Buried Agendas

by Donnell Ann Bell

  She moaned.

  He tried again. “Diana, it’s Brad. You’re safe, sweetheart. Wake up, please.”

  This time, her moans grew louder, and a sob broke from her throat. She blinked her eyes open, briefly focused on Brad, and closed them again.

  In his entire life, he’d never known such pain. He’d do anything to see her laugh again, or engage in one of their mindless debates. Hell, if it had to be one of them, he’d gladly trade places. He pulled her into his arms, pressed his cheek against hers, and his eyes filled.

  “I’ve loved you forever, you know,” she whispered.

  He drew back to look at her, but as tears spilled down her cheeks, her lids remained closed.

  “I hate to break this up,” Michael said. “But we gotta get her out of here. Who knows if Walt will stick to the timeline?”

  “You better hope for his sake he does,” Brad said. He gathered Diana in his arms and stood. “All right, Buddy. You go first. Michael, get behind me in case I lose my footing.”

  Diana’s groans intensified as Brad eased her over his shoulder.

  “I know, baby, I know.”

  The group moved to the ladder and began the arduous climb up the rungs. A few minutes later, the four made it beyond the hatch. Then once more in the main portion of Warehouse Five, Diana was free of her prison.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  BRAD HAD COME for her. In her semi-conscious moments, the fact became clear. Diana found herself being carried, then carefully laid down in some kind of garage.

  Cars were everywhere. No. Not cars. They were bigger. Vans, trucks . . . heavy machinery.

  Brad had brought her to a garage? How odd. And why had he joined forces with the men who wanted to harm her? Panic welled inside, but soon he was holding her, stroking her cheek, and crooning softly.

  Had she moaned? Cried out for help? It didn’t matter. He was here. She’d confessed her love for him. Well . . . didn’t he have a right to know? After all, this was only a dream.

  “What the hell did Bingham give her?” His voice sounded far away.

  “I don’t know. Must’ve been the same thing he gave to Allen,” Buddy said.

  Oh, no. She remembered now. Something had happened to Allen. She wanted to sit up and take part in the conversation, but her eyelids wouldn’t budge and her limbs refused to cooperate.

  “Diana? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she tried to shout. But instead of words, only groans spewed forth. She managed, “Thirsty.”

  “Buddy, watch the front door,” Brad ordered. “Michael, let’s get her into that office back there. I think I see a water cooler.”

  Nothing on earth tasted as good as the reviving liquid Brad held to her mouth. As his reassuring arms surrounded her, her body gradually rebounded from its trauma, and she opened her eyes.

  “Welcome back,” he said softly.

  “Good to be back,” she said hoarsely, then added, “Thank you.”

  From the doorway, Buddy said, “Save the reunion, will you? What time is that sheriff coming?”

  Michael laughed, but it was dry and without humor. “If I didn’t know better, Buddy, I’d say you’re anxious to go to jail.”

  “Hey, jail sounds good about now. Better there than at the morgue like Allen or Leo. What time is it?”

  “Ten minutes past the last time you asked.” Brad shook his head. “Six-fifteen. Trust me, Buddy, I told the sheriff our location and what you and your cohorts planned to do not a half hour ago. He hasn’t forgotten you. After he and his men pick up Hagen and Bingham, you and Michael can expect a personal introduction.”

  Sending constant glances over his shoulder, Buddy asked, “Why do we have to wait here of all places?”

  “Because,” Michael snapped, “if we take Diana out of the warehouse, Vic and Walt will be on to us, you idiot.”

  The insult elevated the tension within the cramped quarters. Buddy glowered at Michael. “You think I’m dumb? You don’t know nothin’. You weren’t with Walt when he killed Allen and threatened to kill me if I didn’t help. I’ve spent the last six weeks with that cigar-chewing lunatic. I know we said we’d meet at the van at ten. But Walt don’t follow no rules.”

