Читать книгу Hidden Agenda - Kara Lennox - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

I’M IN! JILLIAN BAXTER tried not to let the sense of triumph show on her face as the personnel director, Joyce Carrington, droned on about vacation policy and 401(k) plans. Jillian had crossed her first hurdle as a field investigator at Project Justice: she’d been hired by Mayall Lumber. Now she would infiltrate the company and catch a murderer.

“Well, we can go over all this when you officially start,” Joyce said breezily. She was a pleasant, matronly sort with a cloud of dark, frizzy hair escaping from numerous barrettes, a blouse with a coffee stain, and a desk piled high with messy stacks of paper itching to be sorted and organized. “We’ll make the job offer official as soon as Mr. Blake signs off.”

“Mr. Blake?”

“He’ll be your direct supervisor,” Joyce said. “I’ll warn you, he’s quite challenging. He’s been through four admins this year already. But with your experience, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble.”

Jillian’s experience was mostly fabricated. Daniel Logan, CEO of Project Justice, had put together a résumé that had made her sound like the best administrative assistant in all of Texas, making sure her stellar references would check out.

But Jillian had full confidence in her ability to please this Mr. Blake, whoever he was. He couldn’t possibly be any more demanding than Daniel was, and she’d been Daniel’s personal assistant for years before transferring to the foundation’s investigative arm.

“I’ll walk you over to his office.” Joyce stood, bumping one of the precariously balanced stacks of paper, which fell to the floor in a flurry of printed reports, invoices, newspaper clippings and employee candidate résumés.

Jillian hopped out of her chair to help clean up the mess. One particular paper caught her eye; it was a memo from the company’s public relations office with lots of capital letters and exclamation points.

Under no circumstances should anyone speak with reporter Mark Bowen— That was as much as Jillian could read on the fly.

“Oh, goodness, thank you,” Joyce said. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten behind in my paperwork. Things have been a little crazy around here the last few weeks.”

Jillian wasn’t surprised. When one of your employees was murdered and found in the trunk of your CEO’s car, it probably created all kinds of havoc.

Jillian made no reference to the scandalous situation. “Business is booming, then?” she asked innocently.

“Well, yes, business is good. But that’s not… It’s just that we’ve lost some key people recently. Others are retiring, including our acting CEO.”

Hamilton Payne. He was the one who had contacted Project Justice, and the only person working here who knew of Jillian’s true purpose.

“Your job must be quite demanding,” Jillian said sympathetically as she stacked the last of the fallen papers and laid them on the desk. “I hope you have a good admin.”

“On maternity leave,” Joyce said glumly.

“If I have any extra time, I’d be happy to help you out.” Jillian wasn’t just being generous. Joyce obviously knew the ins and outs of Mayall Lumber—who the key players were, their salaries, their responsibilities. She and her office could be a gold mine of information.

“Trust me, working for Mr. Blake, you won’t have much free time. He’ll keep you busy.”

Jillian hoped this Mr. Blake wouldn’t be too ghastly. But no matter how bad he was, she would make it work. She only had to put up with it for a short time, just until she found something to prove Stan Mayall’s innocence.

Mr. Blake’s office was on the third floor, in the executive wing. Mayall Lumber was a medium-size operation, with two sawmills, one large lumberyard and a posh corporate headquarters overlooking Houston’s Buffalo Bayou. They had only one retail outlet, a small place that specialized in exotic woods of the highest quality for furniture and cabinet makers. Most of their business involved selling to the construction trade and small lumber retailers. Daniel had provided tons of information on the company, which Jillian had dutifully memorized. Her knowledge had obviously impressed Joyce.

The personnel director stopped in front of an oak door and tapped softly. “Mr. Blake?”

“It’s open,” a deep voice called from inside.

Jillian barely had time to register that something about the voice struck a chord of familiarity before Joyce ushered her inside the gorgeous office.

The first thing Jillian noticed was the wood—wood floor, paneling, box beams holding up the ceiling. It was all stained a dark cherry color with beautiful grain. The furniture was made of wood, too. Despite the lack of upholstery, the chairs looked warm and comfortable. The desk, big as a Humvee, was made of some gleaming, exotic wood with a stripe pattern, reminding her of a crouched jungle beast. The only softness in the whole room was a low-slung 1960s retro sofa.

