Buried Agendas

by Donnell Ann Bell

  “Susan?”

  “Susan Lewis, our human resources manager.”

  Diana had to leave. Now.

  Many of her earliest high school memories surrounded the girl Brad had dated before Diana moved to Diamond. When Brad broke things off with Susan, Diana had suffered the consequences. Not only would Susan recognize Diana, she would escort her to police headquarters while dancing a jig.

  Part of being a journalist was being an actress, but this was ridiculous. Diana pressed a hand to her head. “Oh, my.”

  “What’s wrong?” Molly pivoted.

  “Suddenly, I’m not feeling so good. I think I better go.”

  Any chance for a graceful exit was short-lived. The staccato clicking of heels upon tile filled the space as her high school nemesis rounded a corner. Poised, sophisticated, and head-turning beautiful, the honey blond looked the same.

  “Molly? Is the applicant ready?”

  “I’m afraid not. She’s leaving.”

  “Oh?” Susan followed her assistant’s gaze.

  Diana stiffened.

  “I’m Susan Lewis, Director of Personnel.” She stuck out her hand.

  Diana estimated the distance to the door. Should she try for a graceful exit or shoot for an all-out run?

  “And you are?”

  She swallowed a gulp, and once again congratulated the makeup artist. If Susan didn’t see through the disguise, nobody would. Theirs was a rivalry that wouldn’t pass with time. The air returned to her lungs. “Candace Armstrong,” she said, shaking hands. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Lewis.”

  “But you said you were sick,” Molly interrupted.

  Susan glanced from one woman to the other. “We can certainly reschedule if you are.”

  “No, I think I’m better. I’d be silly not to talk to you now that I’m here.”

  “I like this one already,” Susan said, taking the forms from Molly. “Rule number one, never pass up an opportunity. My office is this way, Candace.”

  Diana rode the elevator, studying Susan surreptitiously and wondering what the aliens had done with her body—the personality change was that drastic.

  What was she doing at Jordan?

  Thanks to the barriers Diana had erected, she rarely heard from her former classmates, and the only shreds of gossip she received were from her mother. The last tidbit she recalled about Susan was that she’d married and moved East. Obviously, something had changed. Had Susan’s husband relocated, too?

  With a sinking feeling, Diana suspected she knew the answer. The only reason Susan would come back to Diamond was if her marriage had failed. And only one person could bring her back to town.

  Diana’s suspicions were confirmed the moment she entered the office. Visually skimming past fine artwork and an aquarium stocked with exotic fish, she honed in on a rose-filled vase and the silver frame beside it. Then, digging her nails into her palms, she steeled herself against hurt and an unreasonable jealousy.

  Brad’s picture sat in a position of prominence next to the roses.

  “Have a seat, Candace,” Susan said, perusing the application.

  Good idea. It’ll keep me from falling.

  Diana sank into a chair, resisting the urge to look at the photograph again. Masochistically, though, her gaze drifted to it. He’d changed, but not to his detriment. His dark hair was shorter, his angular features fuller, but the heat of his cobalt eyes remained the same.

  “You’re from Big Spring?” Susan glanced up.

  Only then did Diana see the diamond on her former classmate’s left hand. “Yes, ma’am,” she said breathlessly as one more shock settled in.

  “You have very little education or experience. What have you been doing since high school?”

  Showtime. Diana tore her gaze from the enormous rock and moistened her lips. Adding a twang to her voice, she began, “My husband, I mean, soon-to-be ex-husband spent most of the time riding the circuit. Ronnie, he’s a champion bull rider. Well, I couldn’t expect him to give that up, so it was me who worked the odd jobs.”

  Susan drummed her French nails. “Unfortunately, putting his career before yours hasn’t helped your prospects.” She narrowed her gaze. “You’re sure this Ronnie’s out of your life?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I guess I should have listened when my friends said he was cheating on me.”

