“Do you know what time it is?” Flint McKade grumbled into his ear.
“Two in the morning. I know it’s late and I’m sorry to wake you, but I’ve got some serious problems. I’m going to need the help of the Aggie Four.” His hand tightened as it hit him in a fresh wave of anger and sorrow that the Aggie Four was down to three now. Viktor’s loss hit him harder when he needed the full support of the friends he’d grown to love and respect. He missed Viktor.
As much as he missed his dead friend, he needed the support of the ones still living. If he didn’t find out who planted the detonators in that container, he’d not only be up on charges of murder for the death of the forklift driver, but he’d also be the prime suspect in the possible plot to commit an act of terrorism against the United States.
“What’s the problem? Want me to come now?” Flint’s voice perked up, all sleepiness vanishing.
“No, that’s not necessary. Contact Akeem and let him know we’re having an emergency meeting tomorrow at your ranch at noon.”
“Will do.” Flint paused. “You know we’re with you, buddy, whatever the problem. Hang in there. There’s nothing we can’t overcome.” That had been their mantra throughout school at Texas A&M. The mantra had followed them through the years of building their empires.
Jackson’s throat tightened. He hoped they could overcome this mess, which right now seemed insurmountable.
FROM the rented apartment on the twenty-third floor, a man stood in darkness, staring through his binoculars at the building two blocks away. Things were going according to plan. The Department of Homeland Security would be heating up and all indications should point to the three remaining members of the Aggie Four.
Jackson Champion stood silhouetted against the window of his condo, unashamed of his nakedness and unaware he was being watched at that very moment. He appeared to be talking on his cell phone. Probably talking to one of his cronies about the accident at the terminal.
The hit and run on the interstate wasn’t part of the plan, but he chalked it up to an added bonus. Jackson ought to be feeling the squeeze by now. If not, he would be soon.
Chapter Four
“Tom, I need you to scan the employee files of the ship that delivered that cargo yesterday. I want a list of all the employees, their backgrounds and the date they started work for Champion Shipping.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tom sat behind his desk outside Ysabel’s office and logged on to the computer. “I heard about the accident on the freeway last night. I’m glad no one was injured.”
“Yeah.” So was Ysabel. They had been too close to death for her liking. Now that she was carrying a baby, she had to be more careful—think of someone beside herself in the equation.
She paced the floor of her office, having arrived later than intended. For the first time in the five years she’d worked for Champion Shipping, she just couldn’t drag herself out of bed at her usual five o’clock in the morning. Partly because of the late night at the terminal and mostly because of the exhaustion of the first trimester of pregnancy.
She’d Googled pregnancy online and read about it while nibbling on crackers, hoping to keep her stomach down when every little smell set her off. All she needed was to throw up in front of Jackson again and he’d have an ambulance there so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her. No, she had to keep her morning sickness from him at all costs. The best way would be to avoid him altogether.
“Miss Sanchez!” Jackson bellowed from the corner office next to hers.
So much for avoiding the man. As she left her office, she paused, staring at Tom, trying to think of a way to keep from being alone in the same room with Jackson. At the rate she was going, he’d have her secret figured out. A man who’d accumulated as much wealth as Jackson had wasn’t a complete moron. She smiled at the younger man. “Tom, will you go see what Mr. Champion wants and tell him I had to run an errand?”
Tom cast a glance toward the billionaire’s office, a frown furrowing his unlined forehead. “Are you sure? He called for you.”
Guilt smacked her in the gut. She reasoned that the consequences of Jackson learning about her secret outweighed the guilt in her conscience.
“Miss Sanchez!”
Ysabel jumped and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll see what the man wants.” She trudged her way toward his office, her feet dragging with every step. With her hand on the doorknob, she squared her shoulders and pushed the door wide. “Mr. Champion, is there something I could get you?”
“I thought I told you to take the day off.” He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his feet wide, his back to the glass windows that were openly displaying a gloriously bright morning in downtown Houston.
Ysabel blinked, trying to read Jackson’s expression. The glare of light from the windows effectively cast his face in the shadows and more likely exposed every line, crease and smudge of her own face in minute detail. From the glance in her bathroom mirror that morning, she wasn’t looking her best. Far from it. “If it makes you feel better, I slept in. I just got here.”
His eyes narrowed and she squirmed under his inspection. “How are you feeling this morning?”
She pushed her lips into a cheerful smile she didn’t nearly feel. “Completely fine.” As long as I don’t look at food before noon.
He stared at her hard for another ten seconds before his arms fell to his sides. Jackson dropped into the plush leather seat behind the massive desk crafted by an artist in south Texas from the finest mesquite available in the state. “Good, then I’ll need you to come with me when I meet with the Aggie Four at noon.
Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed to clear it. “Here in Houston?” She crossed her fingers behind her back, praying the group would meet nearby, otherwise she’d be stuck in Jackson’s truck, alone with the man for the forty-five minutes to an hour it took to reach the ranch west of Houston.
“We’re meeting at the Diamondback. Be ready to go in forty-five minutes.” His focus shifted to the papers requiring immediate attention on his desk, his attitude one of dismissal.
Grateful for the respite, Ysabel turned toward the door. Before she could exit, two men stepped into the doorframe, blocking her path.
“Mr. Jackson?” The first one crossed the threshold.
Ysabel recognized him as Detective Brody Green from the container yard the previous evening. Her chest tightened. Why would they come to Champion Shipping instead of having Jackson come to them to give his statement?
Instead of slipping out of the office to leave Jackson alone, she stepped back and allowed the lawmen to enter.
Jackson stood. “Detective Green, I hope you have some good news for me.”
The man’s mouth tightened. “Sorry, Mr. Champion. Can’t say that I have.” He jerked his head toward the man beside him. “Fielding?”
The man stepped forward, his hand extended to Jackson. “Mr. Champion, I’m Special Agent Bob Fielding, with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. I’m working this case in conjunction with the Department of Homeland Security.”
Ysabel’s heart dropped to her stomach. Was the other shoe about to fall? Would they shut down Champion Shipping?
“Mr. Fielding. What can I do for you?” Jackson asked, his voice polite, his expression that of an expert poker player.
The agent withdrew a pad and pen from his jacket pocket. “I have a few questions for you regarding the explosion yesterday. That and I regret to inform you that we’ll have to shut down the offloading of the remaining cargo on your ship until it has been thoroughly examined.” Fielding