Finally she raised her gaze to the man behind the desk, her new boss. Every sane thought, every polished word she’d been about to use to introduce herself, melted away like mist in the sun. The giant, egotistical, bastard sun.

Mr. Blake. Conner Blake. The boy who had made high school a living hell for her. The boy she had once desperately loved, then hated with all the angst a fourteen-year-old girl could muster.

The cocky, mischievous boy was now a man, but despite the umpteen years since she’d seen him, he was instantly recognizable. A bit taller, a bit broader in the shoulders, hair more sandy than blond, but the beautifully carved planes of his face had grown only more handsome with the passage of time.

“Mr. Blake, I’d like you to meet your new administrative assistant, Jillian Baxter.”

He looked at her then, and she figured the jig was up. She would have to slink back to Project Justice with no job, her first undercover operation a bust because she had, in a fit of adolescent revenge, slashed two of her potential boss’s tires, an impulsive act that had only escalated her humiliation into high school legend.

But the look on his face reflected not a hint of recognition, only what she surmised was mild irritation at having to deal with the mundane task of welcoming a new assistant.

She held her breath as introductions, handshaking, and small talk ensued, waiting for the inevitable moment when he remembered. But, amazingly, it never came. Conner Blake had once been the center of her world. Apparently Jillian Baxter had been nothing but a tiny, forgettable blip on his radar screen.

He was still so gorgeous. It wasn’t fair that the universe would give one man that much sexy charisma. Even as the feelings of humiliation welled up, fresh as a new coat of nail polish, her heart thumped with an irregular tempo from the simple contact of a handshake and the knowledge that he was sizing her up.

What did he think of her, this new acquaintance suddenly thrust into his working life? While he retained a certain essence of his high school face and physique, she looked very different than she had the last time he’d seen her, as a high school freshman. She’d grown five inches and lost twenty pounds, for starters. The chlorine-bleached, frizzy cloud of hair from high school, courtesy of swim team, was now tamed into a sleek bob with expert lowlights.

She’d still been in braces her freshman year. She’d also worn glasses. And then there was…the nose. She’d broken it at a swim meet her senior year, and since she’d needed rhinoplasty anyway, she’d asked the surgeon to transform her nose so it was more in proportion to her face.

If her name didn’t ring a bell, Conner probably wouldn’t recognize her by her appearance, and that was a very good thing. If she didn’t shine during her first undercover assignment, she might never get any respect from her colleagues at Project Justice. She would forever be Daniel’s ex-assistant, the one who’d made a fool of herself by falling in love with her boss.

That’s all over now. New life, new goals. Jillian Baxter, finally grown up at age twenty-seven, knew what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to help exonerate those unjustly accused of crimes. And she didn’t want a man—any man. The two men she’d given her heart to, devoted every fiber of her being to, had both brushed her aside with not even a flicker of interest.

The wanting hurt, and the rejection hurt, and why should she put herself through that again? Ever?

“So, I’ll expect you to be prompt,” Conner was saying. “I start my workday at 7:00 a.m., and therefore, so will you.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Blake,” she said with all the icy politeness she could muster even as her mind screamed, 7:00 a.m.? Is he crazy?

Joyce beamed. “Very good, then. Jillian, come with me and we’ll get all your paperwork started.” She headed out the door, and Jillian offered a nod to her new boss and followed. “Oh, goodness, I haven’t even shown you your work space. It’s just around the corner from Mr. Blake’s office, here. I’m afraid it’s a bit of a mess. The previous admin has been gone three weeks and things have piled up.”

Jillian took one look at the office and cringed. It would take her hours to shovel this place out. She couldn’t stand to work in a disorganized space.

“I should have warned you Mr. Blake starts the workday early,” Joyce rattled on. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” Jillian wasn’t a morning person, but she would do whatever it took to please her new boss, even if she despised him down to his rotten, cruel core.

