Buried Secrets

by Irene Hannon

  But how ironic that a simple little stone could lead to such a big, complicated mess.

  As for the woman reporter, she’d pretty much shot her wad with this story. It was a detailed overview of the entire scenario, but while it made for intriguing copy, it was a one-off.

  Same for the TV guy.

  Exhaling, she set the paper down.

  The thing to do now was convince Robert the story had gotten far more publicity than it deserved, courtesy of two overeager reporters and a slow news day. That while it was unfortunate they’d linked her to the whole sordid mess, it spoke more to their lack of ethics than any culpability on her part.

  Then she’d offer to speak personally to any client who happened to see the coverage and who expressed a concern—and she was skilled at smoothing things over, as Robert knew. She’d saved the hide of more than one client whose company had been embroiled in a controversy far more serious than this.

  She picked up her latte and took a sip. It was growing cool—just as this story soon would. All she had to do was tread water and stay afloat until it blew over. Once it was consigned to the archives, she’d be back on track in her trek to the CEO spot.

  And one year from now, barring any other glitches, she’d be exactly where she’d always planned to be—running the show at Peterson-Bradshaw. This whole incident would be nothing but a bad memory.

  Because Chief Lisa Grant would lose and Jessica Lee would win.

  Guaranteed.

  “I’m glad you could meet me for the fireworks.” Stephanie Grant opened her folding chair and set it on the grass in the park. “But I’m sorry you missed dinner.”

  “I grabbed some food when I swung by the house to change out of uniform.” Lisa popped open her chair and set it next to her mother’s in the empty spot they’d found among the family groups waiting for the show.

  “Sounds like you had a busy day.”

  “More than. What about you?”

  “Quiet. Not like the old days, when you and Sherry were little and your father was here.” There was a touch of melancholy in her words.

  “I’m sorry I had to cancel out on dinner, Mom.”

  In typical fashion, her mother moved on to a more upbeat topic. “Not a problem. I had a nice day overall. I ended up filling in for four hours at the hospital after one of the other nurses got sick. Being with those newborns always brightens my spirits. After that, I treated myself to a frappuccino and read the paper cover to cover. Speaking of the paper . . . I saw that your story made the front page. Or were you too busy to notice?”

  “Too busy—but someone told me about it, and I read it before I came to meet you.”

  “Who might that have been? The handsome detective, perhaps?”

  The darkness camouflaged her mother’s features, but there was no missing the curiosity in her inflection.

  “Good guess.”

  “Hardly a guess. You two stay in regular touch.”

  “We’re working a case—more than one, as a matter of fact.”

  “I think he’s working more than a case.”

  Oh, mercy!

  “And I don’t think he’s having to work too hard.” Now her mom’s tone was amused.

  No sense evading the subject. Things were going to be heating up between them soon, anyway—she hoped. “He isn’t. The lady’s willing to be wooed. He seems like a great guy.”

  Someone lit the ground display of an American flag.

  “So what are you waiting for?”

  “This case to end—which will be very soon if nothing breaks in the next few days. We’ve put as much pressure as we can on a certain PR executive. If she doesn’t slip, we’re at a dead end.” A loud bang announced the launch of a single rocket that was more noise than color. Beside her, Lisa could feel her mother flinch. “You’re as bad as Tally.”

  “Where is he tonight?”

  “When I left, he was hiding under my bed. You know, we don’t have to do fireworks every year if you don’t like them.”

  “I love the sparkle. The noise, not so much. As for that PR executive—watch yourself around her. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who appreciates being crossed. I have a feeling people who tangle with her get burned.”

  “You got all that from a picture?”

  “I’ve nailed people before from photos.”

  That was true.

  The fireworks began in earnest, lighting the sky with color, and Lisa tilted her head back to enjoy the display.

  But though she didn’t respond to her mom’s comment, her advice was sound.

  If Jessica had done what she and Mac suspected, the woman had a very ugly side. She liked things to go her way, and when they didn’t, felt no compunction about removing obstacles that impeded her plans.

  Since things weren’t going her way at the moment, it would be very interesting to see how she tried to get herself out of her current mess.

  And Lisa intended to watch her back while she watched the PR executive’s maneuvers.

  23

  By the time the summons came from Robert’s office at ten o’clock Monday morning, Jessica’s stomach was as queasy as it had been on her one and only sea voyage, in the Greek islands four years ago. Who knew she’d succumb to motion sickness—a malady compounded by ferocious waves as the ship rode out a major squall?

  She’d never again experienced that kind of out-of-control nausea on any moving conveyance . . . nor on dry land.

  Until now.

  After taking a cautious sip of white soda, she pulled her mirror out of her desk drawer and examined her reflection.

  Not good.

  No amount of makeup had been able to erase the dark shadows under her eyes after three nights of restless slumber. Nor had she been able to disguise the fine lines of tension at their corners.

  She wasn’t used to Robert ignoring her calls. He knew she respected his position that family holidays were sacrosanct, that he was only to be disturbed for emergencies. So on the few occasions when she’d broken that rule, he’d always responded.

