by Pamela Clare
“Do you?”
“It’s probably best if we go our separate ways.”
“Christ! 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?”
“No.”
She turned off the recorder. It hurt to hear his anger, to hear her own fear. That’s what she’d been feeling—not fury, but bone-deep fear. Fear that he cared for her too much. Fear that she cared for him even more. Fear that she’d end up alone and in tears, feeling shattered.
Which pretty much described how she felt right now.
She’d told him the truth—she didn’t want to end their relationship.
How can you be so willing to let go when we both know that what we have together is special?
The hell of it was that right now she had no choice but to let go. She had an investigation to complete—an investigation that had nearly taken her life and Connor’s. Until this was over, she had no business thinking about anything else.
Suddenly exhausted, her head aching, Kara turned away from the window, found her way to the bedroom, crawled into the enormous bed, and fell into a weary asleep.
LATER THAT afternoon, Reece strode from the Senate chambers, briefcase in hand, in a shitty mood despite the fact that his education bill had just passed. He offered a canned quote to the reporters who stood in the hallway and then headed toward his office. Miguel had agreed to meet him there in ten minutes.
His stomach rumbled, and he opted for a quick detour to the cafeteria downstairs. He’d spent the lunch recess at the hospital arguing with Kara and hadn’t yet eaten. Although the cafeteria had closed hours ago, there were vending machines that dispensed dubious fare for those brave or desperate enough to eat it. He’d just dropped five quarters in the machine for something labeled “turkey and swiss” when he smelled her perfume.
“I heard about your reporter.” Alexis leaned against the vending machine, the white tips of her French manicure a sharp contrast to her skin-hugging black silk dress. “I’m sorry she was hurt.”
He took the sandwich, moved over to the soda machine, dropped in three quarters, and punched Pepsi. “She wasn’t just hurt, Alexis. She was almost murdered.”
“You really care about her, don’t you?”
Yeah, he did. But he wasn’t going to discuss Kara with anyone right now, particularly not Alexis. He popped open his soda can and took a swallow. “Was there something you wanted?”
She smiled and took a step in his direction. “I think it’s kind of funny that a senator who won’t have sex with a lobbyist for ethical reasons sees no moral dilemma in fucking a journalist. Then again, good publicity is so hard to come by.”
The fist of suppressed rage Reece had been carrying in his belly all afternoon came perilously close to striking. He forced himself to take another swallow. “Only you would measure every intimate relationship in terms of profit. But that’s what whores do, isn’t it?”
Her perfect face flushed an ugly shade of red. “Fuck you!”
“No, I don’t think so.” He turned and walked away.
Miguel was waiting for him by the time he reached his office, white cowboy hat tucked politely under his arm, his bolo tie clipped with a silver bear claw studded with turquoise. “You looking to get food poisoning?”
Reece juggled briefcase, food, soda can, and keys and unlocked his office door. “Missed lunch.”
Miguel followed him inside, sat, and dropped his cowboy hat onto his lap. “You’ve missed a lot of things lately. How’s Ms. McMillan doing?”
“They discharged her today. The cops took her to a safehouse.” Reece put his briefcase down, sat at his desk, and opened the plastic wrap covering his sandwich.
“A safehouse? Like a women’s shelter?”
“No, a police safehouse. A secret location.” Reece stared at the concoction of bread, grayish meat, and orange cheese. “Until they know who is behind this, they’re keeping her under police protection.”
“Are you going to be able to visit her?”
“No. Only the cops know where she is.” After today she probably wouldn’t want to see him again anyway. He’d gotten angry, and he’d pushed her. But damn it, she’d pushed him, too. Did she really hold it against him that he cared for her enough to try to find out who was trying to kill her? Were her feelings for him so casual that his concern for her life felt intrusive?
“What about her son? I suppose he’s with her.”
“He’s gone out of town for a while.” Reece took a bite and chewed. “Ever heard of Northrup Mining, Inc.?”
“You mean the company Ms. McMillan named in her open-records request to all of us? No.”
“Yeah, me neither. She seems to think someone on the Legislative Audit Committee is covering up for them, forcing the state health department to back off.”
Miguel frowned. “That’s a serious accusation. Do you think she’s onto something?”
“Someone thinks she is. Someone’s so sure she’s near the truth that he’s willing to kill her to stop her.”
“I don’t know, amigo. Seems like a long shot to me. But if anyone on the committee is dirty, my money’s on Devlin.”
“Mine, too. I’ve requested a list of his campaign contributions from the secretary of state’s office.”
“You’re not getting involved with this yourself, are you?” Miguel looked genuinely alarmed, his brown eyes wide. “That won’t look so good—you checking up on him. He won’t like that.”
“We’re charged with holding government agencies accountable, Miguel. It’s my job to get involved in this.” Reece set his tasteless sandwich aside, lifted his briefcase onto his desk, and opened it. “I picked up a file on Northrup from the health department today. The file’s been cleaned out. But I’m going to spend tonight playing a game of follow the money—find out who the company’s key shareholders are, that sort of thing.”