* * *

“I REALLY NEED THAT REPORT ASAP.” Hamilton Payne, acting CEO at Mayall Lumber, sank into the wingback chair opposite Conner’s desk. At first glance, Hamilton gave the impression of a doddering grandfather, but Conner knew he wielded a keen mind and as director of sales had cultivated a healthy client base and a steady stream of new business for twenty years or more. He was running things while Stan was incarcerated, but he was on the verge of retirement and didn’t relish his new leadership role.

“I’m working on it.” Conner shuffled through the papers on his desk as if he could actually accomplish something.

“Maybe your new secretary could help.” Ham was obviously trying to keep a straight face, but Conner could tell he was about to burst out laughing.

Conner pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You met her?”

“Joyce trotted her around and introduced her. I don’t know why she thinks I want to meet every damn secretary she hires.”

“She does it for them—so they’ll feel important.”

The new girl was hot, that was for sure. The moment she’d walked into his office, Conner’s brain had short-circuited and he hadn’t heard a word Joyce said. He’d been too busy cataloging those mile-long legs, which her short skirt and stiletto heels showed off to perfection.

The rest of her was just as stunning, from her nipped-in waist, her long, elegant neck to her huge, innocent blue eyes.

Innocent, right. A woman built like her was made for sin. She was a distraction he didn’t need. Good thing she wouldn’t be around long. For some reason, they never were.

“I’ll make the report a priority,” he said to Ham. “I’ve just been a little distracted. With Greg gone, I’m shuffling people around, trying to cover all the bases.”

Ham lowered his voice. “Have you learned anything new? About who might have killed him? You and I both know it couldn’t have been Stan.”

Conner’s throat tightened every time he thought about Stan Mayall toughing it out in a jail cell. Stan wasn’t just a boss to him. He’d been a mentor, a sounding board and a good friend. For three years Stan had also been Conner’s grandfather-in-law, as dear to him as any blood relative could have been. They’d remained close even after Conner’s divorce from Chandra.

“Of course he didn’t do it. There’s no way a jury would convict him.” But the case might not even get to a jury, if Stan’s health continued to decline. He’d been diagnosed with cancer just a week before his arrest. “It’s not right. He should be at home, where Chandra can take care of him.”

“I know.” Ham shook his head sadly. “I wish there was something we could do.”

Conner was doing something. He was peering into every nook and cranny of this company, searching for a motive for murder. He’d even found his way into Greg’s email account. So far, he’d turned up nothing concrete. But Greg’s personal life was a minefield of broken relationships and family feuds. Maybe his mysterious girlfriend, “Mariposa,” was involved. Conner knew of her only through the sexy emails she and Greg had sent back and forth. Maybe Greg had dumped her, and she’d hired a killer and told him to make it look like the murder was work-related.

It was a theory, anyway.

“Keep me in the loop.” Ham pushed himself to his feet. “I’m supposed to retire in less than a month. I can’t put it off any longer—my doctor and my wife have ganged up on me. But I don’t want to leave Stan, or the company, in the lurch.”

“I swear, Ham, we’ll figure it out. The most important thing we can do is to keep the company afloat. So when Stan is exonerated—and I know he will be—he’ll have a job to return to.”

And Conner could finally get his own life back. He would gladly walk away from this corner office and burn every one of his silk ties.

* * *

JILLIAN COULDN’T RESIST announcing her good news as soon as she bounced into the bull pen at Project Justice late that afternoon. “I’m in! Mayall Lumber hired me!”

The only other investigator there was Griffin Benedict, who was on the phone. He looked up with mild irritation, and she realized she could have been overheard by whoever Griffin was talking to. One of the first rules of working for the foundation was discretion.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, then whispered a quick “Sorry.” The only other people in the room were two interns, college students with whom she had worked until her recent “promotion” into fieldwork.

They both looked up at her. Bernie, the nicer one, gave her a tepid thumbs-up, but Kendall, who’d never gone out of her way to say anything nice to Jillian, rolled her eyes.

“Come to lord it over us?” Kendall said. “It’s not like you were really promoted. It’s just that you have secretarial experience.” She said the word secretarial as if it were nasty. “Soon as this job is finished, you’ll be back in the intern ghetto, licking envelopes and making coffee.”