  Nodding toward Diana, Buddy’s voice was rife with panic, “He’ll come for her. I know it, and when he does—”

  “That’s enough.” Brad tightened his hold on her. “If either of those men show up before the sheriff arrives, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

  Frightened by the edge to Brad’s voice, Diana shivered.

  He focused on her. “Are you cold?”

  “I’m scared. Buddy’s right. Walt and Vic could come back at any time.” She glanced up at Michael. “Where are the drums?”

  “In the van.” Michael shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced in the direction of the warehouse.

  “Hopefully, this is almost over,” Diana said. “Will Gray arrest them here at the plant?”

  His expression apologetic, Brad let go of her, and stood. “No, I checked with the guard. Both Hagen and Bingham left around four-thirty. Most likely, they’ll be apprehended at their homes.”

  “See,” Michael said to Buddy. “You’re worried about nothing.”

  But Buddy was worried. Sweat dripped from his brow. “You still don’t get it. They’re using the same schedule they’ve used for the past six weeks. Every Wednesday, leave the plant, go home, eat dinner, then grab some shuteye.”

  “Vic went with you on the other runs?” Brad asked.

  “Nah, tonight was gonna be the first time he got his hands dirty. Me and Walt met the illegals and transported them to the site.”

  “So you can lead Gray to the buried chemicals,” Brad said.

  Buddy blinked several times and lowered his head.

  “You can take the cops to the drums, can’t you, Bud?” Michael asked.

  At the three gazes zeroing in on him, Buddy’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Maybe. But Walt always drove.”

  “What does that mean?” Brad asked.

  “It means it was dark, okay? And sometimes I caught a few z’s. I’ll know it when I see it. I’m just not sure how to get there.”

  Diana drew up to sit in a cross-legged position. “Michael, surely you can . . .”

  The shift supervisor held up his hands. “No, I can’t. I’ve never been there. I coordinated the runs. That’s all I did.”

  You did enough. Diana glanced down. Then remembering the phone number she’d copied in Vic’s office, she flipped over her hand.

  “What is it?” Brad asked squatting beside her.

  “Nothing anymore.” Diana sighed. A smear of blue ink replaced the international number she’d hastily written. She turned her gaze to Michael’s. “Was the coordinator’s number written on the card in Vic’s office?”

  Michael nodded.

  “And his name?”

  “I never asked. Vic found him, and asked me to translate.”

  “Well, hell,” Brad said. “You two numbskulls participated in a whole lot of criminal activity without asking a whole lot of questions. The good news is, we may be able to locate that number in the company phone records.” Brad took the cell from his pocket, walked to the corner of the warehouse’s tiny office, and with his back to the group, placed a call. “We got a major problem here, Gray.”

  Diana tried to listen in, but Brad spoke quietly. Still, if his clenched fists and stiff spine were any indication, he wasn’t pleased with what he was hearing on the other end.

  “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

  Unable to grasp any part of the one-sided conversation, Diana rose on shaky legs and under her own power for the first time in hours. Traversing the warehouse’s tiny office, she placed a hand on Brad’s arm.

&nb
sp; Intent on his argument with Gray, he shook away her hand. “Then we stick with the only evidence we got. We have plenty of witnesses.”

  “Brad? What is it? What does he want?”

  He swore under his breath and disconnected the call. He barely looked at her as he said, “The arrests are off for the time being.”

  “What? No. Oh my God, why?”

  Brad ran a hand through his hair. “Because Gray’s more insane than Hagen or Bingham. I’ll let him tell you himself. He’s driving through the gates as we speak. He wants to talk to you.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “I CAN’T MAKE YOU do this, Diana,” Gray explained.

  Standing behind the closed doors of the office, Sheriff Gray Tafoya had requested a private meeting with Diana and Brad. Three plainclothes deputies remained in the outer warehouse with Michael and Buddy, where the soon-to-be-ex-Jordan employees gave the officers a rundown of the building’s layout.

