man’s assistant, Doris Shipman.
“Come on in here, miss.” Basil’s affectionate name for his eldest child seemed to vibrate in the spacious room with its rich maple paneling, plush carpeting and floor-to-ceiling windows. He met Avra in the middle of the office where he plied her with a kiss, hug and his own apology.
Surprise filtered through her vibrant brown eyes. “Dad?”
Basil tucked her into his side and squeezed. “I’ve been pretty closed off for a while.”
“Well, a lot’s happened.” It was the opening she’d been hoping for. “Some good.” She made a pretense of straightening her father’s tie. “Khouri’s getting married.”
A broad grin illuminated Basil’s handsome face. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am by that and by the girl he’s chosen.”
“Yeah, the weirdo finally lucked out. Setha’s a real catch.” Avra smiled over her combination playful insult and genuine compliment. Still, the ease of her expression began to show signs of weariness.
“There’s been a lot of the not so good, too.” She tugged Basil with her to lean against the edge of the desk. “These murders… I know it has to hurt seeing such a good friend dealing with drama like this.”
Basil left the desk at his daughter’s mention of the murders targeting the employees of Machine Melendez, the company founded by one of his oldest friends. Avra watched her father pacing the room and she knew where his mind was. Good. She wanted to keep it there.
“You’ll be happy to know David and Noah are taking your suggestion—to follow the money,” Avra tacked on when Basil looked her way. “They might break this thing before the police.” She laughed slightly referring to the Ross Review reporters assigned to the MM murders story.
“Have they found anything?” Basil watched his daughter closely.
“No.” She focused on one of the small lavender buttons lining the front of her cap-sleeved blouse. “They’ve got lots of loose pieces, though. With any luck they’ll put ’em together soon enough.” She let her eyes drift downward then. “I’ve been putting together a few links of my own.” She noticed that her father had returned to his pacing. “I’ve been going through Wade’s old notes.”
The pacing stopped.
“Whatever for?” He sounded incredulous.
“I think maybe Carson Arroyo had gripes with the Melendezes and the Rosses. Whatever it was, I’m betting it had something to do with his dad’s so-called suicide. Wade was working on that story in conjunction with John Holloway’s obit just before he died.”
Basil shook his head, obviously confused.
“Carson Arroyo was John Holloway’s son. Holloway was the Melendez employee who apparently killed himself after being fired.”
Basil returned to his seat, slowly easing down to the corner. “How do you know this?”
“Actually, it was Khouri and Setha who made the connection.” Avra faced her dad across the desk. She waited for the man’s reaction.
“Do the police know?”
She’d found what she’d come in search of. “It all came out when Carson was killed.” She nodded. “Maybe the cops can start putting it all together. In the meantime—” she slid off the desk and tugged on the hem of the satin blouse hanging outside her slacks “—I’m gonna do my part and dig some more. Maybe I can find a key to this mess.”
“I don’t want you involved.” The tightness of Basil’s voice matched his expression to perfection. “You have your own work to see to.”
“Oh, Daddy, it won’t interfere—”
“I said stay out of it.”
“Why?” Ever outspoken, she voiced the query with a frown.
Basil leaned forward. “Because I said so.”
“Dad.”
“You’re skating on the thinnest piece of ice now, miss.”
Understanding the warning, Avra barely nodded. She left the office soon after.
* * *
It went without saying that Avra was a million miles away in thought when she returned to her office. She muttered below her breath, talking about what she suspected and what she’d uncovered.
Her thumbnail was raking her chin when she strolled through her door, never noticing Samson Melendez sitting behind her desk. She was standing before him on the other side of the cluttered oak top, observing him blankly for several seconds before tuning in to what was really going on.
Sam hid his smile, fingers laced in his lap while he reared back in her chair and watched the absent look on her face change into one of scathing speculation.
“Afternoon,” he greeted before she could open her mouth to blast him.
“What are you doing in here?” She looked back quickly to check on the notes she’d recovered from Wade’s. They appeared to be untouched. Propping one hand to her hip, she fixed Sam with an expectant stare.
Sam, however, was in no hurry to explain, happy to keep her standing there for his appraisal. Of course when Samson Melendez appraised, a woman was left with no doubts as to what he was doing. Sam’s usual “appraisal,” however, was most often a purely physical observation of the woman he intended on taking to bed. Rarely did those observations involve emotional attachment.
Sam recognized it, though. As he observed the tall, dark chocolate beauty before the desk, he knew that emotions had definitely attached themselves. His constant appraisal of Avra Ross had finally carried things to a purely irresistible level. Not until she called—er—yelled his name, did he blink. Smoothly, he recalled his real reason for dropping by that afternoon.
“Kemah trip’s been scheduled. We should discuss the itinerary.” Sam referred to the scouting trip to locations for new MM ads in the Ross Review.
Avra lifted her hands briefly and let them hit her thighs with a soft clap. “Is your wireless service down, Sam? A call, email or text would’ve been just fine for this talk—better, actually.”
“Why better?” Sam grimaced, unaware that he was doing so.
Avra watched him as though he were losing his mind in front of her. “Samson, if somebody was using our names in the same sentence, chances were they’d be recapping a fight.”
Laughter roused hearty and long from Sam then. Avra bristled, feeling herself react to the sound in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. When he stood behind her desk, she covertly appraised the stunning breadth of him. She wondered, as she often did, whether he was really that…massive. Perhaps it was merely a trick of finely crafted clothing, she thought eyeing the dark olive three-piece.
She’d collected herself and smothered her admiration by the time he stood before her.
“We leave in three days,” he was saying.
