A Conflict of Interest (5 page)

Despite the encouraging news, by the end of the first day, Cara returned to her hotel room exhausted. She was worried about running into Max again, and she knew there would be other reporters in town, so she decided on room service.

She found herself adding a glass of milk to the order, making sure she had both green and yellow vegetables and a good balance of protein and complex carbs. She’d have loved to go for the chocolate cake for dessert, but settled instead for frozen yogurt with strawberries.

She’d also added a multivitamin to her diet, and booked an appointment with an obstetrician for later in the month. She wasn’t ready to pick up any baby books yet, but she did browse a few sites on the internet. She found she could think about diet and exercise and body changes without panicking, but if she let her mind go to an actual baby, she’d find herself dizzy and short of breath.

Like now. When an ad came up for infant formula and a cherubic little baby smiled out from her phone, she quickly shut down the browser, closing her eyes until the feeling passed. She knew she had to wrap her head around this. To do that, she needed someone to confide in, and there was only one person in the world who fit the bill.

She pressed a speed dial button on her cell phone.

After a few rings, her sister Gillian’s voice came on. “Hey, Cara.”

Cara forced a cheerful tone. “Hey, yourself.”

“How are things in D.C.?”

“Hectic. Seattle?”

“Right back at you. We’re opening up a sales office in Beijing next month. You would not believe the red tape.” Gillian’s voice went muffled for a moment. Then she came back to the call. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you still at work?”

“It’s only seven on this side of the country. You home?”

“Are you...” Cara hesitated. “I mean, I know you’re always busy, but...is it worse now than normal?”

“Not particularly. Hey, Sam, tell them I’ll sign it off, but only if it’s under a million... Sorry again.”

Cara couldn’t help but smile at Gillian’s familiar pace of life. Her sister was CEO of her own technology company. They’d broken into the health-care market with GPS organizational devices that tracked everything from room cleaning to medication dispensing three years ago and never looked back.

“No problem,” said Cara. “I’m the one who’s sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no bother. So, what’s going on?”

Cara didn’t know how to answer that.

Gillian jumped back in. “I mean, I read about the secret daughter and all. I assume that’s taking up most of your time.”

“It is.”

“Did he know? I mean... Okay, this isn’t a secure line, and even if it was...” Gillian took a breath, speaking by rote. “I know you wouldn’t give away confidential information about the president to your sister. So, all you FBI guys listening in can stand down.”

Cara laughed. She appreciated her sister’s caution, but it wasn’t necessary. The FBI wasn’t listening in on her phone calls.

Gillian’s voice went warm again. “So, what do you need, baby sister?”

Though they were only fourteen months apart, Gillian had teased Cara with the term most of their lives.

“Any chance you could take a trip to Montana?”

“Montana? Why in the heck would I go to Montana?”

“Fields, Montana.”

“Ooohhh,” Gillian drawled. “
That
Montana. Back where the whole thing started. Why? You need me to sleuth something out? Bribe someone?”

“You know, if the FBI really was listening, you would end my career in a single phone call.”

“Did I say bribe?” Gillian came back. “I meant
find.
You want me to
find
someone?”

“I want you to come and see me.”

There was a split-second pause. “You’re in Montana.”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“That’s less than an hour away. I can have the jet ready by eight.”

Cara allowed herself to hope. “Can you come?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” Cara scratched at a flaw in the hotel desktop. “No, no. Nothing much.”

Again Gillian hesitated almost imperceptibly. “But it’s something. Is it work?”

“Nothing to do with work. What you see on the news is pretty much it right now. There’s the Asia Pacific Summit coming up in L.A., but beyond that it’s all Ariella all the time. Is she or isn’t she, and when did the president know.”

“So, it’s personal?”

“Can you come?”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did you break the law?”

“Gillian.”

“Do you need money? Do you have a secret gambling addiction? Is the mob after you?”

“No.”

“Because, I’ve got a lot of capital tied up in Beijing right now, but I’m sure I could free up—”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Okay. So, what’s going on? Are you pregnant?”

Cara froze. She knew she should toss out something flippant to throw Gillian off the truth, but she couldn’t for the life of her think of what that might be.

“Cara?”

“Please. Just come.”

