Captain's Call of Duty

She sighed. “Rub salt in the wound, will ya?”

“Get over it, Mendez.”

Heck, she’d been trying to get over him for the past fifteen years to no avail. What made him think she was going to get over her goal to experience combat up close and personal any time soon? As if.

Chapter 3

Jim paused outside the door of the love nest, supper in hand. How weird was this, posing as lover to Alex? Hell, it made him hinky even to think about her being a girl. She’d always been Arturo’s kid sister, and then she’d been the resident tomboy on the ranch. Not to mention she was one of his troops now, too—even if she was only on loan to his unit. She was practically one of the guys, for God’s sake. His Kelley family loyalty was torn—catch Lana’s kidnappers or put Alex in danger. How was he supposed to choose?

He pushed the door open and, no surprise, Alex was seated in front of the second computer. “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

She made a rude remark any one of his soldiers might have made to him and kept typing.

He laughed and went into the tiny kitchen. “I hope you like Chinese. I picked up takeout for us.”

“Give me the one with beef.”

“How’d you know I got one with beef?” he challenged.

“Your family owns a cattle ranch in Montana. It’s your duty to support the beef industry.”

He grinned and carried the white cardboard box to her. “Beef and broccoli.”

“Thanks.”

“Find anything?” he asked from the armchair across the room.

“Maybe. The senator is going to a fundraiser tomorrow night hosted by some company called the McNaught Group. Ever hear of them?”

“No. Should I have?”

She shrugged. “You’d have to run in the right circles to come across them.”

He frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

She continued, “They describe themselves as a strategic analysis and investment group. Whatever the heck that is. But what’s interesting is several of their board members are donors to the Chandler campaign. Why would east-coast power brokers give a darn about the junior senator from Nebraska?”

“Good question.”

“I did a little digging on McNaught’s finances and ran into a whole bunch of nesting corporations. A dozen or more of them lead back to other Chandler donors.”

“Any way you can tell if they contributed to my dad’s campaign?”

“I’d have to get a list of your father’s campaign contributors. I don’t know if that’s readily available public information.”

He made a face. “I know just the person to get it for us.”

“Who?”

“Who else? My mother.”

“Really. You don’t have to call her. I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation with your family.”

“Just because she’s divorcing Hank, that doesn’t mean she isn’t as interested as I am in catching whoever kidnapped her baby girl. She’ll help me.”

Alex chose that moment to spill her beef and broccoli all over her shirt. Red-faced, she made a dash for the bathroom. He pulled out his cell phone. “Hi, Mom. How are you doing tonight?”

Sarah Mistler Kelley sounded as composed as she always did. “I’m fine, dear. Is there any change in his condition?”

No need to ask who she meant. She might have left Hank because of his mistresses, but she’d loved the man and had had six children with him. Jim answered her regretfully, “No change. They’re still waiting for the brain swelling to come down so they can let him regain consciousness. The doctors said it could be a week or more. We just have to be patient.”

A sigh came through the line. “Thanks for the update.”

“Actually, that’s not why I called.”

“Oh?”

“I’m looking into who kidnapped Lana. Just poking around informally to make sure the police are doing their job. I was wondering if you have a list of campaign donors from Dad’s last couple of elections.”

“Of course. I had to put together all the seating charts at the fundraisers and send out the thank-you notes. I can email the lists to you if you like.”

“That would be great.”

By the time Alex emerged from the bedroom wearing jeans and a maroon Harvard T-shirt, he was seated at her computer, logged on to his email and printing out the donor list, which had already come through from Sarah. Efficient woman, his mother.

“Ask and ye shall receive,” he told Alex as he handed over the list.

She nodded and jerked a thumb at him to get out of her seat. Grinning, he moved aside.

“Want a beer?” he asked.

She threw him a strangely hurt look. “No, thank you.”

What was up with that? He’d seen her hoist a cold one with the guys in the unit plenty of times before. Whatever. He turned on the world news to see if there was any new pirate activity being reported in the Sea of Aden. It was a sad but true fact that he got nearly as much of his intelligence on world events from the news channels as he did through classified military means.