“Jesus, Reece!”
Reece looked up to see Miguel staring into his briefcase, a horrified expression on his face. He’d seen the Sphinx. “Relax. I’ve got a concealed-carry permit.”
“Just what are you planning on doing with that?”
Reece pulled out the file folder containing the health department documents and shut the briefcase. “Hopefully nothing. I’ve been carrying it since Kara was attacked just in case.”
But Miguel was shaking his head. “You’re getting way too caught up in this, my friend. You need to get out of town for a few days, clear your head. Do you want whoever’s after her to come after you?”
Reece bared his teeth. “You better believe I do! You didn’t see what he did to her. Christ, Miguel! He’s lucky the cops killed him first—two clean shots through the chest. I’d have shot him in the balls first.”
“I can’t believe this is you I’m hearing. What has she done to you?”
“She hasn’t done anything. Self-defense is perfectly legal. It’s not like I’m going to hunt the bastards down and kill them like a desperado. Besides, the worst possible strategic move these jerks could make would be to go after a senator.”
“Oh, I don’t know. If they’re loco enough to try to kill a journalist, what’s a state senator?”
“What I hope to be is a major pain in their ass. Now do you want to see these documents or not? I figure you and I can put our heads together and figure out who’s behind this.”
Miguel looked at his watch. “Not tonight. It’s Hilaria’s mother’s birthday. Don’t want to piss off my mother-in-law. But let me know if you find anything. Call my cell.”
Reece took another swig of his soda and turned toward his computer, his mind already plotting out an Internet search. “Enjoy yourself. Tell Hilaria hi for me.”
He heard his office door close, typed “Northrup Mining Inc.” and “shareholders” into the search engine, and then hit return.
BY THE time room service b
rought her dinner of chicken soup—she didn’t have the stomach for much else—Kara had organized all the Northrup folders by date and type of document. They lay in neat rows across the elegant cherry dining table and the top of the closed baby grand piano. The folders from the senators on the Legislative Audit Committee sat in eight tidy piles.
She sipped her soup, caught the latest on CNN, and surveyed her handiwork. She would start with the senators’ files. If she could find out who was covering for Northrup, she’d have the keystone of her story. Of course, she still had interviews to do—Owens at the health department, Northrup officials, the governor, each of the eight senators, an expert on cement-kiln dust. It would be helpful if she could find an expert to comment on the content of the videos. For all she knew piles of paint-stripping, lung-shredding CKD were an industry standard. She would e-mail Tom and ask him to find someone.
She finished her dinner and put the tray outside her door in the empty hallway. The emptiness and utter quiet were unnerving. Quickly, she closed and locked her door, shutting out the silence.
Back in the living room, CNN droned on reassuringly. The gas fire danced over fake logs and cast an artificial cheery glow. Outside the window, the lights of Denver glinted like diamonds.
And now there was no more avoiding it. She could either start with Reece’s file, which was by far the thickest, or she could set him aside and go through them based on probability of guilt—the odds being determined solely by her completely biased impression of each individual. If she went through Reece’s first, she could prove that he had no connection to Northrup and lift that weight from her mind. But if she truly believed him innocent, then why should she waste precious hours turning up nothing?
Oh, hell! Just make a decision, McMillan!
She grabbed Drew Devlin’s file, a notepad, and a sharp pencil and then sank into the armchair closest to the fire.
REECE STARED at his computer screen, shock boiling into outrage. He’d had more difficulty tracking down Northrup’s shareholders than he’d imagined. Still, he’d kept up the search, wading through self-congratulatory press releases about worker safety, quarterly earnings, and plant upgrades, until he’d found something.
TexaMent set to buy Northrup in $2.7-billion deal.
It was a headline from an old cement-industry newsletter published several years ago and cached online. And there on the front page beneath the headline was Mike Stanfield, shaking hands with another man in a suit. Behind him stood Prentice, sporting Armani and more hair.
Reece read through the article and pushed back from his computer. So TexaMent owned Northrup. Goddamn! How could he have missed something so damned important, so basic?
He grabbed his TexaMent folder and searched through pages but found not a single mention of Northrup Mining, Inc. He’d done some research on TexaMent before agreeing to carry the tire-burning bill, checking their environmental record and OSHA file, and never once had he heard of Northrup. He’d known TexaMent had a plant in Adams County, but he’d had no idea the facility went by a different name.
He shook his head and laughed bitterly. How stupid he must have seemed to Owens at the health department when he’d called up asking about TexaMent’s record. Owens had been able to lie and tell the truth at the same time. No enforcement actions on record for TexaMent. None on record for Northrup either, if he were to believe the file Owens had given him.
My God, they’d played him for a fool! They’d sought him out with a proposal that had legitimate environmental uses, won his support knowing that the other members of his party would sign on if he, with his reputation, sponsored it. Then they’d brought Devlin out of hiding, thereby assuring themselves unquestioned bipartisan support. Was Devlin working for them? And what did Kara have on Northrup that made her such a threat to them? Was Stanfield aware of the threats on her life? Was he behind the attack, or was someone else at the Northrup facility to blame?
