Darkness 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.”
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.”