Whatever It Takes (26 page)

“What happened to the five employees?” Kathleen asked.

“Good question. I don’t know. The shit fell all at the same time. Mathias’s death, Adam’s monumental screw-up.” He shot Kennedy a pained look. “I can’t believe you’re here helping me, after all that the Slaters did.”

“Eli, stop it,” Kennedy said. “We all know who was responsible. Blaming yourself is ridiculous. If it wasn’t for you, I never would have found justice for Thomas and our baby.”

Eli acknowledged her words with a grateful look. What his family had done to Kennedy and to Nick was unforgivable. Thank God they didn’t see it that way.

“Anyway, it was days before I started digging. By that time, the five were in the wind. I know they existed, but their names were as fake as the shell companies they oversaw.”

“So that’s five people, possibly more, who could have a grudge,” Nick said.

“Yes.” He threw out a grim smile. “I thought I’d start with the bad news first. These are five unknowns who could show up on my doorstep and I’d have no idea who they are.”

Walking to the next board, he said, “These are the companies my father swindled and betrayed. Beneath each one, I’ve listed the major shareholders. I’ve done my damnedest to mitigate the damage done, going so far as to reimburse them for all their losses.”

Nick whistled. “That must’ve cost millions.”

Eli nodded. “And then some.” He looked back at the board. “I’m sure there are many who are still angry. Not because of money, but maybe embarrassment.”

“That’s going to be the biggest problem, isn’t it?” Kennedy said.

“What do you mean?”

“The human factor. You can detail the money…there’s a trail to follow. But all those hidden feelings. People holding grudges rarely out themselves.”

“You’re right,” Kathleen said. “Getting revenge isn’t always about money.”

Eli’s gaze swept around the room, taking in all the names of the people Mathias had screwed. Kennedy and Kathleen were right about the human factor. Hatred or the need for revenge wouldn’t show up on a ledger. But within this morass of names had to be the man or woman they were looking for. And if not? 

Refusing to even consider such a thing, he trudged on.

By the time Eli finished and called a break, his throat was hoarse and his head felt as though a mariachi band and a rock band were competing with each other inside it. A year of repairing the damage that had taken his father decades to create had been a monumental undertaking. But explaining this mess was harder, at least emotionally. Kathleen saw what he’d come from. Hell, was it any wonder she was so hesitant to have a relationship with him?

Slumping into a chair, he rubbed his forehead and wished he had the energy to get up and take one of those damn pills the doctor had prescribed. He’d left them in his bedroom, determined to get through the day without needing them. Being such a stubborn ass could be a real pain. 

As soon as he’d called a break, Kathleen had slipped out of the room. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get away. Having lived with this shit for so long, he thought he’d become inured to the impact. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

Both Kennedy and Nick had gone out, too, but he somehow felt less embarrassed for revealing all of this to them. They had lived and survived Mathias’s and Adam’s evil schemes. Neither of them could be surprised. But Kathleen was a different deal altogether. She had to be sickened by it all.

The door opened and closed, and Eli lifted his head. Kathleen stood in front of him, holding a glass of water and one of the pain pills. 

“Take this before your head explodes.”

Without looking at her face, he accepted the water and pill, swallowed both, and said, “Thanks.”

Expecting her to leave again, he was surprised when she sat beside him. “Eli, look at me.”

When he did, he wasn’t surprised by the anger in her eyes. No decent person could help but be disgusted by what his family had gotten away with for all these years.

“I’m so very sorry.”

Jerking at the apology, he asked, “For what?”

“For what you had to do, what you had to endure.”

“Hell, Kathleen. Most people would figure I haven’t done enough.”

“No, they wouldn’t. Not if they saw what I’ve seen. And not if they know you. Even Kennedy and Nick, who by rights should hate the Slater name, like and respect you. I’m proud to call you my friend.”

The tension in his entire body loosened. There was nothing she could have said that meant more. “Thank you for that.”

“Kennedy and Nick are taking a walk outside before lunch.” She glanced over at the sofa in the corner. “I’m going to lower the lights so you can lie down for a few minutes. Give that pill a chance to take the edge off your headache.”

