Free Deadly Justice by Kathy Ivan Page B

blood.”  Jean-Luc's Cajun accent was prominent, a deep low growl over the phone. 
    “You're kidding, right?” 
    “Nope.  Other than your girl's, no other fingerprints either.  Not even Mitchell's prints were found.  Somebody was real careful to clean all the surfaces after tearing the place apart.”
    Interesting .  Why wipe everything down unless you've got something to hide—like maybe the perp had a record and his prints could be traced? 
    “You'd expect her prints to be there.  She works there.  Besides, she touched stuff before I got there.  Not finding Mitchell's prints, though, that's too neat.”
    “Crime unit did their sweep, checked for fibers and DNA, but so far nada. ” 
    Carpenter silently contemplated the implications of targeting Mitchell.  Could he be involved deeper with Webster than he'd first considered?  The only person who might have a clue to the puzzle was Andrea.
    “Keep me posted.  Have Carlisle hack into the DPD's database, see if they've got any suspicions.”
    “He's already on it.  We've printed out the report from the two uni's who initially worked the scene.  Want me to e-mail it?”  As always, Jean-Luc remained efficient and on point.  Military precision and tactical skills were traits he'd honed to a knife's edge while in the navy.  Navy SEALs tended to be meticulous, which fit Jean-Luc's personality to a tee. 
    “Thanks.  I think I'll have a little chat with Ms. Kirkland, see if I can get a handle on why somebody might be targeting Mitchell.”  With that he hung up, and steepled his fingers, his elbows resting on the desk.  Andrea was upstairs, hopefully still asleep.  They'd spent most of the previous afternoon and into the evening dealing with the Dallas police, answering questions about Lawrence Mitchell.  They still didn't have any more information regarding the break-in, but said they'd keep Andrea posted. 
    He'd convinced her to stay, spend the night, so she wasn't alone.  It didn't hurt that he wanted to keep an eye on her. 
    Dawn's light was just breaking, but he rarely slept more than a couple of hours a night.  Early rising was no big deal, but he'd have to wait a bit before questioning her.
    He remembered vividly the look on her face when she'd seen the blood.  Shock, fear, and resignation.  Almost like she anticipated or expected something bad to befall her boss.  Maybe Lawrence Mitchell's hands weren't squeaky clean after all.  Nobody was lily white—not even his beautiful guest.
    Walking to the kitchen, he poured a cup of coffee.  Ms. Willie always left the coffee maker set so it'd be ready when he came down.  She knew him so well, anticipated his likes and dislikes on an almost psychic level.  Not surprising, since she'd known him practically from the cradle.  He sipped the black coffee, staring out the window toward the back patio.
    Ms. Willie's clever handiwork and flamboyant touches were evident in the design of the kitchen area, and she'd insisted on having a view of the patio and pool deck, including a side entrance from the kitchen to outside.  Said she needed access to his guests, to meet their needs.  Right, like he had guests.  The guys on the team, those men who worked closely with him, routinely showed up uninvited.  Though, thinking about it, they seemed to be here more often than not recently.  Usually around mealtime.
    When did I lose control of my own damned house? 
    A sound behind him caused him to spin around, body tense.  Andrea stood in the doorway, disheveled and wearing his robe, looking all warm and cozy and decidedly luscious.  Lust roiled through him like a tidal wave, hitting him with enough force to stagger him emotionally.  Damn it, he couldn't afford to get involved with anybody.  Not until Richard Webster paid for his betrayal. 
    “Good morning, Andrea.  I hope you got a good night's sleep.”  He looked at her, noting the dark smudges beneath her eyes.  Her skin was milky pale,