скачать книгу бесплатно
“You must have me confused with someone else, Mr. Colby.” He allowed his gaze to zero in fully on Jim’s so that there was no misunderstanding as to the finality of his words. “I don’t have any friends.”
Spencer Anders would have walked away then and there with no further discussion, Jim decided, if he hadn’t played the ace up his sleeve.
“Lucas Camp tells me you’re the best in covert and low-visibility operations.”
Anders hesitated. For three beats Jim wasn’t sure if he would turn around or if he would just walk on out. But then he executed an about-face and moved back to the stool he’d vacated.
When Anders’s gaze rested on Jim’s once more, he said, “I’ve never worked directly for or with Mr. Camp. I’m surprised he even knows my name. The way I heard it he’s retired now.”
That was true.
“What’s your connection to him?” Anders wanted to know.
Jim had expected that one.
“He married Victoria Colby, my mother.”
Anders’s eyes narrowed, but not with suspicion. “You’re from the Colby Agency?” The name appeared to connect fully for him then.
Jim wasn’t surprised that the man recognized his mother’s name or that of her agency. The Colby Agency was one of the top private investigations agencies in the country. A man with a background like Anders would consider P.I. firms when searching for employment. In his case, however, that same background prevented him from applying to most.
“I’m not here representing the Colby Agency.”
The anticipation that had tapered Anders’s focus vanished. “I’m certain you’re a busy man, Mr. Colby. Why don’t we cut through all the crap and get straight to the point?”
Jim liked this guy already. “I’ve recently opened my own firm, Mr. Anders. You have the training I’m looking for as well as extensive experience in the Middle East. Considering current events and the Middle East’s ongoing status as a hot spot politically as well as economically, I need that kind of experience on my team. I have a vacancy and I’d like you to fill it.”
Anders motioned for the bartender to refill his empty tumbler. “You drinking anything?” he said to Jim.
Jim shook his head. That he wasn’t even momentarily tempted gave him great satisfaction. That Anders would offer suggested interest in his proposition.
The bartender sidled over and splashed a couple of fingers of bourbon into the other man’s empty glass. When he’d moved out of earshot to take care of the next customer, Anders said, “Why open another P.I. firm? You have a problem working for your mother?”
Jim got those questions often, especially from the investigators at the Colby Agency. He would have been welcome there by all on staff. Victoria Colby-Camp had expected Jim to take over one day. But he had other plans. No…not plans…needs. He needed to do this. And that need had nothing to do with any inability to work with or for his mother.
“What I have in mind doesn’t fit the mold, Mr. Anders. I’m afraid my mother would be startled at some of the methods I might choose to utilize.”
Still visibly skeptical, Anders sipped his drink before suggesting, “Perhaps Mr. Camp didn’t completely fill you in on my less-than-desirable work history.”
Jim resisted the impulse to argue that if he wanted to compare histories he would gladly give him a run for his money on who had the ugliest past. But he would save that for another time.
“I’m aware of the circumstances surrounding the way you separated from military service if that’s what you mean.” And it was, of course. Spencer Anders had a stellar record other than that final nasty smudge. Discounting, of course, a number of misdemeanor disorderly conducts in public establishments very much like this one since leaving the military.
The suspicion Jim had expected to see earlier made its appearance at that point. He understood. Most prospective employers would be put off by the idea of a general military discharge. It wasn’t quite a dishonorable discharge, but it carried an equally unattractive stigma. But Jim knew something most didn’t, Spencer Anders had been railroaded by a superior officer.
The fact that his betrayal couldn’t be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt was the reason he’d been charged with the lesser offences of insubordination and conduct unbecoming of an officer rather than being shipped off to spend a life sentence in a military prison. Those seemingly lesser charges had carried a stiff, humiliating penance of their own. Anders had been stripped of rank, all the way down to a first lieutenant, and then generally discharged when he opted to resign rather than accept the charges and grovel as expected.
Then again, to a man like Anders, being labeled a traitor to his country was pretty much a life sentence in itself.
“Then I have to question just what sort of firm you plan to operate, Mr. Colby.”
Jim appreciated his frankness.
“Did your source also tell you,” Anders went on before Jim could respond to his last statement, “about my difficulties since leaving military service?”
Spencer Anders had separated from the U.S. Army two years ago. Since then he’d spent most of his time in dives not unlike this one, attempting to obliterate the past; only the towns changed. His blood alcohol level lingered above the legal limit more often than not, Jim would wager. He also recognized the strategy. Been there, done that. But booze wasn’t the answer to Anders’s problems. Telling him so wouldn’t help. This was something he had to come to terms with on his own.
