Deadly Justice (8 page)

“It was a shock,” Andrea murmured.  “Mr. Mitchell's out of town, so I don't have a clue what could have happened.” 

“Don't you worry, dear.  My boy will fix everything.”  The glare she shot him demanded he do exactly that. 

“You get those boys of ours working on this, Mr. Samuel.  Those fellas will figure it out in no time flat.” 

“They're already on it, Ms. Willie.” 

She nodded and went back to fussing around Andrea, refilling her teacup and putting another cookie on her plate. 

“You tell them I'll fix a big ole pot roast and all the trimmings when they figure out what happened.  And I'll whip up a German Chocolate cake too.” 

“Are you trying to bankrupt me?  Those guys eat like starving elephants.  The food budget for them alone is close to the national debt.”  It was their own private joke about feeding his men.  He'd grouse and she'd snicker and remind him she did all the cooking, he just needed to pay the bills.  The team gathered at his home often enough she knew each and every one of them and all their favorite foods.  She wasn't above gastronomic bribery when the occasion warranted. 

“Ms. Willie, thank you for the lovely tea.  It was exactly what I needed.”  Andrea spun around on the barstool and looked at him.  “I have to go to the police station and give my statement.”

“Not yet.  I'll take you there in a bit, once you've had time to process everything.”

“What's there to process?  The officers saw the condition of the office.  All that blood…wait, I need to call Mr. Mitchell.”  She hopped off the barstool and looked around the kitchen.  “Where's my purse?  And my laptop?”

“Locked in my car.  You can call your boss and the police later, after you've had a chance to rest.”

“I'm not an invalid, nor am I feeble-minded.  After Ms. Willie's wonderful tea,” she smiled at the other woman, “I'm as good as new.  And I'd rather get the whole thing over and done.  They may already know who destroyed Mr. Mitchell's office.”

“Ms. Willie, we'll be in my office.” 

With a hand at the small of her back, he steered her toward his inner sanctum.  Once there, he sat in one of the chairs alongside hers instead of behind his massive desk.  And, truthfully, he wanted to feel closer, a more intimate connection with the gorgeous woman.  He inhaled her light fragrance, and his groin tightened in response. 

What was it about this woman that made him feel as if he'd known her forever?  She was basically a stranger.  A suspect in his never-ending game of cat and mouse with Richard Webster, yet he couldn't deny the pull he felt.  An underlying attraction that went beyond just her looks.  Damn, he needed to get hold of himself, and focus on what was important, getting information about the man he'd been chasing for years, and the beauty seated across from him was the key. 

“How are you doing?” 

She glanced up at his words, her warm jade eyes meeting his.  “I don't know.  I can't seem to piece everything together.  Walking into Mr. Mitchell's office and finding…”

He leaned forward and clasped one of her hands, noting immediately how cold it felt.  “We'll figure it out.  I'm going to call one of my contacts with the Dallas Police Department, and find out if they have any information.  Then we'll have somebody come out here and talk to you.  There's no reason they can't take your statement here instead of making you go downtown.  How's that?” 

She nodded.  “Thank you.  I'm not sure what I'd have done if you hadn't shown up.” 

He was damned glad he'd followed his gut and gone to see her first thing.  Not that he'd tell her why he'd really been there.  After he'd planted the tracking device in her shoe the night before, Carlisle had given him another one to put in her purse.  She wouldn't be wearing the same heels she'd worn to the benefit, and they needed a better way to keep tabs on the lovely but elusive Ms. Kirkland.

He'd never expected to wander into the scene out of a horror movie when he'd walked through the doors of Mitchell's office.  No, he'd planned on stopping in and seeing if she'd be amenable to going out for coffee, giving Nate time to do a more thorough search than he'd been able to perform the prior day. 

But he was good at thinking on his feet, and the opportunity to get closer to Andrea, especially while she was off kilter after the morning's scare, was too good an opportunity to let slip through his fingers.

“I've never seen anything like that, you know?  Heck, I don't even like to watch horror movies, and to see something like that up close and personal?”  She shuddered.  Carpenter kept his gaze riveted on her face.  Was she lying?  Though she seemed like an open book, friendly and pleasant, he didn't trust his instincts when it came to her.  They might be skewed, because he was so damned attracted to her. 

