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“Take the day off. I can survive without you for a day.” He plunked his cowboy hat on his head. “I don’t like leaving you.”
“Madre de Dios! You don’t live here and I haven’t invited you to stay. So get out.” She softened her words with a twisted smile.
The doctor nodded. “Leave the girl alone and go home, Jackson. She’ll be fine.”
His steps dragging, Jackson allowed the doctor to escort him out of Ysabel’s apartment. Not until the door was closed behind them and their footsteps faded down the hallway, did Ysabel let out the breath she’d been holding.
If she’d known that was what it would be like to see Jackson again, she’d have asked him to stay away longer. Too tired to think, she stripped, took a quick shower and fell into her bed.
As her eyes closed, she thought of all that had happened in the past three hours.
She’d learned she was pregnant, tendered her resignation, Jackson had nearly been killed and they’d almost been run off the road by a homicidal maniac.
Yup, that pretty much summed up the day. She yawned, wondering what was in store for the next morning. Reaching down, she pulled the sheet up over her head as though that would keep the chaos away.
“FLINT? It’s Jackson. We need to meet.”
Dr. Adams had given him a ride back to the building he owned in downtown Houston where he had the penthouse condo on the twenty-fifth floor. He preferred the wide-open spaces of his ranch west of Houston, but his business necessitated a residence in the city.
Standing at the floor-to-ceiling window in nothing but his boxer shorts, he pressed the cell phone to his ear.
“Do you know what time it is?” Flint McKade grumbled into his ear.
“Two in the morning. I know it’s late and I’m sorry to wake you, but I’ve got some serious problems. I’m going to need the help of the Aggie Four.” His hand tightened as it hit him in a fresh wave of anger and sorrow that the Aggie Four was down to three now. Viktor’s loss hit him harder when he needed the full support of the friends he’d grown to love and respect. He missed Viktor.
As much as he missed his dead friend, he needed the support of the ones still living. If he didn’t find out who planted the detonators in that container, he’d not only be up on charges of murder for the death of the forklift driver, but he’d also be the prime suspect in the possible plot to commit an act of terrorism against the United States.
“What’s the problem? Want me to come now?” Flint’s voice perked up, all sleepiness vanishing.
“No, that’s not necessary. Contact Akeem and let him know we’re having an emergency meeting tomorrow at your ranch at noon.”
“Will do.” Flint paused. “You know we’re with you, buddy, whatever the problem. Hang in there. There’s nothing we can’t overcome.” That had been their mantra throughout school at Texas A&M. The mantra had followed them through the years of building their empires.
Jackson’s throat tightened. He hoped they could overcome this mess, which right now seemed insurmountable.
FROM the rented apartment on the twenty-third floor, a man stood in darkness, staring through his binoculars at the building two blocks away. Things were going according to plan. The Department of Homeland Security would be heating up and all indications should point to the three remaining members of the Aggie Four.
Jackson Champion stood silhouetted against the window of his condo, unashamed of his nakedness and unaware he was being watched at that very moment. He appeared to be talking on his cell phone. Probably talking to one of his cronies about the accident at the terminal.
The hit and run on the interstate wasn’t part of the plan, but he chalked it up to an added bonus. Jackson ought to be feeling the squeeze by now. If not, he would be soon.
Chapter Four
“Tom, I need you to scan the employee files of the ship that delivered that cargo yesterday. I want a list of all the employees, their backgrounds and the date they started work for Champion Shipping.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tom sat behind his desk outside Ysabel’s office and logged on to the computer. “I heard about the accident on the freeway last night. I’m glad no one was injured.”
“Yeah.” So was Ysabel. They had been too close to death for her liking. Now that she was carrying a baby, she had to be more careful—think of someone beside herself in the equation.
She paced the floor of her office, having arrived later than intended. For the first time in the five years she’d worked for Champion Shipping, she just couldn’t drag herself out of bed at her usual five o’clock in the morning. Partly because of the late night at the terminal and mostly because of the exhaustion of the first trimester of pregnancy.
