Captain's Call of Duty. Cindy Dees
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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.
The guy actually slapped Jim’s back. “So, Jim. Tell me more about you. What business are you in?”
“Businesses, plural,” Jim replied, shrugging. “A little of this and that. Ranching, oil, gold, precious commodities. Whatever makes me money and a lot of it.”
“Not risk-averse, are you?” their escort asked.
Jim laughed. “Caution is for the weak or uninformed.”
Another man joined them and the first one commented, “We were just talking about investments.”
The second man asked, “So why this particular fundraiser, Mr. Kelley? I understand you pulled a lot of strings to buy last-minute tickets.”
“I’m interested in McNaught. Tonight’s party gave me an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Support the Chandler campaign and finally meet the McNaught powers-that-be.”
“For what purpose, Mr. Kelley?” the second man asked a little too casually.
He chose to misunderstand the fellow. “Why, to get Chet Chandler reelected, of course. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”
“Of course,” both men replied, flashing him plastic smiles in unison. Not long after that, the men drifted away. Jim repeated the same conversation with only small variations, no less than a half dozen more times before dinner was served.
As the crowd abandoned its cocktails to be seated and eat undercooked scallops and overcooked filet mignon, he glanced down at Alex. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
“Observing.”
He asked through his smile, “See anything interesting?”
“Definitely. We’ll talk later.”
He leaned down and all but put his mouth on her ear. “That sounds perfect.”
She tilted her head toward him and murmured back without moving her lips, “Hidden cameras. Microphones or lip readers or both. Watch what you say.”
He replied, “Guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of the evening telling you how beautiful and sexy you are.” Her eyes widened in something approaching shock, and he added, “You’ve got to get over acting surprised. People will think something’s wrong with you if you don’t take the compliments as your due. Try to act at home in your skin, darling.”
“Easier said than done, snookums.”
He laughed. “I like this look on you. You should stick with it.”
“Have you seen who I work with?” she retorted.
He grinned ruefully at her. “For the record, they’d all love you like this.”
“For the record, I’d never hear the end of it if I showed up at the office looking like this.”
“Would that be so bad?” he asked half-seriously.
She caught the change of mood and considered. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’d have to think about it.”
Dinner was innocent enough. They were seated with various high-power business people and just plain rich folks, and the McNaught representative at their table didn’t ply Jim with any probing questions. Chet Chandler gave a predictable and thoroughly boring speech. No wonder he needed McNaught’s money to get himself reelected. The guy was as inspiring as dirty dishwater.
After dessert, waiters rapidly disassembled the tables and hauled them out while a swing band set up on the stage, transforming the venue into a dance.
And that was when the sharks closed in on Alex. There were plenty of harrumphing wives keeping