Alex worked through the evening, surfing and scribbling. Finally, at about ten o’clock, she pushed her chair back and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Need me to work out that kink?” he offered.

She jolted so hard she all but fell out of her chair. “No. I got it.”

“Find anything?”

“Maybe. Yes. I think so.”

“What’ve you got?”

He plugged in the white-noise machine as she moved over to the sofa and spread her notes out on the coffee table. “At least twenty of the same corporate donors and another dozen large private donors contributed to both your father’s and Chet’s last campaigns. These folks have donated to Chandler’s last several campaigns, but they were all first-time donors to your dad’s last campaign.”

He frowned, staring at the lengthy list of names. He’d never heard his father mention any of these people. “I don’t think any of these guys are from California.”

“I know they’re not.” She shrugged. “Your father and Chandler both tend to vote conservatively, so these donors could conceivably just be supporting like-minded senatorial candidates. Or, they could’ve bought Chet a while back and just be getting around to buying your father. How’d Hank’s last campaign go?”

“It was a close thing. His conservative platform doesn’t always play well with west-coast voters. He was behind in all the polls throughout the campaign and forecasted by everyone to lose. Then he got a big influx of cash at the last minute and was able to blitz the media with family-values ads.” He added bitterly, “Which we all know now to be a load of crap.”

Alex replied quietly, “Just because he cheated on his wife doesn’t mean he doesn’t love his kids.”

Jim shrugged. “He’s not the man I thought he was.” He figured Alex would know what he was talking about. She’d grown up around Hank and seen how larger-than-life but out of reach the man had always been, especially in the eyes of his sons.

“Lots of people aren’t the same as they appear on the surface.”

She sounded oddly choked up when she said that. He studied her closely, but her dark eyes gave away nothing. But then she cleared her throat and said briskly, “Almost every donor on that list is going to be at Senator Chandler’s fundraiser tomorrow night.”

“The one this McNaught Group is putting on?” Jim asked.

She nodded.

“Then I guess I’m going to have to get myself invited to it,” he commented.

“How?” Alex blurted.

“Easy. I’ll call and tell them I want to give Chandler money.”

She replied doubtfully, “The guest list is pretty exclusive. Some of the richest people in this part of the country are going.”

“All the more reason to be there. Sounds like exactly the kind of people I’m looking for.”

She said hesitantly, “I don’t know if you’re rich enough to get in. And the cost per plate is thirty thousand dollars.”

He shrugged. “We can always have Homeland Security add a few zeroes to my bank-account totals if it turns out I’m not wealthy enough to get in on my own.”

She blinked, stunned. “They can do that?”

He laughed. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you and I can have whatever we want on this op. The people who put me on this job seriously want to see this bunch of folks exposed.”

“Wow.”

“I’ll arrange for the boost to my bank accounts in the morning. And you’d better call in sick for work tomorrow.”

She stared at him. “Why?”

“Because you have to go shopping.”

“For what?”

“A decent dress to wear to the McNaught fundraiser with me.”

“What?” she squawked.

“Do you even own a dress, Mendez?”

“Of course,” she answered quickly enough that he wondered if she was telling the truth.

“It’ll need to be a fancy one. The McNaught fundraiser is no doubt black-tie.”

“As in tuxedos and ball gowns?” she practically squeaked.

“Exactly.”

She subsided, looking horrified. He laughed. “Chin up, kid. If you’re nice to me I won’t take blackmail pictures of you in a dress to post in the unit.”

“Try it and I’ll have to get even with you.”

“How do you figure you’ll do that?”

“I’ll tell everyone about you kissing the goat.”

Laughter rolled through him. “Lord, I haven’t thought about that in years. The Colton twins dared me to do it.”

“The way I heard it, they didn’t dare you to do it at the summer dance. Taking that poor goat as your date was purely your idea. I can’t wait to see what the guys in the unit do when they find out you make out with goats,” she gloated.

He groaned. “Okay, fine. No pictures tomorrow. Truce?” He held out a hand to shake on the deal.

She reached for his hand but failed to take into account the coffee table between them and pitched over it into the sofa. Fortunately, the piece was overstuffed and broke her fall without injury.