She’d Googled pregnancy online and read about it while nibbling on crackers, hoping to keep her stomach down when every little smell set her off. All she needed was to throw up in front of Jackson again and he’d have an ambulance there so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her. No, she had to keep her morning sickness from him at all costs. The best way would be to avoid him altogether.
“Miss Sanchez!” Jackson bellowed from the corner office next to hers.
So much for avoiding the man. As she left her office, she paused, staring at Tom, trying to think of a way to keep from being alone in the same room with Jackson. At the rate she was going, he’d have her secret figured out. A man who’d accumulated as much wealth as Jackson had wasn’t a complete moron. She smiled at the younger man. “Tom, will you go see what Mr. Champion wants and tell him I had to run an errand?”
Tom cast a glance toward the billionaire’s office, a frown furrowing his unlined forehead. “Are you sure? He called for you.”
Guilt smacked her in the gut. She reasoned that the consequences of Jackson learning about her secret outweighed the guilt in her conscience.
“Miss Sanchez!”
Ysabel jumped and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll see what the man wants.” She trudged her way toward his office, her feet dragging with every step. With her hand on the doorknob, she squared her shoulders and pushed the door wide. “Mr. Champion, is there something I could get you?”
“I thought I told you to take the day off.” He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his feet wide, his back to the glass windows that were openly displaying a gloriously bright morning in downtown Houston.
Ysabel blinked, trying to read Jackson’s expression. The glare of light from the windows effectively cast his face in the shadows and more likely exposed every line, crease and smudge of her own face in minute detail. From the glance in her bathroom mirror that morning, she wasn’t looking her best. Far from it. “If it makes you feel better, I slept in. I just got here.”
His eyes narrowed and she squirmed under his inspection. “How are you feeling this morning?”
She pushed her lips into a cheerful smile she didn’t nearly feel. “Completely fine.” As long as I don’t look at food before noon.
He stared at her hard for another ten seconds before his arms fell to his sides. Jackson dropped into the plush leather seat behind the massive desk crafted by an artist in south Texas from the finest mesquite available in the state. “Good, then I’ll need you to come with me when I meet with the Aggie Four at noon.
Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed to clear it. “Here in Houston?” She crossed her fingers behind her back, praying the group would meet nearby, otherwise she’d be stuck in Jackson’s truck, alone with the man for the forty-five minutes to an hour it took to reach the ranch west of Houston.
“We’re meeting at the Diamondback. Be ready to go in forty-five minutes.” His focus shifted to the papers requiring immediate attention on his desk, his attitude one of dismissal.
Grateful for the respite, Ysabel turned toward the door. Before she could exit, two men stepped into the doorframe, blocking her path.
“Mr. Jackson?” The first one crossed the threshold.
Ysabel recognized him as Detective Brody Green from the container yard the previous evening. Her chest tightened. Why would they come to Champion Shipping instead of having Jackson come to them to give his statement?
Instead of slipping out of the office to leave Jackson alone, she stepped back and allowed the lawmen to enter.
Jackson stood. “Detective Green, I hope you have some good news for me.”
The man’s mouth tightened. “Sorry, Mr. Champion. Can’t say that I have.” He jerked his head toward the man beside him. “Fielding?”
The man stepped forward, his hand extended to Jackson. “Mr. Champion, I’m Special Agent Bob Fielding, with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. I’m working this case in conjunction with the Department of Homeland Security.”
Ysabel’s heart dropped to her stomach. Was the other shoe about to fall? Would they shut down Champion Shipping?
“Mr. Fielding. What can I do for you?” Jackson asked, his voice polite, his expression that of an expert poker player.
