Private Justice

by Marie Ferrarella

  She’d tried to wait it out, expecting her husband to do the right thing. She’d given Donald his space, let him putter around the restaurant’s damn kitchen right through into the wee hours of the morning as he supposedly worked on yet another secret sauce—a sauce the world did not need since their restaurant chain already had many other “secret sauces” currently in use and responsible for the return of legions of customers to their tables time and again.

  But instead of finally coming around and doing the right thing, the way she’d hoped, Donald had just sunk deeper into silence.

  Well, she’d had enough of playing the patient, understanding wife. It was damn well time for the man to live up to his responsibilities as the head of this large extended family.

  Telling herself to be patient, Bonnie Gene tried again. “Donald, I’m talking to you. When are you going to call Hank?”

  His solid form partially wrapped in an apron splattered with a variety of different stains representing a host of ingredients, Donald barely glanced up from the huge pot that corralled his attention. He knew that if he didn’t glance up, there would be hell to pay. Bonnie Gene could be a force to be reckoned with when she got going.

  “I’m not,” was all he said before returning to his culinary work in progress.

  The new sauce didn’t taste right and he blamed that on Hank. If he wasn’t so preoccupied, so wrapped up in trying not to be wrapped up in his half brother’s dilemma, his head would be clear enough for him to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. After all, this was their bread and butter.

  Hands on her still-trim hips, Bonnie Gene tossed her head, loosening the French twist that held her shoulder-length dark-brown hair in place. She deliberately got between her exasperating husband and the giant pot on the stove that had his attention so annoyingly riveted.

  “Hank is family,” she pointed out sternly.

  “He’s an idiot,” Donald snapped in barely suppressed anger, circling around his wife to get at the stove from a different angle.

  Not to be outdone—or outmaneuvered—Bonnie Gene turned around to face him. “Doesn’t matter. He’s still family.”

  Bonnie Gene knew she didn’t have to explain to her husband how she felt about the responsibilities that went with that kind of a tie. She firmly believed that you didn’t just stick by a person when times were good and there was something to be gained from being in their light. You stuck by them most of all when they needed you and things were at their darkest.

  “Bonnie and Clyde had families,” Donald pointed out, grumbling. “Don’t recall ever reading that either of their families tried to help them out when the law was after them.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Donald,” she told him tersely. “It’s not the same thing.”

  Donald stopped stirring and put the extra-long wooden spoon down so hard, the noise echoed through the kitchen. “Exaggerating?” he repeated, a frown on his otherwise cherubic face. “I thought I was downplaying it. Look, Hank’s been playing fast and loose all his life. He was the favorite son. He was the one who got all the advantages, all the attention. He always pushed the envelope to the edge and beyond, thinking he was bulletproof. He really believed that for him, there were no consequences. Well, guess what? There are. He’s a big boy now, and he needs to take his lumps just like the rest of us.”

  Bonnie Gene knew that shouting at her husband wasn’t going to get her anywhere. He needed to be cajoled into doing the right thing. Bullying had never worked with Donald. So she struggled with her temper as she appealed to his softer side. After all, it was Donald—by his own choice—who’d been the surrogate father to Hank’s boys while his brother had run for office and whatever else had suited his fancy at the time. Now it was time for him to be a father figure to his brother as well.

  “But he’s not like the rest of us, Donald. He’s definitely not strong, the way you are. I’m not telling you to take those lumps for him, I’m asking you to let the man know that he’s not alone in this. That his big brother is there to stand by him if he needs him.”

  But this time, Donald refused to be swayed. He felt around in his pocket, ready to light up one of his ever-present cigars, the ones his wife took such joy in removing from between his lips. But this time, he’d forgotten to put one into his pocket to take the place of the one Bonnie Gene had destroyed yesterday.

  He was going to have to wait until she left the kitchen to get at his secret stash, he thought, irritated. “If you’re that worried about him, you call him and tell him that you’re there for him.”

  Bonnie Gene shook her head. Why was Donald being so stubborn? “It’s not the same thing.”

  “It’ll have to do because it’s the only thing Hank’s going to hear from this side of the family,” he said dismissively. He picked up the wooden spoon again and went back to stirring.

  “You’re not going to call him?” she asked, stunned that he was still refusing her request. Usually, he would have given in by now, especially when he sensed how much this meant to her.

  “I’m not going to call him,” Donald confirmed, keeping his eyes on his simmering sauce.

  Bonnie Gene threw up her hands. Swallowing a few choice words about the similarity between her husband and a baboon, she left the kitchen before she said something they were both really going to regret.

  The moment she was gone—one eye on the door at all times—Donald went to retrieve a much-needed cigar.

  Chapter 8

  Dylan’s plan was to drop Cindy back at her office and then proceed to his late-afternoon appointment. But a call from his client, begging off because of a family emergency and requesting to reschedule, had Dylan changing his plans.

  Instead of simply dropping Cindy off, he decided to stop to get lunch, albeit a late one, to go. He left the choice up to her. Without hesitation she opted for Chinese food, specifically, egg drop soup, something she’d discovered by accident helped settle her less-than-calm stomach.