“Probably.” Jillian tried not to let Kendall’s attitude bother her. “But at least I get to work in the field for a while.”

“You say ‘work in the field’ like you’re a secret agent or something.” Kendall didn’t try to hide her sneer. “Daniel isn’t, like, letting you carry a gun or anything, is he?”

“No, of course not.” Not yet. But she’d taken a firearms training course and had applied for her license to carry concealed. That was a long way from Daniel letting her do any such thing, but it was a step in the right direction. “I’m gathering intelligence.”

Kendall’s eyes lit up. “About what?”

Though Jillian wanted to dish, she knew she shouldn’t. Discretion, discretion. “I can’t really talk about it.”

Again, Kendall rolled her eyes.

“By the time this assignment is over, you guys will be back at school. So, this is goodbye.”

“We’ll miss you.” Bernie clearly didn’t mean it.

Kendall said nothing.

They were both probably glad to see her go. She’d already been working here several months when they’d arrived for their summer internships, so she’d shown them the ropes and tried to bond with them. But neither had warmed up to her. She was only five or six years older than them, but it was enough to cause a small generation gap.

She’d never been very good at making friends. In high school, at the exclusive Shelby Academy, she’d been shy and withdrawn, preferring books and her active fantasy life to interaction with real people. Swim team had been her only extracurricular activity, and she’d never distinguished herself in the sport, though she still loved the water, and all those laps she’d swum had at least slimmed her down.

In college, she’d fared better. With her new nose, bright, even teeth and long, blond hair, she garnered lots of attention from young men, none of whom impressed her because by then, she’d fallen hard for Daniel Logan. Their fathers had worked together, and all through college she’d spent summers at the Logan estate helping out Daniel’s mother.

While the guys flocked around her, other women, even her sorority sisters, had held her at arm’s length. She’d earned a reputation as snooty when really, she’d just been shy. She still didn’t relate well to other women. Some were put off by her trust fund, others by her attractiveness—she was honest enough to admit she’d turned out rather well in that department, given her shaky start. They didn’t want her around their husbands and boyfriends.

“Well, see you around.” She left the bull pen and went to find the one person she felt pretty sure would be happy for her—aside from Daniel, who sincerely wanted her to find a place in the world where she belonged.

Celeste Boggs, the office manager, was just shutting things down for the day at her station in the lobby—turning off her computer, packing up the magazines and books she liked to read during lulls in activity.

Celeste was somewhere in her seventies. She’d been the first woman patrol officer hired by the Houston Police Department, and despite decades of service had never been promoted to detective. Now she seemed to be rebelling against years in a uniform. Every day she showed up for work in an outfit more outlandish and age-inappropriate than the day before. Today it was a red polka-dot chiffon blouse with a big bow at the neck coupled with a red miniskirt and rhinestone gladiator sandals. Her long, acrylic nails bore decals of neon flowers, and her unruly gray hair was drawn up into a ponytail atop her head, resulting in a cascade of curls. Huge red dangle earrings completed the ensemble.

“Hey, Celeste.” Jillian leaned her elbows on the semicircular granite desk, designed to impress visitors. “What happened to the go-go dancer you mugged to get those earrings?”

“Buried in a shallow grave,” Celeste said in a stage whisper. “You like?” She gave her head a little shake. “Bought ’em on eBay.”

“Very retro cool. They look great on you.” Jillian actually admired Celeste’s fearless sense of style. The older woman didn’t care what anyone thought of her and dressed solely to please herself, and in the process had achieved a sort of thrift-store chic.

“So, spill it,” Celeste said. “Did you get the job?”

“I did.”

“Good for you.” Celeste took her through her complicated high/low-five sequence. “This is your chance to shine. You do realize, don’t you, that you’re the first female investigator at Project Justice?”

Jillian frowned. “What about Raleigh?” Raleigh Benedict, Griffin’s wife, was head of Legal but also managed her own cases. She was one of the most senior staff members.