“Remind me to wear body armor under my tux tomorrow night,” he declared. “I’m going to need it if I’m going to dance with you.”

Her response was muffled by the sofa cushions, but given the irritation in her voice, he was glad he couldn’t make out the words.

“I’m heading home, Mendez. Give me a call in the morning if you come up with anything new overnight.”

Something unrepeatable floated out of the sofa pillow. Laughing quietly, he walked out the door.

Alex stared at the closed door and all but burst into tears. When was she going to stop turning into a complete klutz every time he touched her or walked into the room with her?

A black-tie dinner dance, huh? With Jim Kelley? She was so hosed. The only dress she owned was the one she’d worn to her uncle’s funeral a few years ago, and it had managed to be out of style even then.

Desperate, she picked up her phone and made a panicked call. “Carla, you’ve got to save my life.”

She’d gone to high school with Carla Grant back in Maple Cove and the young woman had come to town recently to work in the new Washington, D.C., office of Walsh Enterprises, an oil and gas exploration company headquartered back in Montana.

“What’s up, Alex?” Carla laughed. “Did you get lost in a department store and accidentally wander into the women’s clothing section? Remember, you get your clothes in men’s wear.”

“Very funny. That’s my problem. I’ve got to get a dress. A long one. For a fancy dance. I have to do makeup and everything. And, ohmigosh, my hair. I can’t wear a ponytail to this thing.”

“Whoa! You have a date? With a living, breathing man? Spill, girlfriend.”

Alex scowled. “I’ve been invited to a fundraiser for the senator I work for.”

“By whom? Not one of those gay Congressional staffers using you to convince people they’re straight?” Carla demanded.

“No. Jim Kelley.”

Silence came from the other end of the line. Had she given Carla a no-kidding heart attack? “Did I kill you?” Alex asked anxiously as the silence stretched out.

An ear-splitting scream erupted in her ear, making Alex yank the phone away from her head. From arm’s length, she still heard Carla squeal, “Tell me everything!”

“There’s not much to tell. He’s going to a fundraiser and had to bring a guest. I guess he’s between blonde confections right now and had to grab the first available female on short notice. Or maybe the last available female,” she added a little sourly.

“When’s this big event of yours?” Carla demanded, getting down to the serious business of date preparation.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Oh my God. Call in sick tomorrow. I’ll do the same. This is going to take us all day.”

“How long does it take to shop for one lousy dress, anyway?” Alex asked in alarm.

“It’s not just a dress. There are the shoes and lingerie and makeup and hair, the mani-pedi—”

Alex made a sound of distress.

“—don’t you worry. Leave it all to me.”

Like Alex had any choice. She was completely clueless about all this girl stuff. Her mother had taken off when she was an infant and she’d only had her dad and a ranch full of cowboys to raise her. Which had been bad enough. But when Arturo had died, everything had changed.

It wasn’t as if she’d had any choice but to try to step into her dead brother’s shoes. Her father was so distraught she’d been terrified she’d lose him, too. If becoming her older brother in every way she could manage saved her dad, she’d been willing to do it. Even if it had cost her dresses and dating and growing gracefully into a young woman.

She’d even gone into the army, like Arturo was supposed to do. And the army wasn’t exactly a bastion of instruction in the feminine arts. She’d gotten her college degree mostly online while she bounced around from army post to army post, secretly trying to catch up with Jim Kelley.

Even the assignment to Chandler’s office hadn’t helped much. The man had only a few female staffers, and rumor had it they were on staff only because of old charges of sexism against Chet. The women in Chandler’s office were so busy proving they were as good as the boys that they didn’t wallow in things feminine much, either.

“I’ll be there at 10:00 a.m. sharp,” Carla announced, breaking Alex’s gloomy train of thought. “That’s when the malls open.”

“Right. Ten o’clock.” She gave Carla quick instructions to the love nest and then added, “Thanks, Carla.”

“Hey. What are friends for?”

Chapter 4

After three solid hours of shopping with Carla, Alex was beginning to have deep reservations about her friend. The woman was a slave driver. Who knew this business of girly primping was so darned much work?

