Buried Secrets

by Irene Hannon

  She checked her watch again, her smile fading. Five-forty. Erika was ten minutes late. If she hadn’t intended to keep this appointment, why had she made it? Then again, she’d sounded tipsier than usual when she’d called to set it up Tuesday night. She’d probably forgotten about it, or written down the wrong time.

  Her problem.

  Jessica slid the phone back into her purse and reached for her briefcase. She was out of here. Erika had overblown the whole thing, anyway. There hadn’t been a word in the media about that discovery in the field since her return from London. It was a dead issue.

  Lips twitching at the unintended pun, she started to stand—only to spot the other woman bearing down on her.

  She muttered a curse. So much for making a fast escape.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Erika huffed to a stop beside her. Her fake blonde hair needed combing and a root touch-up, her mascara was smudged, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

  The woman was a mess.

  Jessica swallowed past her disgust as she adjusted the lapel of her Armani suit. No doubt Erika had spent big bucks on that dress—a Gucci, perhaps?—but she looked like a floozy. That low neckline was more appropriate for a cocktail party than a courtroom, and the silk clung to her like a second skin, highlighting the roll of fat at her waist.

  The woman had never had one ounce of taste or class, despite her silver-plated upbringing.

  “I got here as fast as I could.” Erika cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. “It took me a while to ditch the reporters. They were on my heels like a pack of dogs, shoving their cameras in my face, asking for a statement.”

  Jessica’s breath hitched.

  Cameras? Reporters?

  She scanned the mall again. The last thing she needed was to be linked with Erika and her slimeball husband. That was why she’d chosen a busy mall for their meeting. Why she planned to relocate to one of the benches off to the side, away from prying eyes and ears, once they both had their drinks. There was always anonymity in crowds. No one would pay any attention to them in this madhouse—unless a reporter was on Erika’s trail.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you hear the news?” Erika swiped at her nose and collapsed into the chair on the other side of the café table.

  “I don’t have time to keep up with the news during the day.”

  “Jack was convicted a little while ago. His lawyer said his sentence could be as much as ten years! I didn’t even get to say good-bye before they hauled him off.” As her pitch rose, several passersby looked their way.

  Jessica leaned close. “Take a deep breath, Erika. And keep your voice down.” Her words came out in a hiss. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Scotch would be good.”

  “We’re at a coffee shop. You’ll have to make do with a latte. Stay put and try to get yourself under control.”

  While Erika dug through her purse for a tissue, Jessica pitched the dregs of her own drink and moved to the counter. After placing the order, she surveyed the milling crowds. No sign of anyone who looked like a reporter, nor of a news camera.

  That was one plus, at least.

  As soon as the barista handed her the drink, she rejoined Erika.

  “Let’s find a less busy spot. There’s a bench over there that will give us some privacy.” She gestured to one tucked in among some large potted plants, half hidden from view.

  Erika struggled to her feet and trudged along beside her. Once they sat, she handed over the drink.

  The woman took a noisy slurp, and Jessica eased away, suppressing her revulsion.

  “I can’t believe this actually happened.” As Erika choked out the words, a fat tear formed at the corner of her eye and spilled out, leaving a streak of mascara as it tracked down her cheek.

  “Crying isn’t going to change anything. You had to know this was coming.”

  “I guess I didn’t want to believe it.”

  Typical Erika, hiding her head in the sand.

  “At least it’s over.”

  “No, it’s not. I have to meet with the lawyer tomorrow. He wanted to meet today, but I told him I had another commitment.”

  “You didn’t mention my name, did you?”

  “No.” Erika sniffled and glared at her. “I’m not stupid.”

  She let that pass. “Let’s focus on the reason for this meeting. No names, no specifics, okay?”

  “I told you . . . I’m not stupid!” Sparks flared in her eyes.

  Hmm. Not typical mousey Erika behavior. But life wasn’t exactly typical for her at the moment.

  Time to pull out the conciliatory, understanding tone that had served her so well in her PR career.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that. I know you’re upset, and people don’t always behave rationally while under stress.”

  Erika’s anger deflated, her shoulders slumping. “I know. You’re right. I wish I could be more like you. You never lose your cool—even when bad things happen.”

  “Speaking of that . . .” Jessica did a casual survey of the mall. Everyone was hurrying along, intent on their next purchase or their conversation. “I’ve been keeping tabs on the media. Nothing else has been reported—which is what I expected. As I told you last weekend, there’s no reason to worry. You haven’t been in touch with anyone to the south, have you?”

  “No. I’ve been too busy with the trial to worry much about the . . . other . . . thing.”

  “Well, you don’t have to. This will fade away, like it did the first time.”

  Erika chewed on her lip. “It took a while back then, though. All those questions . . .” A shudder rippled through her. “It was hard. I don’t want to do that again.”

  “Like I said, it’s old news. I doubt we’ll hear another word about it.”

  “I hope not.”

  “You want my advice? Go home and forget about this. Focus on getting your life back.”

  She let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m not sure how I’ll manage alone.”

  You’ll manage better than you did with your loser of a husband.

