Hidden Agenda (11 page)

“Did you know about the bomb?”

“Not until seconds before it went off. By then . . . by then it was too late.”

“Then how was it your fault?”

“It was my fault because I should have known about the bomb.” Whether or not it was true, logic didn't always mesh with the complexity of emotion. “I was the inside man, there to stop something like that from happening.”

But he hadn't been able to stop it. Bruce had left behind a three-year-old girl. Kelsey would never know her father. His wife
was now a widow, struggling to support her family on a teacher's salary, and nothing Michael could do would change that.

“I'm sorry.”

His fingers gripped the edges of the thick blanket. Olivia's presence had reminded him of his own powerlessness. But he wasn't going to let it happen again. “I'm sorry that you were dragged into this. Sorry that you had to find out the truth about your father this way.”

Her frown deepened, drawing thin lines across her forehead. “It's time you stopped apologizing. As I recall, I never asked your permission to rescue you.”

He couldn't help but smile at her honesty. “That might be true, but what you did was both daring and bold,” he said. In only a few hours, he'd learned she was vulnerable, but brave. He liked that. Liked her. Which made him wish all the more that she and Ivan had escaped without worrying about him. Now she was caught up in this tangled mess, with a good chance that neither of them would come out alive in the end.

Olivia fiddled with the top of the medicine bottle in her lap. “I would hardly use those words to describe myself, because—I'll be honest—I'm scared right now. I've seen what my father is capable of doing, and it terrifies me. If he finds out where we are . . .”

She left the statement hanging. She wanted him to tell her everything was going to be okay but knew he couldn't. All she knew to do at the moment was to keep praying that God would protect them from the man she'd always known as her father.

“I'm going to do everything I can to make sure he doesn't find us,” Michael said.

She threw him a weak smile. “Even you can't do that.”

“He hasn't traced us here so far, which means we should be
safe for now. And as soon as I'm feeling a bit more coherent, we'll figure out what to do next.”

Olivia shivered despite the warmth of the room. So much had happened in the past few hours to make her question what was real and what wasn't. Betrayal . . . loss . . . fear . . . She felt every emotion twisting through her.

“I know you're scared, Olivia, but I meant what I said.”

He brushed his fingers across her hand, but she pulled away. There was something . . . intimate about the situation that had her emotions wanting to delve deeper into the possibilities and run away at the same time.

She swallowed hard. “I just hate . . . I hate being afraid, not knowing what to believe.”

“Well, if it helps, you're not the only one who's afraid. And you're not the only one who's mixed up about what's true and what isn't.”

Olivia couldn't help but smile. “There are so many things I thought I knew, that I realize now were nothing but lies. Felipe knew the truth about who my father is.”

“Why the secrets? I don't understand.”

“He told me it was my mother's wish. To keep us safe. But now . . . it's hard to know who to trust. There have been so many lies.”

“How does all this change your relationship with Felipe? That he knew the truth and didn't tell you?”

“I don't know yet. In some ways it changes nothing . . . but in other ways, I'm realizing that nothing will ever be the same again.”

“I know you have questions about your father. And I know you don't know me at all, and you're struggling to trust me. But we need each other.” He reached out and grasped her hand. This time she didn't pull away.

She studied the raised veins running across the back of his
hand, his long slender fingers. He was right. She'd saved him. He'd saved her. And she was smart enough to realize she couldn't do this on her own.

“There's something about this I don't understand.” She turned back to him. “Why does your family think you're dead?”

She watched his face tighten. “Your father thought it would be best for his business if he had a completely untraceable employee, so he orchestrated my death. I thought I'd been given a second chance to finish what I'd started. I was now a valuable asset to Valez. Walking away would have meant undoing months of work that had put me in the perfect position to bring him down.”

“So you've been keeping the truth from your family just like Felipe and my mother and father kept the truth from Ivan and me. Tell me, Michael, how could you do that? I need to understand, I need to know why.”

Michael let go of her hand and laid his head back on the pillow. “You're asking the wrong person, Olivia. Not a day goes by that I don't ask myself that same question.”

O
livia helped Felipe finish dinner, allowing the routine task to become the distraction she needed. She no longer had any doubt regarding her father's guilt. Not after listening to both Michael's story and Felipe's confessions of the secret he'd kept all these years. But knowing the truth had only managed to bring up more questions and a growing fear inside of her she didn't know how to squelch.

Felipe jutted his chin toward the closed bedroom door. “You worried about him?”

