by Debra Webb
He moved his head side to side solemnly but firmly. “Not one word.”
“I take it you want me to find out who’s behind this threat.”
Another of those weary sighs escaped his lips. “I didn’t want to drag you into this, Kendra. But I’m desperate. There can be no evidence of these accusations because they are irrefutably false. But you know what a scandal like this could do to my reputation. False or not, I would be ruined on too many levels. Not to mention it could serve to undo much of what I’ve worked so hard to accomplish. I believe it is related to the bill Senator Castille and I are pushing. The bill is far too important to allow extortion to stop it. Can you and this Colby Agency you love so much help me?”
Kendra didn’t allow herself the time to think about how she had sworn she would never go back to D.C. This was the trouble she had fully expected when the call had come. Yet, this was Yoni, her friend. A genuine hero of the people.
She couldn’t turn her back on him.
“You understand that this will require your complete cooperation?”
“Yes, yes. Whatever you need.”
“And we may have to bring the senator into it.”
“Whatever we have to do,” he reiterated.
“All right. I can help you,” she said, determined to make it so, no matter that the voice of reason shouted at her that it was indisputably a mistake. “More important, the Colby Agency can help you.”
Chapter Two
Chicago, Wednesday, 5:00 a.m.
The vibration of metal on wood jarred Leland Rockford from a dead sleep. He rolled over and plopped a hand on the table next to his bed. His eyes refused to open as he fumbled across the table top for his cell phone. It shimmied in his hand as he grasped it.
With a flick of his thumb he slid the nuisance open. His eyelids reluctantly raised and he stared at the digital numbers on the alarm clock. 5:01 a.m. Who would call him at such an ungodly hour?
“Rockford,” he mumbled, then cleared his throat.
“Rocky, it’s Jim. We need you here ASAP.”
His boss. Jim Colby’s tone was clipped, tense. Not good. After last week’s false labor alarm, his boss was seriously on edge. Rocky threw the sheet back and sat up, dropping his feet to the carpeted floor. “What’s up?”
“I’m sending you on assignment in D.C. Come prepared to leave immediately.”
Rocky scrubbed a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “On my way.”
He closed the phone and dropped it back onto the table. Okay. D.C. That meant he had to pack a suit. He hated suits. Hated dealing with rich hotshots who thought they owned the world.
Exhaling a blast of frustration, he pushed up from the bed. First a quick shower and a cup of coffee to boost his sluggish brain.
“You getting up?”
Damn. He’d forgotten that he had a guest. “Gotta go out of town for work.”
The lamp on the right side of the bed switched on, highlighting the blond tresses spread across the pillow next to his. “Now?” she asked, squinting at the light.
“Now. I’ll call you when I get back.” He didn’t wait for additional questions. Time was limited. Jim would be waiting for him.
Hurrying through a hot shower, he dried his hair with the towel then wrapped it around his waist and hesitated before stepping out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. When he did he experienced a distinct sense of relief that his guest hadn’t hung around to chat. She’d left a note on his pillow.
I’ll be waiting….
Rocky couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. She was a nice lady. They’d gone out several times over the past couple of months and he liked her. But he just couldn’t see the attraction between them as anything beyond basic lust. To be fair he’d tried. More for her sake than his own. She deserved his respect and at least a half-hearted attempt. Maybe when he returned from D.C. they would have that uncomfortable it’s-not-working talk he’d been putting off.
These days he wasn’t into pursuing dead ends. Or lust…just for the sake of a good time.
Not that he didn’t like bachelorhood or hadn’t enjoyed his share of no-strings-attached relationships, but at thirty-five it was getting a bit old. Time to think about a permanent relationship. Maybe even kids. His parents would love that.
That thought kicked his brain into gear.
Had he just used that particular four-letter word?
Kids.
Guys didn’t have biological clocks, he was relatively certain, but it sure as hell felt like he could hear one ticking inordinately loudly in some mutinous region of his brain.
He hesitated as he pulled on a pair of jeans. A part of him wanted to deny the concept, but he wasn’t into denial, either. Came with the territory when a guy was raised by parents who were practicing psychologists. Denial of one’s feelings equated to fear. Suck up some courage and face the facts.
It was time to settle down and do the family thing.
All he had to do was find the right woman. He’d bought the house with the big yard. His finances were in order. Seemed as good a time as any.
All he needed was a good woman who respected his idiosyncrasies and his work. He had plenty of the former, like being a slob around the house. Watching sports and shouting at the refs on the television screen. Preparing gourmet meals. Something he and his father had in common. His entire life Rocky had remained convinced that his father the shrink was in fact a closet chef.
Rocky didn’t want anybody in his kitchen. And his work was his top priority. Finding a woman who didn’t mind relinquishing control in the kitchen likely wouldn’t be a problem. Finding one who could live with him gone for days on end more often than not was another matter altogether. That was going to be the tough hurdle.
He grabbed a shirt from the top of the stack on the chair next to his closet, which was generally about as close to the closet as his laundry made it.
He wasn’t worried about finding the right woman. One of these days when he least expected it, he would stumble on the one for him.
