Hidden Agenda (23 page)

Dr. Longhurst shut the door behind him and stepped out onto the long veranda. Definitely nervous. Definitely hiding something. “What does my financial situation have anything to do with any of the hundreds of autopsies I performed over the years?”

Avery pulled out a photo of her brother from the file she held. “This man was declared dead after a bomb explosion in a warehouse eight months ago, but we now have information that he is actually very much alive. Does that ring any bells?”

“I . . . yes . . . remember that case. While there was little left of the bodies, we found the DNA of Mr. Hunt at the crime scene.”

“While I don't doubt that Mr. Hunt was at that warehouse that day, I do, however, question the fact that he died there, which brings me back to you. I want to know why you falsified Michael Hunt's death certificate.”

“I don't know anything about falsifying—”

“I find that hard to believe, because according to your record, the case involving Mr. Hunt wasn't the first time something like this happened. Your tenure, Dr. Longhurst, was, in fact, marked by questions about accuracy several times, isn't that correct?” Avery said, not waiting for a response before she continued. “And if anything else were to show up, formal disciplinary action would have been taken against you.”

“I told you, I don't know—”

Avery held up a piece of paper. “We have evidence that eight
months ago, there was a payment deposited into your bank account in the amount of seventy-five thousand dollars.”

Longhurst patted his front pocket and pulled out his reading glasses. “I've already spoken to the police about this case, and I explained that the money was from my mother's estate. She died this past year.”

“This is not a statement from your local bank here in Atlanta, Dr. Longhurst. This is a deposit of seventy-five thousand dollars in an off-shore account we were able to link to you.”

“No.” Dr. Longhurst reached for the paper. “The only money I received was from my mother's estate.”

“
Those
funds were deposited by the insurance company into your personal banking account.”

“Then there must be some mistake.”

“Like the mistake of falsifying autopsy papers?”

“No, I would never—”

Dr. Longhurst flipped over the paper as if looking for something to exonerate him, but it was too late.

Mason spoke up. “Game's over, Longhurst. We have further evidence of another large deposit into that same account eighteen months ago, and even more incriminating, we have records that prove who put it into your account.”

Longhurst's face paled. “If you know who it is, then you'll know I'm going to need protection. They'll kill me if they know I've been talking to you.”

“First tell us exactly what you were told to do.”

“He told me I would find DNA at the scene from Mr. Hunt, and that I needed to ensure that he was listed as one of the fatalities in the explosion. But I never thought anyone would get hurt. You have to believe that.”

“How very noble of you, Dr. Longhurst,” Mason said. “But is that what you really thought? What about Mr. Hunt's family, who watched their son and brother buried, never knowing
that he was alive out there somewhere, maybe even needing their help?”

Dr. Longhurst rubbed his fingers against his temples. “I figured if I was doing a favor for the cartel, he deserved whatever he got just for being mixed up with them.”

“And did you know if that man was, indeed, ‘mixed up with them' as you put it?”

“No, but—”

“But you decided to play God.”

“I didn't have a choice. He threatened to hurt my daughter if I didn't comply.”

“I know how hard that had to have been, trust me. A week ago, I almost lost my daughter,” Avery said, pulling out her handcuffs. “But you could have gone to someone instead of taking a payoff that hurt other innocent people.”

Dr. Longhurst's expression darkened. “So is Mr. Hunt alive?”

“You know how the cartel treats its victims. There's a good chance that they tortured him and you helped them cover it up.”

“I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Dr. Longhurst,” Avery said, “you're under arrest for falsifying autopsy reports and—”

“Wait, I need protection, and if you cut me a deal—”

“You lost out on making a deal the moment you signed on with the devil.”

O
livia stood up and paced the beige carpet of the hotel room as Michael debated with Avery—who'd just returned with Mason—on whether or not it was time to bring in the captain. She glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time, realizing that this decision wasn't the only thing bothering her. Ivan had been gone twenty-six minutes with Gizmo. And the fact that they'd sent an officer with him did little to ease her worry. She kept giving them more minutes. Believing that any second they'd come in the door, reminding her once again that she was overprotective when it came to him. Reminding her that there was nothing to worry about.

But after all that had happened over the past few days, not worrying was getting harder and harder. She wished she knew how to get rid of the constant knot in her stomach that had settled there over the past twenty-four hours. The only thing keeping her going was the reality that she didn't have to go through this alone. Michael, his father, his sisters, and the rest of them had swept in and set up the place until it looked like a war room. And they'd promised her they wouldn't stop until this was over.

“Olivia?” Emily called to her from the small kitchen. “Would you like some hot chocolate? I for one am tired of coffee.”

Olivia joined her in the kitchen, thankful for the distraction. “That would be great. Thanks.”

