Alana Candler, Marked for Murder (9 page)

“Mr. Holbrook’s office.”

“Hey, Florence, this is Stanford. Tell Jaydn to get down here right away. I need him in Acquisitions immediately.”

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t—”

“Look, just tell him, please.”

“Excuse me, what did you say your name—”

“Stanford. The vice-president of the company.”

“Oh, right. I’ll make sure he gets the message, sir.”

As soon as the phone went dead, compassion soared through her for Mr. Holbrook. This Stanford man sounded like a demanding boss—something she had dealings with in the past.

Alana picked up a notepad from the jumbled desk to jot the message down, when the elevator doors behind her opened. Swinging around in surprise left her staring up at the irritated face of a tall, dark-haired man.

The first impression Alana sensed when she looked into his scowling face was the blueness of his eyes. She had never seen such vivid color and depth. They seemed to match the handsome features of his face in spite of the annoyed expression filling them now. When the fact he was annoyed finally penetrated her stunned brain, she still could not move. She continued to stare at him as if he might instantly disappear.

His face tightened suddenly, and her temporary surprise only seemed to increase his irritation.

“Are you the replacement?” He growled the words at her.

“I beg your pardon?” Alana stated in shock at his abrasive tone.

The anxiety in his face made his eyes flash a darker shade of blue. “Well, you may as well get started. I expected you earlier.”

He withdrew a stack of papers from his briefcase and pushed them toward her. “These must be typed and ready for the mail to be picked up by lunch time. Ask Simmons and Ward if they can meet here in my office in ten minutes. I have a list of phone calls that need to be attended to immediately, and I missed breakfast, so I want a cup of coffee and a pastry on my desk . . . yesterday.”

The last phrase was said as he walked toward one of the darkly stained doors on the left side of the reception area.

“And cancel all my appointments today as well as phone calls. I’ll be too busy to talk with anyone.”

While he bellowed out his list of commands, Alana stood with her mouth open. He towered over her five foot four inches and awed her into silence.

When he finally paused for a breath and turned back toward her, she could only gawk.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked her impatiently.

When she didn’t answer, he took one step toward her.

“What is your name?” he asked testily.

“P-pardon me?”

“What do I call you?”

“Oh, uh . . . my name is Alana. Alana Candler.”

“Well, Mrs. Candler . . .”

“It’s Miss.”

“Very well,
Miss
Candler, I’m in a very big hurry. If you have any questions, you can call down to the lobby and ask the building secretary. Now, would you please get that list of things done, and I need those letters typed.”

He pivoted quickly and disappeared through the door.

SIXTEEN

AFTER JAYDN LEFT THE RECEPTION
area, Alana stood wondering what hit her. She stared at the stack of papers in her hand and tried to remember what he just said.

Martin’s angry face flashed before her and was replaced immediately by the features of the irate man who just stomped out of the room.

Then, quite suddenly, she became angry.

Just who did he think he was—ordering her around?

She firmly laid the papers on the desk and marched over to the still open door. When she entered the room, however, the anger that demanded satisfaction had to be checked temporarily.

The aggravating man who had been so rude was now giving orders to someone else on the phone. He restlessly paced in front of a magnificent glass wall that overlooked the city and Lake Morgan. She stood to the side of the door—trying to be patient—and waited for him to finish his phone conversation.

Her eyes drifted around the room in spite of the irritation she was suppressing. When they reached the desk standing in the center of the room, her breath caught in her throat, and she gasped. Her gaze was suddenly glued to the wooden plaque sitting on the desk with a name embossed on a golden plate.

Jaydn Holbrook!

Her whole body turned toward the man standing at the window, and she looked at him with a whole new perspective.

He was nothing like she’d expected. For some reason the name Jaydn Holbrook conjured up a picture of an older, more mature and experienced man. One who took responsibility seriously and let nothing get in his way of doing what was right.

This tall, commanding stranger was the man who risked his life to save her.

Her literal hero.

A new appreciation for his bossy character sprouted in her mind and blossomed into something close to admiration. That intimidating drive and determination was probably what made him jump into the lake in the first place and search for her in the back seat of the car instead of leaving that responsibility to the rescue personnel.

Admiration for his authoritative spirit spilled over into her opinion of his physical features. While he paced back and forth in front of the glass window, she silently observed his profile.

His dark brown hair fell in waves across his forehead. And, in spite of the frown that creased the brows over the top of his sapphire eyes, Alana could hear kindness and patience in his conversation with the person on the phone. Those were rare traits in the men she knew.

Not only was he a hero, highly esteemed in her opinion, but she admitted he was probably the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Shyly, she backed toward the open door. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her irritable entrance into his office.

When she once again stood in front of the cluttered desk in the entrance room trying to get her breath, her eyes fell on the papers he threw at her.

He needed those typed. It was the least she could do to thank him for her life—help him out until his regular secretary got here. He probably had a boss somewhere demanding he get these things done.

A quick feeling of animosity toward rich, autocratic bosses flared, and she remembered with disdain a similar experience with Tom, her wealthy first-boss and ex-boyfriend.

Jaydn Holbrook probably cowed to such a boss as well.

Appreciation for his ability to work under a domineering supervisor with such an unorganized secretary gave her heart a nudge.

