Authors: Renee Simons
"By helping you. Drew knew you wouldn't accept it from him." She reached out. "We care about you. Both of us."
"I told you once before - my brother cares about no one but himself." He gave her another searching look. "What's he paying you to baby sit me?"
"He's paying me to help research his book, to bring back the material he needs to do a good job. Nothing else."
"The fault is mine," Drew interjected. "I swore
Jordan
to secrecy, over her objections, I might add."
Ethan turned back to Drew. "What’s this book about?"
"About the accident and the organized crime activities that caused it. I hope it will put the responsibility squarely where it belongs, clearing you in the process."
"And make you some money - in the process?"
"We're going to need money to mount a defense."
The brothers were totally focused on each other now, leaving
Jordan
free to watch them and releasing her from Ethan’s angry scrutiny. Drew had relaxed a little as if relieved the confrontation he'd anticipated had finally begun. By contrast, Ethan had tensed. She understood the struggle between past resentments and his need to change.
"Wallace Patterson will handle your case," Drew said. "And I've hired a private investigator to do a background check on Terence Conlon. Wally is donating his firm's fee, but we'll need to reimburse him and his staff for out-of-pocket expenses. The investigator, Elliot Brock, will want to get paid."
"And the money is coming from the book?"
"From the advance."
"Bloody convenient."
Drew’s back stiffened. His brow creased as he focused on his brother. "Look here, Ethan, my publisher isn't obligated to help, but we have a good relationship and my books make a deuced lot of money for the house. You can call that convenient or the result of years of hard work, but the reality is we have a source of cash to do what needs doing."
His lips tightened to a thin angry line. "I'd prefer you didn't scoff at that."
Ethan held one of his long silences while
Jordan
prayed he’d say the right thing. She didn't care as much for herself as she did for Drew. Some healing, no matter how minor, had to take place between the brothers and this time at least, Ethan needed to take the first step.
Finally, he turned to Drew. "I may not like the way you handled this situation, but I understand why you didn't trust me to accept your help. We’ll talk. Just not now."
He turned to
Jordan
. "It's a matter of trust, you know?"
She nodded. "I know."
"I thought we had something, or at least the beginnings of something."
Jordan
remained silent. She'd known the pain of betrayal and understood all too well his anger and disappointment. He had every right to speak his mind and take whatever action he chose. She waited for him to continue.
"Did we?" he asked. "Did we have any kind of relationship? Was there anything honest between us?"
Once again, she considered what would satisfy the need for truthfulness without exposing her beyond repair. "What I did,"
Jordan
said, "I did because you needed a friend. I did, too. And because I wanted to help you and Drew leave the past behind. As for being honest? I've told you things about myself no one in this world knows." She shrugged. "Does that have anything to do with trust, do you think?"
"Maybe." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Maybe we can give ourselves another chance?"
"It wouldn't be the first time."
Chapter 7
Days later, Jordan and Drew worked in the study to record the two break-ins. Drew, of course, was the only one who could supply the facts of the incident on the
Cape
.
"I'd like to set down my impressions while they're fresh."
"Do you want to dictate or type them directly into the computer?"
"If I'm at the keyboard, what will you do?"
"I can edit what you've printed out so far."
They worked in silence until a key turned in the front door lock. "Ethan," Drew said. "If he makes you uncomfortable, you can slip out." He motioned to a door leading to the library.
She shook her head, no.
"Anybody home?"
"In the study," Drew answered.
"I've got something to show you." Ethan pulled a sheaf of papers from his jacket front and laid them on Drew's keyboard. "Have a look."
Drew scanned the sheets and handed them to
Jordan
as he finished each one. "Work orders."
"And inspection reports," Ethan said.
"Two sets,"
Jordan
said. "Why are some of these in such bad shape - wrinkled, torn..." With a look of disgust, she held a couple between two finger tips and flapped them in the air. "And these stains. I hope that's coffee."
"Look closely. You'll see changes and new orders. The night watchman rescued the old ones from the trash. I lifted the others from the construction shack."
"Why did he save these?" Drew asked.
"In case I could use them."
"Here's where they altered the spacing of the fasteners,"
Jordan
said.
"And changed the design from a single rod running through both skywalks, which would have given adequate support and prevented a collapse.” Ethan's anger vibrated in his voice. "Instead, they have one rod running from the top down into the concrete and another from the bottom up."
"What do you intend to do with this information?" Drew asked.
"More like what are you going to do with it?"
"Me?” Drew looked skeptical. “Why?"