“I’m on my way.”

* * *

Cara was the last person Max expected to see walking into the small Fields airport this late at night. Despite its small size, it was an attractive airport, themed around the frontier spirit of the region, with lots of polished pine logs, leather and fieldstone. But it had also been designed and built with the high-end ski clientele in mind, so it was tasteful and welcoming.

Right now, it was all but deserted. The concourse shops and cafés were closed. The waiting areas were empty. Most of the staff still on site were cleaners, with the exception of a lone clerk behind the check-in counter. Max moved from the alcove where he’d sat down, crossing the floor toward Cara.

Hearing his footsteps, she turned.

As she had in the Alpine Grill, she looked startled and none too pleased.

“You
are
stalking me,” she charged, glancing around, probably checking for Jake and his camera.

“I was about to accuse you of the same thing.” He came to a halt beside her.

“I’m here to meet someone,” she told him.

“There are no flights this time of night.”

“It’s a private jet.”

“Uh-huh.” He watched her expression, trying to guess her intentions. If she’d simply been following him on spec, then she didn’t know who he was meeting. On the other hand, if she somehow found out who he was meeting, she might have followed him here because of it.

She remained inscrutable. “And you?”

“Meeting someone myself.” He’d give her that much.

“Who?” she fired back.

He shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t believe you.”

He widened his stance. “Believe whatever you want.”

“You promised you wouldn’t take advantage of our relationship.”

“What relationship?” If they were having a relationship, Max would dearly love to know.

“You know what I mean. You can’t...” She glanced around. “It’s not fair....” She seemed to force herself to gather her thoughts. “Can’t you just leave? This is nothing. I promise you, this is nothing.”

“Do I have to remind you this is a public airport and a free country?”

She had him curious now. If she hadn’t followed him here, there was a chance she was hiding something herself. Maybe he’d stumbled across something important.

“Cara!” a woman called from across the concourse.

Cara immediately left Max’s side, rushing to meet the woman who had emerged from an airside doorway.

The two met in the middle of the room. The woman dropped her overnight bag, and they hugged. It was then Max realized how much they looked alike. Their hairstyles were similar, same wispy, short look. The light brown hair color was nearly identical, and their eyes, noses and mouths were almost copies. The other woman was slightly taller, and Cara was a little leaner.

Max automatically started toward them.

“Max Gray.” He stuck out his hand to the other woman.

“Really?” the woman singsonged, glancing at Cara as she disentangled from the embrace. “Then you must be—”

“He’s a reporter,” Cara blurted out. “And we have to be
very
careful what we say around him.” Her warning to the woman was surprisingly blunt.

“I host an investigative news show,” Max corrected her. “It’s called
After Dark
on NCN.” He wasn’t particularly snobbish about the difference, but he didn’t want the woman to think he was some lowlife tabloid stringer, either.

“I’m Gillian Cranshaw. Cara’s sister.”

“There’s certainly a family resemblance.”

“We have to go now.” Cara hooked her arm through Gillian’s, scooped up the overnight bag and all but dragged her sister in the direction of the exit.

“Let me.” Max stepped forward, reaching for the bag.

“I’ve got it,” said Cara, quickening her pace. Something obviously had her rattled.

“Catch you later,” Gillian called back over her shoulder.

Before Max could give much thought to Cara’s bizarre behavior, a man appeared through the same airside doorway as Gillian. Cara glanced fleetingly at him but otherwise paid no attention.

Clearly, there was some kind of family drama on top of the political drama. Otherwise, Cara might have taken a moment to wonder who exactly Max was meeting at almost ten o’clock at the Fields airport. And it was worth wondering about. But Max certainly wasn’t going to do her job for her.

“Liam Fisher?” Max asked as the man approached.

“Hello, Max. I recognize you from your program.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“Thanks to NCN for thinking of me.”

The two men shook hands.

Since arriving in Fields, Max had learned two things. One, the town was intensely loyal to the president. And two, Eleanor Albert hadn’t ever made much of an impression. Few people remembered her, and even fewer people associated her with Ted Morrow.

