Buried Agendas

by Donnell Ann Bell

  Diana stood. Her expression became desperate as she put space between them. “I asked my producer for time off because I wanted to do this alone.”

  He rose from the chair and approached her. “That’s not what I asked you. You came to Jordan in disguise, so obviously you didn’t claim to be Diana Reid. Who authorized you to enter Jordan Industries, and how did you get inside?”

  As she whirled away from him, her face turned a dozen shades of red. “Brad, please . . .”

  “Answer me, Diana.”

  “No one, all right?” She pressed her fingers to her throat. “I entered the company under false pretenses.”

  DIANA HAD NEVER felt more doomed in her life as she sat back down on the bed. Grabbing a pillow, she held onto it like a lifeline. Frowning, Brad crossed the room and leaned on a wall near the hotel room’s front door as though he was on guard duty. She swallowed hard. In a very real sense, he was.

  Damn it. Everything had worked perfectly until he’d recognized her.

  She hadn’t even thought of the birthmark when trying on the shorthaired wig. What were the chances anyone would recall such an insignificant detail?

  Brad would, of course. No one knew her as well.

  She met his angry gaze as tightness lodged in her throat. The old gash from a brutal tackle had healed, leaving just a hint of a scar above his left brow. His deep blue eyes still held the same mind-blowing intensity, the same damnable attraction. Her gaze swept lower.

  “Where’s this letter?” he asked, finally moving away from the wall.

  Diana reached into the suitcase behind her and fought not to gasp with relief. Up until now, the only thing he’d seemed focused on was how she’d gotten into the plant. Handing him the ominous message, she tried to gauge his reaction as he read. She couldn’t. He gave nothing away. Brad scanned the contents with the bearing of a poker player.

  “I don’t know what to think,” he said once he’d finished. “With all your connections, why shouldn’t I believe you didn’t have someone write this in case you were caught? I still can’t dismiss that you and Liz did this together.”

  “Not that my word means very much in this case, but we didn’t,” Diana promised. “If you hadn’t seen my birthmark, would you have recognized me?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “The fact you wouldn’t look at me pretty much gave you away.”

  She nodded to the note in his hand. “My only purpose in coming to Diamond was to get inside Jordan and find out if there’s any truth to that letter.”

  The muscles in his jaw worked. “There isn’t.”

  “You seem so sure.”

  “I am.”

  Knowing full well she shouldn’t, Diana called his bluff. “Well, if you’re certain, then this disguise is pointless. I’ll call my station and order a camera crew here first thing on Monday. We’ll have a look around, conduct interviews—”

  “While you fill the media with negative press based on an anonymous two-paragraph hoax?” Brad scoffed. “Fat chance. Besides, you’re no longer in a position to negotiate—not that you ever were,” he snapped.

  “Someone sent me this letter, Brad. I’m not out to destroy you or your company.”

  “So you claim. What does your mother say about this?”

  Diana’s feigned confidence deflated faster than a blown-out tire. “She doesn’t know I’m in town. And I certainly didn’t mention the letter. You like my mother, don’t you?”

  He raised his eyes to the water-stained ceiling. “Yeah, I like your mom. She’s been damn good to my family.” He paced the room. “When are you supposed to start this so-called job?”

  “If I pass my physical tomorrow, I’m supposed to start in the mailroom on Monday.”

  Brad folded his arms. “Sue must’ve recognized you if she put you in the mailroom. She must be laughing her ass off right now.”

  Diana curbed a jealous retort and moved to the nightstand. She opened a top drawer and withdrew the want ads she’d skimmed early that morning after she’d checked in. In bright red, she’d circled, Help wanted, mailroom clerk, Jordan Industries. High school diploma, drug test required.

  “If your fiancée recognized me, I’d be behind bars. I deliberately failed my typing test and listed no experience on the application.”

  For the first time, he smiled. The old Brad, the Brad she thought she knew. “What name did you use?”

