Big Shot. Joanna Wayne

      Chapter One

      Meghan Sinclair smiled as she exited the elevator to her fifth-floor condominium in downtown Dallas. Her afternoon coffee date had been a resounding success.

      Her condo was at the end of the empty hallway, near the stairwell. Meghan slipped out of her shoes about halfway to her door and let her aching tootsies sink into the deep carpet. She slowed enough to bend over and hook the leather shoe straps with a crooked finger.

      It was nice to live in luxury, thanks to the generosity of a former client who owned the complex. The fancy handbag was a bit of overkill for this time of day, but it and her dress had done their job. He’d given her a heck of a deal after she’d been instrumental in finding his daughter’s killer. The depraved maniac had been arrested and tried and was now serving a life sentence. Case closed.

      If she ever married and had a family, the condo would be too small. But if her love life kept to the same trajectory it was on now, that might never happen.

      The door to the stairwell opened as she retrieved her key fob from the silver clutch. She fit her key into the lock before looking up, certain it was Mr. Muscles who lived two doors down.

      A bodybuilding fanatic, Bill Mackey claimed elevators were for wimps. But then again, Mr. Muscles didn’t own one pair of stilettos.

      Meghan spun around at the sound of heavy breathing and running footsteps. A man bound into the hallway, masked and dressed in black. Definitely not her neighbor. She pushed through her door and tried to slam it shut behind her.

      His foot stopped it. Two strong gloved hands closed around her neck, pressing so hard they blocked her airway.

      Her P.I. self-defense skills were ingrained and automatic. She jerked upward, bucking hard with her head while she reached into her purse for her pistol. One of the attacker’s hands left her throat, but before she could aim, her body started jerking uncontrollably.

      She spotted his stun gun as her pistol fell from her shaking fingers. The attacker kicked her weapon in front of them as he pushed her flailing body into the condo, knocking her to the floor. When she tried to stand, he shoved her and sent her slamming into the wall.

      The room began to spin. The scone and coffee she’d just eaten came up, mixed with blood. The last thing she saw was his body coming at her like a demolition ball bent on destruction.

      The last thing she heard was her own terrified scream for help.

      * * *

      D URK L AMBERT STEPPED out of Lambert Towers and was greeted by blinding sunshine and a brisk breeze. The perfect fall afternoon, low seventies and not a cloud in sight. Just the kind of weather he needed to kick off his much-needed vacation.

      His black Jaguar was waiting for him in front of the towering skyscraper, motor running with Miguel behind the wheel. Durk shed the jacket of his suit coat as Miguel climbed out of the car.

      “Good afternoon, Mr. Lambert. Great weather to start a vacation.”

      “Couldn’t ask for better,” Durk agreed.

      “Are you leaving town?”

      “I’m leaving the city but going no farther than the Bent Pine Ranch.” He loosened the knot in his tie, yanked it from around his neck and tossed it in the backseat with his jacket. “Goodbye, ties. Hello, boots and jeans.”

      “Good for you, boss man. Have a nice Thanksgiving.”

      “Thanks, Miguel. You, too. Do you have plans?”

      “I’m driving down to Brownsville to spend a couple of weeks with my daughter and her family. Plan to do some fishing and roast one of their farm-raised goats over a spit. Now that’s eating.”

      “Nothing like good cabrito,” Durk agreed. He shook Miguel’s wrinkled hand and climbed behind the wheel. He waited until Miguel had rounded the car and was back on the sidewalk before pulling into traffic.

      The man was thin and slightly stooped, his weathered face showing the strain of seventy-seven years of living. He’d been a fixture around Lambert Inc. as long as Durk could remember.

      He’d retired as maintenance engineer eight years ago when a heart condition had forced him to slow down. He’d come back on the payroll five years ago when his wife died.

      He claimed he hated the empty house after so many years of marriage and he liked to keep busy. As long as he wanted to hang out at Lambert Inc., Durk would make certain they found a few non-stressful things for him to do.

      The afternoon traffic was heavier than usual. It was still one full week before Thanksgiving, but already the stores were decorated and pandering for holiday shoppers to give into their whims and the store’s enticements.

      Shopping was the furthest thing from Durk’s mind. After the summer and autumn he’d had, he needed to get back in the saddle again. And to reacquaint himself with his family.

      While he’d been traveling back and forth to the Middle East working on a new project that was a go and a merger that wasn’t, his brother Tague had taken the plunge into wedlock and instant fatherhood.

      No one had been more shocked at that than Durk—unless it was Tague himself. But Tague had adjusted well and had never seemed happier. Neither had his brother Damien, who’d been married for four months now.

      Marriage and family weren’t in Durk’s foreseeable future—if ever. Some men were cut out for family life. Some weren’t. He fell into the latter category.

      Besides, the one time he’d let himself fall hard for a woman, it had ended badly. Talk about messing with his mind. No way would he go there again.

      He turned at the light and headed toward I-45. He was almost to the freeway when his cell phone rang. He punched on his hands-free receiver.

      “Durk Lambert.”