Deadly Justice (4 page)

“It's the least I could do since I'm the one who caused your problems in the first place.”  He towered over her, and she wasn't tiny to begin with, being five feet six in her stocking feet, and with her four-inch heels on, she rocked five foot ten easy.  Yet he still had a good four or five inches on her, somehow making her feel dainty and feminine. 

“Are you sure you're okay?  I can get my doctor to check you out.”

“Really, I'm fine.”

A slow sexy grin spread across his face, his gray eyes twinkling.  “I've gotta agree, darlin', you are indeed fine.”

Excitement fizzed through her like an uncorked bottle of champagne.  Andrea felt the flare of heat wash across her cheeks at the compliment.  She felt like bouncing up and down, grinning like a loon.  Wow, he liked her.  She knew she was attractive enough.  Not drop dead gorgeous, but she had enough oomph to attract the opposite sex.  But Samuel Carpenter was looking at her like he wanted to devour her inch by inch and savor every bite.  A tiny shiver of excitement tickled along her spine. 

“Thank you.  I really do have to get back to work, Mr. Carpenter.  I've got a ton of things to finish before tomorrow.”

“What's going on tomorrow?”  He asked the question like he was really interested, so she told him about the fund raiser her company was sponsoring.

“That's right, I got an invitation.  I sent in a donation, though I wasn't planning to attend—until now.  You wouldn't mind if I showed up, would you, darlin?” 

“Um, of course not.  I'll make sure you're added to the guest list as attending.”  Reaching forward, she snatched up the clipboard with the RSVP list.  It gave her something to focus on besides his flirting.  At least, she
though
t he was flirting—it had been a while since she'd been on the receiving end.  Maybe she was getting her signals crossed and he was really just a concerned citizen helping out somebody who'd been in an accident.

Or worse, maybe he wanted to make sure she was flattered enough not to sue him for hitting her with his fancy sports car.  Not that she planned to, but the thought had her rethinking everything about the entire situation.  Her mood dimmed and she straightened her spine, refusing to let him see anything except the consummate professional.

“Yes, your name is on the list, Mr. Carpenter.  I'll have it changed to accepting.  Thank you again for walking me to the office, but as you can tell I have a thousand things to get done before tomorrow.”  She was proud of the fact her voice didn't quiver, gave away nothing of the hurt.  Besides, why should she let it get to her?  He was a total stranger, albeit a gorgeous one, but a stranger nonetheless. 

She could feel his stare, his gaze boring into her, but stood her ground.  He needed to leave before she did something foolish, like fling herself into his arms.  Naw, forget it, she had more willpower than that. 

“Well, if you're sure you're okay.  Here's my contact information.  If you start having any symptoms at all, get it taken care of and have the doctor bill me.”  With quick efficiency, he pulled a business card out of his wallet and started to hand it to her, but before she could take it he stopped, picked up a pen off her desk and jotted something on the reverse side. 

“My personal number is on the back.  If you need anything, any time, call me.”  He smiled but there was an edge to it now, the spark from earlier missing.  It was better this way, she told herself.  She didn't have time to get involved with anybody, especially someone like Samuel Carpenter.  His name had finally clicked and she knew where she'd heard it before.  He was one of the big guns in Dallas Fort-Worth.  Ran an exclusive security firm for big shots and celebrities, if she remembered right.  The circles he moved in didn't exist for nobodies from a small backwater hole in the wall like her.

“Thank you, Mr. Carpenter.  See you tomorrow night.” 

With a final glance, he left, and Andrea drew in a deep breath.  There was something intense about him, more than meets the eye.  The attraction she'd felt was instantaneous but she'd gone down that path before—never again. 

C
arpenter pulled the sports car into the multicar garage, and killed the engine, then climbed out.  He glanced down at the bumper, rubbed his hand against it.  There wasn't any damage.  Not that he cared, cars were easily replaced with a newer and better model.  Beautiful women like Andrea Kirkland weren't nearly as interchangeable.  He'd been careful to only tap her, not enough to do any serious damage, but enough to delay her while Gunner got the bugs set up in her office and on her computer.

