by Terra Little
“Okay, let’s assume that Brandy is still out there somewhere. If she’s in danger, then you finding her could jeopardize whatever safety that she’s managed to find up to that point. Why not just leave her alone and let her stay hidden?”
“Because she’s also wanted by the US government for perjury and contempt of court, related to an embezzlement case that she was implicated in not long after she resigned from the Federal Reserve. She’s a criminal, Elise, and when I find her, I intend to turn her over to the proper authorities, so she can be dealt with accordingly.”
“She’s your sister, Broderick. How can you be so ruthless?”
“She’s also a thief and liar.” He caught her eyes and held them. “Do me a favor and don’t ever lie to me, okay? For me, that’s one of the few things that there’s no coming back from.”
* * *
At eight o’clock the next morning, Elise sent Broderick off with a kiss and a promise to think about going away with him, and watched him climb into the passenger seat of an idling black Range Rover. After it cleared the driveway and disappeared from sight, she stepped back inside the house and closed the door, sensing that Olivia was behind her without having to look.
“You’re in love with him,” Olivia accused.
“Yes, I think so.” She rested her forehead against the door’s cool surface and sighed. “Where have you been all night?”
“I answered the doorbell, took one look at that man’s face and knew what he was up to. And, since you’ve been moping around for the past two days, pining away for Mr. Goodbar, I thought I’d get lost for a little while and give you two some privacy. Have you decided what you’re going to do about him?”
“He asked me to go away with him.” Turning to face Olivia, she leaned back against the door and pushed her hair out of her face. “I told him I’d think about it.”
“Wow.” Olivia was smiling from ear to ear. “What are you going to tell him?”
“That I can’t go.”
Her smile fell. “What? Why the hell not?”
“Because he’s not the kind of man who can or will look the other way while I break the law, and I care too much for him to ever ask him to.”
“Elise—”
She didn’t want sympathy or kind words or tearful apologies right now. “It’s fine, really. I’ll wait a few days and then send him a text or something and tell him that I don’t think we should see each other again.” She pushed away from the door and crossed the room, tightening the belt of her robe as she went. “Then this nightmare will finally be over and things can return to normal around here,” she said as she disappeared down the hallway.
* * *
The Argentinian extraction took three days to complete, so Broderick and his team didn’t return stateside until late Monday night. By the time they had completed the transaction, disposed of the rebuilt ex-military chopper that he’d commissioned for the trip and then reached the designated pickup spot, it was almost dawn on the West Coast. And they still had a two-hour drive ahead of them before they could board a Cannon Corp chopper for home.
Back at company headquarters, he parted ways with his team, sending them all home to recuperate from being chased and shot at, and, in Leahy’s case, one very close call with a fiery death. Then he took the elevator from the basement to his office on the third floor. Since they were all due back for debriefing first thing in the morning, at which time every single detail of the mission would be scrutinized and picked apart, as well as documented and archived, he should’ve gone home, too. But he’d gotten into the habit years ago of never allowing his work energy to disturb his home energy, so for the time being, his plan to enjoy an ice-cold beer, while lying in the middle of his king-size bed, watching the sports channel, was on hold. He still had a ways to go in separating the two before any of that could happen.
His assistant, Monique, looked up when the elevator doors opened and he stepped out, looking as if he’d been to hell and back and hadn’t cared one bit for the trip. His heavy-duty cargo pants and combat boots were splattered with dried mud, his bulletproof vest had taken a few hits and there was dried blood on both of his sleeves that clearly didn’t belong to him. He took in her stunned expression and cracked his first smile in three days. “Damn, do I look that bad?”
“If you have to ask, then you already know you do,” she replied, her shrewd brown eyes blinking up at him from behind her massive desk as if the mere sight of him was an offense in itself. She’d been working for him since day one, so this was a familiar routine of theirs. “What can I do to help you look normal again...and to get you off my floors? They were just waxed overnight and, up until a second ago, they were spotless.”
“Sorry,” he said as he approached her L-shaped wooden desk and helped himself to the rest of her blueberry muffin. “Hold all my calls and, if I happen to have any meetings scheduled for this afternoon or evening, please reschedule them. That would really help me right now. Oh, and after I’m done here, I’ll be out for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, turning to her computer and consulting the electronic appointment book that was already open on the screen. “You don’t have any meetings scheduled, but the Phoenix police chief did call first thing this morning to inquire about the two of you possibly meeting for dinner this evening. I think he may have also mentioned something about his wife making her legendary stroganoff, too, but I’m not certain.”
Broderick didn’t have to think twice about the invitation. “Decline.”
“It would be rude to decline a third time,” Monique said sweetly, swiveling in her chair to give him a mother hen glare. She had twenty years in the military, two dead husbands and three grown children under her belt, but sometimes Broderick swore that she was intent on claiming him as her long-lost fourth child.
