Soft Target (6 page)

“Boise. I just need to pick up my rental car and I’ll be on my way. According to my driving app, I should be in Fiddler by three.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Gray stammered through his surprise. “We’ve been through this. We agreed—”

“Nate’s wedding invitation was addressed to
both
of us,” she reminded him. “We’ve RSVP’d. And I’ve lugged your damn diplomas through baggage claim, although God knows why you need them to be best man.”

Gray’s head was splitting, and he fumbled in his desk drawer for his aspirin. Shoving a handful into his mouth, he grimaced at the bitter taste as he swallowed them dry. “Stay there. I’ll come see you tomorrow. Text me the name of the hotel.”

“But—”

“There’s more to keep you occupied in Boise. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hung up before she could continue to argue.

Like that would stop her. It was all they’d done for the past few months. They’d never done that before. They’d worked together, partied together, vacationed together and slept together, but they’d been too busy to fight. And then he hadn’t been busy. Sitting still had given him a different perspective.

He stared out the door and listened to Glen mutter in the main room. What the hell was Shelby
really
doing here? Grimacing, he stared into the hallway. He wasn’t looking forward to another showdown with the determined redhead.

That determination had been firmly in the “pro” column during their relationship. Shelby really was formidable when she set her mind to something, whether it was a case, a promotion or even a better pattern on the shooting range.

However, for the last few months she’d been focused on
him
. His recovery. His return to work. His recognition—for surviving, apparently—and on fixing things between them. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand that the change in him had very little to do with her.

He rubbed his aching head.
Focus, Harper. One thing at a time. The most important thing is Maggie. Do your job. She’s afraid.

Chapter Six

Maggie stood at the diner counter, waiting on her cinnamon roll, Max’s breakfast burrito, two cups of coffee and three dozen donuts for the security crew who was invading her home.

“Hi, Maggie. Ready for the bachelorette auction?” Jewel Turner asked as she swept past.

The auction. As if she didn’t have enough going on. “You bet, Jewel. The playlist is almost done. We’ll dance holes in our shoes.”

“I’ll leave that up to you kids. I keep holding out hope for you to meet the right guy. You know Laura Brown met her fiancé there last year.”

“You never know,” Maggie said, pasting on a smile.

She knew why she’d never met the right guy at the auction. She and Nate had made a pact the first year they’d held it—the year after her disastrous almost-wedding. She’d enter to raise money, but he’d have to win her.

Shit
. Nate couldn’t bid this year. His engagement made him ineligible.

Who else was there? Her brain spun through the list of possibilities, all of whom were married or employees.

“Hi, Maggie,” Carl said from behind her.

She turned and smiled. Not long ago, his clothes had been ill-fitting and poorly patched and he’d been without money for decent food. Now he was in his city uniform and he was carrying a take-out order. He was another Fiddler success story. The boost he’d gotten from a Mathis grant had opened a door, and he’d run through it and made the most of his chance. He worked hard, and he was always there when she needed him for any odd job. Could she use him for
this
one? He wasn’t on the payroll—not the regular payroll, anyway.

“I’m glad to see you.” She took her breakfast and the security team’s pastry bribes from the counter. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Carl relieved her of the stack of boxes and walked with her to the patrol car and her waiting escort. “Why is Max driving you? Are you okay?”

“Umm, yeah. Just a little car trouble so I needed a ride. Listen, I need your help.”

“Anything.”

In a hushed voice she laid out her plan. When Carl stared, openmouthed and wide-eyed, she put a hand on his arm. “I’ll pay the money. You won’t have to worry about that part. We’ll just go up to a thousand dollars.”

“What if it isn’t enough?”

It’s never gone over a thousand dollars before
.

Forcing confidence into her voice, Maggie plastered a smile on her face. “That should be plenty. Will you help me?”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Great. Go see Lyle Phillips over in Baxter about a tuxedo and tell him to put it on my bill. He’ll make you look sharp. You’ll have your pick of the other girls, so you won’t have to waste all your time with me.”

That done, Maggie slid into the cruiser’s passenger seat and let Max drive her to work. As they passed, she smiled and waved at everyone who stared. Most were friends, some pretended to be. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t cower, and she’d diffuse the gossip. That had been Grandma’s first lesson:
You’re not any better than anyone else, but you have every right to be proud of who you are. Hold your head up and look people in the eye.

She reminded herself of that again as they crept down Broadway. The street in front of the bar was crowded with yellow panel vans and utility trucks, and people in yellow and black uniforms zipped out the door, down the stairs then back the way they came. It was like watching bees in a hive.