  “No chance of reconciliation?” Susan lifted an elegant brow.

  The disguise was working. The last two questions were illegal. Susan obviously believed Candy ignorant of the law. If she had to, Diana would use the information for leverage. “Oh, he wanted to,” she said. “But I said no way. I just couldn’t trust him no more. That’s why I’m here. To get me a job and start a new life.”

  The HR manager frowned. “You type thirty-three words a minute. I—”

  “I know I don’t have any real skills, Ms. Lewis. Ronnie saw to that. But I’m a hard worker.”

  Something sparked in Susan’s eyes and Diana saw a surprising connection. Empathy.

  “Mind if I give you some advice, Candace? And call me Susan, by the way. We’re pretty informal around here.”

  “It’s Candy. And, no, ma’am, please do.”

  “Men think of themselves first and foremost. We need to do the same. The only person a woman can count on is herself.”

  “Guess I found that out the hard way,” Diana replied, wondering if Susan’s sentiments applied to Brad as well.

  Susan sighed and made notes. “The good news is, you did well on your aptitude test. There is a job you appear to be qualified for, but I warn you, it can get monotonous. It’s at the bottom of Jordan’s pay scale, and it’s in the mailroom. Do you think you could operate a copy machine, distribute mail?”

  “I’m sure I could.”

  The phone rang. Susan ignored it. But after an incessant ringing, she rolled her eyes and answered, “Yes, Molly. Now? . . . Well, of course . . . Send him in.” Abruptly, Susan abandoned the interview and strode to the door.

  Quickly, Diana faced the manager’s desk once again. She squared her shoulders and folded her hands in her lap, battling the urge to look over her shoulder.

  “This is a surprise,” Susan said.

  “Molly didn’t mention you were in an interview,” came a voice Diana knew instantly. “I can come back.”

  “No, stay. We’re almost finished. Candy, I’d like you to meet . . .”

  Diana swallowed a gasp. Introductions were unnecessary. The man she’d once planned to marry stood in the doorway. It had been pure luck to fool Susan. But Brad? He’d see through her ruse in a heartbeat. Diana didn’t dare look back at him.

  A stack of files sat on the desk’s edge. She grimaced, but could see no other way out. Standing, as she turned, she knocked the pile to the floor.

  “Oh, Ms. Lewis, I’m so sorry.”

  “Just . . . don’t, Candy.” Immediately, Susan knelt by Diana and started gathering forms. “You’ll only get them mixed up. This can’t happen when you’re copying files.”

  “I’m not usually such a klutz, ma’am,” Diana whispered. “I—I know it’s just nerves.”

  Susan looked over her shoulder. “Give us a minute, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart. Diana’s heart ripped in two.

  “Take your time.”

  The room went horribly silent, and a flush crept up her spine. For the first time in her life, she prayed Brad was giving Susan his undivided attention.

  “I have a meeting with Neil. I’ll try to swing back in a while,” Brad said.

  Susan shot Diana a look of frustration. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  The files somewhat restored, Susan explained the mailroom was understaffed. If Diana’s alter ego wouldn’t mind taking a physical at a clinic on Saturday,
she could start the following Monday.

  She was more than amenable to those terms, but with Brad in the vicinity, desperate to leave. The moment Susan escorted Diana out into the lobby, she made a beeline for the parking lot.

  Outside, she switched to sunglasses, enduring the heat on her face and the explosion of her heart. Climbing inside the rental car, she started the engine, flipped the air to maximum, and commanded herself to drive the posted speed to the guard gate.

  Beyond the gate, though, she mashed down on the accelerator.

  Holy shit. That was close. She’d been within feet of Brad. Her lungs constricted further as she replayed the scene in her head. On the verge of hyperventilating, she inhaled and exhaled slowly.

  Her heart eased its drumming, but the hopelessness invading her brain wouldn’t end. Learning that Brad had chosen Susan after all these years had dealt Diana a devastating blow. She rounded a curve, crying out in surprise when a white Navigator blocked the road.