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Kathleen was a nurturer. She tried to act tough and unaffected, but the longer he knew her, the more her true nature was coming out. Wondering just how far he could push that nature, he said, “Come with me?”

Surprise flickered on her face, but she stood and held out her hand. On the way to the sofa, she stopped and dimmed the lights, then sat down. “Use my lap for a pillow.”

Eli stretched out on the sofa and settled his head into her lap. The light was too low for him to see her expression clearly, but he saw the outline of her face and what looked like the curve of a soft smile on her lips. And just before he fell into sleep, he felt her fingertips brush gently, tenderly over his face.

Chapter Thirty-two

Boise, Idaho

The bar with its dim lighting and nineties decor was just seedy enough for her purposes. Most people who came to places like this were here for two things: getting drunk or finding a one-night stand. It was the perfect place for her and the lowlife sitting across from her.

Joseph Braden gave a loud belch, grinned an apology, and said, “Did I mention you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Willing herself not to throw up at the rank smell of her target’s breath, she gave him a sultry “let’s do bad things together” smile. Only a few more minutes and she’d have him exactly where she wanted.

A cocktail waitress appeared at their table. “Can I get you another drink?”

Before he could refuse—she wanted him good and drunk—she smiled her thanks. “Yes, two more, please.”

“You’re trying to get me drunk.”

The statement startled her, until she saw the wicked pleasure in his glazed eyes. Apparently, he didn’t care if she had to pour him into his hotel room or that he wouldn’t remember a thing tomorrow. Not that the remembering part mattered, since he wouldn’t be alive.

“Not drunk.” With a smooth, sexy move, she flipped her long black hair over a slender shoulder. “I just love to party, don’t you?”

His eyes followed the movements of her hair, just as she’d planned, and then he gave her a goofy grin. “I live to party, darlin’.”

No, he didn’t, but not from lack of trying. She knew her mark well. A traveling salesman for a small computer company, Joseph Braden was only slightly less disgusting than his sleazy brother, Frank, had been. When he was out of town on business, he tried—and failed—to be a ladies’ man. More often than not, he spent lonely nights in his hotel room watching porn and being harmless. Which was not what he was when he was home.

Depriving a wife of her husband or children of their father wasn’t a concern for her. She had a job to do. However, she had to admit that this kill was a little more satisfying than most. Braden’s wife had visited the emergency room four times in the past year. Clumsy woman apparently kept falling down and breaking bones. Their two kids, a twelve-year-old boy and an eight-year-old girl, had had two ER visits apiece in the past twelve months. Clumsiness and broken bones seemed to run in the family.

Killing an abusive bastard wasn’t any more difficult than killing a saint. However, it did add an additional element of satisfaction. 

Fresh drinks appeared before them, and she drank hers in three swallows. A high tolerance for alcohol was an asset in many ways, not least when challenging a low-life misogynist. Joseph Braden would not allow anyone, most especially a woman, to out-drink him.

As she watched him throw his whiskey back like a wannabe cowboy in a bad Western movie, she wished his death could be more brutal. That was unusual for her. Killing was a job she did well, but rarely did she want to prolong the actual event. But this man with his big fists and cruel twist to his mouth just made her want to give him some of what he’d been giving his family. 

At that thought, she pulled herself out of her head. There were three basic rules an assassin learns early. Do the job. Get the money. Move on to the next target. 

Forget those rules and get dead.

Knowing he was near his limit, she moved in for the figurative kill. Making sure her assets were on display, she leaned forward. “What do you say we make this party a private one?”

His glazed eyes took on an even sleazier glitter. “I got a motel room bout a block from here.”

Oh she knew all about the motel room. In fact, she had already made a visit there in preparation.

“I’ve got a bottle of bourbon in my bag, along with a box of condoms.” Just in case he didn’t get the message, she leaned over even farther, so her breasts were directly in his face, and whispered, “I want it rough and wild. You up for it, cowboy?”

