Deadly Justice (6 page)

He felt her lips move beneath his, and knew she'd meet him.  Dinner was the first step to ease beneath her defenses, search out what she might know and even what she might not realize she knew.  With effort he pulled back to stare down into her green eyes.  His hand cupped her cheek, and he gave a light brush of his thumb across her soft skin.  He watched the tip of her tongue peek between her lips, dragging along the bottom one.  It made him want to dive back in, kiss her long and hard and deep, explore the passion he knew simmered just beneath the surface.  But it was too much, too soon.

She needed to be wooed.  Seduced with words and touch, leading to a myriad of sensual pleasures. 

“Okay.”  The single whispered word sent ripples of anticipation coursing through him. 

“I'll call you tomorrow.”  He casually brushed back a strand of hair that had blown against her face. 

“Let me give you my number.” 

He smiled down at her.  “Don't worry, I've already got it.” 

“How?” 

“I have my ways.  When I want something, I usually get it.”  He raised her hand to his lips, and brushed a soft kiss against her fingertips. 

“See you tomorrow.”  He watched her walk back into the crowded room, back to the moneyed partiers, before he walked over to the black van parked several yards away.   Climbing in through the back doors, he met Carlisle's gaze.

“The tracker's in the toe of her right shoe.  Not the ideal place, but it'll work for tonight.  I'll get another one tomorrow in her purse.” 

After a few keystrokes, Carlisle replied, “Got it.  It's working perfectly.” 

Carpenter squashed down the smidgeon of guilt he felt.  He was doing what he had to do in order to get Webster.  Until then, Ms. Andrea Kirkland was off limits for anything except finding out her connection to the bastard. 

“Let the guys know the job's finished, they can leave whenever they're clear.  Goodnight, Carlisle.”

Climbing out of the van, he walked back inside the museum and quickly through, making an effort not to look for Andrea.  Once outside, he presented his ticket, and the valet pulled the black SUV around and he drove away from the Kimbell and from Andrea, conflicted about his next step. 

Tomorrow night he'd begin the seduction of Andrea Kirkland.

T
he door to Mr. Mitchell's office stood ajar.  That didn't seem right.  He was supposed to be out of town until Monday morning.  Andrea put her purse on the corner of her desk, and slid her laptop bag to the floor.

“Mr. Mitchell?”  She pushed the door inward, gasping when she saw the state of his office.  It looked like a tornado had torn through the room.  Or maybe shook it like a Christmas snow globe, and tossed it back down to earth.  His big black leather chair had been scored with deep gouges, stuffing pulled out and flung onto the ground.  It lay on its side near the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The desk had been shoved into the center of the room, cattycornered from where it normally sat.  Each drawer had been yanked open, a couple of them turned upside down on the carpet.  Papers and file folders lay scattered across the rug, along with magazines—oh good grief, porno magazines—and a box of condoms. 

Eww, he's been having sex in the office?

His private filing cabinet was toppled over, drawers pulled out and their contents flung haphazardly around the room.  There wasn't any kind of rhyme or reason for the chaos.   Community service awards and plaques were broken and looked like they'd been stomped on by heavily-booted feet.  The sofa that usually sat along one wall had gotten the same treatment as the office chair, with large chunks of batting and foam pulled out, its large cushions slashed.  Whoever did this wanted to do the maximum amount of damage—and they'd succeeded.

  Andrea heard a dripping sound.  It seemed to be coming from the private washroom on her left.   Her stomach clenched and she bit her lip, staring at the closed door.  With a glance downward, she saw a wet patch spreading out past where the carpet and bathroom tile met.  The bottom of her shoe sank into the sopping carpet, making a squishy sound.

She didn't want to open that door.  The sick feeling in her gut intensified when she took a single step forward, then another.  With each step, the dripping sound intensified until it seemed like a booming cannon in her ears, though that could have been her heartbeat pounding. 

She could do this.  Trying to keep her hand rock steady, she reached for the doorknob.  It was slick and wet and her fingers slipped off.  Grimacing at the sticky feeling, she looked down and gasped.  A thin layer of red coated her hand, which now shook uncontrollably. 

It looked like—blood. 

“Andrea?”

