Deadly Justice (9 page)

She hesitated and he tried to think of something, anything else to tempt her into staying.  Getting her to relax was the key to probing her about Webster.  Before he could open his mouth, Ms. Willie strode into the kitchen, queen of her domain.

“Well, good morning to you both.  Ms. Andrea, I hope you slept well.”  She bustled over to the sink and washed her hands, before turning to Carpenter.  “Any preference this morning?” 

He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against her cheek.  “I think we should let Andrea pick.  What would you like for breakfast?”  He winked at her and leaned back against the marble countertop. 

Good.  Let Ms. Willie work her magic and charm the skittish little miss into staying.  Nobody turns down Ms. Willie when she decides they need fattening up, and it looks like my housekeeper has taken a shine to pretty Andrea Kirkland
.

His housekeeper turned her warm gaze on Andrea.  “That's a wonderful idea, Mr. Samuel.  What will it be, my dear?  Pancakes, omelets?  Whatever you'd like, I can fix it quick as a flash.” 

Andrea looked at him, panicked.  He shrugged and took another swig of his coffee
.  Let's see her get out of this.  Nobody says no to Ms. Willie.

“Thanks, but I really have to get back home.  I won't have time…”

“Nonsense, dear.  You go out onto the patio, through those doors, and enjoy your coffee.  I'll have breakfast ready before you know it.  I won't allow anybody to leave this house on an empty stomach.”  She flapped her hands in a shooing motion, and Andrea rolled her eyes at him but gave in gracefully. 

She pulled the robe tighter, and cinched the belt, which caused his eyes to drift over her.  She really had a lovely shape, one he wouldn't mind exploring at his leisure.  Full and lush, his hands itched to cup her firm breasts, knowing they'd overflow his palms.  Unfortunately, there wasn't time for that, not now.  His one and only priority, his focus, had to be finding Webster.

He followed her onto the deck overlooking the swimming pool.  Designed by the finest pool maker in the country, it resembled a tropical oasis plopped down smack dab in the heart of North Dallas.  This was his respite when he needed a break.  When everything went to hell, this was where he came. 

Easily the size of an Olympic pool, it was designed to look like a grotto with natural stone façades encircling both ends, water pouring into the secluded hot tub at one end resembling a waterfall.  Exotic foliage gave the illusion he was in another place, far away from the hustle and bustle of his businesses when he couldn't spare the time to actually visit his private tropical getaways.

“This is stunning.  I've never seen anything like it.”  Andrea bent and dipped her fingers into the sparkling water, causing ripples to expand outward from her fingertips.  “It's warm.”

“It's heated year round.  One of the perks of living here, I'm able to swim whenever I want.”  He looked out at the expanse of lush greenery and flowering plants trying to see it through her eyes.  Did she see it as the home he'd tried to make it into, or as a flashy excess of cash wasted on an ostentatious display of wealth? 

“Would you like to go for a swim?” 

She shook her head, and he read the regret in her eyes.  “I don't think so, but thanks.  I don't have a suit.”

He grinned, he couldn't help himself.  “Don't let that stop you.  I promise not to peek.”

Her laugh was like music, with a soft lyrical lilt.  “Why don't I believe that?”

“Maybe because I wouldn't be able to help myself?”  They both laughed, and he heard the sliding door behind him.  “I think breakfast is ready.”

With a hand on the small of her back, he led her to the dark teak furniture covered with vibrant red, orange, and yellow print cushions.  He loved the splashes of color his decorator included with the deeper tones of the wood.   A long low table sat in front of a love seat and several chairs.  A bright red canvas sail overhead kept the heat of the day off the seating area, and provided a modicum of privacy, though out here it wasn't needed.  His estate was well guarded and alarmed to keep away prying eyes.

Ms. Willie placed a tray on the table with two plates heaped with food.  Omelets with mushrooms and cheese, thick slices of perfectly crisped bacon and the homemade rye bread she knew he loved, toasted to perfection.  Butter and fresh strawberry preserves completed the breakfast feast.

“Now you eat every bite.  You need anything else, just holler.”  With that, she walked back into the kitchen, closing the sliding door behind her. 

“You heard the lady, let's eat.”  He handed her silverware wrapped in a linen napkin before passing her a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.  His housekeeper slash chef slash pretty-darn-much-everything person didn't do prepackaged, not if she had the choice. 

