Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4)

by Teresa Reasor

  Brett pressed a kiss against her temple. “Lucky me.”

  They walked across the street to the twenty-five story glass and concrete sky scrapper, headquarters for the Brittain Development Group. “They built this ten years ago and have been housed here ever since,” Tess said as they entered the facility and crossed a wide, blue-tiled foyer. The flooring reflected light, almost as though they were walking on glass all the way to an information desk. The space looked modern, bright and very impressive.

  The receptionist had them sign in and directed them to an elevator. Tess paused to look up the hollow center of the structure to the skylight twenty-five stories above, giving her a brief glimpse of a cloudless San Diego sky. Each floor had what looked like glass framing surrounding the core, but which was probably clear acrylic. It reflected the light from above and directed it downward.

  “Beautiful place,” Brett said as they waited for the elevator.

  “Yes. I’ve studied some of their work. I need to look at the designs done by the other companies involved in the bidding.” She took several pictures of the lobby and the skylight with her phone.

  The elevator opened and they waited until a group of seven got off and then took their place.

  The top floor was a long way up but the ride gave her the opportunity to glimpse each floor as it went by. They exited the elevator to the open reception area of the company itself. Decorated much like the lobby downstairs, shaped chairs surrounded a chrome and glass coffee table. Tess approached the blonde receptionist seated behind a mahogany desk, but was intercepted by a tall woman emerging from a long hall to the left. Her hair was pulled into a smooth ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed much like Tess, in dark slacks, a silk blouse, and a jacket.

  “Welcome, Miss Kelly. Reception downstairs called to say you were on your way up. I’m Karen Ackerman, Mr. Brittain’s assistant.” She offered Tess her hand and they shook. “Mr. Brittain is looking forward to meeting you.”

  Nonplussed by the woman’s greeting, Tess introduced Brett and, after a brief handshake, they fell into step behind Miss Ackerman. The long hall they traveled down ran along the clear acrylic wall, allowing them to look out into the core. Elevators ran up and down, smooth, efficient. They passed several closed office doors, each with the person’s title displayed on them. At the corner, the receptionist paused before a set of double doors.

  “Please wait here for just a moment.” After a brief knock the woman opened the door on the right and slipped inside. She announced Tess and Brett, then stepped back to invite them to enter.

  Despite having made an appointment, Tess had expected resistance, suspicion, and the waiting games most executives played. It was a surprise to breeze into the owner’s office as soon as they walked into the building.

  Nicholas Brittain rose from behind his desk, a glass-topped creation which was as much a piece of art as a functional structure. He stepped around it to greet them. With only a smattering of gray threaded through his dark hair, and though Tess knew he was mid-fifties, he appeared fit and trim and had the bearing of a younger man. His hazel eyes met hers, then moved to Brett. He extended his hand to Tess then to Brett.

  “Would you like something to drink while we talk?” he asked. “Water, a soft drink, coffee?”

  “Water will be fine,” Tess said.

  “The same,” Brett agreed.

  “I can get it for you, Mr. Brittain,” Karen said.

  “I’ll take care of it, Karen, thank you. I know you have some things to finish up.”

  The woman nodded and left the office.

  Brittain led the way to a striped couch and two solid chairs that made up a seating arrangement nestled in the left corner of the room. “Please have a seat.” He strode to a large cabinet that ran a quarter length of the wall and opened a mini fridge hidden by a veneer that matched the cabinetry and blended into the unit. He retrieved two bottles of water and a bottle of some kind of deep red juice. “Would you like it over ice or just the bottles?”

  “The bottles will be fine, sir,” Brett said and Tess nodded.

  Tess sat in one of the chairs. The modern, sculpted style of the piece cradled her body like a caring hand. “Did someone in your firm design these, Mr. Brittain?” she asked as she stroked the curved arm. She accepted the bottle of water he handed her and set it on a coaster on the glass-topped end table next to her.

  “I did. I designed them as an engineering student but didn’t sell the prototype to a furniture company until I graduated and needed seed money to start this business.”

  “They’re very unique and comfortable. And your desk, it’s amazing.”

  “Thank you, that’s a one-of-a-kind design.” He took a seat on the couch across from them.

  Tess studied the man’s face for a moment. Getting a feel for someone required more than analyzing their conduct when they spoke to her. The fact that Brittain branched out on his own to do creative projects, had actually financed his business through one of his own designs, spoke volumes. He served them himself instead of having his assistant stay to do it, which told her he valued Karen Ackerman’s work and didn’t expect her to do menial jobs. He probably made his own coffee as well. She cleared her throat. “Brett isn’t a reporter, he’s acting as my protection detail.”

  “Because of the car bombing?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned. “Have they found who’s responsible yet?”

  “No.” Actually, she hadn’t heard a word from any of the agencies investigating the incident. The police officers who’d interviewed her about Mary Stubben had been as silent.