“It's not something you see every day.  I'm sure the police will get it all sorted out.  Why don't I make that call?” 

He rose and walked around to the other side of the desk, sitting down quickly to hide the evidence of his body's reaction to her closeness.  Cursing at himself silently, he dialed the phone, calling one of his contacts at the DPD and made arrangements for a detective to interview Andrea that afternoon, here at his home.  He watched her wide-eyed stare, and knew the reality of the morning's events was setting in. 

The shock and gruesomeness of the unprovoked attack appalled Carpenter, but deep in his gut he knew it was a message from Webster.  Somehow, either knowingly or unknowingly, Lawrence Mitchell did something to piss off Richard Webster, and the trashing of his office spelled out what would happen if he crossed him again.  Too bad Andrea got the message first. 

Where the hell was Lawrence Mitchell?  He knew from talking to Andrea the previous night that he'd been a no-show for the fundraising benefit at the museum.  Was his absence really a matter of him skipping out for a long weekend with his bimbo of the month, or was there something more sinister afoot?  Hopefully, he'd have answers soon, since his whole team was working on this morning's developments. 

“My friend at the Dallas Police Department is going to stop by this afternoon to take your statement.  In the meantime, why don't you head upstairs and try and get some rest?  It's been an eventful morning.” 

“That's probably a good idea.  Thank you.”  She stood and leaned across the desk to touch his hand and a warmth spread in his chest.  “I mean it.  I'm not sure what I'd have done if you hadn't shown up when you did.” 

He slowly eased his hand free.  “You'd have handled things.  You're a strong woman, and I have no doubt you'd have been up to the challenge.  Now, let me show you to the guest room, and let you get some rest, until the DPD gets here.” 

He walked around the desk and motioned to the door, following behind her.  Within minutes, he'd gotten her settled into the upstairs guest room and headed back down to his office, his mind going over all the morning's strange findings.

No matter what the police found, he knew Webster was behind this.  A trashed office, Mitchell missing, and Andrea being scared out of her mind.  It was just the sick, twisted kind of game he loved to play.  He was a master manipulator, and didn't have any problem working behind the scenes, though he doubted he'd done the dirty work himself.  No, he used gullible fools, like he'd been three years ago, to be his scapegoats. 

Still, he wondered how much Andrea really knew about Webster.  Was she an innocent in all this, or was there more going on with the Southern beauty than just administrative work. 

With a sigh he picked up the phone.  He needed to stay unbiased, and treat her like a suspect until his team cleared her.  Heaven help her if she was working with Richard Webster.  Because as much as he wanted her, he wouldn't be stopped.  Not by her.  Not by anything.  Webster's reign of drug running and weapons would end and he'd be the one who'd bring about his destruction.

Even if it meant destroying Andrea Kirkland in the process. 

D
arkness still enveloped the skyline when his phone rang.  “Carpenter.” 

“Hey, boss.  Got the preliminary results from the blood at Mitchell's office.  Get this, it ain't human.  According to the police lab, it's pig blood.”  Jean-Luc's Cajun accent was prominent, a deep low growl over the phone. 

“You're kidding, right?” 

“Nope.  Other than your girl's, no other fingerprints either.  Not even Mitchell's prints were found.  Somebody was real careful to clean all the surfaces after tearing the place apart.”

Interesting
.  Why wipe everything down unless you've got something to hide—like maybe the perp had a record and his prints could be traced? 

“You'd expect her prints to be there.  She works there.  Besides, she touched stuff before I got there.  Not finding Mitchell's prints, though, that's too neat.”

“Crime unit did their sweep, checked for fibers and DNA, but so far
nada.
” 

Carpenter silently contemplated the implications of targeting Mitchell.  Could he be involved deeper with Webster than he'd first considered?  The only person who might have a clue to the puzzle was Andrea.

“Keep me posted.  Have Carlisle hack into the DPD's database, see if they've got any suspicions.”

“He's already on it.  We've printed out the report from the two uni's who initially worked the scene.  Want me to e-mail it?”  As always, Jean-Luc remained efficient and on point.  Military precision and tactical skills were traits he'd honed to a knife's edge while in the navy.  Navy SEALs tended to be meticulous, which fit Jean-Luc's personality to a tee. 

