A Soldier's Oath
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.
A new kind of enthusiasm kindled inside him. Jim Colby had told him that his mother was now married to Lucas Camp. If Lucas had recommended him, that meant he wanted Spencer working with Jim. So, he could look at this from the standpoint that not only would he be doing himself a favor by getting his life back together, he’d also be doing Camp a favor. A bit of a stretch, but, hey, it wasn’t completely implausible.
Not only was it plausible, the concept served as plenty of motivation for doing this right.
Inside the brownstone, the lobby area was deserted. A desk and a couple of chairs. No receptionist or waiting clients. The decorating reminded him of most military offices, unremarkable and rather drab. Not a problem. After graduating college he’d spent ten years in the army he’d loved. Drab was a preferred color.
Tension rippled through him and Spencer drew in a deep breath before ordering himself to stay calm. He already knew Colby wanted him on his team. The rest would be nothing more than technicalities. This wasn’t an interview, it was a negotiation.
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee wafted from somewhere down the hall. Spencer had about decided to head that way when Jim Colby appeared.
“Right on time.” He raised his steaming cup. “Coffee?”
“Coffee would be good.” Spencer had already downed three cups but he could definitely use another. The caffeine helped him battle the need for additional fortification. What he now had to consider forbidden fortification.
“Follow me.”
Colby led the way to a small kitchen that Spencer presumed would serve as an employee lounge. Refrigerator, microwave, sink and a couple of cabinets. His would-be employer passed him a brimming mug.
“Thanks.” The coffee tasted as good as it smelled.
“My office is upstairs.”
Spencer nodded and followed Colby to the second floor. Though the brownstone’s decor hadn’t been updated in a couple of decades, the architecture made it comfortable and interesting in a classic sort of way. The location wasn’t one of the most desired in the city, but the neighborhood appeared in the early stages of revitalization. A year or two from now and the streets would be teeming with thriving businesses and highly sought-after lofts. Colby’s selection of the location was probably a strategic one.
A sleek wooden desk and leather chair, along with a couple of upholstered chairs for clients, were already stationed in Colby’s office. Unpacked boxes of office equipment as well as supplies were scattered about, along with the necessary filing cabinets. Looked as if the boss was well on his way to settling in.
“I’m still getting organized,” Colby said as he took the chair behind his desk. “I’ll be interviewing receptionists this morning. I hope we’ll have someone to answer the phone by lunchtime.”
We. Anticipation spiked before Spencer could stop the possibly premature reaction. “What’s your current body count?” Might as well get a handle on the personnel arrangement and chain of command before he made any kind of commitment beyond this impulsive appearance.
“So far, two. Me,” Colby said with a pointed look at him, “and you.”
His answer surprised Spencer. So he really was getting in on the ground floor of a new venture. “What’s your operational plan?” Learning the exact nature of what he was getting into here was the first order of business. He wasn’t about to be caught off guard again in this lifetime.
“I hope to hire at least three associates.”
Associates. Not investigators. This nudged Spencer’s curiosity.
“What types of cases do you plan to take on?” The answer to this question was key in many ways. The clientele at any firm was the primary factor in how the firm was judged by others. Though he seriously doubted that Lucas Camp would recommend him for a position within a firm that wasn’t on the up and up, Spencer hadn’t missed the look in Jim Colby’s eyes when he’d talked about helping those whose troubles went beyond the law’s boundaries.
“Pretty much whatever walks through the door.” Colby set his coffee aside. “In the beginning it may be necessary to take cases we’ll choose not to take later on. Right now our primary objective is to get our name out there. To let people know we’ve set up shop. This business thrives on word of mouth more so than any other means.”
Made sense. “What’s the plan on case authority? Will you expect to be kept in the loop on all decisions relative to a case once it’s assigned?”
“When we take on a client, I’ll make a decision as to who is the best man for the job. If it’s your case, I’ll expect you to lay out a plan of action and then keep me up to speed on how it’s coming along. Otherwise, the ultimate moment-to-moment decisions are yours to make.”
Spencer nodded. Sounded fair to him. “What about salary?” Since Colby’s business was just getting off the ground he wondered how lucrative a proposition this could possibly be.
“We’ll all be working for the same base salary, including me,” Jim explained. “Whatever profits we net, we’ll split evenly among the associates.”
Now there was an answer he hadn’t expected. “Like a partnership?” Surely that wasn’t what he meant. No firm allowed the new hires to start out as equal partners.
“Exactly. We’ll all share the burden of cost and we’ll all share the bounty.”
Once he’d absorbed that surprising response, Spencer moved on to his next question. “Do you have other associates in mind already?”
“I’ll be interviewing a candidate this afternoon. If I’m lucky, she’ll be coming on board also.”
A woman. Spencer had wondered about that as well.
“Renee Vaughn,” Jim went on. “She’s a former assistant district attorney from Atlanta.”
At one time Spencer had considered a law degree. He’d gotten his bachelor’s degree in political science, but he’d opted for the military instead of law school. Maybe that had been his first mistake.
“I have an office set up for you,” Jim said, dragging Spencer from his unproductive thoughts. “If you’re prepared to get started this morning, I’d like you to work up a history for me. Cover your basic skills, any specialized training and the locations where you’ve worked or been assigned. I’ll keep a file like this on all associates for use in determining what cases each is best suited for.”
Made sense.
Spencer stood. “Show me the way and I’ll get right on it.”
Accepting his statement as a yes, Jim nodded. “All right then.”
The associates’ offices were located on the first floor along the corridor just past the lounge. There were four small offices and a room Jim indicated would be a supply room. At the end of the corridor was the building’s rear exit that led into an alley that would serve as a personnel parking area.