Emily dumped two packets of powder into empty mugs, then filled them with hot water. “Are you hanging in there?”

Olivia hesitated, wondering if she should stay quiet. Michael had been right. Ivan wasn't a child anymore, and she did tend to overreact.

“I guess I'm doing just that . . . hanging in there.”

“I know this is hard on you.” Emily's gaze softened. “I have a feeling we're a lot alike.” She leaned against the counter. “I don't even want to be in that other room right now, because I think too much, and definitely worry too much.”

Olivia grabbed a spoon and started stirring the lumps of powder, thankful she wasn't the only one who overprocessed everything.

“I've been thinking what you said about fear . . . and Michael.” Olivia felt a heat cross her face at the thought of Michael. “My main concern is—and has always been—making sure Ivan is okay. Michael's entrance into my life has been—well, like you said—completely unexpected.”

“I'm the perfect case in point. Sometimes love comes unexpectedly. So the question becomes, what does your heart say?”

Olivia didn't even have to try to imagine those blue eyes smiling down at her. Or what those eyes did to her heart.

“There's a chemistry between us I can't ignore,” she said. “In some ways I feel as if I've known him forever, but the reality is, I haven't, and that's where my heart starts warning me to back off.”

“That's fear speaking again.”

Olivia nodded. “But Michael and I . . . we live in two different worlds. I'm not sure I could handle waiting for him to come home every night, not knowing if something might have happened to him. Even now, I find my stomach in knots, worried
that something's going to go wrong. That in the end my father and whoever else is involved will win, and I'll lose him before I ever know what might have been between the two of us.”

“Don't borrow trouble, as my father always used to say. This situation won't last forever. And when it's over, I'd say both of you will have earned some time off to explore whatever feelings have come to the surface.”

Excitement mixed with sweet anticipation spread through Olivia. So much had changed over the past few days, both good and bad. Only time would tell which was going to outweigh the other.

“I have no idea what the future holds,” Emily said, “but Michael needs someone in his life like you. I can see it in his eyes. You make him happy.”

“The question is, can I be with someone who lives on adrenaline? You thought you lost him once, and the chances of him finding himself in another situation like that are very, very real.”

“You're right.” Emily nodded. “Michael's a cop, and nothing's going to change that. Not even falling in love.”

“So how do you live with the fear that he might not come back? Or that Mason won't come back? My life is predictable. Michael's life is more like a constant firecracker in a hornet's nest. I'll be honest, the thought terrifies me.”

“I might come from a family of cops, but you can bet it scares me too. I'm a teacher with a pretty predictable life. I might spend my days teaching about revolutionaries and wars, but my own day-to-day life is routine. I eat oatmeal and blueberries for breakfast, drive the same route to school every day. I buy Chinese takeout on Tuesdays and eat dinner with my family on Wednesday nights. Falling in love with an undercover cop who also thrives on adrenaline wasn't exactly on my to-do list.”

“Maybe a bit of unpredictability isn't such a bad thing for
the two of us after all.” Olivia's smile faded as she glanced toward the door.

“So what else is bothering you?” Emily asked.

“Ivan . . . he's been gone too long.”

Michael stepped into the kitchen with an empty coffee cup in his hand and grabbed the half-full pot off the counter. “I'm sure he's fine. This hotel was chosen because of the security.”

Olivia frowned, hoping he hadn't heard the first part of their conversation. But no matter what Michael thought about the safety of the hotel, they shouldn't have let Ivan take Gizmo out. These weren't ordinary circumstances. Whoever was after them was involved with the cartel, which meant these weren't run-of-the-mill thugs involved in petty crime. If they found Ivan . . . if they knew he'd witnessed a murder . . . knew he was the son of Antonio Valez . . .

She drew in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the doubts. She knew Michael was right. But letting go of the fear wasn't easy.

Michael put a spoonful of sugar into his coffee, then set his mug on the counter. “You know, I could use a few minutes to stretch my legs.”

“Did you and Avery come to an agreement?”

Michael nodded. “Before things progress further, we decided we have to let the captain know what's going on.”

“Can you trust him?”

“I have no reason not to at this point. In the meantime, let's go for a walk.”

She nodded, then grabbed the coat Emily had loaned her before heading out the door with him.

In the hallway, Olivia pressed the Down button, then watched the elevator's numbers count as it made its way slowly to their floor.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I know what it's like to worry about family.”

“How does it feel to be back with yours again?” she asked.

“Surreal. I've thought about being together again so many times over the past few months. And then more recently, I wondered if I ever would see them again.”

“It's clear how much they love you.”