  “Candace Armstrong.”

  “Okay.” He motioned to the letter. “So how can a mailroom employee find out what the author meant by ‘people are going to die’?”

  “The same way I do every story, by asking questions.”

  “Who’s Ronnie?”

  “Who?”

  Brad pointed to the tattoo on her ankle.

  “Oh,” Diana smiled. “He’s no one.”

  Brad’s gaze shot to her face, and for a second, she thought she saw pain. Don’t be absurd. The man’s engaged. Irrationally, Diana felt betrayed. “Seriously, he’s no one. Ronnie doesn’t exist. And neither does this tattoo. It’s henna, and part of my disguise.”

  Brad shook his head and he scowled. “You swear to me you didn’t talk to Liz this week.”

  “I swear, Brad, I haven’t spoken to her . . .” But maybe I should.

  “Give me one reason to go along with this?”

  Diana lowered her head. She wanted to tell him because the Brad Jordan she’d once known stood for integrity and honesty. The Brad Jordan she’d loved, and unfortunately still did, had wanted to make a difference. She couldn’t believe he’d run for a mayoral position if that wasn’t still true.

  Lifting her head, she met his gaze. “Because you know I had nothing to do with that letter, and you want to know what’s going on, too.”

  As he traversed the dingy hotel room, Diana sensed he was wavering. He’d asked too many questions to turn her away now. If he said yes, she had a long list to accomplish before Monday. She’d take her physical, head for El Paso, and spend her weekend at the library researching Jordan Industries.

  Brad stopped pacing. “I have no doubt that you’re worried about your mom. But when you said you weren’t out to hurt me or Jordan Industries, were you being truthful?”

  “I meant every word.”

  “All right. I’ll give you two weeks to investigate if you go along with the following conditions.”

  She swallowed. “I’m listening.”

  “If, after two weeks, you’ve found nothing, you’ll give up this charade and go home.”

  She stared back at him. Marty had only given her one week. The only way he’d let her stay is if she’d found something conclusive. Diana could easily agree to Brad’s terms. She expelled a pent-up breath. “I accept that condition.”

  “Second, you will never report a word of what you find or release a word to the media. If you do, I have more than enough witnesses to prove you entered Jordan Industries illegally, and I’ll file charges against you.”

  Hurt morphed into anger. “Are you saying if something’s going on, you won’t report it?”

  “Not at all. I’ll be the first one to call the police.”

  “Then . . . I don’t understand.”

  He unrolled his sleeves and grabbed his tie. “I’m saying no way in hell will I allow negative information against my family’s company to benefit your career. I don’t trust you, Diana, especially after what I saw today. We’ll see if you’re really concerned about your mother, or if you’re after a story.” Brad opened the door. “You don’t have to agree to the second part of my conditions right now. I’ll have my answer when you don’t show up on Monday.”

  Chapter Seven

  IT WAS SEVEN o’clock before Brad arrived at Susan’s north side townhouse. He’d thought about Diana’s plan, finally concludin
g he couldn’t go along with it. Tomorrow, he’d stop by the Drifter’s Inn and tell her to leave, taking her suspicions with her. His loyalty and obligations lay with his fiancée and Jordan Industries. He’d discuss Liz’s conjecture with Neil, who’d confirm she was wrong. After all, throughout the years, they’d passed all audits without fail, and Jordan’s safety and commitment to the community were well documented.

  Most of all, he’d be honest with Sue and explain everything. Still, he preferred to tell her when she was calm. Her balled fists when she met him at the door suggested anything but.

  “What happened to you?” The words were out of her mouth before he entered the house.

  “Something came up.” He kissed her, closing the door behind him.

  “That’s all you have to say. Something came up?” Susan arched a brow and placed her hands on her hips. The motion pulled tight the knit top, emphasizing her breasts. His gaze roved over her shorts and incredible legs. After the day he’d had, he could use a physical release, but sex didn’t appear anywhere on her mind.