“Thanks.  I think I'll have a little chat with Ms. Kirkland, see if I can get a handle on why somebody might be targeting Mitchell.”  With that he hung up, and steepled his fingers, his elbows resting on the desk.  Andrea was upstairs, hopefully still asleep.  They'd spent most of the previous afternoon and into the evening dealing with the Dallas police, answering questions about Lawrence Mitchell.  They still didn't have any more information regarding the break-in, but said they'd keep Andrea posted. 

He'd convinced her to stay, spend the night, so she wasn't alone.  It didn't hurt that he wanted to keep an eye on her. 

Dawn's light was just breaking, but he rarely slept more than a couple of hours a night.  Early rising was no big deal, but he'd have to wait a bit before questioning her.

He remembered vividly the look on her face when she'd seen the blood.  Shock, fear, and resignation.  Almost like she anticipated or expected something bad to befall her boss.  Maybe Lawrence Mitchell's hands weren't squeaky clean after all.  Nobody was lily white—not even his beautiful guest.

Walking to the kitchen, he poured a cup of coffee.  Ms. Willie always left the coffee maker set so it'd be ready when he came down.  She knew him so well, anticipated his likes and dislikes on an almost psychic level.  Not surprising, since she'd known him practically from the cradle.  He sipped the black coffee, staring out the window toward the back patio.

Ms. Willie's clever handiwork and flamboyant touches were evident in the design of the kitchen area, and she'd insisted on having a view of the patio and pool deck, including a side entrance from the kitchen to outside.  Said she needed access to his guests, to meet their needs.  Right, like he had guests.  The guys on the team, those men who worked closely with him, routinely showed up uninvited.  Though, thinking about it, they seemed to be here more often than not recently.  Usually around mealtime.

When did I lose control of my own damned house? 

A sound behind him caused him to spin around, body tense.  Andrea stood in the doorway, disheveled and wearing his robe, looking all warm and cozy and decidedly luscious.  Lust roiled through him like a tidal wave, hitting him with enough force to stagger him emotionally.  Damn it, he couldn't afford to get involved with anybody.  Not until Richard Webster paid for his betrayal. 

“Good morning, Andrea.  I hope you got a good night's sleep.”  He looked at her, noting the dark smudges beneath her eyes.  Her skin was milky pale, though soft and screaming for his touch, and he curled his fingers to keep from reaching out.

“Yes, thanks.  The room was lovely.”  She nodded to his cup.  “Can I get some of that?  I really don't function well without at least two gallons of caffeine in the mornings.”  She gave a tentative smile and he reached into the cabinet and grabbed another mug, not one of those prissy cups Ms. Willie liked to use for company. 

“Thanks.” 

“Creamer's in the refrigerator and sugar's right there.”  He pointed to the bowl beside the coffee maker.”

“No, thanks.  Black's fine.”  She took a sip and closed her eyes. The expression on her face made his gut clench and heat surged through him.  He wanted to see that expression when she was laid out in his bed as they made love.  Watch the bliss turn to ecstasy.

“Think I can go home today?”  Her voice pulled him back to the present. 

“We'll see,” he answered, though he had no intention of letting her return to that tiny apartment.  Nate and Gunner had checked it out the night before and reported back to him.  They'd found nothing, but said the place wasn't in the best neighborhood, and the locks were a joke.  No security system at all.  The only saving grace was it was on the fifth floor, not easily accessible from outside, but there wasn't even a lobby or security guard.  Anybody could get inside easily enough without breaking a sweat.

“Samuel, I appreciate everything you're doing, but I can't stay here.”

“Why not?  It's the weekend.  You don't have to go to work until Monday.  I'd like for you to stay.  Spend some time getting to know you.  Besides, we didn’t get to have that dinner yet.”  He smiled, trying to ease the tension he read in her body language, the slight stiffening of her spine when he'd denied her request.  He needed to tread a fine line here—she didn't trust him, not really.  Why should she?  He'd literally run her down with his car forty-eight hours previously, and then walked in on her during that horrendous bloody scene at work. 

“I'd like to, but…”

“No buts.  Besides, Ms. Willie said she's making her world famous pot roast for supper.  Trust me, grown men have wept upon tasting it.”