brown eyes alert, deeply tanned skin stretched taut over cheekbones and jaw.
This man knew the correct wines to drink at every meal. He played tennis, sailed and had a house near the ski slopes. He traveled in the best circles while doing business in the worst. How could she expect him to take the puny bait she was about to offer?
"I'm writing a story about the accident. I’d like to get VolTerre's
side, but neither you nor your partner has ever made a statement to the press."
"How do you know I have a partner?"
"Can we at least establish that I've done my homework?"
"What makes you think we'll talk to you?"
"The case comes to trial in a few weeks. This could be a chance for you to get your story to the public." She paused for a moment to let that sink in and went on. "The city will marshall all its resources against you. Why not fire the first shot?"
He watched her with narrowed eyes. "Why you, Miss Maxwell? What could an unknown possibly give me that I can't get on my own?"
To steady herself, Jordan walked to the window. Conlon followed and stood close enough for her to get a whiff of his light, citrus-scented after-shave.
"Look down there," he said. "I can point out a dozen VolTerre projects - office buildings, shopping centers, a hospital. We have a reputation in this town."
"Which should be protected."
"Then why look to you?"
"Because I can keep you in touch with the strategy being used by the other side, and that will help you direct your fire power to maximum effectiveness."
She turned and saw a gleam of interest flicker in his eyes. He returned to his high backed leather chair.
"How would you accomplish that?"
"I have a connection to the other parties." Will that be enough to convince him, she wondered. She hoped so. She needed to get inside the project - just once.
He made a show of cleaning, filling and lighting his pipe. For some reason, the ritual gave her reason to hope. His gaze followed her progress from window to chair.
"Why would you do that for us?"
"I'm doing it for me.”
His dark-eyed gaze never wavered. He seemed to be deciding something. About her.
After a long silence, he shrugged his pinstriped shoulders. "What would you want from me? Just me. I represent the firm."
"Answers to my questions. And to see the site - from the inside.” She looked at her watch. “This morning. The questions can come later."
"All right. We'll give it a try."
He pushed the button on his intercom. "Denise, have Vito bring the car around. Tell him we're going to inspect the Harbor House site."
They made a tour of the complex. In the undamaged sections, materials stood in orderly stacks. Work lights cast insipid shadows where they swayed from girders. As she and Conlon walked on sheets of corrugated steel, their footsteps sent out eerie metallic echoes before joining their voices to drift away into the vast open spaces. Tattered plastic drop cloths flapped in the openings as the wind flowed through the steel skeleton.
She stepped on something in the gloom and stooped to pick up a piece of wire mesh. "May I have it?"
"It's a strange souvenir, but I don’t see why not."
The tour ended at a spot overlooking the courtyard. Below them lay a small mountain of twisted metal and crumbled concrete. What she'd come to see.
Conlon repeated facts commonly known about the accident as in her mind's eye, the videotape of the rescue efforts superimposed itself in vivid detail on the scene below. Beside her, Conlon stared down at the debris. Deep lines bracketed the mouth drawn into a tight line, and moisture glimmered in his eyes.
"I'm sorry about your son's death."
He turned to her with an expression that revealed anger and confusion, causing her to stumble over her words.
"I...of course...I read the news stories."
He cleared his throat. "Anything else you need?"
"I don’t mean to be crass, but what about the allegation that the concrete hadn't been properly reinforced?"
"Nonsense. We're not
This man knew the correct wines to drink at every meal. He played tennis, sailed and had a house near the ski slopes. He traveled in the best circles while doing business in the worst. How could she expect him to take the puny bait she was about to offer?
"I'm writing a story about the accident. I’d like to get VolTerre's
side, but neither you nor your partner has ever made a statement to the press."
"How do you know I have a partner?"
"Can we at least establish that I've done my homework?"
"What makes you think we'll talk to you?"
"The case comes to trial in a few weeks. This could be a chance for you to get your story to the public." She paused for a moment to let that sink in and went on. "The city will marshall all its resources against you. Why not fire the first shot?"
He watched her with narrowed eyes. "Why you, Miss Maxwell? What could an unknown possibly give me that I can't get on my own?"
To steady herself, Jordan walked to the window. Conlon followed and stood close enough for her to get a whiff of his light, citrus-scented after-shave.
"Look down there," he said. "I can point out a dozen VolTerre projects - office buildings, shopping centers, a hospital. We have a reputation in this town."
"Which should be protected."
"Then why look to you?"
"Because I can keep you in touch with the strategy being used by the other side, and that will help you direct your fire power to maximum effectiveness."
She turned and saw a gleam of interest flicker in his eyes. He returned to his high backed leather chair.
"How would you accomplish that?"
"I have a connection to the other parties." Will that be enough to convince him, she wondered. She hoped so. She needed to get inside the project - just once.
He made a show of cleaning, filling and lighting his pipe. For some reason, the ritual gave her reason to hope. His gaze followed her progress from window to chair.
"Why would you do that for us?"
"I'm doing it for me.”
His dark-eyed gaze never wavered. He seemed to be deciding something. About her.
After a long silence, he shrugged his pinstriped shoulders. "What would you want from me? Just me. I represent the firm."
"Answers to my questions. And to see the site - from the inside.” She looked at her watch. “This morning. The questions can come later."
"All right. We'll give it a try."
He pushed the button on his intercom. "Denise, have Vito bring the car around. Tell him we're going to inspect the Harbor House site."
They made a tour of the complex. In the undamaged sections, materials stood in orderly stacks. Work lights cast insipid shadows where they swayed from girders. As she and Conlon walked on sheets of corrugated steel, their footsteps sent out eerie metallic echoes before joining their voices to drift away into the vast open spaces. Tattered plastic drop cloths flapped in the openings as the wind flowed through the steel skeleton.
She stepped on something in the gloom and stooped to pick up a piece of wire mesh. "May I have it?"
"It's a strange souvenir, but I don’t see why not."
The tour ended at a spot overlooking the courtyard. Below them lay a small mountain of twisted metal and crumbled concrete. What she'd come to see.
Conlon repeated facts commonly known about the accident as in her mind's eye, the videotape of the rescue efforts superimposed itself in vivid detail on the scene below. Beside her, Conlon stared down at the debris. Deep lines bracketed the mouth drawn into a tight line, and moisture glimmered in his eyes.
"I'm sorry about your son's death."
He turned to her with an expression that revealed anger and confusion, causing her to stumble over her words.
"I...of course...I read the news stories."
He cleared his throat. "Anything else you need?"
"I don’t mean to be crass, but what about the allegation that the concrete hadn't been properly reinforced?"
"Nonsense. We're not
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