Secrets and Seduction: 5 Romance Novels (25 page)

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore because he prescribed new ones.”

“Sean and I discussed bipolar and how it’s treated with today’s medicine. He says it’s trial and error to get the right mix of meds to control the symptoms. You feel fine today, but what if the new medicine’s not right for you? And what if you skip a day? He says it’s important for people who suffer from severe depression to take their medication daily to prevent suicidal spirals.”

Christian had thought the people he trusted most trusted him. It was infuriating to know what they actually thought and that his breakdown was partly to blame for their doubts.

“My depression’s not that bad, Roger, and I plan to take my medicine every day from now on.”

“I’m not saying these things to hurt you, Kit, but to show you how important it is to let Sean and the other doctors figure out a medical regimen that works for you. Go back to Crittenden. In a few weeks when you’re stabilized, Sean will release you.”

“I can get the same care as an outpatient. I need to be free to figure out why the Densmore collapsed.”

Roger paled. “What?”

“No one’s trying to prove I’m innocent, so I’ll have to do it myself.”

Roger stiffened. “Absolutely not. You wouldn’t last an hour digging through the Densmore records.”

“I’m not going to have a breakdown looking over that file.”

“You’re not — ”

“Roger?” Brittany’s voice blared over the intercom.

Roger stabbed the intercom button on his phone. “Not now.”

“Roger, the police are here.” Her voice quavered slightly.

Roger ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Jesus. What now?” He punched the intercom again. “Send them back.”

He looked up at Christian. “Do me a favor and go back to Crittenden.”

A knock on the door cut off Christian’s scathing comment. Brittany escorted in two uniformed policemen and two men with police badges on their suits. The uniforms eyed Christian with cold, curious eyes.

“What can I do for you, officers?” Roger asked.

“Are you Christian Ziko?” one of the uniforms asked Christian.

“Yes.”

“By order of the grand jury, you’re under arrest.”

“Under arrest? For what?”
Don’t panic
. There had to be some mistake. Christian and Paul had talked about jail, but not in the context of police officers arresting him today.

One uniformed cop advanced toward him. “For suspicion of fraud and malfeasance pertaining to the construction of the Densmore Building.”

One of the police detectives waved a white paper. “We’ve got a warrant for your arrest.”

The uniformed cop tried to take hold of Christian’s arm, but Christian shook the man off.

“I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything fraudulent in designing the Densmore.”

“That’s for a jury to decide. The grand jury thought there was sufficient evidence to indict you. I’m afraid we’re going to have to handcuff you and take you down to the station.”

“That’s not necessary.” Christian took another step away from the cop. “If you want me to go with you, I’ll go peaceably without handcuffs.”

The cop reached for him again. “Just give me your wrists.”

His partner was almost within reach. Christian felt cornered. He didn’t want to be handcuffed. He didn’t want to go to jail.

“Kit, let the policemen do their jobs,” Roger said. His face was grim, his mouth pinched in a tight line.

“No. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Christian’s breathing was coming too fast.

The first uniform grabbed his arm. Before Christian could react, the cop slammed Christian face first against the office wall. As Christian tried to rear back, the policeman jammed his billy club against his neck.

Panic was a wild animal inside him. “I‘m innocent!” The wall muffled his shout.

“Save it for the trial,” the cop growled.

The other policeman moved behind him and cuffed him rather roughly.

“Roger, do something,” Christian demanded as the cops turned him around to face the room once more.

One of the detectives handed Roger a piece of paper. “Roger Barrett, this is a search warrant to seize all documents pertaining to the Densmore.” He slapped a second piece of paper into Roger’s hand. “And this is a subpoena to appear in court to testify.”

Roger’s face turned beet red as he stared at the subpoena. Christian hoped his partner would finally get angry enough to intervene. Christian was becoming claustrophobic. Memories of his last days at Crittenden and being restrained threatened to panic him. The handcuffs rubbed across his still-tender wrists.