He glanced at the note on his pillow. But he wasn’t going to hold his breath.
Colby Agency, 7:05 a.m.
“SINCE YONI SAYAR,” Jim Colby explained as the briefing in Victoria Colby-Camp’s office came to a conclusion, “was murdered outside his Crystal City apartment at three o’clock this morning—not even four hours ago—there’s no word from the police as to the suspected motive. If they know anything, which is doubtful, they’re not telling. I’ve asked the liaison to keep us informed but there are no guarantees. This is a politically sensitive situation and I don’t expect to be kept in the loop beyond what the rest of the world will see and hear in the media.”
Rocky divided his attention between his boss and Victoria, the head of the Colby Agency. Despite this year’s merger, Rocky couldn’t help considering himself and the other Equalizers, including Jim, as separate from the rest of the Colby staff. The transition had moved along smoothly for the most part so far. He supposed it would simply take time to feel as if he “fit in” here the way he had in the old brownstone a world away from this ritzy location.
Victoria gestured to Kendra Todd, the Colby investigator who sat on the same side of the small conference table as Rocky and with whom he would be working on this assignment. “Kendra, do you have anything else to add?”
Kendra had explained Sayar’s position in D.C. politics and his unexpected meeting with her less than twelve hours ago. She remained clearly shaken by the news of his murder. That fact had not stopped her from plunging into a strategy for determining the truth about this tragic event. She’d spoken with Sayar’s parents an hour ago to pass along her reassurances that she would personally see that the investigation was conducted without bias and in a speedy manner.
“Nothing more as of yet,” Kendra began, her voice weary. “I want you and Jim” she glanced from her boss to Rocky’s “to know how much I appreciate the agency’s support in this…investigation.”
T
ypically the agency—as had been the case with the Equalizers—had at least one client who was very much alive before delving into a case. This situation was a little outside the norm since the client was now dead, but both Victoria and Jim felt strongly about finding the truth, particularly since Sayar had come to Kendra just before his murder.
“You have our full support,” Victoria reiterated. “The Colby jet is standing by. Whatever resources you need on this end will be available.”
“Going in blind like this,” Jim took up where his mother left off, “and with the murder of Mr. Sayar, we believe it wise to be fully prepared. With that in mind, we’re recommending you both carry your weapons. D.C.’s new handgun regulations are somewhat more relaxed, so there’s no worry on that count.”
Carrying personal protection was standard operation procedure for Equalizer cases, but the Colby Agency saw things differently. No weapons unless absolutely necessary. Rocky felt a sense of relief at this news. He much preferred being armed.
“Thank you.” Kendra stood. “I’m ready,” she looked expectantly at Rocky, “if you’re all set.”
Rocky pushed to his feet. “I’m good to go.” He didn’t have to ask who would be serving as lead on the case. For now, the Colby investigator assigned was in charge. That was fine by him. He had a reputation for being a rogue when it came to strategy in the field, and though he liked to bend the rules he rarely broke those rules. Not his style.
Within ten minutes they had picked up their weapons and bags, loaded into the agency car and headed for the airfield. Since Kendra didn’t appear to be interested in conversation, Rocky passed the travel time reviewing Sayar’s dossier a second time. Mostly he needed a distraction to keep his mind off how good she smelled. The scent was soft, subtle and sweet. Womanly.
But he was ignoring that.
She was friendly enough in a very professional way, but she paid little or no attention to him on any other level. Why should she? They were colleagues, nothing more. Obviously he wasn’t her type.
He reread the last paragraph he’d perused. Sayar had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. Top of his class at Vanderbilt University. Hardworking family. No ticked off ex-girlfriends. According to his family, Sayar never complained about work or any of his professional associates. This tragedy was a complete shock to all who knew him, again, according to the family. The tragedy was too fresh. Later when the shock wore off a little, one or both parents might remember little seemingly insignificant details they couldn’t recall now.
Rocky closed the file and slid it into his bag. Whatever the victim’s family thought or recalled, something was going on. Otherwise Sayar wouldn’t have come to Kendra. Problem was, he was dead and all Rocky and Kendra had were questions.
Kendra stared out the car window at the passing cityscape. Rocky took advantage of her preoccupation to study his partner for this assignment. She was young, twenty-eight compared to his thirty-five. Long hair, more blond than brown. Smooth skin that seemed to be perpetually tanned. High cheekbones, thin nose and extra full lips. Big, brown eyes that reflected utter brilliance and deep compassion. Always conservatively dressed, but those modest skirts did nothing to disguise her tall, slender, well-toned frame. During the siege of the agency back in January he’d caught himself staring at her more than once. A very attractive woman.
But what he liked about her most was her extraordinarily ladylike manners. She reminded him of his mother. Prim, proper—classy—and always going out of her way to be helpful. He’d asked around about her social life and he’d learned a sad truth. Kendra Todd was all work and no play. She rarely dated. Never looked at him as anything other than a fellow investigator. Never looked at any of the males around the office in an unbusinesslike manner.
He’d asked her to lunch once but she’d declined, opting to remain at her desk with a sandwich from home. She was the first woman he’d been attracted to who wasn’t attracted to him first.