  She segued into the business at hand. “Brett won’t repeat anything you say to me, but if you’d feel more comfortable, he won’t mind stepping out.”

  Brittain eyed Brett a moment. “Military?” he asked.

  Brett nodded.

  “Still active?” Brittain asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t mind if he stays.”

  Tess leaned forward. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Though he attempted to hide it, tension tightened his shoulders and face. Tess set the pad aside on the table next to her. “Mr. Brittain, I’m not here to dish dirt or try and trick you into admitting any wrongdoing. I’m here to see how your company is weathering the storm.”

  Brittain twisted the top off his bottle and took a sip. He set the bottle aside and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and cup his hands together between them. “I’d be lying to say we’re not still reeling from the accident and the loss of the two men who died. And the investigation is creeping along slow as molasses.”

  “I’m not surprised. These things seem to have two speeds, slow and slower.”

  A brief, wry smile touched his face.

  “Have they been able to tell you what happened?” she asked.

  “I told them.”

  Tess shifted and rested her elbows on the arms of her chair. “Can you share that with me?”

  “We’ve always dealt with a specific company for all our concrete installations. The grade has to be a specific weight and mixture, and it has to cure for a specific length of time after it’s poured into place. The two men who were killed were removing some machinery from beneath the area, unaware anything was wrong. There were already a couple of tons of concrete layered into the forms when one worker signaled the foreman something was wrong. The rebar in the structure should have held the weight, but because too much water had been added to the mix, it wasn’t curing as quickly as it should have. Then the supports failed, the concrete dropped to the floor below, and the men were trapped in it. It was still wet. They were either instantly crushed or smothered to death before the crew could reach them.”

  His jaw tensed. “We make it a practice to do constant quality checks of everything that goes into our structures. The investigators have done thorough tests to make sure no other area of the structure is compromised
. The only materials that were affected were those flooring slabs at the west corner of the third floor.”

  “What could have happened if this accident hadn’t occurred?”

  “Exactly what happened, which was horrible enough. Had the substandard concrete remained in place, part of the floor could have collapsed at a later date, possibly after the building was finished. It could have been an entire family and the one beneath them who were killed.” He shook his head. “Every inch of the apartment complex has been looked at by several inspectors, both from the state as well as ones I hired myself. Nothing else in the structure has been compromised.”

  “But the delays and the bad press are probably eating you alive.”

  “Yes, it’s running into thousands of dollars a day. We’ve been told their investigation will be completed by the end of this week. But there’s no guarantee.”

  “What company delivered the concrete?”

  “Gross and Miracle. We’ve been buying product from them for years and never had an issue before. But this is already affecting their business as much as it is ours.” He took another sip of his juice. “Any time we’re doing a high rise, pouring the concrete is like a ballet of sorts. You put the steel up and build the frames, then they pour the concrete. Depending on the schedule, you can pour a floor every other day and complete the entire frame within three months. There are chemicals added to the mixture to make it cure faster, so it can be walked on within a few hours. The analysis came back indicating it had too much sand, and too much water, as well as more of those curing chemicals than would normally be used.”

  “Didn’t any of the workers recognize there was something wrong with the support structure while it was being poured?”

  “No. They were working above it and didn’t know there was a problem until it fell. The alarm to clear the area had just been sounded when it happened.”

  “Were there any new workers on the site that day? Workers your foreman had just hired or didn’t recognize?”

  Brittain hesitated, his gaze resting on her face for a long moment. “One of the men who died was a new hire. He’d only been on the job for a few days.”

  “Terry Mitchell?” she asked.

  He nodded. “There are always new workers on a site. People hire in and can’t handle the work, then leave after a week or even a few days. But most of my workers have been with me on more than a few sites. You don’t just hire in to do concrete work. You have to have experience, expertise. Terry wasn’t involved in the concrete work. He was just removing some machinery close to the area. It was—” Brittain shook his head, his throat working. “A horrible tragedy.”

  She noticed Brittain’s use of the man’s first name instead of his last. This man cared about his workers. Tess settled back in her chair to think over what else she could ask him. “The investigators. Do they believe this was just an accident?”

  “They haven’t said yet. That day was the only day on the site the foreman had an extra truckload of cement delivered. But it does happen. You only have ninety minutes between the time the concrete is loaded and mixed to deliver it and get it poured. No one thought anything of it.”

  “Were you on the site that day?”

  “Yes, earlier in the day, while the cement was being poured in another section. Though I’m supposed to be the pencil-pusher around here, I try and make it out to every site once or twice each week. Then when Granger called, I went out again to help deal with the accident.” His throat worked again as he swallowed. “Construction accidents are among the worst by far.”

  “You put in a bid for the Ellison Project. We heard you had withdrawn from the bidding because of this accident.”

  “We haven’t withdrawn as of yet, but it’s a serious consideration.”