A quick glance at the window showed her peering outside, and she gave a little wave when she saw him watching her.  He gave her a quick nod, and dug into the food. 

“This is amazing.  How'd she manage all this so quickly?”

“I never question her.  I think she uses magic.”  He grabbed a piece of toast and slathered it with the strawberry goodness, before taking a huge bite.  Damn, but the woman knew her way around his sweet tooth. 

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, but he knew it wouldn't last.  He needed to ask her some difficult questions, which could destroy the small amount of trust he'd worked so hard to develop.

“Andrea, have you ever heard of a man called Jacob Simmons?”  His was the name listed on the dummy corporation Webster used for the money transfer.  It had taken Carlisle a hell of a lot of digging to even uncover that much. 

“The name's not familiar, why?” 

“How about Simco Incorporated?”  He watched her face carefully, praying he didn't see a lie there.

Her brow wrinkled in concentration.  “Simco?  Mr. Mitchell's been dealing with them for the last couple of months.  Something to do with telecommunications, I believe.” 

Yeah, that fit.  Simco purportedly dealt with wireless communications and the infrastructure necessary to provide hot spots and Wi-Fi compatibility.  He doubted Webster was the actual brains producing the technology, but he'd definitely be the puppet master pulling all the strings behind the scenes.  Yeah, he could see him doing that.  Plus, it was a safe bet he laundered his dirty drug money and arms purchases through a small legitimate company like Simco.

“Has Mitchell invested with them?”

Andrea laid down her fork and faced him.  “Okay, what's going on?  First I have to deal with the bloody scene in my boss's office.  Then I had to give the police a statement.  Now you're full of questions.  I'm not an idiot, there's more going on here than anybody's telling me.  Why this sudden interest in Mitchell Industries?”

Carpenter knew the risk he'd be taking if he trusted her with the facts of his investigation.  Either she was an innocent who'd been sucked into a world she knew nothing about and was neck deep in alligators, or she was knowingly working with Mitchell and Richard Webster.  He wanted to trust her.  His gut said she was a pawn in a much bigger scheme, but he'd trusted Webster and that turned out to be the biggest mistake of his life. 

“You know my name is Samuel Carpenter.  I own a private security company that specializes in high profile cases.  Carpenter Security Specialists.”

Andrea sat silent absorbing his words, while he debated exactly how much to reveal.  Truth was, he'd never told anybody everything Webster'd done, not even the DEA or the FBI.  Hell, the CIA had wanted him to undergo hypnosis and certain pharmaceutical and questionably illegal measures to cough up everything he knew about Richard Webster.  He'd refused, but questions still persisted.  Maybe he could tell Andrea enough to get her to open up, but there was no way he'd spill everything that bastard had put him through.  Never.

“Simco is a company that came up during an ongoing investigation.  It would help if you could tell me anything you know about them.” 

She stood and tossed her napkin down on top of her plate.  “Anything you want to know, you'll have to ask Mr. Mitchell.”  From the stubborn look on her face, he wasn't going to be getting any answers, at least not voluntarily.

“Mitchell isn't here and we don't have any idea where he is.  You are, and we need answers now.” 

“Too bad.  I can't help you.”  She started for the house, and he caught her arm, spinning her around.

“Can't or won't?” 

She jerked her arm free from his hold.  “Take your pick.  Either way I'm leaving.” 

He really wished it hadn't come to this.  Seduction had seemed so much simpler.  Going this route would bring him nothing but a headache and the knowledge she'd never forgive him. 

“Sweetheart, you're not going anywhere.”  Grabbing her arm again, he frogmarched her back into the house, past a surprised Ms. Willie, and into his study, slamming the door behind him for good measure. 

“Sit.”

She froze at his command.  “I am not your dog.  You can't order me around.”

“The hell I can't.”  Lifting her, he tossed her into the overstuffed chair facing his desk.  When she struggled to stand, he barked, “Try it and I'll spank your ass.”

She stilled at his words, staring up at him, a tinge of fear present in her eyes, along with a huge dollop of anger.   Feeling a tad angry himself, he hit speed dial one on the phone sitting on his desk, then hit the speaker button.

“Hey, boss.”  Gunner's cheerful voice answered.  “How are things going with the beautiful Ms. Kirkland?” 