  She pivoted away from him and walked into the great room. He followed, once again acknowledging the differences in their tastes. Susan described the decor of her townhome as contemporary. To him, the silver chrome tables and sculptures, accenting the white and black sofa, looked sterile. He sank into the chair he’d once jokingly told her resembled the hide of a Texas Longhorn.

  Lord, he was tired. After his emotionally-charged session with Diana, the last thing he wanted was to get caught up in more bickering.

  “You tell me you’ll be right back and disappear for hours? I tried your cell phone,” Susan chided. “I talked to your secretary. She treats me like I’m a salesperson, Brad, and I don’t like it.”

  “We talked about the time commitment before I ran for office. I have a job to do.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” With every syllable, her voice rose. “I stopped by Neil’s office. He said you’d never been there. And, as usual, he played his silly games. What are you trying to do, make a fool of me?”

  Brad lowered his head to his hand. He’d never given Susan any reason to doubt him. “I had to leave the plant. I didn’t have a chance to speak with you or Neil. It happens. I had an emergency.”

  “At some motel?” She pierced him with a knowing look.

  Brad felt as if someone had slammed a punch to his gut. He raised his head. “What?”

  “That’s where Neil said you were. He thought it was hysterical that I couldn’t find you. When I asked where you were, he winked and told me to check the hotels. Apparently, our former mayor was famous for afternoon trysts. Neil called it one of the perks of the job. He said it was your turn.”

  At last, Brad understood. Her insecurities were surfacing. Married previously, Susan had walked in on her husband and another woman. She’d returned to Diamond embroiled in a bitter divorce.

  Resentful and angry over the betrayal, she didn’t discriminate against men. She hated them equally. And, as someone who’d hurt her before, Brad had been particularly persona non grata. Until at a social gathering, when a clumsy waiter almost knocked her into the pool. Brad had saved her from a soaking. That event was the first of many that had allowed him to chip away at her estimable shell.

  “I’m not Scott,” Brad said, referring to her ex-husband, and hoping she found his tone reassuring.

  “You’re worse. You have the power to really hurt me.”

  Brad stood, gathered her against him, and inhaled in her intoxicating scent. “I have no intention of hurting you, Sue. Ever.”

  Gradually, she relaxed in his arms. He cupped her chin and his mouth found hers. When they drew apart, the anger in her eyes had lessened.

  God help him, when Susan mentioned the hotel, Brad had assumed someone had seen Diana and him at the Drifter’s Inn. Considering Susan’s self-doubt and her hatred of Diana, his honorable intentions evaporated. Susan would never believe he’d met his former lover to talk. What’s more, he should have exposed Diana the second he saw her in Susan’s office. But he’d wanted to avoid World War III as much as the next guy. Further, Brad wanted to get Diana the hell out of the plant without anyone knowing—or talking.

  Shit. His head pounded. Score one for Diana. He’d allow her to report to Jordan on Monday, after all. Common sense told him she was dangerous. Not only to Jordan Industries, but to Brad personally. What was the point in denying it? He still had feelings for her.

  But Diana didn’t return those feelings, and the woman in his arms did. Susan had filled a huge void in his life, and commitment meant everything to him. He supposed there were different levels of love, and he genuinely cared about Sue. Vowing to make this work, he lowered his head and kissed her again.

  Later, as he pulled into the garage at the Rolling J, he had two things in mind—a glass of bourbon, and a rock-hard mattress. Exhausted from two days of shocking accusations, he wandered through the kitchen and out into the hallway.

  By all appearances, his dad was still up. The study’s double doors were ajar, light filtering out into the foyer.

  It’d been a while since he and his dad had talked. Maybe Brad could convince his dad to join him in a drink. But, as he ambled toward the study, he stopped short. His father wasn’t alone.

  Brad stood beyond the door, listening, then realized the soft Texas drawl emanating from inside could belong to only one woman—Diana’s mother, Faith Reid.