A yelp escaped as she spun, nearly losing her balance on the patch of wet carpet.  Samuel Carpenter stood in the open doorway between her outer office and Mitchell's inner sanctum.   She'd never been so surprised or happy to see somebody in her entire life.

“Mr. Carpenter, I…”  She froze, watching as his steely-eyed gaze took in the damage surrounding her before dropping to her outstretched hand. 

“What happened?  Are you hurt?”  Without hesitating, he strode forward, and grasped her hand between his.  His touch calmed her, soothed her in ways she didn't understand and didn't have time to examine.  There was something bad beyond that closed bathroom door, and she wanted to get as far away from it as humanly possible.  But she couldn't leave.

“I…I'm okay.  I just got here and found Mr. Mitchell's office like this.  There was a dripping noise.  When I went to open the door—” She looked down at her hand, still clasped between his. 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped away the red stickiness, whisking away each smidge until nothing remained behind. 

“Wait out there,” he waved his hand toward her office space, “and I'll check things out.” 

She shook her head vehemently.  This was her boss's office, her responsibility when he wasn't there—she'd stay.  But that didn't mean she was stupid either.  Hell no.  Let the big strong man open the door first.  Yep, she didn't have a problem with that.  Act like the meek little lady scared of her own shadow?  No way.

“Have you touched anything but the doorknob?” 

“No.  I got here and saw the door was open.  I knew he wasn't due back until Monday, so it seemed odd to see it ajar.  When I walked in, everything was like this.”  Though she knew it was her imagination, she could still feel the blood coating her hands, even though she knew there wasn't anything there.  It didn't matter, she had to get it off.  Pulling open a desk drawn, she grabbed the tiny bottle of hand sanitizer she kept in there for when she changed the toner.  Squiring a huge dollop into her palms, she rubbed them together, over and over, needing to erase the feel of the sticky blood. 

She took in a shaky breath, wrapping her arms around her middle.  “Then I heard a dripping sound.  I started to turn the knob when you called my name.”

He pulled her into his arms, and she couldn't stop the telltale trembling she'd tried hard to disguise.  She was terrified of what lay behind the closed door.  Judging from the way the office looked, whatever was in there couldn't be good.  A shiver ran down her spine as though traced with icy fingers.  She willed her lungs to work again, still staring at him. 

“Sweetheart, it's going to be okay.  I'm going to open the door.  You stay right here and don't move.”

Taking the handkerchief he used to wipe the blood from her hands, he placed it around the knob and used two fingers to gently turn it.  Damn, she'd been careless.  If there'd been fingerprints, she'd messed them up completely when she'd grabbed the handle. 

Without a sound the door glided inward, and the sounds intensified.  She tried glancing around him, but his big body blocked the entire doorway, obscuring her view. 

“Go into the other room.”  His voice was a deep growl.  Whatever it was, she knew it was bad. 

“No.  Is somebody in there?  Are they…dead?”

“Nobody's in there.”

She took a deep breath.  “Then open the door, I can handle it.” 

He shrugged and stepped to the side, giving her full access to the bathroom.  Splashes of red streaked across the wall.  She had the absurd thought that the spray pattern resembled a Jackson Pollock painting.  It flitted through her head, dulling the reality of what she was looking at, and keeping it from fully sinking in.

Water dripped in the sink where a trail of red droplets disappeared into the slow trickle of water.  Glass shards sparkled on the floor, the lights reflecting upward in a prism of color from the fragments of broken mirror against the tile.  Spiderweb cracks spread across the surface of what remained of the mirror hanging above the sink, the gilt-edged frame askew.

“We need to call the police.”  Carpenter's voice sounded from behind her right shoulder.  “That's a whole lot of blood.”

“Blood.  Police.” 

She spun around quickly, pushing past him, intent on leaving the grisly scene behind.  Why hadn't calling the police been her first thought? 

“I'll do it.  You need to sit down.”  His hand was warm and solid in the small of her back, leading her out of the carnage and back into her private space. 

Right, sitting down sounded good.  She plopped into her chair like a marionette whose strings had been snipped, watched him pull his cell phone from his pocket, and listened while he contacted nine-one-one.