“Oh yeah, baby,” he groaned. “I’m ready for a hard ride.”

Glad to hear it, she stood and held out her hand. “Let’s go.”

He got to his feet, teetering slightly, and then straightened up the way people do when they’re stupidly drunk but want to pretend otherwise. As she wanted him stupidly drunk, she smiled widely.

Since he was too far gone to remember to pay the check, she threw down enough for their drinks, plus an appropriate tip. Having anyone remember them wasn’t in her plan. They were just two drunk, horny people. No different than ninety percent of the patrons in this dump.

With her arm wrapped around him, they weaved toward the door. She was glad she was in such good shape since the creep was practically making her carry him. Maybe that last drink had been one too many.

Refusing to contemplate that she’d have to do this all over again if he passed out on the street, she moved as rapidly out the door and down the block as she could.

Five minutes later, she took the key from his hand, unlocked the door to the motel room, and pushed him inside. He turned around, belched loudly, and gave her a drunken leer. “Get naked.”

“Let’s get something to drink first.”

She took the bottle from her purse, set it on the dresser, and poured two generous glasses. Turning back around, she handed him one and chugged down her own glass. Watching carefully to make sure he downed his as well, she turned back and poured another.

He belched again, then shook his head. “Don’t want no more. I drink anymore, gonna puke. Get naked.” He reached out for her. “Now.”

She laughed and skirted his grasp. “Come take a bubble bath with me.”

He wasn’t so drunk that he misinterpreted her delay tactic. Beady eyes going mean, he snarled, “Get naked, or I’ll rip your clothes off.”

As threats went, it was as lame as any she’d ever heard. Still, one did what the job demanded.

With one swift movement, she pulled her dress over her head and knew exactly what he would see—perfection. Dressed in a cherry-red demi bra that barely covered her nipples, a dental-floss thong, and four-inch stilettos, she was every man’s fantasy. Her body, created by nature, perfected by man, was second to none.

“Take your clothes off, too, and then come find me, baby,” she whispered softly and walked into the bathroom.

Having prepared the bath earlier, she only had to get him into it. She touched the water, grimacing at the coldness. Wouldn’t do for him to jump out the minute he hit the water. She let out a little of the water, then ran more hot.

Not hearing any noises telling her he was coming inside, she opened the door and then growled softly. Slumped into a chair, his chin resting against his chest, her mark was snoring like a giant hog.

Her gaze dropped to the chair legs, and she smiled when she noted the rollers. Actually, this would work better. She hadn’t been looking forward to fighting him. Bruises on him would invite questions she didn’t want. 

Going to the chair, she stood behind it and wheeled the unconscious man into the bathroom.

Her hands quick and efficient, she quietly undressed him. His pants were a challenge with him sitting, but he was so out of it, he never woke as she tilted his hips and pulled his pants off.

Now completely nude and sawing logs like a lumberjack, the man didn’t appear to feel a thing when she pushed the chair all the way to the tub and upended him into the water. He hit his head on the edge on the way in, and she laughed softly. Really, this one had been one of her most cooperative marks in years.

Righting his body, she pressed his head beneath the water and held it down. Whether he was so drunk he couldn’t wake up or the hit on his head had knocked him out, she didn’t know. Whatever the reason, he didn’t fight. When he’d been under a good five minutes, she pulled him up slightly. Checked for a pulse. Nothing.

She stood, watched as his head submerged again. Returning to the bedroom, she took the bottle of whiskey and brought it back to the dead man in the tub. She set the bottle beside the tub and then stepped back to take in the scene. Yes, exactly as she’d wanted it to look.

Taking five minutes or so to wash the glass she’d used and wipe down the rooms for her fingerprints was an irritant but had to be done. Her prints weren’t on file anywhere, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Satisfied that she’d erased all evidence that Joseph Braden had been entertaining company when he’d drowned in his bathtub with a belly full of booze, she slipped her dress over her head. 

The song
Another One Bites the Dust
playing cheerfully in her head, she walked out the door. 

Now on to Dallas.

Chapter Thirty-three