At least she had a moment to catch her breath while two nice ladies administered her first ever mani-pedi. So this was what it was like to be a girl, huh? She had to admit it was nice. But she would never tell that to Carla, of course. Although, how she was going to type with French-tipped fingernails was anybody’s guess.

Carla pulled out an actual checklist and glanced through it again. “Hair’s in twenty minutes. You can eat while your highlights go in. I can’t believe you only gave me one day to work a miracle, Alex. What were you thinking?”

Alex winced. “He asked me last night. I didn’t get any more warning than you.”

“Well, at least the dress is a knock-out. Jim Kelley’s not going to know what hit him.”

And neither would her bank account when that credit card came due. But the dress really was stunning. It was red, of course. With her honey-hued skin and dark hair, that was a no-brainer. How the gown managed to be slinky and classy at the same time was a mystery to her, though. Carla declared it the result of a great designer. Alex just knew she’d never felt so pretty … or feminine.

She was abjectly grateful when Carla took over the conversation with the hairdresser. They got going about highlights and lowlights and she was dead lost by the time they got to layers and weight around her face. Who knew hair had weight?

Carla was fretting by the time they got back to the love nest at four o’clock, fussing that they barely had time to dress her before Jim came at seven to pick her up.

“Wow. Nice place,” Carla commented as Alex let her into the flat. She’d mentioned to Jim that she was inviting an old girlfriend over as part of establishing the cover of living there and he hadn’t objected. And Carla couldn’t tell the business end of a computer any more than Alex could tell the business end of a mascara brush, as it turned out.

The next hour was spent in the bathroom with abundant laughter from Carla and abundant cursing from Alex.

“Okay, Alex. Watch carefully. You roll the mascara brush like this. It separates your lashes and gives them more volume.”

She got the hang of putting on makeup eventually, and she had to admit that when it was all said and done, she didn’t look like a slutty raccoon as she’d feared she would. In fact, her brown eyes looked huge and dramatic, and her smile looked, well, amazing.

“I can’t believe that’s me,” she breathed into the mirror. Her dark hair draped around her face and over her shoulders in lush waves that made her look exotic and sexy. Totally un-Alex.

“Oh, it’s you, all right,” Carla declared. “I’ve been saying all along you’d clean up great if you’d just give it a try. Let’s go zip you into your dress. Can I leave it to you to put on your own shoes before Jim gets here?”

Alex stuck her tongue out at her friend. Putting the shoes on wasn’t what worried her. Walking in them was. The strappy stilettos had at least three-inch heels, and she was going to be within a hundred yards of Jim Kelley—a deadly combination.

In a few minutes, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the walk-in closet, simply staring.

“Don’t you cry on me, Alex Mendez. I worked too hard getting that makeup just right on you. And don’t kid yourself. It may be waterproof mascara, but it’ll still run down your chin and give you a fake beard if you boo-hoo enough.”

Alex blinked away the tears in her eyes and hugged her friend. “You’re the best, Carla.”

“Of course I am. That’s why I’m your friend. I’m going to skedaddle before Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous gets here. But you have to swear to tell me how he reacts when he sees you. That boy’s going to have a cow. Although, as I recall, goats are more his style,” Carla laughed.

Alex grinned. “I mentioned that last night. May I recommend you not bring it up in his presence? Apparently, he’s still a little touchy on the subject of dating ba-a-a-ah-d girls.”

Laughing, Carla fetched her purse. “Call me tomorrow. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alex had barely enough time after letting out Carla to go back to the bedroom, check her lipstick, which was supposedly some sort of long-lasting stain, and smooth her gown down her body before she heard a key in the front door.

“Ready to go, Mendez?” Jim called from the living room.

She picked up the red, crystal-covered clutch with her emergency makeup in it and stepped out of the bedroom.

Jim Kelley was a hard man to shock speechless, but when Alex Mendez appeared wearing the sexiest red dress he’d ever seen, damned if speech didn’t desert him entirely. His gaze slid all the way down to her painted toenails and back up past the sexy skirt slit with a slender, tanned leg peeking out of it, past the low-cut top—and hitching for a moment on the provocative cleavage—to the lush waves of hair, and finally her face. With makeup. Cripes, she looked like a movie star.

