Hard Pursuit

by Sheryl Nantus

  “Shit.” Finn’s curse brought him around, ready to help out if needed.

  The barbell clattered onto the dark blue exercise mat with a thud.

  Finn gazed at the wide-screen television in the corner. “Construction accident out on the edge of town. Weren’t you out there with Ally?”

  Trey stared at the screen, frowning as he tried to take in the images.

  Flames. Firemen racing around. Ambulances pulling up.

  His heart skipped a beat as the camera shot drew back, giving him a wide view of the scene. The Sheldon Construction sign was visible, standing tall and proud as the first responders dashed by.

  He recognized it immediately.

  “Yeah. I was.” Trey went over to where the remote lay on the far bench. He tapped the sound button, raising the volume.

  “Firefighters have confirmed at least two dead and three injured. The cause of the collapse and fire is still under investigation. The Fire Marshall and police investigators are on the scene, waiting to gain access to the buildings.”

  The image switched to a local reporter standing in front of the fire engines, a young brunette holding a microphone.

  “I’ve spoken to some of the surviving construction workers, and they suggested speed might have been a factor, certain safety issues going ignored for the sake of time and money. They wouldn’t go on camera with their statements, but there’s no doubt they will be interviewed by officials seeking the truth behind this horrible accident.”

  The helicopter hovered over the area, giving them an eagle’s-eye view of the fire. It had devoured two half-built houses, the skeletal remains now only charred shadows of their original form.

  “I was there,” he murmured to himself, turning the volume back down.

  Finn eyed him, shaking his head. “Don’t you take this on yourself.” He pointed at the screen. “You don’t work for Sheldon Construction. You never did, technically. What happened has nothing to do with you.”

  “It has to do with her.” Trey stared at the images, crossing his arms. “Vincent must have reversed her ruling, let Capprelli have his way again. And now people have died.”

  “So, what are you going to do?” Finn picked up one of the weights and replaced it on the rack. “Sit here and mope, or go the hell out there?” He caught Trey’s eye. “She’s going to feel like shit over this, and Vincent’s not going to be any help.”

  “She told me to leave,” Trey said. “She said she didn’t want to see me again.”

  Finn shook his head. “You can’t hack into a woman’s system.” He dropped another weight onto the metal bars. “Look at it from her side. She’s enjoying the freedom of getting to run the company her own way, without that idiot interfering. She’s worried as hell about Vincent, but you’re there, softening the situation. You’re her backup. Her safety net.”

  Trey swallowed hard, his eyes darting from the silent images to Finn’s face and back.

  Finn continued. “Now Vincent comes back, and he’s as much of an asshole as he was before. You confront Vincent and put her on the spot, caught between the man she just spent the night with and her adopted brother. What the hell did you expect her to do?” Finn gestured up at the screen. “She’s going to need a shoulder to lean on. You think he’s going to give her that?”

  He didn’t need any more prompting.

  Trey tossed the remote onto the bench and spun around, heading for the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The worst of it was pretty well over by the time Trey arrived. Fire engines drove past him as he turned down the street, picking his way through the trucks and construction vehicles to get to the trailer.

  The site had changed substantially from his visit only a week ago—and not just the burned and destroyed areas, where puddles of water spread out across scorched wood. The skeletal structures he’d seen before had become full-bodied houses, the ones next to them in a lesser state of completion and the ones next to them bare lots, waiting for their turn.

  A single pumper truck remained, the firemen with axes and pikes walking among the five burned houses to seek out hot spots. White smoke trickled into the cloudless sky, the news helicopter long gone.

  Trey got out of his truck and leaned on the hood, studying the mess. He wasn’t a trained arson investigator, but he’d lay good money down that when it was all over, they’d confirm Capprelli had taken too many risks and his people had paid the price.

  “Hey.”

  He turned to recognize one of the workers from his previous visit with Ally, one who’d silently applauded when he’d confronted the mouthy catcaller. “What are you doing here?”