His powerful hand held the phone as he conveyed the details to the nine one one operator.  His eyes had darkened to a deep gray, reminding her of thunderclouds before the clouds burst.  A ragged breath escaped when he walked to Mitchell's door and pulled it shut with an ominous click.

“The police will be here any minute.”  He knelt beside her chair, cupping the sides of her face in his strong grip.  It didn't hurt, but helped her focus on what she'd seen and where she was.

“What happened?”  Her whispered words seemed abnormally loud.  “Everything was fine yesterday when I left for the party.” 

“I don't know, sugar.  Let's let the police do their job.” 

“You'll stay?”  She hated sounding weak and needy, but right now he was her lifeline.  She struggled to fight through the fear coiled in her chest. 
Tough it out, girl, stop acting like a scaredy cat.  For goodness sake, you're a responsible grown woman.  Act like it.

“I'm not going anywhere.”  The corner of his mouth turned up slightly.  “Whatever you need, I'm here for you.”  His dark brows drew together, concern evident.  His gaze was intent, searching hers.   There was a dangerous glint behind his stare, yet she wasn't afraid.  She was terrified of what might have happened to her boss, but Samuel Carpenter made her feel safe.

She managed an almost smile, though it felt forced.  “Thank you.”

“I'm glad I decided to stop by instead of waiting for you to call me and cancel our dinner plans.” 

How had he known?
  She'd lain awake half the night, alternating between excitement and dread.  After their kiss, its aching sweetness branded on her lips, her emotions were all over the place.  She didn't need any more complications in her life, and the tall sexy blond man squatted beside her chair had complication written all over him. 

Two uniformed officers came through the door, and Carpenter spoke softly with them, motioning toward the inner office.  She took a shuddering breath, remembering the brightness of the blood streaked across the walls.  It looked like somebody had been hurt—badly hurt—in that bathroom.  The question was who, and more importantly, why?

Carpenter handed his handkerchief to one of the officers, who placed it into a bag, probably for evidence.  The murmur of voices continued when the officers entered the room, but Carpenter stayed with her, reaching down to hold her hand.  Grateful he was there, she attempted to smile, but the muscles in her face were frozen. 

It seemed to take forever before the officers walked out of the office.  She stood on shaking legs, grateful for the desk behind her to brace against. 

“Ma'am, can you tell us what happened here?”

She shook her head.  “I have no idea.  I got here just before eight o'clock.  I was a little early because we had a charity event last night and I'd gotten behind on my regular stuff.” 

“Okay.  What did you find when you arrived?”  The female officer seemed to be the one in charge.  At least she was the one asking the questions.  A couple years older than her partner, there was a harder edge to her, not unkind, but like she'd seen things she'd just as soon forget. 

“I put down my bag and the laptop,” Andrea pointed at them, “and I noticed the inner office door was open.  Mr. Mitchell's supposed to be out of town.  When I left yesterday, that door was closed and locked.”

The officer nodded, indicating for her to continue.

“I pushed it open and found it like that.  Everything was…destroyed.” 

“Did you hear or see anything while you were in the room?” 

Andrea nodded.  “A dripping noise.  Slow and steady like raindrops.  It sounded like it was coming from Mr. Mitchell's private restroom.  I started to open the door, and that's when Mr. Carpenter got here.” 

The officer, whose name tag read Johnson, focused her intent gaze on Carpenter. 
Funny
, I
wonder why I think of him by his last name instead of Samuel?
  The random thought popped into her head, and she couldn't shake the sensation that it was important somehow. 

“That's right.  She had her hand on the doorknob when I walked in.  I called out her name.  Ms. Kirkland's hand slipped off it when she turned, and that's when I saw the blood on her hand.” 

“I'm sorry if I screwed up any evidence or anything.  I wasn't thinking.  I heard the dripping and started to open the door.” 

“I understand.”  Officer Johnson pulled out a business card and handed it to Andrea.  “We're going to need you to come in and give a formal statement, Ms. Kirkland.  Call this number and they'll get you all set up.” 

“Do you have any idea what happened?”  Andrea tried to keep the quiver out of her voice, and forced herself to straight her spine.  She'd be damned if she'd show any more weakness than she already had.