“As long as you stay sober on the job, I don’t care what you do in your free time.” Jim, of all people, understood what made a man like Anders turn to the bottle for a solace found no other place. The bad habit was taken up for a single, unhealthy reason and would be dumped for the same. He wouldn’t need any twelve-step program, all he needed was his self-worth back.
That would come in time given the right circumstances.
Anders finished off the bourbon. “Just because I was forced out of the army doesn’t mean I’m interested in a life of anything beyond the occasional barroom brawl. Believe it or not, high crimes aren’t my style.”
Jim almost laughed at that. “There are times,” he admitted, “when working within the law won’t get the job done. But I’m not talking about breaking the law for the sake of breaking it, Mr. Anders. I’m only talking about going slightly beyond it and perhaps ignoring some aspects of it when the need arises.”
“Well, good luck to you, Mr. Colby. As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m not sure I’m the man you’re looking for.”
Jim took a business card from his coat pocket and laid it on the bar. “Call me if you change your mind. The doors open Monday morning, and I’d like you there when that happens.”
He didn’t wait for a response.
As he drove away, Jim wondered how long it would take the man to decide he needed a second chance badly enough to risk failure and betrayal.
Jim knew firsthand how hard it was to meet that particular challenge and the expectations that went along with treading out onto that shaky limb. Sometimes the fear of failure was the scariest part of all.
He thought about his wife and baby girl. There wasn’t a day that passed that Jim didn’t consider whether or not he could be the man, the husband and father, those two needed him to be.
Was starting his own venture part of that whole I-don’t-want-to-fail scenario? With his own business he would set the rules, answering only to himself. No one else would be holding a preconceived measurement or standard of success against his every endeavor.
The thought had crossed his mind, more than once if he admitted the truth.
Just a little baggage of his own he had to carry around until he got past it.
Jim drove to the South Loop and took the exit that led to his new suite of offices. The old brownstone needed some renovation but nothing he couldn’t handle in time.
After parking in the back alley, he unlocked the rear entrance and flipped on the lights. He should have gone home. Tasha would be wondering if he planned to make every night a late night. But he’d wanted to check the answering machine before going home. He’d made a few calls this afternoon, and he hoped to get some timely responses.
He made his way to the front room that was now a lobby, turning on lights as he went. When he was halfway up the stairs to the second floor the doorbell buzzed; someone was at the door.
His first thought was that Tasha had come to drag him home, but bringing Jamie out in the blustery February weather wasn’t his wife’s technique. She’d call and order him to get home.
Could be his first customer. He had hung up a shingle of sorts today.
Or, if he was lucky, it would be Anders to come to say he’d thought about Jim’s offer and wanted the job.
A grin slid across Jim’s face as he opened the door and identified his visitor. None of the above.
“Mom.” He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “Come to see what I’ve done with the place?”
Victoria Colby-Camp returned his smile. “I’m sure you haven’t had time to do that much. But you’ll get it done.”
That she believed in him so completely no matter how many times he missed the mark or fell down as he tried to turn his life around still surprised him. She was a hell of a mom for a guy who’d gone as low as it was humanly possible to go.
He glanced past her. “Where’s your other half?” Victoria rarely went anywhere without Lucas unless he was out of town and she had no other choice. The two were inseparable.
“He’s keeping your lovely wife and our granddaughter company while dinner gets cold.”
Dinner. Oh, man. He’d forgotten. Dammit.
“Just let me check my voice mail and lock up and I’m on my way.”
“I’ll ride along with you,” she offered. “Lucas can bring me by to pick up my car later.”
Jim let the smile nudging at his lips do what it would. He’d never been big on smiles, but these days the women in his life knew how to draw them out of him. His mother knew him all too well. If she didn’t ensure he got going he would get distracted and end up hanging around another hour.
“Sure. Gimme a sec.”
He bounded up the stairs and into his office. The second floor would serve as his private office and a conference room. The lobby, other offices, and a small kitchen-turned-employee-lounge would take up the downstairs space. Assuming he ever had any employees. Monday morning he would interview receptionist candidates. He had three applicants so far.
The blinking red light on his answering machine signaled that he had at least one message.
Anticipation roiled through him as he pressed the button. He waited through the announcement that he had two new messages. The first was from Renee Vaughn, a former assistant district attorney from Atlanta. They had spoken by phone yesterday. She was interested in a position at his firm. He was definitely interested in her.
“Mr. Colby,” her voice rang out with the strength only a real fighter possessed, “this is Renee Vaughn. I’ve decided to fly in for a face-to-face before I make a final decision. I’m hoping two-thirty on Monday will work for you. Call my cell if anything comes up.” She rattled off the number and the call ended.
“One down and two to go,” Jim murmured. His goal was to start out with three associates. He hesitated to call them investigators. The work they would do here wouldn’t always involve investigating, at least not in the usual sense.
