Deadly Justice (10 page)

“Ever heard of a company called Simco?  Or a guy called..”

“Jacob Simmons.”  Carpenter uttered the name softly but contempt dripped from every syllable.

“Who's there?”  Zach's voice deepened with concern.

“Don't worry about it.  Just answer the question.  Have you heard of Simco?”

“Yes.”  That was it, a one word answer.

“Just yes?  What do you know about them?  Zach, please, it's important.” 

“Prove to me you're okay, then I'll answer.” 

“Ugh.  How am I supposed to prove I'm fine?  Zach, there's a hell of a lot going on here and I need answers.  Please.”

“Well, since you said please, baby girl…”  She heard the laughter in his voice, knew she'd convinced him she was okay.

“Stow it, jackass.” 

He did laugh out loud at the childish nickname.  “Alright, now I know you're okay, sis.  Larry Mitchell called me a couple of days ago, asked me if his friend could send a wire transfer to our company account, and if I'd hold it for forty-eight hours.  Then he'd give me an account to send it to.  Seemed fishy but Mitchell agreed to cover the entire amount if things went south.” 

“Mr. Mitchell called you?  Did he sound okay?” 

“He was fine when I talked to him.  I only agreed in the first place because he's your boss and he's been kind to you.  But I've been trying to get hold of you ever since I heard about his office being torn apart.  Why haven't you been answering my calls?” 

“It's a really long story.  I promise to fill you in later.  Next question, have you heard of a man named Jacob Simmons in relation to Simco?”

Carpenter straightened away from the wall, listening intently.  She knew this was important, especially after everything he'd done to meet her.  Really, how many men run a woman down with their car just to find a way to talk to her?

“Simco's a penny ante company, barely a blip on the radar.  They have zero investment potential, and their CFO is a fruit loop.” 

“Okay, that tells me nothing.  Who's their CFO?”  She could hear the tiredness in her brother's voice, and wished she could give him a big hug, the way he used to do for her.  He wasn't really her brother, actually he was her stepbrother, but they'd been raised together and been best friends for the last dozen years, and he was more family than a lot of her other relatives. 

“Hang on, let me check.  I haven't even looked at the Simco file in ages.  Guy's name is…damn, it's Jacob Simmons.  Never even made the connection between them and the guy Mitchell asked me to help.”

Carlisle turned the laptop toward Carpenter and she quirked a brow.  Carpenter held up one hand, while he read through whatever his hacker had pulled up.  She watched him nod.

“Mr. Bennett, I've got a few questions, if you don't mind.”  Carpenter edged closer to the phone, and Andrea took a step back, giving him more room. 

“Who the hell are you?”  Her brother's voice immediately filled with that hard-edged tone again. 

“Samuel Carpenter.”

“Carpenter.  Damn, baby girl, when did you start playing with the big boys?” 

She smirked at his tone.  “Zach, answer his questions.  There's too much going on now to explain, but tell him whatever he wants to know.”  

Turning her back on him, she listened while Carpenter basically interrogated her brother, prying answers out of him with the skill of a seasoned prosecutor, including getting the account information where he was supposed to send the funds on hold.  Within minutes he seemed satisfied with Zach's answers. 

“Andi, do you want me to come pick you up?  I can have you out of the country in under an hour.” 

She considered it for a split second.  Get away from everything.  Let her big brother take over, and forget about the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours.  Naw, there wasn't a bat's chance in hell she could give an inch.  Zach tended to steamroll over everything and everyone in his path if he didn't like a situation, especially if he thought somebody he loved needed him.  Besides, this was her life, her job, and she'd find a way to handle it.

“No.  Thanks, but I've got this.  I'll call you if we need anything else.” 

“Carpenter?” 

“I'm here.”  He straightened beside Andrea and she felt a tiny shiver skitter across her skin at his nearness.

“I'm holding you personally responsible for my sister.  Anything happens to her, I'm coming after you.  That's a promise.”  Zach's words were icy and she knew he meant every single one.  He'd protect her to his dying breath.  She'd do the same for him.

“You have my word, I'll keep her safe.”  Carpenter's words echoed with the ring of truth.

“Baby girl, I'm only a phone call away.  Carpenter's security team's reputation is spotless, and they're known for getting the job done.  But if you get scared, I'll have you on the next plane out.  Understand?”

