Extreme Exposure

by Pamela Clare

  “It’s related to my work with the Legislative Audit Committee.” In other words, no.

  The lines around Owens’s eyes drew tighter. “I understand.”

  I bet you do.

  Reece followed him through his office door, aware that everyone in the office was staring at him, and sat in the plush leather chair offered to him. Scenic photographs of Colorado’s mountains decked the walls of the office, their cherry wood frames matching Owens’s rather luxurious executive desk and bookshelves.

  “Can I get you something to drink, Senator?”

  “No, thank you. Just the file.”

  Owens smiled and handed him a file folder about an inch thick. “Here you go. I trust you’ll find everything in order. We work hard with companies to balance the needs of the environment with the realities of business.”

  Reece opened the folder and met Owens’s gaze. “And which is your priority, Mr. Owens—the environment or business?”

  Owens seemed to strain to maintain his smile. “Obviously our job is to protect human health, which means enforcing environmental laws is our first priority.”

  “Glad to hear it. Where’s your copy machine?”

  An hour later, Reece’s mild irritation with Owens had become full-fledged rage. Obviously, the man thought he was an idiot. To the untrained eye, the Northrup file might seem completely satisfactory. The annual inspection reports, air-quality tests, emissions licenses—everything seemed to be in perfect order. It showed Northrup getting snagged on some minor violations—a broken sprinkler system designed to keep down dust emissions, visible dust emissions on a high-wind day, one self-reported “upset” that resulted in a surge of pollutants from their smokestacks.

  Every big industrial company had its mishaps. They all made mistakes. Northrup’s file was as perfect as any industrial file was likely to get. Too perfect, in fact. There were no major enforcement actions, no fines, no complaints—nothing to interest a seasoned investigative reporter like Kara. Nothing that might catch the attention of a state senator or the audit committee. Nothing that might drive someone to kill.

  The only explanation was that the file had been purged. The documents had either been shredded or pulled and hidden away somewhere. He’d bet on the former.

  He walked back to Owens’s office, a duplicate of Northrup’s file under one arm, the original folder in his hand. He found the director in a meeting. Not bothering to knock, Reece strode in and dropped the folder onto Owens’s desk, where it fell with a loud smack.

  “I’m not an imbecile, Owens. Cut past the bullshit, and show me the real file. I want to see every single document in this office with Northrup’s name on it—the ones journalist Kara McMillan managed to get from you.”

  IT WAS happening too fast. Kara wasn’t ready for this, for any of this.

  Struggling to hold back the tears, she sat on the chair because she was too dizzy to kneel. She held Connor close and kissed his hair. “You have fun at Disney World, and stay close to Lily at the beach, okay? I’ll miss you.”

  Connor hugged her tightly. “Lily says we’re gonna fly in an airplane. Are we gonna fly in an airplane, Mommy?”

  Kara held him at arm’s length where she could look into his sweet brown eyes. She forced herself to smile. “You sure are, pumpkin. You’re going to get to see the tops of the clouds.”

  Excitement shone unmistakable in his eyes, and he smiled, a bright smile full of innocence. By sending him away, she was protecting that innocence. But knowing that didn’t make it any less painful.

  “Okay, Connor. Let’s go. The taxi is waiting for us.” Her mother’s voice was filled with artificial cheer. She and her sister barely tolerated one another, so taking Connor to Florida for two weeks was a major sacrifice.

  Kara gave her son one last kiss, then forced herself to let go. She stood and hugged her mother. “Thanks, Mom. I hope you and Aunt Martha get along.”

  “We will, or maybe I’ll send her on to her next life.” Her mother embraced her fiercely. “Stay safe, Kara, please! Put these bastards away. And be kind to Reece. He’s a good man, and he’s in love with you, whether either of you realize it or not.”

  These last words came as such a shock to Kara that she didn’t burst into tears until after her mother and Connor had left her hospital room. Then she lay across the bed and wept, sobbing out the grief and pain of the past week until her ribs and head ached.

  Knock it off, McMillan! They’re safe, and that’s what matters.

  She sat up, blew her nose, and walked to the bathroom to rinse her face in cold water, trying not to trip on the three suitcases her mother had brought. She would be living out of these suitcases until her investigation was finished and the coast was clear—at least two weeks by her best guess. She had at least ten interviews to do, plus countless documents to research before she’d be ready to write the first of what was sure to be several stories. Until whoever was threatening her had been exposed and locked up, she was going to be under virtual house arrest.

  She dried her face, walked to the window, and looked out over the city. She’d best get used to a bird’s-eye view. The paper had reserved the top floor of an exclusive Denver hotel. The elevators would be restricted so only those with security keys would have access to her floor. The doors leading out from the stairwells would be locked from the inside, preventing anyone from gaining entrance to her floor in that way. The room itself was already set up with her computer, Internet access, a fax machine, and a blocked phone line rigged for recording and for automatic call trace. With security cameras in the elevators, it was as safe an environment as any the police could provide at a safehouse, and it had the benefit of being much more comfortable. Only Tom and Chief Irving knew exactly where she was going.

