Deadly Justice (23 page)

Except, Samuel had gotten closer to finding the evil bastard than she'd come in ages, and she wasn't about to let him yank her off the case.  Not that he could.  She didn't work for him.  Truth be told, though she provided The Agency with information, she'd never given them the full story either.  Nobody, not even Zach, knew her intentions—and they wouldn't.  Not until every minute detail was in place. 

“I'm sorry your fiancé died, but one cop being killed in the line of duty isn't something The Agency would lose any sleep over.  What aren't you telling me?”  When she started to shake her head, he grasped her chin, stopping the motion.  “Don't lie to me.  There's more, or you wouldn't be here.  What's Mitchell's role in all this?  You had a reason for going to work for the man.” 

As much as she wanted to lean into his touch, rub her cheek against his hand like a kitten craving affection, she pulled back, putting more space between them, and watched his hand fall to his side. 

How had this happened?  She'd never compromised an op by getting involved with somebody she worked with. 
Oh, wait, I'm not working with him.  He's the means to an end.  If he hadn't stuck his nose into my business, I'd still have ended up in New Orleans, because that road led to Webster. 

But she'd never have met the fascinating Samuel Carpenter along the way, which would have been a shame. 

“Zach got intel Lawrence Mitchell's import export business might be importing a few less-than-legal items.  We knew Richard Webster had dealings with Mitchell years ago, when his company was still small potatoes.  I was sent in to nose around, see if there was any recent connection between them.” 

“And did you find a connection?” 

“Not until Lawrence slipped up and had me send the wire transfer.”  She ran a hand across her bangs, brushing them out of her eyes.  “Up until then, he handled all their interactions personally.  I'm guessing his fascination with Beverlee distracted him and he got careless.” 

He stood and paced a few steps away, keeping his back to her.  Pretty brave, considering he now knew she was CIA.  With her training, she could take him out in seconds.  Noting his posture and the barely concealed muscles beneath his shirt, she rethought that.  Maybe not.   He was probably adept at taking care of himself.

“How deep is Mitchell into Webster's pocket?” 

“My guess?  Very.  When I started working with him, he was up to his eyeballs in debt from gambling losses.  Far enough under, he was in danger of losing the company.” 

“Things turned around pretty quick, right?  An overseas contract, flooding his import division flush with cash.”  It wasn't really a question so she didn't answer.  He was right, within three months of her starting as Mitchell's executive assistant, their financial woes seemed to magically disappear and the company was operating in the black. 

“Let me guess, either computers or some type of electronics.  Chinese?”  He walked over to lean against the stonework surrounding the fireplace, and her gaze followed him, taking in the mulish set of his jaw, and the complete lack of emotion in his eyes. 

“Computer tablets manufactured and shipped from China.  Imported for distribution through one of our biggest national market sources.  Very lucrative.”

He laughed and it held an ugly, bitter ring.  “I seriously doubt those shipping crates were filled with a bunch of cheap computer parts or tablets.  I'd hypothesize they likely contained weapons.  Some might have contained illegal drugs, but weapons make more sense.  Higher profit margins and the packing crates are less likely to be searched by customs.  Plus, less chance of alerting the drug-sniffing dogs.” 

She nodded.  “That makes sense.”  Wrapping her arms around her middle, she leaned forward on the edge of the sofa.  “I can't stop thinking about what Webster said, about leaving something for me in Dallas.  What did he mean?” 

An odd expression raced across his face before he straightened and yanked his phone from his pocket.  After a few quick keystrokes, he held it to his ear.  “Yeah, it's me.  I need you to check on something.  Head over to Andrea Kirkland's apartment.  See if there's been any kind of disturbance.  Be careful, it may be a trap.  Call me back when you're done.” 

She eyed her phone, all the way across the room, still sitting on the gleaming granite countertop where they'd left it after listening to Webster's taunts. 

“I should probably call Lawrence, see if anything's happened at the office.”  At his nod, she sped across the space, and dialed her boss.  The phone rang and rang.  Nobody picked up on the other end.  She drew in a shuddering breath and tried his private cellphone number. 

No answer. 

