Colby Velocity. Debra WebbЧитать онлайн книгу.
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