Safe Haven by Renee Simons

spaces. The kids could run and play without their mothers worrying. The older folks would have had their place in the sun as well."  
    He looked at her. "You can see it, can't you?"
    "What?"
    "The dream. It's there.” He pointed. “In your eyes."
    "Your belief makes it real."
    He leaned into her. Something warm pulsed through her, as though a second heart had begun beating beneath her ribs. The sensation was so powerful she thought he must feel it, too. Once again instinct warned her to pull away, but she remembered his arms carrying her to bed as soft words soothed her fears, remembered the comfort his strength had brought, and stayed where she was. Another smile lit his eyes as he turned back to the drawing.
      He continued to talk, softly, almost tenderly, as though describing the woman he loved. His voice held an intensity, a tightly leashed passion that glittered in his eyes. His long, slender, artist's fingers moved lightly over the sheets of Bristol board and parchment as he pointed out features that were a source of pride. Her annoying inner voice wondered how those fingers would feel tracing a path across her skin.
    To distract herself she concentrated on the sound of his voice - deep, smooth, with an accent part lazy drawl, part twang and altogether fascinating in the way he clipped some words short and drew others out, getting every bit of sound out of them. She wanted to keep him talking.
    "The accident must have been a terrible blow."
    He nodded. "Changes to my designs. Substandard materials. I have to find out why and who was responsible."
    "So you've been trying to see the contractors."
    "To inspect the revised plans and the debris.” He shook his head. “I can't get close enough or spend enough time examining the site to find anything useful."
    Of course you can't, she argued silently. They'll never let you get to the truth. They've set you up to take the fall. I'd swear to that.
      Conlon had been on the wrong side of the law in the old days in Philly, along with her father and uncle and their assorted cohorts. Only when her world came crashing down around her had she understood that. Now that Conlon had apparently moved his operation to Boston , Ethan had been caught up. As innocent as she and her mother had been all those years ago, he'd been caught in the fallout, just as they had been. Was there something she could do to swing the balance his way?
     
    * * *
     
    She thought the answer might be hiding in the offices of VolTerre, Inc.. The business filled an entire floor of a forty story tower in the heart of Boston 's financial district.   Its glass facade reflected blue sky, fair weather clouds and neighboring buildings of deep red brick. Jordan hadn't given much thought to what might happen once she got here, only that she needed to see how fourteen years had affected Terence Conlon, to convince him that letting her into the accident site would benefit him.
       The elevator took her to the thirty-ninth floor, where an attractive young woman seated at the reception desk smiled a smoothly professional welcome.
    "My name is Augusta Maxwell. I have an appointment with Mr. Conlon."
    The woman led Jordan into a spacious paneled room furnished with lush wine carpeting, a wall of books and paintings of buildings.
    The man waited behind a desk large enough to seat twelve for dinner and watched Jordan approach. She'd drawn her hair into a tight chignon, had hidden her eyes behind tinted glasses and worn her most severe gray suit. Even so, his eyes narrowed briefly. Did he know that "Augusta Maxwell" was really Robert VanDien's daughter?
    Rising, Terence Conlon reached out and took the hand she offered. "Good morning, Miss Maxwell. I understand you have some questions about the Harbor House project."
    Well, he's certainly direct, she thought. He sounded a lot like Ethan's imitation and looked as she imagined her father would if he'd lived to the same age - iron gray hair swept back from his high forehead,