The agent withdrew a pad and pen from his jacket pocket. “I have a few questions for you regarding the explosion yesterday. That and I regret to inform you that we’ll have to shut down the offloading of the remaining cargo on your ship until it has been thoroughly examined.” Fielding tapped his pen to his note pad. “This incident, the radiation-poisoning incident at the Diamondback Ranch, plus the explosion and deaths of three men on one of your airplanes raises a boatload of other questions for the Aggie Four Foundation. Oh, and I also heard that you had a man go overboard on the sail across the ocean.”
Jackson’s face remained unflinching, his gaze shifting from Agent Fielding to Detective Green. The only indication of his ire was the muscle twitching in his jaw.
Familiar with his ability to hide all emotion, Ysabel picked up on the dangerous level of anger brewing beneath the surface. She stepped forward in hopes of diffusing the situation. “Do you have any idea how long the investigation will take? You do understand that time is money. By shutting down the offloading of the ship, you tie up the berth for longer than originally contracted.”
“I’m sorry, Miss—” Fielding glanced from Jackson to Ysabel.
Ysabel redirected his attention to her by shoving a hand in his direction. “I’m Ysabel Sanchez, Mr. Champion’s executive assistant. Do we need to call in our legal staff?”
Fielding’s brows rose with his shoulders. “That might be a possibility. We have four agents assigned to the ship along with two sniffing dogs. We should be able to complete our scan in a day. Two tops.”
“If you see that it will go longer, please let us know at the earliest possible moment. Other ships use the Port of Houston and the port maintains a tight schedule.” She moved toward the door. “If that’s all…” She waved toward the door. “I’ll see you out.”
Detective Green practically snarled at Ysabel. “Oh no you don’t. That’s far from all. And you’ll definitely want to bring in your legal staff for what I have to say.”
“And what is that?” Jackson stepped between Detective Green and Ysabel, his voice dangerously low.
“That forklift driver who died last night, Stephan Kenig, was dead before he crashed. Someone shot him in the head.”
Ysabel gasped.
Jackson remained stoic. “And this has what to do with me?”
Green pinned Jackson with a narrow-eyed stare. “We found a gun close by. My bet is that the ballistics will match with the bullet we found in the victim.”
Ysabel frowned. The man who died was the criminal, not so much a victim, and Detective Green was now treating Jackson like he was the criminal. “Again, what does this have to do with Mr. Champion?”
“Please, get to the point,” Jackson said, his voice sharp, his fingers tightening into a fist.
“The point is,” Detective Brody’s mouth turned up in a smirk, “we ran a scan on the serial number. The SIG SAUER registration is in the name of Jackson Champion. Mr. Champion, we need you to come with us to the sheriff’s office. We’ll need fingerprints to match with those we found on the gun.”
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I didn’t shoot that man. I was chasing him because I thought he was stealing my saddles.”
Green snorted. “Nevertheless, your gun appears to be the one that killed him.”
“Detective.” Tom Walker stood in the open doorway. “I was with Mr. Jackson during the chase. I can vouch for him. He didn’t have a gun and he didn’t shoot the other forklift driver.”
Green didn’t look happy to hear Tom’s admission. “Are you willing to sign a statement to that effect?”
Tom’s shoulders straightened until he looked as though he was a soldier standing at attention. “Absolutely.”
“You’ll have to come to headquarters, as well. I’ll need a sworn statement from both you and Champion.”
Jackson nodded toward Ysabel. “Call my attorney and meet me there.”
Ysabel nodded as Detective Green slammed cuffs onto Jackson’s wrists.
Jackson’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t wince.
Anger surged inside Ysabel at the rough treatment. “Is that necessary? Mr. Walker just told you Mr. Champion didn’t do it. I’m sure he won’t try to run from the law for something he isn’t guilty of.”
The detective snapped the cuffs shut. “Procedure.”
Agent Fielding shook his head. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“This is a local issue. If you have a problem with the way I handle it, take it up with my supervisor.” Green shoved Jackson through the door.