  “Saw this on the news.” He studied the man. “What happened?”

  The thickset man wiped his face with a black-and-white checkered handkerchief before stuffing it in his pocket, his eyes red and swollen. “Damned mess. All a damned mess.” He shook his head, tears in his eyes. “They’re saying Dan and Griff… Someone’s going to have to talk to their families. Oh, God.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “It’s all fucked up.”

  “I thought Capprelli wasn’t forcing you guys to work overtime.” Trey heard the blood rushing in his ears, his pulse surging. “He told Ally…”

  “Vincent called him and put the hammer down, canceled the deal. Doubled the bonus for all of us if we got finished early. Came down yesterday, we all got fired up. Got greedy, got sloppy. A spark here, some spilled oil there, and it all goes up.” The man dropped his head to his chest. “It doesn’t matter now.” He turned his back on Trey and sat on the curb, cradling his head in his arms.

  Trey headed for the construction trailer, zigzagging through the fire hoses being collected up and the other workers milling around, all in various states of confusion and shock at the devastation. He jumped up onto the wooden steps leading to the closed door of the office.

  Trey yanked it open. “Capprelli,” he yelled as he stepped into the office. “Capprelli. What the hell—”

  Ally stared at him, gripping the back of the single folding chair. She was pale, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. Soot stained her jeans and pale-yellow blouse.

  Vincent stood in front of her, between them. He wore a light blue dress shirt and black tie with jeans. His clothing was immaculate, as clean as if it’d come out of the closet a few minutes earlier.

  Capprelli leaned back against his desk, glaring at Trey.

  “Who the fuck…” Vincent stared at him. “Oh, wait. I remember.” He jerked a thumb at the open door. “Get the hell out of here before I call the cops. We got work to do, and we don’t need you poking around.”

  Trey took a step toward Ally, his heart aching as he took in her ragged appearance.

  “Ally…”

  Vincent stepped in, blocking access.

  “No. Hell, no. You do not get to come in here and pull any shit, not today.” The dark-haired man advanced on him.

  Trey backed up, fighting the urge to punch Vincent. This wasn’t the place for a fight, not here in the middle of so much death.

  He looked over Vincent’s shoulder at Ally, trying to connect with her even as he retreated out of the office and back down the steps.

  “You screwed around with my men and my company for almost a week.” Vincent pointed over Trey’s shoulder at the smoldering timbers nearby. “All this, this is all on you. If you hadn’t interfered with Capprelli, had let him keep on doing what he was doing, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “That’s not true.” Trey curled his hand into a fist, trying to keep his anger at bay. “We told Capprelli to pull back, play it safe. Now people are hurt, dead, and it’s all on your shoulders.” He paused. “More blood on your hands.”

  “Shut up. You don’t get to say shit.” Vincent stood on the top step, towering over him. “You don’t know anything about me, about my business. This”—he swept his arm around to encompass the chaos surrounding the trailer—“this has nothing to do with you. Get the hell off my land and out of my lif
e.”

  Trey stared at Ally, who had moved out of the trailer and now stood behind her brother.

  Capprelli stepped out behind Vincent, too, waving at the two officers who were walking toward the trailer. He was busy talking on the phone as he pointed at Trey.

  A wise man knew where and when to pick his fights.

  “I’m good. I’m good.” Trey held up his hands. “You’ll both answer for what you’ve done here. If not in the courts, then somewhere else.”

  Vincent cocked his head to one side. “Is that a threat?” He raised his voice. “Are you threatening me?”

  “No. Just noting karma is a bitch.” Trey glared at Capprelli. “You can’t screw your people over for a bonus and expect not to have to pay for it somehow.”

  “Maybe.” Capprelli sneered. “But not today.”

  “Trey,” Ally said, lifting her head to look at him.

  His heart ached as he studied the dark shadows under her eyes, the weariness in her stance.

