Colby Velocity

Colby Velocity
Debra Webb

Литагент HarperCollins EUR

Colby Velocity

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover (#u5944ac4c-5c90-5c48-9c3b-4474f30b7148)

Title Page (#u68635a75-d6c2-517d-beab-18b83a00eb3d)

Dedication (#u9a55c673-6e4e-549e-9777-c37c13c8ed8d)

Chapter One (#ueda7706d-76cd-5ddb-83f7-683fcce59513)

Chapter Two (#u1d3788a4-fc85-5aaa-99d6-fc3fb82e34f5)

Chapter Three (#u0c14e51a-b14a-5dae-a913-efda1d009e5a)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

This book is dedicated to my two dearest friends, Vicki Hinze and Peggy Webb. Two of the most amazing ladies I have ever had the privilege to know and love!

Chapter One

Chicago, Tuesday, July 4, 9:00 p.m.

Kendra Todd surveyed the deserted street. The last of the lingering Fourth of July revelers were only a few blocks over. The fireworks at the Pier crackled in the air, sending sprays of light over the city.

She had attended the agency cookout at Jim Colby’s home. Afterward she’d anticipated a quiet evening at her apartment … but that hadn’t happened.

Talk about ghosts from the past …. The frantic call she’d received had taken her back several years. Three, to be exact.

To a place she’d just as soon not revisited.

9:04 p.m. He was late.

Kendra tucked her cell phone back into the holster on her belt and surveyed the street once more.

Ten minutes more of hanging around this street corner alone and she was out of here. Whatever her old friend’s latest drama … it wasn’t hers. Kendra Todd was no longer a part of the D.C. world of ruthless ambition and colliding egos. In three years she hadn’t looked back once.

The move to Chicago was the smartest choice she’d made in a very long time. Working with Chicago PD’s community affairs division the first two years of her new Windy City life had been very useful in acquainting herself with this new environment. Last year’s offer to join the staff of the Colby Agency had come after working closely with Ian Michaels during the abduction attempt of Victoria Colby-Camp’s granddaughter. The opportunity had proven the perfect prompt for Kendra to make a major move toward personally recognizing and professionally achieving a true career goal.

Reaching out to those in need and using the interactive skills she’d honed so well to solve a case satisfied her in a way nothing else about her professional history had. The camaraderie at the Colby Agency surprised her still. For someone who had no family left and who’d walked away from her lifelong friends three years ago, the atmosphere at the agency was spot on. She not only liked her job as an investigator, she also liked being part of something real.

Real life. Real people.

To say this jolt from the past was unwelcome would be a vast understatement. Not that she hadn’t kept in touch with a few of her former associates. Christmas cards and the occasional birthday card were exchanged. At first she’d even exchanged e-mails with her former boyfriend, but that had fizzled out after only a few months. But this—tonight—was far from a mere unexpected call from an old colleague.

This was trouble in big, bold letters.

Headlights flashed, drawing her attention to the west end of the block. A dark nondescript sedan had made the turn at the intersection and now rolled slowly in her direction.

She maintained her position against the wall of the closed boutique and watched as the sedan pulled up to the curb directly behind her smaller, two-door sports car. The snazzy red car was her one visible capitulation to vanity. And maybe to independence from all the red tape and chaos of so-called organized government.

The driver’s door opened and she held her breath. As soon as the head and torso rose from behind the wheel of the car she squinted to identify the driver. The street lamp’s glow spread across the hood of the sedan but fell short of providing sufficient illumination beyond the windshield. But she would know that tall, slim frame anywhere … even in the dark.

Yoni Sayar straightened his suit jacket and shoved the car door closed.

Kendra couldn’t deny some sense of sentimentality at seeing him. Three years was a long time and they had been good friends.

“Kendra.” He smiled as he strode toward her.

“It’s good to see you,” she confessed before accepting his quick, firm embrace.

Tall, thin and dark, Yoni was a natural born American but his parents were Israeli immigrants. Both had worked hard to ensure he received the best education possible and were extraordinarily proud of his accomplishments. A master’s degree in global communications was complemented by his ability to speak a number of languages with incredible ease and fluency. He’d turned down numerous lucrative corporate offers to pursue his goal of making a difference in the merciless world of politics. A lobbyist who supported the rights of main street Americans over those of corporate America.

Yoni was one of the good guys. He’d worked hard to earn the respect of the most powerful senators and congressional members, including Senator Judd Castille, Kendra’s former boss.

After a thorough scrutiny of her face, he said, “You look very happy.” He nodded his approval. “Happy and stress-free.”