“Fine,” Roger said through gritted teeth, tossing the subpoena on his desk. “We’ll cooperate. Kit, go with them.”

Christian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He strained against the two policemen who held him between them. “But it’s not right. I didn’t kill those people. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’ll call Paul.” Roger’s face had returned to its original color. “You won’t be at the police station long. Just sit tight and Paul will come bail you out.”

The two uniformed cops hauled Christian toward the door as the detectives spoke to Roger.

“We’re going to need access to Mr. Ziko’s computer and all his records.”

The uniforms tugged Christian’s resisting body out the door and down the hall. He dragged his feet, trying to delay them, trying to stop them, anything not to have to go to jail.

“Mr. Ziko!” Brittany gasped, her eyes wide.

“It’s all a mistake,” Christian said as he was marched past her.

The cops ogled her as they tugged on his arms, but any hope her distracting presence would make them loosen their hold on him was for naught.

Once the glass doors of Barrett and Ziko had closed behind them, the cop on the right jerked on Christian’s arm. “You want us to add resisting arrest to the charges?”

“It’s my life we’re talking about, my freedom. You bet I’m going to resist.”

“We’re going to be out of sight soon and nobody at the precinct is going to care what shape you arrive in. After all, you killed all those people.”

Christian stilled, a cold knot of dread tightening in his belly. These men didn’t care what happened to him. They already thought he was guilty because a grand jury had indicted him.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” he said in a quiet voice. He wanted to tone down the officers’ hostility. With his arms cuffed behind him, he couldn’t fight off a billy club if they decided to take their anger out on him.

“Listen, Ziko,” the second cop said. “Just come peaceably. We’ve got a job to do. It’s not up to us to decide your guilt or innocence. All we have to do is take you to the station and book you. You’ll be released when you post bail and then you and your lawyer can decide how to defend you.”

The elevator dinged and the door opened. Christian let them lead him into the car and held his breath when the door shut, hoping they didn’t still think beating him into submission was a good idea.

His cooperative behavior must have appeased them, because the trip through the lobby and out to the waiting patrol car was uneventful. But he hoped Paul hurried.

• • •

“A hundred thousand dollars for bail? That’s insane.” Christian gripped the bars of his jail cell hard as he faced Paul through them.

“That’s what I said.” Paul ran a hand through his black hair, tousling the already mussed strands.

“Can you get that much money?”

“Kit, normally I could. But this damn rain has delayed all my current projects. You know construction work always has liquid cash problems.”

“Can you get a loan against your house?”

Paul sighed. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but Pam filed for divorce. She’s tied up all our personal assets and is trying to get her hands on the business assets. I don’t have any personal money right now.”

“Jesus, Paul. You and Pam seemed so happy.” Other people got divorced, not Paul.

“Seemed is the right word. I was working too many hours. She had all her social activities. We didn’t see much of each other.”

“Can’t you get counseling or try working on your marriage?”

Paul shook his head. “Pam doesn’t want to. I have to talk to her through her attorney.”

Christian frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Pam.”

“It doesn’t matter. Because of her, all my assets are tied up.”

“What about my house? Can you get the money using it?”

“I don’t know if you’ve got enough equity in it. You just bought it last year.”

Christian gripped the bars harder. “Will you try?”

“All right, but it’s going to take time.”

“It’s already been two hours.”

“I’m sorry. I needed to check my financial situation.”

Christian wanted to shake his brother until he moved faster. “I can’t stand being in here. It’s like,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “Crittenden.”

Paul leaned close to the bars. “I warned you, Kit. I told you to go back there. You’re too vulnerable on the outside.”

Christian rattled the bars. “I don’t want to be locked up anywhere. I have to be free to prove my innocence.”

“I’ll do what I can as fast as I can, but it’s been a really bad spring.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Try to relax. The last thing we need is for you to get upset. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Paul gripped Christian’s arm, his features strained, before he turned and left.

