Chapter Kennedy 2

“I’m on the way to the warehouse now,” I said into my phone, speaking with Louisa from the comfort of the back seat of the car I’d hired. “The distribution center’s first-shift manager, Ricardo, is standing by his claim that the merchandise numbers on the arriving manifests are incorrect. I also spoke with the second-shift admin, Vanessa, and she also agreed. She offered to come in early tomorrow and show me some specific evidence.”

“Will you still be there?”

I took a deep breath, watching the city where I was raised pass by the darkened windows of the car as my driver navigated the city. Being summertime, the streets overflowed with both automobiles and pedestrians. Not only were there the inhabitants of the windy city on their way from point A to point B but also vacationers, large groups with children in tow to see the sights of Chicago.

With the cloudless blue sky, breezes rustling the bright green leaves of the trees lining the streets, and the sparkling waves of Lake Michigan visible from Lake Shore Drive, the ominous feeling I’d anticipated overwhelming me the second my feet touched Illinois soil was nowhere to be found.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll stay through that meeting and then fly back tomorrow.”

“Tell me you’re going to wear the dress?” Louisa’s voice raised an octave in anticipation.

My cheeks lifted. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. The smile on my face was the opposite of what I’d expected to wear while in Chicago. Nevertheless, I embraced it. “I tried it on. Oh, Lou, it’s stunning.”

“No, sweetheart, you’re stunning. With your blonde hair and that gold scarf as a sash, you’ll wow them at that dinner. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have thousands of orders waiting by tomorrow.”

Since meeting her at St. Mary of the Forest, Louisa and her family have been my biggest cheerleaders. The Nelsons became my family as I’d been without one. With two daughters of their own, they didn’t have to take me in and include me, but they did. From school breaks to family vacations and even holidays, Louisa and I became like sisters as well as best friends. That didn’t mean we agreed on everything. It meant we were together even when we disagreed.

“First things first,” I said. “I’m off to Franco.”

“Call me as soon as the meeting is over. He has been...” She searched for the right word. “...evasive in our emails and phone calls. I can’t thank you enough for making this trip.”

“You know that I want you to stop worrying. Auntie Kennedy wants her niece or nephew to be stress free.”

Louisa laughed. “I’m not sure what part of owning Sinful Threads you think is stress free, but fine. If only I could drink wine.”

“One day and then we will each have our own bottle.”

“It’s a deal. Call me.”

“I will.”

After our call disconnected, I gave stress free a thought. I wanted that for Louisa, especially now. I wasn’t confident I’d ever been completely without concern, not since the last day I saw my mom—my adoptive mom.

Through life, things happen. I had to learn that it was normal and not build each incident up in my mind.

There was the one time when I was skiing in Vail with Louisa’s family. While out on the slope, there was an incident with a ski lift. Regular mechanical malfunction we were told, yet it seemed Lucy, Louisa’s mother, was overly concerned. And then when we returned, we discovered the condo had been broken into.

I pushed those thoughts away. Things like that happen to everyone. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t a target. I was Kennedy Hawkins. That was all.

Taking a cleansing breath, I pulled up the latest Chicago manifests on my tablet. They were the up-to-the-minute reports from the distribution center where I’d just been. Ricardo had sent them to my secure email while I was still there. I hadn’t gotten any vibes from him, other than he was unhappy that there were problems. As a matter of fact, he seemed overly confident that the problems were not on his end.

That confidence was contagious.

It was the first time I’d met him, but I wanted to believe him.

Comparing the numbers to the manifests from our corporate office that updated hourly, the numbers didn’t make sense. The discrepancies varied by item. Ten off on one, sixteen off on another, exact on the next, and two off on yet another. Even our numbers from corporate didn’t match.

I started to wonder about the computer program and made a note to have Winnie, my assistant, check with IT.

No matter how much I searched, I couldn’t find a pattern nor a rhyme or reason to the discrepancies, scribbling more notes with each turn in the road or change of lane.

Numbers were my thing. I understood them.

There was no emotion in numbers. They simply were.

I’d learned too young to turn off feeling.

