“I can locate her without your help, you know,” Neil said. “What’s the big idea? I just want to come to grips with her agenda.”
“Anyone ever tell you, you’re an idiot? Liz Garcia has ties to Jordan almost as close as we do. Her only agenda is finding out how her patient died, and why he talked about Jordan while doing it. I give you her contact info without consulting her, she may very well do what she threatened to do in the first place—take this public, contact all kinds of agencies. Still want her business card?”
“We need to fix this, Brad. What are you going to do?” Neil asked.
“The same thing I told you I would yesterday. Talk to people at the plant and get their technical expertise. Then maybe we can schedule a meeting with Dr. Garcia, and I’ll act as a go-between. It’s more of an inquiry at this point, and there’s little either party can do to prove or disprove it. She already knows this.
“What we can do is provide her with enough documentation and legitimate evidence to show her it’s so unlikely, she’ll feel comfortable in dropping this.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Neil struck the water again.
Brad angled his face toward the sun again and closed his eyes. “Let’s worry about that if it happens. How was Galveston last weekend?”
“Good,” Neil said through a grumble. “Nancy and the kids were happy to get away. How about you? You and Susan decide on the big day?”
Folding his arms, Brad kept his eyes shut and his face skyward. “Not yet.”
“Your track record’s lousy, Brad. Who’s balking?”
“No one. We were talking about it last night.” Brad opened his eyes and pinned his brother with a look. “I’m thinking you should spring for the honeymoon, you know, get ready to part with some major bucks. You’re the best man.”
Neil grinned. “Looking forward to it. Nancy is too, by the way. She had to cancel the first wedding. She’s anxious to get started on the next.”
Brad didn’t appreciate Neil’s none-too-subtle reminders of Diana, but he felt too relaxed after the swim to respond to the digs. That didn’t mean he’d stopped thinking about it. Damn everything. When he’d asked Susan to marry him, he’d meant it. Diana’s screwball appearance in Diamond had made him question all of his carefully made plans. Thankfully, she was out of his life for good this time. She should be back in Dallas by now, and life could return to normal.
The patio doors slid open, and Brad looked up to see his father, fully dressed, enter the grueling heat.
“How’s the water?”
“Great.” Neil grinned over at Brad. “For those of us who keep in shape.”
“Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll kick your ass,” Brad quipped. “Where are your trunks, Dad?”
“Maybe later. Nice to see you boys together.” John squatted beside them and opened his palm. “Have either of you boys ever seen a key like this?”
“Looks like one from a safety deposit box,” Neil told him.
“That’s what I figured. But it doesn’t match the one I have at Diamond National,” John said, turning it over. “Either of you have an account at any of the other banks around town?”
Brad took the small key and examined it. He shook his head. “Doesn’t match mine. The City of Diamond has a box at Texas Bank and Trust. This one’s different.” He passed it to Neil.
“Doesn’t match mine, either,” Neil said. “Where’d you get it?”
“Found it in your grandfather’s room.” Guilt marked their dad’s face. “He doesn’t know I have it.”
Brad didn’t comment, neither did Neil. Their grandfather was an ornery cuss, and their dad didn’t pry without reason.
“Just tying up loose ends. Good thing I have power of attorney.” He paused, taking the key from Neil and returning it to his pocket.
“Are you worried about him?” Brad squinted. “I mean, more than usual?”
John shook his head. “Just preparing for the inevitable, I suppose. No man likes to be reminded that he’s mortal, especially your granddad. I’d appreciate it if we’d keep this little talk between us.”
The screen door slid open again, and Gloria stood beneath the awning. “Señor Bradley?” Her eyes darted nervously from Brad to his father and brother. She waved him over. “Un momento, por favor?”
Returning his family’s quizzical expressions, Brad pushed himself from the water. He grabbed a towel and haphazardly dried off.
When he reached Gloria, she whispered, “There’s someone to see you, Señor Bradley. A woman. She ask me to give you a message.”
He frowned. “Okay?”