Max circled the block and drove up the alley to park in the back lot. Emerging from the car, Maggie was greeted by a chorus of squealing drills and pounding hammers. Weaving through the swarm of techs, and dodging ladders and cords, she made her way up the hall and to the coffeepot. Last night, in her childhood room, she’d felt more like Nate’s guest than his sister, and she’d awakened disoriented this morning. Now, despite the noise and bustle, her jangling nerves quieted.

Gray was in the middle of the great room with a supervisor. Both men were studying the schematic, but the other man’s bossy demeanor was ruined every time he looked over his shoulder at Gray, who towered over him like a blue-eyed raven in work boots.

He looked up and winked without breaking his conversation. Despite herself, her insides warmed. He’d had the same effect on her yesterday when he’d stayed close. He’d been worried and insistent, but he’d put her concerns first. He’d let her be afraid without making a big deal of it. Having the system was a good idea but, somehow, she felt safer just seeing Gray here.

Listening to them talk, she stacked the donuts on the counter and started the coffee.

“That smells great. Can I get two sugars and one cream?”

Maggie blinked over her shoulder, staring first at the supervisor and then at Gray, who looked pissed beyond words.

He strode to the bar and pushed the cream and sugar at the other man. “Jim, this is Maggie Mathis,” he said in an icy tone.

The man paled, probably more at her last name than his dismissive behavior. “Miss Mathis. I wasn’t expecting you. I mean, I guess I should have, but I thought it would be later in the day. I just assumed—”

She let him flounder a bit more before she offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jim.”

He fixed his coffee and scurried outside. Gray stayed behind, shaking his head. “I can’t believe he said that.”

“It’s normal. People outside Fiddler always think Nate and I spend all our time playing.”

“You could have slept late this morning.”

“I couldn’t. Nate snores.” She looked around at the walls painted a golden color it had taken months to find, at chairs she’d stripped and stained and at curtains she’d special-ordered. The squeaky floors were a symphony that played in time to the drip of the coffeepot. “And I missed this creaky old place.”

“The system should be installed by first call tonight, and you should be safe from here on out.” As he talked, Gray put a hand on her shoulder, much as he’d done yesterday. And, like yesterday, the warm weight of it soaked into her skin. It was nice having him in her home, sharing simple things she’d been doing alone for years.

Not a good thing to think, Maggie. He’s Gray, Nate’s friend, your new business manager. Don’t get worked up by the new kid in school.

He wouldn’t be new forever. The shine would fade, and then he’d be just another employee. Someone she couldn’t date...as if she wanted to date him anyway. He’d been here less than a week, and he was too thin. She stepped away and went in search of disposable cups, calling over her shoulder. “We have a meeting today. Fitz should be here any minute.”

* * *

Gray craned his neck to watch her go into the storeroom, only to spin back when the front door opened. A man stopped on the threshold, his eyes wide behind wire-rimmed glasses. With silver-white hair and a bushy mustache he reminded Gray of a Westie in a suit.

“Finally,” the man breathed as he surveyed the chaos. “She’s needed one of these for years.”

“And it only took Gray two days to convince her,” Nate said as he walked in. “Gray Harper, Stanley Fitzsimmons. Fitz, Gray. I told you he’d be a good fit for this job.”

“It’s Maggie’s home,” Gray asserted. “It was her decision.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Nate said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s get started. I’ve got an appointment to review a stand of timber.”

“Another one?” Maggie asked as she came back into the room. “How many trees do we need?”

“You want me to tell Kevin to lay some guys off?” Nate teased.

Gray looked around the room, which was crowded with new equipment, wiring and tools—and people who shouldn’t hear their business. “Why don’t we meet in my office?” he offered.

They all crowded into the space, balancing notebooks on their laps and setting coffee cups on the floor. The closed door muffled the construction noise.

“The meeting will come to order,” Maggie stated. “Fitz, you have the floor.”

As the accountant reviewed financial statements, Gray flipped pages and tried to keep up. Finally he focused on the bottom line and the profit summary, vowing to do a more detailed review later.

“Gray’s doing it for me,” Nate said.

His name caught his attention. “I’m doing what?”

“My prenuptial agreement. Oh, and can you check about giving Faith a small interest?”

“Are you sure you still want to do that?” Maggie asked. “If she’s not going to be involved—”

Nate shook his head. “I’m sure.”

Prenuptial agreements aren’t in high demand at the FBI. I’ll need to find a law library. Maybe online. At least the stock gift sounds simple, and the records are in great shape.
Gray watched his handwriting go from a neat list to a sloppy scrawl as his list of chores grew.

“Your turn, Mags,” Nate said.