Her eyes met Carpenter's and she shook her head.  “Let me try Tami, have her check his office.  After the break-in on Friday…”

She dialed her friend's number and calmly asked if she'd check her office and call her right back.   Time seemed to freeze, every motion, every second, like moving through cold molasses.  It reminded her of wading through mud, struggling to lift your foot for the next step. 

After what seemed like an eternity, though she knew it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes, her phone rang.  She hit the speaker, not wanting Carpenter to think she was hiding anything.

“Everything's fine with your office.  Mr. Mitchell isn't in his office either.  Everything looks perfectly normal.  Wanna tell me what this is all about?  What the hell is going on, Andrea?”  Tami's tone held a mixture of curiosity and worry. 

“There's no problem, Tami.  I talked to Mr. Mitchell earlier, and now when I need to reach him, I can't find him.  You know how he is.”

Tami chuckled.  “He's probably off snogging Beverlee and his phone is in his pants, which he's not wearing.”

Andrea chuckled, though to her ears is sounded forced.  “You're probably right.  I'll keep trying.  Let me know if you hear from him.  Thanks, Tami.” 

“No problem, girlfriend.  I was really surprised when you weren't at your desk this morning.  Anything I should know about?” 

“I'm…out of town for a few days.  Nothing earth shattering, just some personal business that cropped up.  I'll be back before you know it.”  She glanced over at Carpenter, saw his abrupt nod. 

“Great.  I want to try out that new place when you get back.  You know, the one that's a female version of Hooter's?  You up for oogling some half-naked men?” 

Warmth suffused her cheeks at her friend's suggestion.  Carpenter chuckled and the sound came from right beside her. 
When did he get so close?  I didn't even see him move.

“Oh, you've got a man there with you?  You've been holding out on me.  Is he hot?” 

Carpenter quirked his brow, watching her closely.  “Tami, you have no idea.  If you're lucky, I'll send you a picture.”  She laughed when her friend squealed.  “If you hear from Mr. Mitchell before I get hold of him, have him call me.  Thanks.” 

She hung up but before she could say another word, Carpenter's phone rang.  With an abruptness that bordered on rude, he spun away and answered in a monosyllabic grunt.

“Go.” 

Her eyes never strayed from him while she pondered the fact he hadn't bothered to put his phone on speaker.  Apparently what's good for the goose didn't apply to this particular gander.  She rolled her eyes.  Men!  Trust her to pick another jackass.

Carpenter's conversation was brief, with mostly one word replies on his part, and she didn't have a clue what the person on the other end conveyed.  His body suddenly stiffened, and she went on high alert.  Something was up.

“Let me know what the Dallas PD finds out.  Yeah, I know.  No way in hell this played out the way they've reported.  Talk to Wilson at the medical examiner's office.  He owes me a favor.  We need the info ASAP.”

He hung up and even before he turned to face her, she knew it was bad.  Mentioning the medical examiner could only mean one thing—Lawrence was dead.  She felt a ball of lead in the pit of her stomach, because while the man had been a pervert and his hands were dirty, he didn’t deserve to die.

“He's dead.”  The words were spoken without emotion.

Carpenter nodded.  “Dallas Police got an anonymous tip.  They found Mitchell's body inside your apartment.” 

She could tell he was holding back.  “Don't stop there.  I'm a big girl, I can handle it.  How'd he die?” 

“They found him in your bedroom.  Apparent suicide.”

She shook her head vehemently.  “No way.  Lawrence was a lot of things, but he was too selfish and immature to commit suicide.  He was murdered.”

“I agree.”  He walked over and grasped her hands in his, and she realized they trembled.  He rubbed them softly, offering a silent comfort which she desperately craved.  “They found a note at the scene.” 

She closed her eyes, picturing her bedroom.  The soft golden paint she'd spent hours searching for.  A pale gold and bronze bedspread offset by her whitewashed headboard.  The queen-sized bed had been an extravagant purchase, but she'd fallen in love with it, even though it took up way too much space in the small bedroom.  The tall highboy had the same whitewashed appearance.  She'd spent an entire weekend stripping the varnish and refinishing the piece to closely match the bed.  At the end of a crazy day, the soft colors soothed her mood, and it had become her own private retreat.  The bed held several oversized pillows where she'd curl up on many evenings with her books or her e-reader and lose herself in another world.

