Deadly Justice (3 page)

“Mitchell International is holding a charity event in two days.”  Carpenter threw out the information in an offhand manner, knowing his men would follow his lead without having to bang them over the head with intel. 

Carlisle's fingers flew across his ever-present tablet.  “Benefit for children's cancer research,” Carlisle muttered around a mouthful of cinnamon roll.  He wiped his hands on a napkin before picking up his six inch computer tablet and typing in a couple of things.  “Black tie affair.  Wow, a thousand bucks a ticket.” 

“You've got two days.  Find me everything there is to know about Ms. Andrea Kirkland, Carlisle.”

“Already on it, boss.” 

“Gunner, you and Nate check out the site of the event.  Find out who's working it.  Security, wait staff, we need to know everything from the ground up.”  Carpenter turned to Jean-Luc.  “Get me tickets for this shindig.”

“How many?”  Jean-Luc's deep brown gaze held his.  He, more than anybody else, knew the hell Richard Webster'd put Carpenter through, appreciated his need for vengeance.  There was no doubt whatsoever where his loyalties lay.

“One.  The rest of you will be working behind the scenes.”

Several heads popped up at that.  “Wait, we're going to work some fancy party at the Kimbell Museum?  Security's gonna be a bitch there.”

“That's why I've given you two days, Gunner.  Are you saying you're not up to the job?”  Carpenter knew his taunt hit home when Gunner slammed his lips shut on the retort he'd been about to spew.  The man was a worrywart, always wanting extra time.  He was also a perfectionist, which made him precisely the right person for the job. 

“It'll be done.” 

“Great.  Everybody knows their jobs.  I'm off.  Keep me posted if there are any changes.”  Climbing to his feet, Carpenter walked out without a backward glance, knowing his team of experts would be ready for the big day.

He slid into the driver's seat of his Italian sports car, sleek and black, and built for speed.  The urge to drive compelled him forward, and with a bit of maneuvering, he eased onto Central Expressway.  Pressing his foot onto the accelerator, he opened her up to seventy within seconds, listening to the engine's hum, like a momma crooning to her toddler.  Traffic was light at ten o'clock in the morning, so he added a little more pressure on the pedal, feeling the ferocity beneath his fingertips on the steering wheel.  His baby wanted to run, chase the wind, but that would have to wait until he got her back on the race track.  Then he'd open her up full throttle and let her soar.  Built for speed, she hugged the curves like a lover, but right now he had a job to focus on. 

For the first time in three years, he had a glimmer of hope.  An ember of flame, which if he fanned it right, would burst forth into a firestorm he'd be able to follow straight to his sworn enemy.  He'd just have to make damn sure nobody else got hurt when the fire's blaze raged its hottest.  Nobody else would lose their lives on his watch…except maybe Richard Webster.

A
ndrea set the cup of coffee down hard enough some of the hot liquid splashed onto the desk.  Yanking a tissue out of the box on top of the printer, she scowled and wiped up the spill.  Damn her boss.  One day before the big gala event at the Kimbell Art Museum, with a hundred and fifty guests due with open checkbooks, and he'd bailed. 
Why?  To be with his latest flavor of the month, that's why
.  Although at the rate they rotated through his bed, she was more like the flavor of the week.

“You can handle it, Andrea.  Everything will run smooth as clockwork.”  She mimicked his obsequious tone, his I-know-you-can-handle-it-attitude pissing her off.  “Who does he think I am, Houdini?  I can't handle this alone.” 

She tossed the damp tissue into the trash.  The stack of RSVP's on her desk formed their own little mountain, though she knew most of them were affirmatives.  Nobody turned down an invitation to a Mitchell International party.  At least nobody who moved within the Metroplex's
hoi polloi
.   All the movers and the shakers would be in attendance.

She flung herself into her chair and eased off one of her four-inch heels, wiggling her toes when the shoe dropped to the floor.  Ah, blessed relief.  If Mr. Mitchell wasn't showing up today, she'd damn well be comfortable while she worked.  The royal blue pumps slid beneath the edge of her desk, close enough she could slide them back on but far enough to be out of sight if somebody came in. 

