Webster's side, always one step behind, nipping at his heels like a bloody terrier, yapping about bringing him down.
Nobody ever got the best of Richard Webster. After this final job, he'd be out of reach of the United States government, ruling his own private South Seas kingdom. Nothing and nobody was going to prevent him from achieving his lifelong dream.
That included Samuel Carpenter.
Chapter Nine
C arpenter pulled the SUV into one of the garage bays and the door rolled silently closed behind it. Andrea sat beside him. A fine tremor still coursed through her. He could see the slight trembling of her hands as she rubbed them against her upper arms. The shock of finding all that blood in Mitchell's bathroom seemed to be finally sinking in. Her paleness bothered him though, making her appear like a fragile porcelain doll.
“Where are we?”
“My place,” he answered, walking around the car to open her door. She gracefully stood and looked around, taking in the five-car space with wide eyes. Each slot was occupied with a different vehicle, all black. Hey, he was a guy. He liked black.
With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her through the door, past the mud room and into the kitchen. An elegantly appointed space and a chef's dream, he rarely used any of the top-of-the-line appliances. Cooking for one never appealed, so he usually made do by eating out or bringing home take out when his housekeeper slash resident busybody had the day off.
Andrea's fingers glided softly along the dark cherry cabinets lining the walls. He watched her unhurried steps as she walked around the huge center island with its marble countertop, and wondered what she thought of the space. Sunlight poured through the bay window above a large stainless steel double sink, and her hand reached for one of the little pots containing a variety of fresh herbs, basking in the sunlight, raising it to her nose and inhaling. He couldn't have named one to save his life, but Ms. Willie insisted on using the freshest ingredients, and he liked pampering her whenever he could. She'd been with his family for years, and he joked he'd inherited her when he'd moved out on his own. Indulging her seemed the least he could do, and it made him happy.
Stainless steel appliances gleamed without a hint of fingerprints, buffed and polished to perfection. He watched Andrea take it all in, wondered if she liked it—truthfully, he never paid much attention—it was just there when he needed to eat.
“This is stunning.” Her fingertips ran across the cool marble and she smiled up at him. “Makes my apartment kitchen seem like ghetto chic.”
“I didn't have a lot to do with it. Ms. Willie worked with the interior designer, and I let her pick whatever she wanted.” He glanced around, wondering where his trusty housekeeper was. Usually she'd be bustling around the place, leaving him little snacks and treats, which he rarely had time for. They usually ended up at the office, where his men gobbled them down like manna from heaven.
“Mr. Samuel, what are you doing home at this hour?”
And there she is . His smile when he spotted her coming in through the laundry room door quickly morphed into a frown.
“What were you doing in there?” Ms. Willie had sprained her back a few weeks earlier, and he'd forbidden her from lifting anything heavier than a teacup.
“Pfft. Don't be telling me my business, boy. I was washing a load of kitchen towels. Now mind your manners and introduce me to this sweet girl.” Her words were accompanied with a smile. He didn't take offense at her familiarity; he was used to her directness.
“Wilhelmina McDaniels, this is Andrea Kirkland. She had a bit of a scare this morning, so I brought her around for some of your famous herbal tea.”
“Oh, you poor dear. Are you alright?” She bustled over, immediately pulled Andrea to
Nobody ever got the best of Richard Webster. After this final job, he'd be out of reach of the United States government, ruling his own private South Seas kingdom. Nothing and nobody was going to prevent him from achieving his lifelong dream.
That included Samuel Carpenter.
Chapter Nine
C arpenter pulled the SUV into one of the garage bays and the door rolled silently closed behind it. Andrea sat beside him. A fine tremor still coursed through her. He could see the slight trembling of her hands as she rubbed them against her upper arms. The shock of finding all that blood in Mitchell's bathroom seemed to be finally sinking in. Her paleness bothered him though, making her appear like a fragile porcelain doll.
“Where are we?”
“My place,” he answered, walking around the car to open her door. She gracefully stood and looked around, taking in the five-car space with wide eyes. Each slot was occupied with a different vehicle, all black. Hey, he was a guy. He liked black.
With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her through the door, past the mud room and into the kitchen. An elegantly appointed space and a chef's dream, he rarely used any of the top-of-the-line appliances. Cooking for one never appealed, so he usually made do by eating out or bringing home take out when his housekeeper slash resident busybody had the day off.
Andrea's fingers glided softly along the dark cherry cabinets lining the walls. He watched her unhurried steps as she walked around the huge center island with its marble countertop, and wondered what she thought of the space. Sunlight poured through the bay window above a large stainless steel double sink, and her hand reached for one of the little pots containing a variety of fresh herbs, basking in the sunlight, raising it to her nose and inhaling. He couldn't have named one to save his life, but Ms. Willie insisted on using the freshest ingredients, and he liked pampering her whenever he could. She'd been with his family for years, and he joked he'd inherited her when he'd moved out on his own. Indulging her seemed the least he could do, and it made him happy.
Stainless steel appliances gleamed without a hint of fingerprints, buffed and polished to perfection. He watched Andrea take it all in, wondered if she liked it—truthfully, he never paid much attention—it was just there when he needed to eat.
“This is stunning.” Her fingertips ran across the cool marble and she smiled up at him. “Makes my apartment kitchen seem like ghetto chic.”
“I didn't have a lot to do with it. Ms. Willie worked with the interior designer, and I let her pick whatever she wanted.” He glanced around, wondering where his trusty housekeeper was. Usually she'd be bustling around the place, leaving him little snacks and treats, which he rarely had time for. They usually ended up at the office, where his men gobbled them down like manna from heaven.
“Mr. Samuel, what are you doing home at this hour?”
And there she is . His smile when he spotted her coming in through the laundry room door quickly morphed into a frown.
“What were you doing in there?” Ms. Willie had sprained her back a few weeks earlier, and he'd forbidden her from lifting anything heavier than a teacup.
“Pfft. Don't be telling me my business, boy. I was washing a load of kitchen towels. Now mind your manners and introduce me to this sweet girl.” Her words were accompanied with a smile. He didn't take offense at her familiarity; he was used to her directness.
“Wilhelmina McDaniels, this is Andrea Kirkland. She had a bit of a scare this morning, so I brought her around for some of your famous herbal tea.”
“Oh, you poor dear. Are you alright?” She bustled over, immediately pulled Andrea to
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