Extreme Exposure (35 page)

She’d been wrong. Reece had brought all those things with him—pounding hearts, screaming sex, and a world of complications. But he’d also respected her, stood up for her, and gone out of his way to be thoughtful to both her and Connor. She’d never experienced that kind of easy connection with a man before. With Galen, she’d always felt there was something else she had to do to win his approval—be more sophisticated around his friends, who were so much older and more established than she; be better in bed; make fewer emotional demands. Her relationship with Tom, though it wasn’t sexual, wasn’t much different, as she’d struggled constantly to prove herself to him.

But with Reece, all she had to do was
be.
He’d accepted her as she was from the night they’d met. Getting lost in him felt an awful lot like . . . finding herself.

She got up from her desk, crossed the room to make herself another cup of tea, and pushed thoughts of him from her mind. She needed to get focused and put these interviews behind her so she could pound out this story. She’d already spoken to a cement-industry expert, who had viewed copies of the videotapes Tom had overnighted to him. The man had sputtered with outrage at the images he’d
seen—piles of cement-kiln dust, pools of leaked oil, machinery held together with rags and duct tape.

“So what you saw in the videos is not within industry standards?” she’d asked him.

“Are you kidding me? If I were still doing worker-safety inspections, I’d shut that place down. I can’t imagine what the workers are breathing every day. Ten years from now their lungs are gonna be nothing but scar tissue.”

“Is there any chance whatsoever that the individual who made these tapes might have staged the conditions you viewed?”

“How could anyone do that? There’s dust piled up on the ceiling beams. No way could anyone have set that up. What you’re seeing is the result of negligence on the part of management. They’re not putting the necessary time and money into maintaining their equipment, and it’s causing dust and oil leaks. My guess is they’ve either cut back on their cleaning crew or that the cleaning crew flat out can’t keep up with it.”

“Why would management fail to maintain the equipment? Wouldn’t that hurt the company in the long run?”

“Who cares what’s gonna happen in ten or twenty years when you can turn a profit this year? Besides, the rock beds Northrup is mining are expected to play out in the next ten years. Why spend millions on upkeep for a plant you’re gonna be shutting down?”

That information had taken her by surprise, and another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. It was one thing for a company to let its equipment fall apart if that company planned on staying in business. Neglect would eventually impact the company’s bottom line. It was a different situation entirely for a facility only years away from closing its doors forever. Like someone pushing to get that last five thousand miles out of an old car, the bigwigs at TexaMent would save millions if they could just hold the plant together with duct tape until it was time to shut down operations.

The lust for profit. It was the motivation behind all of this. From dumping solvents into the drainage ditch to squelching
the results of state inspections to failing to maintain equipment, it all came together in millions at the bank. Even the tire-burning bill had its foundation in the desire for profit, as the company would be getting paid to burn tires rather than paying to burn coal.

Kara dipped her tea bag one last time, drained it with her spoon, and set it on the tray. She raised the cup to her lips and took a careful sip. The flavor of peppermint splashed over her tongue. Mulling over the facts, she strolled back to her desk, sat, and sipped.

How did Mike Stanfield feel about money? She needed to find out. She’d gotten a list of questions ready for him this morning just after Reece had left, but she’d been putting off calling him.

Chicken.

She tried to ignore her irritating inner voice and pretended for a moment that she hadn’t heard it. But the voice was right. For the first time in her career, she was afraid to interview someone. The realization left her feeling stunned and disgusted. Had she really let them get to her? Had they intimidated her so thoroughly that she was afraid to make a phone call?

As if to redeem herself, she grabbed her notepad, reached for the phone, and dialed Northrup’s number. In a matter of seconds, she found herself speaking with his executive assistant. She clicked the record button.

“He’s not available at the moment, but he was expecting your call. He instructed me to tell you he’d be available this afternoon.”

Kara hid her surprise. “What time do you expect him back? I’ll call back then.”

“He’s marked himself out until four. Would you like me to take a message?”

