Risking Trust (15 page)

“Did I interrupt your workout?”

“I just got home. Sorry if I stink.”

“You don’t stink. Or maybe the athlete in me doesn’t notice it anymore.” She turned to him. “Do you see me running in the morning?”

He nodded, but didn’t look at her. “Most days. Sometimes you play Saturday loose, which is unlike you.” He grinned. “Not that I ever noticed.”

Talk about giving her a stalker alert.

“You were watching me while
I
was wondering what
you
were doing. I knew you lived here, but I didn’t know what floor.”

This information was the equivalent of being tattooed by an express train. Every coherent thought evaporated. Now who was speechless?

She shifted to him, propped an elbow on the arm of the chair. “We should talk about it.”

“What?” He knew.

Coward.

“Let’s talk about it and get it over with.”

He slouched into the chair, took a slug of his drink. “Not a good idea.”

“It’s been twelve years. Another twenty could come and go and I still won’t know why you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.”

“Please,” she mocked. “You got into your car, which was loaded with your belongings, and you drove away. You didn’t tell me where you were going—”

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t tell me when you’d be back or when I’d hear from you. I’d say that constitutes leaving someone.”

Cornered.
Son of a bitch.
Maybe he’d jump over the railing. He rose from his chair and wandered there. “I was screwed up. You deserved more than waking up to my screaming nightmares. Every time I closed my eyes, somebody was getting a body part blown to hell.”

She walked to where he stood and her ram-rod posture indicated she wasn’t feeling sympathetic.

“I never asked you for anything. I tried to help. I was proud of you. You just didn’t see it.”

She had been proud of him. He’d known that. From the start she’d accepted him. She’d told him, but thinking back on it, rather than helping him, it somehow added to the pressure. His immature and selfish mind hadn’t let him see her help as a gift from someone who cared. He’d taken it as pity. Yep. She was right. He’d been a world-class dick back then.

“How is talking about this going to help anything? Let’s move on.”

“Move
on
?”

“We’re already arguing. Why argue over something that happened years ago?”

Her mouth opened quick, but millimeter by millimeter closed again. He’d wait on her.

“I guess,” she said, “move on is the modern day version of getting into your car and driving away? You’re still avoiding me?”

Blood plowed through his head, the pressure unbelievable, and he rubbed his temples. No good. “I’m not.”

She stepped away from the rail. “I’m not doing this. You asked me to give you a second chance, and I agreed, but I expect you to clean up the mess you made the first time. If you’re unwilling to do that, I’m out.”

“Hold on a sec. Jesus, you’re moving at warp speed.”

He had to do something. And putting his head through the door wouldn’t count. He could tell her the truth and be done with it. It would certainly ease him of the burden, but at what price? The truth would filet her and he couldn’t live with that. He grabbed her arm, gave it a light squeeze.

“Don’t ask me to do this, Roxann. Please, for both our sakes.”

She brought her hand up and wrapped it around his forearm. “I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me.”

“I will. It’s not the right time now.”

“When then?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“That’s not good enough. If you can’t be honest with me, we’re no further along than we were twelve years ago and I’m too old to settle for that.”

She stepped back.

“Rox, hang on—”

“Are you going to talk to me?”

He should say something. That he knew. For sure. But he stood there, his mind whirling with indecision.
Come on, get in the game here.

“I guess I have my answer,” she said and walked out.

Boom, boom, boom.
The pavement jarred Roxann’s aching knees and she lightened her steps. Continuing with this angered stomping would give her an injury and who needed that after yet another restless night.

What was with Michael’s secrecy? Was he stringing her along? Her brain said yes, but her heart had seen the anguish in his eyes. The man was tortured by whatever caused him to leave her twelve years ago. She sensed it, but he wouldn’t admit it.

She ran past Michael’s building and glanced up to see him standing on the balcony. She held up a hand to acknowledge him, but snatched it back fast.
Still mad, bucko. Deal with it.

Did he always stand there in the mornings? She, oddly enough, had never noticed him. The footsteps of another runner approaching sounded from behind her and she scooted over to give way.

“Drop this story, Roxann.”

The unfamiliar voice jolted her from her thoughts and she halted. A man, maybe an inch or two shorter than her, came to a stop beside her. A baseball cap hid most of his short blond hair and wraparound sunglasses shielded his eyes. He appeared to be in his late twenties. Perhaps he worked at the newspaper.

No.

On closer inspection, she realized she didn’t know him.

A stinging sensation shot up her arms. Not good. Max’s safety lectures came rushing back.

Focus.

Pay attention to identifying features.
A couple of runners and a biker behind her. Not alone. Good. And Michael was on the balcony. She glanced up. Gone. Where the heck did he go?

She brought her attention back to the man in front of her. “Do I know you?”

“I know you,” the stranger said.

