Colby Velocity

“I take it you want me to find out who’s behind this threat.”

Another of those weary sighs escaped his lips. “I didn’t want to drag you into this, Kendra. But I’m desperate. There can be no evidence of these accusations because they are irrefutably false. But you know what a scandal like this could do to my reputation. False or not, I would be ruined on too many levels. Not to mention it could serve to undo much of what I’ve worked so hard to accomplish. I believe it is related to the bill Senator Castille and I are pushing. The bill is far too important to allow extortion to stop it. Can you and this Colby Agency you love so much help me?”

Kendra didn’t allow herself the time to think about how she had sworn she would never go back to D.C. This was the trouble she had fully expected when the call had come. Yet, this was Yoni, her friend. A genuine hero of the people.

She couldn’t turn her back on him.

“You understand that this will require your complete cooperation?”

“Yes, yes. Whatever you need.”

“And we may have to bring the senator into it.”

“Whatever we have to do,” he reiterated.

“All right. I can help you,” she said, determined to make it so, no matter that the voice of reason shouted at her that it was indisputably a mistake. “More important, the Colby Agency can help you.”

Chapter Two

Chicago, Wednesday, 5:00 a.m.

The vibration of metal on wood jarred Leland Rockford from a dead sleep. He rolled over and plopped a hand on the table next to his bed. His eyes refused to open as he fumbled across the table top for his cell phone. It shimmied in his hand as he grasped it.

With a flick of his thumb he slid the nuisance open. His eyelids reluctantly raised and he stared at the digital numbers on the alarm clock. 5:01 a.m. Who would call him at such an ungodly hour?

“Rockford,” he mumbled, then cleared his throat.

“Rocky, it’s Jim. We need you here ASAP.”

His boss. Jim Colby’s tone was clipped, tense. Not good. After last week’s false labor alarm, his boss was seriously on edge. Rocky threw the sheet back and sat up, dropping his feet to the carpeted floor. “What’s up?”

“I’m sending you on assignment in D.C. Come prepared to leave immediately.”

Rocky scrubbed a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “On my way.”

He closed the phone and dropped it back onto the table. Okay. D.C. That meant he had to pack a suit. He hated suits. Hated dealing with rich hotshots who thought they owned the world.

Exhaling a blast of frustration, he pushed up from the bed. First a quick shower and a cup of coffee to boost his sluggish brain.

“You getting up?”

Damn. He’d forgotten that he had a guest. “Gotta go out of town for work.”

The lamp on the right side of the bed switched on, highlighting the blond tresses spread across the pillow next to his. “Now?” she asked, squinting at the light.

“Now. I’ll call you when I get back.” He didn’t wait for additional questions. Time was limited. Jim would be waiting for him.

Hurrying through a hot shower, he dried his hair with the towel then wrapped it around his waist and hesitated before stepping out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. When he did he experienced a distinct sense of relief that his guest hadn’t hung around to chat. She’d left a note on his pillow.

I’ll be waiting ….

Rocky couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. She was a nice lady. They’d gone out several times over the past couple of months and he liked her. But he just couldn’t see the attraction between them as anything beyond basic lust. To be fair he’d tried. More for her sake than his own. She deserved his respect and at least a half-hearted attempt. Maybe when he returned from D.C. they would have that uncomfortable it’s-not-working talk he’d been putting off.

These days he wasn’t into pursuing dead ends. Or lust … just for the sake of a good time.

Not that he didn’t like bachelorhood or hadn’t enjoyed his share of no-strings-attached relationships, but at thirty-five it was getting a bit old. Time to think about a permanent relationship. Maybe even kids. His parents would love that.

That thought kicked his brain into gear.

Had he just used that particular four-letter word?

Kids.

Guys didn’t have biological clocks, he was relatively certain, but it sure as hell felt like he could hear one ticking inordinately loudly in some mutinous region of his brain.

He hesitated as he pulled on a pair of jeans. A part of him wanted to deny the concept, but he wasn’t into denial, either. Came with the territory when a guy was raised by parents who were practicing psychologists. Denial of one’s feelings equated to fear. Suck up some courage and face the facts.

It was time to settle down and do the family thing.

All he had to do was find the right woman. He’d bought the house with the big yard. His finances were in order. Seemed as good a time as any.

All he needed was a good woman who respected his idiosyncrasies and his work. He had plenty of the former, like being a slob around the house. Watching sports and shouting at the refs on the television screen. Preparing gourmet meals. Something he and his father had in common. His entire life Rocky had remained convinced that his father the shrink was in fact a closet chef.

Rocky didn’t want anybody in his kitchen. And his work was his top priority. Finding a woman who didn’t mind relinquishing control in the kitchen likely wouldn’t be a problem. Finding one who could live with him gone for days on end more often than not was another matter altogether. That was going to be the tough hurdle.

He grabbed a shirt from the top of the stack on the chair next to his closet, which was generally about as close to the closet as his laundry made it.

He wasn’t worried about finding the right woman. One of these days when he least expected it, he would stumble on the one for him.

He glanced at the note on his pillow. But he wasn’t going to hold his breath.

Colby Agency, 7:05 a.m.

“SINCE YONI SAYAR,” Jim Colby explained as the briefing in Victoria Colby-Camp’s office came to a conclusion, “was murdered outside his Crystal City apartment at three o’clock this morning—not even four hours ago—there’s no word from the police as to the suspected motive. If they know anything, which is doubtful, they’re not telling. I’ve asked the liaison to keep us informed but there are no guarantees. This is a politically sensitive situation and I don’t expect to be kept in the loop beyond what the rest of the world will see and hear in the media.”

Rocky divided his attention between his boss and Victoria, the head of the Colby Agency. Despite this year’s merger, Rocky couldn’t help considering himself and the other Equalizers, including Jim, as separate from the rest of the Colby staff. The transition had moved along smoothly for the most part so far. He supposed it would simply take time to feel as if he “fit in” here the way he had in the old brownstone a world away from this ritzy location.

Victoria gestured to Kendra Todd, the Colby investigator who sat on the same side of the small conference table as Rocky and with whom he would be working on this assignment. “Kendra, do you have anything else to add?”

Kendra had explained Sayar’s position in D.C. politics and his unexpected meeting with her less than twelve hours ago. She remained clearly shaken by the news of his murder. That fact had not stopped her from plunging into a strategy for determining the truth about this tragic event. She’d spoken with Sayar’s parents an hour ago to pass along her reassurances that she would personally see that the investigation was conducted without bias and in a speedy manner.

“Nothing more as of yet,” Kendra began, her voice weary. “I want you and Jim” she glanced from her boss to Rocky’s “to know how much I appreciate the agency’s support in this … investigation.”

Typically the agency—as had been the case with the Equalizers—had at least one client who was very much alive before delving into a case. This situation was a little outside the norm since the client was now dead, but both Victoria and Jim felt strongly about finding the truth, particularly since Sayar had come to Kendra just before his murder.

“You have our full support,” Victoria reiterated. “The Colby jet is standing by. Whatever resources you need on this end will be available.”

“Going in blind like this,” Jim took up where his mother left off, “and with the murder of Mr. Sayar, we believe it wise to be fully prepared. With that in mind, we’re recommending you both carry your weapons. D.C.’s new handgun regulations are somewhat more relaxed, so there’s no worry on that count.”