  She slammed on the brakes.

  Brad leaned against the SUV, jaw set, arms akimbo. His dark hair fell across his forehead and a pair of sunglasses hid the steely blue of his eyes.

  All right. Play it cool. You don’t know anything yet. Maybe he broke down and you’re panicking for nothing.

  That wishful strategy fled her brain as he stalked toward her. Leaving the car to idle, she lowered the window and prayed her sunglasses hid her features. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Get out of the damn car, Diana.”

  WHEN SHE DIDN’T move, Brad reminded himself this wasn’t the woman he’d once loved, but an interloper, and someone out to do the company harm. And when she placed her hand on the gearshift, that sentiment was equally reinforced. He yanked open the door. “Put it in park and get out of the car.”

  “I don’t know who you think I am,” she said. “But you need to move your vehicle now and let me pass.”

  His hands curled into fists. “Cut the crap. Liz contacted you, didn’t she? She put you up to this.”

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Do you honestly think you could waltz into Jordan and I wouldn’t recognize you?”

  Lowering her head, she eventually put the car into park, opened the door, and stood beside him. “You weren’t . . . supposed to be there.” She removed her sunglasses and wiped her face, shocking him further when a pair of green eyes stared back at him.

  He took one look at the rest of her get-up, too outraged to comment. Over the years, he’d fantasized about what he’d say if he ever saw her again, but in his deepest meanderings, this scenario had never played itself out.

  “I never even looked at you. How could you know it was me?”

  “I know every inch of you . . .” His gaze raked her insultingly. “You forgot about your birthmark.”

  She touched the back of her neck as understanding dawned on her face.

  Good god, she looked different. The stress of the situation coupled with the heat outside, put him in his own version of hell. Whatever she and Liz had hatched might have worked if he hadn’t stopped by to see Sue before his meeting with Neil.

  “Brad, I swear I had good reasons for coming, but now I see how foolish I was. If you let me go, I’ll leave and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “Good try. But I already know why you’re here. Now I realize how foolish I was. An accusation isn’t proof, Diana. What was I thinking cooperating with Liz when she obviously didn’t trust me? From here on out, our lawyers will handle this.”

  Both jerked their heads at the sound of an engine barreling in their direction.

  He grabbed her arm. “Get inside and pull over. We’re going to talk.”

  A Freightliner rounded the bend. Brad raised his hands and directed the driver to stop. He jogged to the Navigator, parked in front of Diana’s Escort, then waved the trucker on through.

  Once he lumbered away, Brad stalked back to her. “Let’s go. You’ll ride with me.”

  “You expect me to leave my car here?”

  He glanced in both directions of the Jordan-built road and sighed. He’d wanted to stop her, so he’d taken the chance. But parking her vehicle, even on the side of the road, was risky. A tired employee at the end of his shift might not see it.

  “Are you staying with your mom?”

  She shook her head. “Brad, please, this was a huge mistake on my part—”

  “I’ll say. Where are you staying?”

  She buried her face against the steering wheel. “I’m at the Drifter’s Inn.”

  He frowned as one more surprise settled in. “What room?”

  She sighed. “111.”

  “Get going. I’ll meet you there.”

  Following close behind Diana’s car, Brad dug Liz’s card out of his wallet and dialed her emergency number. Her service patched him through, and the moment she answered, his barely contained fury erupted. “So much for the ‘you’ve always been fair’ bullshit, Liz. After everything we talked about, you contacted Diana, didn’t you?”

  “I’m working, Brad, but the answer to your question is no. Why? What’s happened?”

  He gritted his teeth. “You’re sure? This isn’t some game the two of you came up with?”

  “I don’t consider my patient a game, and you know me better than that. No matter how much I wanted to, I did not contact Diana. Why? Is she in Diamond?”

  “You know she is!”