"The injunction. I'm not supposed to go near the place. Use these reports in the book or give them to the lawyer. Just don't tell anyone how you got them or I'm in the bloody soup."
"You'd trust me?"
"None other."
Drew's eyes misted over. He looked at the papers in his hand. "This safety report indicates a problem with the footings."
"Do footings have something to do with the foundation?"
Jordan
asked.
"They have everything to do with it. I'd like to see them tear the whole place down. It's that unsafe." Ethan ran his fingers through his hair. "What haunts me is where was I when all this was happening?"
"Where were you?"
Ethan's anger at Drew's question flickered briefly then quickly changed to resignation. "Chasing my next commission. Instead of being at the project, where I should've been.”
"That's the job of the project supervisor,” Drew said.
"What was the commission?"
At her question, Ethan faced
Jordan
. "A new shopping mall."
"One of VolTerre's?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Maybe they arranged things so you'd be too preoccupied with your next job to bug them while they messed around with this one."
A muscle beat visibly as he clenched his jaw. "Why doesn't that make me feel any better?"
* * *
A week after the invasion by Federico and Richards, Jordan entered the dining room. She nodded to Sergeant O'Keefe and joined Ethan at the recently restored window. In the street below, a small boy ran a stick along the wrought iron fence bordering the little park.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
Nothing between them had been resolved. They simply went about their business in a businesslike way. Although at the moment, his arm lightly touching hers felt less like business and more like...enticement. He couldn’t know how her breasts tightened and her pulse raced while he continued to look down at the street. And she didn’t want him to.
"Did you know that this little enclave was the first cooperative community in
America
?" he asked. The softly murmured question caressed her ear.
"I thought co-ops were a modern invention," she said, looking for a distraction.
"The original owners back in the mid-1800s shared responsibility for the upkeep of that mall down there and pooled their resources to erect the fence. Do you think they would have minded the kid's sacrilegious treatment of their pride and joy?"
A warm breeze floated through the open window, bringing the scent of new grass and spring-flowering shrubs. A patch of sky above the rooftops hung bright blue and cloudless.
"I don't think they would have minded."
"What's so fascinatin' out there?" a voice muttered behind them.
Ethan turned to face the sergeant. "Kids, and being free on a day like today."
"Yeah, I know what you mean all right. Wish I was out there myself 'stead of in here. Of course, I get to see some of it when I go off duty. You folks're kinda cooped up in here permanent like. I don't envy you being in P.C."
Ethan grimaced.
Jordan
knew why. Two days after the visit to the police station, Drew, Ethan and she were placed under twenty-four-hour surveillance. The police called the arrangement "P.C." or "protective custody." With most of their time spent in the house, it felt like prison.
Detectives in unmarked vehicles and plain clothes, "soft clothes," somebody had said, secured the front door. Rotating teams working in the wine cellar monitored the phones. A special task force already investigating Conlon's activities took over the effort to find evidence of Ethan's innocence.
The lawyer, Wallace Patterson, and his people, made daily visits to consult with the three of them and with Ethan’s friends, Pete Mosher and Eric Delavan. Brain-storming sessions with an Assistant District Attorney, a D.E.A. agent and two high-ranking police officers took hours each afternoon. Life had deteriorated into a tedious grind. The confinement offered no relief.
“When does this power session get under way?” Ethan asked.
“Soon as Assistant D.A. Santorelli gets here,” the sergeant replied.
“What about the Captain?”
“He’s already inside with the others. Came while you two were day dreaming out the window.”
"It's worse than a bloody summit conference," Ethan remarked.
"It is a bloody summit conference" O'Keefe said. "It needs a summit to tangle with the guys you got yourself involved with."
"Not me." Ethan shook his head. "The city fathers accepted VolTerre’s bid just like they did mine."
"Maybe, but you're taking the heat."
Ethan was about to say something when A.D.A. Santorelli swept into the room, high heels clicking resolutely on the parquet floor, plum-colored cape flaring out behind her, dark hair ruffling in the breeze she created. She addressed the police officer briefly, then waved at Ethan and Jordan. "C'mon Caldwell, Ms. VanDien. Inside, please. We have a lot to do today."
They followed her into the library, converted into a war room complete with oversized writing pad on an easel, cork bulletin board and mobile telephone unit. With brisk movements, she removed her cape and settled herself at the long mahogany table around which eight people now sat.
As she opened her briefcase and removed manila folders, she looked around at them. Finally, her gaze settled on two men seated side by side. Although they wore jackets and ties, their sunburned faces and work-roughened hands contrasted sharply with the winter-paled, buttoned down legal types seated to either side of them. She pointed her pen at each in turn.