The Huntress: full-length sexy romantic suspense (21 page)

Whitfield may have well been dead. His lifeless expression gave away nothing. He sat tall in the leather chair and steepled his fingers in front of his pursed lips, listening.

“I happen to know investors are running from Six-Star. With one of the two active partners dead and the other accused of murdering him, finding Grayson Walker and settling this mess could help lure back those fleeing dollars.”

“Investors are meaningless to me, Miss Brookes. Six-Star has no need of outside funds.” He smiled then. The dead expression cooled the room by at least twenty degrees. “You are wasting my time. Please leave, Miss Brookes.”

Vega narrowed her eyes and stared down Whitfield. But this man hadn’t risen to the top of investment banking by caving to pressure. He gave her another little smile before turning his attentions to his nails.

“I get them done every week,” he said. “It’s extravagant, I know. But I can’t stand dirty nails. I pay others to get dirt under their nails for me.”

Vega listened. There had to be a threat couched in there somewhere. But she hadn’t earned a reputation as a damned good bounty hunter by giving up easily, either.

“Security will be here in a moment,” he said. “I suggest you leave before they arrive.”

Three members of Whitfield’s personal security team, dressed in black—no masks—marched into the office not a breath later, with automatic weapons tucked under their arms.

“What are you doing to warrant this level of security, Whitfield?” Vega leaned over his desk and asked. The question sounded like an accusation, because she meant it to.

He smiled, pushed back his chair, and tilted his head in a mock salute. “Goodbye, Miss Brookes.”

The closest guard poked her with the barrel of his gun.

“Whitfield.” Vega shook her head slowly. “I really get testy when threatened with a gun. Call off your men, give me access to Harper’s office and we’ll have no problems, you and I.” Testy was an understatement. Vega’s blood was boiling. These security guards fit Fiona’s description of the men who had threatened her life, which meant Whitfield had probably ordered them to attack Fiona if she got
too close
.

Too close to what? That pesky unanswered question was the only thing keeping Vega’s itchy fingers from shaking Whitfield until he confessed to trying to harm her sister. Instead, when the guard jabbed the barrel of his automatic into Vega’s side again, she backhanded him in the face and twisted the gun out of his hands. Before the other two guards could even think of reacting, Vega turned the weapon on Whitfield.

“Perhaps I need to repeat myself.” She took her time to adjust the aim so he had no doubt the shot from the gun would be fatal. “Call off your men and give me access to Harper’s office.”

A bead of sweat broke out on Whitfield’s smooth brow. His lips tightened and turned white as he stared at Vega in disbelief. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he said very calmly. “I could have you arrested.”

“But you won’t.” She felt very confident on that account.

“Won’t I?”

“No. Because my sister can identify at least one of these three men behind me as her attacker the other night—an attacker who admitted he’d been ordered to kill her. I can only assume this order came from his employer—you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” A second bead of sweat rose on Whitfield’s forehead.

Staring down an enemy from across a boardroom table and staying cool was unquestionably Whitfield’s strength. But staring down an enemy’s gun barrel put him in Vega’s territory. She knew this was a battle she could win.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, after a long stretch of silence.

“This will be the third time I’ve had to tell you, Whitfield. Listen, will ya? Call off your men and give me access to Harper’s office.”

Chapter Seventeen

Vega kept Whitfield close to her, the barrel of his guard’s small automatic pressed firmly in his side as they made their way to Greg Harper’s office. She left two of his three guards handcuffed in his office. The other—the one who had threatened Fiona—was no longer armed. She had him lead the way.

“I could have you killed for this,” Whitfield grumbled.

“You could,” Vega agreed. “Just show me Greg’s office. I really don’t care what you do with this company. I’m not the law.” She stopped then and slammed Whitfield against the nearest wall. “Neither is my sister. Keep her out of any battles you might be having with the police, the FBI, whoever…or I might just take a real serious interest in your business.” To emphasize the point, Vega jammed the tip of the automatic into the soft skin just underneath his chin.

