by Kara Lennox
It was a theory, anyway.
“Keep me in the loop.” Ham pushed himself to his feet. “I’m supposed to retire in less than a month. I can’t put it off any longer—my doctor and my wife have ganged up on me. But I don’t want to leave Stan, or the company, in the lurch.”
“I swear, Ham, we’ll figure it out. The most important thing we can do is to keep the company afloat. So when Stan is exonerated—and I know he will be—he’ll have a job to return to.”
And Conner could finally get his own life back. He would gladly walk away from this corner office and burn every one of his silk ties.
* * *
JILLIAN COULDN’T RESIST announcing her good news as soon as she bounced into the bull pen at Project Justice late that afternoon. “I’m in! Mayall Lumber hired me!”
The only other investigator there was Griffin Benedict, who was on the phone. He looked up with mild irritation, and she realized she could have been overheard by whoever Griffin was talking to. One of the first rules of working for the foundation was discretion.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, then whispered a quick “Sorry.” The only other people in the room were two interns, college students with whom she had worked until her recent “promotion” into fieldwork.
They both looked up at her. Bernie, the nicer one, gave her a tepid thumbs-up, but Kendall, who’d never gone out of her way to say anything nice to Jillian, rolled her eyes.
“Come to lord it over us?” Kendall said. “It’s not like you were really promoted. It’s just that you have secretarial experience.” She said the word secretarial as if it were nasty. “Soon as this job is finished, you’ll be back in the intern ghetto, licking envelopes and making coffee.”
“Probably.” Jillian tried not to let Kendall’s attitude bother her. “But at least I get to work in the field for a while.”
“You say ‘work in the field’ like you’re a secret agent or something.” Kendall didn’t try to hide her sneer. “Daniel isn’t, like, letting you carry a gun or anything, is he?”
“No, of course not.” Not yet. But she’d taken a firearms training course and had applied for her license to carry concealed. That was a long way from Daniel letting her do any such thing, but it was a step in the right direction. “I’m gathering intelligence.”
Kendall’s eyes lit up. “About what?”
Though Jillian wanted to dish, she knew she shouldn’t. Discretion, discretion. “I can’t really talk about it.”
Again, Kendall rolled her eyes.
“By the time this assignment is over, you guys will be back at school. So, this is goodbye.”
“We’ll miss you.” Bernie clearly didn’t mean it.
Kendall said nothing.
They were both probably glad to see her go. She’d already been working here several months when they’d arrived for their summer internships, so she’d shown them the ropes and tried to bond with them. But neither had warmed up to her. She was only five or six years older than them, but it was enough to cause a small generation gap.
She’d never been very good at making friends. In high school, at the exclusive Shelby Academy, she’d been shy and withdrawn, preferring books and her active fantasy life to interaction with real people. Swim team had been her only extracurricular activity, and she’d never distinguished herself in the sport, though she still loved the water, and all those laps she’d swum had at least slimmed her down.
In college, she’d fared better. With her new nose, bright, even teeth and long, blond hair, she garnered lots of attention from young men, none of whom impressed her because by then, she’d fallen hard for Daniel Logan. Their fathers had worked together, and all through college she’d spent summers at the Logan estate helping out Daniel’s mother.
While the guys flocked around her, other women, even her sorority sisters, had held her at arm’s length. She’d earned a reputation as snooty when really, she’d just been shy. She still didn’t relate well to other women. Some were put off by her trust fund, others by her attractiveness—she was honest enough to admit she’d turned out rather well in that department, given her shaky start. They didn’t want her around their husbands and boyfriends.
“Well, see you around.” She left the bull pen and went to find the one person she felt pretty sure would be happy for her—aside from Daniel, who sincerely wanted her to find a place in the world where she belonged.
Celeste Boggs, the office manager, was just shutting things down for the day at her station in the lobby—turning off her computer, packing up the magazines and books she liked to read during lulls in activity.
