Hidden Agenda (25 page)

“I promised you a story,” Olivia said. When they'd spoken on the phone, the promise of a story had been all the bait she'd needed. “But I need some answers from you first.”

Rebecca's brow rose, marked with a hint of doubt. “I've been thinking about what you said on the phone. I think you're digging for your own story.”

“This isn't about competitiveness or even our professions. It's about someone's life.”

“Someone's life?” Rebecca frowned. “You've always been a bit overly dramatic, which is why I'm poised to move into television and you're still working for some podunk local paper.”

“Did you ever think I might like my job and the people I work with?” Olivia tried to ignore the jab as she tugged on her ear. There was no use delaying the inevitable. “I didn't come here to argue with you. I want you to meet someone.”

Michael stepped onto the walk behind them.

“He's a friend, and we're here together. He has some questions to ask you.”

“Wait a minute. You're the man I reported on the other night. Michael Hunt.” Rebecca took a step forward, the smile back on her face. “Maybe you were right when you told me you were bringing me a story.”

“He didn't murder that agent.”

“And you know that how?”

“I can't tell you everything—yet. You're going to have to trust me.”

“Trust you? Listen, I have no idea how you got involved in this, but you don't realize what you're mixed up in.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” Olivia shook her head, wondering who was playing who. “Which is why we need to know your source.”

“My source? Are you kidding me? He'd kill me if he knew I was talking to you. I came as a favor, nothing more.”

“We need to know your source,” Michael said.

“No way.”

Olivia tried a different angle. “Listen, you came because you were expecting a story. I promise that I'll give you the exclusive when this is over—and trust me, it's going to be worth it, but I need answers. We know you leaked the story, and that the information you had didn't come from the police. Who told you Michael murdered Sam Kendall?”

“I'm not giving away my source. You of all people should understand that.”

“Please, Rebecca.”

“I'm in too deep, Olivia.” This time there was a hint of fear in her voice.

“Michael can help you. He has connections. He's a police officer.”

Rebecca scowled at them. “Listen, I already spoke to a couple of officers about what I know, and I don't intend to tell you anything more than what I told them. My sources are confidential. Period.”

Michael stepped forward. “If you come in with me and answer our questions, I'll make sure you're protected from whoever you're afraid of.”

“I'm not afraid.”

“Rebecca?”

“Listen, even if I did think my life was in danger, then what?
You put me in some witness protection program and send me off to some isolated cabin in the middle of Alaska in hopes no one finds out? I'm a television reporter, with my eye on prime-time news. I don't plan to spend the rest of my life hovering in the wings.”

“Is that worth your life?”

“There's nothing to tell. I was contacted by one of my sources. I don't even know the guy's real name. He told me that Michael Hunt murdered Agent Sam Kendall. He sent me the photo of Michael that we aired. I dug around a bit and discovered that Michael Hunt—that you—were an undercover cop. And that you were supposed to be dead.”

“Why did someone want that story on the air?” Olivia asked.

“I have no idea, but it certainly didn't hurt our ratings.”

“But there's more at stake here than just a story, Rebecca.” Michael took another step forward. “We believe someone is planning to set off a bomb in a public place, and whoever gave you this information is more than likely involved in it.”

Rebecca pulled her purse strap across her shoulder. “I've already given you more than I should have. I need to go.”

“You have my number.” Olivia felt the frustrating tug of failure. Not every contact provided the information needed, but this time the stakes were too high to make a mistake. “Promise me you'll call me if you change your mind.”

“Forget it, Olivia. You go out there and get your own story.”

Olivia watched her walk away. “I'm worried about her, Michael.”

“Not every lead pays off.” Michael gathered her up in his arms. “We'll find out who's behind this.”

“When? After more people are caught in the crossfire, or that bomb goes off and innocent lives are lost? Or Ivan—”

“We're going to find Ivan.”

Michael's phone rang as they headed back to the car. He grabbed it out of his pocket and answered it.

“That was Avery,” he said, hanging up. The furrow in his brow deepened.

Olivia's heart stopped. “They found Ivan?”

“No. They found Felipe. He . . . he's alive.”

W
hat do you mean, Felipe's alive?” Olivia took a step backward, stumbled, then caught her footing before Michael had time to grab her. “That's not possible.”

She'd seen the bullet hole in his forehead. Touched the blood running down the side of his face. Checked for a pulse. There had been no pulse. She'd been certain of that. But clearly, in the smoke and gunfire, she'd made a horrible mistake.

