A Conflict of Interest (14 page)

“Here’s one for you,” Cara returned as Gillian shut the door behind them. “
What
did you tell Jake?”

Gillian looked confused. “About what?”

“About me. My sex life. Other men in my sex life.”

“Oh, that.”

“Oh,
that?
” Cara marched into the center of the enormous room and spun around to face her sister.

Gillian seemed confused. “You said you wanted me to do it.”

“When? When did I say anything remotely like that?”

“Last night. Right here in the room. We were talking about how you had to start telling people you were pregnant, if only to keep yourself out of danger.”

“I said I wouldn’t tell Max I was pregnant.” Cara remembered it well.

“And I said, ‘Max needs to think it’s not his baby.’ You responded, and I quote, ‘Yeah, I know he does.’”

“And you took that to mean you should lie to him?”

“I took that to mean you finally understood what we had to do. And Jake gave me the perfect opening. You’d have been proud, Cara. I slipped it in there like nothing.”

“I thought Max knew I was pregnant,” Cara told her sister. “When he hauled me away to talk like that, I thought he’d figured it all out. I was about to confess everything.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I didn’t.”

Gillian motioned for Cara to follow her to two big armchairs recessed into a bay window overlooking the sunny city. “What did he say? What happened?”

“He was furious.” Cara found herself shuddering at the memory.

Gillian sat down and Cara followed suit, sinking into the deep, plush cushions. “I realized he didn’t know I was pregnant. But he took
great
exception to the idea of me sleeping with another man.”

“Really?” Gillian mused.

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“Well, it’s hardly the 1950s.”

“Fidelity doesn’t go out of style,” said Cara.

“You said the two of you hadn’t agreed to be exclusive.”

“I’m not promiscuous, either.”

Gillian straightened. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Some of the fight went out of Cara. “I know you were trying to help. But, man alive, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“No. No. Nothing like that. But he threatened to kill the guy.” Cara let her mind slip back to the conversation. “But then he calmed himself down. I don’t think he’s used to losing his temper. And then...”

Gillian waited.

Cara could feel her cheeks going warm.

“And then?” Gillian prompted, curiosity rising in her blue eyes.

“After I swore there’d been no other guys—”

“You what? Wait. You wasted my perfectly fantastic setup? Why would you tell him there’d been no other guys?”

“I couldn’t lie to him, Gilly. For some reason, the one thing in this world I can’t do is lie to Max.”

“That’s ridiculous. He’s just a man. You know this puts you right back where you started.”

“I’d be thrilled to be back where I started.”

Gillian went on alert. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Cara tugged a wrinkle out of her skirt. “God, I miss wine.” She’d give anything right now for a glass of Merlot, or two or three.

“For the taste or the alcohol?” asked Gillian.

“Do you think they make a baby-safe margarita?”

“Sure. Unfortunately, you have to leave out the tequila.” Gillian leaned forward and took Cara’s hand. “You slept with him again, didn’t you?”

“If by slept, you mean had frantic sex with him in the front seat of his car, yes.”

“Makeup sex?”

“Turns out, it really is the very best kind.”

Gillian have her a squeeze. “Oh, Cara.”

“I know. I’m addicted. I have to do something. I have to take drastic action. Can your jet make it to Australia?” It was the farthest place Cara could think of where they spoke English and she might reasonably get a job in the U.S. embassy.

“With a stopover in Hawaii, sure. You want to go now?”

Cara let herself fantasize for a moment about walking out of this hotel room and getting far, far away. Unfortunately, Max popped up in the middle of the fantasy.

“Can we talk about something else?” she asked Gillian.

A second went by. “Sure.”

“My misery needs some company. Please tell me you make mistakes. Have you done anything stupid lately?”

“I did something tacky today.”

“Good.” Cara settled into the armchair. “Tell me all about it.”

“I flirted with the pilots at Manning Aviation.”

Cara couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. “How is that tacky? You mean because there were six of them?”

Gillian laughed. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.”

“Let’s get room service.” Gillian reached for the cordless phone on the table beside her chair. “What do you want?”

“A milk shake.”

“Seriously? Again? Is the pregnancy and ice cream thing true?”

“I don’t want pickles.” Cara couldn’t help but cringe as she imagined the tart taste. “But I’d take a sundae instead of a milk shake. Hot fudge, whipped cream, a cherry on top.”

“You’re out of control.”

“I am.”

“What do you really want?”

Cara really wanted a sundae. “Get me a wrap of some kind. And I’ll take a salad with it. But I do want the milk shake.”

“Is it okay with you if I order wine?”

“No, it’s not okay for you to order wine, Auntie Gillian. If I’m staying dry, so are you. Get a milk shake.”

Gillian pressed a button on the phone. “If I can’t fit into my jeans, it’ll be all your fault.”