  Surprised, Tess glanced in Brett’s direction. Mary had said their bid had been withdrawn.

  Brett spoke for the first time. “I’m not the businessman, or the reporter, here, but I wouldn’t pull out. I’d stick it out. If you can afford to.”

  Brittain turned to look at Brett. “Why?”

  “To pull out now will look like an admission of wrongdoing and imply your company is struggling. From just an observer’s viewpoint, this sounds like an accident. There’s always a possibility something more was going on, too. They may try to prove negligence on your part, but I don’t see how they can, since you were in the process of calling a halt to the work and clearing the area when the structure failed. You may have to settle with the families of the men who lost their lives, but your professional reputation will come out of this untarnished. That’s what you’re hoping for by allowing Tess to interview you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, partly.”

  “How would you feel if I interviewed the investigators and some of your other employees?” Tess asked.

  “I’m open to that. I can set them up for you, if you’d like.”

  “I’d rather pick and choose from a list, just to keep things impartial. Then when you’re ready to make an announcement about the investigators’ findings, I can add that information to the piece just before it goes to press.”

  Brittain hesitated for a moment. “We’ve done everything we can to cooperate with every agency that’s come in to investigate. I truly believe our practices are safe.”

  “It sounds like you were doing everything right,” Brett said. “But I’d increase security at your other sites and put the word out for your foremen to stay extra-vigilant.”

  Tess met Brett’s look.

  Brittain’s attention shifted from one to the other. “Do you know something I’m not aware of, Ms. Kelly? If you do, you need to contact the investigators who are in charge of this.”

  There was a mix of emotions in his voice she couldn’t quite decipher. Hope? Concern?

  “If there’s any information I become aware of during my interviews, I promise you, I’ll share it with the investigators, Mr. Brittain.” Tess changed the subject. “Who are your closest competitors?”

  “Hamilton, Chanter, Rigs, and Connor-Jakes.”

  “I was told Hamilton has dropped out of the bidding,” Tess said.

  “Yes, he did, just before the accident.”

  “Who do you think might be closest to you for the Ellison Project bid?”

  “Chanter, or possibly Rigs.”

  “So it stands to reason if you drop out, one of them will benefit from it. They may both have a relationship with the concrete company you use.”

  “Yes, but the people we deal with at the company—they wouldn’t risk their business to help some other company to get a bid. They do work for all of us. Regardless of who gets the bid, they’ll be involved in the building process, and it will benefit them.”

  “Would there have been any way for the support structure to be compromised without anyone noticing?” Brett asked.

  “We have security guards who patrol each night. I’m not aware of any reported disturbances. And the structures are checked before the concrete is poured.”

  But had they been? They were pouring an entire floor of an apartment complex. Had every square inch of structure been checked during that process? With all the activity in preparation for the concrete being poured, and other work continuing in other areas of the structure, probably not.

  Tess moved away from questions about the accident to concentrate on the number of people who were employed by the company and the company’s achievements.

  Nicholas Brittain took another sip from his juice container. “You’re asking about things that throw a different light on my company than what the other reporters were interested in. Why?”

  “I’ve researched your safety record. This is the second accident in ten years, which is a better safety record than any other company in the area. I’ve also done some research about the different buildings you’ve designed and constructed. A company doesn’t just suddenly drop their standards unless something major has happened to them financially. I’ve studied the information you had to provide
to the board when you submitted the Ellison Project bid. There was nothing there to raise a red flag. I’m not out to crucify you or your company for this accident. I’m more interested in the people who work for you,” she gestured expansively, encompassing the office, the building, “and how all this works together, and how it can continue to do so.”

  Brittain settled back on the couch for the first time since they’d walked into the office. He shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but thank you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

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  Brett glanced at Tess as he merged into traffic. She had tilted the seat back and closed her eyes. “You’ve already put in a full day’s work and it’s past lunch time. What do you say we get something to eat and then go to my apartment for a short nap?”

  “That sounds wonderful, but I have to report in to Taylor first.” She straightened the seat and reached for her bag.

  She was as driven as he was. He’d always known that. But she’d just experienced a trauma. She needed to pace herself. Yeah, like he had after waking from the coma? He’d been manic about getting back into shape and back to his team.

  When Tess ended the call she said, “Taylor’s more interested in the pieces I’m doing than anything current. He told me to stick with what I was doing for a few days.”

  “Good. You have the list Brittain gave you to work on tomorrow. I located a restaurant that can take us for the rehearsal dinner, if you’re up to looking at it.”

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe you found a place. Was that what you were working on while I interviewed Lisa Gooding?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his fingernails against his shirt. “Piece of cake.”

  Tess narrowed her eyes. “How many restaurants did you call?”

  “Today or in all?”

  “All together.”

  Too fucking many. “Thirty.”

  “As much as I appreciate your finding a place, if you tell me a SEAL never gives up, I’m going to punch you.”