Gloria chewed her lower lip and furrowed her brow, obviously working hard on her English. “She want me to tell you, ‘It is too hot in Dallas.’”
Chapter Eighteen
“IT’S TOO HOT in Dallas?” Brad’s gaze shot to the door.
“Si, señor.” Gloria kept her voice low. “That’s what she say.” Gloria’s eyes went wide. “Should I call la policia? Esta loca?”
Is she crazy? He pinned the housekeeper with a bewildered stare. “If it’s who I think it is, Gloria, she’s certifiable. No. Don’t call the police.”
“Everything all right, son?”
Brad glanced over his shoulder. His father and Neil had moved to the table inside the gazebo beyond the pool. “Irate citizen on the phone. I need to see what the problem is.” He returned his focus to Gloria. “I may be a while. Can we keep this between you and me?”
She nodded.
He motioned toward his family. “Would you mind getting them something to drink?”
“Si, Señor Bradley.”
Brad entered the house. Maybe Gloria had misunderstood. Maybe . . . ah, hell, he didn’t know what to think. He walked through the house and stopped beyond the entryway.
Thoughts of a normal life disintegrated.
Garbed in that ridiculous wig and glasses, Diana paced the foyer. She’d obviously disregarded his order to leave Diamond and returned to the plant.
Away from her line of vision, he stood there, stunned.
She’d had to have existed on less sleep than he had. The only telltale signs of fatigue were the shadows that bordered her eyes. Otherwise, she looked like she might have spent a week on the beach. She was such a beauty. What many spent a fortune on to achieve by artificial means came naturally to Diana via her birthright.
Seeing her again, he should be outraged. All he felt was confused. He forced sternness into his voice. “What happened to Dallas?”
IF BRAD THOUGHT Diana was hard to get hold of, he should try looking in the mirror. She’d called his cell phone; she’d phoned his office. From there, his secretary had given Diana the rest of the bad news. He’d taken the day off and gone out to the ranch.
She hadn’t been to this place since the day Clayton Jordan had shown her that file. She couldn’t contact Brad at home. Well, not as Diana Reid. But so far, her disguise had been effective. Maybe she could.
She whirled at the sound of Brad’s voice, ready to explain. Her brain, however, went numbingly blank as she tried not to ogle the man. The only thing that saved her from viewing every one of Brad’s glorious attributes was the towel wrapped around his neck and his swimming trunks.
She kept her gaze trained on his face. “I know who wrote the letter.”
His gaze narrowed as he skimmed the foyer. “Let’s talk in here,” he said, leading Diana into the study and locking the doors behind them.
“Why aren’t you in Dallas?” he asked again.
She opened her mouth to reply, but instead, shook with revulsion. Before her was the desk Clayton had sat behind with the sole purpose of ruining her relationship with Brad. Her mind rewound eight years, and it was as if Brad’s grandfather was seated there even now, formidable and evil, taunting he
r with her father’s classified file.
It hurt to swallow. Why hadn’t she told Clayton Jordan to go to hell that day, and confronted her blackmailer head on? The fact was, she hadn’t, and she’d done the best she could at the time. She’d long forgiven her twenty-one-year-old self for taking the coward’s way out. Nevertheless, as she squeezed her eyes closed, her legs threatened to give way.
“Diana?” Brad was beside her in an instant. He led her to the couch. “This is ridiculous, you’re exhausted.” He knelt to meet her at eye level. “Are you okay?”
She looked away from the desk and refocused on Brad, lost in the same deep blue eyes as his grandfather’s, only Brad’s were full of concern. “I told you, I know who wrote the letter.” She started to hand him the letter and the lab report and realized she’d crumpled them in her hand.
His brows pulled together as he studied her. Nevertheless, he took the documents, rose and started to read.
“He’s a chemist at the plant,” Diana explained. “Supposedly having problems with Neil. Compare the handwriting on the letter to the report. They’re identical.”
“Leonard Winters? You’re telling me Leo wrote that letter?”
“You know him?” She lifted her head.