  Yet he’d disregarded the messages she’d left on Saturday and Sunday.

  Why?

  This was an emergency—in her mind, anyway. He needed to hear about the Post article from her, not secondhand from one of her colleagues.

  Shoving the drawer closed, she stood and smoothed a hand down her silk sheath, adjusted the coordinated patterned jacket. She’d prepared for this meeting just as she prepared for any public appearance, rehearsing her lines out loud in the privacy of her condo, trying out different tones of voice and expressions in the mirror, until the words and emotions flowed so naturally no one would suspect she’d orchestrated both.

  There might be knots in her stomach, but she was as ready for this meeting as she’d been for the dicey press conference when one of their clients was being hammered for using materials supplied by a country that employed child labor at subsistence wages.

  She pushed through the door of her office and strode past Cathy. “I’ll be with Robert.”

  The walk down the long hall seemed interminable, but the man’s assistant waved her in as she approached. “He’s waiting for you.”

  She offered a stiff nod and moved to the door.

  For once it was closed.

  Steeling herself, she gave a quick rap with her knuckles and twisted the knob.

  Robert looked up from his desk. “Come in—and close the door behind you.”

  He’d said that the last time the two of them had a tête-à-tête . . . but based on his solemn demeanor, he wasn’t getting ready to impart happy news today.

  She entered, waiting for him to suggest they talk in his sitting area, as usual.

  He didn’t.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured to a chair across his desk.

  The man was strictly business today.

  As she crossed the room, the coil of knots in her stomach tightened.

  “I tried to reach you over the weekend to discuss the story that app
eared in the Post.” She sat, posture alert but relaxed. It never paid to display nerves.

  “Yes, I know. I got your messages. I also got messages from several clients. The story was picked up by the wire service on Sunday. So far, it’s appeared in newspapers in Chicago, Atlanta, Denver, Kansas City, Cincinnati, Houston, and Nashville.”

  All cities where they had clients—or potential clients.

  Including Brendan Blake Ministries.

  This was a disaster.

  But who’d have expected a decades-old story about some dead foreign exchange student to generate more than local interest?

  Then again . . . spun right and sensationalized, it might have appeal to the masses, who seemed to relish anything with a hint of scandal.

  She should have checked the net, prepped differently. Because the script she’d carefully prepared, laced with reassurances, was now toast.

  But she could wing it. Shooting from the hip was one of her fortes. In fact, she excelled under pressure.

  Resting her elbows on the arms of the chair, she twined her fingers and spaced out her breaths. “This has gotten way out of hand, Robert. I’m very distressed the so-called news has spread outside of St. Louis. Yet the fact remains there’s no substance, and the story will die once the media realize there’s nothing else to report.”

  “Maybe there is.”

  Her fingers tightened. “What do you mean?”

  “According to all the reports, the police are continuing to investigate. If there was no question the deaths of that Czech student’s friends were accidental, there’d be no point in that. Plus, it’s clear the authorities still hope to piece together what happened to that young girl all those years ago. This could drag on for weeks.”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  Robert took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been fielding calls from concerned clients—and potential clients—all weekend, including Brendan Blake himself. That was not how I’d planned to spend my holiday. I assured them all I would deal with the issue first thing this morning.” He folded his hands on his desk and locked gazes with her. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”

  At the left-field question, she blinked. “I go on a spa week every year, as you know. And I always fly down to the Caribbean for a few days in the winter.”

  “I’m talking longer than a week.”

  Her throat constricted. “How long?”

  “However long it takes for this to blow over.”

  Possibly weeks, as he’d just pointed out.

  Long enough for someone else to curry Robert’s favor and edge her out of her favored position.

  “Do you think perhaps this is an overreaction?” She tried to keep her voice steady, but a slight quiver ran through her words.

  “Maybe. But I can’t take any chances, Jessica. I’ve spent my life building up this business, and I won’t put it in jeopardy.”

  Anger began to churn in her gut.

  You’ve built up this business? Who do you think brought in the majority of your top-tier clients? The ones that put you on the map? Before I came, you were content to play in the local league. I’m as much responsible for the success of this company as you are!

  Exerting supreme effort, she reined in her fury and managed to speak in a civil, reasonable tone. “I understand the need to protect the business, and I want what’s best for Peterson-Bradshaw too. I just think this may be an extreme response. Perhaps we could—”

  A discreet tap sounded on the door, and Robert directed an annoyed look toward it. “Yes?”

  His secretary opened the door halfway but stayed on the threshold, casting a curious glance toward Jessica. “Excuse me, Mr. Bradshaw. I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but Cathy stopped in to say 20/20 is trying to reach Ms. Lee. I thought you might want to know ASAP. She took a message.”

  Robert’s face grew even more grim. “Thank you.”

  As the door closed, displeasure tightened his features. “I don’t think we have a choice here, Jessica. I’m going to position your time away as a personal leave. You will, of course, be fully compensated during your absence. Once things quiet down and all of the issues are resolved to the satisfaction of the police, we’ll alert our clients of the outcome and resume business as usual.”