“Just tell him Kara McMillan from the
Denver Independent
will be in touch this afternoon.” She hung up the phone, chills pricking down her spine. The bastard was playing mind games with her. He’d left that message with his assistant
for one reason—to intimidate her. He wanted her to know she wasn’t going to catch him off-guard. He wanted her to believe he was one step ahead of her. Well, Mike Stanfield could go to hell.

She reached for a stack of documents, ready to begin working on the first sidebar—a timeline detailing findings in the state’s inspection reports. Agitated, she succeeded in knocking the documents onto the carpet, where they scattered out of order.

“Great, McMillan. Perfect.” She got down on her knees and tried to sort through them.

It was then her gaze fell across one sheet of paper, and she saw it. Forgetting everything else, she picked up the document—a citation against a shift manager for improper storage of solvents—and stared at the name. “Oh! Oh, God!”

She leapt up, picked up the phone, and called her source at the Colorado Bureau of Investigation. “Hi, it’s Kara. I need a background check ASAP. The name is Juan de la Peña.”

“S
ENATOR
S
HERIDAN
, you have the floor.”

Reece could see the gloating satisfaction in Devlin’s eyes. He waited until the Senate chamber fell silent, gave Devlin his most genial smile, and then leaned into the mic. “Mr. President, I would like to make a motion that Senate Bill 46, regarding the burning of waste tires as fuel, be postponed indefinitely.”

Devlin looked surprised, and for a moment he said nothing. “I find your motion to be out of order.”

Go ahead, Devlin
.
Dig your grave deeper.
“Point of order, Mr. President, the bill
is
on the schedule. It
is
my bill. And I
do
have the floor. How can the motion be out of order?”

The silence in the chamber seemed to deepen, and Reece knew the other senators were straining for the subtext, trying to figure out what was really happening in front of them.

Devlin stared at him for a moment, seeming to be at a
loss. Clearly, he’d expected Reece to try to pass the bill today. Perhaps he thought being framed for murder would bring Reece to heel. Fat chance.

“The bill has already passed first and second reading. Trying to P.I. it now is—”

Reece interrupted, almost enjoying himself. “Entirely in keeping within the Senate rules.”

“I call a ten-minute recess for a reading of the rules.” Devlin slid out from behind the president’s podium, probably headed for a private phone from which to call Stanfield, when Reece intercepted him.

He spoke so only Devlin could hear him. “I think it’s time you and I had a little chat about TexaMent.”

Devlin looked at him through gray eyes that held contempt. Or was it fear? He motioned to a side conference room. “Make it quick.”

As soon as Devlin shut the door behind him, Reece spoke. “How long have you been in Mike Stanfield’s pocket?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, come off it, Devlin. I know Stanfield has been slipping you big bucks using his employees’ names as cover. I’ve combed through your campaign-finance reports for the past few years and found dozens of contributions that all came from the same address—TexaMent’s Northrup plant. What do you think an investigation would reveal? Did all those employees truly make contributions, or did the money come from TexaMent and Stanfield? How much is he paying you to be his lapdog? Whatever it is, it’s sure as hell over the legal max.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Miguel popped his head in, a worried look on his face. “Reece—”

“Not now, Miguel!”

Looking surprised and more than a little angry, Miguel shut the door.

Devlin glared up at Reece and puffed out his chest. “You can’t prove anything.”

“I think I can.” Reece held up the stack of documents he’d photocopied. “I’ve got campaign-finance reports dating back to your first House campaign, and they all show the same thing—thousands in donations from one address, Northrup.”

Devlin did a good imitation of surprise. “That’s not my fault. You can’t hold me responsible for his mistakes.”

“Sure, I can, and so can the Secretary of State. I’ve also got a copy of the letter you wrote to the state health department demanding that they back off their enforcement action at Northrup.” Reece shuffled through the papers and held the letter out so that Devlin could see it. Then he bluffed. “The signature is blacked out, of course, but Owens was more than happy to tell us who’d written it when he realized what was at stake.”