Sometimes he hated his job, but somebody had to be the bad guy.  Might as well be him.  Richard Webster was a blight on society, but the FBI, DEA, and CIA hadn't been able to touch a hair on his head since he'd pulled his vanishing act.  Carpenter still bore the scars from that little debacle, both physical and emotional. 

Opening the door, he hit the light switch and disabled the alarm system, rearming the code to allow him access to his home.  Top of the line security, Carlisle had developed and implemented fail safes throughout his property, so high tech even the United States government didn't have access to this kind of technology. 

He'd learned his lesson a long time ago—money equals power—and he had a lot of both.  It all came down to how you used it.  He'd played by the rules, done his job, and nearly paid the ultimate price.  Webster's deceit and treachery and his own gullibility still galled him.  It fueled the fire which kept him trailing after the bastard when everybody else had pushed his case to the back burner. 

Stalking through the house, he didn't bother turning on any other lights, the single one from the kitchen illuminated things enough.   First thing he did was kick off his shoes, striding across the cool hardwoods in his stocking feet.  He hated the damn things anyway.  Playing the sophisticated gentleman, the moneyed elite, galled him.  While he enjoyed the finer things money provided, he wasn't gonna lie, he'd have been just as happy working with horses and cattle all day.  That was real, tangible.  At the end of the day you might smell like the manure pile, but at least it was honest. 

He couldn't get Andrea's face out of his mind.  He'd been right about her eyes.  They were green.  Not hard like an emerald, more like a warm piece of jade, smooth and translucent, without the biting edge of the harder stone.  Light sandy brown hair she'd had pulled back from her face with some kind of clip at her nape, it had tumbled loose during the accident, and fell in a shimmer of gold around her shoulders when the sunlight glinted on it. 

She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.  He'd dated dozens of women, each one stunning in their own right, but something about this little one fascinated him.  The thought she might be in cahoots with Webster had him ready to punch something—preferably Webster's cocky smirk.  The one he'd been wearing while Carpenter lay bleeding on the ground at his feet. 

He slipped his phone from his pocket and hit a series of numbers.  “Gunner, how'd it go?”

“Piece of cake, boss.  She's got a nice set up there.  Laptop's less than a year old.  She keeps everything on it and all the files are encrypted.  I duped the entire hard drive and gave it to geek-boy.  He'll let you know what he finds.”

“Good.  What about the boss's space?”

“Man's a pig,” Gunner chuckled.  “Desk is full of porno mags and a box of condoms, not even extra large.  Think he's doing the assistant?”

Carpenter's jaw tightened at the comment.  Yeah, he definitely needed something to punch tonight.  Maybe he'd head downstairs and take it out on the heavy bag. 

“I doubt it.  She didn't seem the type to be sleeping with the boss, but check it out anyway.  What else have you discovered about Ms. Kirkland?”  He bit the words out, knowing he needed to keep emotional distance but it was damned hard already.

“Well, you know the basics.  Age twenty-eight.  Single, engaged…”

“Stop.  She's engaged?”  He hadn't spotted a ring.

“Past tense.  She was engaged to a cop.  Couple of weeks before the big day, he got capped in a drug deal gone bad.  Moved to North Texas and stayed with a cousin while she found work.”

“Okay, so far that tracks.  Still haven't figured out how she's connected with Webster, other than the bank transfer.” 

Gunner sighed.  “I don't have any answers for that either.  Carlisle's working every database he can wiggle his little computer fingers into.  If there's a connection, he'll find it.”

“What about Mitchell?  How is he connected with Webster?”  Carpenter rubbed a hand across his face.  Damn, he was tired.  Sleep had been elusive the past few weeks, ever since he'd gotten back from Key West.  Helping out Carlo Marucci made the sleepless nights worthwhile, especially finding those two missing boys and returning them to their family.  Marucci had no way of knowing the nightmares that case might trigger.  Didn't matter anyway, it was just another case, and one better off buried and forgotten. 

“Other than being a stupid jackass, we haven't found anything.  He's a real piece of work though.  Married four times, recently divorced from wife number four.  Good thing the bastard's loaded, because he needs it for all the alimony payments.”