“Shot all to hell.”  Carpenter watched Andrea carefully, noted the way her eyes widened at Gunner calling her beautiful.  “Call the team together and get over here pronto.  We've got a big problem.”

A
ndrea couldn't believe Carpenter was keeping her a prisoner in his home.  What the hell was he thinking?  Then again, it was her own fault for trusting him in the first place.  Talk about stupidity.  For heaven's sake, the man hit her with his car!   Her eyes narrowed while she contemplated everything that had happened since.

“Did you run me down with your car on purpose?” 

He ran his hand through his blond hair, before pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb.  “Yes.  I knew what I was doing, and there was never any chance of you being hurt.”

“You hit me with a car!  That's just—nuts.”

“I needed a way to get close to you.  Damn it, you have no idea what you're involved in, but I'm starting to think this goes much deeper than anybody suspected.” 

The door to his office opened and two men strolled in.  He introduced them as Gunner and Carlisle.  Carlisle's laptop bag was strapped across his chest, a protective hand laid across it, like a papoose swaddled in blankets. 

“Nate's on his way.”  The bigger man, Gunner, remarked.  “Jean-Luc's working an angle, said if he can't make it, he'll call you for an update.” 

Who are all these people?
  Tall with dark hair, the man he'd called Gunner looked like a walking mountain of testosterone and steroids.  At least six foot three, his dark brown hair reached past his shoulders, tied back with a leather thong.  Chocolate brown eyes had crinkly lines at the corners, what her mamma called laugh lines.   Definitely the type who had his clothes hand tailored, because his muscles looked like they had muscles.  He glanced her way and winked, and she rolled her eyes.  With a laugh he plopped down in the chair next to hers.

“Good morning, gorgeous.  I'm Gunner.” 

“Am I supposed to be impressed?  I take it you work for this jackass?” 

Gunner laughed so hard he clutched his middle.  “Ah, man, boss, she's got your number.” 

“Shut up.  Carlisle, anything new?” 

The second man who'd come in with Gunner had ignored the interplay going on, instead setting up his laptop on the huge maple desk.  His fingers were literally flying across the keys.  She didn't think she'd ever seen anybody type that fast in her life.

“The funds were transferred out of Simco's account two hours ago.  Following the convoluted trail led to about fifteen other dummy corporations.  Last one is…Bennett International.” 

Her indrawn breath caused all three men to look at her.

Dang it, she really needed to get better about hiding her emotions.  But, Bennett International?  What had her big brother gotten himself involved with?

“I take it you've heard of them, sweetheart?”

She smiled, a brief turning up of her lips.  “Bite me.”

She watched a dangerous gleam brighten his eyes before he answered.  “I intend to.  Answer the question.  What do you know about Bennett International?”

Leaning back in her chair, she looked at her nails, stalling.  Just how deep did this mess go?  First Mitchell and now her brother.  Whoever or whatever was going on, she needed to talk to Zach.

“May I use your phone?” 

Indecision plain across his face, he finally relented and pushed the phone across the top of his desk.  “I'd prefer it if you'd put it on speaker, but it's your choice.  I will still get the answers I need.”

She rolled her eyes and hit the speaker button before dialing her brother's private line.  He picked up on the first ring.

“Who the hell is this and how'd you get my number?”  The deep baritone voice sounded distinctly unfriendly, and she wanted to chuckle aloud at the frown on Carpenter's face.  He was acting all protective caveman, his stance rigid and inflexible.  Gunner sat forward in his chair, his gaze equally intent.

“Zach?”

“Andi?  Where the hell are you?”  Her brother's tone immediately changed to one filled with warmth and concern.  “I heard about what happened at Mitchell's office.  I've been trying to reach you, but the calls keep going to voicemail.  Tell me where you are and I'll come get you.”

“I'm fine, Zach.  But I've got questions, and you sure as hell better have some answers.”   Carpenter leaned back against the wall of bookshelves, lined with more books than she'd seen outside her own to-be-read stacks in her tiny apartment.  And don't get her started on what she had downloaded on her e-reader.  He tried appearing so nonchalant but it wasn't hard to see through his act, since he watched her closely, a speculative gleam in his eyes.  He seemed to like the feistier tone she used with her brother.