd stormed out earlier, she'd been furious and he'd decided to let her cool down before approaching her again.  Let her realize he meant business.  Still, her beautiful jade green eyes shot sparks at him before she'd stormed out and he'd gotten hard watching her flounce out of his office.  The woman had a world-class ass. 

“They're all headed back to the office.  Carlisle's going to stop and pick up a new laptop, since his got fried.”

“Really?  What happened?” 

He'd give her props for being cool under pressure.  Still, he planned to warm her up considerably—and if he had anything to say about it, she'd be smoking hot before the day was through, and not just from her temper. 

“Killer virus when he accessed Simco's files.”

Her eyes widened at his words.  “He hacked into Simco's files?  Wow, he really is good.”  He barely heard her mumbled, “better than me” comment.  He'd been right.  She was hiding something.

“Now that everybody's gone, why don't you tell me how you know Jacob Simmons?  And don't try to lie—you're not that good at it.” 

She stiffened and he knew he'd hit a nerve.  “You have no idea whether or not I'm a good liar, Mr. Carpenter, since I haven't come right out and lied to you—yet.” 

He grimaced at the direct hit.  “Let's put our cards on the table, Andrea.  I have a personal reason for looking for Richard Webster.  You are the first legitimate connection to him I've found in a long time.”

He stood and strode around the desk to perch on the edge, facing her, arms crossed over his chest.  “I'd say it's obvious you know more than you've revealed.  How about we start with something easy?  How'd you meet Lawrence Mitchell?”

She eased back into the plush chair directly across from him, and her gaze met his without evasion.  “He's a friend of the family.”

“Okay.  Why'd you go to work for him?” 

He watched her fingers grip the arms of the chair, noted the rigidity in her posture, before she unclenched her hands and leaned back.  “When I moved to Dallas, I contacted his company and submitted a resume to his Human Resources Department.  He found out and offered me the job.  It's as simple as that.”

Somehow he really didn't think it was simple at all.  Human Resources in a company the size of Mitchell International didn't call up the owner with applicants who applied for jobs.  He stayed silent, his gaze roving over her, ramping up the pressure.

“Okay, I can't prove it, but I think Zach called him and put in a good word for me.”

“Your stepbrother?”  She nodded, but didn't add anything.  “Why didn't you go to work for him?  I would think you'd have been suitably qualified for any position with Bennett's company.”