“Mitchell Industries brings in a ton of money, but have Carlisle double check the numbers.  If he's going through his assets as fast as he can spend it, he'd be ripe for somebody like Webster, easily corruptible.”

“Already on it.  Nate's checking into not only Mitchell, but the current flavor of the week.”  Gunner chuckled.  “You should see this one.  She makes Barbie look flat-chested.  I didn't know one body could handle that much silicone.”

Carpenter laughed.  Yeah, he was familiar with the type.  Sounded just like his second, or was it third, stepmother?  He'd lost count after number five. 

“Check with Jean-Luc if anything arises.  Oh, and have Stephanie dig out the invitation I got to the Kimbell museum event for tomorrow night.  I will be attending after all.”  Though he hated all the society crap, seeing Andrea again might obliterate some of the tedium that always accompanied it.  He didn't give a rat's ass who was there with whom, or getting his name into the paper.  Hell, if he sneezed some tabloid journalist would report he was dying of consumption.  Keeping a closer eye on the lovely Ms. Kirkland should make for an interesting evening.

“I'll call her now, boss.  We'll update you if anything pops.  In the meantime, get some rest.”  Gunner's voice trailed off, before he added, “That was some mighty fine driving today.  If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd have totally bought it was an accident.  Slick as a pin.”

“I do have some skills.”  Carpenter said before hanging up and heading for the basement level.  There was an entire set up for gym equipment that ran the entire length of the house, with higher than average ceilings to accommodate the equipment.  It was unusual to have a basement in Texas, but you can have anything if you're willing to shell out big bucks.  For a hefty donation to the building commission, they'd made an exception. 

He stripped off his shirt, and peeled off the socks, not bothering to change out of the dress slacks he wore.  Sliding on the fingerless padded gloves, he threw a right cross at the heavy bag, followed by a left hook.  Blow after blow landed, the force of each radiating up his arms.  Pain—but the good kind of pain followed by the adrenaline spike which kept him raining hit after hit until he finally dropped his arms in exhaustion.  Bent over, his breath soughed in and out of his lungs, and he gasped from the exertion.  His entire body was coated with a film of sweat, trails of it running down his shoulders and chest.  His hair lay in matted wet clumps, plastered against his scalp.

It wasn't still enough.  He straightened and walked to the weight bench, checked the amount on the bar.  Heavy, but not enough to worry about, he'd pressed a hell of a lot more.  Up and down the bar went, muscles straining against the massive metal disks.  His arms struggled to lift it one more time, letting it slide down against his chest, only to do it again.  And again.

With one final lift, he rocked the bar into its steel holder, and leaned back against the padded bench.  He closed his eyes and meditated on the sensations roaring through him.  His heartbeat raced, forcing the blood through his veins.  Lungs burned with every breath, and with deliberateness and forced concentration, he slowed each breath to his will, holding each inhale a few seconds longer than the previous before exhaling. 

Standing, he strode toward the custom shower he'd had built when he'd designed the house.  Bigger than three standard size shower stalls, the multiple heads and sprays pounded his body from every direction, easing away the aches from the workout.  He leaned against the glass tiles, letting the water sluice across his skin, and felt nothing. 

Going through the motions, he dried off and wrapped a towel around his hips.  Mounting the stairs, he prayed he'd worked his body hard enough so he could finally sleep, at least for a few hours.  If he was really lucky, maybe he'd dream about pretty little Andrea Kirkland.

T
he museum glowed with light, accentuating not just the artwork but also the artfully dressed guests mingling, eager to be showcased in all their finery,  Tasteful classical music wafted throughout, the string quartet in the corner performing the music which had been chosen with care and deliberation to highlight and enhance the mood.  The guest list contained enough hoity-toity names to impress even the most dedicated hostesses in the nation.  Mitchell Industries had thrown together an event to rival some of the biggest Dallas-Fort Worth offered annually, and of course the great man himself was a no-show. 

Andrea mingled amidst the guests, eyes constantly checking to make sure nothing was overlooked.  Wait staff dressed in crisp white shirts and black pants threaded their way among the elite, passing out hors d'oeuvres and champagne.  There was an open bar, staffed with both a male and female bartender, and drinks were flowing like water.