  Were the gods set on punishing him? How many reminders could he take? Diana’s presence in Diamond today had rocked Brad with the force of a seismic blast.

  Why was Faith here? Glancing at the antique clock in the foyer, he saw it was after midnight. Had his grandfather relapsed? Panic raced through Brad, and he started to knock when he overheard Faith say, “I just don’t understand it. She’s never done this before. For the past three days, she’s left vague messages, but doesn’t answer her cell when I call her back.”

  “Faith, she’s a grown woman. This might be a good thing. Did you ever think that maybe she’s gotten serious about someone, and he’s taking up a lot of her time?”

  “If I knew that to be true, I would be ecstatic. But this not knowing, on top of the letter that came from the State Department today—”

  Brad’s throat tightened as the conversation stalled. What was wrong with Diana? He understood why she didn’t want to tell her mom about the letter, and as a hometown celebrity, she was probably right to go after information in disguise. But to let her mom worry?

  If Diana showed up on Monday, he’d address the issue then. He studied the wood grain in the floor. Part of him prayed she would, the other half hoped to hell she wouldn’t. He started to head for the stairs when Faith said, “I needed that hug, John. You must think me so self-absorbed.”

  “Never. I have kids. I know what it’s like to worry.”

  “You have sons. Rough and tumble boys who can take care of themselves. I worry about Diana and the profession she’s chosen. She thinks she’s invincible. I’m afraid one of these days—”

  “You can’t think like that. I can’t help you with Diana, but I can help you with the State Department. Just say the word. I have contacts in Congress. We’ll get an investigation underway into Benton’s disappearance.”

  “I would gladly accept that offer if others with missing loved ones were included, too. How can I ask for special favors others cannot?”

  “Faith . . .”

  Brad stood rooted to the floor, and his brain couldn’t seem to signal his feet to move. Why hadn’t he ever realized it before?

  He climbed the stairs, uneasy about this newest revelation. All these years, he’d believed John Jordan and Faith Reid to be the best of friends. But tonight, he not only heard friendship in his father’s voice, he heard longing, and the fog lifted from Brad’s eyes. Of all the people in the
world to form a connection—his father had fallen in love with Diana’s mother.

  Chapter Eight

  ON MONDAY, DIANA reported to Jordan for her first day of work, certain that Brad had reneged on their two-week agreement and called the authorities. Yet, no handcuffs were waiting, only a guide to take her through a two-hour orientation.

  The physician who’d cleared her for employment on Saturday had showed concern when he took her blood pressure. “Is it always this high, Ms. Armstrong?”

  Adjusting her glasses and smoothing down the auburn wig, Diana emphasized her twang. “Only when I’m nervous, Doctor. And I’m sure nervous. This job means a lot to me.”

  When he looked unconvinced, she rushed on, “It’s normally real low.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, keep an eye on it.” But he signed the release forms anyway.

  So, with one more roadblock hurdled, she infiltrated the company, learning during this morning’s session that finding the author of the letter would be nothing short of daunting. The administration alone housed twenty departments, while the chemical processing facility utilized an additional fifteen. Acre upon acre of control rooms, laboratories, maintenance departments, and storage areas comprised the widespread plant. Policy after policy existed to guard against OSHA or EPA violation. The penalty for any employee ignoring them ranged from suspension to immediate dismissal.

  Striding down the corridor toward the mailroom, she clenched her back teeth together. Behind closed doors, Brad had to be laughing. He’d known exactly what he’d been doing when he gave her that deadline. He’d been toying with her. Protecting his birthright. The odds of uncovering anything illegal or pertinent in two weeks were nil.

  So be it, Mayor Jordan. We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m through.

  “Over here, we have state-of-the-art copiers . . .”

  Harold Mulberry, “Candy’s” mailroom supervisor, directed her through a facility the size of an auditorium. Employees bustled from one station to the next, seemingly oblivious to the roar and whines of faxes, printers, copy machines, and computers.