  “Damn right, you can’t.” Brad propped a hip on a dust-covered metal desk.

  Her eyes wide, lips pale, Diana sat, looking ready to pass out. And involving her in a sting operation wasn’t the way to put color back into her face.

  For an innumerable time, his phone vibrated against his belt. Brad switched it off. How had his life come to this? His grandfather on his deathbed, his father worried, his legacy in jeopardy, the job he’d sworn to fulfill neglected? And Sue? Brad didn’t need to be a Rhodes Scholar to guess what state she was in. But the only crisis he could think of or handle right now was the one playing out before him.

  “You want me to go back into the vault? You want to tie me up again?” Every inch of Diana trembled, and she buried her face in her hands. “Of course, I want to help, but I don’t think I—”

  “You can’t help, because this time he’s out of line,” Brad finished for her. He glared at the man who was his occasional adversary, sometimes friend. “Gray, look at her. She’s bruised, broken . . . she’s terrified.”

  Keeping his gaze trained on Diana, Gray ignored Brad.

  “The man has deputies,” Brad said. “Female deputies who are trained to take this on. You don’t have to do anything.”

  Dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt, the sheriff and the men scouting the warehouse blended into the scenery like average Jordan employees.

  “But none of my deputies can pass for you, Ms. Reid. What we’re trying to do is locate those drums. If we alert Hagen and Bingham that we’re onto them, those chemicals could stay buried in the desert forever.”

  The sheriff inclined his head. “Oh, I know you didn’t put ’em there. But something tells me you care about the people in this region.”

  Brad clenched his fists. Damn the guy. In the short time he’d known her, he’d developed a strong sense of Diana’s character.

  Her brow furrowed, her lips tightened, then she lifted her chin and Brad could see her wavering. “I’ll do it.” She climbed to her feet. “Guess we better get started.”

  “Give us a second,” Brad said.

  Looking between Brad and Diana, the obviously unhappy lawman relented and left them alone.

  Brad closed the door, leaned heavily against it, and crossed his arms. “What the matter with you? Haven’t you been through enough? You’d do all this for a story?”

  “There is no story, remember?”

  “You’ll write this story,” Brad said. “This thing is too big to think we can hide it, and you’ve earned every word. Still, there’s no need to put yourself through this. What are you trying to prove?”

  Diana lowered her head. When she looked up, her dark eyes shimmered. “Because if we don’t find those drums, Leo and Liz’s patient died for nothing. I’m doing this for you, because of the way I left you, and because part of me died when I hurt you. And I’m doing it for me, because what Gray said made sense.

  “No, I didn’t put those chemicals in the desert. But if I know about them, and don’t help find them, aren’t I equally responsible?”

  Brad moved to her and drew her into his arms. Studying her face, he traced his fingers over the swollen and ugly bruise that marred one of the most perfect faces he’d ever known. He wished things could have been different between them. But no matter how much he loved her, Diana would always maintain a wall of silence. Maybe, finally, it was better not to know the reason she left him. “You’re an amazing woman. I’m proud to know you.”

  Gray chose that moment to interrupt. “We’re out of time. The guard just called. Vic Hagen and Walt Bingham are on site.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “ARE THEY TOO TIGHT?” Brad asked, as he knotted the rope around her wrists.

  Unnerved by his constant hovering and worry, Diana rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? Any looser, they’ll fall off me.”

  Brad’s gaze raked her from head to toe, and she inhaled a deep breath. How was she supposed to forget this man?

  “Gotta make it look real,” Gray reminded Brad.

  He tightened the bonds and scowled. “Man, I hate this.”

  “She’ll never be alone,” Gray said.

  “No, she won’t, because I’m not leaving.” Brad said, standing.

  “Yes, you are, and I am, too.” The sheriff strode to the ladder and glanced up toward the hatch. “Casey, you there?”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

  A lanky blond climbed down three-fourths of the way and jumped the remaining distance to the cement ground.

