Free A Conflict of Interest by Barbara Dunlop Page B

figure that out very quickly.
    “Fine,” she agreed. “Truce.”
    Max didn’t answer. But he did exit the vehicle, grabbing the bag of burgers.
    Gillian came up beside her as they took the fieldstone staircase to the front door of the villa. “Are you trying to create a self-fulfilling prophecy?” she hissed in Cara’s ear.
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You know how you get. He’s a perfectly decent guy.”
    “He’s a reporter who hates children.”
    “Right. I’m surprised he didn’t throw those boys down the mountain, instead of, you know—”
    “Yeah, yeah. I get it. He was nice to them, even though he didn’t like them.”
    “I’m just saying, pay it forward for those young boys, be nice to their hero while he eats his burger. Can you do that?”
    Cara could do that. She would do that. She was a professional. Then Gillian’s other words echoed in her mind. “What do you mean ‘how I get’?”
    But Gillian skipped the last couple of steps to enter the villa. Max held the door, standing to one side, as Cara followed her sister inside.
    The place was magnificent. Perched on the steep hillside, it had floor-to-ceiling windows across a two-story living and dining area. An archway at one end of the massive room led to a kitchen. On the opposite side of the foyer, was a large ski storage room, where they all hung their coats. A staircase led to an open second-floor hallway, which Cara presumed gave access to the bedroom. And beneath the bedroom, behind the living area, was a media room and a library.
    “You can’t see it through the falling snow,” said Jake, “but the town is down there.” He pointed. “And the lake is off to the south. You can see the highway winding away into the mountains. And if you go out on the balcony—”
    “Pass,” Gillian put in.
    Jake smiled at her. “From the balcony, if you look north, you can see the lights from the ski runs at night.”
    “Clearly not the taxpayers’ money,” Cara muttered under her breath.
    “I heard that,” said Max, as Jake and Gillian moved off on an impromptu tour.
    “Sorry,” Cara responded, realizing Gillian was right. She was definitely being pricklier than usual.
    “Let’s eat,” he suggested dryly, making his way to a dining table for eight.
    “How many bedrooms?” Cara asked, forcing herself to be pleasant. She followed him and took up a chair facing the window.
    She could easily imagine the view Jake had described. Though right now, it was turning into a wall of white. She’d been told about the sudden storms in the mountains and how they disappeared just as quickly as they came up, leaving miles and miles of champagne powder on the slopes.
    “Just the one,” said Max. “The villas are adults only. I think they cater to honeymoon couples and romantic weekends. Jake moved us up here when we discovered the jamboree down at the hotel.”
    “It must be nice and quiet.”
    “Very quiet.” Max smiled. “And very nice.”
    Cara wanted to protest that kids weren’t all bad. But instead she peeled the foil from her cheeseburger.
    Max took a large bite of his and chewed. Then he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Man, that’s good.”
    Cara tasted her own burger and nodded in agreement. Lukewarm or not, the burger was delicious. She followed it up with a sip of her melting chocolate shake, and her stomach rumbled softly in appreciation.
    If Max heard, he didn’t comment. “Are you heading back to D.C. soon?” he asked.
    “Likely tomorrow,” she answered between bites.
    “Same here. I don’t think the story’s in Fields, and we need to start prep work for South America.”
    “South America?” Cara prompted, popping a couple of cool fries in her mouth.
    “We’re going up into the Andes, looking at the impact of global mineral prices on exploration and on indigenous people.” Max’s jade-green eyes grew more intense as he spoke. “I’m particularly interested in the influence of China on local