  “Now’s not the time for this.” Her gaze went to the smoldering remains nearby. “Not now.” She repeated.

  The officers came closer as Capprelli gestured frantically with one hand, pointing at Trey.

  “Sir.” The first policeman said. “What’s going on here? We have a report you’re causing a disturbance.”

  Trey kept his hands in the air. “I was just leaving.” With one last glance at Ally, he spun on his heel and headed for his truck.

  …

  Two hours earlier, she’d been busy working when a frantic knocking came at the front door. Edgar had answered, taking the harried man through to Vincent. Raised voices filled the next room, punctuated by Vincent’s cursing.

  It didn’t take a genius to know something was wrong.

  The messenger came back out and left, almost running from the room.

  She went to Vincent’s door, noting he was still wearing nothing but a bathrobe even though it was almost noon. Edgar raced around the room, tossing clothing on the bed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Clusterfuck central,” Vincent snarled as he struggled to get dressed. “Accident on the construction site. Some idiot pushed his luck, and now there’s a fire. Capprelli says…”

  “Capprelli?”

  The silence told her everything she needed to know.

  Now as she stood at the top of the trailer stairs, watching the police escort Trey back to his truck, her stomach twisted into knots. The nausea surged again as she watched the departing ambulances and the waiting workers, each of them staring up at her and Vincent with unbridled hate.

  Capprelli had his fair share as well, but the majority of angry glares went to her and her brother.

  She couldn’t blame them. She’d promised them a safe work environment and had failed, let them down when they’d needed her the most.

  “The union’s going to be all over this,” she whispered.

  Vincent spun. “Fuck the union. They want to keep working this site, they’ll shut up and take it.” He stabbed a finger into Capprelli’s chest. “Clean this mess up. I want you back on schedule within a week.”

  The site manager’s face went even more scarlet. “There’s no way we can do that without paying double, triple overtime.”

  “I’m not authorizing extra pay. You’ve got a budget. You’re the one who screwed this up,” Vincent shot back. “You fix it, or you get out of here.” Without waiting for an answer, he stomped down the steps to the waiting black car. “And you can kiss the bonus good-bye.”

  Ally followed, aware Trey was leaning on his truck a half block away and watching. The police had moved off, having better things to do. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her.

  The sadness in his gaze almost broke her.

  She’d been unable to clear her mind of the memories, of the way he sounded and felt. The way he touched her…

  A stiff breeze brought her the smell of smoke and burned wood.

  Not here.

  Whatever she was going to do about Trey would have to wait. This wasn’t the time or place to pursue that issue.

  And definitely not with Vincent around.

  Her attention went to one of the workers, leaning on his truck and openly sobbing. She took a step toward him, splashing into one dark puddle.

  “Get in the car,” Vincent snapped. “Before some reporter comes over here and starts asking questions.”

  She ignored him and continued to the man. With a shock, she recognized him from her visit with Trey—he’d been pleased to see the catcaller taken down a notch.

  He let out a pained sigh. “Why did you let him do this?” He wiped his face with a cloth. “Why? We thought you cared, that you gave a damn about us. But you’re all the same, aren’t you? As long as you get paid, you’ll say or do anything.”

  Ally went to touch his arm and stopped, unsure what to say.

  Vincent thought he knew better.

  It was all about the bottom line.

  It’s not my fault.

  She tasted soot and ashes in her mouth.

  Vincent’s angry shout rang out. “Ally!”

  She turned away and got in the car, her stomach lurching.

  Vincent tugged at his suit lapels as Ally reached for one of the ever-present water bottles sitting nearby. “And you,” Vincent rapped on the headrest, urging Edgar to turn around and face them. “What the hell were you doing, taking a nap? That madman came right at us—you should have been on him.”

  Edgar’s cool, measured gaze had Ally smiling inside. “I assumed you and Mr. Capprelli should be able to handle one angry man. I did notice you called the police.”