The bad B movie dialogue startled her for a moment, but the security of other runners on the path bumped her flight instinct to fight mode. The phone clipped at her waist chirped. Maybe it was Michael. She tilted her head up, saw him on the balcony again.
Can’t talk now
.

Back to the stranger. “Do you think not telling me your name will preclude me from identifying you when I press charges for whatever threat you’re about to make? If so, you are mistaken.”

She had the urge to knock this jerk’s baseball cap off. He had the nerve to approach her, yet he hid behind a hat and glasses. He smiled in that slithering way men do when they want to get over on a woman.
Creep.
She took note of a crooked front tooth. Burned the image into her memory. Gotcha, crooked-tooth boy.

“No threats, just a word of caution to a journalist in over her head.”

For added effect he perused her legs and an icy burn went through her.
Creep!

She folded her arms because, at the moment, it was her only protection. She glanced around again to reassure herself she wasn’t alone. A biker cruised by. Fine. Good. Back to the stranger. She could outrun him. No doubt. But no. She’d never give in to the fear.
Harness it. Make it work.

“I don’t know whether you work for Carl Biehl or the mayor,” she said, “but you can tell your boss this little episode assures me someone is nervous, and we need to find out who it is. You’ve screwed with the wrong woman.” She spun away from him. “I have a run to finish.”

After the first few steps she yearned to look back. Was he still there?
Don’t look
. Stay focused. Listen. No sound from behind. Maybe he gave up.

After two minutes, she couldn’t stand it and looked back. Only a few other runners. Crooked-tooth boy must have gone the other direction. A wave of relief rushed at her and she drew a hard breath of cold air that stung her throat.

Uh-oh.
Fuzzy, moving ground. The spinning. Vertigo. She stopped, bent at the waist and rested her hands on her thighs.
Deep breath. One, two, three. Control
. Once the ground stopped spinning, she straightened and unclipped her phone.

Missed call from Michael.
Knew it.
She headed back toward his building.

By the time Roxann came across the pedestrian bridge, Michael’s breaths were coming fast and short and he forced himself to take deep, diaphragmatic inhalations. Had he forgotten everything the military had taught him about controlling his emotions?

He charged up the stairs to meet her at the top. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“What happened? Did you know that guy?”

She leaned against the railing as cars whooshed under them. “No, I don’t know him, but he said to drop the story so I’m guessing he works for Carl.”

“Are you sure he meant that story? Did he say it specifically?”

“Yes and no,” she said, answering both of his rapid fire questions.

“What did he say?”

“I did most of the talking.”

“Why doesn’t
that
surprise me?”

And hello? Hadn’t he warned her about running alone?
You put her in this situation. You could ruin her life, dummy.

Roxann gave him a nasty look. “I wanted to make sure he was talking about the Biehl story, so I brought up Carl and the mayor. He didn’t flinch.”

After she recounted every word of the conversation, Michael waited a solid minute before opening his trap. Some asshole accosts her and she antagonizes him?

“First thing,” he began, “threatening the mayor might not have been the best thing to do, but I’m gonna let that go because you were probably on an adrenaline high.”

“I’ll say. I wanted to tear him to pieces.”

Roxann fisted her hands and he reached for them. “Don’t get worked up. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“You bet I would.” She tapped on one of her front teeth. “Crooked front tooth. He had on sunglasses and a hat, but I’d recognize that tooth.”

As usual, she’d been good under pressure. Damn, she was hard not to admire. She’d had the presence of mind to find an identifying feature. “Nice.”

Michael stroked his unshaven cheek with the backs of his fingers and realized he’d thrown shorts and a T-shirt on to have breakfast, but didn’t bother to brush his hair.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Besides the fact that I want to throw myself into this traffic for putting you in danger, I’m thinking I’ve got bedhead and you need to pay a visit to Carl’s office today. See if anyone on his staff has a crooked front tooth.”

Roxann rolled her eyes. “He can’t be that dumb. Sending someone from his office? It’d be too easy to get caught.”

“Carl’s not a rocket scientist. You never know, it might shake something loose.”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I have a business to run, a business in
crisis
, and I don’t have time to be playing detective.”

Michael folded his arms. “Humor me. Besides, with all the security at City Hall you’ll be safe going there during the day.”

A long moment passed with the two of them squared off in a brutal stare. She finally gave in. “Fine. If it’ll get you to shut up about it, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

She wasn’t mad. She just had to act put out. Roxann didn’t have it in her to give up tracking this guy so easily. Not after he’d gotten in her face.

“Whatever,” she replied.

She dropped into a cross-legged position on the bridge.
O-kay
. He sat next to her and couldn’t help noticing the sparkle in her blue eyes. Adrenaline still flowing.

“You’re not running alone anymore.”

She leaned back, stretched her mile long legs in front of her. “I’m not giving up running.”