Andrea didn't have a doubt in the world her stepbrother meant it.  He'd looked out for her as a scrawny adolescent, with knobby knees and braces, and he'd been the best big brother he could be, even after he'd moved out on his own.

“Got it.  One call.  Love you.”

“Love you too, sis.” 

The call ended and Carlisle's fingers continued flying across his laptop keyboard.  There wasn't a single doubt in her mind, every aspect of her brother's life, his very existence, would be in Carpenter's hands before the end of the day. 

“Whatever is going on, my brother isn't a part of it.” 

“You're probably right,” Carpenter replied.  “His reputation in business is above reproach.”  The look he gave her had heat sizzling across her skin and she turned away, taking a step to put space between them.  She couldn't deal with this flare of attraction, the sense of need filling her.  Not now. 

“His personal life is, too.  I've never met a finer man in my life.”

“You've got different last names.  You been married before?”  Gunner asked the question, lounging back in the chair like he didn't have a care in the world. 

Andrea shook her head.  “No.  Zach's actually my stepbrother.”  Not that it was any of their business, she thought.  “His father married my mother twelve years ago.  Zach was the best thing about that whole disaster.”

“Unhappy second marriage for your mom?”  Gunner piped up.

Before she could answer, a soft knock on the closed library door echoed through the sudden silence.  Carpenter shrugged when Gunner leapt to his feet.

“Yes!”  He pulled the door open for Ms. Willie, who pushed a loaded cart through the entryway.  It was laden down with a huge coffee urn and cups, along with an array of Danish, croissants, doughnuts, and a platter of perfectly cut fresh fruit and a carafe of orange juice. 

“Are you sure you won't marry me, Ms. Willie?”  Gunner brushed a quick kiss along her cheek, and gave her a hug before pouncing onto the feast. 

“Don't be silly, Gunner.  You couldn't keep up with me.” 

“Still, I'd die a happy man, Ms. Willie.”  He bit into the cherry cheese Danish and closed his eyes, his face contorted with bliss.  “Yep, a happy man.” 

Carpenter rolled his eyes, and thanked the housekeeper.  “We need to move on this, figure out what Webster's next move is going to be.  He obviously knows Mitchell, which is how Andrea got involved.  The question is how much does Mitchell know, and what kind of leverage does Webster have on him.  Andrea?”

Mitchell's lifestyle was pretty much an open book, she thought, but there were things that weren't in the public domain and her loyalty to her employer made her first instinct to keep it that way.  But since she'd been unable to contact him, and with his destroyed office and all that blood—maybe the best answer was to trust Carpenter and his crew. 

“First, let me say I don't have a clue who this Richard Webster is or Jacob Simmons for that matter.  But to answer your question, Mr. Mitchell has a problem with gambling.”  She offered the information and saw a flash of light in Carpenter's eyes, like her answer connected another piece of the puzzle in his analytical brain. 

“Most of the time he's been able to keep up with his debts, but on occasion I've had to make sure the debt collectors didn't—kneecap him.”

“Sounds like more than a little problem, Andrea.  How much is he in the hole for now?”  Carpenter bit out the words.

“As far as I know, everything's paid off. Most of the local loan sharks and bookies have figured out if they want to be paid, they come and talk to me and I get them the cash.”

“Is there any way his going missing is connected to his debts?”  Gunner asked around another bite of Danish.  He leaned back in his chair, and gave a soft moan after he swallowed.  “I swear, boss, I'm stealing that woman away some day.  Nobody cooks like Ms. Willie.”

“You can't afford her.”

“Well then, I'm asking for a raise—one big enough so she and I can run away together.” 

Andrea couldn't help laughing at Gunner's remarks.  His quips had lightened the tension in the room to a tolerable level, and she knew that was exactly his plan. 

“I honestly don't know.  Nobody's contacted me, but Mr. Mitchell tends to not tell me until the last possible minute.  You know, right before they send the knee breakers after him.  I thought he was spending the weekend with his flavor of the month, somewhere hot and tropical.”

“That makes sense.  I'd think that too.  I mean, guys, have you seen Beverlee?  She has the most amazing…”  Gunner raised his hands in front of his chest, holding them way out in front. 