“Morning, Andrea.  We still on for lunch?”  Andrea's head popped up at the voice, and she smiled.  Her best friend, Tami, leaned her head around the doorway, a cheeky grin curving her lips.  Short dark brown curls haloed her face with a wide blonde streak strategically placed for maximum effect right across the swoosh of bangs.  She was cute in that girl-next-door way with a pert upturned nose and chocolate brown eyes.  They'd known each other since coming to work at Mitchell International, having started the same week, though in different departments.

“Sorry, Tami, I'm going to have to bail.  Mitchell's pulled another disappearing act and left me holding the bag for the party tomorrow night.”

“Holy crap!  You've got to be kidding.”  Tami glanced back over her shoulder before easing into Andrea's office and closing the door.  “Which twinkie is it this month?  Tiffanee, Sheree?” 

Andrea rolled her eyes.  “No, they are both
so
last month.  It's Beverlee.”

“Beverlee?  Oh, the tall blonde with the big fake ta-tas?”

Andrea chuckled.  “Yep, that's the one.”

Tami laughed.  “Seriously, anything I can help with?”  She pointed to the stacks of mail and papers piled on Andrea's desk.

“Thanks, but I've got it covered.  Everything is pretty much handled already.  I need to make the final calls to the security manager, and the caterer, but otherwise, I think we're good.  I'm just dreading finding somebody to schmooze with the clients, and beg for the money.”

“Well, these rich folks can afford it.  I mean a thousand bucks a ticket, plus donations?  I doubt I'll ever see that kind of disposable income in my lifetime.”  Tami shrugged, but Andrea knew money was a tough issue with her best friend.  She struggled from month to month, trying to make ends meet, supporting herself and her eight-year-old daughter on her salary.  Her ex-husband flew the coop right after Tami got hired with Mitchell Industries and this job was her lifeline.

Inspiration struck Andrea.  “Think you could get a sitter for tomorrow night?  You can come and help me out with the whole shebang.”

“Really, Andrea?  Oh, wow…wait, I can't.  I don't have anything to wear to something that fancy.”  Her face fell, but Andrea wasn't taking no for an answer. 

“Yes you do, or you will.  We'll pick up something after work today, company expense.  You'll be officially working, so it's part of your uniform, so to speak.”  The expression on Tami's face made the offer completely worthwhile.  Plus it really would be helping her out too.  These big corporate events tended to be total snooze-fests, and at least she'd have somebody to talk to if Tami was there. 

“Let me call and see if the sitter can take her for the evening.”  Tami hugged her, some of her infectious excitement spilled over.  Maybe this party wouldn't be so bad after all. 

“Go, get the sitter lined up, and we'll find you something fabulous to wear.  Now I've got to get back to work or we'll be serving cocktail weenies and cheese cubes from Kroger's.”

With a bouncy step and a quick wave, Tami raced toward her own office and Andrea yanked forward the stack of RSVPs, doing a final check against her master list.  Over eighty percent of those invited responded they were coming.  Pretty good turnout, all things considered. 

She managed to deal with one crisis after another, and the morning flew by.  The rumbling in her stomach was the only indicator several hours had passed.  With a glance at the clock, she noted it was way past lunch time.  If she hurried, she had just enough time to run across the street and grab a sandwich and bring it back to her desk.  Which she needed to do so she could take Tami shopping, and get her all togged out. 

Purse in hand, she rode the elevator down to the ground floor and walked out into the sunshine.  Early fall in North Texas was warm enough not to need long sleeves or a sweater, so her skirt and blouse were just fine.  She'd left the jacket upstairs, hanging over the back of her chair. 

There were several small restaurants situated across from the tall commercial building that housed Mitchell's offices.  They took up most of the upper half of the building as their corporate headquarters, using North Texas as a hub for the international import and export portion of their portfolio.  Mitchell had its fingers in many different financial pies.  Keeping them all straight was part of her job description.

Knowing she should have a salad, the thought of nibbling on rabbit food when she needed all her energy sucked. 
To hell with it
.  She opted instead for a burger and fries. 
Yummy but not so good for my hips and thighs
.  What the hell, she'd burn it all off before the end of the day. 

With her food in one hand, and her soda in the other, she headed back toward her office, happily contemplating Tami's makeover for the museum event.  Her friend deserved a special treat, and Andrea planned to make sure it was a night she'd remember.