Gray was turning to a fresh page when she took a deep breath and launched into a list that seemed to be made up of random names and disjointed activities. As she went on, Gray stopped writing and listened. Hospital stays, high school report cards, who needed a new roof or new tires on their car, fund-raiser schedules, nursing home stories, who stayed out too late, who drank too much. It sounded like idle gossip, but Nate was jotting notes while Maggie suggested items for supervisors to handle. Their exchange grew to a discussion of staffing issues, possible hires, cross-training and new benefits. Gray listened deeper and recognized names from the bar or from church. He made the connections to the nursing home she’d visited on Monday and the library board meeting she’d attended yesterday.

“Wait,” he said, holding up his hand to stop her and then blinking as she stared. “
This
is HR?”

Maggie nodded, frowning, before she turned back to Nate. “And we need to—”

“These are
people
you’re talking about. Not backgammon pieces you can push from one spot to another.” Gray narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “You can’t possibly mean that
gossip
can be considered human resources.”

She spun back to him, dropping her pen to her notepad. “I prefer relations to resources, and it isn’t gossip. Do you know how difficult it was to get the guys to talk to me? How hard it still is? They aren’t going to come off the line and walk into a trailer at their quarry where their supervisor or God knows who else can hear them. They’re not going to complain to the person who signs their paychecks.”

“But they’ll talk to you here,” Gray said, making the connection. “Behind the bar in your overalls.”

She nodded. “About their families. But about them? About injuries, money or problems at home, or things their kids need? Their wives do that. They’ll brag, or share, or tell someone else, who’ll tell someone else, who’ll eventually whisper it so I overhear.”

Gray shook his head. “Damn.”

Fitz stepped in. “You’ll notice on the statements that there’s a foundation account. Maggie manages that with Barry Stanley at the bank. Scholarships, matching grants, student loan payoffs for professionals who will work in a small town.”

Maggie was still staring, but everything about her softened. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just unusual,” Gray muttered. “No wonder you—”

She shook her head. “I don’t tell them what to do. Most of the time they aren’t aware of it, if we’ve done it right. They see a bump in their pay, or the company adds a new benefit, or we tell them cross-training for their job will help someone else. The scholarships are merit-based and evaluated every year. The professionals, by the time they’ve fulfilled their contracts and paid off their debt, have built their own client base so they want to stay.”

He was still confused, but he nodded for her to continue and she looked down her list to find her place. Since he was staring, he saw her knuckles whiten around her pen. “The Mitchells were at the hospital the other day with Sarah. I’ll see what they need.”

“Jerry?” Gray asked. “I met him and his wife at church. What’s wrong with Sarah?”

“Down syndrome children often have weak hearts. Sarah has fought hers for years.”

“Can I help?” Gray persisted. “I know I’m new, but I’d like to help them if I can.”

“I’ll ask,” Maggie said, her smile curving briefly. “Thanks.”

She turned to her brother. “That’s it.”

Nate dropped his pen. “We’re adjourned until after my honeymoon.”

Maggie went to the bar for shot glasses and a bottle. Nate poured, and they all joined his toast. “Here’s to another good month.”

Gray’s throat was still burning from the whiskey when he walked out of the office behind Nate. “I have to take a trip to Boise this afternoon. I’ll make sure Max sticks with Maggie.”

“Sure thing,” Nate said as he walked away. “Be careful and we’ll catch up tonight.”

Gray turned, only to bump into Fitz. “If you’ve got time, once you get settled, I’ve got a few clients I’d like to discuss with you,” the accountant said.

“Huh?” Clients? He’d never had clients in his life. He was the boogeyman other lawyers protected their clients from.

“They aren’t Mathis employees, and they need some advice on tax matters. You are getting licensed in Idaho, aren’t you?”

He was, but only because it looked funny to Maggie if he didn’t, and only because she’d filled out the paperwork. “Why don’t I give you a call in a week or so? After I get my feet under me.”

Fitz nodded and left, and Gray watched him go. It might be fun, being able to help someone. Maybe he could do it quickly, and as long as it wasn’t a criminal case Bob shouldn’t care.

Alone with Maggie, he motioned her to the bar and the plans spread over the surface. “I have to run an errand, so you’re in charge.”

“Gee, thanks,” she drawled.

He looked down into her sparkling eyes and bright smile, thankful they’d returned after yesterday. “Hush. Focus on this for a minute, okay? They’ll need you to sign off on it before they leave, and I don’t want them half-assing it because—”

“Because I’m a woman and they think I’m undereducated?”

“Yeah,” he snorted. They’d only make that mistake once.

Sliding the plans closer to her, he dragged his finger along each line in the drawing tracking them through the building so she’d see what she was paying for. Construction noise and shouted conversations coaxed him nearer and forced him to bend to her ear. When his muscles and bones protested, he sat and she inched toward him. The thrum under his skin had nothing to do with pain or noise. It was her.