Soft Target by Mia Kay Page A

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.