“Do an extra hour at the gym.”

Gillian ordered two of everything and then put down the phone.

“Tell me about the tacky flirting,” said Cara. She needed something to take her mind off Max, and off the baby, and off her daunting future.

Gillian kicked off her shoes, lifting her feet onto the chair, propping one elbow on her upraised knee. “I was trying to make Jake jealous.”

Cara was confused. “I thought he was already interested in you.”

“I think he is. A little, anyway. We danced pretty late last night. And it was fun. And he walked me back to the hotel. And then he said good-night at the elevator.”

“Did you want him to come up?”

Gillian gave a sheepish shrug. “I wanted him to
want
to come up.”

“But you didn’t invite him.”

“No.”

“So he didn’t turn you down.”

“Please. He’s male.”

Cara coughed out a laugh. It felt good. “Do you even know what you want?”

“I don’t,” Gillian admitted. “Okay, I do. He blows hot and cold. One minute, he’s all friendly and attentive, and the next minute I might as well be a lawn ornament.”

“I think becoming a billionaire has messed with your head,” Cara observed.

“I’m not a billionaire.”

“You’re used to being the center of attention. I bet when you walk into a room, every man snaps to.”

“Only because I sign their paychecks.”

“But Jake doesn’t do it, and it makes you crazy.”

Gillian groaned, raking her hands through her hair. “Have I turned into a spoiled princess?”

“Did the pilots flirt back?” asked Cara, struggling not to smile at her sister discomfort.

“Yes. And they weren’t there for the interview, so they didn’t know who I was. So money or not, I know I’ve still got it.”

“And Jake knows you’ve got it.”

“He does,” Gillian agreed.

“Was he jealous?”

“I hope so.”

“Are you seeing him again tonight?”

“I don’t know. What are you doing?”

“The president is hosting a dinner and welcome reception for the summit heads of state. It’s private, about two hundred people. Luckily, no press.” Cara glanced at her watch. “I have to get dressed in an hour.”

“When are you going back?”

“To D.C.?”

Gillian nodded.

“Tomorrow night, after the closing statements. I’m hitching a ride on Air Force One. I’ll be busy every minute between now and then.” It was just as well. The less time Cara had to think, the better.

Ten

M
ax had been back in D.C. for three days.

Though Ariella’s brief interview had momentarily taken attention off the president, it had also renewed interest in Eleanor Albert. Max’s boss, Nadine, was more determined than ever to find the elusive woman. At the same time, Liam Fisher had come up with solid evidence that somebody from ANS had hacked into a computer in the president’s campaign headquarters.

“We don’t have a name yet,” said Liam, rolling out a chair to take a seat next to Jake at the oval oak table in the NCN boardroom.

“We’ll get there,” said Max. “At least we know we’re on the right track.”

There was no evidence yet to implicate owner Graham Boyle, nor was there anything pointing to Marnie Salloway, but Max was still suspicious of his old boss. She’d been vague and smug the last time they spoke, and he was sure she was hiding something. Not that his suspicions got him any closer to the truth.

Nadine breezed into the room, an assistant in tow. “You went way too easy on Caroline Cranshaw in L.A.,” she accused Max without preamble.

“She’s a pro,” Max returned while Nadine sat down. “She wasn’t going to give us anything.”

Jake slid a glance Max’s way, silently indicating that he agreed with Nadine.

“The real story is ANS,” said Max, looking to Liam for support. “We know they broke the law.”

“We know somebody they once employed broke the law,” Nadine retorted. “But we also know they targeted the president in their efforts to find information. That means somebody at the White House knows more than they’re letting on.”

“No,” Max disagreed. “It means ANS
thinks
somebody at the White House knows more than they’re letting on.”

“And who knows the most about the scandal?” Nadine challenged, drumming her polished fingers on the table top.

Max didn’t respond to the rhetorical question.

“ANS knows most about the scandal,” Nadine answered her own question. “And they’re targeting the White House for information. Eleanor Albert is the story. Find her.”

Liam sat forward in his chair, folding his hands on the table, looking both dignified and wise. Even Nadine stopped to listen.

“If this hacking can be traced to ANS,” he stated, “if it goes up to the reporters or up to Marnie Salloway or all the way up to Graham Boyle, then NCN has its own scoop.”

“
If
they did it,” Nadine retorted. “And
if
we can prove it. And
if
we can prove it before anyone else.”

“They did it,” said Liam with conviction. “And the campaign office is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“I’d put money on Marnie having her fingers in this particular pie,” Max added.

“Comforting,” Nadine drawled sarcastically. “But the Eleanor story is a sure thing. If we find her, we’ve got a ready-made scoop.” She looked at Liam. “She went somewhere after Fields. Even if she died, she did it somewhere.”