  “Chinese it is,” he said.

  He knew of a place that served above-average food not that far from his father’s office. Once he got their order and was back in the car, she had to ask. “You’re coming back to the office with me? Because it doesn’t look as if you’re planning on just depositing me back where you found me,” she explained, nodding at the take-out bag on the floor.

  “Sharp lady,” he said. Stopping at a red light, he turned toward Cindy and asked, “Are you up for helping me?”

  Despite the fact that Dylan’s magnetic blue eyes completely had her attention, her mistake of a marriage to Dean had taught her never to agree to anything unless she was first clear on all the particulars. “Help you do what?”

  He would have thought that was self-explanatory. “Save your boss’s hide.”

  Amusement curved her mouth. “Put so very eloquently, how can I possibly refuse?” Not that she would, no matter how he put it. If there was a way to help the senator, she wanted to be part of it, part of clearing his name as much as possible. “What is it that you have in mind?”

  Something I shouldn’t. The thought floated through his head in response to her question, completely out of left field.

  Well, maybe not so completely, Dylan silently amended. He’d always had a weakness for pretty faces and hers was definitely pretty. More than pretty. Not only that, but she also struck him as a lady who wouldn’t give him any cause for concern. She didn’t seem to be a woman who was after a relationship or who would grab on to a man just because she wanted to accessorize her life.

  The truth was, the fact that she wasn’t interested him.

  This wasn’t going to help his father any, Dylan reminded himself. And that was, after all, why he was here in the first place. Anything on the side would have to remain that way for now, to be revisited once he got things organized and in some kind of operative order. That and damage control had to be his twin priorities. Exploring Cindy Jensen’s psyche—and whatever else she’d let him explore—could be his reward
for a job well done.

  “I want to figure out why my father’s the focal point of an attack right now. Maybe there’s someone out there who has something to gain by bringing him down at this particular time. If so, if we can find out who and why, we can get at the heart of all this. If we can separate the truth from the lies, maybe, just maybe, we can save the old man from being convicted of anything other than exercising some incredibly poor judgment.” The light had turned green and they were moving again. “So, are you up for it?”

  He debated asking if she’d just rather go home and rest instead, but he had a feeling that she’d take that as an insult, so he kept the last part to himself.

  “I’m up for it,” she replied. “But I’m curious.” She’d gotten the sense, perhaps wrongly, that Dylan Kelley liked to do things alone, the Lone Ranger of lawyers. Of course, she reminded herself, the Lone Ranger did have a sidekick, a Native American who had nursed him back to health after finding him left for dead by a band of outlaws. Was Dylan picking her to be his Tonto? “Why me?”

  She saw him struggle not to smile. “You’re his Chief Staff Assistant, remember?”

  He was mocking her, wasn’t he? “I remember,” she replied quietly in a voice that couldn’t be read.

  Something alerted him to tread lightly. He went with the truth, rather than flattery. “The way I see it, you know his schedule, the names of the people he interacts with during the course of the day, the week, the month. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re pretty much up on his entire professional life. Somewhere in there is someone with something to gain from my father’s fall from grace in the public arena. I need you to help me figure out who that someone is.”

  He made a good case, but then, she would have expected nothing less from the way he presented himself. “Makes sense.”

  He slanted her a look just as he pulled into the underground parking structure beneath her office building. “Glad you approve.”

  This one was going to keep her on her toes, Cindy thought. Right now, that was something she welcomed. It would distract her from being both disappointed in and concerned about the senator. She never liked the prospect of being at loose ends, especially not now, not when her future, both personal and professional, looked so uncertain.

  They had only been at work in the senator’s office for a little less than an hour when Dylan’s cell phone rang. Several selected bars of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” filled the air around them.

  He saw the amused look on Cindy’s face as he took his cell out. She looked younger when she smiled, he thought. Like a teenager instead of the woman in her early thirties that he knew her to be.

  “What?”

  She shook her head in response. She was going to have to get better at keeping a poker face, she thought. “Nothing. I just don’t picture you as the classical-music type.”

  The truth was that he liked all sorts of music, but classical music was what his mother enjoyed and whenever he heard it, he thought of her. And his childhood. That had been a damn sight easier than adult life was turning out to be.

  “I’m a man of many layers, Cindy,” he told her with a wink.

  The wink went right through her, rousing unsettling feelings like a two-second earthquake. “So it would seem,” she murmured, wondering what she might find if she peeled back a layer or two.

  The very idea that the thought had remotely crossed her mind brought her to an abrupt mental halt. Just what was going on with her head today? This wasn’t like her. She wasn’t given to thinking about men, handsome or otherwise. She’d realized that she was an incredibly bad judge of character and no man turned out to be what he seemed. If she had any doubts about that, thinking that maybe Dean had been an isolated case, all she had to do was look to the senator to show her that she was wrong.

  Had to be her hormones talking, she decided. Pregnant women, she’d learned, were subject to fluctuating hormones. She had to be careful not to let herself be ambushed by them, allowing them to make her do something stupid. She also had to remember that finally, she was in control of her own life.