“Please,” Whitfield wheezed. Stark terror drained the little color he had from his cheeks. “We can work this out.”

“For your sake, I sure hope so.” She pulled the gun away and let him slide partway down the wall before catching his collar and giving him a shove to continue down the hallway. They passed a vacant secretary desk sitting beside a pair of double wooden doors. The brass nameplate tacked to the one door proclaimed the office to be Greg Harper’s.

Yellow police tape sealed the doors with the warning ‘do not cross’. Vega pulled the tape down and stepped aside to let Whitfield use his key on the lock.

The office, about the size of Whitfield’s, had been picked clean. Not a lick of furniture or a scrap of paper remained inside. Vega directed Whitfield and the guard to stand at the far end of the room by a bank of windows while she stood in the middle of the room and wondered if Grayson really expected her to find something. Was this just another wild chase he was sending her on?

He hadn’t seemed happy she’d been poking around in his hometown. Maybe this was just a diversion to keep her from questioning someone specific there.

Whitfield watched like a hovering vulture as she stared blindly at the blank walls. A cool smile had returned to his lips.

“If you leave right now, I won’t press charges,” he said.

“You won’t press charges an hour from now, either.” She held her ground and continued to stare at the walls and wonder.

Greg Harper kept a secret set of files in his office
, Grayson had said. Had he expected the office would remain untouched? A secret set of files—where?

She looked up at the ceiling. The plaster was smooth, unbroken except for a vent from an air duct. She could clearly see up the silver vent. There’d be nothing there.

“How long am I supposed to put up with this bullshit? I’m a busy man, Miss Brookes. Not only do I have this damned company to look after, I also have Whitfield Investments.”

“Whitfield Investments? Is that how you have a connection with Finn Kayne?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” A new bead of sweat appeared on his brow, which was telling.

She looked down at the floor and the unattractive, bloodstained brown and green-flecked carpet covering it. The carpet wasn’t the kind that came off a roll, but in one-foot square tiles. If a spill or snag ruined one area, only a small part of the carpeting would have to be replaced. Not the whole room.

This must have happened sometime within the last year or so. One square on the floor didn’t quite match the others. The brown was a shade darker and the green a shade brighter.

Vega crouched down and ran her finger over the newer carpet tile. The floor underneath felt different—slightly harder.

A floor vault.

Barging into Whitfield’s world and holding a gun under his nose was merely a manageable irritation for him. Discovering papers that could potentially bring his empire crashing down around his ears raised the stakes significantly. Either Grayson killed Greg Harper or Whitfield paid one of his guards to do the deed. Whether Whitfield was part of the crime or not, didn’t matter to Vega as much as the danger lurking in that floor vault posed. She had to assume the contents of the vault got Greg Harper killed and put Fiona’s life at risk.

Whitfield might go as far as risk a few bullet holes to stop her from turning whatever she might find over to the police. And she was not willing to take that chance.

Since she’d already used the twin pair of handcuffs she always carried to lock up the guards in Whitfield’s office, she had nothing to use to secure Whitfield and the third guard.

“Give me your tie,” she said, eyeing his cool blue silk tie—it looked sturdy enough.

Whitfield scowled while undoing the knot. He tossed the tie to her and she gave it a few yanks.

“Stand with your back to your guard.”

“Why?” His cheeks whitened. “You want money? I can pay you double what you’re being paid.”

“I don’t want your money.” She pressed the guard’s automatic pistol to Whitfield’s belly and moving quickly, secured his wrist together with the guard’s, using Whitfield’s pricey silk tie.

With them standing by the window, essentially helpless, Vega was free to search the floor vault at her leisure.

“Don’t move,” she warned. She crouched over the floor vault and peeled up the carpet square. She was struck immediately by the complicated electronic lock standing between her and the contents hidden in the vault. Her simple lock-pick kit couldn’t help her here. Anxious to get a look at the files before the police arrived, she stood and aimed the Beretta.

It would probably bring the whole building down upon her, but Vega pulled the trigger anyhow.