“Trust me, they're fake.”  Andrea's hand flew to cover her mouth when she realized what she'd said, while everybody else in the room burst into laughter.  Gunner's eyes sparkled and he winked at her before looking past her shoulder.  He immediately straightened from his slouch and placed his coffee cup back onto the tray. 

“Does he pull these disappearing acts often?”  Carpenter's voice from behind her caused her to spin around so she was facing him once again. 

“Whenever he's in the beginning stages of a new relationship, he wants to impress them, so he tends to take longer weekends and travels more.  I thought that was the case here, except he left me holding the bag for the entire charity event on Thursday night.  Left without any notice, too, which isn't like him because he loves to be the center of attention at those functions.” 

“Can you think of any place where he might hole up if things got really bad with his debt collectors?”  Carlisle blinked at her over his laptop screen, waiting for her to answer his question.  Long shaggy blond hair swept across his forehead, nearly obscuring his eyes, and he brushed at it absently. 

She thought for a minute before answering.  “I don't think so.  All of his addresses are public record.  He's got the condo in New York City, a beach house in Maui, and a cabin outside Denver.   He lost the apartment in San Francisco in the last divorce.  The other house in Miami Beach went to wife number one.” 

“We're getting off track here, people.  What is Lawrence Mitchell's connection to Richard Webster A.K.A. Jacob Simmons?  That's the question we need answered.  Andrea, it has to go back to that wire transfer Mitchell had you make to Simco.  Can you remember anything significant about it?” 

Carpenter sat perched on the corner of the massive wooden desk, arms crossed across his muscular chest and Andrea lost her train of thought for a second, taking in the picture he made.  All tall, lean, masculine perfection with supermodel good looks that he completely ignored, full of predatory grace, his movements calculated to pounce on the unsuspecting. 

“What was the date again?” 

“Two weeks ago, September twelfth.”  Carpenter hadn't moved an inch, simply answered her question and waited.  Completely the opposite of her.  She needed to constantly be moving, doing things.  Sitting still wasn't an option—unless she was reading one of her romances—then hours could pass and she'd sit in one spot immersed in another world.  Right now she really wished this was one of those stories and not reality staring her in the face. 

“September twelfth.  That was a Friday, right?”  She tapped her index finger against her lips as she paced.  “I wish I had my planner here, but I think Mr. Mitchell came in late that morning and he was more agitated than usual.  I chalked it up to the usual and planned on getting a visit from one of his bookies.  I checked the cash accounts to make sure there was enough in them to cover, and had to shift a few things around.  Oh, right, he called me into his office.”

“And?”  Carpenter prompted.

“Hold your horses, do you want me to remember everything or not?  Anyway, he handed me a piece of paper with Simco's name and an account number and routing number.  Also had the dollar amount written down.  He asked me to wire the funds.  Honestly, I didn't think much about it, he does that sometimes.  I keep it all logged in a separate spreadsheet on my computer.”

“Office computer or laptop?”  Carlisle asked, his hands pausing from their continuous typing.  He'd pretty much clicked on the keyboard nonstop since setting it up, stopping only long enough to munch on his breakfast.  Apparently nobody turned down Ms. Willie's food. 

“Um, laptop.  Why?” 

“Her laptop's in the bottom left drawer, Carlisle.”  Carpenter didn't even glance back at his computer guru, instead keeping his gaze firmly on her. 

“Wait, my laptop was in my room this morning.”

“And now it's in my desk, though I haven't had a chance to go through it—yet.” 

Pissed off, oh yeah, that's exactly what she was feeling.  How dare he pull this crap?  She'd cooperated, answered their questions.  Well, mostly.

“If you'll tell me what you're looking for, I'll be more than happy to share with the class, Mr. Carpenter.”  Sugar wouldn't have melted in her mouth at the icy tone and she watched an almost imperceptible wince on the big guy's face.  Good thing he didn't know about the stuff that wasn't kept on the laptop, but on thumb drives attached to a bracelet.  It looked like an eclectic piece of jewelry with little ceramic charms.  Nobody knew each charm was a separate drive.  If they didn't know what they were looking for specifically, it would take even an expert like Carlisle days to find anything amidst the various charms.  The drives were in one of the laptop bag's multiple zippered compartments.  Maybe they wouldn't look too closely.  She'd always heard, hide something in plain sight—it makes it harder to find.