“All right, Monique. Then please politely decline.”
“Why are you so difficult?” she called after him as he started down the corridor leading to his office. “What excuse am I supposed to use this time? He’s not going to buy you being sick, again.”
“Tell him the truth—that I hate stroganoff,” Broderick called back before closing his office door behind him. He thought about what he’d just said, then snatched the door open again. “Except when you make it for me, I mean,” he added, closing the door on her soft giggle.
On the outside, Cannon Corp looked just like all of the other nondescript warehouses in Arizona’s downtown warehouse district. He’d purposely left it that way when he bought the building five years ago and completely gutted its interior. But, thanks to a leggy interior decorator whose creative mind had been just as flexible as her compact little body, as well as input from his own in-house management team, the interior work space was a stylish partnership between the exposed duct work overhead and the glossy concrete floors underneath, with sleek leather and tempered-glass appointments, polished woods, and contemporary artwork all expertly sandwiched in between. It was the perfect marriage between Forbes 500 luxury and Rambo functionality, right down to the heated towel racks, in-floor Jacuzzi, and the oversize brick walk-in shower that he’d had installed in the small apartment off his office, where, coincidentally, he slept more often than not.
Stripping and stepping into the shower now, Broderick switched on the water and turned his face up to the forceful spray. As steam rose around him, the tension in his shoulders began melting and the headache kicking at the base of his skull eased. He rotated his head and released the breath that had been lodged in his throat ever since the moment that he had dragged an eleven-year-old boy through a gunfight to a vehicle that was in the process of driving away when he finally reached it, and physically catapulted them both into its backseat.
If any of that had happened just one second later, they’d both be dead right now. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the scalding water to help
him forget that.
Now that his son had been successfully retrieved, Delgado himself couldn’t be extracted until after tomorrow’s sentencing hearing, when he would be quickly smuggled out of the courthouse and immediately taken underground for interception by members of Broderick’s team. Delgado’s wife had already been strapped into a seat aboard the chopper when Broderick and his team had bailed out and he’d given the order for take-off. He and Leahy had taken a four-member team along with them and everyone had returned safely, a blessing that they’d all acknowledged once Delgado’s wife and kid had been handed off and it was safe to remove the masks that they’d worn throughout the ordeal to conceal their identities on the ground.
The others were probably no closer to home than he was right now. Instead, they were likely all huddled around a table in a bar someplace, drinking themselves silly and reminiscing about life before kids, spouses and drug cartels. Another time, he might’ve been right there with them. But not today.
Today he wasn’t in the mood for anything or anyone except Elise.
They hadn’t spoken since last week, when he’d left her standing on her porch with her hair standing all over her head, a quarter-sized hickey staining the column of her neck and a question to consider. Per the standard protocol for extractions, he had gone into blackout status before leaving for Argentina, which meant that he’d suspended all communication with the outside world until the mission was completed and he was safely back on North American soil. But now that he was, he was ready to hear her response.
Dressed in navy linen trousers and a navy collarless shirt, and feeling slightly more human now that he actually looked it, Broderick grabbed a yogurt from the fridge in the kitchen and padded barefoot back out into his office to boot up his interface and plug back in to the world.
As if she’d been timing him, Monique’s voice came through the speakerphone on his desk as soon as he crossed the threshold. “Excuse me, Mr. Cannon, but I was so distracted by your Crocodile Dundee getup earlier, that I forgot to mention that there was a package delivered by courier for you the other day. Saturday afternoon, I believe. The weekend receptionist downstairs signed for it and sent it through security. They brought it up this morning. I can bring it right in to you now, if you like.”
“Please do,” he said, dropping into the leather captain’s chair behind his desk and pressing a button to open up his work email account on the computer screen in front of him. He scanned the list of messages in his inbox while he waited, seeing none that required his immediate attention until he scrolled to the bottom of the list and saw Elise’s name attached to a message. Curious to see what she’d written, he opened her message first and began reading.
Broderick,
I sent you a package. It should be there, waiting for you when you return to the office. I’ll be gone by then, so don’t bother trying to reach me. I’m going away for a while. Alone. So, I guess, there’s your answer to the question you asked me. I just thought you should have the information I sent you before I left. I think it’ll help you get the justice you seek.
Whatever happens next, thanks for the fling. I think you know how much I enjoyed it and you.
Elise
He looked up when Monique came through the door, carrying a large yellow shipping envelope. Taking it from her and dismissing her with a look, he waited until she was gone to check the return address on the front, tear it open and then dump out its contents on his desktop. After several minutes of looking at photos, sorting through documents and reading the same passages over and over again for clarification, he reached across his desk and buzzed Monique.
“Yes?”