“Yeah, and so do you.” Brad glanced from the papers to Diana. “Don’t you remember Leo, the nerdy guy we went to school with?”
She frowned, unable to picture him. But then she’d only attended Diamond High School her junior and senior year. As a lifelong resident, Brad probably had more interaction with him.
“The printing is exact,” Brad said, with a trace of awe in his voice. “To find this guy so fast . . . Liz was right, your reputation is well deserved.”
She blinked. Was that praise coming from Brad’s mouth? Her thank you included a gasp.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled down at her. “You’ve done a great job, I can take it from here.”
“Pardon?”
“I thought you might collapse a few seconds ago. So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll reserve a room at the Diamond Inn, a decent room, one where you can order room service, and get some sleep—”
Diana laughed. “That’s very nice of you, and maybe I’ll take you up on that . . . after I talk to Leo.”
Brad’s smile vanished. “No.”
She came to her feet. “Leo wrote that letter to get me here. Well, I’m here. Besides, you can’t take it from here. What makes you think he’ll talk to you? He wrote an anonymous letter for one reason. Clearly, he’s afraid.”
Diana hesitated, tired of not being upfront with Brad. At one time, they’d told each other everything. Still, when it came to making her job difficult, he gave an albatross a run for its money. “I found out where he lives. I’m going over there.”
“Oh, no you’re not. The Diamond Inn or all bets are off.”
“Oh, really?” Folding her arms, she glared at him.
They stared each other down a few moments longer before Brad shook his head. “Has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn?”
“You. Many times.”
“I want you to get in your car and meet me at City Hall. Park near my space. Got it? ”
“Why, what are you going to do?”
“I told you last night I’m not going to stand by while somebody gets hurt. What am I going to do?” Brad gritted his teeth. “Something stupid. After I put some clothes on, I’m taking you to meet Leo.”
Chapter Nineteen
LEO WINTERS LIVED in central Diamond in one of its oldest, most established neighborhoods. Immaculate lawns, and carefully-tended hedges and flowerbeds divided the quiet Victorian houses, while many were surrounded by the classic picket fence.
Diana loved Victorian architecture. She’d explored a few fixer-uppers in Dallas, but hadn’t pursued a contract very hard. The old homes were cash drains, and with her schedule and commute, the idea was impractical anyway.
One day when she’d had enough of downtown living, she might entertain the idea. For now, she’d settle for gazing at the homes with longing. It was better than staring at Brad, who hadn’t uttered a complete sentence since meeting her at City Hall where he’d demanded to drive without so much as her say so.
“Which one?” he asked.
Diana smirked. Two whole words. He was on a roll. She glanced at her notebook.
“There,” she said, pointing. “1235 Tyler Lane.”
He pulled alongside the curb. “Leo lives here?”
“The note says 2D,” Diana said. “Many of these old homes have been converted into apartments.”
Scowling, Brad pulled a Stetson low over his forehead and slipped on a pair of Oakley sunglasses. If the predicament wasn’t so dire, she might have teased him that she wasn’t the only one in disguise. The mayor of Diamond working to keep a low profile appeared almost comedic.
But Brad wasn’t laughing.
Maybe her giddiness came from a lack of sleep mixed with a feeling of relief. Now that she knew Leo had written the letter, all she had to do was confront him, find out why he’d seen fit to send such a detestable message. Then, ideally, put the situation to rest. What happened next remained to be seen. Leo had handled this badly. Sending threatening correspondence through the US mail was a federal offense. Diana was sure Brad wouldn’t stand for that.
They left the car, Diana leading the way to a wraparound porch, complete with a swing. Bypassing the homeowner’s sunflower garden, a ceramic frog planter, and other homey touches, Diana scanned the mailboxes as Brad looked over her shoulder. Reading, Tillman 1A, Cruz 1B, Dennison 2C, and finally Winters 2D, she breathed a sigh of relief. Winters. This was it. Leo lived here.
“Unit 2D.” Diana gathered her bearings. “This is Unit A. I’ll bet Leo’s apartment is upstairs and around back.”