Strange.
Even stranger, he was attracted to her and she wasn’t actually his type. Kendra Todd possessed all those traits that he respected in his mother, but she was way too focused on business at this stage in her life.
Way too uptight for him.
She turned in his direction, her questioning gaze colliding with his.
Rocky blinked. Busted. “Sorry about your friend.” Shaky recovery but at least he’d gotten out something rational.
“Thank you.” She smoothed a hand over her cream-colored skirt and cleared her throat, simultaneously shifting her gaze forward.
The awkward silence that followed squeezed the air right out of the car.
Only one way to alleviate the tension. “You had time to lay out a preliminary strategy?” Safe enough question, he supposed.
A moment passed while she chewed her bottom lip. “I’m going straight to the top.”
He lifted his eyebrows in question. “Senator Castille?”
“Yes.”
Could prove dicey. “You think he’ll see you?” At the briefing she’d mentioned that her parting with the senator had been less than pleasant.
“No.”
“I guess you have a plan B.” Rocky knew enough about her to fully understand that she wouldn’t take no for an answer without a fight.
Kendra turned her attention back to him. “He will see me. He won’t like it. He’ll evade my attempts, ignore my questions, but he will eventually admit defeat.”
Approval tugged at one corner of Rocky’s mouth. Oh yeah, this lady was a ferocious tiger despite her sweet little kitten appearance. Something else he appreciated about her. “So you’re fairly certain the senator is involved somehow.”
“I’m certain of nothing,” she pointed out. “I feel confident that he is well aware of whatever rumors are traveling the grapevine regarding the murder. Those rumors might provide leads.”
“What about other lobbyists? Personal friends?” Judging by the stack of notes she had in that briefcase of hers, she’d done some serious research in the hours after her meeting with Sayar. Rocky doubted she’d gotten much sleep.
“There are two close associates, Stanford Smith and Ella Hendrix, who have publicly slammed his support of a controversial bill.” Kendra took a deep breath and appeared to consider her next words before continuing. “It would be too easy, not to mention stupid,” she glanced knowingly at Rocky, “for either one of them to be the one we’re looking for. But, like the senator, they will be privy to rumors, incidents, that we need to know that might propel our investigation in the proper direction.”
Rocky hadn’t thought of it until now but he wondered if a lack of a real social life was a lingering side effect of D.C. politics. According to the dossier, Sayar had no notable social life. Rocky opted to ask about that later. To ask now might back up any suspicions she had about catching him staring at her. Every time he had the opportunity to study her he noticed something new.
Like the small sprinkling of freckles across her nose. He’d never noticed that before. Then again, he’d never sat this close to her in a confined space for this length of time. When she smiled, those extra full lips revealed gleaming white teeth that were far from perfectly straight. Just a little crooked. Just enough to give her smile special character.
He liked that about her. Gorgeous but not too perfect.
He seemed to like a lot of things about her.
“Did you have suggestions on where to begin?”
It wasn’t until she asked the question that he realized she was openly watching him stare at her. He swallowed. Told himself to say something. “We should, of course, check out his residence. Often when someone feels cornered or afraid, he or she will hide information in a safe place in hopes of keeping a secret.” He didn’t look away when he ran out of logical suggestions. No point pretending he hadn’t been staring. She’d caught him red-handed. Twice now.
“We’ll go there tonight when the police have finished their investigation,” she agreed. “The pro
perty will assuredly still be a crime scene, but hopefully the police will choose not to post a guard once their techs are finished.”
“They’ll take his computer.” Rocky was a whiz with computers, but the chances of the cops leaving that behind were slim to none.
“They will,” Kendra echoed. She relaxed in the seat, turning her attention front and center once more. “But they don’t know about Yoni’s backup drive or where he keeps it hidden.”
Now that was a stroke of luck. “You obviously do.”
“I definitely do.” She shot Rocky a triumphant smile. “He recently moved it, but he gave me the location last night. Just in case.”
“He was aware on some level that the threat might go beyond a reputation assassination?” In Rocky’s opinion the idea that the victim felt he was in physical danger put a slightly different slant on the case.
“He didn’t say as much, but I got that impression. Yoni wasn’t one to break protocol. He played by the rules.” She gave Rocky another of those pointed looks. “All the rules.”
Rocky studied her eyes, the certainty there, and the determined set of her jaw. “Once in a great while a true innocent is mowed down in a scenario like this, but only once in a great while. I’d wager your friend has at least one secret that’ll surprise you.” He didn’t have to spell out the glaring fact that Sayar did not want to go to the police.
Another of those long, awkward pauses lapsed with her staring directly into his eyes.
“Maybe,” she admitted.
“If I’m right, you owe me lunch.” A long-awaited lunch, he didn’t mention.
Her assessing gaze narrowed slightly. “You’re on.”
He grinned, leaned into the headrest. Lunch was a given. Rocky had never met a man or woman, dead or alive, who didn’t have at least one secret. Yoni Sayar surely had his.
“If you’re wrong,” Kendra said, cutting into his victorious musing, “you have to wear a suit to the office every day for a week.”