Now her home, her haven, had been besmirched by tragedy.  Violated by Webster's evil.  There wasn't a doubt in her mind, after her earlier call from Webster, he was behind Mitchell's death.  But there was more going on that met the eye.  Something Carpenter wasn't telling her.  She knew she'd have to pry deep to get him to spill the details.

“What did the note say?” 

“I don't know all the details yet, but—” 

She pulled her hands loose from his grasp and fisted them in his shirt.  “Don't lie to me.  A man is dead in my home.  In.  My.  Bedroom.  We both know Webster's behind this, especially after his taunting message.  Tell me everything, damn it.”

“Hell.  Sit down first.”  With his hand on the small of her back, he led her over to the sofa, and waited until she slowly eased down against the cushions.  He perched on the coffee table directly across from her, so close his knees brushed against hers.

“Sam, I'm not a delicate little flower or somebody you have to protect.  I'm a trained agent.  I've seen dead bodies before.  Don't sugar-coat it, just tell me what you know.” 

He sighed.  “It's not pretty.  The note stated he was in love with you.”

Her gasp echoed in the space.  “That's total bull.  Lawrence was too much of a player to love anybody.”

“We know that, but the police aren't privy to the same information we are.  The note said he couldn't live with the fact you'd turned him away one time too many, and he couldn't live without you.  According to my guys in Dallas, the handwriting appears to be a match to Mitchell's.  They're trying to get a copy to have it analyzed by an expert, but that'll take time—something we don't have a lot of right now.”

“What else aren't you telling me?”  She knew deep in her gut there was more.  The intensity of his stare, the rigidity of his posture, bore the truth of that fact.

He took a deep breath.  “In the letter it stated he was going to kill you and then kill himself.  The police think he came to your apartment to perform a murder suicide.”

An icy chill ran down her spine.  No, it wasn't possible.  Lawrence might have skirted the edge of morality in his sexual proclivities and stuck his hand elbow deep into the corporate cookie jar, but to kill somebody else—or even himself—she didn't buy it.  Not for one second. 

No, this little scenario had Richard Webster written all over it.  She'd chased the man for so long, she knew how his mind worked, but she hadn't anticipated him going this far.

She must have spoken her thoughts aloud, because Carpenter answered.

“Trust me, sweetheart, he's more than capable of killing somebody.  The bastard is ruthless to those who stand in his way, and he has no problem using somebody else as his scapegoat.  It's a specialty of his.”

Andrea watched his face while he talked.  She'd always been adept at reading people, and instinctually knew Webster had pulled that kind of scenario on Sam.  She started to reach for his hand but caught herself.  No, even after the intimacies they'd shared over the last few days, she couldn't let him get beneath her skin.  Because she knew he'd do everything to stop her from meting out justice for her fallen fiancée—and that she couldn't allow. 

“He did that to you, didn't he?  Used you for a scapegoat?” 

A mask fell in place over his face, all emotions locked down tight.  No, he wouldn't be sharing with her any time soon.  He probably regretted sharing as much as he had already.  The man seated before her had been wounded by Richard Webster as much as she'd been, yet he kept it bottled up inside, where she knew it ate away at him like acid, a venomous drip, drip, drip from the serpent's tooth.  If he wasn't careful, the poison would sink in so deep he'd never survive.

It was too late for her.  Webster had already poisoned her to the point of no return.  She'd known when she undertook the task of tracking him down there was only one outcome, one final solution to bring about justice for John and all the other people that had fallen beneath Webster's boot.

She'd kill him and if she survived to tell the tale, she'd end up in a Supermax, away from the prying eyes of the press, to spend the remainder of her life secluded in solitary confinement.  Looking at Sam, she renewed her vow to obliterate Richard Webster from the face of the earth.  He'd hurt too many of the people she loved—

Wait!  I love Sam?

She pondered the last few days, moments she'd seen beneath the mask he showed the world, beneath the wealthy façade of rank and privilege, to the dedicated man bent on righting a wrong.  A man determined yet caring.  Even though he'd used her as a means to an end, she still understood his motivations and forgave him, because she knew she'd have done the exact same if the situation was reversed.