She followed Felipe's gaze, confused by her conflicting feelings toward the man they'd managed to save. Michael had been the unexpected addition to the equation she had no idea how to solve.

“Yeah. I am worried,” she said. “Seems crazy, though. I barely know him.”

“You and Ivan have always had a heart for strays. Cats, dogs, birds. Remember the injured skunk you tried to capture that one summer?”

Olivia laughed at the memory, but the similarities to their current situation were too much alike. That skunk had necessitated a trip to the emergency room for her and Ivan after spraying
them both in the face. Even when you do everything you can to fix a situation, sometimes you get burned.

“I don't think you need to worry about Michael.” Felipe grabbed a potholder from one of the drawers and set it on the table. “I'm pleased with the way he's healing. No fever or signs of infection. He's a tough guy. I might not be a doctor, but I think he's going to pull through this.”

If my father doesn't
get to him first.

Olivia set her knife down on the cutting board where she'd been chopping a cucumber for the salad and bit back the thought. “I'm sorry. I'm just having a hard time accepting everything.”

Felipe turned her toward him and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have told you the truth years ago, instead of your finding out this way. I hope you know that your mother meant well. She only wanted what was best for you. She loved you, and somehow thought she could protect you. And since she died, I just . . . I just haven't known how to handle things.”

“None of this is your fault.”

Felipe dropped his hands to his sides. “Have you told Ivan what I told you?”

“Yes.” She picked up the knife and started chopping again.

“He's stronger than you think, Olivia.”

“I know, but I've spent my life protecting him. I don't know how to protect him from this.”

She glanced toward the front porch where Ivan was playing catch with Gizmo. The problem was that she would always worry about Ivan, and no assurances from Felipe could change that.

“The truth isn't always easy to accept, so just give him time. He'll be okay. Both of you will.”

“I know.”

“And Olivia, the two of you have always been like family to me. I need you to know that.”

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, then took a step back. “I do, Felipe. I do.”

The bedroom door creaked open and Michael walked into the room with color in his cheeks for the first time since they'd arrived. Relief flooded through her, causing her to pause. Because it shouldn't matter this much that he was okay.

“Whoa.” Olivia started across the room toward him. “What are you doing out of bed?”

He shot her a wide smile. “Something smells delicious. Thought I was missing out.”

She stopped in the middle of the room and let out a soft laugh. “You were about to miss out. Felipe made some
sopa de frijol
—black bean soup. Said it would help have you up and around before you knew it. And as a bonus, you won't find anything like it this side of the border.”

“You've talked me into it, if you don't mind me joining you at the table.”

“Of course not.” Felipe grabbed an extra bowl from the cabinet. “Besides, if you're hungry, that's a good sign.”

“Trust me, I'm hungry enough to eat just about anything at this point.”

Felipe set the bowl on the table with the others. “I'll go let Ivan know it's time to eat.”

Olivia set the pot of soup on the hot pad on the table, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “You must be feeling better.”

“How long have I been sleeping?”

She glanced at her watch. “A good thirty-six hours off and on.”

“Thirty-six? Which makes it . . .”

“Thursday,” she finished for him.

Michael let out a low whistle.

“How do you feel? That's the important question right now.”

“Better than I have in days. Still sore in a few places, but I finally feel as if I'm going to live.”

She studied the bandage covering up his gunshot wound. The bruise on his face had finally started turning from purple to yellow. He might be feeling better, but he still should see a proper doctor.

“Any signs of infection?” she asked.

“No and no fever either.”

She wondered if he remembered their conversation from yesterday morning. Or all the times she'd gone into his room to check on him and make sure he took his medicine. Or how many hours she'd sat beside his bed, worried his fever might return.

“What about you?” He took a step toward her. “How are you?”

“Relieved that you're feeling better.”

“Thank you for trusting me. For sitting with me. Every time I woke up, you were there, like my guardian angel. I knew I was going to be okay.”

She smiled back at him, wishing she could ignore whatever was stirring inside her.

Felipe and Ivan entered the cabin, pulling her thoughts away from places they didn't need to go. She grabbed the pitcher of water and set it on the table, wishing that this lull in the storm could last forever. But now that Michael was up on his feet again, they were going to have to make decisions . . . and those decisions had nothing to do with her heart.

Michael sat down beside Olivia and listened while she said grace, her words flowing over him like a healing balm. The past couple of days might still be a blur, but he'd meant what he'd told her. Waking up and seeing her sitting beside him, curled up with a book, had given him what he needed to keep fighting.

Fifteen minutes later, he finished his second bowl of soup.