“Mr. Colby, this is Spencer Anders,” floated from the answering machine next. The noise in the background told him Spencer had still been at the bar when he called. At least he’d called.
Jim resisted the urge to shout “yes!”
“I’ve been thinking about your offer and I’d like to talk to you again. I’ll come by your office Monday morning about nine…if you’re still interested…. We’ll go from there and see what happens.”
His trepidation was crystal-clear, but Jim had no doubts. Anders was exactly the kind of associate he wanted on his team. He’d have to thank Lucas for tipping him off to the guy’s availability. That Anders had reacted so quickly, if not decisively, indicated an underlying desire to get his life back on track.
A big load off his shoulders, Jim headed down to rendezvous with Victoria. This news gave him something to celebrate at the family dinner tonight.
“Ready?” Victoria asked as he joined her in the soon-to-be lobby.
“I am now.” He followed his mother out the front door and locked up.
“I see you’ve officially hung your shingle.”
This was a kind of running joke between them now that he’d actually started classes at the University of Chicago last semester. Taking only one or two classes at a time, completion of the program would require years and years. He was prepared to accept the wait. No matter how long it took he wanted to obtain his law degree. The goal meant a lot to him and even though his mother would never say so, he knew that accomplishment would mean a lot to her as well. She insisted that he was perfect just as he was, but then, she was his mother. His wife was extremely pleased as well.
Jim glanced up at the brand-new sign he’d hung next to the front entrance. Pride welled in his chest. He had made this happen, with a lot of support from the people he loved. “Yep, it’s official now.”
The Equalizers were about to open for business.
Chapter Two
Monday, February 21
Spencer Anders remained in his car for an additional twenty minutes. He’d made up his mind. The hesitation was unnecessary, but here he sat. Nine-fifteen. He’d told Colby he’d be in around nine.
Why the hell had he done that? The impulse had hit him less than half an hour after Colby had walked out of the joint that had been Spencer’s second home since he’d arrived in the Windy City. He used the pay phone at the end of the bar and made the call.
What the hell had he been thinking?
That he had to get his life back? That somehow, things had to start making sense again before he lost himself completely?
Yes to both of the above.
Spencer moistened his lips and fought back the craving for a drink. One didn’t go with the other. If he was going to make this work he had to keep his head together.
He could do it.
He banished the nagging voice that tried to tell him otherwise.
“No going backward,” he muttered. This was his chance to go forward again. He couldn’t screw it up.
Spencer climbed out of the car. He glanced first left then right before crossing the street. He didn’t know that much about Jim Colby, but he did know the Colby Agency’s esteemed reputation.
He didn’t fully understand Jim’s decision to start his own firm rather than working at his mother’s prestigious agency, but he did trust Lucas Camp.
The name reverberated through him. He’d never actually met the man, but he knew the name, and that was more than sufficient. Five years was a long time. The mission was one of those unwinnable situations where no one was going to walk away satisfied. Still, the mission was crucial. There had been only two members of Spencer’s team left by the time a special unit was brought in to attempt a rescue.
Mission Recovery.
Spencer had never heard of the unit. Some black-ops organization loosely attached to the CIA, he’d learned later. Lucas Camp had been the deputy director.
Lucas Camp’s unit had saved Spencer’s life and the lives of his two remaining team members. If this gig panned out, Spencer would owe Lucas Camp for saving his hide yet a second time.
Maybe he would get the opportunity to thank him in person. Spencer had no idea how the hell Lucas Camp knew he was in Chicago. No, wait. That wasn’t true. Camp had been, probably still was, even if only in an advisory capacity, attached to the CIA. Getting intimate information about the Pope himself wouldn’t be a problem for a man like him.
Spencer had to admit, having anyone vouch for him these days was a plus. Maybe the whole world didn’t see him as a traitor.
That same old fury started to burn deep in his gut. He suppressed the triggered feelings. Thinking about the past would be detrimental to the present, not to mention the future. He had to make a clean break.
That time was now.
He paused at the door to consider the sign. The Equalizers. Interesting moniker. He considered what Colby had told him in their brief meeting. His target client base was those whose troubles couldn’t be resolved so easily within the boundaries of the law. He wondered what would make a man like Jim Colby veer that close to criminal activity. From what Spencer knew, the Colby Agency had an impeccable reputation, one respected by clients and law enforcement alike. What made the one and only son of the owner of that esteemed agency different?
Secrets of his own, Spencer surmised. Maybe he and Colby had something in common—a history best left in the past.
Spencer braced himself and reached for the door. Now or never. This was his chance to start over. He couldn’t let it get away. He owed it to himself.
Taking into account the fact that he would otherwise have died five years ago, he owed it to Lucas Camp. He just hoped like hell that he had still had it in him to live up to the man’s recommendation.