Christian returned to his uncomfortable bunk. With Paul gone and Roger tied up at the office, Christian felt alone and friendless. The cops thought he was where he belonged and the press was happy he was behind bars — there had been a veritable feeding frenzy when he’d been brought in.

He was lucky Paul could even break away from his building sites to post his bail. Christian’s life had been like that, too, for the past year. His company had won numerous contracts where they were architect as well as contractor. There were too many details to oversee and not enough hours in the day.

He and Roger had discussed taking on another partner, but there had never been time to interview prospects. So they had tried to handle the load, and the Densmore tragedy resulted.

Flinging himself to his feet, he paced the small confines of the cell. He felt trapped, like some wild animal. He was afraid he’d never be free again. He’d go crazy if he was sentenced to a cell like this for years.

He needed help to clear himself. A picture of Gabrielle Healey came to mind. With her logical mind and intense probing, she’d be able to find the evidence he needed. But she was the enemy. Even now, her report might have helped condemn him.

But she’d seemed so adamant about learning the truth.

The truth as she saw it.

Christian turned to stalk in the other direction. She would never help him. Only if he had some radical new piece of information would she listen to him.

If only those girders hadn’t matched her drawings. He’d thought for sure somehow there’d been a mix-up in materials. But they had matched.

He paused. No. The drawing had matched the materials.

Christian kept a back-up copy of all his blueprints in his home computer so he could work from home. If he had a copy of a later drawing that didn’t match the materials, Gabrielle would want to see it. She’d want to help him.

Damn. He had to get out of here so he could check the blueprints in his computer. He was sure it was the place to start.

Where the hell was Paul with his bail?

• • •

At a little after eight the next morning, Paul bailed Christian out of jail and dropped him at his house with a fast food breakfast and a plea to call if Christian changed his mind about being admitted to Crittenden.

With coffee in hand, Christian opened his computer file of blueprints, found the ones for the Densmore and checked the dates. Paging through the different schematics, he found the one for the third floor and traced the support beams until his finger underlined the length of the girders.

Thirty feet.

All the air left his lungs. His coffee cup hit the desk and nearly spilled the hot liquid. Jesus Christ. He’d been right. Excitement filled his veins, making him jump up and shout. He was innocent, and here was the proof. God, he was innocent.

Then reality struck him, hard. The building had been built with twenty-five-foot girders, not thirty. But here was the drawing, the proof. Gabrielle Healey had said the materials met the drawings specs, but how could they have?

Wait, he’d looked at the drawing in her car. He’d seen with his own eyes the measurement of twenty-five feet. Who’d drawn that drawing? He didn’t remember doing it.

As quickly as he could, he checked the other files. Never had he drawn the third floor guiders at under thirty feet. They needed the length to spread the tension out and across. That’s how the third floor could appear to defy gravity.

Jesus. That’s why the third floor hadn’t defied gravity.

Gabrielle’s desk phone rang, interrupting her perfectly worded thoughts on Christian Ziko’s guilt for her final report.

“Damn.” She wrung her hands, trying to get the words back. When that didn’t work, she answered the phone. “Cost Containment, Healey.”

“Ms. Healey, it’s Christian Ziko. I’ve found something you need to see.”

Speak of the devil. “What did you find?”

“The original blueprints.”

“So? You told me you’d made several revised drawings.”

“This is the drawing DesignCorp tested. The one that didn’t fail. Guess what length the girders are?”

Was he playing games with her? “Why don’t you just tell me what length they are?”

“Thirty feet.”

“Then it must be an older drawing. We both know the girders are twenty-five feet.”

“I’m telling you, this is the drawing I was using the day we broke ground on the Densmore, after DesignCorp approved the design for construction.”

“You know as well as I do plans change during construction to accommodate unforeseen problems. Every changed drawing is filed with the appropriate people.”

“But this was the only drawing tested by DesignCorp.”

“I’m sure I saw a certificate from DesignCorp on the final blueprints.” She dug frantically through her files.