The screen door opened, and a woman in a housedress and slippers stepped out on to the porch. Wearing an old-fashioned dryer cap on her head with a ribbed plastic hose in her hand, the poor thing looked like a mushroom that’d lost a fight with a vacuum cleaner.
Diana thought the scene was priceless, but judging by Brad’s tight-lipped countenance and the Stetson he’d pull low on his head, he saw nothing funny about being recognized by a voter.
“Sorry folks, did you ring the bell? I just got under the dryer and can’t hear a gawldurn thing.”
Brad obviously had no intention of speaking, so Diana intervened, “Hello, Mrs. . . .”
“Tillman,” she said, looking between Diana and Brad.
“Tillman.” Diana snapped her fingers. “That’s right. Leo mentioned your name.”
“You’re a friend of Leo’s?”
“No, ma’am,” Diana said emphasizing her drawl. “I’m his cousin. And I promised his mama that I’d look him up when I passed through town.” She held out her hands and grinned. “Well, I’m passing through town.”
“That’s odd. Leo’s never mentioned family. What did you say your name is again?”
“I didn’t, but my name’s Darlene. Darlene Winters.”
Brad grabbed the back of Diana’s belt as if to say, Don’t overdo it.
But Mrs. Tillman saved the day by smiling, dropping her dryer hose, and clasping her hands. “Well, isn’t that wonderful. The poor man works so hard, and he’s always alone. But I’m sorry to disappoint you folks. He’s not home.”
Diana’s shoulders dropped as she gave Brad a sidelong glance. “He’s not?”
“I saw him leave with a man last night around eleven. Leo received a UPS package this morning. I went up to his place—it’s around back—and left him a note. He hasn’t been by to pick it up, so I don’t think he ever came home.”
“And that’s unusual?” Diana asked.
“Well, sure. When your cousin gets one of these boxes, he’s down
here in a flash.”
“He must be at the plant,” Diana said to Brad.
Mrs. Tillman shook her head. “He might be, but I don’t think so.”
“Why’s that?” For the first time, Brad spoke.
“His bicycle’s still out back.”
“His bicycle?” Diana tilted her head.
“That’s right,” Mrs. Tillman replied. “Leo’s not a fan of something he calls fossil fuels.”
“So, he rides a bike thirty-five miles one way?” Brad asked.
“Absolutely, he does.” Mrs. Tillman placed a finger to her chin. “On rare occasions, like last night’s storm, your cousin might take his little bug, but it’s parked out back, too.”
Brad clasped Diana’s elbow. “Well, we’ll just have to catch Leo some other time.”
“Or . . .” Diana said, dragging her feet, “. . . we could leave him a note.”
Mrs. Tillman beamed. “Sure. Let me just grab a pen and paper—”
“Now, Darlene.” Brad tightened his grip on her arm, and all but pulled Diana from the porch. “We don’t want to put Mrs. Tillman out. Thank you, ma’am. You have a nice day.”
Dammit, what was he doing? Diana gasped and called over her shoulder, “If you’d just let him know his cousin from Dallas got his message and stopped by to see him?”
Mrs. Tillman held up a tentative hand. “I’ll let him know. Ya’ll have a . . . nice . . . day, too.”
MAINTAINING HIS hold on the fool woman’s arm, Brad guided Diana down the steps. As they strode toward the car, he’d yet to decide if he was going to murder her by a quick snap to the neck or the way he wanted to, slowly and painfully.
“Why the heck did you do that? What was wrong with leaving him a note?”
“Just what did you plan to say, Darlene?” Brad unlocked the Escort via its remote and jogged to the driver side of the car. Once inside, he slammed the door and faced Diana’s astonished expression.
“I might have signed Darlene,” she said, “but I would have used my cell number, the one that answers, ‘you’ve reached Diana Reid.’ The cell phone you insisted I carry with me at the plant that could identify me. Leo would have called, and we could have gotten to the bottom of this.” She folded her arms and let out a huff. “You’re not helping, Brad. Part of what I do for a living is through subterfuge.”
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