Colby Velocity

Colby Velocity

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Copyright

This book is dedicated to my two dearest friends, Vicki Hinze and Peggy Webb. Two of the most amazing ladies I have ever had the privilege to know and love!

Chapter One

Chicago, Tuesday, July 4, 9:00 p.m.

Kendra Todd surveyed the deserted street. The last of the lingering Fourth of July revelers were only a few blocks over. The fireworks at the Pier crackled in the air, sending sprays of light over the city.

She had attended the agency cookout at Jim Colby’s home. Afterward she’d anticipated a quiet evening at her apartment … but that hadn’t happened.

Talk about ghosts from the past …. The frantic call she’d received had taken her back several years. Three, to be exact.

To a place she’d just as soon not revisited.

9:04 p.m. He was late.

Kendra tucked her cell phone back into the holster on her belt and surveyed the street once more.

Ten minutes more of hanging around this street corner alone and she was out of here. Whatever her old friend’s latest drama … it wasn’t hers. Kendra Todd was no longer a part of the D.C. world of ruthless ambition and colliding egos. In three years she hadn’t looked back once.

The move to Chicago was the smartest choice she’d made in a very long time. Working with Chicago PD’s community affairs division the first two years of her new Windy City life had been very useful in acquainting herself with this new environment. Last year’s offer to join the staff of the Colby Agency had come after working closely with Ian Michaels during the abduction attempt of Victoria Colby-Camp’s granddaughter. The opportunity had proven the perfect prompt for Kendra to make a major move toward personally recognizing and professionally achieving a true career goal.

Reaching out to those in need and using the interactive skills she’d honed so well to solve a case satisfied her in a way nothing else about her professional history had. The camaraderie at the Colby Agency surprised her still. For someone who had no family left and who’d walked away from her lifelong friends three years ago, the atmosphere at the agency was spot on. She not only liked her job as an investigator, she also liked being part of something real.

Real life. Real people.

To say this jolt from the past was unwelcome would be a vast understatement. Not that she hadn’t kept in touch with a few of her former associates. Christmas cards and the occasional birthday card were exchanged. At first she’d even exchanged e-mails with her former boyfriend, but that had fizzled out after only a few months. But this—tonight—was far from a mere unexpected call from an old colleague.

This was trouble in big, bold letters.

Headlights flashed, drawing her attention to the west end of the block. A dark nondescript sedan had made the turn at the intersection and now rolled slowly in her direction.

She maintained her position against the wall of the closed boutique and watched as the sedan pulled up to the curb directly behind her smaller, two-door sports car. The snazzy red car was her one visible capitulation to vanity. And maybe to independence from all the red tape and chaos of so-called organized government.

The driver’s door opened and she held her breath. As soon as the head and torso rose from behind the wheel of the car she squinted to identify the driver. The street lamp’s glow spread across the hood of the sedan but fell short of providing sufficient illumination beyond the windshield. But she would know that tall, slim frame anywhere … even in the dark.

Yoni Sayar straightened his suit jacket and shoved the car door closed.

Kendra couldn’t deny some sense of sentimentality at seeing him. Three years was a long time and they had been good friends.

“Kendra.” He smiled as he strode toward her.

“It’s good to see you,” she confessed before accepting his quick, firm embrace.

Tall, thin and dark, Yoni was a natural born American but his parents were Israeli immigrants. Both had worked hard to ensure he received the best education possible and were extraordinarily proud of his accomplishments. A master’s degree in global communications was complemented by his ability to speak a number of languages with incredible ease and fluency. He’d turned down numerous lucrative corporate offers to pursue his goal of making a difference in the merciless world of politics. A lobbyist who supported the rights of main street Americans over those of corporate America.

Yoni was one of the good guys. He’d worked hard to earn the respect of the most powerful senators and congressional members, including Senator Judd Castille, Kendra’s former boss.

After a thorough scrutiny of her face, he said, “You look very happy.” He nodded his approval. “Happy and stress-free.”

A moment’s hesitation passed before she admitted, “I’m very happy.” Old habits died hard. Even with a good friend like Yoni, the political arena had made her wary of the slightest personal confession. “The Colby Agency is great. It’s the best move I could have made.”

He surveyed the deserted street. “I’m very pleased to hear this.” His tone gave away his distraction more so than his not so discreet surveillance of their surroundings.

“Would you like to have coffee while we talk?” He’d insisted on meeting someplace where they wouldn’t be seen. Another learned trait of the political life. Still, surely he didn’t expect to talk right here on the street, deserted or not. He’d come all this way, the least she could do was buy him a cup of coffee.

He shook his head. “I can’t risk being seen.”

With you. That he didn’t verbalize that part disturbed her on some level. She and Senator Castille had parted on less than favorable terms. That was no secret. The rumors that had at first buzzed in the media were quickly squashed by Castille’s people. It was completely understandable that Yoni would not want to be spied collaborating with the enemy.

Even three years later she remained the enemy.

“All right.” She gestured to her car. “Why don’t we sit in my car?”

He glanced nervously at the vehicle parked in front of his rental. “Well … we can do that.”

That his uneasiness continued to mount triggered the first, distant alarm. Kendra led the way, hitting the remote and unlocking the doors as they reached the vehicle. She settled behind the steering wheel and waited until he’d slid into the passenger seat next to her before locking the doors once more.

“You bought a new car.” He looked around the interior, surprise in his expression. “It’s very nice.” He managed a lackluster smile. “It suits you.”

“It was time.” The interior lights dimmed automatically, leaving them in darkness.

