The Secret Agenda
by Jacquelyn Webb
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
THE SECRET AGENDA
Copyright © 2012 JACQUELYN WEBB
ISBN 978-1-936852-92-5
Cover Art Designed by
Edited by Judah Raine
Chapter One
“Darwin!” the editor repeated. “A minor conference of politicians and environmentalists! Why are you interested?”
“Might dig up another angle,” Donna said vaguely.
Where was her brother? She decided to track him down even if it took every minute of her working life. The chance comment she’d overheard about pearl divers and the pearl industry was worth following up.
“Didn’t think you would want to be out of Melbourne for too long,” the editor said, belatedly remembering. “How’s your Dad?”
“Good as can be expected.” And that wasn’t too good. Her father was sure he would die.
“Get Matt to come home,” Dad begged. “He’s welcome to go his own way. I’m not a man to hold a grudge over a small argument.”
It had been some argument, and hardly small. Matt Madison was a qualified marine biologist. He stayed at University to do an M.B.A. With the degree finalized, his father then assumed that Matt would move into the family business.
Matt then announced that he was going to ‘bum around’ for a few years. No one in their right mind should have to cope with being tied for life to the daily trivia of ‘a cheap chain of retail stores,’ he explained calmly.
His father turned almost purple with rage. He reminded Matt that the selfsame chain of retail stores had kept them all fed and educated very comfortably throughout their lives. The argument ended with Matt slamming out of the place and vanishing.
Donna was assured that the heart attack, which happened a few weeks later, was not caused by the fight. But after it, her father lost interest in everything and only wanted his son back. So Donna went hunting. Matt was not at his flat, lease paid up and discontinued. None of his friends seemed aware of his movements or his future plans. At last she tracked down where Matt was supposed to be staying and left urgent messages about their father’s health. He ignored them.
She tracked down Matt’s favorite girlfriend, and received an even greater shock. Little Jenny was eighteen, fair-haired, sweet-faced, and pregnant. Donna was horrified. What sort of monster had her nice idealistic brother turned into? Had he cleared out to avoid the responsibility of a pregnancy?
“Matt had no right…” And then in sudden understanding: “You didn’t tell him! What do you think you are doing?”
“My choice,” Jenny said. “I am not going along with Matt’s idea that we wait another five years until I am through my degree and all the et ceteras. Besides, Matt has got enough on his plate at the moment.”
“Like what?”
“That’s his business, and if he hasn’t told you, he doesn’t want you to know.”
“What do your parents think?” the shocked Donna demanded.
“I’m swapping to an interstate university so they won’t find out.”
“Do you need any money, any help?”
“I’ve got an allowance from a trust fund. There will be no questions asked.”
Donna sighed. How could anyone so young be so ruthless about organizing her life? Donna was furious that she wasn’t allowed to pass on to her father that he was going to be presented with a grandchild. Her brother had no right to be so irresponsible and pig-headed. She would find him and drag him home whatever it took.
However, Matt seemed a master at covering his tracks and sliding off into invisibility. He owed no one any money. He had not had a fight with anyone. Why would he disappear just because he wanted to ‘bum around’?
The weeks slid past, and she kept on hunting. She was an investigative journalist after all, with a lot of contacts. Though puzzled by her behavior, her editor approved of her interest in chasing around to do articles about divers, fishermen, and other nomadic occupations.
“With your track record, I suppose you might snoop out something worthwhile,” the editor said more cheerfully as he remembered her popular articles. “It was a good series of articles you got out of your investigation into the trawler industry.”
A satisfactory enough series, Donna thought crossly. Except Matt, the alleged John Smith, temporary fisherman, had already left.
“And you were short-listed for an award on that article on the dangers facing the divers on the offshore rigs,” her editor reminded her.
But the particular diver Donna had hoped to find, who called himself Sam Browne, had already moved on. Donna had missed him by only a few precious days. Time was running out. There was the grim time limit of her father’s failing health and Jenny’s advancing pregnancy. If her brother was traveling up the coastline working as a diver or fisherman, Darwin or Broome could be his next stop…or would he move overseas?
“You can head up there,” her editor decided at last. “It’s not worth sending anyone up with you. Nick Carrellas is on the spot, so he can do your photographs. You remember him—tall and dark. We sent him up on assignment a few years ago, and he stayed.”
“Not very inspiring,” Donna grumbled.
“Competent enough. Rush back as soon as possible.”
Chapter Two
Darwin didn’t seem the sort of place where people rushed anywhere. She had noticed immediately the difference between the Darwin airport and other airport terminals. It was the lack of rush and bustle. No one seemed in a hurry. Although only four hours from Melbourne, it was like being stranded in a different world.
First the plane was late. Then there was no sign of the photographer who was supposed to collect her. Donna fumed and waited some more. Travelers collected luggage, met friends, and drifted off. She glared at her watch. Wasting time hanging around Darwin airport was the last thing she wanted to do now she had actually arrived. Why wasn’t the photographer on time? She would leave a message at the office that she was taking a taxi to her hotel and catch up with him later.