“Raleigh runs things from a legal perspective,” Celeste said. “When it comes to fieldwork, she gets one of the guys to help her.”

“Well, I’m not an investigator yet. This is an important case—Daniel himself is coordinating the investigation. I’m just doing a small part.”

“Yeah, but you’re working undercover. If you do a good job, you have the chance to move into the vacancy Billy left.”

Billy Cantu had recently left Project Justice to return to the work he was truly meant to do, as a police detective. Only in her dreams could Jillian fill his shoes.

She voiced the question she’d been wondering about ever since Kendall’s put-down. “Do you think Daniel asked me to do this because of my experience as an admin? I can’t envision Griffin or Ford fetching coffee and making copies for some guy in a suit. Maybe I was the only one he could talk into it.”

“It doesn’t matter how you got the assignment,” Celeste said. “The important thing is what you do with it.”

True. But it still rankled.

“Daniel’s instructions were pretty clear. I’m not supposed to do anything except keep my eyes and ears open and report to him. He told me not to actively investigate.”

Celeste made a face. “Good thing you’ve got a mind of your own.” She shouldered her red patent-leather purse, too large to be legal as an airline carry-on, and made her way to the front door with her enormous ring of keys. “You listen to me, and you’ll come out of this operation smelling like a rose. The first thing you have to do is make friends with the other support staff—admins, legal assistants. They’ll gossip about their bosses, I guarantee it.”

“That’s a wonderful idea…in theory. But I suck at making new friends.” Oddly, though, Celeste seemed to like Jillian. The elderly woman was fierce and gruff with most everyone else, but she treated Jillian like her baby chick.

Celeste dropped her keys into her purse, then paused to look Jillian up and down. “You’re too perfect,” she said bluntly. “You intimidate other women. They despise you even as they want to be just like you.”

Leave it to Celeste to speak the unvarnished truth.

“Don’t worry,” Celeste soothed. “It’s nothing to do with your personality.”

Jillian wasn’t so sure about that. Last year, when Daniel’s eventual wife, Jamie, got sick, some people actually suspected Jillian of poisoning her.

“But you might try looking more…ordinary.”

“Ordinary.” Jillian wasn’t sure what Celeste meant. She felt she was ordinary.

“Like you don’t have a trust fund, girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

Celeste shut off the lights and set the security alarm. Phil, the night watchman, would arrive shortly. Celeste had left him a Snickers bar, Jillian noticed. She licked her lips, wondering if Phil would mind…

“Now,” Celeste said, snapping Jillian’s attention away from the chocolate temptation, “aside from the other secretaries, you need to get to know the janitors, or anybody who cleans or makes repairs. Those people are essentially invisible, but they see and hear much more than you think. Imagine what they could find out just by looking through the trash.”

“That’s the key? Getting to know people at work?”

“It’s the cornerstone of all undercover work, all police work, really. People have to get to know you before they’ll trust you. And they have to trust you before they’ll tell you their secrets.”

“Thanks, Celeste.” It sounded like good advice to her, and she could do it without disobeying Daniel’s orders to refrain from actively investigating, something he deemed too risky because she didn’t have police training.

“Oh, one more thing.” Celeste reached into her voluminous bag and drew out a small, black disk about the size of a quarter. “It’s a listening bug. Plant it in the office of someone you want to spy on, hide the digital recorder within a hundred feet. It’s voice-activated. The recorder has a memory card. You pop it into your computer and listen to the audiofiles. Elevates eavesdropping to a whole new level. Go on, take it.”

Jillian hesitated. “What if I get caught eavesdropping? I’d get fired and my cover would be blown.”

Celeste lowered her voice. “Daniel said to listen, right? This is listening. You gotta take some chances sometimes. I worked undercover in Vice playing a prostitute. Had to deal with some pretty shady characters. My life depended on keeping my identity and my true purpose a secret. You just have to be smart about it.”

Jillian took the bug and the small recorder with murmured thanks and hurriedly tucked it into her own purse. Despite Celeste’s confidence, she wouldn’t use it—she couldn’t take the risk of getting caught. Not only would Mayall Lumber fire her, but so would Daniel.