“Mendez?” he finally choked out. “What happened to you?”

She blinked, alarmed. “Why? Is something wrong? You said it was formal.” She ran a panicked hand down the clingy fabric of her dress.

“Hell, no. Nothing’s wrong. You look …” He struggled for a word and finally settled on “… magnificent. Incredible. Are you sure I can’t take a picture? The guys will never believe me—”

“No pictures!” she blurted.

He supposed he could understand her not wanting the Neanderthals at the office harassing her for impersonating a girl. Although, as impersonations went, this one was pretty damned spectacular. Gussied up, Alex Mendez was beautiful.

A slow smile spread across his face as he formally offered her his arm. He asked politely, “Are you ready to go, Alex? We wouldn’t want to be late.”

Hesitantly, she laid her hand on his forearm, and he waited for her to fall over. But shockingly, she remained upright. She took a cautious step. Another. Normally, he’d make a sarcastic comment about her walking upright for a change, but suddenly, picking on her felt weird. Not nearly as weird as the idea that Mendez was a hot chick, though.

Her dad would be so proud of her. And Arturo—He broke off that train of thought sharply, but it insisted on completing itself. Arturo should’ve been alive to see this day. To see his little sister grow up into a beautiful woman. Jim shook his head. She looked so much like him it hurt. She shared some of Arturo’s demons, too, apparently. His gut twisted. He might not have been able to save her brother from himself, but he would damn well save her.

Bedeviled by grim thoughts, he only belatedly noticed that they made it all the way down to his BMW, which was double-parked out front, without mishap. He hovered protectively as he tucked her into his car and made sure her gown wouldn’t get caught in the door. During the short drive to the swanky hotel hosting the event, he glanced over at her every minute or two.

Finally, Alex demanded, “What’s wrong? You’re acting like I’ve sprouted a second head.”

He jerked his gaze back to the road. “Not at all. I just can’t get over how great you look. I’m trying to figure out how I missed it all these years.”

He supposed that would’ve involved him really looking at her. But how did you look someone in the eye when you’d killed their brother? Sure, the police had ruled it all an unfortunate accident. And yeah, he’d told Arturo to quit screwing around and sit down and buckle his seat belt. And no one could’ve known those deer would jump out in front of the truck, or that the road would be a touch icy in that spot. Or that the truck would careen off an embankment and plunge nearly fifty feet into a ravine—

She mumbled, sounding disgruntled, “I’m not a blonde.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Alex shrugged, “You always go for blondes. Even that poor goat was a blonde. I’m not your type. That’s why you don’t notice me.”

Guilt kicked him in the solar plexus. Hell, now he was giving her a complex on top of killing her brother. “Alex, you’re any man’s type. Women don’t come too much more beautiful or sexy than you. You’re going to turn every head at the ball.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but he meant it. She was a knockout.

He pulled up in front of the hotel and flipped his keys and a hefty tip to the valet, who also seemed to be having trouble tearing his gaze away from Alex.

As the Beemer pulled away, Jim held his arm out to her once more. “Shall we?” he murmured, smiling warmly.

A slow, answering smile unfolded on her face and Jim caught his breath. The woman just kept getting more gorgeous the longer he looked at her.

He hadn’t overstated the reaction other men would have to her. Indeed, heads turned as the two of them stepped into the ballroom. A gray-haired man Jim didn’t recognize closed in on them immediately. “Welcome, Mr. Kelley. Glad to have you join us tonight.”

Slick operators, these McNaught people, to be able to identify him on sight with less than one day’s notice. “Call me Jim,” he replied smoothly. “Thanks for having me on such short notice. I’m excited to contribute to getting Senator Chandler back in Congress for another term. Chet and I see eye-to-eye on so many things. It’s nice to know my interests are being looked out for on Capitol Hill.”

“You’re Hank Kelley’s boy, aren’t you? How’s he doing?”

Jim answered grimly, “He’s still in a coma. No sign of a recovery.” And if these bastards were the ones who’d shot him, Jim would personally see to it they regretted it for the rest of their unnaturally short lives.