She looked back up at Michael. “How is it possible that he's alive?”

“Avery said that the hospital just made a positive ID of a John Doe brought in last night.”

“Felipe.”

Michael nodded. “The people who found him were driving to their own cabin a couple miles up the road when they saw that the cabin was on fire. They called 911, then stopped to see if anyone needed help. According to the police report, Felipe was sitting outside the house, completely disoriented.”

Olivia ran through the scenario in her mind, while a sick feeling settled in her stomach. There were clearly things Felipe had lied about. Things he'd purposely kept from her. But in the end, she'd failed him.

“This is all my fault.” Her chest heaved. The chilling reality of what they'd done swept through her. They'd left Felipe to die in that fire. “He was alive, Michael, and I just left him.”

“Olivia, stop.” He braced his hands against her shoulders. “This wasn't your fault.”

“It wasn't my fault? You can't be serious.” She pulled away from him and started for the car. She needed to see Felipe. To find out if he was all right. “He was alive, and we left him there.”

He grabbed her arm and turned her around. “Stop. I know this is a huge shock, but at least he's alive. You and I both know that we did everything we could. They were shooting at us, the place was on fire and filling up with smoke. We were out of options, Olivia.”

“Then we should have come up with another option.”

Feelings of anger resurfaced. She shouldn't be snapping at Michael, but she wasn't just angry at herself for what had happened back in that cabin. She was angry at Felipe for lying to her. For pretending to be someone he wasn't. She was tired of the games and the secrets.

And now she'd just been given the chance to hear the truth from him herself.

She slipped into the passenger seat while Michael started the engine. Warm air began slowly circulating again but did nothing to melt away the fear surrounding her heart.

“Do you think Felipe is La Sombra?” She looked at him, knowing he didn't have any more answers to that than she did.

“I think it's possible, but that's a question you'll have to ask him.”

“I need to see him.”

“I know.” He nodded. “I'll drive you there now.”

Michael pulled out of the circular drive and headed toward the hospital, their security detail trailing behind them.

Thirty minutes later, Olivia stood outside Felipe's hospital room, trying to find the courage to step inside and face him.

Michael stood behind her, attempting to rub the kinks out of her shoulders. “No matter what he's done, no matter what he might regret or not regret about his life, one thing was clear to me when we were with him at the cabin. He loves you, Olivia. And nothing's going to change that.”

Nodding, she stepped inside. Felipe lay against the pillow, his skin sallow against the white sheets. There was a bandage on his forehead, and his arm was hooked up to an IV.

“Olivia.”

She crossed the speckled tile, breathing in the scent of disinfectants and hospital food, while trying to settle her nerves. “I thought you were dead. I saw them shoot you . . . I saw you lying on the floor—”

“This wasn't your fault, Olivia.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I couldn't find a pulse—”

“You're not the only one.” He shot her a weak smile. “It took the doctor awhile to find my pulse this morning. Apparently there's a problem with my arteries not pumping enough blood. And this”—he touched the bandage on his forehead—“turned out to be a shrapnel fragment from the shooting that required a bit of stitching, but not near as deadly as a bullet would have been.”

He looked past her, toward the doorway where Michael stood, giving them some privacy. “Where's Ivan?”

“They . . .” Her voice broke. “They took him.”

“During the attack at the cabin?”

“No, this afternoon. They tracked us to Atlanta, following the GPS device on Gizmo's collar, then somehow tracked us to the hotel.”

“Who?”

“My father's men? Or maybe men working for you? I don't know.” She wiped away the tears on her cheeks, trying to erase the resentment from her voice, but knew from his expression that he'd heard it. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

“Then that attack . . .” Felipe struggled to sit up, but Olivia stopped him. “They were after me, and I led them straight to you, because of a decision to protect that crazy dog of mine? But why take Ivan if they were after me?”

“Leverage, maybe? Trying to draw out my father? I don't know. We're still trying to put the pieces together.”

“Did you receive a ransom message?”

“Nothing yet. There's a team out there doing everything they can to find him.”

“I'm sorry, Olivia. I never meant for my sins to affect you and Ivan.”

“It's a little too late for that.” Sorrow mixed with the anger brewing inside her. But she didn't want any more apologies, or excuses, or lies. She wanted answers. “There have been far too many lies, Felipe. My mother and father weren't the only ones hiding the truth. I know that you and my father are brothers. I know about the money you had hidden at the cabin.”