So focused on everything she needed to get done that afternoon, she didn't pay attention to where she was walking.  When she glanced up, a black car was headed straight at her, and there was no place to run.

T
he noise was deafening.  A cacophony of voices bombarded her brain at once.  Horns honked.  Footsteps scurried around her.  What happened? 

It was a massive undertaking but she managed to wedge her eyes open, only to stare up into a pair of the prettiest gray eyes she'd ever seen looking down at her.  They belonged to an angel.  He was a total stranger, and whoever he was, he was stunning.  Tousled blond hair, fashionably cut to fall in waves to make it look effortless.  She knew it probably cost a bloody fortune.  After all, she scheduled her boss's haircuts and paid the bills for 'em. 

“You okay, darlin'?  I swear you stepped off that curb right in front of me so quick I didn't have time to stop.”  The sexy drawl of the big blond had her lips curving up in what she hoped was a seductive smile.  Flirting with the pretty cowboy seemed like a great idea. 

“I called nine one one.”  A female voice off to her right said, though they sounded farther away than her rescuer.  The siren's wail in the distance penetrated the air, and Andrea shook her head, trying to clear it.

“I clipped you with my bumper.  Barely touched you, but you need to be checked out.  Are you hurting anywhere?”

There it was again, the long slow drawl of her sexy cowpoke.  Everybody else faded into the background, except for her hero.

“I'm fine.  Can you help me up?”  She extended her hands, and he grabbed them but made no move to help her to her feet. 

“No, darlin', you stay right there until the medics check you out.  They're pulling up right now.”  Sure enough, the EMTs were in front of her within seconds, shining lights in her eyes and poking and prodding her arms and legs.

“Guys, I'm fine.  Get me off the ground.” 

“Take it easy, ma'am.”  The female EMT helped her to stand, and Andrea swayed for a second before she got her legs fully beneath her.  “You should have that bump on your head looked at.  We'll take you over to…”

“No, really, I'm fine.  The car barely touched me.  I'll just go back to my office.” 

“I have to advise you to be checked by a physician, miss.” 

“Really, I promise you there's nothing wrong with me.”

The murmurs of the crowd faded as they moved back, realizing the excitement was over.  Andrea smoothed her skirt, noting a small tear in the seam right at the thigh.  Dang it, she'd barely worn it, and now it needed mending. 

“Let me walk you back to your office then.  At least I can make sure you get back there in one piece, since I'm the party at fault.”

Party?
  Party!  She needed to get back to finalize the benefit for tomorrow night.   The tall cowboy with the pretty manners tucked her arm into his elbow and started them across the street.  By this time, the majority of the crowd had dispersed, going back to their jobs and their lives now the chaos of the accident had passed. 

They strolled into the lobby, and Andrea directed them to the elevator which they rode in silence to her floor at the top of the building.  It wasn't until she'd stepped up to her office door she realized in all the commotion she'd dropped her purse.

“I have to go back, my keys are in my purse and it got…”

She barely got the words out when he lifted his left hand and waggled it, her purse looking tiny in his much larger hand.  She exhaled a sigh of relief, the momentary panic fleeing.  The crisis of having to deal with the credit card companies, and getting a new driver's license averted, she unlocked the office door.

“Thank you again…um…” 

“It's Carpenter.  Samuel Carpenter.”  His sexy drawl was more pronounced with his softly spoken words.  She wasn't sure why she'd pegged him as a cowboy, nothing in the way he dressed gave the impression he worked around cattle.  Just the opposite.  She remembered the black Italian sports car in detail, having met it up close and personal.  He was dressed impeccably in a hunter green dress shirt and dark gray trousers.  Those shoes though—black Ferragamo's—brand new on the market.  She recognized them because Mitchell had groused for a solid hour about how much they'd cost when he'd bought them not two weeks' previously.  Definitely no cowboy boots for this stud.  Plus there wasn't a Stetson in sight. 

“Mr. Carpenter.  I appreciate the special delivery back to my office.”  She fumbled for words, not sure what the correct response was to the man who'd nearly run you down with his car. 
Thanks for not killing me seems a little too over the top.