amateurs."
"Or that materials weren't up to code?"
"We're in the business of building, not destroying. What would we have gained by using any but the best materials?"
She recognized the party line. "Well, then, what do you think caused the collapse?"
"Damned if I know." He'd regained his composure and watched her with a wide-eyed expression that said he had no intention of enlightening her. "Anything else?"
Had she really expected to get at anything he didn't want her to know? She shook her head. “I'll need time to record my impressions. I'll call when I'm ready for more."
He nodded and took her under the elbow. In the construction elevator, she watched the building's frame move up and past, as it would have to a falling man. She shuddered. Terry, Jr. had fallen from the skywalk as it broke apart and had been buried under the debris.
"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
"Or that materials weren't up to code?"
"We're in the business of building, not destroying. What would we have gained by using any but the best materials?"
She recognized the party line. "Well, then, what do you think caused the collapse?"
"Damned if I know." He'd regained his composure and watched her with a wide-eyed expression that said he had no intention of enlightening her. "Anything else?"
Had she really expected to get at anything he didn't want her to know? She shook her head. “I'll need time to record my impressions. I'll call when I'm ready for more."
He nodded and took her under the elbow. In the construction elevator, she watched the building's frame move up and past, as it would have to a falling man. She shuddered. Terry, Jr. had fallen from the skywalk as it broke apart and had been buried under the debris.
"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
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