Olivia held up the ladle. “Do you want some more?”

Michael grinned at her. “No. But thank you. It was delicious.”

“Felipe has all kinds of hidden talents,” Olivia said. “And as you can see, cooking is one of them.”

Felipe leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “Your mother was the cook. She could make the best tortillas of anyone I know. Here, all I can get is packaged ones from the corner grocer.”

Michael leaned back in his chair. “A couple more days with food like this and I should be back to normal.”

“You're welcome to stay as long as you need to,” Felipe said.

“I appreciate that, sir.”

Except he knew he couldn't stay, even though for the first time in months, he actually found himself able to relax. While the fire crackled in the background, leaving a subtle hint of cedar throughout the room, he could almost imagine himself back with his own family with his own mama's cooking on the stove. They used to spend a week every winter up in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Tonight, those memories seemed like a lifetime ago.

He pushed his chair back and noticed the small television across the room for the first time. They needed to make a plan. Needed to know exactly what they were facing before they walked out of here.

“Have you watched the news the past couple of days?” he asked.

Olivia nodded. “Watched it last night and again this morning, but so far nothing about the gas station robbery.”

Felipe glanced at the clock, then grabbed the remote to flip it on. “Tonight's broadcast should be starting any minute now.”

Michael held on to the shred of hope that maybe he hadn't been identified yet from the store footage, but eventually it was going to lead back to him. It was just a matter of time.

After a commercial, one of the local broadcasters announced the lead story for the evening.

“Tonight, police are still looking for this man, Michael
Andrew Hunt, for questioning. Rebecca Pearce has the rest of
the story.”

Michael's stomach twisted as his face filled the screen. Any hope that the story had fallen through the cracks had just been destroyed.

The camera zoomed in on Rebecca Pearce's serious demeanor.

“Thanks, Robin. Police
believe that Hunt was involved in a convenience store robbery
two nights ago, and we now have exclusive information that
he is also a person of interest in the brutal
murder of FBI agent Sam Kendall, whose body was discovered
along the Georgia coastline early this morning. If you have
any information as to the whereabouts of this man, please
call the number on your screen. This is Rebecca Pearce,
reporting for—”

Olivia punched the mute button and turned to Michael. “Rebecca always did have a tendency for finding the dramatic stories, but now you're being blamed for Kendall's death? How is that possible?”

“I don't know.” Unease spread through him. “You know the reporter?”

Olivia nodded. “She's difficult to get along with, but she's good at what she does. She might have an inside source. I could call her—”

“We can't go to the media at this point,” Michael said.

“He's right,” Felipe added.

“Then what do we do?” Olivia asked. “We can't stay here, can't turn ourselves in . . .”

Michael pushed his chair back. “I've gone over and over everything that's happened the past few days, and I've made
a decision. You're going to stay here until this blows over. I'm going to turn myself in.”

“No way—”

“Olivia, you just saw for yourself what the police think happened. The longer we delay the inevitable, the guiltier I look.”

She threw her napkin into her empty bowl, clearly upset. “You told me if you turn yourself in, there are people who will do anything to keep you quiet. How has that changed? And if you don't even know who they are—?”

“Maybe that hasn't changed, but what are my options?” The relaxed atmosphere of the dinner conversation had vanished. “I can't keep running.”

“Neither can we,” Olivia said, “but—”

“I'll go to the police and tell them what I saw,” Ivan interrupted.

Michael turned to Ivan. He sat at the end of the table, speaking and signing at the same time.

“You're not going to the police,” Olivia said.

“Why not?” Ivan asked.

Olivia stood up and began pacing in front of the fireplace. A pocket of sap popped as she turned back to her brother. “They might be after Michael because he has evidence that could take down our father, but you were a witness to a murder. Do you think they'll let you just walk away? Especially if our father has people inside the police department?”

“Your sister's right. It's not safe,” Michael said.

He carried his bowl to the sink and rinsed it. There was one other option he hadn't mentioned, because so far, he'd avoided giving it serious thought. He could contact his old partner and best friend, Mason, or his sister, Avery. Both were cops, and he trusted them completely. The problem was that if anyone found out they were harboring a fugitive, they'd lose their jobs. And that wasn't a risk he was ready to take.

“Ivan, what's wrong?”

The worry in Olivia's voice caught his attention. Michael set down his bowl and turned toward the window where Ivan stood with Gizmo at his side, ears up and alert.

“There's—someone—something out there.”

She crossed the room and started to pull back the curtain.

“Olivia, get back from the window,” Michael said.