“Which I'm very thankful for.” Michael chuckled as the elevator finally dinged and its doors slid open. “Even though my sisters are always trying to mother me, and Mama tends to be more of a mother hen now that we're grown and have been out of the house for a decade. Nothing happens without her either knowing about it, or finding out soon afterward. But she does make up for her inquisitive nature with invites to a home-cooked meal a couple nights a week. You can't get much better than her chicken fried steak and banana pudding, unless it's her Christmas dinner. I'll have to bring you to one of our family dinners.”

She caught his gaze in the mirror as they stepped into the empty elevator, wondering if he'd still want to invite her to a family dinner when all of this was over. Because she'd say yes. She loved the sense of family he brought with him. The stability that came with his family, despite the hazards of the career he'd chosen to follow.

“I don't think I'd mind putting up with a bit of overbearing mothering if it included meals like that.” She laughed as the elevator approached the lobby. “Ivan's had to put up with my cooking for the past ten or so years unless we go to a church potluck or the occasional invite to someone's house. He usually gets something from a box or from the freezer, though I am known for my death-by-chocolate brownies.”

“Oh, now that's definitely not a bad rep to have.”

“Ivan's actually a better cook than I am. I watch cooking shows, then pull out the handy frozen lasagna.”

He laughed as they stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and headed toward the grassy area in the back. Olivia drew in a
deep breath, still trying to settle her nerves. Worrying had been a foolish waste of energy. Of course Ivan was fine. She knew him. He tended to get distracted and lose track of time. How many times had she found him sitting in front of his computer at two in the morning, wrestling with some problem he'd been trying to solve? Today was no different.

But even those reassurances did little to ease her worry. Everyone she saw was a possible enemy working for her father. The man in a dark suit talking on his cell phone, clearly angry about something. The couple sitting beside a stack of luggage. Even the manager behind the counter looked suspicious.

Michael opened the door and Olivia walked past a stack of chairs. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, though the sky had cleared up, with promises of warmer weather by midafternoon.

She glanced across the lawn, looking for her brother.

“He's not here, Michael.”

Michael took her hand. “Don't worry. I'm sure they're just around the corner.”

“Gizmo?” She called the dog, trying to mask the desperation in her voice. “Come here, boy!”

The familiar surge of panic raced through her. She was eighteen again. She'd taken Ivan to the carnival, knowing he was determined to ride the roller coaster even though he was barely tall enough. They'd let him through, though she'd been convinced he'd been standing on his tiptoes.

She'd waited for him at the exit, minutes clicking by in slow motion. And then the ride had ended, and he never got off.

She found him fifteen minutes later. He'd chickened out and slipped out of the line but had been too embarrassed to tell her. The threat might have been minimal, but she'd never forgotten those moments of panic. Just like she'd never forgotten her mama's dying wish that she make sure Ivan stayed safe.

Olivia stood in the middle of the green space, cold and scared. There was no sign of her brother.

“Michael . . .” She turned around to face him, her heart pounding. “They're gone.”

The fenced-in area was quiet except for a young woman, bundled up in a hat and scarf, with a miniature poodle.

Olivia walked up to her, forcing a smile. “Did you see a young man, nineteen years old, and a dog? They would have been here a few minutes ago.”

“Sorry . . . no. I just got here.”

Olivia turned back to Michael. “We should check the parking lot.”

Five minutes later, they stood on the edge of the parking lot, with no sign of Ivan or the dog.

Something caught her eye near the fence. A man lay motionless on the asphalt. “Michael . . .”

“It's the guard we sent with Ivan,” Michael said, rushing toward the body.

Panic slowly seeped through her as Michael knelt down beside him and checked for a pulse.

“He's dead. Shot in the head.”

“They took Ivan, Michael.”

“I'll send someone out here, but I want you back inside immediately.” He pulled out his phone as he hurried her in the direction of the hotel. “We can search the security cameras, as well as traffic cameras in the area. Wherever Ivan is, we're going to find him.”

Olivia struggled to keep up with Michael as he shouted out instructions to his sister. He stopped outside the back entrance of the hotel, pulled out his keycard, and whisked her inside the building.

Something that had been nagging at her clicked as they stepped into the elevator. “What if someone took Ivan for
leverage against my father? What if, in this war involving Salazar, La Sombra, and my father, we somehow both become prime targets?”

Michael's brow furrowed as the doors shut. “It's possible.”

Olivia's throat constricted as she tried to speak. “Whoever it is, they won't think twice about killing him.”

He gathered her into his arms. “Don't go there.”

She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the world against her as the elevator started moving.

“Avery's putting out an APB,” he said, “and my father is on his way to hotel security to start checking all the videos. We'll find him.”

She pulled back, her eyes wide with question. “Michael, what do you do when something horrible happens, when fear takes hold so deep you can hardly breathe?”