  “I don’t know that at all. I give you my word as a physician, I did not contact her. But now that’s she’s there, I’m relieved. I have patients waiting. I’ll call you tonight.” Liz disconnected.

  Brad’s gut clenched. If Liz didn’t contact Diana, who did? And what had led her to Jordan Industries, and why the elaborate disguise?

  Eight years ago, she’d walked out on him without a reasonable answer. This time, she wouldn’t be so lucky.

  Chapter Six

  IN STUNNED DISBELIEF, Brad watched Diana pull into a space in front of the Drifter’s Inn, the area’s seediest hotel. Located on the outskirts of Diamond, the name drifter said it all. Prostitution ran rampant here, high school boys brought their one-night stands here, crimes of passion were committed here. What the hell was she doing here?

  He could just imagine voter speculation or Susan’s fury if someone saw the city’s new mayor parked in front of this dive. Unwilling to take the risk, he circled the hotel and parked the Navigator between a long-abandoned building and a copse of trees.

  He doubled back, finding the door to room 111 ajar. He pushed it open. Her suitcase lay on the bed, and she’d taken off the wig. Facing the mirror, she swiped at tears in between tugging at pins.

  Brad’s throat went dry as she shook her head and her jet-black hair tumbled free. And for a moment he was bombarded by anger, memories, and a host of conflicted feelings.

  Why couldn’t she have gained fifty pounds or gone hopelessly gray? Even disheveled, Diana set hearts on fire. He clenched his jaw. She was also a viper, he reminded himself, closing the door behind him. “Finish that later.”

  She set down the brush, looking anywhere but at him. “I didn’t come to Diamond to hurt you, Brad. In truth, I hoped I wouldn’t see you.”

  So much for brutal honesty.

  He removed his tie, then delaying the inevitable, walked farther inside, taking in the motel room’s ladder-back chair, a faded nightstand, and a water-ringed dresser. There wasn’t a TV. People who registered at the Drifter’s Inn preferred more active forms of entertainment.

  He circled the room. At least the room had air conditioning. He switched on the unit next to the bed, then shook his head in dismay. The unit worked, just barely, doing nothing to rid the place of tobacco smells and cheap perfume.

  “I’m waiting,” he said at last.

 
; “Mind if I get something to drink first?”

  He sighed. It was a reasonable request. Outside, the temperature was 100 degrees. “I’ll get it. I could use one, too.”

  Away from her line of vision, he gripped the sides of the sink. The distance wasn’t enough, but it helped. Liz’s startling accusation yesterday, Diana’s unheard-of appearance . . . what the hell was going on here?

  What really blew him away was, whatever these two had schemed might have worked. Pure chance had led him to notice her birthmark. But when he saw it, attached to the tantalizing body he’d known so intimately, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

  Brad checked his anger and filled two cups with water.

  Back in the main room, he handed her the drink, then carried the chair to sit close to her. “We’re going to be a while.” He nodded to the bed. “Might as well get comfortable.”

  Diana glanced between him and the shabby bedspread as though she had an aversion to touching it. God knew how many sleazy types it had played host to. She had a right to be appalled.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure they change the sheets when it gets really messy.”

  She sat, folded her arms and glared back at Brad.

  “What were you doing at the plant?”

  “Applying for a job.” She blew out a breath.

  “I know what you were pretending to do. The question is, why?” He glanced around the room. “And why is a supposedly successful reporter staying in a hellhole like this?”

  “I received an anonymous letter. It made claims against Jordan; I wanted to check it out. It’s that simple.”

  “Simple, huh? When was the last time you talked to Elizabeth Garcia?”

  “I haven’t seen Liz for six or seven years. She came to Dallas for a conference. We had a drink. You mentioned her earlier. What has she got to do with this?”

  Brad shook his head, almost believing her. “So you receive a letter and just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“you apply for a job—in disguise. Why? For that matter, how’d you get through the gate?”