Combined, those two details told Max one very important thing. The story of Eleanor’s daughter Ariella had been hard to get. And conventional means likely hadn’t been enough to dig it out in the first place. That meant unconventional, possibly illegal, means had been used to obtain the scoop.

Liam Fisher was a former staffer at ANS. He’d left under a cloud of secrecy and at odds with the current owner, Graham Boyle. Max’s instincts were telling him that the real story wasn’t Eleanor Albert. The real story was ANS and how they’d found out about Eleanor Albert in the first place.

Four

C
ara hustled her sister around a small airport café, past a candy store and behind the security kiosk toward the side door that led to the parking lot.

“For a minute there, I thought he was the daddy,” said Gillian as they briskly walked toward the exit. She twisted her head for a final look at Max, then did a quick check of her cell phone.

“He’s a reporter,” Cara responded, not about to get into an explanation right now. “And I think he’s following me.”

“I think he’s meeting the guy who came in on the Cessna,” said Gillian. “They were landing behind us.”

“Reinforcements,” Cara guessed. “The place is crawling with press.”

“I read about it. You know that Ariella person, don’t you? Isn’t she the caterer who did that Thanksgiving thing? The one where the singer fell into the cake.”

“That’s her,” Cara acknowledged.

They made their way down a concrete ramp to the mostly deserted parking lot where Cara had left her rented SUV.

“She seems like she has a good sense of humor,” Gillian observed.

“So does the president.”

“So, you think it’s true then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just compared Ariella’s sense of humor to the president’s. You must think she’s his daughter. Or do you
know
she’s his daughter?”

“I don’t know anything for sure.” Cara hit the unlock button on the remote and got a double beep in response. “But you must have seen the pictures on TV.”

“Nope.”

“Well, Ariella looks an awful lot like them. I mean, not only does she look like Eleanor Albert. She looks like the president, too. A perfect combination of genes.” Cara opened the hatchback door and tossed her sister’s bag inside.

“Then that’s that. It must be true.”

“If I had to bet,” said Cara. “My money would definitely be on yes.”

“But they’ll do DNA.”

“They will.”

“Surely the president can put a rush on it.”

Cara headed for the driver’s door. “You really don’t watch much TV, do you?”

Gillian’s cell phone rang. “I’ve been mostly paying attention to tech sector news coming out of China and India.” She raised the phone to her ear. “Hello?” Using her free hand, she opened the passenger door and climbed into the vehicle.

Cara followed suit, buckling up and starting the engine. Then while Gillian talked business on her phone, Cara backed out of the parking spot and headed for the parking lot exit.

Judging from Gillian’s side of the conversation, it sounded as though there was trouble with a supplier in India. Then Gillian took another call and had an argument with her accountant about staff pension plans. By the time she hung up, they were nearly back to town.

“It would have been a genetic jackpot,” she announced, tucking the phone back into her slacks pocket.

“For Ariella?” Cara glanced from the snowy road to her sister, then quickly back again.

“No. That Max guy, the reporter. Tall, good-looking, seemed athletic. And you have to be a quick thinker to host a news show. So he must have a brain up there.”

Cara wasn’t so sure about Max’s reasoning skills. “He does a lot of dangerous fieldwork. Jungles, war zones, mountaintops.”

“So brave, too?”

“I meant that his testosterone seems to be crowding out his intellect. You want to stop for a drink?” On impulse, Cara wheeled into the Pine Tree Lounge parking lot. It was a newer log building on the outskirts of Fields, with inviting yellow lights on a pine-pillared porch.

“Sure,” Gillian agreed. “I’m up for liquor.”

They locked the vehicle and made their way along the shoveled walkway, up a wide, stone staircase and into a wood-paneled entry. A country tune played softly through the speakers, and the polished wood tables were lit with tiny oil lamps. The chairs were red leather, and vintage horse tack adorned the walls.

Cara moved to a quiet table near the back, checking to be sure they were out of earshot of the other patrons.

The waitress arrived immediately, setting down glasses of ice water. Gillian gave a cursory look at the extensive wine list, then simply asked for something “really good” in an old-world cabernet sauvignon.

Finally, they were alone. Cara wasn’t driving, and Gillian’s cell phone wasn’t ringing.

“So,” said Gillian with a deep breath as she reached for the bowl of mixed nuts in the middle of the table.