Sometimes, it was as if one side of my brain wrestled with the other. While numbers didn’t have sentiment, our merchandise did. Louisa and I worked with our designers. Originally, we’d created the prototypes from sketch to fabric. It became too much. Either we could oversee the creative side and run the business or vice versa.

Having the fashion designers in Boulder, we were still hands-on. Trusting other people with our numbers, our business, the profits and losses was a bigger risk in both of our opinions. We still decided upon what creations became Sinful Threads—the emotional side of our business—and we kept our fingers on the pulse of the numbers.

The car bounced upon uneven pavement, pulling my attention away from my task at hand and back to the world outside the windows. The warehouse district was a far cry from the beauty of Lake Shore Drive. Large industrial buildings surrounded by chain-link fences filled the landscape as cargo trucks sat at loading docks.

“Ms. Hawkins, this is the address,” Patrick, the driver, said as the car moved through an unlocked gate within the fence surrounding the facility.

Beyond the darkened windows, I noticed a tall man walking from my warehouse toward a large black SUV. There was another man in a dark suit, a step behind.

Curiosity? I wasn’t sure what had drawn my attention, other than he was leaving my business and definitely not dressed like a worker or truck driver.

The vehicle reminded me of the kind used on television shows for law enforcement or important government officials, big and powerful as if it were reinforced. While the second man hurried to the driver’s side, the dark-haired man in the expensive gray suit caught my eye.

If I were to believe Louisa, that probably meant he was an asshole.

His suit coat was unbuttoned, blowing back from the starched white shirt tucked into the trim waist of his slacks. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and his collar was unbuttoned enough to show a small view of his tanned neck. An important man on a mission could be his description, and again, I wondered what he had been doing at Sinful Threads.

And then he turned our way.

With his hand on the passenger-door handle, his steps stopped as he looked our direction. Even from a distance, I was struck by his aura of authority. His features were granite as he studied our car, as if he had a say in who came and went from my warehouse.

His dark hair blew slightly in the summer breeze, and the same color lined his strong jaw in a trimmed professional style. Removing his sunglasses, his handsome face remained creased as his eyes narrowed, and he continued to study our car.

I thought to ask Patrick if he knew who the gentleman was, but why would he?

Before my arrival in Chicago, Winnie hired an agency that offered both transportation and security. I may have told Louisa that this trip was no big deal, but I couldn’t forget my mother’s words. My assistant’s idea was a good compromise. A few thousand dollars seemed a fair trade for my peace of mind.

Our car stopped a few parking spaces away from the large SUV.

“Ma’am, would you like me to accompany you into your meeting?”

I’d said no at the distribution center, but the twisting of my stomach told me to trust my instinct. After all, I’d hired this company, I might as well utilize more than the transportation benefit.

“Thank you, Patrick.”

A moment later, my door opened and what I’d been seeing through the windows was now felt. The breeze blowing the trees poured into the car with sweltering summer heat replacing the air conditioning.

There were many things I missed when I was forced to move to Colorado. The extreme weather of Chicago wasn’t one of them. It was difficult for people who didn’t live in climates like Chicago’s to understand that while summertime was scorching, the same area could easily be ten degrees below zero in the winter. That didn’t include heat index or wind chill.

If you didn’t know what those terms meant, you haven’t lived in Chicago.

Gathering my bag with my reports and tablet, I stepped out of the back seat, my heeled pumps landing on the soft asphalt as heat seared my bare legs and under my skirt. My blouse clung to my skin as the sun beat down. With my eyes covered by sunglasses, my gaze was drawn to the man I’d seen moments before.

I hoped that he wouldn’t be able to see that I was looking his way.

I didn’t know why I was concerned. He wasn’t hiding the fact that he was still watching me.

With each step I took, his stare continued as his head tilted ever so slightly toward his broad shoulder. In the midst of blistering heat, his menacing demeanor appeared calculating yet calm if not downright cold as he scrutinized me from head to toe.

There was confidence in his disposition.

It was as if instead of the temperature radiating from the sun, it was the heat of his gaze penetrating beyond my surface to me—the real me.