Devlin’s gaze dropped to the paper, and his nostrils flared. “I might have made a few phone calls, but I didn’t write that. Owens is full of crap.”

“Save it for the ethics hearing, Devlin. Northrup was faking its emissions reports, lying about its equipment, dumping toxins in the water, coating the farmland downwind with caustic dust, and making people sick. They were breaking federal and state environmental laws, and by forcing the health department to back off, you were aiding and abetting them.”

“I didn’t force them to do anything!” Devlin’s face flushed an angry red.

Reece ignored him. “So how does it work? Stanfield pays the big bucks, and you watch his back?”

Devlin took a step in Reece’s direction. “Do you think I’m the only politician who takes care of the people who fund his campaigns? That’s how the game is played, Sheridan!”

“Speaking of games, you had it all worked out, didn’t you? You waited in the shadows while Stanfield got me to sponsor the tire-burning bill to ensure the environmental vote and then you signed on.”

Devlin sneered at him. “That was my idea. I found it rather funny, really. It seemed like a great way to win over the tree-huggers and piss you off at the same time.”

Reece watched Devlin brag and decided to play to his ego. “I have to give you credit. It worked—for a while. But then Kara McMillan got those whistleblower tapes and everything went to hell, didn’t it?”

“Some people don’t know when to quit.”

“You can say that again. Stanfield tried to get her to back off with threats, and when that didn’t work, he tried to have her killed. Then when I figured out what was going on and tried to withdraw the bill, he had Alexis murdered and framed me.”

Devlin watched him warily. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“I think you do.” Reece held out several pages he’d printed out this morning. “I also happen to have your phone records, including those from two days ago. I know that shortly after I called Stanfield to tell him I was killing the bill, he called you at home. Two hours later Alexis was murdered.”

Devlin’s body jerked as if he’d been hit. “You can’t access those records!”

“I already have. I suspect that when I bring this information to Chief Irving he might have a few questions for you.”

“You’re crazy! I didn’t kill Alexis! I liked her!” He started to sweat. “Stanfield wanted the tire-burning bill put on the next day’s agenda, that’s all.”

“I passed the polygraph, Devlin. Will you?”

He was shaking now. “All I’ve ever done is watch out for TexaMent’s interests here at the Capitol—carry a bill now and then, watch over the health department. I’ve never conspired to kill anyone!”

“I’ll leave that to the cops to sort out. In the meantime, there’s the little matter of the tire-burning bill. You know damned good and well my motion isn’t out of order. You
called this recess to delay the vote. But we’re going to go back out there, and you’re going to approve my motion and call for a vote. Got it?”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“No. If I were blackmailing you, I’d threaten to make everything I know public unless you cooperate. But I’m turning all this over to the police and calling for an independent audit no matter what you do.”

“So what’s to stop me from denying your motion just to spite you?”

“You don’t have a leg to stand on, and every senator in that room knows it. Deny my motion, and you’ll just look worse in the end. Besides, I have every word of this conversation on tape.” Reece ignored the shocked look on Devlin’s face, turned his back on him, and walked to the door.

“You can’t do that! It’s illegal!”

“If you paid more attention to the laws of the state you pretend to serve, you’d know that covertly recording a conversation is legal in Colorado, provided the person doing the recording is a party to the conversation. Ask legislative legal.” Reece pushed open the door and found Miguel pacing in the hallway outside the door. He looked pale, sweat beading on his forehead.

Miguel stomped over to him. “Have you gone
loco?
We have to talk.”

“It will have to wait, Miguel. I believe Devlin is about to call for a vote.”

K
ARA READ
through the lengthy background check the Colorado Bureau of Investigation had faxed over for her. Juan de la Peña might be the brother of a state senator, but he was also absolute scum. He had a juvie record stretching back almost to the day he was conceived—mostly petty drug charges, theft, vandalism, that sort of thing. He’d served a couple terms in prison, once in Cañon City for assault and
once in Leavenworth for assault and possession with intent to sell. And now he was working at Northrup as a shift manager, where he’d been cited for improperly storing toxic chemicals.