The thought that he’d shared a few meals with Stanfield sickened him and turned the rage in his stomach into a white-hot fury. He wouldn’t stop until he knew the truth, and he would do it all above-board, publicly, sharing whatever he uncovered with Kara and the other media.
Kara. She was investigating Northrup, probably still unaware of its ties to TexaMent. She needed to know, and she needed to hear it from him. Otherwise, when she connected the two companies she would believe that he’d lied to her. After all, he was carrying a bill for TexaMent.
But that was about to change. He’d pull the bill tomorrow morning and launch an official probe into both companies.
Reece flicked through his Rolodex, picked up his phone, and dialed Stanfield’s number.
HE STARED down at the lights of the city, tossed back the last of his scotch, and winced as it hit the ulcer in his stomach like a piercing arrow.
So the reporter had not only survived, but now she’d gone into hiding. Well, hired help wasn’t always what you hoped it would be. He should have handled it himself from the beginning. Perhaps then things would never have come this far.
Now Sheridan had become a problem, too. Certainly, the senator wasn’t the first man to think with his cock, and he wouldn’t be the last. But his involvement with the reporter posed a serious threat. The situation needed to be managed.
It was time to try something different. They couldn’t very well kill a senator outright, especially not after the failed attack on the woman he was screwing. That would bring the entire state bureaucracy into the fray and draw even more attention to the McMillan girl. But there were other ways to get Sheridan out of the picture.
As for the reporter, there was no point in wasting time trying to find her. He would make her come to him. And when she did, he would make sure to answer all of her questions—she deserved that much for all her hard and fruitless work.
Then she would die.
He wasn’t a murderer. He was a risk manager. He’d built his fortune by staying one step ahead of everyone else, by using circumstances to his best advantage, by doing things other people were too afraid or too lacking in vision to do. Laws and rules were for men too weak to reshape the world after their own desires. He was neither weak nor afraid.
Boldness was a lesson he’d learned from his father, though not in the usual way. He’d always struggled to please his father, a moderately successful oilman, but he had somehow seemed to fall short of the mark. His father hadn’t approved of his ideas for running the company and had gotten in his way whenever he tried to strike out on a project of his own. The solution to the problem came one day during a private lunch meeting when his father, who’d been in the middle of another tirade about the danger of taking shortcuts, had started to choke on a bite of steak.
His first impulse had been to call for help. But then, as he’d watched his father flail and turn purple, he’d realized that this was the break he’d been waiting for. And so he’d put down the phone and watched as his father had choked slowly to death.
After that, everything had been easy. He’d replaced the board of directors, hired managers who shared his hardnosed vision, and moved the company to a level of profitability his father had never imagined. Where he’d once cowered before his father, trying desperately to please him, men now cowered before him and raced each other to win his favor.
No one was going to take that from him now. Not some bitch of a reporter who liked to stick her nose into other people’s business—and certainly not some self-righteous state senator.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He had several calls to make.
CHAPTER 23
* * *
KARA WASN’T quite healed yet. That was the only explanation for why she’d slept until ten—that and the fact she’d awoken in the middle of the night, heart pounding, body wet with sweat, sure she was fighting for her life. It had taken a moment to remember her attacker was dead, to remember where she was and that she was safe. It had taken much longer to fall back asleep again. She’d only succeeded after she�
��d curled up against one of the king-sized pillows and pretended Reece was beside her.
She crawled out of bed, mildly disgusted with herself for being so weak-minded, shed her pajamas, and walked naked into the enormous bathroom with its walk-in shower and sunken tub. She turned the water in the shower on hot, stepped in, and let the scorching spray wash her nightmares away. By the time she emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, she was awake and ready to work.
She called room service; ordered the huevos rancheros, some orange juice, and tea; and then slipped into a pair of jeans and her ivory silk blouse. She sat down to read over her notes from the night before. She’d read through Devlin’s file and that of four other committee members and found nothing pertaining to Northrup—no memos to the health department, no bills, no requests for favors. She had, however, found an interesting note in Devlin’s file.
What about this? Does the stupid bitch really think I’d give her anything incriminating?
Those words had been scrawled on a yellow sticky note that had somehow become stuck to the back of an innocuous e-mail to the health department about the annual Senate holiday party. Kara would bet anything that Devlin’s intern had written it and that it referred to some document the intern felt Devlin might not want her to see. She was equally certain that its presence in this folder was sheer, delightful accident. She had saved the sticky note, tucked it carefully into her pile of papers, and made a note to interview his intern as well. If she found nothing, she might be able to use this in a lawsuit against Devlin to prove that he had broken state law by withholding requested documents.
The next file belonged to Miguel de la Peña. A moderate and a family man, he was closely allied with Reece. Kara knew the two of them were friends outside the Capitol as well. Not that any of that meant anything, of course. She opened the folder and had just glanced through the documents when room service knocked at the door.
“I hope you’re feeling comfortable here.” Mr. Osterman carried her tray toward the dining table.