Celeste was somewhere in her seventies. She’d been the first woman patrol officer hired by the Houston Police Department, and despite decades of service had never been promoted to detective. Now she seemed to be rebelling against years in a uniform. Every day she showed up for work in an outfit more outlandish and age-inappropriate than the day before. Today it was a red polka-dot chiffon blouse with a big bow at the neck coupled with a red miniskirt and rhinestone gladiator sandals. Her long, acrylic nails bore decals of neon flowers, and her unruly gray hair was drawn up into a ponytail atop her head, resulting in a cascade of curls. Huge red dangle earrings completed the ensemble.
“Hey, Celeste.” Jillian leaned her elbows on the semicircular granite desk, designed to impress visitors. “What happened to the go-go dancer you mugged to get those earrings?”
“Buried in a shallow grave,” Celeste said in a stage whisper. “You like?” She gave her head a little shake. “Bought ’em on eBay.”
“Very retro cool. They look great on you.” Jillian actually admired Celeste’s fearless sense of style. The older woman didn’t care what anyone thought of her and dressed solely to please herself, and in the process had achieved a sort of thrift-store chic.
“So, spill it,” Celeste said. “Did you get the job?”
“I did.”
“Good for you.” Celeste took her through her complicated high/low-five sequence. “This is your chance to shine. You do realize, don’t you, that you’re the first female investigator at Project Justice?”
Jillian frowned. “What about Raleigh?” Raleigh Benedict, Griffin’s wife, was head of Legal but also managed her own cases. She was one of the most senior staff members.
“Raleigh runs things from a legal perspective,” Celeste said. “When it comes to fieldwork, she gets one of the guys to help her.”
“Well, I’m not an investigator yet. This is an important case—Daniel himself is coordinating the investigation. I’m just doing a small part.”
“Yeah, but you’re working undercover. If you do a good job, you have the chance to move into the vacancy Billy left.”
Billy Cantu had recently left Project Justice to return to the work he was truly meant to do, as a police detective. Only in her dreams could Jillian fill his shoes.
She voiced the question she’d been wondering about ever since Kendall’s put-down. “Do you think Daniel asked me to do this because of my experience as an admin? I can’t envision Griffin or Ford fetching coffee and making copies for some guy in a suit. Maybe I was the only one he could talk into it.”
“It doesn’t matter how you got the assignment,” Celeste said. “The important thing is what you do with it.”
True. But it still rankled.
“Daniel’s instructions were pretty clear. I’m not supposed to do anything except keep my eyes and ears open and report to him. He told me not to actively investigate.”
Celeste made a face. “Good thing you’ve got a mind of your own.” She shouldered her red patent-leather purse, too large to be legal as an airline carry-on, and made her way to the front door with her enormous ring of keys. “You listen to me, and you’ll come out of this operation smelling like a rose. The first thing you have to do is make friends with the other support staff—admins, legal assistants. They’ll gossip about their bosses, I guarantee it.”
“That’s a wonderful idea�
�in theory. But I suck at making new friends.” Oddly, though, Celeste seemed to like Jillian. The elderly woman was fierce and gruff with most everyone else, but she treated Jillian like her baby chick.
Celeste dropped her keys into her purse, then paused to look Jillian up and down. “You’re too perfect,” she said bluntly. “You intimidate other women. They despise you even as they want to be just like you.”
Leave it to Celeste to speak the unvarnished truth.
“Don’t worry,” Celeste soothed. “It’s nothing to do with your personality.”
Jillian wasn’t so sure about that. Last year, when Daniel’s eventual wife, Jamie, got sick, some people actually suspected Jillian of poisoning her.
“But you might try looking more…ordinary.”
“Ordinary.” Jillian wasn’t sure what Celeste meant. She felt she was ordinary.