  But no need to stir the waters. The calmer Erika was, the fewer ripples she’d create.

  “I have confidence in you. You’re a lot stronger than you think.” The glib lie fell off her tongue. Whatever it took to get the job done.

  “Thanks.” The woman dabbed at her eyes. “I always feel better after I talk to you.”

  That made one of them.

  Jessica picked up her briefcase and stood. “Let me know if anything else comes up regarding the reason for today’s get-together. Otherwise, we need to go back to our infrequent contact mode. Agreed?”

  “Yeah.”

  Erika started to rise, but Jessica pressed her back with a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here and finish your latte. You’ll feel better if you take a few minutes alone to chill.”

  “I don’t do alone very well.”

  “You have other girlfriends you can call, though, right? Set up some lunches or shopping trips. That will perk you up.”

  “I guess. Maybe I’ll plan a lunch with Lauren from the country club. We bum around once in a while.”

  “Great idea. And we’ll touch base in a few weeks.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Jessica walked away.

  If only walking out of Erika’s life could be so easy.

  But Erika needed hand-holding—and watching. Especially with Jack out of the picture.

  Jessica picked up her pace, putting distance between them. What had Erika seen in that jerk, anyway? And why had her father ever let her marry such a lowlife?

  There could be only one explanation—her husband had known how to turn on the charm. How else would he have been able to talk all those retirees out of their hard-earned money?

  Clamping her fingers around the handle of her briefcase, she shouldered her way through the throng of shoppers. People like Jack deserved to rot in prison. No one who took the fruit of someone else’s hard labor should go
unpunished.

  She pushed through the door into the evening light. Inhaled. Strode toward her BMW coupe.

  Better.

  Today she’d dealt with Erika. Tomorrow the Peterson-Bradshaw team would knock the socks off Frank Nelson and his team.

  Life was good.

  And she intended to keep it that way.

  Mac twisted the knob on the door to his apartment, passed through the living room, stuck his head into the kitchen.

  “Hey, where is everybody? It’s chow time.”

  No response.

  Weird.

  His brothers were never late for meals—and with a gourmet Italian splurge in the offing for their last night in town, why weren’t they spit-polished and ready to go?

  A movement on the balcony caught his eye, and he leaned sideways. Lance was sitting in one of the folding chairs the previous tenants had left, dressed for the evening.

  He crossed to the slider and pulled it open. “You ready to go?”

  “Yeah. But Finn’s not back from his run yet.”

  Meaning his youngest brother still had to shower and change.

  Mac frowned. Finn might not be the most organized guy, but he was usually more considerate than that.

  “I thought we decided to leave at six?”

  Lance shrugged. “He’ll be here any minute. I doubt they’ll run out of food at that fancy place you’re taking us to. Want to join me for a drink while we wait?” He lifted the can in his hand.

  The question was casual; the undertone wasn’t.

  Was his brother finally ready to spill whatever had been eating him all week?

  Since none of his attempts to ferret it out had worked, Mac wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity.

  “Yeah. I’ll be right with you.”

  As he retrieved a can from the fridge, he took a moment to psyche himself up. Mental preparedness was as important as physical readiness for any challenge, as one of his instructors had repeated ad nauseam during SEAL training.

  And he had a feeling he’d better be prepared for whatever bombshell Lance was about to drop.

  Back on the balcony, he claimed the empty chair, the fizzy release of carbonation the only sound. Tempted as he was to prod, he swigged his drink and waited for his brother to take the lead.

  When the silence lengthened, however, he slid a glance to the left.

  Lance had a death grip on his can. Every muscle in his body seemed taut. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  What in the world was so difficult to spit out?

  Maybe it was up to him to start the conversation after all.

  “What time are you guys heading out tomorrow?” Innocuous, but it might get the dialogue flowing.

  “Early. We’re confirmed on Space A flights out of Scott. Finn is wheels up at seven-thirty. I’m out at ten.”

  “I’m surprised one of you didn’t get bumped. Those Air Force space-available flights sound great in theory, but they’re not all that reliable.”

  “I guess we got lucky.”

  “Might be worth trying again on your next leave. Your luck might hold. Like I said when you called last week, you’re always welcome. I might even have a real bed in the extra bedroom by then.”

  Lance’s can crinkled. “I won’t be having any more leaves.”

  Brow knitted, Mac turned toward him. “You want to explain that?”

  Lance finished off his drink in several gulps and crushed the aluminum can in his fingers. “I’m not re-upping.”

  What?!

  His brother was leaving Delta Force?

  No way.

  Since their days of backyard pretend war games, Lance had always been the brother most gung ho on military service. Without constant exposure to his enthusiasm, Mac wasn’t sure either he or Finn would have considered enlisting. And while Delta Force, with its unrelenting physical demands, wasn’t a lifetime gig, he’d always assumed Lance would move into a command or training position at some point and stay until he retired.

  “You’re surprised, aren’t you?”

  Surprise didn’t come close to describing his reaction.

  “I don’t know if I’d use that term.” He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. “Blindsided, maybe. Do the others know?”