  Vincent gave an annoyed huff and sat back as the car moved slowly out of the construction area. “Fucking idiots.” Vincent shook his head. He looked at her. “This is all on you, you know.” He fumbled in his back pocket and pulled out a flask she knew held vodka or whiskey.

  “What?”

  He opened it and took a sip before sliding it back out of sight. “You and that asshole. You’re the ones who told Capprelli he had to stop pushing his men, stop making them meet the schedule.”

  Her pulse pounded in her ears, the sights and sounds of the accident still fresh. “People are dead, Vincent. What are you going to tell Dad?”

  “I’m going to tell him it’s a horrible thing and a great loss. We’ll send flowers to the funeral and pay off the families so they don’t sue.” He glared at her. “And you’re going to say the same thing. We’re not going to say anything about Capprelli or the bonus. Dad doesn’t need to know.”

  “He doesn’t need to know,” she repeated, making sure she’d heard the words correctly. “Are you serious?” Ally rapped on the headrest. “Stop the car, Edgar.”

  The car slid to the shoulder of the road.

  She turned to face Vincent. “I can walk right out of here and go back to the cameras, let them know exactly how this shit happened. How you offered a bonus for finishing early, and Capprelli got greedy.”

  He eyed her. “And what will that do? Aside from exposing us to a dozen lawsuits and cost us business.” He tapped his chest. “You think we’re the first ones to do this? Everyone does it. We just do it better than others.”

  She choked on the words. “And today good people died.”

  “Yeah.” There was a hint of remorse in his voice—at least, she wanted to believe there was. “But it was an accident. Not your fault, not my fault, not Capprelli’s fault. Sometimes shit just happens. You deal with it and move on.”

  She pushed down the curses rolling around her mouth and knocked on the headrest. “Hotel, please.” She turned to Vincent. “Are you ready for the presentation tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I got it.” He flicked a piece of ash from his sleeve. “Don’t worry. All you got to do is hand out the information packets. Maybe smile and flirt with whoever needs convincing. We need this deal now more than ever to make up for this clusterfuck.” His attention went to the window as they drove out of th
e construction site and back on the street. “Damned lawyers are going to be waiting for us back at the hotel to help us figure a way out of this.”

  She closed her eyes, unable to wipe the images of the ambulances and injured workers from her mind’s eye.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Trey slammed the car door hard enough to bring Patrick out from under the hood of the Hummer he was working on. He raised a disapproving eyebrow as Trey threw the keys into the cabinet, bouncing them off the back wall and onto the floor.

  Trey sighed before picking them up and placing them on the hook labeled for the truck.

  “Sorry. Bad day,” Trey answered as he headed for the break room. He was hungry, pissed off, and ready to rip someone’s head from their shoulders.

  Vincent would be a fine start.

  He grabbed a six-pack of cold beer out of the refrigerator and headed up to the roof, grateful for the lack of traffic in the basement. It was barely noon, the sun high in the sky. The only people in the club would be working, getting ready for the lunch opening.

  Perfect for some heavy-duty brooding.

  Hell. Everything had gone to hell, and he had no idea how to fix it.

  He sat on the edge of the building, letting his feet swing free, and popped a can open.

  Fuck this. Fuck that. Fuck everything and everyone.

  He drained half the can in a single gulp. He could still smell the charred wood, the thick, acrid scent getting up in his nose. It’d take a long, hot shower to erase that from his senses.

  Too bad he couldn’t do the same with his desire for Ally.

  The door opened behind him. A few moments later, Dylan stepped up beside him. “Bad day?”

  “Who ratted me out?”

  “No one.” He walked over and helped himself to one of the cold cans. “I saw you come in on the cameras. Don’t take a genius to figure where you went. Finn filled me in on the rest.”

  Trey finished off the can in two deep swallows. “Nick might have been the first, but he won’t be the last victim of Vincent Sheldon. He doesn’t give a crap about anything other than making money.”