It was his turn to speak. This was his rendezvous after all. Yet the silence dragged on several seconds adding to Kendra’s uneasiness. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” No point beating around the bush. He’d asked for this meeting, had taken a flight, rented a car and met her in an out-of-the-way location. A scene right out of an espionage movie.

Yoni released a big breath. “You know how Castille is. If he smells trouble …”

Trouble. There it was. She’d known it was coming. “I thought you and Castille were still tight.” The truth was, when Castille had targeted her, Yoni hadn’t gone out of his way to back her up. She’d understood at the time, still did actually. Once Castille had decided she was out, no one or nothing was going to change his mind. Yoni sticking his neck out and damaging his own position with the arrogant senator wouldn’t have helped Kendra.

Political life was ruthless.

A frown furrowed across her brow as all those frustrating memories tumbled into vivid recollection. How the heck had she allowed herself to be dragged back into this vicious cycle?

“What sort of trouble?” And what did it have to do with her? Kendra tamped down the frustration. She reminded herself that she’d heard something in his voice that concerned her when he’d called. She couldn’t just ignore him if he really needed help.

“I’m certain you’ve heard about the Transparency Bill.”

She’d heard. Anyone who read the newspaper or watched the news likely knew of it. The bill was a very progressive action that had raised lots of eyebrows, particularly on Capitol Hill. Ultimately if the bill was passed, the way lobbyists and special interests groups worked would be forever changed. For the better. Though those lobbyists and special interest groups didn’t see it that way.

“Castille supports it,” she acknowledged. That she knew based on the headlines. “He’s taken a lot of heat from the groups he once allowed to bolster his nest egg.” Oh, yes. Castille was one rich old man. He’d reveled in the fringe benefits of those who lobbied for his support. Now that he was nearing retirement he’d opted to man-up and do what no other senator before him had had the courage to do. Limit the behind-the-scenes influence and reach of all those very groups who fueled the power.

“He has persuaded a number to follow suit,” Yoni mentioned, not that it was necessary. Kendra knew very well how much influence Castille wielded.

She turned to her old friend, searched his face. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the low light. “I can see where you might not be a supporter of the proposed legislation.”

He shook his head. “I helped design the bill.”

“Are you serious?” It was difficult to imagine Yoni, a lobbyist, proposing anything that would limit his ability to do his job. Though his efforts were always forthright and just, there were necessary strategies that those outside the political playing field might not fully understand if those efforts were exposed. Serving the greater good came with a cost—usually associated with providing benefits for certain private groups. It was simply the way the world worked.

Yoni dropped his head back against the seat and released a weary breath. “The whole process has gotten out of control. Someone has to draw a line somewhere. I admire Castille for having the courage to do so.”

No question about the need for stronger boundaries. She’d thought as much three years ago. That was just one of the subjects about which she and Castille had butted heads.

“I can see where that move would make you more than a few enemies.” Was that why he’d come to her? Didn’t make a whole lot of sense considering she was many degrees removed, but he hadn’t actually given her any real specifics yet.

“Frustration, anger, resentment—all those things I anticipated,” he explained, “but not the hideous threat of blackmail.”

“Blackmail?” Her confusion cleared. “Someone is attempting to blackmail you?”

He nodded. “I have until ten Friday morning to ensure the senator ushers through a couple of amendment attachments or, according to the note I received, I’ll face the consequences.”

Tension tightened her muscles. “Do you have the note with you?”

He reached inside his summer-weight jacket and pulled out an envelope.

Kendra tapped a button to illuminate a console light. She accepted the envelope and inspected the exterior. His name was carefully printed on the front and nothing more. “Where was it delivered?”

“To my office. It was pushed beneath the door before we opened. I found it this morning.”

Which meant anyone could have delivered it. Yoni’s office was in downtown D.C. on a public block with little or no security measures. She opened the envelope and withdrew the single page typed note.

You know what you need to do. Friday, 10:00 a.m. is the deadline. Meet the demand or face the consequences.

“Have you been to the police?” The answer would be no, otherwise they wouldn’t be sitting here going through the cloak-and-dagger motions.

“I can’t go to the police.”

“Why not?” That made no sense. “This threat could be more than an opportunistic scare tactic. You need to take it seriously.” He’d been in this business long enough to know this already. Power and money were strong motivators; some would do anything to get their hands on one or both.

“There’s another note.”

That he didn’t make eye contact was more telling than he realized. She’d understood there surely was one or more other notes since this one did not state the precise demands or consequences. “Did you bring that note, as well?” Was he really going to make her ask for every iota of information?

He retrieved another plain white envelope from his interior jacket pocket and handed it to her. When her fingers tightened on the envelope, he hesitated before letting go. “I don’t want this ugliness to color your opinion of me.” The worry in his eyes backed up the voiced concern.

“You know me better than that.” She pulled the envelope free of his hold.

Yoni’s name on the front. Inside, the letter was typed just like the other one, except this one was actually a copy of a press statement dated for Friday. The statement explained how a highly respected D.C. lobbyist had more than his share of skeletons in his closet. Kendra felt her jaw drop as she read the accusations that ran the gamut from illicit sexual behavior to fraternizing with known terrorists.

She carefully folded the letter, tucked it into the envelope once more and passed it back to him. “First, I need to know one thing.”

“Anything.”

“How many of those accusations are true even in the remotest sense?”

“You can’t be serious.”

The barely restrained inflection of outrage in his tone was without doubt authentic. She knew him well enough to know it when she heard it. Despite how strongly she felt about him as a person, she also fully understood that no one ever knew anyone completely. “Not a single word of it?” she pressed.

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.”

Typically 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.”