Hidden Agenda

“I’m in the business of information.” He stepped closer.

Even in the dark, she saw his glare.

She’d gotten on his bad side, and rightfully so. But she didn’t care. She was leaving here as soon as this storm cleared, and she’d never see this man again. At the moment, she wasn’t worried about impressing anyone, especially not Ed Carter.

She stepped closer, close enough to show that she wasn’t one to back down from a confrontation. “If you’re in the business of information, then you need to check your sources. I was with your father when he died.”

Ed didn’t break his gaze. “Then that makes you my number one suspect.”

She sucked in a deep breath, outrage bursting inside her. “You think that I—”

Just then, a crash sounded downstairs.

Ed and Bailey’s eyes met and, for a moment, they seemed to agree. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

And standing here arguing would do nothing to help figure out what.

* * *

Ed’s muscles tightened when he heard the noise.

He’d hoped to handle one catastrophe at a time.

Now, instead of trying to figure what in the world this woman was talking about, he had to investigate the source of that shattered glass.

If he were less of a gentleman, he might leave this Bailey woman up here to defend herself. But he wasn’t that kind of guy. No matter how frustrating the woman might be, she was coming with him.

“Stay close,” he ordered.

She crossed her arms, her gaze defiant and stubborn. “I’d rather take my chances alone.”

“This is no time to be difficult.” He should just leave her. If only his conscience would let him.

“I’m not being difficult. I’m being honest.”

The woman had guts. But he spoke the truth—this wasn’t the time to try out her hand at independence. She was his first suspect in his father’s death, but he’d learned a thing or two about having tunnel vision in his line of work. Until he had more information, he would keep his eyes open for others. He didn’t have enough evidence to make a case against any one person yet.

“Stay with me,” he repeated. He turned, tired of wasting time. He needed to check out that sound.

When he was sure that Bailey was right behind him, he moved toward the stairs. He kept his gun raised, waiting for any sound or sign of approaching danger. Nothing gave any indication that someone else was in the house.

The crash could have been caused by the storm. But until he knew for sure, Ed had to explore every possibility. There were an uncountable number of people out there who’d like to kill Ed or who could have killed his father. Danger was like breathing for Ed—it was a given. He was always on guard. Always suspicious. It was a hard way to live, but he’d gotten used to it—until recently. Something was shifting inside him, and he wasn’t sure what or how to handle it.

Despite her bravado earlier, Bailey stayed surprisingly close behind him. He could hear her breaths coming quick and fast. Though he suspected she would never admit it, she was scared.

He stopped at the base of the stairs, and Bailey collided with him. He pivoted in time to see her toppling backward. He grabbed her arm and steadied her before she hurt herself. When he released her, she brushed her shirt off. Getting rid of his touch maybe?

He didn’t have time for these games.

He put a finger over his lips to signal silence. She nodded and stayed behind him as they stepped into the kitchen. Wind swept through the room, bringing a chill with it. As lightning flashed again, the ragged edges of one of the bay windows by the breakfast nook came into view.

A tree limb lay half inside, half outside the house.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. The noise had just been nature doing the damage, not anyone dangerous. He lowered his gun.

“It looks like it was the storm after all,” Bailey muttered, stepping out from behind him, her shoulders relaxing some. “A nuisance, but the better of the options racing through my mind. I’ll get a broom.”

He tucked his weapon into his jacket. “Know where any plastic is? I need to cover that hole up.”

“Look in the west wing of the house. There are entire rooms with furniture covered in sheets of the stuff. You should be able to find something there.”

Her words were cold. She thought she knew him, knew his reasons for being away. But she had no idea. And he didn’t have to explain himself to her. In fact, he wouldn’t explain himself to her. All of this was none of her business.

He’d come here to figure out who’d killed his dad. He only wished he had more to go on than the cryptic message his father’s friend had left him. Then the man had died before relaying any information. Now his father was dead, as well.

As Ed headed into the blackness known as the west wing, he comforted himself with the fact that his father had run a check on Bailey before she was hired. But the best operatives were good. Really good. They slipped by the normal screenings. A few had slipped by high-level screenings.

Until he could identify the guilty party, he’d trust no one.

He was no fool. When his father had told him he was hiring a nurse, Ed had looked into Bailey himself. Her past had seemed seriously lacking. Could that be a sign she was a Goody Two-shoes or that her background had been fabricated?

He stopped at the first room in the hallway. The door creaked open. On the other side, he saw what was probably a ballroom at one time. Pieces of furniture stood like pretend ghosts in a haunted house. Each was covered and draped with either plastic or white sheets.

He grabbed some thick plastic off a wing chair and carried it back into the kitchen. Bailey was already there sweeping up the glass shards on the floor.

“Nails?” he asked.

He didn’t have to see her expression to know her thoughts. If you’d been around more, maybe you wouldn’t have to ask me these questions.

He wished he had been around more. He’d wanted to be. But his job had required a lot of him. In essence, it had required his life, and Ed’s father knew that. Ed’s father had helped him get the position. His dad knew all about the risks, the sacrifices. It came with the territory.

Bailey continued to brush the glass into a trash can. “The toolbox is under the sink.”

While he was gone, Bailey had lit some candles around the room. Warm light flickered at the sink, on the breakfast table and on top of the kitchen island.

Ed found the nails and a hammer—right where Bailey had said they would be—and, after moving the limb from the window, he secured the thick plastic around the frame. At least the room would be protected against water damage. It wouldn’t do much to keep intruders out, though. There was little he could do about that now.

While he had the toolbox, he also hammered the back door shut. Bailey watched him, her arms crossed and eyes suspicious. Finally, Ed stepped back and looked at his work. It was nothing to write home about, but it would do. In the morning, he’d see if he could find the supplies to fix the door.

“I’ll put those tools up for you,” Bailey offered.

Before he could insist that he could do it, she grabbed the hammer. Their hands brushed, and his heart jolted with electricity. He cleared his throat, brushing off his surprise. “Your hands are ice-cold. Do you have any firewood? We need to get some heat in this place.”

She turned, squatting to return the hammer to its location under the sink. “Yes. A fire would be great. I wasn’t successful at starting one myself.”

At least the lack of a fire wasn’t an effort to conceal her presence here. “It’s going to get cold, and the storm isn’t supposed to let up anytime soon,” he finally said. “It looks like both of us are stuck here for a while.”

She stood up and offered what looked like a forced smile. “So it appears.”