Renee Simons Special Edition (8 page)

"By the way, I appreciate your words of sympathy," Conlon said.

"Losing your son must have been awful."

"So many plans and dreams - you never really recover from outliving a child. My wife took it especially hard."

He paused for so long she was surprised he spoke again. When he did, his voice shook with suppressed pain and tears. "She's been in a sanitarium ever since."

Jordan
remembered a petite blonde with delicate features and a no-nonsense manner that had given an impression of strength. Her son's death obviously had been too much for her.

"A double tragedy," she said. But then, what tragedy occurred without spawning others.

"Where can you be reached?" he asked.

"I'll call you in a couple of days. We'll talk then." An impossibility, of course, since she didn't plan on keeping "Miss Maxwell" alive beyond this visit.

Out on the street, she declined his offer of a lift and stood at the curb. When the limo pulled away and disappeared into the traffic stream, she found a cab and returned to the hotel.

Back in her room she tried to concentrate on the next stage of her research. Instead, she paced restlessly. Finally, she called the house. Ethan was out, but was expected back shortly.

"Please tell him I'm on my way."

The housekeeper answered her knock and led her to the kitchen.

Ethan rose from his place at the table as
Jordan
stepped into the gleaming white room. She looked pale, despite having just come from the outside where a brisk wind blew. Fatigue dulled her eyes. Only a resolve to keep his distance prevented him from putting his arms around her. He settled for taking her cold hands in his. He felt the tension in her response and searched for a quick remedy.

"Please get us some brandy, Mrs. Willis."

After she'd gone, he touched the narrow gold frames of
Jordan
’s glasses. "Never saw these before."

"I wore them instead of my contacts when I went to see Terence Conlon. To help me feel like someone else."

"What in bloody hell possessed you?" His voice bounced off the kitchen's tile walls.

"Calm down. Nothing happened."

"If nothing happened, why are you so upset?"

"Because it was scary. Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry, I'm worried. Why did you go?"

Her eyes darkened as if a curtain had been drawn across them. What is she hiding, he wondered.

"I can't see how you expect to find anything at night. I figured if I could get Conlon to take me into the site, I'd learn something you could use."

"And...?"

"He didn’t let anything slip,” she said with a wry smile, “but I did see the wreckage."

With perfect timing, Mrs. Willis returned carrying a decanter and two glasses on a silver tray. She set them down on the counter and excused herself.

Ethan poured brandy into two snifters and held one out to
Jordan
. "This should take out the chill."

She inhaled the bouquet and took a sip of the liquid warmth. "It helps. Thanks."

He leaned against the counter, watching her remove her glasses. His feeling of protectiveness intensified as she looked at him with a slightly out-of-focus gaze. She seemed young and vulnerable, as she’d been that night in the hotel.

Even so, her hands were steady as she removed the pins holding her hair, letting its soft waves cascade to her shoulders. She raked through the golden mass and sighed. His fingers ached to be her comb. He noted with relief that color returned to her cheeks as she sat beside the marble table where Mrs. Willis prepared her bread and pastries.

"It feels good to be free again. Play acting isn't my cup of tea."

"Who were you pretending to be?"

"An ambitious, self-serving reporter with a connection to the 'other side' and a desire to tell VolTerre's story."

He grinned for the first time since she'd come in. "Pretty good job of stretching the truth. You must've pulled it off. You got out with your skin intact." The danger in what she'd done sobered him. "But you took a foolish risk. I've got the scars to prove how rough those blokes can play. If you'd told me what you were doing, I would never've let you go."

He could almost see her back stiffen at the word "let" but apparently the verbal slip merited only a steely glare.

"That's why I didn't tell you."

He shook his head. "Since you've said you didn't find anything, what upset you?"

"Seeing the rubble. Thinking about the lives lost and the families that have suffered, about the way you must feel. Even Conlon - he paid a heavy price for his mistakes - or dishonesty, whichever it was."

"I knew his son. He was a good kid."

"He was my age.

"You aren’t exactly ancient either, are you?"

A faint flush dusted her cheeks, but she took no notice of his clumsy attempt at a compliment.

"Conlon didn't reveal anything except his sadness over his son's death. Maybe he thought letting go to a reporter would be good press."

"That's pretty cynical, isn't it?"

"I don't trust him."

"You're right not to, except where his son's death is concerned. The loss devastated him."

"He said his wife has suffered terribly. Do you know her?"

"Yeah. She's a nice lady, kind of regal, but always sad. Terry Junior's death nearly did her in."

Jordan
dug in her cavernous handbag and handed him the fragment of metal lathing. “Does this mean anything to you?"

He laid it on the table and examined the material that appeared to be woven out of multiple strands of steel wire. "Where'd you find it?"

She put on her glasses. "Let’s get your photos. I'll show you."

Inside the study, she fanned the stack on the table and pulled out a shot of the site looking down from the building next door. She pointed to the middle level. "They stored a lot of materials in there."

He walked to the window and stared out, his hands in his pockets.

"Could this have contributed to the accident?" she asked.

"It conforms to code, so we'd have a tough time making that case, but I did specify a heavier gauge."

He rubbed the back of his neck, then went to the desk, returning with a drawing and an oversized bolt covered with remnants of concrete. Instead of handling it, he used the tip of a pencil to gently turn it, clearly to avoid dislodging any of the material that clung to the threads circling one end.