  “Yeah. I told Mom and Dad last weekend, and I laid it on Finn during the flight here.”

  “Why was I the last to hear?”

  Lance swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was subdued. “Telling the others was easier.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

  “Because I know you expected me to be career Army. And I did too. But after a lot of soul-searching, I realized it’s not where I want to spend my life.” He fingered the crumpled can. “The thing is, I wasn’t even a Delta Force operator as long as you were a SEAL. You kind of set the bar, you know?”

  As his admission echoed in the quiet air, Mac stopped breathing.

  Lance was afraid he’d failed to measure up in his big brother’s eyes. That was why he’d put off telling him.

  Yet nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Lance.” He waited until the other man looked over at him. “First of all, no one’s keeping score or setting bars. But if they were, you saw a lot more active combat than I did and you gave a hundred-plus percent every day. Trust me, we’re even. As for thinking less of you for your choice—how could I, when I made the same one? And you want the truth? I’m relieved. Worrying about you two guys being in the line of fire day in and day out is giving me gray hair. I found a new one just last week. If that had kept up, I’d be stocking my shelves with Grecian Formula.”

  He didn’t flinch as Lance scrutinized his face. Every word he’d spoken had been true—though the gray hair might have been a slight exaggeration—and he wanted his brother to understand that.

  Finally, Lance responded. “You’d probably look distinguished with gray hair.”

  “I’m in no hurry to find out.”

  “So you’re okay with this?”

  “More than okay. How did the others react?”

  “Mom was happy. Dad was surprised. Finn was . . . hard to tell. He didn’t say much, but I think it threw him.”

  “I wonder if that’s why he’s been on edge this week?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  Despite the logic, that conclusion still didn’t feel right.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about my plans?” Lance set the mangled can on the tiny patio table between them.

  He refocused. “My next question. What are your plans?”

  “FBI.”

  Talk about a day for surprises.

  “You’re gonna be a Fed?”

  “Yep. I started the application process fourteen months ago. With my background, I thought I might be able to skip a few steps, but no dice. I had to go the full nine yards. It paid off, though. After I get out next month, I’ll be going directly to the academy.”

  “My brother, the FBI agent.” Mac shook his head. “That’ll take me a while to process.”

  The slider behind them rattled, and Lance looked over his shoulder. “The runt just banged the front door. Guess it’s time to go eat.” He rose.

  Mac followed his lead, but as his brother reached for the door, he grasped his shoulder. “In case there’s any doubt in your mind . . . I’ve always been proud of you. I still am—and that will never change.”

  Spots of color appeared on Lance’s cheeks. The kind that had always popped up when the middle McGregor brother was trying not to cry.

  “Thanks.” The word came out scratchy, and a sheen filmed his eyes.

  “You’re welcome.” Mac gave him a shove toward the door. No reason to embarrass him further. “Now let’s tell Finn to make his shower quick so we can go celebrate.”

  She shouldn’t have called Mac last night.

  Lisa pricked her finger with the lancet, squeezed a drop of blood on the test strip, and fed it into the glucometer. So what if she’d been working late on the b
ones case and needed a pick-me-up? If she’d thought it through instead of acting on impulse, she’d have realized the man would be in the middle of a going-away dinner with his brothers. What else would he be doing on their last night in town?

  Not that he’d seemed to mind the interruption, however—and the outcome had been better than expected. Who’d have guessed he’d offer to accompany her to Columbia today to talk to the retired detective who’d handled the Alena Komisky case?

  “You can come out now, Tally. The grinding’s all over.” She flipped off the blender, and he poked his head into the room to verify the coast was clear before venturing in.

  As she poured her fruit smoothie into a glass, he trotted over.

  “Want a doggie treat?”

  His ears perked up.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  She pulled one out of the bag she kept in the cupboard. Instead of snatching it from her fingers as usual, though, he sniffed. Paused. Looked at her as if to say, Where’s the good stuff that nice detective brought? Finally he took it.

  “Sorry, buddy. This is all my budget will allow. You’ll have to go to Mac for the gourmet fare.”

  Smoothie in one hand, a slice of whole wheat toast in the other, she stepped out onto the patio and inhaled the fresh air. Bliss. Especially after spending ten years in a cramped apartment with nary a tree in sight. In fact, the five-acre wooded lot filled with birds, deer, foliage, and privacy was the best part of her new home. Tally loved it too.

  She watched her canine friend chase a squirrel, investigate a new mole mound—drat—and shake off a bee that had taken a liking to his ear. As she finished off her breakfast, the sound of crunching gravel added some background percussion to the chirp of the cardinals.

  Mac was here.

  Snapping her fingers for Tally, she grabbed his collar and towed him to the spacious run she’d had built.

  “Sorry, buddy. I know this isn’t your favorite place, but I’ll be gone too long to leave you in the house, and you’ve proven much too adept at scaling the fence. You could end up under the wheels of a car on the road. We’ll have a game of catch when I get back, okay?”

  He gave her a doleful look while she locked the gate.

  “Hey. It’s a beautiful day. You’ll be fine.”