  Sort of, she amended ruefully, looking down at her stomach accusingly.

  Dylan missed the rainbow of emotions passing over Cindy’s face as she thought her situation through. He’d turned his back toward her as he took the incoming call on his cell. The number was utterly unfamiliar at first glance.

  “Dylan Kelley,” he said by way of a greeting, then waited for a response.

  “Mr. Kelley,” The female voice on the other end was breathless, as if the woman had run across a football field to place this call. “This is Martha. I’m sorry to bother you, but you did tell me to call if I saw something out of the ordinary.”

  Dylan stiffened. He’d said that to his father’s housekeeper in passing as he left. He certainly hadn’t expected her to call so soon.

  Had something happened to his father?

  Maybe he shouldn’t have been so cavalier in leaving the estate without thoroughly checking the security system first.

  “Is something wrong, Martha?”

  “I think so.” The woman lowered her voice, as if afraid she would be overheard making the call. “I thought you should know that the senator seems to be packing up his belongings.”

  His father had seemed a little restless, but he hadn’t said anything about leaving the estate. Had something happened in the last hour? “Where’s he going?”

  “That I do not know, sir, but it appears to be away from here. He’s taking a lot of things.” She paused, uncertain at her own intrusion. “You did say to call if anything unusual occurred,” she repeated nervously.

  “And I’m grateful you did. I’ll be right there,” he told the housekeeper.

  But not before I call the old man first, he added silently.

  “Something wrong?” Cindy asked, alerted by the shift in Dylan’s tone as he talked to whoever had called him.

  “Apparently the old man’s making a break for it,” he said as he quickly hit the number he’d preprogrammed earlier, after Cindy had given him his father’s cell phone number.

  “A break? For where?” Cindy wanted to know.

  Dylan shrugged in response, since he hadn’t a clue. She would probably know the answer to that better than he would. He had no idea who his father called a friend these days.

  The next second he raised his hand, silently asking her to hold her thoughts. His father had picked up on the other end.

  “Where are you going, Dad?” he asked in response to his father’s uncertain greeting.

  “How did you know?” Hank demanded, the ever-growing paranoia clearly evident in his voice.

  “That’s beside the point,” Dylan said, refusing to be sidetracked. “You can’t just take off like this. You’re not some carefree kid who can just disappear when he wants to. Where are you going?”

  There was frustration in his father’s voice as he answered, “I don’t know yet.”

  His father had struck Dylan as barely hanging on when he’d left him earlier. If the man took off now, who knew where he would wind up? Not to mention that he had to be able to get hold of his father when the need arose.

  “You have to have a plan in place, Dad.” Dylan stopped himself. He didn’t need to be told that his father wouldn’t welcome a lecture right now—at least, not from him. “Sit tight until I get to you,” Dylan instructed. “I’m coming right over.” When his father made no response to either statement, Dylan asked, “Did you hear me, Dad?”

  “Yes, I heard you. Just hurry. You said you’d be right over?”

  Okay, something was definitely off. Why was the man acting so strangely? “Did something happen after I left?” Dylan wanted to know.

  “No,” the senator snapped. Agitated, he added, “But it might. It just might.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Dylan promised again. “Just don’t leave.” With that, he closed his cell and dropped it into the pocket of his jacket.

  “What’s wrong?” C
indy hadn’t bothered even pretending that she wasn’t listening in. The concerned look on Dylan’s face only made matters worse.

  “Something’s got the old man spooked,” Dylan told her. “I’m going back to see him.” He saw that she had risen as well. “Going home?” But even as he made the query, he had a feeling that wasn’t it.

  “Going with you,” she corrected, getting her purse.

  He gave it one shot. “There’s no need for you to go back to the estate—”

  Cindy cut him off. “I’ll be the judge of that. If the senator’s upset enough to want to take off again, there’s definitely a need for me to go with you. You admitted that you two are practically strangers. Neither one of you looked comfortable with the other earlier. The senator needs a friendly face to talk to.”

  He never liked being kept in the dark. “Look, I have no right to ask, but what is it between you and my father?” he wanted to know. “It’s definitely something more than just a boss and his assistant.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. He found he couldn’t even make an educated guess what was going on behind those deep-brown eyes of hers.

  “You’re right,” she finally said.

  He had no idea why being right caused his stomach to drop. “It’s something more?”

  “No, you have no right to ask,” she told him crisply. “Listening to your end of the conversation, I got the impression that time was of the essence, so let’s not waste any more than we already have, okay?” She looked at him pointedly. “Let’s go.”

  “Ever consider being a drill sergeant?” he asked, amused despite himself. “You seem to have a natural aptitude for it.”

  “I’ll put it on the list of future jobs to look into,” she answered, leading the way out.

  Ordinarily, Dylan wouldn’t have dropped everything this way. He would have attempted to calm his father down over the phone, but the senior Kelley had seemed too agitated. The man had also given him the feeling that he was too unpredictable to leave to his own devices, obviously upset and growing more so. Dylan felt they needed to see each other face to face again to get to the bottom of what was going on. He was still fairly certain that he could tell if his father was lying.