She realized with annoyance that the Darwin office number was in her case. Donna strode fast across the carpeted hall towards the phones and their phone books, reaching for her mobile; and the air-conditioning barely kept her heated temper under control when it happened.
Donna walked into a luggage trolley, tripped, and hurtled against someone with such force that they both went over. She tried to protect her laptop as she fell, and she dropped her mobile. Arms curved around her protectively as she matched her length along the man below her. Donna stared, enthralled, into the gleaming dark eyes. Well-cut lips curved up, exposing teeth white against tanned skin. It was a nice smile, she decided, and her lips started an upward curve in response.
“Sure looks like one of them new breed of women who have to be on top,” an onlooker drawled.
There was a chorus of male snickers. Donna returned to awkward reality. Her tailored skirt was caught up against her thighs, and she sprawled across a grinning stranger in a graceless tangle of legs. His protective hand had somehow caught and pulled out her neat chignon, so her dark hair tumbled, curling, down her back.
“Let me go,�
�� Donna ordered.
“You’re the boss.”
There were more snickers from the watchers. The stranger grinned more widely and slowly stood, lifting Donna with him. He released her until he was only steadying her arms. So slow was the release of his grip that the retreat of his hands felt like a parting caress.
“You all right, mate?” The man in the stained shorts and grubby tee shirt stared at Donna with disapproval. “You ought to look where you’re going, miss. You knocked that guy flying when you bounced off my trolley.”
“You should look where you’re going,” Donna snapped.
She tried to retain her poise at the circle of amused faces. Where had they all come from? Didn’t everyone in the Darwin airport this hot afternoon have anything better to do than gape at strangers?
“But it was a pleasure to be bumped into,” the stranger protested.
“Speak for yourself.” Donna stooped to pick up her mobile and slid it into her pocket.
“But I am,” the stranger said earnestly.
Donna glared up at him, and realized absently how tall he was. There were not many men she had to look up to apart from her father and brother. There was something foreign looking about the high-sculpted cheekbones and strong nose. North American Italian blood? Donna wondered. His broad shoulders filled out a soft cotton shirt. A professional-looking camera case was looped around his neck. It was what he had been protecting as they had fallen.
There was only one sort of person who instinctively guarded their camera. Was it too much of a coincidence that he was tall, dark, good-looking, and so quick to see an opportunity to flirt?
Under her gaze he straightened his mouth and the dimple at its side vanished. The dark eyes gazed soulfully down into hers. She spotted the returning dimple. She blinked, and the spell was broken. This clown thought he was being funny!
“If you’re Nick Carrellas, my photographer,” she said, “I’m Donna Madison. Why weren’t you waiting for me?”
“I’ve been waiting all my life for you,” was the slow reply. “I’m certainly one photographer at your service. Your method of introduction has left a lasting impression.”
Another snicker of amusement went around the watchers. Donna stiffened. Par for the course, she thought scornfully, remembering the office gossip.
“Nick Carrellas,” the other journos had warned. “He might be tall, dark and handsome, but totally out of control. Lays anything in skirts.”
“So your wait is over. I’ll collect my case, and we can leave.” Donna wrenched herself from his grasp then sagged. The strong hands fastened back on her arms and held her full weight effortlessly.
“You all right?”
“I think I’ve twisted my ankle,” Donna admitted.
“We’ll go straight to the hospital and get it X-rayed. No problem.”
“My case?”
“Under control,” he soothed. He gestured at a grinning teenager. “Collect Miss Donna Madison’s case.”
He effortlessly swung Donna into his arms, laptop as well, and carried her towards the exit. There was an impulsive cheer from the dispersing watchers. Donna struggled to free herself.
“Put me down. I can walk.”
“You don’t want to risk doing any more damage to your ankle,” he warned. “Also, you would feel less like an unresponsive block of concrete to carry if you put your arms around my neck, Miss Madison.”
He was right, of course, Donna realized crossly. She was enough of a weight to carry as it was. She slid her arms around his neck, still clutching her laptop and dropped her head against his shoulder.
It was a novel sensation. She had never been swept up into anyone’s arms and carried before. It made her feel oddly feminine. Had there been the slightest hint of a question when he emphasized that Miss? According to office gossip, being married had made not the slightest difference to Nick Carrellas.
Well, he wasn’t going to add her to his hit list, Donna told herself. Although hadn’t that quickly suppressed dimple hinted at humor, which most womanizers didn’t have in good supply? She had to grudgingly admit that he was very fit to stride along as if she was no weight at all. Also the clear dark eyes and smooth tanned skin didn’t fit the look of the reputed hard drinking Nick Carrellas. Perhaps it was just malicious office slander?