As the first associate hired, Spencer got his pick of the offices. He opted for the one on the left side of the hall next to the lounge since it had a window with a view of the neighborhood park across the street.
When the first receptionist candidate arrived for her interview Jim left him to get started on a detailed work history. Typically, that came first, in the form of a résumé, but this situation appeared to be hardly typical.
Maybe that was the reason Spencer felt at home for the first time in more than two years. He’d learned that he couldn’t count on anything typical or run-of-the-mill. The everyday was no longer reliable.
Do not go down that road.
All he had to do was keep his eyes forward. No looking back. There was no undoing the past, no matter how wrong. His military career was over. Period. He had an opportunity for something new here. He had to keep that goal in mind if he was to have a future. At the rate he’d been going that prospect had grown pretty dim of late. But that was behind him now.
No looking back.
1:00 p.m.
WILLOW HARRIS sat in her rental car for over half an hour. Most of that time was spent attempting to work up the nerve to make the first move. It wasn’t that she was afraid for her safety. The neighborhood wasn’t that great, but it wasn’t any worse than the one in East St. Louis where her former P.I.’s office was located.
Waiting…working up her courage, she did a lot of that lately. In the beginning sheer adrenaline had driven her, overriding any second thoughts or hesitancy. She’d pushed and pushed and searched and searched without the first consideration for her safety or anything else.
But it was different now.
Another anxiety stalked her like a ruthless killer in the dark.
Fear.
The fear of dashed hope. Each time she moved on to a new investigator her anticipation of finally getting her son back renewed…only to be sucked completely out of her when failure crashed down upon her shoulders all over again.
She’d spent all weekend attempting to locate someone who might be able to help her. Her gaze focused on the street in front of her car. The story had been basically the same with each agency she’d called.
I’m very sorry, Ms. Harris, but that’s a case we don’t feel comfortable taking on.
Just when she’d been ready to give up, the last guy she’d called—a low-rent one-man operation she’d almost skipped over in her online Yellow Pages search—had told her about a rumor he’d heard. A new shop was opening up in Chicago. There was a buzz going around that this one would be different from all the others.
So here she was, in Chicago sitting outside a place that might very well be her last hope.
The Equalizers.
Her low-rent P.I. had waxed on about how this place planned to take covert investigations to the next level. The Equalizers would accept the less desirable or riskier jobs that no one else wanted to touch.
Since the firm had only just opened, Willow couldn’t be sure if the plan to take on any and all cases was out of necessity or not, but she was here.
She was desperate.
Her savings and investments were dwindling fast. This place might very well prove her final hope in more ways than one. There wouldn’t be enough money to hire anyone new if this one failed.
An ache twisted through her, making her want to curl up into a ball of defeat. No. She had to be strong. The only way she would ever get her son back was if she didn’t give up, if she tried harder.
Determination rushed through her on the tail of a burst of adrenaline when Davenport’s words echoed in her brain. Maybe she was looking for a miracle. Who said there was anything wrong with that? Miracles manifested themselves in many ways. She’d been taught that concept her whole life. That was one part of her upbringing she needed to hang onto.
Willow got out of the car and strode across the street to the entrance of the brownstone designated as number 129. The painted wooden sign hanging next to the door announced the name of the business in bold strokes.
The Equalizers.
Well, she would just see if the firm could live up to its fledgling reputation.
Acting before she could think of another reason to waver, she opened the door and went inside. The sudden warmth reminded her that she’d gotten cold sitting in her car with the engine turned off for all that time. A winter chill had blasted the midwest last night, causing major delays in several airports. Thank goodness Midland hadn’t been one of them. Once she’d made up her mind to come, she would have done so even if she’d had to walk.
A receptionist sat behind an L-shaped desk. Her back was turned to the door while she typed away at her computer. Several chairs and accompanying tables bordered the room. Magazines were fanned across the top of one of the tables. No plants or goldfish tanks. No heavy stench of cigarette smoke as she’d encountered in many of the agencies she’d visited. Just empty and quiet, like Davenport’s office had been, except for the receptionist’s busy fingers on the keyboard.
The decorating scheme left something to be desired, but the place was neat and clean. She could appreciate that after the last couple of places she’d visited in the past forty-eight hours.
Since the receptionist didn’t make the usual overture though she’d surely heard the door close, Willow stepped closer to her desk and spoke up. “My name is Willow Harris. I’m here to see the man in charge.” She purposely left off the phrase if he’s available. She’d come too far to accept any kind of excuse. The idea that he could be out of town banded around her chest and squeezed. Booking the first available flight and rushing here might have been a mistake, but she’d had no choice.
Her situation wouldn’t wait. She’d waited too long already.
Please let him be here.
Rather than offer a customary greeting, the receptionist frowned as she gave Willow a thorough once-over with assessing brown eyes. She appeared less than pleased at being interrupted from whatever she’d been doing on the computer. Maybe she wasn’t the receptionist at all. She could be one of the investigators who had decided to use this computer for one reason or the other.
“Is he in?” Willow prompted after another awkward moment elapsed. And here she had thought she’d already seen the most bizarre and unprofessional this business had to offer.
“How do you know the person in charge isn’t a woman?” The woman tucked a handful of sandy-brown hair behind one ear and gave Willow a pointed look.
Too taken aback to be embarrassed, Willow struggled a moment to come up with an appropriate response. “Well…who is in charge?” Maybe this woman didn’t work here at all.
“Mr. Jim Colby,” the woman behind the desk said with a smile that wasn’t really a smile, more a fleeting tick. “Do you have an appointment?”
Willow looked around the small reception area. There was no one else there. Unless Mr. Colby already had a client in his office or was expecting one momentarily, she didn’t see the point in the question. But then she remembered the discreet way Davenport had operated.