A single nod of her head when her decision was made prodded her into the task of straightening the desk. There was no way she could complete all those tasks if the desk was in a mess. Several large, empty drawers were the perfect place to hide things out of sight until she had time to sort them later. When the desk was empty of clutter, she sat calmly and tried to remember the list of things he asked her to do.

The coffee!

Quickly she got up and peeked through a small door at the back of the reception room.

Ah ha
! A kitchen!

She looked around inside the tall cabinet doors until she located a twelve-cup coffee maker and a container marked “Coffee.” After filling the coffee maker with water and coffee grounds, she flipped on the power switch.

Now . . . pastries. Where would they be?

A quick glance around the room revealed a small refrigerator hidden behind a white wooden door. She gasped when she opened the door. It revealed pastries of every kind. Carefully, she picked up a small croissant and a chocolate doughnut and arranged them on a saucer from the cabinet beside the sink. Just as she was pressing the buttons on the microwave to warm the pastries, the phone at the reception desk began ringing. Quickly she stepped up to the desk and picked up the receiver.

“Uh, Mr. Jaydn Holbrook’s office. May I help you?”

“Yes, this is the Evercrest Employment Agency. I wanted to let Mr. Holbrook know the replacement secretary we scheduled for him this morning had an unexpected death in the family and won’t be able to work today. We don’t have another secretary available to work with the qualifications he requires, but if he has to have one today, I’ll try to find him someone with less experience. I know Mr. Holbrook likes someone with a good deal of secretarial expertise. Hopefully, the lady we planned to send today will be able to return tomorrow.”

Alana’s tongue covered her top lip while trying to decide what to tell her.

“Hello. Are you there?” The voice on the phone drummed into her ear.

Alana finally spoke into the receiver.

“Yes. Uh . . . Mr. Holbrook has someone for the day, but if the other lady can come tomorrow, that would be fine.”

She hung up the phone and inhaled a cowardly breath. She wasn’t sure if she could keep up this hurried pace for a whole day, but she knew she needed to do something for the man who gave her the most precious gift a human being could give another.

Her life.

SEVENTEEN

CHET PULLED THE MAIL FROM
his box and stood flipping through the bills and ad fliers. His neighbor, Pops, slammed out of the house and yelled into the air, then lowered the volume to just above a whisper.

Good grief, he’s weird!

Chet shook his head as he walked up the driveway and pulled a party invitation from the stack of mail. He saw Pops racing to the back of the house with his hand up to his ear and realized he was talking on the phone. Chet’s curiosity propelled him forward as he crept up the driveway, trying to get close enough to hear the phone conversation.

When Pops’ voice became excited, Chet shuffled a little closer to a camellia bush and strained to hear the excited whispers. Several words carried across the wind, and what he heard made his skin crawl.

“. . .sheet . . . loot . . . tonight . . .”

The blood rushed to Chet’s face.

Could they be talking about a sheet murder?

He was sure the sudden excitement filling his body caused the bushes around him to shake.

Be careful, Chet! Don’t let Pops know you heard him.

He squatted on the ground and waited until his breathing slowed and the trembles in his body stopped.

Could Pops be involved with the murders they were investigating?

He should call the department!

The snickers and laughing faces of Elliott and his other buddies in the department flashed through his mind after his last arrest—an old lady he arrested for shoplifting. She’d turned out to be the owner of the store.

No! He wouldn’t call ’em yet. Not until he had proof.

He clenched his jaw and listened for more information. Pops stomped across the yard, talking to the person on the phone until his voice faded away. Chet gulped as Pops disappeared inside the old shed.

He’s going out again. Maybe tonight!

Chet squeezed the mail tightly in his hands and crept low until he reached the end of his porch. Sitting on the bottom step, he watched for movement next door and thought about what he’d heard.

The word
sheet
made him quiver. The scene of the last murder haunted his thoughts. The intruders disarmed the security system, broke a downstairs window to gain entrance to the home, killed the owner, and ransacked the place. His face felt cold when he remembered the pools of blood and the body wrapped mummy style.

Of course, the word
sheet
didn’t always mean bed linen. It could be a sheet of paper or even sheet metal, for all he knew. He had to be careful not to make a mistake.

He needed to find out if Pops was involved in any way with the murders!

The word
tonight
sent fire through Chet’s veins and infused urgency into the situation.

Maybe he’d call Kent. Kent never made fun of him—even when he messed up. Kent would tell him what to do. He crept into the house and dialed Kent’s number on his cell phone.

The phone rang several times but went to voice-mail. Chet hung up. Tapping his foot impatiently, he tried to piece together the facts he knew. The seven murders the department was investigating occurred about two weeks apart. Pops went on his midnight runs about two weeks apart, and they were suspiciously close to the same dates the murders had occurred. Pops moved to Landeville a little before these murders began.

The timing is perfect. The events have to be connected. This can’t be coincidence! Brad thinks the murders might even be linked to Alana’s kidnapping. If I solve both cases, I’ll be a hero.

Excitement rushed through Chet’s veins as he pictured himself being praised by his chief for single-handedly solving not only the murder cases but Alana’s kidnapping as well. He might finally earn the respect and admiration of his fellow officers.

Elliott’s sarcastic smile surfaced in his thoughts and ruined the mental picture.

What if all of it
was
coincidence? Maybe Pops really
was
delivering cargo—like Elliott said.