“On it,” Liam agreed, accepting the decision.

Then Nadine turned her attention to Max. “We just did Lynn Larson a big favor.”

“I thought it was Lynn Larson who did us a favor.” The press secretary could have called any network and made a deal for Ariella’s statement.

“You’re going down to the White House to collect.”

Max immediately thought of Cara at the White House. He suspected she’d been avoiding him since their return from L.A. He knew the entire White House was scrambling to stop the slide in the president’s popularity, and the press office was right in the thick of things. Still, he’d left half a dozen messages and she wasn’t calling him back.

He missed her more than he could have imagined. The upside of approaching Lynn was that he had a decent chance of seeing Cara. His chest tightened in anticipation.

“Fine,” he agreed. “What do you want me to ask her?”

Nadine came to her feet. “You’re the investigative journalist. You figure it out.”

Her assistant immediately hopped up, following Nadine out the door.

The three men waited a full minute.

“How far can we go investigating ANS on our own?” asked Jake.

Max responded, “Before it turns into flat-out insubordination?”

Liam grinned. “We’re fairly safe if we do it after business hours.”

“I’m on board,” Max agreed.

He knew the best way to help his situation with Cara was to deal with the scandal that was taking all of her time. If they did prove something against ANS, then the public’s attention would shift from the president. Cara’s time would free up in a heartbeat. As he worked the coming long hours, Max would cling to that.

* * *

Cara paused in Lynn’s office to stare at the biggest of the television screens on the office wall.

“In a fascinating twist that’s seen the president’s popularity drop even further,” the pretty, blond female announcer cooed from the center of a small crowd at the front gate of the White House, “Madeline Schulenburg, a forty-six-year-old woman who grew up in Doublecreek, Montana, some two hours away from the president’s hometown of Fields, is claiming her twenty-eight-year-old son was fathered by Ted Morrow.”

Cara set the draft report from the Los Angeles trip on Lynn’s desk. “I guess it was only a matter of time.”

“Until the crazies came out?” Lynn swiveled in her high-backed desk chair to face Cara.

“There’s no chance this is true, right?”

“I don’t know what’s true anymore,” Lynn admitted, twisting her ring.

“It can’t be.” Though Cara supposed it was possible. Maybe there were two illegitimate children. Then again, why not three or four?

“Have you spoken to the president?” she asked her boss.

“That’s what I get to do right now,” Lynn rose to her feet, gathering a couple of files from her desktop. “Mr. President,” she mumbled in a mocking tone. “On the Madeline Schulenburg situation. Can we talk about your sex life? Again?”

“So the White House is taking this seriously” came a deep voice from Lynn’s open doorway.

Lynn’s head whipped up, and Cara whirled to come face-to-face with Max.

“Who let you in here?” Lynn demanded.

Cara couldn’t find her voice. She’d been working sixteen-hour days since Los Angeles, and it was still a fight to keep Max from her mind. She missed him. And she was desperately confused and worried about the future.

“I have an appointment,” said Max.

“Sandy was supposed to cancel,” said Lynn.

“Is it true?” asked Max. “Is there another illegitimate child? Is the White House expecting more of them to surface?”

“Go away,” said Lynn.

“Shall I put you down for a no comment?” asked Max.

Lynn squared her shoulders, glaring hard at Max. “Cara, would you please show the nice reporter out of the building?”

The request shook Cara back to life. “Yes.” She moved toward Max. “Of course. Come with me, please.” She gestured to the hallway.

“What’s going on?” he muttered in her ear.

“Go,” she ordered in a low growl.

She and Max headed straight down the hallway, while Lynn took a right toward the Oval Office.

Before she could stop him, Max ducked into her own office.

“Max,” she called, quickly following to protect the information that sat exposed on her desk.

She crossed the small room, flipping over reports and closing file folders.

“Talk to me, Cara.”

She turned. “I have nothing to say.”

“If there are more children...”

“There are not,” she told him with conviction.

“You’re lying.” He cocked his head, watching her intently.

She felt her pulse jump, and a funny buzz formed in the pit of the stomach that had nothing to do with the president.

Max took a step forward.

The buzz turned to genuine fear, and she sharply held up a hand. “Don’t.”

“So,” he mused, coming to a stop far too close to her for comfort. “Either you’re lying because the president has more secret children or because you don’t know one way or the other.”

“You have to leave, Max.” She meant that on many different levels.

They couldn’t discuss the president, and she didn’t dare spend time in Max’s company. Even now, even in the middle of the West Wing, in the midst of a crisis, she wanted to throw herself into his arms.

He lowered his voice. “I need to see you.”

She shook her head. “That can’t happen.”

“Not here,” he clarified. “Later. Tonight. At your place.”