His eyes were fringed with heavy black lashes that gave them a curiously slumberous look. He glanced down, and their eyes met. Donny looked away, suddenly uncomfortable, and relieved he couldn’t read thoughts.
“Seeing that we will be working together, it may as well be Donna,” she said.
“A pretty name for a pretty lady,” was the too smooth reply.
Donna was immediately reassured by these clichéd words. For a few seconds she had been almost attracted, but this too-smooth response was a timely reminder of his reputation. Pretty she had never been, despite her widely-spaced, dark-fringed green eyes.
She was usually referred to as magnificent. Her mirror reflected a face that managed to be a well-proportioned oval despite the strong and generous mouth above the determined chin. She stood face to face with most men and towered over most others. Men were only too glad to concede her full equality in every way.
She would remember to stay on her guard with this photographer, she reminded herself sternly.
Chapter Three
Outside the shelter of the air-conditioned building, the heat hit like a solid wall. The sky was a brazen blue, and the sun reflected subtle red tints in the dark hair of the man carrying her.
She spared a thankful glance for the case of summer clothes being carried by the grinning young boy following them. Even in her lightweight suit, she was already uncomfortably hot and sweaty. Melbourne had been briskly cold when she had left that morning.
The tall man seemed unaffected by either the heat or her weight as he strode across the car park. Donna became unnerved by the thoughtful scrutiny, and the dimple in attendance at the side of the amused mouth was infuriating. What was so amusing about the situation anyway?
“I’ll have to get changed before the walk this afternoon,” she said.
“What walk?”
“You should have a copy of the agenda,” Donna accused as she glared up at him.
The office had warned that Nick Carrellas was hopelessly disorganized. “Too much more on his mind,” someone had snickered.
“We’re supposed to be spending the next few days working the same venues.”
“I didn’t receive a copy, honest,” he apologized.
“Great start this is to my assignment,” Donna grumbled.
“I have a photographic memory,” he assured her. His mouth curved into a broad grin. “Just a quick glance at your agenda will be sufficient.”
They reached a silver BMW. The boy moved ahead to open the passenger side door with the keys he carried.
“I didn’t know the local paper paid this well,” Donna said in surprise.
“Only on lease,” he assured her as he stooped to lower her on the car seat.
Donna relaxed. She slid her laptop on to the floor of the car. Her ankle throbbed, and the heat had already given her a headache. She twisted her hair back into its chignon. The boy opened the boot to drop Donna’s case in, closed it, gave the keys back to their owner and strolled away.
“Thanks, Johnno,” the photographer called after him. He started to close the passenger door when someone spoke. He looked up. “Lang,” the voice repeated again. “Who’s the good-looking wench you’re abducting?”
A man equally as tall as the photographer leaned on the car. His bright blue eyes studied Donna in undisguised appreciation. He was also dark haired, but there the resemblance stopped. The stranger’s curling, overlong hair fell across a lined, reckless, weather-beaten face; and the bloodshot blue eyes were set in dissipated pouches. He wore a stained white singlet, and the belt of his light-colored slacks was tightened under a paunchy thickened waistline. Looped around his neck was a battered camera case.
Donna examined him. What had someone at the office joked about Nick Carrellas and his baby blue eyes? Suspicion grew. She gave her helpful tall photographer a cold stare. His eyes were so dark brown they were nearly black. Her suspicion became confirmed.
“Hi. Nick,” the dark-eyed man greeted. He gestured to Donna. “Miss Donna Madison, and…er…Nick Carrellas.”
“Sorry I’m late, Donna,” the man introduced as Nick Carrellas apologized. “Glad Lang is looking after you.”
Donna glared at the helpful Lang. “You’re not my photographer?”
“I’m one photographer,” he admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you are a lady who makes a practice of jumping to conclusions.” Lang said with a grin.
Donna turned her glare to Nick who winked, inspected her long legs and gave a stagy leer. She grinned. It was rather silly. She had been letting the heat and her throbbing ankle get to her.
“Lang Torrens does the odd stint for the paper when I can’t make it,” Nick said. “Lang, this is Donna Madison, our top journo in the eastern states.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Lang said gravely.
“I was fishing and stayed longer than I intended,’ Nick explained. “Is there a reason Lang was carrying you, or did he just sweep you off your feet?”
“Don’t be silly,” Donna said. “I fell and twisted my ankle, and Lang offered to take me to the hospital for an x-ray.”
“And Nick will vouch I’m a reputable member of society,” Lang said.
“Dunno about that,” Nick replied. “Still, guess you can be trusted with the magnificent Madison.” He looked speculatively at Donna. “Will you be okay to get around? We’ve a pretty full agenda for the next few days.”
“On my feet or crutches, I will still be all right,” Donna assured him. “This is my assignment.”
“Well, she won’t be able to climb into that heap you call a four-wheel drive. So I’ll take her to the hospital and on to her hotel,” Lang said. “On your way, Nick.”
The Secret Agenda Page 1
