The Perfect Murder (Maximum Security #4) - Kat Martin Page 0,2
of the desk to steady herself. “What was he doing in the street? He’s not supposed to be riding out front by himself. Tammy Stevens was watching him while my grandmother went to her doctor’s appointment. Oh, God.”
“Take it easy. You’ll know more when you get to the hospital. Come on, I’ll drive you.” Before she could object, he called down to the garage to have his car brought up.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I can drive myself.”
“You’re in no shape to drive. Get your purse and let’s go.”
Since he was right, she didn’t argue, though she was surprised he had offered. Reese was her employer, CEO of the company. They didn’t really know each other on a personal level.
Somehow she managed to walk out of his office on legs that felt weak and unsteady. Louise’s desk sat in the open area out front, Kenzie’s desk and credenza in a spacious, more private location closer to Reese’s impressive executive office.
He paused at Louise’s desk. “Kenzie’s son was in an accident. He’s been taken to the emergency room at Baylor. I’m driving her to the hospital. If you need me, call my cell.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned to Kenzie. “Let me know what you find out about Griff, okay? I’ll worry till I know he’s all right.”
Kenzie nodded, her stomach clenched tight with nerves. “I will, Louise, I promise.” Hurrying over to her desk, she grabbed her handbag then continued with Reese to the private wood-paneled elevator that serviced the executive offices on the fourteenth floor of the building in the nineteen-hundred block of North Akard.
The elevator descended, then the doors opened in the underground parking garage behind the valet stand. A shiny black Jaguar idled in front, the air conditioner running, the September temperatures still uncomfortably high.
Reese walked her around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door, waited while she settled herself in the sporty, red-trimmed, black leather seats. Tugging down the navy blue pencil skirt she was wearing with a matching jacket and heels, she pushed her dark hair out of her face.
“Put your belt on,” Reese commanded as he slid behind the wheel and put the car in gear. He was the kind of man who was always in charge, always in control, yet somehow he seemed more efficient than overbearing. Working with him had been exhilarating, challenging, and exhausting. It was a job she truly loved.
Her heart was still racing as he drove the Jag out of the parking garage. The brakes slammed the instant they pulled into the street, and Reese softly cursed.
Dozens of people carrying signs and banners rushed up to surround the car. SOS, Save Our Shores. Stop Deep Sea Oil. No Drill No Spill.
“Son of a bitch.” Reese eased the car out into the street, nudging protesters aside, the vehicle crawling along when it was clear he would rather have hit the gas and charged forward. There weren’t more than a couple of dozen, most of them young, in their twenties or early thirties, wearing everything from purple hair and nose rings to Bozo the Clown masks.
“I’m sorry, Kenzie,” Reese said. “I knew there’d been some trouble at the Houston office, but this is the first time we’ve had protests here.”
She’d known about the recent protests to halt more drilling in the Gulf. She hadn’t realized they had expanded as far as Dallas. The odd thing was, the deal to buy the platform had been in progress for months and the rig had been producing oil for years.
She looked at the jeering crowd blocking their way and fear for her son intensified. Griff needed her. She had to reach him.
“Don’t worry, they aren’t going to stop us from getting there,” Reese said, reading her mind.
He increased his speed, the Jag’s powerful engine purring, the vehicle forcing the crowd to separate and really pissing them off. Though the windows were up and the air conditioner was running, she could hear the foul things they were saying about Garrett Resources, some specifically aimed at Reese as head of the company.
Reese ignored them and increased his speed, breaking free of the unruly mob and leaving them ranting and raving in the middle of the street behind them.
As he continued along North Akard toward Baylor Medical, Kenzie’s mind remained on her son. She checked her phone messages, found call after call from Tammy Stevens, her next door neighbor’s teenage daughter who’d been babysitting Griff. But when she tried to return the