Sam and his startled attacker tumbled to the ground and rolled as each attempted to gain control of the other. Sam resisted the urge to use his weapon. His enemy had dropped his weapon when they hit the ground. No need to use excessive force. His assailant went for Sam’s throat. Weapon or no, the guy was determined to win this battle. At least until Sam applied just enough pressure to the carotid artery. The man slumped, unconscious. Sam shoved him off and clambered to his feet.
After tucking the lout’s weapon into his waistband, Sam moved back into position at the rear exit and listened. If the unconscious chump had been sent to retrieve something, then his pals would get restless when he didn’t return in a timely manner.
Sending a complication signal to Colby, Sam prepared to very carefully risk opening the door.
A weapon discharged inside the building, the sound shattering the silence and derailing Sam’s plan. The cacophony of screaming and yelling had him rushing through the door, weapon drawn.
Two men were facedown on the floor, one was on his knees with Jim Colby’s weapon boring into his sweating forehead. The two female teenagers were huddled together. Connie Gardner held a weapon she’d obviously taken from one of the men and was instructing the dudes on the floor to stay put.
Since everything appeared to be under control inside, Sam went back outside and dragged the guy who’d tackled him back inside with the others. The scumbag had started to rouse, but didn’t attempt to break free.
“What happened in here?” Sam asked Connie.
She looked furious and not the least bit frightened. “They wanted to make sure we weren’t wearing wires or tracking devices so they demanded we take off our clothes. Big mistake.”
Sam resisted the urge to grin. Considering no one was dead he figured this team of lowlifes had gotten off easy. Connie was not one to be pushed around and she definitely knew how to use a weapon.
The wail of sirens indicated the arrival of the police. Tonight chalked up one more for the Equalizers. Chicago’s finest had been trying to nail this operation for months. The man currently begging for his life in a position of humiliation in front of Jim Colby was the suspected ringleader. A few months from now, when he was in prison with guys ten times worse than him, he would be wishing Colby had put him out of his misery.
A sense of accomplishment filled Sam as he kept a bead on the others while Connie reassured the two young ladies who had thought they were coming here tonight to be extras in a movie. Their dreams had turned into nightmares, but at least they had lived to see their mistakes.
One hour later, Sam piled into the Impala with Connie and Colby to head back to the office. It was almost midnight and he was relatively sure the silence was indication that both his colleagues were as exhausted as he was. The euphoria lingered in spite of the quiet and the fatigue. Sam genuinely liked playing the hero, no matter the risks involved. He loved his job. It beat the hell out of obsessing about the past.
As Jim Colby slowed for a changing traffic signal, he reached into his pocket and dug out his cell phone which was evidently still set to vibrate.
“Colby.”
Sam didn’t really pay attention to the conversation, but he did pick up on the change in tension in his boss’s tone. Jim Colby was clearly not happy with the caller and/or the subject of the call.
Colby closed his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. “We have a command performance tomorrow morning,” he said with a quick glance into the rearview mirror at Sam.
That couldn’t be good. “The detective in charge has a problem with our statements?” Seemed a little fast to have gotten feedback, negative or otherwise, only minutes after they’d driven away from the scene of a sting operation. Usually the questions came later. Not that Sam was worried. Jim Colby might bend the hell out of the rules, but he never crossed the line, at least not more than a step or two.
“This has nothing to do with tonight’s operation.” Colby sent another look in Sam’s direction. “We have an appointment at eight sharp at the Colby Agency. Victoria needs to see us.”
Now Sam understood the irritation.
Jim Colby’s mom had called.
Checking up on her son had gotten to be a regular routine for the lady. And judging by the muscle flexing in Colby’s jaw, it was not appreciated.
The real question was, why would she want to see Sam?
Colby Agency Wednesday, June 5, 8:00 a.m.
JIM COLBY WAS twenty-eight years old. He was married with a daughter. He had opened the doors to his own cutting-edge firm just this year. The Equalizers were swiftly making a name for themselves as the place to go when all else failed.
He had faced death on more occasions than he could recall, and he’d doled it out far more times than any man would want to admit. The possibility of having his wife or child hurt was the one thing in this world that scared him; otherwise he was fearless. And yet here he sat, with dread tying his gut in knots as he waited for his own mother to call him into her private office.
Not that he was afraid of his mother; he wasn’t. But her need to protect him, to ensure his every move was cautiously executed was, frankly, making him nuts. Since the birth of his daughter, his mother’s hovering had only gotten worse.
“Jim.”
He looked up to see Mildred, his mother’s personal assistant and longtime friend, approaching the sitting area outside Victoria’s office. Pushing to his feet, he propped a smile into place. “Mildred.”
“Victoria is ready to see you now.” She directed an acknowledging nod at Sam Johnson as he stood. “If you don’t mind waiting, Mr. Johnson, it will only be a few more minutes before you can go in, as well.”
Jim felt his gaze narrow with suspicion. What was Victoria up to? He sent Johnson a “beats me” look as the man resumed his seat.
Mildred led the way to the door on the other side of the small waiting area and opened it. “Let me know if you change your mind about coffee.”
Jim didn’t respond, his entire attention already focused on the room beyond the door Mildred had just opened. The setting was a little generic, not at all his mother’s usual elegant style, but this building was only temporary office space. The agency’s new home was still under construction.
He walked in, instantly feeling his tension escalate to the next level. The Colby Agency had that effect on him; always had. He imagined most anyone who entered the inner sanctum of the head of the Colby Agency—temporary or not—experienced the same. For more than a quarter of a century, the Colby Agency had stood head and shoulders above the rest as the most prestigious private investigation agency in Chicago, perhaps in the whole country. Jim admired his mother and all she had done.
“Jim, thank you for coming.”
“Victoria,” he acknowledged.
His mother indicated the wingchair to his left. “Please have a seat.” She settled into the leather executive chair behind her desk.
It wasn’t until Jim moved around the chair she’d designated that he saw the other person already seated in the room. Female. Blond hair, brown eyes. Thirtyish. Posture rigid. Gaze assessing. A cop.
The woman extended her hand. “Hello, Mr. Colby.”
Yep. Definitely a cop. She had that formal bearing, that watchful eye.
Jim pumped the lady’s hand once then looked to his mother for an explanation.
“Please make yourself comfortable, Jim. This is Detective Lisa Smith. She and I will explain everything.”
He lowered himself into the chair, analyzing the three words uttered by the woman seated next to him when she’d shaken his hand. “West Coast?” he asked, turning his attention to Detective