Hidden Agenda

The woman, at one moment frozen, suddenly came to life. She struggled against him, twisting, turning and trying to get away.

“Get your hands off me!” she growled.

She was a fighter. He’d give her credit for having spunk.

But he did this for a living.

Based on the way she flailed, this woman was no trained assassin. She probably hadn’t even taken any self-defense classes, for that matter. But who was she? As far as he knew, this place was supposed to be empty. Of course, he’d been out of touch for the past several months, on an assignment that required deep cover.

The woman still tried to jerk away from him.

“Calm down,” he muttered.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

He pinned both of her arms behind her back and restrained her until she stopped struggling. Her eyes didn’t lose their fight, though.

He locked gazes with her. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

She tried to jerk away one more time. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

Ed sighed, waiting for her to wear herself out. “I’m not in the mood for guessing games, so why don’t you answer my question?”

“Why don’t you let me go? Then maybe we can talk.”

He wanted to really see her eyes, wanted to see if there was truth or deceit in their depths when she answered. It was a calculated risk he needed to take. He released her hand and pulled out his gun in one swift motion.

“Back up to the wall,” he ordered. “Slowly. Don’t make any sudden moves or you’ll regret it.”

She slowly turned, took two steps back and stood stiffly against the flowered wallpaper.

He shined the light atop his gun on the woman, wanting to get a good look at her. She was on the taller side. Slim. Had long hair, light brown and straight, that fell halfway down her back. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were—probably brown, he guessed—but they were big with thick lashes.

He’d been deceived by more than one pretty woman in his day, enough that he was now immune to batting eyelashes and sweet smiles.

“Start talking.” With mild amusement, he added, “Please.”

The woman raised her hands, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. “I’m not looking for trouble. As soon as the storm is over, I’ll be gone from here. None of this stuff is mine, but I think you’re deplorable if you’re going to steal from a dead man.”

“Steal?” He raised an eyebrow, curious now.

“Yes, of course steal.” Suddenly, the woman pressed herself harder into the wall and rubbed her throat. “If you’re not a thief, then why are you here?”

Seeing her fear caused something to click in his mind. While he didn’t want to be manipulated by a woman, he never wanted to see a woman look that frightened. He especially never wanted to be the cause of that fear.

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you.” To prove it, he put his gun away, tucking it safely into its holster under his sopping wet jacket. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

“Believe me. Neither was I. I wasn’t even expecting to be here.” She shivered as thunder rumbled through the house again. “Especially not in this storm.”

“Maybe we should start over.” He extended his hand, still cautious and on guard, but some of his edge leaving him after her comment about his dad. “I’m Ed.”

She stared at his hand a moment before reaching forward. Her grip felt tentative, uncertain. She still didn’t trust him. Smart woman.

“I’m Bailey. I was Mr. Carter’s nurse up until the time he died a week ago. I stayed around trying to take care of his affairs, since he had no family around to do so.”

He heard the undercurrents of judgment in her voice. “He had no family close by, huh?”

Her eyes flickered with emotion. “Just a good-for-nothing son, who never visited. Not even for his father’s funeral.” Her words sounded protective and loyal—and judgmental.

“His son sounds like a lousy excuse for a human being.” Ed kept his voice light, tried to disguise the hurt there. He was the master of disguising how he felt. Years of working undercover did that to a person.

“I agree. I would have done anything to spend more time with my own father before he died. Family should be there for each other.” Her voice cracked.

“You’re right. Family should be there for each other.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “And why exactly are you here, Ed?”

He raised his chin. “Because this is my house now, and I intend on finding out who killed my father.”

TWO (#ub8749acc-9c9d-56b5-99cf-8ee369004dc7)

Bailey stared at the man in front of her.

This was Mr. Carter’s son? The hotshot lawyer from DC who never came to visit his father? Who couldn’t even make it to his funeral because of “pressing business”?

She didn’t know the man, and already she didn’t like him. She didn’t have to know him to know his type. He was career-oriented, into the social scene, all about climbing ladders—socially, professionally and financially. People weren’t on his priority list or on his radar, for that matter. He only cared if they helped him advance in some way.

“I’m glad you could finally make it,” she finally muttered.

Suddenly, she wasn’t scared anymore, just annoyed. Why did this man think he could come traipsing in here after being absent from his father’s life for so long?

Probably because he realized his father’s last will and testament would be read soon. Ed most likely wanted what was left of his father’s fortune. That fit the image she’d developed of the good-for-nothing son.

In the darkness, she could only make out the outline of the man. She could tell that he was tall, that his shoulders were broad. He was wet from the rain, and the moisture brought with it the scent of woodsy cologne. She’d guess, based on Mr. Carter’s age and the sound of the man’s voice, that Ed was in his midthirties.

Strangely enough, Mr. Carter didn’t keep any pictures of his son here at the house. There were plenty of pictures of Mr. Carter’s wife, who’d died eight years ago. But none of his son. Bailey had always thought it was odd. She’d asked Mr. Carter about it once, and he’d only said that his son didn’t like his picture to be taken.

At that moment, Ed stepped closer. She could feel the coldness of his icy gaze. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

She raised her chin, not ready to back down. Someone had to stand up for Mr. Carter. Ed hadn’t been around to do it. “No, but it’s too bad your dad isn’t here anymore so you could explain things to him.”

His tone became even cooler. “My dad understood.”

She raised her chin higher, questioning for a moment whether she should be so hard on the man. She realized this was none of her business, that she’d simply been hired help. But how could a son not be there for his father in his dying days? How could he have missed the funeral?

And what was all of this talk about finding the person who’d killed his father? Was that just some kind of front to distract her from his real intentions? His selfish intentions?

She lowered her chin, trying to rein in her emotions, which seemed to be spinning out of control tonight, right along with her imagination. “Your father died of heart failure. You’re mistaken if you think someone killed him. You must have gotten faulty information.”