“You don’t have to. All I said was you’re not doing it alone.”

After huffing a breath she stood. Michael fought a smile. Typical of her to take a position of power by looking down at him.

She wanted a fight and he’d give it to her. Up he went. “Don’t be ignorant about this. Any number of things could have happened this morning. You could have been dragged to a waiting car. Sure, there are people around, but do you know how easy it is to grab someone, toss them in a car and be off? It happens quick, especially if they get you off guard.”

“You alpha males fracture me. You’re inflexible and bossy. I decide where I run, Michael, not you.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t decide where to run—”

She waved him away with both hands and whipped around to face the lake. “Give it a rest.”

Staring at her back, he crossed his arms, mentally ran some options. Why should he waste his time arguing with her? The conflict only charged her battery. He knew that well enough.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said. “It’s getting late and you were close to being done with your run anyway.”

Roxann offered up the squinty eyed stare. “That’s it? No argument?”

“Nope. I have a busy day today and it won’t get us anywhere. If you want me to drive you home, we need to go now.”

“I’d appreciate that. I’m already twenty minutes behind.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“You can make fun, but twenty minutes is a lot these days. Especially if I have to go over to City Hall and play detective this afternoon.”

Roxann stood outside the door leading into the administrative offices of Mayor Douglas Richmond. She pressed her palm over her forehead and took a deep breath. This playing detective thing was a nerve shredder. Michael’s instructions were plastered into her brain: look around, don’t be obvious, and make sure you see everyone in or around Carl’s office.

Don’t be obvious about it? Was he kidding? There had to be forty people in Carl’s office.

Bad enough she had to come here, but she got stuck on line at security, then her shoes set the metal detector off. At least now she knew her Blahniks didn’t have any bombs hidden in them. Good to know.

Who had time for this when the newspaper’s bottom line was sinking?

A drop of sweat dribbled down her shoulder blades and she ordered herself to be calm. The door suddenly opened and a young woman, moving at a clip, smacked into her, sending Roxann’s tote to the floor.

They both laughed, but Roxann wondered if all these impediments were somehow a warning to get the heck out of there.

“I’m here to see Carl Biehl.”

“His secretary is at her desk. Just check with her.” The woman handed Roxann her tote bag and went on her way.

Roxann closed the suite door behind her, found herself alone in the corridor and took the liberty of popping her head into two open offices.

Nothing.

The next office held three people—no crooked-front-tooth boy—and she made up a story about trying to find Carl’s secretary. She knew perfectly well who Carl’s secretary was, but they didn’t know that.

The remainder of the offices were empty or had closed doors.

Shoot.

Carl’s secretary sat dutifully outside his office typing faster than a jack hammer and, without stopping, told Roxann to go right in.

“Sorry I’m late. Hang up at security.” Roxann sat in one of the two wing-backed chairs. An adjoining door to the mayor’s office stood open and she experienced an unexpected thrill over sitting just yards from the most powerful man in the city. Sure, he’d been an ass to her, but still, how many people got to come here?

Carl closed the door. So much for that.

“Let me guess,” he joked. “Your shoes went off.”

“Yep.”

He sat on the sofa directly across from her and smiled, but it was the weak smile of a man stuck in places he shouldn’t be stuck. Still, the mayor wanted this meeting so she’d let Carl squirm. Particularly if he’d sent a goon to scare the hell out of her.

“We both know why you’re here,” he said.

Maybe, maybe not.

“I didn’t have an affair with Alicia Taylor,” Carl continued. “I had a friendship with her. When she was murdered, I went to the police myself and told them about our relationship. They felt there was no need to release the information.”

“You went to Max?”

Carl nodded. “Yes. We may share the same boss, but he won’t protect me from a murder charge or, at the very least, obstruction. You know that better than anyone.”

Yes, she did know. “You’re right, but Michael Taylor has been vilified and it appears the police haven’t looked any further for potential suspects. The public has a right to know there were extenuating circumstances in Alicia’s murder.”

“Extenuating circumstances?”

Roxann’s temples began to hammer. “With all due respect, Carl, maybe you didn’t murder Alicia, but someone around you could have.”

Carl rested his elbows on his knees. He suddenly appeared every inch of his fifty years. His once dark hair had gone completely gray and the creases by his eyes had become canyons.

“Roxann, I’m angry over the
Banner
’s coverage of this case. My family has been needlessly humiliated, but I’m sensible enough to know how it must look. My visits with Alicia had nothing to do with sex.”

“So, what was it?”

“I can’t say.”

Of course he’d say that, but she had to give it a shot. “Are we going to get anywhere with this meeting?”

He shrugged. “The mayor would appreciate any relief you can give us on the
Banner
’s coverage of our office. Your newspaper is hard on this administration.”

