Playing with Sammy proved too easy. He'd thought the boy would have learned better than to leave anything to chance. Yet it had been a cakewalk to lure Mitchell to Andrea Kirkland's apartment. The fool believed he was irresistible, and when he'd gotten a text message from Andrea that she wanted to see him, to talk about beginning a relationship that went farther than business, he'd followed along blindly like a sheep to slaughter.
Webster chuckled at his own cleverness. Mitchell had definitely been slaughtered. There wasn't any doubt the police would determine he hadn't committed suicide. His highly skilled and definitely pricey associate made sure of that. Leaving the murder suicide note had been a stroke of genius. A taunt meant for pretty little Andrea.
Executing the murder in her bedroom, that had been his idea. Another red herring for the inept Dallas police. Maybe if he left enough bread crumbs, they'd actually get their heads out of their asses and follow the trail straight to Ms. Kirkland. Or Ms. Angela Wakefield, which was her real name.
It had taken him a while to connect the dots. She was good, he'd give her that. He liked to give credit where credit was due, and she'd fooled him. After her fiancé's funeral, he'd made it a point to express his condolences in person. He'd been instantly riveted by her innate beauty and dignity. Fascinated, he'd watched her every move until she'd retired to grieve in private after the funeral service.
He'd silently watched her, his curiosity piqued. Several weeks later, Angela Wakefield disappeared off the face of the earth. And he'd looked. Word spread around the Oklahoma City community through the police grapevine that she'd decided to travel, get away from the memory of her loss.
Webster hadn't bought that ruse for a second. Something in her eyes fascinated him when he'd met her tear-filled gaze. He'd held her soft hand in his, expressed the usual platitudes one does at funerals. Yet there'd been an intelligence, a veiled wariness, that shone through the grief and despair. It was that intelligence which captivated him, and drew him to her.
Close observation during the services revealed she'd watched the room like a true professional. Like a kindred spirit, she'd assessed each person as they passed, taking note of those who didn't approach the casket or the mourners.
Then as quickly as Angela Wakefield vanished, Andrea Kirkland had appeared as an executive assistant for Lawrence Mitchell. He spotted her on the hidden cameras he'd secretly installed in the idiot's inner offices. Money had its privileges and being the paranoid bastard he was, he didn't trust anybody, especially sycophants like Lawrence Mitchell.
Andrea definitely caught his interest her very first day. He'd watched Mitchell fawning over her, practically drooling on her cleavage. Yet something about Andrea intrigued him. It was the eyes that gave her away. Oh, the hair was different. Her eyes were even a different color, and she'd dropped several pounds, but he didn't have a single doubt. That same intelligence shone through what had to be contact lenses, and Webster was convinced—Andrea Kirkland and Angela Wakefield were one and the same.
Of course, Mitchell did whatever he was told to do, and Webster'd known right away hiring Andrea was a good idea. While working with Mitchell, he'd be able to keep closer tabs on her. Plus, he had the added benefit of knowing that when things drew closer to their inevitable conclusion, if he played his cards right, he'd take sweet, lush Andrea with him in his self-imposed exile to an island paradise where he'd rule with more money and power than he'd ever imagined.
Call it an added bonus.
But she'd proven more ingenious than he'd anticipated, and Mitchell had gotten careless. The fool let her get her hands on one of the wire transfers. The ones nobody was privy to except Mitchell himself.
One stupid mistake and Sammy had connected the dots faster than a master safecracker. Though he suspected Stefan Carlisle was the actual person responsible for uncovering that single breech. Too bad he hadn't been able to lure the hacker away from Sammy. That would have been a nice coupe de gras.
Flipping up the lid on his laptop, he clicked on a key and a video began playing. On the screen, he watched Sammy making love to the woman Webster considered his. Every movement, every detail was examined in minute detail. Lust curled through him as he stared at the plush handfuls of Andrea's breasts. The lushness of her hips below the inward curve at her waist.
Most people would have proclaimed her overweight, but to Webster, he'd delighted in her curviness, considered it an added bonus. Or it had been until Sammy ruined everything by seducing her into his bed.
“Damn him. He's ruined everything.”
The darkened sky behind the couple cast shadows across their skin as they writhed in each other's arms. He adjusted the focus, zeroing in on Andrea's face. The expression was one he'd never witnessed crossing her countenance before, and he'd been watching her forever it seemed. A look of pure ecstasy shone as though illuminating her from within, and he slammed the lid closed, blocking her from his sight.
It really was too bad. He'd planned to set her up for Mitchell's murder, and then swoop in like an avenging angel and whisk her out of the country, to be her savior from a prison cell. Now? Well, plans changed when circumstances demanded it. Maybe he'd let the Dallas Police Department find a bit more evidence against the lovely Ms. Kirkland.
He smiled as he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a plastic bag and stared at its contents. Yes, that might work and it would kill two birds with one stone. Once she was in police custody, he'd arrange an unfortunate accident to befall Mr. Mitchell's alleged murderer.
It would remove Andrea Kirkland from the picture permanently, and cause Sammy to lose focus, and keep him two steps behind.
Yes. As much as he'd regret not having Angela Wakefield, A.K.A. Andrea Kirkland in his bed or kneeling at his feet where she belonged, there was only one solution.
She had to die.