“So,” Cara returned, bracing herself. “It’s him. He’s the guy.”

Gillian glanced both ways, looking over her shoulder.

“What guy?”

“Max. He’s the father.”

Gillian’s hand dropped to the tabletop. “Then why—”

“He doesn’t know. He can’t know. We’re not supposed... He’s a reporter, and I work in the White House press office.”

“But you slept with him anyway?”

“That was before the election.” Cara defended herself. “And, okay, once after the vote count, but it was all before the inauguration. And that was a mistake. It never should have happened.”

“Whoops,” Gillian deadpanned.

“That’s pretty much what I said. And he... And I... And then...” Cara waved her hand in the air. “You know what I mean.”

Gillian fought a smile. “I’d know what you meant if you finished your sentences, or at least finished your clauses.”

Cara dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head. “I mean, I’m screwed.”

Gillian waited until Cara looked up. Her eyes were glowing with what looked like joy. “You are not screwed. You’re going to have a baby.
We
are going to have a baby.” She reached for Cara’s hand. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. It doesn’t matter how this happened. It’s great that it did. Babies are never bad news. Especially yours.”

“He doesn’t want children,” said Cara. “He’s never wanted children. He wants to chase stories to dangerous places around the world and not have to worry about anyone back home.”

“Bully for him.”

“And even if he did,” Cara continued, “we can’t even think about a normal relationship. He’s a conflict of interest. We’re less than a week into the president’s term, and I have this albatross hanging around my neck.”

“You’re saying it’s not in your best interest to tell him?” Gillian asked.

“Absolutely not.”

“Never?”

“I can’t picture it.”

Gillian cocked her head, clearly pondering the facts of the situation as she reached for another handful of nuts. “Then what you need to do is sleep with someone else.”

Cara thought she must have misheard.
“What?”

“I don’t mean literally. I mean, make it clear to Max that you haven’t been exclusive. When he finds out you’re pregnant, he might insist on a DNA test, but if he’s not daddy material, he might be content to let the matter drop. What he doesn’t know won’t cost him anything.”

Cara digested her sister’s words. “You’re very cynical.”

Then she tried to picture the conversation where she casually informed Max that she’d been sleeping with other men while they’d dated. No, not while they’d dated. That was dressing it up too much. She meant while they’d tried and failed to keep their hands off each other.

“I’ve been around a lot longer than you have,” Gillian retorted.

“Fourteen months?”

“I’ve always been more worldly than you.”

The waitress arrived, opening the bottle and pouring a glass for Gillian. Cara refused and asked for a hot chocolate instead.

“So, you think it’s okay for me to keep it from him? I mean ethically?” Cara asked.

Gillian shrugged. “Why not?”

Cara leaned back, slouching more comfortably in the chair. “That wasn’t what I expected you to say.”

“You thought I’d tell you to run to him, ’fess up and see if he wanted a white picket fence and all the trimmings?”

Cara hated to admit it, but that was kind of where her thoughts had been going. Not that she’d have agreed. Still, it would have been nice to have some moral support for her outrageous fantasy.

“Oh, Cara.” Gillian’s face screwed up in pity. “That’s not good.”

“No, that’s not what I thought,” Cara lied. “And that’s not what I want. The last thing I need is some miserable martyr of a man, hanging around my house, trimming my hedges, cleaning my barbecue and blaming me for having ruined his dazzling career. Thank you, but no. I don’t need that kind of grief.”

Gillian was silent for a moment. “Well, you almost convinced me. But you might want to work on your delivery.”

“Excuse me?”

“You protested a little too much there.”

Cara hated to admit that Gillian was right. She knew Max would never want them to be a family, but sometimes she just couldn’t help but wish for it herself.

* * *

Max and Jake listened with rapt attention while Liam Fisher outlined some of the underhanded tactics ANS had used in the past to track down big stories. The three men were at the Apex Lounge at the topmost stop of the ski gondola. It was lunchtime, and the facility was quickly filling up with families and children.

“It became exponentially worse when that producer Marnie Salloway arrived,” Liam was saying. “The woman has no conscience. I’d be surprised if she has a soul.”