“Like you don’t have a trust fund, girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
Celeste shut off the lights and set the security alarm. Phil, the night watchman, would arrive shortly. Celeste had left him a Snickers bar, Jillian noticed. She licked her lips, wondering if Phil would mind…
“Now,” Celeste said, snapping Jillian’s attention away from the chocolate temptation, “aside from the other secretaries, you need to get to know the janitors, or anybody who cleans or makes repairs. Those people are essentially invisible, but they see and hear much more than you think. Imagine what they could find out just by looking through the trash.”
“That’s the key? Getting to know people at work?”
“It’s the cornerstone of all undercover work, all police work, really. People have to get to know you before they’ll trust you. And they have to trust you before they’ll tell you their secrets.”
“Thanks, Celeste.” It sounded like good advice to her, and she could do it without disobeying Daniel’s orders to refrain from actively investigating, something he deemed too risky because she didn’t have police training.
“Oh, one more thing.” Celeste reached into her voluminous bag and drew out a small, black disk about the size of a quarter. “It’s a listening bug. Plant it in the office of someone you want to spy on, hide the digital recorder within a hundred feet. It’s voice-activated. The recorder has a memory card. You pop it into your computer and listen to the audiofiles. Elevates eavesdropping to a whole new level. Go on, take it.”
Jillian hesitated. “What if I get caught eavesdropping? I’d get fired and my cover would be blown.”
Celeste lowered her voice. “Daniel said to listen, right? This is listening. You gotta take some chances sometimes. I worked undercover in Vice playing a prostitute. Had to deal with some pretty shady characters. My life depended on keeping my identity and my true purpose a secret. You just have to be smart about it.”
Jillian took the bug and the small recorder with murmured thanks and hurriedly tucked it into her own purse. Despite Celeste’s confidence, she wouldn’t use it—she couldn’t take the risk of getting caught. Not only would Mayall Lumber fire her, but so would Daniel.
CHAPTER TWO
JILLIAN ROLLED INTO THE Mayall Lumber parking garage at 6:45 a.m., bleary-eyed but pleased to have missed the worst of the rush hour traffic. That was one benefit of showing up to work at the butt-crack of dawn.
She couldn’t think of any others.
No matter how hard she tried, she’d never been a morning person. Years of 6:00-a.m. swim practice, early college classes and working for Daniel—who also had expected her to rise early—hadn’t cured her of the tendency to sleep until noon if nothing woke her up.
Still, she was self-disciplined enough to manage to do a good imitation of a lark when called for. She’d driven through Starbucks for a Venti cappuccino and had been sipping on it nonstop during her commute. A healthy dose of caffeine now coursed through her system; at least her eyelids no longer drooped.
She opened the parking garage door with her new magnetic key card and smiled at the security guard seated at a desk just inside the door. The guard’s name tag identified her as Letitia, and she wasn’t exactly intimidating with her three-inch fingernails and an avalanche of springy curls pointing every which way. But Jillian tried not to judge by appearances.
Letitia looked at her quizzically, and Jillian showed her the badge on a lanyard looped around her neck.
“My first day,” she said.
The roly-poly guard looked her over, then decided to smile, revealing a row of crooked but bright white teeth in her round face. “Yeah? What department?”
“I’m an admin in Timber Operations.”
“Don’t tell me you’re reporting to Conner Blake?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
The smile turned to a dubious frown. “Good luck, sister. You’ll need it.”
Jillian saw no reason not to start her undercover work on the spot. Letitia could be a good resource, seeing as she knew everyone and saw them coming and going to and from the building. “He couldn’t be that bad.”
“If you’re still here by lunchtime, there’ll be a betting pool started. Everyone puts in a dollar and guesses the exact hour you’ll quit. I usually pick 10:00 a.m. the second day—so far, I’m up twenty bucks.”
“Really.” Was Letitia having a joke at Jillian’s expense? “What if I stay?”
“You think you’re made of pretty strong stuff?”
Jillian thrust out her chin. “Yes, I do. No one could be as bad as my old boss. Imagine the ruthlessness of Attila the Hun combined with the incompetence of Barney Fife.” She hoped Daniel never got wind of that description. He wasn’t at all incompetent, but he could be ruthless when he wanted something.