  “Sam Casey,” the blond said to Brad and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mayor.” Then to Diana, the deputy said, “I’m a big fan, Ms. Reid. I’d shake your hand, too, but . . . looks to me like you’re all tied up.”

  Despite her jitters, Diana smiled. Although looking at Brad, she thought he might just strangle the man.

  “You gonna protect her or crack jokes?”

  “I do my job, Mayor.” The man wearing what Diana suspected was a bulletproof vest held up a sophisticated-looking rifle. “Where do you want me?” Casey asked his boss.

  Gray pointed to the abandoned steel tank behind them. “Up there.”

  Casey circled the massive storage unit, and moments later, stood on top of the tank. His voice carried as he said, “I can’t fall through this thing, can I?”

  “Not unless you open the manway,” Brad said.

  Gray climbed the ladder that led to the warehouse and spoke to someone beyond the hatch. Dropping back down, he said, “Cell phones are useless in this place. We don’t risk using radios on the off chance Hagen and Bingham are listening.”

  “What’s their twenty?” Sam asked.

  “Right now, they’re in Hagen’s office.” Gray turned to Brad. “How far is that from here?”

  “Ten minutes, give or take a few.”

  “Okay.” Gray wiped his hands on his jeans. “Casey, if anyone comes near Ms. Reid with a needle, you’re ordered to stop them, understand?”

  “With pleasure,” the deputy said.

  “And at any time you think they plan to do anything besides transport her to the van, use force as necessary.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gag in hand, Brad knelt beside her.

  Diana’s heart began an uncomfortable gallop. She wanted to be brave for his benefit, but all at once, the situation seemed too real, too impossible. She met his gaze. “When they put me in the van with those chemicals and close the doors, how will I breathe?”

  “We sent Michael and a deputy after a respirator,” Gray said. “They’ll be standing by the van once their bosses get here. Once Bingham unlocks the vehicle, Michael will slip the device under the tarp. You’ll slip out of your bonds and into your respirator. Should be a snap,” Gray concluded.

  “You hope.”

  At the fear she heard in Brad’s voice, Diana s
queezed her eyes shut.

  “Brad, it’s a good plan. You gotta relax,” Gray said.

  “Sheriff,” a man shouted from above. “Suspects are moving.”

  “Let’s do it,” Gray said.

  Diana nearly burst into tears as Brad returned the gag to her mouth.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered, and followed the others up the ladder.

  After they left, the waiting was agony. Every one of Diana’s muscles screamed, but she forced herself to lie still. The cold concrete floor was rough against her bruised cheek. Silence filled the storage vault, and she had to remind herself she wasn’t alone. Sam lay in wait several feet above her with a rifle to protect her.

  At last, muffled movements sounded upstairs. She almost choked on the spit forming beneath the gag. For hours, she’d been so thirsty. Now all she could do was drool. What was worse? No saliva or too much?

  Lying there gave her time to think. If she managed to get out of this predicament alive, she would find the most mundane job on the planet. She’d arrange flowers, maybe become a librarian. From here on out, she’d stay far away from trouble.

  But the hatch slammed back and trouble descended.

  Vic Hagen hit the landing, followed by Walt Bingham. Despite her pounding heart, Diana closed her eyes and forced her breathing to even.

  “Holy cow, she’s still out,” Vic said. “What kind of shit did you give her?”

  “Drug my wife gives to her mother to help her sleep. The old crone’s dyin’ and can’t swallow pills.”

  “C’mon, let’s get this over with,” Vic said.

  Casey, did you hear that? Diana resisted the urge to bolt upright from fright. Not . . . let’s get her out of here. Let’s get this over with. She held her breath. But then, Walt heaved her up and over his shoulder like a sailor’s duffle bag.

  The men negotiated the ladder, and Diana fought an intense wave of nausea. When they were out of the vault and inside the warehouse, she slit open her eyes. Buddy and Michael appeared beside the van as though they were still complicit partners.