Dixie Under Siege (A Warrior's Passion #2) - Natasza Waters Page 0,63
asked barely above a whisper.
“Chandler. What does he want from me?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Who are you?”
Melodie shook her head slowly. “No one.”
The woman licked her lips. “If there’s an ounce of humanity in you, find Commander Josh Hunter. He’s in San Diego. Works at NAB Coronado.” Her voice cracked as if overwhelmed by her predicament but trying to keep it together. “Tell him where I am.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Gethsemane Reynolds.”
Melodie chewed on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t connect with the woman’s distress, her emotions sheered down to a thin layer of numbness from a lifetime of grooming. Not like other women of wealthy families, but with the art of subterfuge. A carefully crafted façade to hide the truth. Protect her brother who emulated their father in every way.
Melodie stared at the pebbled surface of the slate tiles. She loved the varied colors of green.
“Please…” the woman pleaded, attracting her attention.
She yawned and rolled her head to stretch her tense neck. “In this house, you don’t have a name.”
The woman’s brow creased not understanding. “Where am I?”
When Chandler had brought the unconscious woman home a couple days ago, he didn’t offer an explanation before securing her in the wine cellar. Melodie didn’t ask questions.
“Eat.”
The woman nudged the plate away in defiance. “You look like Chandler. Is he your brother?”
“Miss Reynolds, as far as you’re concerned, this is the end. Since you’re here, you only have so many breaths left. I suggest you make peace with whatever demons you have.” Melodie blinked and looked around. “This place looks like a wine cellar, but really you’re sitting in the pit of Dante’s Inferno.” She flicked her gaze to meet the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” In reality, she wasn’t able to feel anything. Empathy led to pity. Pity led to regret. Regret would lead to her own demise. Just like her mother. “You’re going to die.”
****
Chandler paced behind the desk in his bedroom while his father watched from the computer monitor.
Senator Gavin Kallis sat at his own desk in the family’s upscale apartment located near the White House. “Is she dead?”
“Of course.” Chandler ceased his repetitive trek, casting an uninterested glance his father’s way.
His old man’s expression wrought with concern. The depth of creases crisscrossing his sixty-year-old face was a slow evolution toward something akin to Dorian Gray’s portrait. A multitude of sins hidden behind a well-groomed exterior. The good people of New York had no clue to the depths the senator went to protect his image and the Kallis name. An empire of lies and ruined lives, with a few corpses thrown in for fun. Chandler admired his skills.
“Who attacked the house?” his father asked.
“I don’t know.” Chandler shrugged to show disinterest. He’d underestimated the SEALs’ ability to find him so quickly. “Punk kids. Melodie’s drug dealer. Who knows?”
“Don’t lie to me.” His father’s shoulder’s stiffened.
Fate had delivered a gift to Chandler. Eventually, he’d give the old man what he wanted, but not until Chandler had what he wanted first. If the SEAL commander knew who he was, had he told Dixie?
Doubtful.
“Don’t I always do as you ask?” Chandler responded to ease his father’s angst. “Family comes first. I know what’s at risk.”
His father settled back in his chair. “If she’s dead, there is no risk.” He paused to sip his morning coffee. A silver serving platter with a full breakfast of sausage and eggs sat by his right elbow untouched. It was five in the morning in DC. “When will the San Diego office open?”
Although Chandler ran the Ardon Corporation operation, his father still held the majority of shares and a seat on the board of directors.
“Peg Gleason completed the hiring. Department heads from New York will be here Monday to coach the new staff. I have a meeting on Friday with five interested parties looking to immediately expand their products to Asia Pacific.”
“Good,” he said gruffly. “Once they’ve signed our contracts, you can relocate a percentage of our containership fleet to the west coast.”
Chandler nodded in agreement. “Is there anything else?” He glanced at the bedside table where his cell lay. The phone had beeped with numerous messages earlier, but he had to deal with the mess that fucking SEAL had left in his office. Although he hadn’t seen him, Chandler knew CDR Hunter had something to with the assault on his house.
“Get some sleep, son,” his father ordered. “Call me Monday.”
“Goodnight.” Chandler disconnected their call and wandered to his bed, retrieving his