Captain's Call of Duty

Alex grinned. “I mentioned that last night. May I recommend you not bring it up in his presence? Apparently, he’s still a little touchy on the subject of dating ba-a-a-ah-d girls.”

Laughing, Carla fetched her purse. “Call me tomorrow. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alex had barely enough time after letting out Carla to go back to the bedroom, check her lipstick, which was supposedly some sort of long-lasting stain, and smooth her gown down her body before she heard a key in the front door.

“Ready to go, Mendez?” Jim called from the living room.

She picked up the red, crystal-covered clutch with her emergency makeup in it and stepped out of the bedroom.

Jim Kelley was a hard man to shock speechless, but when Alex Mendez appeared wearing the sexiest red dress he’d ever seen, damned if speech didn’t desert him entirely. His gaze slid all the way down to her painted toenails and back up past the sexy skirt slit with a slender, tanned leg peeking out of it, past the low-cut top—and hitching for a moment on the provocative cleavage—to the lush waves of hair, and finally her face. With makeup. Cripes, she looked like a movie star.

“Mendez?” he finally choked out. “What happened to you?”

She blinked, alarmed. “Why? Is something wrong? You said it was formal.” She ran a panicked hand down the clingy fabric of her dress.

“Hell, no. Nothing’s wrong. You look …” He struggled for a word and finally settled on “… magnificent. Incredible. Are you sure I can’t take a picture? The guys will never believe me—”

“No pictures!” she blurted.

He supposed he could understand her not wanting the Neanderthals at the office harassing her for impersonating a girl. Although, as impersonations went, this one was pretty damned spectacular. Gussied up, Alex Mendez was beautiful.

A slow smile spread across his face as he formally offered her his arm. He asked politely, “Are you ready to go, Alex? We wouldn’t want to be late.”

Hesitantly, she laid her hand on his forearm, and he waited for her to fall over. But shockingly, she remained upright. She took a cautious step. Another. Normally, he’d make a sarcastic comment about her walking upright for a change, but suddenly, picking on her felt weird. Not nearly as weird as the idea that Mendez was a hot chick, though.

Her dad would be so proud of her. And Arturo—He broke off that train of thought sharply, but it insisted on completing itself. Arturo should’ve been alive to see this day. To see his little sister grow up into a beautiful woman. Jim shook his head. She looked so much like him it hurt. She shared some of Arturo’s demons, too, apparently. His gut twisted. He might not have been able to save her brother from himself, but he would damn well save her.

Bedeviled by grim thoughts, he only belatedly noticed that they made it all the way down to his BMW, which was double-parked out front, without mishap. He hovered protectively as he tucked her into his car and made sure her gown wouldn’t get caught in the door. During the short drive to the swanky hotel hosting the event, he glanced over at her every minute or two.

Finally, Alex demanded, “What’s wrong? You’re acting like I’ve sprouted a second head.”

He jerked his gaze back to the road. “Not at all. I just can’t get over how great you look. I’m trying to figure out how I missed it all these years.”

He supposed that would’ve involved him really looking at her. But how did you look someone in the eye when you’d killed their brother? Sure, the police had ruled it all an unfortunate accident. And yeah, he’d told Arturo to quit screwing around and sit down and buckle his seat belt. And no one could’ve known those deer would jump out in front of the truck, or that the road would be a touch icy in that spot. Or that the truck would careen off an embankment and plunge nearly fifty feet into a ravine—

She mumbled, sounding disgruntled, “I’m not a blonde.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Alex shrugged, “You always go for blondes. Even that poor goat was a blonde. I’m not your type. That’s why you don’t notice me.”

Guilt kicked him in the solar plexus. Hell, now he was giving her a complex on top of killing her brother. “Alex, you’re any man’s type. Women don’t come too much more beautiful or sexy than you. You’re going to turn every head at the ball.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but he meant it. She was a knockout.

He pulled up in front of the hotel and flipped his keys and a hefty tip to the valet, who also seemed to be having trouble tearing his gaze away from Alex.

As the Beemer pulled away, Jim held his arm out to her once more. “Shall we?” he murmured, smiling warmly.

A slow, answering smile unfolded on her face and Jim caught his breath. The woman just kept getting more gorgeous the longer he looked at her.

He hadn’t overstated the reaction other men would have to her. Indeed, heads turned as the two of them stepped into the ballroom. A gray-haired man Jim didn’t recognize closed in on them immediately. “Welcome, Mr. Kelley. Glad to have you join us tonight.”

Slick operators, these McNaught people, to be able to identify him on sight with less than one day’s notice. “Call me Jim,” he replied smoothly. “Thanks for having me on such short notice. I’m excited to contribute to getting Senator Chandler back in Congress for another term. Chet and I see eye-to-eye on so many things. It’s nice to know my interests are being looked out for on Capitol Hill.”

“You’re Hank Kelley’s boy, aren’t you? How’s he doing?”

Jim answered grimly, “He’s still in a coma. No sign of a recovery.” And if these bastards were the ones who’d shot him, Jim would personally see to it they regretted it for the rest of their unnaturally short lives.

The guy actually slapped Jim’s back. “So, Jim. Tell me more about you. What business are you in?”

“Businesses, plural,” Jim replied, shrugging. “A little of this and that. Ranching, oil, gold, precious commodities. Whatever makes me money and a lot of it.”

“Not risk-averse, are you?” their escort asked.

Jim laughed. “Caution is for the weak or uninformed.”

Another man joined them and the first one commented, “We were just talking about investments.”

The second man asked, “So why this particular fundraiser, Mr. Kelley? I understand you pulled a lot of strings to buy last-minute tickets.”

“I’m interested in McNaught. Tonight’s party gave me an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Support the Chandler campaign and finally meet the McNaught powers-that-be.”

“For what purpose, Mr. Kelley?” the second man asked a little too casually.

He chose to misunderstand the fellow. “Why, to get Chet Chandler reelected, of course. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

“Of course,” both men replied, flashing him plastic smiles in unison. Not long after that, the men drifted away. Jim repeated the same conversation with only small variations, no less than a half dozen more times before dinner was served.

As the crowd abandoned its cocktails to be seated and eat undercooked scallops and overcooked filet mignon, he glanced down at Alex. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

“Observing.”

He asked through his smile, “See anything interesting?”

“Definitely. We’ll talk later.”

He leaned down and all but put his mouth on her ear. “That sounds perfect.”

She tilted her head toward him and murmured back without moving her lips, “Hidden cameras. Microphones or lip readers or both. Watch what you say.”

He replied, “Guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of the evening telling you how beautiful and sexy you are.” Her eyes widened in something approaching shock, and he added, “You’ve got to get over acting surprised. People will think something’s wrong with you if you don’t take the compliments as your due. Try to act at home in your skin, darling.”

“Easier said than done, snookums.”

He laughed. “I like this look on you. You should stick with it.”