  Chief Irving was supposed to come by at any moment to take her to her temporary prison, so when the knock came at her door, that’s who she was expecting. She turned and felt her pulse pick up a notch. “Reece.”

  Just by looking at him, she could tell he was edgy, tense, angry. He crossed the room, stepping over suitcases, and ran his thumb over her cheek. “You’ve been crying.”

  She looked away, feeling sick inside. How could she want him so desperately even now, when she knew he’d gone behind her back? “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Probably not, but that hasn’t stopped me so far.” He pressed his lips to her hair. “Are you leaving on a trip or something?”

  She stepped away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re taking me to a safehouse of sorts. Connor just left for the airport with my mother. They’re going out of state for a while.”

  “That explains the tears. I’m sorry, Kara. I know it has to be hard, but it’s probably a good idea. The little guy’s been through more than enough.” He reached for her.

  She stepped back. “Yeah. Thanks for all you did for him.”

  “Something else is bothering you.”

  Then she blurted it out. “What’s your relationship to Northrup Mining, and why did you contact the state attorney’s office about my open-records requests?”

  “Has this turned into an official interview?”

  “Not yet.” Anger at Reece, anger at the man who’d attacked her, anger at Northrup roiled inside her. She crossed the room, took the digital recorder out of her purse, turned it on, then dropped it in her shirt pocket and turned to face him. “Now it’s official.”

  “You’re recording me?” A muscle ticked in his cheek.

  “Yes. Normally the subject being interviewed wouldn’t know I’m recording them. State law doesn’t require disclosure, provided I’m a part of the conversation I’m recording.”

  “I see.” He slipped out of his jacket and sat in the nearby chair. “Okay, Ms. McMillan, ask your questions.”

  She tried not to remember that he’d sat in that same chair for endless hours while she’d drifted in and out of consciousness, that he’d slept there when he hadn’t been stroking her hair, giving her ice chi
ps, or holding her hand. He was a politician. She was a reporter. She had a job to do.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, looked directly into his eyes, and wanted to weep at the cold fury she saw there. “What is your relationship with Northrup Mining, Inc.?”

  “Northrup is one of several Colorado industries that signed on to testify in favor of a bill I am sponsoring. The bill would allow industries that burn coal to burn waste tires, provided burning tires doesn’t produce a net increase in the number of pollutants being emitted from their stacks. I have no other connection to Northrup—no campaign donations, no soft money, no stock. Nothing.”

  She forced herself to focus, forced herself to ignore the pain she felt at having to question him as if he didn’t matter to her. “Were you aware of Northrup’s violations of environmental laws when they signed to testify on behalf of your bill?”

  Reece fought to keep his temper in check, stung by her frigid professionalism and her lack of trust. “No. In fact, my examination of Northrup’s file at the state health department today revealed a company with an above-average environmental record.”

  “You went to the health department and reviewed Northrup’s file?”

  He felt a short-lived burst of satisfaction at the surprise that crossed her face. “In light of your open-records request, it seemed in keeping with my duties as a member of the Legislative Audit Committee to look into Northrup myself.”

  “And you claim their environmental record is above average?”

  “No. I said the file revealed a company with an above-average record. I have reason to believe the file has been purged.” He reached into his briefcase, retrieved the folder of copies he’d made, and tossed it onto the bed beside her.

  Curious, she grabbed the file and skimmed through it. Shaking her head, she turned to him. “Is this all they gave you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I told Director Owens that I believe he is withholding information, an allegation he denied.”

  She sat on the bed again. “Owens is a liar.”

  “So I deduced. I have filed a formal open-records request with his office, demanding all documents pertaining to Northrup, specifically those that were a part of your open-records request.”

  She looked stunned. “Had you ever seen Northrup’s file before today?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever had contact with the state health department about Northrup or any enforcement action at Northrup prior to today?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you ask the state attorney to provide you with a list of my open-records requests?”

  He resisted the urge to go to her, to touch her. “The life of a woman I care very deeply about was in danger. For professional and ethical reasons, she couldn’t tell me who she thought was behind the threats against her. But as I knew it involved state health department documents, it was within my purview as a member of the audit committee to start my own investigation.”

  “You’re using your position for personal gain. You had no business getting involved.”

  “Like hell I didn’t!” Anger had his ass out of the chair. He closed the space between them in two steps. “The time I spent making love with you actually meant something to me. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing while some lunatic tried to murder you. Sorry if you don’t like that, but it’s who I am.”

  Her chin went up. “I don’t need you looking out for me.”

  “Goddamn it, Kara, quit pushing me away! Is sex the only thing you’re willing to accept from me? If that’s all you want, then I’m not interested.”

  Her eyes were wide, and she looked as if he’d struck her. “I-I understand.”

  He wanted so much to pull her into his arms, to kiss her confusion and doubt away, but he stood his ground. “Do you?”

  She nodded, two wooden jerks of her head. “It’s probably best if we go our separate ways.”