“Send for my car and driver, please, Monique,” he said. “And place the jet on standby for a possible evening flight.”
Elise Carrington had given him exactly what she’d sworn that she was capable of giving him—the key to his sister’s whereabouts. And, if he was reading the information that she’d sent him correctly, she’d had it all along. He was sure that there was more, much more to the story, but he’d seen and read enough to get the gist, which was that the woman he was falling in love with had been lying to him all along.
Elise Carrington was a criminal.
“Where to?” Monique asked.
“Missouri.”
Chapter 15
The look on her face turned defiant when she flung the door open and saw him standing on the other side of it. Unlike her twin, her skin didn’t flush the moment she saw him and her feline gaze didn’t wander away from the intensity of his searching one. Instead, it held on tight and stared him down.
She’d been expecting him.
“Is she here?” Broderick asked Olivia.
“No, but I have a feeling you already knew that. Come in,” she said, stepping back and opening the door wider. “I’ve been expecting you or someone like you to show up for a couple of days now. Did you bring a search warrant and a team of careless lackeys along with you to rifle through my drawers and turn my house upside down, too?”
“No, but I can make a few calls and set things in motion if you like.” He stepped inside the house and closed the door at his back. The aroma of something delicious wafted past his nose and his empty stomach complained.
“Don’t be pithy, Mr. Cannon.”
“I could ask the same of you.”
“Touché,” she said, flicking a glance at him as she took his coat and hung it in the coat closet. “I was just about to have some seafood gumbo. Would you like to join me? And don’t lie because I heard your stomach growling just now.”
“In that case, I would love to join you.” Falling in step behind her, he followed her down a long hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. Taking a seat at the island in the center of the room, he took in his surroundings while she moved around the room, opening and closing cabinets and drawers. “Nice house.”
“Thank you. My parents had it built about five years ago, right before they packed up and moved to London.” She took two bowls from a cabinet and grabbed spoons from the silverware drawer, sending it sliding shut with a denim-clad hip. “Elise and I moved in after they were gone. It’s a pretentious showplace, but it allows both of us to live under the same roof without killing each other, so we like it. Wine?” she asked, setting the bowls and spoons down and moving to the refrigerator.
“Do your parents have any idea that their daughters are running a crime syndicate out of their showplace? Yes, I believe I will have a glass of wine, thank you.”
“My parents don’t have a clue, so let’s leave them out of this, all right?” She poured two glasses of white wine and passed him one. They watched each other sip, and then she set her glass down and stepped up to the sink to wash her hands. Drying them on a dish towel, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Maybe we should start at the beginning.”
“And where, exactly, would that be, Miss Carrington?”
“At the point where you tell me exactly what it is that you think you know.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Where else?”
“All right. I know that you and your sister somehow managed to completely wipe my sister off the map three years ago and that you were so good at it that even I couldn’t find her. I know that you and whoever else is involved in your little crime ring is responsible for providing her with a new identity and a new life, and I know that you’ve done those very same things for countless other women since your sham of an agency opened for business. And I think we both know that all of those things would be classified by any reasonable person as crimes. Federal crimes.”
“Would you like rice?”
“White or brown?”
“White.”
“Yes, please,” he replied without missing a beat. “By the way, what is this agency of yours, really? I mean, what else do the two of you do here, besides help fugiti
ves from justice escape captivity? Do you smuggle foreigners into the country for questionable employment or marital opportunities, too? Arrange illegal, transatlantic adoptions for couples who can’t conceive? What?” Unsure if he was more outraged or intrigued, he got to his feet and washed his hands at the sink while she topped off their glasses.
“You have it all wrong” was all she said after he resumed his seat and stared at her expectantly.
“Explain it to me, then.”
“My sister may be in love with you, Mr. Cannon, but I’m not. I don’t have to explain anything to you. Frankly, I don’t trust you.”
She set a steaming bowl of gumbo in front of him and handed him a linen napkin, seemingly unaware that she’d just dropped a bomb on him and sent his wits flying in a million different directions. He nodded his thanks, draped the napkin across his lap and cleared his suddenly dry throat. Where the hell was his voice?
He wasn’t sure if knowing how Elise felt about him was a gift or punishment. All the way there, he had gone back and forth with himself about what he planned to do when he arrived. And, until that very moment, he’d been undecided, or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself. He wanted to believe that he had traveled all the way to Missouri from Phoenix, in the interest of truth and, eventually, justice. But the truth of the matter was that he could’ve placed a few phone calls from his desk in Phoenix and accomplished the same thing. No, discovering that the woman he loved was a practicing felon wasn’t really why he’d come. The implication that she was done with him was.
He was in love with her.
There, he’d finally admitted it to himself. But could he look the other way while she committed the kinds of crimes that could land her on Court TV?