"I found this during one of my midnight excursions into the site. Here's the schematic - we looked at it before, if you remember. See if you can tell the difference between the two fasteners."

She lined up the bolt with the drawing and the difference was obvious. "This doesn't have that other gizmo that your drawing has."

"Is that anything like a 'thingo'?"

"Only if that's the same as a 'whatchamacallit.'"

He laughed. "You are good for me, love."  He put an arm around her shoulder for a moment, then quickly drew away as she stiffened. Something had thrown her off balance.

She eased away and pointed to the drawing. "Back to business." 

He rubbed his neck again and continued. "This fastener can pull out of the concrete more easily and is more likely to fail under stress." He paused for a moment, then added. "And it’s cheaper. By half."

He carried the items to his desk and locked the drawer. "When all I had was the fastener, I couldn't see any reason for the substitution. Now, I'm beginning to wonder."

"If you could make a case what would it be?"

"They were cutting corners."

"To compensate for overspending somewhere else?" she asked.

They stood at the window, looking down at the park. A soap-and-water-clean feminine scent teased his senses and sent his blood charging through his veins to pool in his groin. Keeping his distance was proving difficult at best. She cleared her throat. Had the chemistry finally gotten to her? He turned to face her.

"I did some research on VolTerre,” she said. “They're prone to cost overruns, sometimes as much as forty percent over bid."

Ethan whistled in surprise.

"What if they were having the same problem on your project and were trying to reduce costs?"

He braced one arm against the window frame and fisted his free hand against his hip. "If they downgraded across the board the difference could be in the millions."

"What kind of proof would you need?"

"A lot more than a fastener and a fragment of lath."

"How do you suppose they managed to get this job?"

He shook his head and turned to her. "I have no idea."

"Maybe I should do some more digging.” Her eyes glittered with excitement. “Conlon expects me to call him again."

Her reaction sent a chill through him. "No. You're not getting any more involved in this. I'll take it from here. You go back to your work with my brother and keep out of danger."

"I am not in danger."

"And that's the way I want you to stay." He laid a finger across her lips. He felt their softness on his fingertip even after he withdrew. "I don't want to argue about it."

"Bossy, aren't you? And a bit of a chauvinist, I think..."

Jordan
watched his expression turn serious as his eyes darkened with emotion.

"This has nothing to do with chauvinism. Be sure of that."

She felt as though she was back at the edge of the cliff, only this time in a battle to keep from tumbling over. He made a move toward her, but she turned away and walked into the kitchen, hoping he wouldn't follow. She had no desire to test either her reactions to him or her shaky equilibrium. She lit a flame under the teapot, and breathed deeply to calm her jittery pulse.  She hadn’t lost her balance, not once in thirteen years. She would not now.

At dinner, he seemed preoccupied. When pressed, he refused to explain, but his very reticence spoke volumes.

"You're going back to the project, aren't you?"

He looked at her with an expression close to annoyance. "That's the second time you've read my mind."

"Just trying to keep you out of trouble."

"I'm going and don't argue me out of it."

"Why not? I've a whole list of arguments just begging to be used."

"Yeah, well, I've heard 'em all before and they won't work. So save your breath."

"Then let me go with you."

"No." He shook his head. "Not on your life."

Then I'll follow you, she thought.

This time he read her mind. "Don't you dare!"

Chapter 5

At eleven o'clock, Kevin picked her up in front of the hotel and drove to the site, arguing all the way that he should be the one to go inside. "After all," he reasoned finally, "I'm the old jungle fighter, not you."

"Maybe so, but I've been inside and you haven't. Besides, I was asked to keep an eye on him."

"By whom?"

She looked at his profile, wondering if he could be trusted. Certainly Ethan thought so. "By his brother, but keep the information to yourself."

"Never fear, love. I know how Ethan feels about Andrew. He ought to let bygones be. The bloke's not all that bad, a bit la-di-da, maybe, but decent enough." He glanced at her. "Now what about the problem at hand. I don't like either of you taking chances."

Resigned that his caution made sense, she sighed. "Okay, if we're not out in forty minutes, you come in after us." She looked at him. "Agreed?"

“Forty minutes?” He grinned. “Exactly?” He circled the block, coming to a stop at the back of the project. She went to an abandoned door that the builders had salvaged and set into the wooden fence. Ethan had picked the padlock. Inside, she used her key chain flashlight to augment the safety lights hanging here and there. She made her way around piles of lumber and cinder block, moving as quietly as she could past concrete molds and rolls of wire mesh.

Suspecting he would be on the third level, she climbed a metal staircase and searched. He wasn't. She made the rounds of every likely place, wondering about the security he'd mentioned. This was a really dumb idea, she thought finally. How could she have expected to find him in the dark? If she'd just let Kevin go in, he might have been able to anticipate Ethan's moves. She sighed. What did she know about this stuff anyway?

About to give up and head for the door, she found herself flooded with light and backed against the wall of a small storage shed. She'd been so deep in thought she hadn't heard anyone approach. The glare kept her from seeing who confronted her, but she suspected the pressure against her ribs came from a gun barrel. The massive size of the two men flanking her kept her from moving.

"You turn up in the damnedest places, lady," a disembodied voice commented. "Let’s just stash you away 'till the boss gets here and figures out what to do with you."