Ysabel could have sworn Detective Green smiled as he led Jackson through the bay of offices, past Champion Shipping employees, treating Jackson like a common criminal.
Ysabel ran to her office, snatching up her BlackBerry and purse. “Come on, Tom, let’s get there.”
The elevator Jackson and the lawmen got into closed before she could get on. She jammed her finger on the down button, her toe tapping against the granite tiles while she waited for another car and someone to answer her call to the corporate law firm.
“Halston, Young and Franklin Law Firm, how may I help you?” a perky secretary said into her ear as the elevator door dinged open.
“This is Ysabel Sanchez with Champion Shipping. Mr. Jackson requests the immediate presence of Mr. Young at the sheriff’s office. Let me stress, Mr. Young needs to be there ASAP.”
“I CAN’T believe Detective Green dragged you into the station.” Flint McKade paced the floor of his spacious office, his cowboy boots tapping against the wood flooring.
Jackson rubbed the back of his neck, tension pulling at the muscles there. “Yeah, he seemed to get a big kick out of parading me through the office in cuffs. My employees will get a good laugh at that.” He shrugged, unfazed by the memory of his startled employees. Ysabel would give them the straight scoop. “Thank goodness I had a witness riding on the back of my forklift or I’d have been at the sheriff’s office a lot longer than the two hours it took my lawyer to straighten out the mess.” Jackson turned toward the door to the office. Where had Ysabel disappeared to? “What I’m pissed about is that someone broke into my home and stole my gun.”
“I thought you had a brand-new security system installed last year?” Akeem Abdul leaned against the wood-paneled walls, his boots crossed at the ankle, looking laid back except for the intensity in his dark eyes. If not for the jeans, boots and denim shirt, he’d appear the most ferocious sheik in any desert—fierce and loyal to his friends.
“I did. I used the firm Deke recommended. They installed a state-of-the-art system. No one should have been able to enter without detection.” His friend from college days at Texas A&M, Deke Norton, had promised him no one could penetrate the system without his explicit permission. Jackson smacked his hat against his leg. “I’ve got a call into Deke’s security specialist to review the entire system.”
Flint stopped in mid-pace. “What is Homeland Security saying?”
“The FBI agent in charge made noises that the detonators, the plane explosion, the man going overboard on my ship and the radioactive traces you found here at the ranch are making it look bad for the Aggie Four Foundation. They’ll be poking around all of us with questions soon.”
Flint nodded. “That explains the call I had from your man Fielding this morning. He wants to meet with me this afternoon. He’ll be working the angle of the radiation-contaminated parts they found in the horse blankets smuggled with that last shipment of Arabians out of the Middle East. It’s been three months and they still haven’t pinned who brought in those parts. They suspect it’s the rebel faction that staged the coup in Rasnovia, but they have no firm proof.”
“Gentlemen, the evidence is looking bad for us.” Jackson slapped his hat against his jeans again, frustration making him wish he could punch something or someone. “For me in particular, since my shipping business is the one bringing in the bad goods.”
“You’re not in this alone.” Akeem pushed away from the wall, strode across the floor and held out a hand to Jackson.
Jackson clasped it with both hands. “Thanks.”
“That’s right,” Flint said, closing the distance and covering their joined hands with his own. “The Aggie Four is a team and we’ll see this thing through.”
“This is reassuring.” Ysabel walked in carrying a tray of iced tea Flint’s cook, Lucinda, had prepared. “Have you figured out how to keep our man Jackson out of jail?”
Akeem reached for the tea, “Nah, we thought we’d let him rot there, while we spend his fortune.”
“Yeah,” Flint grinned. “The man has more than enough to share.”
Ysabel rolled her eyes. “Like you two don’t? Give me a break. No, really, what are you planning?”
Flint abandoned his smile, deep furrows etched across his forehead. “We plan a thorough search into our employee databases for answers to who’s behind the smuggling.”
“You two have had dealings with Detective Green before, haven’t you?” Ysabel asked.