Felipe's fingers pressed against one of the strips of tape securing his IV. “I should have disappeared a long time ago. Retired to some island in the South Pacific.”

“Why didn't you?”

“I think I lost the desire to start over.” Felipe lay back against the pillows. “Maybe if your mother hadn't died, things would have been different.”

“Why didn't you just tell me the truth?”

“She thought it would be better for the two of you if you never knew the truth.” He looked away, as if not able to handle her pain. “She thought she could shelter you—protect you—from the life she lived. From the lives all of us lived.”

“So she really did know everything?”

“Your mother had the bad fortune of falling in love with the wrong people. She loved your father, and while I know he loved her, he didn't love her as much as the business, so eventually she turned to me.”

“And my father . . . what was his role in all of this?”

“Your father was never interested in leading the cartel. Instead, he became successful running his real estate company and used it to help launder the cartel's money. He managed to avoid getting caught . . . until now.”

“Why didn't you just continue to lie to me? Why are you telling me the truth now?”

“Because I believe that his role of laundering money isn't enough for him anymore. I believe he's planning to take over.” Felipe shook his head. “There have been a number of my men killed over the past few months, all in an attempt to take over my territory.”

“Why did you go into hiding?”

“I'm not afraid of your father, if that's what you're implying.” This time he didn't avoid her gaze. “I went into hiding because I'm dying, Olivia.”

“Dying?”

“I always figured I had more lives than a stray cat, but this time I've pushed fate one too many times.”

“You could have told me.”

“I wanted to . . . at the cabin, but the timing never seemed right. Cancer's spread through my body. The doctor's given me a couple months at the most,” he said. “It's humorous in a way. I always assumed I'd either die with a bullet in my head or in prison. Never this. But I knew when those I worked with found out I was sick, I'd lose the control.”

Olivia frowned. “Are you La Sombra?”

“You want the truth?”

“Yes.”

“La Sombra was our father.” Felipe grasped her hand. “I took over as the head of the cartel when he died, but it was best for others to believe he still lived. I can live with the consequences of the life I chose, but I didn't want that for you. Which is why I tried to warn you about your father.”

“So the emails?” Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. “You're the one who sent them to me.”

“I was worried about you, Olivia. I can't protect you from what is happening.”

“Do you know who took Ivan?”

“I swear I don't know.”

“If it's my father, trying to get to you, how do we stop him?”

“I don't know.”

“People are going to die if we don't, Felipe. You can't tell me you're not in a position to fight back and put a stop to this.”

“Do you think I haven't already tried to stop this?”

Michael stepped into the room. “What if your father isn't behind this?”

Felipe looked up at Michael. “Then who?”

“Julio Salazar.”

“I killed his father.” Felipe shook his head. “With my death, the entire territory will be up for grabs.”

“And the cartel isn't the only one with lots to lose.” Michael stopped beside the bed. “What do you know about the ‘Canary List' that supposedly has names of dirty cops? Does Valez have that list?”

Felipe hesitated, as if weighing the impact of his answer. “Valez doesn't have that list. I do.”

“You do?”

Felipe unclasped a thin chain necklace from around his neck, then slipped a small silver key from it.

“What is that?” she asked.

“My insurance policy. I almost gave it to you at the cabin,” he said to Michael, “but I wasn't sure you wouldn't use it against Olivia and Ivan. But now . . . now something tells me you need it more than I do.”

“What kind of insurance policy?” Michael asked.

“It's a key to a bank safe-deposit box.” He looked at Olivia. “Your name's already on the permission card, Olivia.”

“What's inside it?”

“It's the list you need. The list that will allow you to come in, Michael. Every person who's associated with Cártel de Rey, from Atlanta to the Mexican border. Dirty cops, government agents. Even a local senator.”

“The story Rebecca's after,” Olivia said.

Felipe pressed the key into the palm of her hand and closed her fingers around it. “If I can't win this war, I might as well take them all down with me.”

Michael walked out of the room beside Olivia, the key tucked away in his pocket. He should be relieved they had it, but instead of relief, alarm still hovered over him. This wasn't over. They needed to find Ivan. Needed to stop that bomb. And he had no idea how to do either.

Carlos and Levi met them in the hallway where they'd been waiting. “Everything okay?”