“Do you have an example?” Max asked. Marnie was his former boss, and he could well believe she was up to no good. He and Jake had been working in Fields for three days now. They’d undertaken countless interviews, all of which were next to useless. They had hour upon hour of footage where the townspeople praised the president and looked puzzled when asked about Eleanor Albert.

“It went beyond manipulation,” said Liam. “There was downright coercion. I never passed on an envelope full of cash, but I definitely wined and dined a few people, a five-star resort for a weekend, a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine and then the carefully framed question to get just the right sound bite.”

“That’s not illegal,” Max pointed out.

A young boy shrieked and rushed past the table with three of his friends, each of them bumping Max’s elbow. Max glanced around for parents, or maybe an adult supervisor for the jamboree kids, but didn’t see anyone paying the slightest attention to the hooligans.

Max cussed under his breath.

“That was a straw that broke my back,” said Liam.

For a split second, Max thought he was talking about the unruly children.

“She, I mean Marnie, wanted me to hide a microphone in a victim’s house. A teenage boy who was bullied by a sports team. She was convinced he’d exaggerated the problem and wanted to expose what she considered a conspiracy against a popular coach.”

Jake scoffed in disgust, while Max drew back in absolute shock.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Max spat.

“That’s when I quit. Or when I was fired for insubordination, depending on whose story you want to believe.”

Squeals of high-pitched laughter sounded from outside on the gondola deck. Max reflexively glanced up to see a mob of kids had gathered there. They were jostling for their snowboards, pushing and teasing, tossing each other’s hats and gloves in the air.

“How can a person even think around that?” Max complained.

Jake laughed at him. “Chill out, Max. They’re just having fun.” Then he turned his attention back to Liam, getting serious once more. “You have any proof of this stuff?”

Max also focused on Liam.

“Just my word against theirs,” said Liam. “But I haven’t delved too deeply before. Once I was out of there, I got on with my life. So, you never know what we might find out if we go looking.”

“How do we start?” asked Max as the waitress cleared their plates. He handed her his credit card.

“I’ve got a few favors I can call in,” said Liam.

“We’re not quite done in Fields,” said Max. “But we can meet you back in D.C.”

Liam nodded his agreement. “Are you two boarding down now or taking the gondola?” asked Liam.

“I’m boarding,” said Max, feeling the need to get some exercise and clear his head. Liam sounded like he was going to lead them in exactly the right direction, and Max knew things were going to get intense very soon.

Max raised his brow in a question to Jake, even though he already knew the answer. Jake would never take the easy way down.

“We’ll meet you in the lobby,” Jake told Liam with a grin.

Max signed the credit card slip and shrugged into his jacket as he headed for the exit.

Happily, most of the kids had vacated the deck. He assumed they were boarding their way down the hill. He could only hope they’d had enough of a head start to stay well ahead of him.

While Liam waited for the next gondola car, Max and Jake made their way to the rack that held their snowboards. Max’s path to his board was blocked by a boy of about eleven who was struggling with his bindings.

Inwardly sighing at the delay, Max crouched down on one knee. “Need some help?” he asked, masking his frustration with a friendly tone.

He couldn’t help but wonder where the kid’s parents were or why a member of the jamboree staff or even the ski hill staff hadn’t already assisted the boy. Max had seen numerous officials wandering the slopes in bright yellow jackets with the name of the hill plastered across the back.

“It’s stuck,” the boy whined, jamming at the buckle with his fingers.

Max looked at the kid’s face and realized the boy was fighting back tears.

“Don’t worry.” He did his best to sound reassuring. “We can fix it up.”

Stripping off his gloves, Max straightened a bent buckle on one of the mechanisms. Then he pulled the strap through, tightening it until it was secure.

“How does that feel?” he asked the boy.

The boy flexed his foot. “Okay.” He sniffed.

Max straightened as Jake came up behind them, one foot secured to his board, the other pushing himself along the even ground.

As Max reached for his own board, he noticed the boy glancing worriedly around.

“Are you here with you parents?”

“My friends.”

“Oh.” Max glanced around for a likely looking group. “Can you see them?”

“They left.” The boy pointed to the start of a medium-difficulty run. “That way.”

“They left you behind?”
Nice friends.