  “Christ!” Now he was angry. “That’s not what I said! How can you be willing to end our relationship without fighting for it first? How can you be so willing to let go when we both know that what we have together is special? Is that what you really want?”

  She turned her face away from him, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “No.”

  There was a sharp rap at the door. “Ms. McMillan?” Chief Irving stuck his head inside and acknowledged Reece with a nod. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze.

  Reece forced himself to step back from her. “How will I get a hold of you?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Senator. We’re taking her to a secret location until this is resolved, and no one, not even her mother, knows where it is. We can’t give you the phone number for security reasons. However, Ms. McMillan will be able to contact you by her secure line. She won’t have her cell phone.”

  If Reece hadn’t felt so angry and so hurt, he might have acknowledged the desperation and sadness in her eyes. Instead, he gave her a cold smile. “I guess the ball’s in your court, Kara.”

  Then, fists clenched, he turned his back on her and forced himself to walk away.

  CHAPTER 22

  * * *

  THE LOEWS Hotel was a monolith of black glass against the clear afternoon sky. Detective Irving drove Kara to the security entrance used by movie stars and visiting dignitaries and whisked her inside. The manager, a tall dark-haired man whose otherwise handsome face was marred by old acne scars, met them there and sent a bellboy after her luggage. Then he guided them through a hallway, past the kitchens, to a private elevator that carried them swiftly up thirty floors to the Belle View Suite.

  “President Gerald Ford, Sting, and Oprah Winfrey all stayed here,” the manager boasted as he unlocked the double doors with his keycard.

  A mechanical hum. A click.

  The manager pushed the doors open and revealed not just a luxurious hotel room, but an enormous apartment. Kara knew she was supposed to react with “oohs” and “aahs,” but everything that had happened this morning had left her feeling numb—saying good-bye to Connor and her mother, her disastrous confrontation with Reece. All she could summon as the manager led her from room to room was a nod and the occasional “mmm.” Nothing—not the marble desk area, not the remote-controlled gas fireplace, not the enormous sunken tub, not the baby grand piano, not the cherry wood furniture nor the luxurious silk on the huge king-sized bed—mattered one iota to her.

  She wasn’t here to lounge, take baths, and enjoy frigging room service, after all, but to finish an investigation. Her computer from work was already in place. Several boxes of documents sat on the floor behind the desk—the Northrup documents and whatever the senators on the Legislative Audit Committee had turned over in response to her last open-records request. A fax machine was set up on a nearby end table together with a box of paper.

  “We’ve handled high-security visitors before, Ms. McMillan, so please feel safe within our walls. No one will be able to get onto your floor, except the handful of staff with the security key to the elevator. Call room service for whatever you need, and one of us will bring it right up. No need to tip—the newspaper has taken care of everything. Don’t hesitate to ask for me if you have any questions or concerns.”

  Kara managed a smile for the man, accepted his card. “Thank you, Mr.,” she glanced down at the card, “Osterman.”

  The manager gave her a bright smile that didn’t quite conceal the pity in his eyes as his gaze lingered on her bruised face. Then he turned and left her alone with Detective Irving.

  The detective looked around at the suite and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Nicer digs than you’d find at a police safehouse, that’s for damned sure. Better food, too, I’ll bet. Now that you know where to find the bubble bath and caviar, let’s go over the rules.”

  The rules were simple. No visitors. No outgoing calls unless she used the secured line. No revealing her location to anyone, not even her mother. No leaving her suite.

  “Got it.”

  �
��It’s bound to get a bit lonely up here, what with your son and mother out of town. You might be tempted—”

  He was about to mention Reece, she knew. “I’ll be too busy to be lonely.”

  But as she thanked Detective Irving and locked the door behind him, Kara felt more alone than ever. She walked over to the tinted window, stared down at the busy street far below, then at the white-tipped mountains in the distance, feeling just as cold and bleak inside.

  “You were just doing your job,” she said out loud to herself.

  But did you have to be so cruel about it?

  A part of her had wanted to tell Reece she knew he wasn’t the one who was shielding Northrup, but she’d squelched that voice. Nor had she been able to tell him how deeply it touched her to know all he’d done as a state senator to protect her. All she’d allowed him to see was her anger.

  It still surprised her. When he hadn’t been at her bedside, he’d been shaking up the health department and harassing the state attorney’s office in hopes of uncovering what she could not ethically tell him.

  The life of a woman I care very deeply about was in danger.

  His explanation was so simple, so clear. And she’d thrown it back in his face.

  You had no business getting involved.

  She pulled the digital recorder out of her pocket, rewound, and hit play.

  “The time I spent making love with you actually meant something to me. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing while some lunatic tried to murder you. Sorry if you don’t like that, but it’s who I am.”

  “I don’t need you looking out for me.”

  Shut up, McMillan! She cringed, her own words scraping like barbed wire over skin.

  “Goddamn it, Kara, quit pushing me away! Is sex the only thing you’re willing to accept from me? If that’s all you want, then I’m not interested.”

  “I-I understand.”