Whitfield screamed.

The guard winced.

The small vault sprang open.

She holstered the Beretta—there was no need to get shot by a nervous guard or police officer just for having a gun in her hand—and reached into the vault. The stainless steel interior felt cool to the touch. Where were those files Grayson seemed so desperate for her to find?

The only thing in the vault, far in the back, was a compact disc in a black case. Was this what Grayson had wanted her to find? There was only one way to find out.

She locked Whitfield and his guard in Harper’s office with the warning that she’d come back and kill the both of them if they made a sound, and settled in front of the computer on the secretary’s desk.

A harried-faced manager in a cheap tan suit ran by, followed by a few nervous security guards dressed in the usual dull-gray uniforms.

“Did you hear that?” a young woman dressed in a burgundy suit with an assortment of pencils sticking out of her hair stopped at the desk to ask.

“Hear what?” she asked. The computer whirled to life. She put in the disc and waited for the computer to recognize it.

“That noise. It sounded like a gunshot.” The woman’s hands were quaking worse than Whitfield’s. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Vega’s face more closely. “You from system’s administration?”

“Yep. I’m getting this computer ready for use in accounting.” Vega clicked on the mouse to bring up a listing of the files on the disc.

“Oh my, oh my. I suppose things like that need to be done. I haven’t been able to think straight since Mr. Harper’s death. The killer could be anyone. He could be in the building now.”

“I thought Grayson Walker killed him,” Vega said absently, while scanning the long list of files that had appeared on the computer screen.

The woman stepped away from the desk. “I don’t know what’s going on here and I’m not asking any questions.” She stumbled over her own feet in her haste to get away.

Vega shrugged. The arrival of Whitfield’s special guards probably had every employee quaking. She returned to work on the computer. The documents she brought up were financial statements with long lists of payments coming in to and leaving the company’s accounts. Her eyes crossed. The numbers were meaningless to her. It would probably take a trained accountant several days of poring over the files to find anything fishy.

This could be important. Or it could just be a routine disc containing office financials. Not wanting to leave before making sure she’d gotten the right piece of evidence, Vega began randomly opening files. A long list of names, payments, and dates caught her eye. It wasn’t the list that stood out, but one name near the top in particular.

Butch Polsen.

A sum of ten thousand dollars had been paid to him from Six-Star Enterprises. Had Butch been hired by Six-Star, or more specifically Whitfield, to capture Grayson?

Perhaps, but this file had been made before Harper’s death.

She scanned down the list further and stopped on another, more disturbing name on the list.

Finn Kayne.

Weekly payments, all in the thousands of dollars, were being paid to Finn. Could this be the same big dog Finn Kayne taking over the crime scene in Detroit? Vega chewed on that thought for a moment. Why would a Fortune 500 Company want to get their hooks into organized crime? There were at least a hundred more names, besides Finn’s, with equally large weekly payments included in the list.

Interesting information, but nothing that would help her track down Grayson.

She scanned the disc’s list of folders again and found one titled ‘partnership’. That looked promising. She opened the folder and then brought up several of the files.

One was a report Harper had written the day he was killed. She read it through while dialing the number for a contact of hers in the local FBI field office.

Harper’s report explained, citing which files on the disc proved this, how Six-Star funds had been diverted to various terrorist organizations. She read the last statement in Harper’s report aloud to Johnson, the FBI field agent who she’d helped in the past.

“Large payments from Six-Star to various questionable organizations appear to be for the sole purpose of spurring continued economic instability, giving Six-Star an edge over smaller, competing entities. Although this conspiracy was implemented by one of the founding partners, evidence suggests leadership decisions are being made by what appears to be an emerging domestic terrorist organization known simply as
Spider
.”

“Whoa,” Johnson said. “I’m sure it’s a crank, but I’ll send a team right out just to be safe.”

“Please do. I’ve got a guard here that attacked Fiona.”

The heavy thumping in her chest told her this wasn’t a crank. Something very wrong was going on at Six-Star…something that had nearly killed her sister.