The Equalisers. Debra Webb
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no matter how well-placed, led to trouble. He’d learned that the hard way. He could not—would not—get personally involved on this case or any other.
He had a fresh start here, he wasn’t about to let anything or anyone screw it up. He had a job to do, end of story. Feeling sorry for a client wouldn’t get the job done. He had to remember that. Allowing emotions to slip in would lead him straight back to his old buddy… booze. No vulnerabilities. If he permitted a single chink in his armor of determination he’d live to regret it.
The intercom on his desk buzzed, followed by the receptionist’s voice. “Spencer, your two o’clock is here.”
Willow Harris.
He’d told her to come in around two. He’d known it would take most of the morning to pull together the necessary documentation. Next he would lay out his plan for her approval. Moving forward with actual travel plans would be foolhardy prior to getting her on board with his change of identity strategy.
“Thanks, Connie. Send her on back.”
“Fine,” the receptionist huffed before disconnecting.
Spencer shook his head. He didn’t quite get this one. Connie Gardener was extremely intelligent and intensely focused. She was a definite asset when it came to research and planning. But the lady had no people skills. None whatsoever. She’d just as soon tell you to drop dead as to say good morning, depending upon her mood. And that predilection extended to the boss as well as to Spencer or the mailman or anyone else who stuck his or her head through the door. Somehow, Connie just didn’t get that she was a receptionist at this firm. Being receptive and polite was part of her job.
Spencer supposed Jim Colby saw beyond her prickly personality to the definite asset beneath. As long as she didn’t actually run off any clients, Spencer didn’t have a problem with her. Considering most of their clients would likely be as desperate for help as Willow Harris, he doubted even a snarky receptionist would keep those in need away. He had to assume Colby had some reason Spencer didn’t know about for hiring and keeping the woman in spite of her lack of tact.
Willow Harris appeared at his open door just then, dragging his attention back to the more pressing problem at hand. She wore another skirt today, this one pink. The hem brushed her knees the same as yesterday’s navy one had. Despite the conservative length of the skirt, the straight, slightly narrow fit flattered her petite figure. A pink sweater and sensible brown flats completed her wardrobe. She looked nice if not trendy.
“Good morning, Ms. Harris.”
Her lips tilted in the expected expression of politeness, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Mr. Anders.”
“Have a seat.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. “I was about to get a refill.” He picked up his coffee cup. “Would you like a cup? Or maybe a soft drink?”
“Coffee would be nice. Thank you.” She took a seat, careful to tug her skirt down as far as it would go before primly crossing her legs.
“I’ll be right back.” He paused at his door and studied her a moment. With her back to him, he could do so without rousing her suspicion or her questions.
She shifted in her seat a couple of times before she appeared to get comfortable. Her hands trembled once, twice, as she attempted to figure out what to do with them.
As calm as she wanted to appear, she was nervous.
About whether or not he could get the job done? he wondered, doubt creeping in despite his best efforts.
Or was her apprehension related to returning to Kuwait and possibly having to face her former husband?
Spencer turned, his movements soundless, and headed for the small employee lounge. Her apprehension would have to be addressed before they moved forward. He would need to know exactly how she felt and why she felt that way. She needed to think long and hard about whether or not she could really handle the coming emotional storm. Nothing about this mission was going to be easy.
“Anders, do you have a moment?”
Spencer turned from the coffeepot at the sound of Jim Colby’s voice. His new boss and partner came into the lounge accompanied by a female. Thirty-two, thirty-three. Elegant business suit. Dark hair pulled away from her face, not a single strand out of place.
The prosecutor. What was her name? Oh, yeah. Renee Vaughn. From Atlanta. Colby had mentioned her. She’d come by for an interview yesterday, but Spencer had missed her.
“Sure.” Spencer sat his coffee cup aside.
“This is Renee Vaughn from Atlanta. She’s joining our team.” To the lady, he said, “Anders is former military—Special Forces.”
Vaughn thrust out her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Anders.”
Spencer gave her hand a shake. She had a firm grip and a definite no-nonsense air about her. “Good to have you on board, Ms. Vaughn.”
“Mr. Colby!” Connie shouted unceremoniously. “You’ve got a call on line one!”
Jim Colby excused himself, leaving Spencer and the newest associate to fill the abrupt silence.
Vaughn jerked her head toward the door. “What’s your take on the receptionist?” The humor sparkling in her eyes tipped Spencer off to her amusement with Connie’s unrestrained brashness.
“She’s one of kind, that’s for sure.”
“Definitely,” Vaughn agreed. “But I hear she’s a former computer security analyst. Spent time in federal prison for hacking.”
That certainly explained a few things. “Really?” Spencer filled his coffee cup. “I hadn’t heard the prison part.” Maybe he and Connie had more in common than he’d first imagined.
“She mentioned it to me as soon as I arrived for my interview yesterday. Maybe because I’m a former district attorney. I’m not sure if she thought I should be impressed or was simply warning me.” Vaughn shrugged her designer-clad shoulders. “I’ll assume both for the moment.” Her gaze settled fully on Spencer then. “What about you, Anders?” she asked. “Got any skeletons in your closet?”
“I’ll tell you what I do have, Ms. Vaughn,” he offered as he reached for a second cup and filled it. “A client waiting in my office. Help yourself to the coffee.”
“I’d tell you to call me Renee,” she said, reaching for a cup of her own, “but I haven’t been called by my first name since law school. You can drop the Ms. though. Vaughn is fine.”
“I’ll remember that.” He didn’t wait around for her to ask any more questions. He told himself that he wasn’t ashamed of his past; he just didn’t want to talk about it with a virtual stranger. But that was probably more lie than truth.
Back in his office, he pushed the door closed with his foot, then passed the cup in his right hand to his client. “Watch out, it’s hot.” His oversight hit him then. “Will you need cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine.” She took the cup, cradled it in both hands as if she needed the warmth more than the caffeine. “Thanks.”
Spencer took his seat and prepared to launch into the details of the mission strategy he’d developed.
“When do we leave?” she asked before he’d even begun. “I don’t want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary. I’ve wasted too much time already.”
“I understand.” He gulped a mouthful of coffee, ignored the burn, and braced for an argument. “I’ve had to make a few adjustments to our travel plans in order to avoid tipping off the enemy as to our arrival.”
Those wide green eyes searched his, too much recent disappointment setting her on instant edge. “What kind of adjustments?”
“Your ex-husband is well-connected. I don’t want to risk his being tipped off about