Web of Sin

Chapter Kennedy 3

My skin peppered with goose bumps as the absurdity of the thought settled into the pit of my stomach.

He saw the real me.

That was impossible.

I didn't know the real me.

My back straightened, unwilling to allow this man to intimidate me with only his gaze. Yet if I were honest, that was happening. His stare alone was the impetus to the foreboding feeling now coursing through my blood. With my chin held high, I continued to walk toward my destination, pretending I didn't notice him.

Patrick moved in sync as we silently walked past the ogling man. I forced myself to keep going, step by step, up the stairs to the door near the loading dock. Once there, I recalled again that I was where the dark-haired man had just been.

Why had he been in my warehouse?

Once the door closed, I let out the breath I'd been holding and removed my sunglasses.

“Ms. Hawkins, are you all right?" Patrick asked.

“Yes," I said with a shiver. “I think it's the heat."

My eyes adjusted to the dim interior. While the inside of the building lacked the glare of the sun, there was little change in the temperature. The still air was sweltering, and yet the icy chill of the dark-haired man's stare had me on edge.

I pushed it away and surveyed my surroundings. The setup of the warehouse was similar to our others throughout the country. Nodding at men and women as they moved merchandise, I made my way beyond the rows of tall shelves to the offices near the back of the warehouse.

A push of a button and the door to the offices opened.

“May I help you?" a young woman asked. The name Connie was on a nameplate on the counter separating me from her desk.

“Yes, Connie, I'm here to see Franco Francesca."

She looked down at an old-fashioned desk calendar covered in scribbles. “Do you have an appointment?"

I stood taller. “No. Is Franco in?"

“Ma'am, if you don't—"

“Please tell him that Kennedy Hawkins is here to see him."

Her complexion paled. “Ms. Hawkins, I'm sorry. I didn't realize..." Her apology faded as the sound of ringing came from her desk phone. Just as quickly it silenced as she spoke into the handset, taking the call off speaker and only allowing me the ability to hear her side of the impending conversation. “Franco, um, Mr. Francesca, Ms. Hawkins is here to see you." She nodded, agreeing with what I couldn't hear. “Yes, sir, Ms. Hawkins...Just arrived." She lifted her eyes back to me. “This second...I don't know...Yes, sir."

I'd met Franco twice, both times in Boulder. This was Louisa's territory, and no doubt, my unannounced arrival was both a surprise and possibly a shock. Yet, I wasn't sure it warranted Connie's clipped responses.

“Ma'am," she said, lowering the headset to her desk, “please follow me, and I'll take you to his office."

Nodding, I turned toward Patrick. “Please wait here." I tilted my head to a few rather uncomfortable-looking chairs along the wall.

He nodded, but instead of sitting, stood along the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. The stance brought a brief smile to my face. It was like the bodyguards on TV. I'd never felt the need to have one, but I liked the optics if nothing else.

Through the door, we entered the typical cubicle farm of a shared area. Men and women working on computers and talking on telephones filled each space. No one paid attention to us as Connie took me around the perimeter. We came to a stop at a closed door.

Though the sidelight was covered with small blinds and closed for privacy, I was certain I heard Franco's voice speaking as Connie knocked on the door. Within seconds, the door opened, and the man I'd meant to surprise was standing before us. By the way his eyes were opened as wide as saucers, I'd say my goal was accomplished.

“Ms. Hawkins, what brings you to Chicago? I hope everything is well with Mrs. Toney."

I didn't know Franco well enough to assess his frame of mind—if he were truly surprised; however, intuition told me that perhaps nervous was a better assessment. Perhaps it was the perspiration dotting his brow or his clammy complexion. Then again, the warehouse was warm, and even the air conditioning in the offices was having trouble keeping up. Franco also didn't appear to be the type of man who worshipped the sun or worried about his physical appearance. In his mid-fifties, he was not aging well. With a receding hairline and soft, paunchy middle, his presentation led me to believe that the only weightlifting he did was twelve ounces at a time.

And yet I reminded myself that despite his appearance, up until recently, we'd had no difficulties with his facility.

I thought it best to wait on his first question—what brought me to Chicago—and concentrated on his second—Mrs. Toney. “Yes, Louisa is well. As you know, her baby is due soon so traveling isn't easy for her. She asked me to make Chicago a priority."

“Connie," Franco said, speaking past me, “will you make sure that we're not disturbed?" At the same time, he took a step back, gesturing for me to enter.

His office was plain, done in an industrial manner with OSHA regulations hanging on a poster on one wall as well as maps of the Chicago line of distribution. His metal desk was unimpressive, and the only window was the sidelight looking out to the cubicles.

“Yes, sir," Connie replied. “Do you want me to make that contact for you?"

“No, I've handled it."

I wasn't sure what they were talking about, but I could guess it had to do with whomever he was speaking to when Connie and I arrived to his door.

Once the door was shut, he went on, “Make Chicago a priority? Is there a problem?"

I took the seat opposite Franco's desk and pulled my tablet from my bag. “Louisa has been corresponding with you about some discrepancies, correct?"

He sat on his side of the desk near the front of his seat and leaned forward. “Yes, I thought we had it all worked out."

“Can you tell me what you think was worked out?"

I let him talk, nodding occasionally as he rambled about standard human error with the added factor of new employees. It was when his speech made a complete loop bordering on redundancy that I interrupted.

“Franco, who was the man leaving the facility when I arrived?"

“What man? We have different people coming and going."

“A tall man, dark hair, and well dressed. He didn't try to hide his interest in my car or me."

“Well, Ms. Hawkins, I wouldn't be surprised that you'd catch the attention of any or every man."

His inappropriate reply was not reassuring. “No, this was different. He was staring at the car before I ever got out."

Franco's thin lips formed a straight line as his head shook from side to side. “I don't know. We could ask Connie if he signed in."

“Is everyone who enters the facility required to sign in?"

“Yes."

“I didn't."

“No, but you're you. This is your facility."

“I'm glad you remember that, Mr. Francesca. I'd like to see the staging area for inventory. Let me meet some of these new employees."

“I'm sure it wouldn't be that exciting. It's most likely the same as in all of your facilities," he said dismissively as he stood.

“The difference," I said, my voice that of the CEO, “is that in our other facilities, we aren't having discrepancies between the warehouse and distribution center. When a valued retailer orders twenty-five golden scarves from Sinful Threads, is invoiced for said twenty-five scarves, and only seventeen arrive, you can understand how that is a concern." His lips flattened as his Adam's apple bobbed. “If that happened once, Louisa and I could overlook it. The scenario I described has not happened once. It has happened with too much frequency."

He rounded the desk, coming to a stop inches in front of me. “Let me look into this further. There was no reason for you to make the trip."

Standing, I met him eye to eye. Without my heels I was nearly five feet, seven inches tall. In my current shoes, I was approaching five-ten, possibly an inch taller than the man infringing upon my space. “I will take that tour now, and we can continue our conversation this evening at the Riverwalk."

His lips twitched before moving to a feigned smile. “That's great news. I'm certain you'll find the investors all interested in Sinful Threads. I'll be sure to alert Connie to have your name added to the guest list."

“That won't be necessary. It's been taken care of."

It hadn't—and that was on purpose—but it would be. Winnie had instructions to have me added moments before I was to arrive. There was no need to make my appearance public any sooner than necessary.