“With good reason. I’m not saying it’s the mayor’s fault, but he’s in charge and there’s corruption here. Until the mayor cleans house, we’ll continue to pursue it.”

“We’re working on it. It’s a large staff.”

“I realize that.”

He stared at her for a long moment and then smiled. “I always admired your spunk, Roxann. No nonsense.”

“We’re both too busy for nonsense, but the mayor requested I come here and I wanted to make the effort.”

“Right. Now I can tell him you and I have talked, and the
Banner
will continue to do its best when reporting on City Hall.”

She stood. “Sounds good to me.”

Carl opened the door. “You know your way out?”

She sure did.

On the way, she stopped and asked Carl’s secretary for directions to the ladies room. The secretary pointed down the hall, but made no movement from her chair. Perfect. Roxann could roam the office unaccompanied for a few moments in search of the mystery man, then slip out the main door.

For show, she stopped briefly in the ladies room and then headed toward the front of the suite, stopping every few feet to peek into open offices.

Maybe she had a knack for this Colombo stuff.

“Can I help you?” A not so friendly middle-aged man asked.

She jumped.
Forget the Colombo stuff.
“I just finished a meeting with Carl, and after a stop in the ladies room, I’m all turned around. I thought if I looked out the window I could get my bearings.”

Yeesh.
Could she come up with anything more lame? Hopefully the guy was dumb enough to buy that load of garbage. She gave him her best blonde-girl smile.

He eyed her. “I’ll walk you out.”

Maybe he didn’t buy the load of garbage, but he didn’t challenge her. Throwing Carl’s name out there probably hadn’t hurt. She knew this staffer didn’t want to be the one to cause a problem for Carl’s guest.

After being led out, Roxann punched the elevator button. This excursion was a total bust. Why didn’t she just stand her ground and talk Michael out of it? Carl wouldn’t be stupid enough to send someone from his office after her, but in the spirit of her partnership with Michael, she gave it a try. It turned out to be a waste of time. And she didn’t need him wasting her time.

At daybreak the next morning, dressed in running tights and a long-sleeved shirt, Roxann peeped out her front window and saw exactly what she expected to see. Michael. Waiting for her on the sidewalk. Wearing running clothes. He’d given up the fight too soon for her to believe he wasn’t planning an alternate strike. As much as she wanted to moan about the loss of her alone time and her independence being compromised, something about the sight of him on that sidewalk gave her a feather light feeling in her belly. Wasn’t this the way he’d settled her not running alone at night twelve years ago? No matter how tired he’d been, he’d always run with her at night.

The man’s protective instincts ran hot and deep and, for once, she found herself open to it. For years she’d been the one in charge and a quiet relief settled inside her because she didn’t need to be that person around him. Still, she wouldn’t totally give in.
Nah.
He’d be disappointed with that. He loved the sparring as much as she did. She’d go out the back, sneak down the alley and surprise him. Let him know she could have gotten away if she wanted to.

She went to the back door, opened it and heard the chirp of a phone followed by a familiar male voice.

“She’s coming out the back.”

Vic.
Shoot.
She turned, pepper spray in hand, mad enough to squirt him because he’d foiled her plan, but she quickly backed off when she saw his lopsided grin and the bright pink T-shirt that read Tough Guys Wear Pink. These men. Too damn much. Michael came tearing around the side of the house before she’d even stepped off the porch.

“Ha,” he said. “Nice try, babe. How stupid do you think I am?”

She jogged down the steps. “That’s a loaded question.”

Unperturbed, he continued, “You are so busted. Here’s the deal. Vic’s doing the first five with you and I’m doing the last five. No reason we should exhaust ourselves,” he turned to Vic. “Right, buddy?”

Vic grinned. “Roger that.”

They were having fun? Good for them. She’d still pretend to be irritated. Why not? She’d play. “Glad you two are enjoying yourselves.” She scooted past them. “Try to keep up. I’m not slowing down for you.”

“You got it, darlin’,” Vic said.

“Ho,” Michael said, his hands wide. “What’s with the darlin’ crap?”

Vic did the who-me look and she rolled her eyes.

Michael jabbed his index finger. “Roxann is a client and you don’t call her
darlin’.
She’s an educated woman running a two-hundred-million dollar company. Don’t you think she might get offended by you calling her
darlin
’?”

Vic shrugged. “She doesn’t look offended.”

“
I’m
offended.”

Vic held up two hands. “Jeez. Sorry.” He turned to Roxann and jerked his head toward Michael. “
Someone
is crabby today.”

“I’m not crabby. You need to be respectful.”

“I am respectful! Rox, you’re not offended, are you?”

“You know what?” she said, half laughing at them. “You girls can fight while I go for my run. I need some semblance of normalcy and listening to the pair of you bicker is not part of my routine.”

Even if it was fun.