“No.”

“We have to talk.”

“I’m working tonight. And tomorrow night.” And every night into the foreseeable future.

“You have to sleep sometime.”

“Not with—” She snapped her jaw shut.

A twinkle came into his green eyes. “With me would definitely be my preference.”

She tried to back away, but she was blocked by her desk. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not joking. I miss you, Cara.” He eased even closer.

She steeled herself, trying desperately to quash her feelings. She couldn’t want Max. She couldn’t touch him or talk to him, or even see him.

“You promised, Max,” she told him in a pleading voice, looking straight into his eyes.

“I just want to talk.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’re right.”

Voices sounded outside in the hall, and Cara quickly slipped sideways, putting some distance between them.

Max’s glance dropped to her desktop. His blatant curiosity gave her a last burst of emotional strength.

“You’re here investigating the story,” she stated.

“I am,” he admitted.

“Get out of my office, Max. Or I’ll call security.”

This time, he did take a step back. “Okay. I’ll call you later.”

“I won’t answer.”

“I’ll try anyway.”

And then he was gone.

Cara gripped the lip of the desk to steady herself. She took a few bracing breaths. It was obvious she couldn’t be trusted around Max. It was just as obvious that he wasn’t going to stay away from her.

She made her way around the desk, sitting down to face her computer terminal. There she brought up the human resources page. She entered a search, checking to see what public relations jobs were currently available in foreign embassies.

To her surprise, there was an opening in Australia.

* * *

The optimism that had stayed with Max since he’d made love to Cara in Los Angeles evaporated as he walked off the White House grounds. She was never going to listen to reason. She was never going to give the two of them a chance. She’d decided their relationship was impossible, and she wasn’t going to explore any evidence to the contrary.

His only choices were to move on with his own life or to settle in for a long wait and spend the next four years campaigning against the president so that Cara would be free after the next election. Problem was, he didn’t think he could wait four years, never mind eight.

He made his way to his Mustang, hit the remote to unlock the door, climbed into the driver’s seat and extracted his phone from his pocket. He quashed the feelings for Cara that were messing with his reporter’s instincts and entered the Georgetown address he’d seen scrawled across the yellow pad of paper on her desktop. She was meeting with someone in less than an hour.

He started his car, cranking up the heat against the gray, blowing January day. He scrolled through the search results, discovering the address was in a medical building. More specifically, it was an obstetrics practice. Another quick search told Max the practice had been there for at least thirty years.

It struck him as odd that an obstetrician in D.C. would be involved in babies from Montana. But maybe the doctor had moved. Or maybe one of the mothers had ended up in D.C. They knew for certain in Eleanor’s case that she’d hightailed it out of Fields while she was newly pregnant.

He pressed the speed dial button for Jake.

“Yeah?” came Jake’s short greeting.

“I’ve got something,” said Max.

“Eleanor?”

“No. Maybe something on her. But don’t discount that the rumors of other children might be true. Lynn Larson’s pretty rattled by the latest story.”

“What do you need?” asked Jake.

“I’m heading for Georgetown. An obstetrics practice. I don’t want to spook anyone by showing up with a camera, but can you be on standby in the neighborhood in case there’s a doctor there who’ll talk?”

“Sure. I’m with Liam, but we’re just finishing up. Text me the address.”

“Coming at you,” Max promised.

He ended the call, sent Jake the address, then exited the parking lot. It took a while to negotiate the slushy, crowded streets, but he managed to find the medical building. He then searched out a parking spot and found one several blocks away.

Partway back to the front entrance of the six-story, brownstone, he spotted Cara exiting a taxi. He glanced at his watch. She was a good fifteen minutes early for her meeting. Too bad. He’d hoped to beat her inside and figure out which doctor or nurse or whoever she’d found who might know something.

Instead, he hung back. He gave her enough time to make it through the halls and hopefully clear the waiting room. Then he followed.

The suite was on the sixth floor. The directory sign at the top of the elevator took him to the far end of the hallway to a set of double, frosted glass doors. He opened them slowly and glanced around a brightly lit, cheerfully decorated waiting room.

Three very pregnant women sat in the padded chairs, leafing through parenting magazines. Two other women held babies in their laps; one of them kept a sharp eye on a toddler playing with toys in a corner.

Max slipped inside, drawing the interest of the nurse behind the counter. The sign above her listed four doctors.

Trying to look like he belonged, Max moved toward the nurse’s smiling face.

“How can I help you?” She peered at him above her reading glasses. Happily, there was no recognition in her eyes. She obviously wasn’t an
After Dark
viewer.

Max hesitated, not knowing what to ask. There was absolutely no way to know which doctor to approach. It could be another staff member. It seemed unlikely that it was the nurse herself, or Cara would be out here talking.