Letitia snorted, almost a laugh. “Maybe your old boss was bad, but was he a murderer?”
Jillian’s heart thudded so loudly she was sure Letitia could hear it. “Excuse me?”
“I guess you haven’t heard about Greg Tynes.”
“Oh, the man who was killed. Yes, I did hear something about that.” Jillian didn’t want to appear terminally ignorant.
Letitia nodded. “He worked in Mr. Blake’s department. We all think Mr. Blake did it.”
“Why?” Jillian didn’t have to fake her horror. She’d known someone at Mayall Lumber might be a killer, but she’d never imagined it might be her boss.
“Mr. Blake is mean, that’s why.”
“Does he have a temper?” She couldn’t recall Conner ever losing his temper, but he did have a devilish streak.
“Not a temper. It’s more like…a darkness,” Letitia said, warming to her topic. “There’s a reason that man can’t keep an assistant. They always just…” Letitia lowered her voice to a whisper “…disappear.”
Dear Lord.
Letitia clapped a hand over her mouth. “Now I’ve gone and said way more than I should. Never mind me. I’m sure you and Mr. Blake will work out just fine.”
“We will.” They had to.
As Jillian rode the elevator up to the third floor, she congratulated herself. With a little idle chitchat, she’d laid some groundwork for getting to know Letitia better, and she’d picked up some juicy gossip.
But she was also treading on dangerous territory. Her job was to observe and report, not ask questions, not snoop. In fact, Daniel had told her to talk as little as possible, and to keep to the truth as much as she could. She’d memorized a few pertinent facts about her fictionalized work background, and she was not supposed to elaborate.
But how was she going to learn anything important if she didn’t talk to people?
Just before stepping out of the elevator, she checked her appearance one more time. Following Celeste’s advice, she’d altered her wardrobe to look more like a working girl. She wasn’t chairman of the board, she was a secretary. She’d chosen a pair of wheat-colored linen trousers and a blouse in muted earth-tone stripes. Leaving all her good jewelry at home, she’d opted for inexpensive costume pieces.
But she hadn’t compromised with the shoes. Sh
e loved her high heels; they made her feel tall and invincible.
She was pleased to see she had beat Conner to work. His office was open and dark. Since no one was about—and since she was feeling brave—she fished the small, black disk out of her purse and peeled off the backing to expose the adhesive surface. Checking the hallway to make sure no one was coming, she dashed into Conner’s office, slapped the bug under the front ledge of his desk, then dashed out again.
If the grapevine said Conner was guilty, he was the one to target with her spy tricks.
She placed the recording device in the back of her credenza, placing a ream of paper in front of it.
Now, with that task settled, she could start on her own work space. She wandered down the hall until she located someone else who’d braved the early hour, another admin. Her name plate identified her as Iris Hardy.
“Excuse me,” Jillian began. “I’m Jillian Baxter, Mr. Blake’s new admin. I wonder if you could help me.”
Iris, a plain woman with a round face and the sort of dumpy clothes and hair that indicated she’d stopped caring about her image, smiled sadly. “He’s done something awful already?”
“Oh, gracious, no,” Jillian said, appalled by the other woman’s attitude. It was like her colleagues were setting her up for failure. “He’s not even in yet. I’m organizing my work space and I need some office supplies. Should I requisition them?”
“Only if there’s something special you want,” Iris said. “Otherwise, there’s a big storeroom right around that corner. It says Supplies on the door, you can’t miss it. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
“Thanks. Do you want to have lunch later? If you don’t already have plans, that is. I might need advice on what’s good in the cafeteria, and what’s to be avoided.”
Jillian had been trying for a note of humor, but it fell flat. Iris frowned.
“Honey, you won’t be here long enough for us to become friends. If you want to save yourself a lot of aggravation, quit now.” She turned her attention back to her computer.