  She clenched her fingers in her lap. “There’s a great deal on my agenda for the next few weeks—including presentations to several potential West Coast clients I’ve been wooing. I’m already on their calendars for later this month.”

  “Brief Adam. I’ll assign him to cover for you while you’re gone.”

  Adam?

  The wet-behind-the-ears MBA grad with a degree so new the ink probably hadn’t dried yet?

  Robert couldn’t be serious.

  She steepled her fingers, pressing the tips firmly against each other to disguise their tremble. “Don’t you think he may be a bit too inexperienced to handle these types of clients?” If Robert hadn’t asked each of his senior staff members to mentor the new hire for a few weeks after he’d joined the firm in January, she’d never have wasted any time on such a green kid.

  “I’m not suggesting he make the presentations, just assist with the prep. If necessary, I can do them. But he’s smart and eager and a go-getter. In a lot of ways, he reminds me of you when you first joined the firm. With adequate coaching and some finessing, I expect he’ll do great things here—and I like nurturing young talent.” He rose and extended his hand. “Help him get up to speed and stay in touch. But use the break for some fun too. You deserve it after all the long hours you’ve put in over the years. Consider it a sabbatical . . . effective today.”

  She took his hand. What choice did she have?

  His grip was firm . . . and final. And the warmth she’d grown accustomed to in his eyes had chilled.

  There was no escaping the truth.

  His confidence in her had been gravely undermined. Once this thing blew over, she’d have to claw her way back into his favor.

  She turned and walked out the door, ignoring his secretary. Continued down the plush carpet in the hall. Stalked past Cathy without a look. Closed her office door behind her, keeping her back to the glass wall as she gripped the top of her desk chair.

  No matter how Robert positioned her extended vacation, everyone would know she’d been asked to leave.

  Jessica Lee didn’t take long vacations.

  Jessica Lee was the hardest-working member of the Peterson-Bradshaw team.

  Jessica Lee had no patience for people who put their personal lives above their professional commitments.

  Everyone would assume she was in trouble with the police who’d paid her more than one visit.

  Yet the truth was, the police had nothing. Her life was in shambles due to evidence that didn’t exist.

  If it wasn’t so tragic, the whole thing would be funny.

  And this sorry state of affairs was all due to Chief Lisa Grant, who’d managed to upend her world and unravel everything she’d worked tirelessly to attain.

  Jessica lowered herself into the desk chair, her back to the outer office, and took a slow, shaky breath. She’d give herself a few moments to calm down. To let reason supersede emotion. To wait for her mind to clear so she could make plans.

  And she had a lot of plans to make.

  Because her enforced vacation wasn’t going to be about relaxation.

  It was going to be about revenge.

  “I’m sorry . . . Ms. Lee is on a leave of absence.”

  As the receptionist in the main lobby of Peterson-Bradshaw shared that news on Wednesday morning, Mac looked over at Lisa.

  She slanted an eyebrow at him before refocusing on the woman. “As of when?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “For how long?”

  The woman lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. It was very . . . sudden. None of us have any details.”

  “Thank you.” Mac smiled at her, took Lisa’s arm, and urged
her toward the door.

  She sent him a silent “What gives?” query but followed his lead.

  Only after they were in the hall, out of sight of the PR firm’s offices, did she speak. “Why such a hurry to leave?”

  He pressed the elevator button. “The receptionist isn’t going to tell us anything. Neither is the head of the firm. I think we both know what happened—but I have an inside source who can probably confirm it . . . and maybe pass on some scuttlebutt.”

  “Cathy.”

  “Right.” He let her precede him into the elevator. “Why don’t I call her from the lobby and see what she has to say? Then we can discuss next steps.”

  “Sounds reasonable. While you chat with her I’ll have one of those herbal iced teas you mentioned the day of the monsoon.”

  As they exited into the lobby and headed toward the coffee bar, he started to dig for his wallet.

  “No.” She stopped him with a touch. “I’ll get the drinks while you focus on more important things. You want coffee?”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Black?”

  “Always.”

  “How come I knew that?”

  Without waiting for a response, she walked over to the counter while he claimed an empty café table.

  He tapped in the main number for Peterson-Bradshaw, masking caller ID with *67 and opting for the automated phone directory rather than live routing by the receptionist.

  The mechanical voice said Cathy’s name as Lisa slid into the chair across from him and slipped off her uniform jacket. The light coming in from the expansive windows highlighted the blue tinge on her jaw that a heavy application of makeup hadn’t been able to disguise.

  His blood pressure shot up. If he’d been there when that punk hurt her, the kid would—

  “What’s wrong?” She cocked her head as she eyed him.

  “Nothing.” Liar, liar. Better to keep his proprietary, protective instincts to himself for now. A strong, independent woman like Lisa might not appreciate them at this stage of their relationship. “I’m just ringing through to her now.”

  She nodded and took a sip of her tea.

  “Cathy Ryan.”

  “Cathy, it’s Detective Mac McGregor from St. Louis County Police. Is this a convenient time to talk?”