Risking Trust (25 page)

Blam. Blam. Blam.

What the hell?

Michael sat up in bed, heard the noise again. Someone was pounding on the door. He shot a glance at the clock. 6:00 a.m. Jesus Christ.

Roxann, still half asleep, rolled over. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

The sleepy fog crept into his voice and he cleared his throat before slipping on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt he’d thrown on the chair. He headed toward the front door where the pounding continued.
Would you give a guy a minute?
He checked the peep hole. No one there.

“Chicago P.D.,” someone shouted. “Open the door!”

Shit.

The gut shredding panic hit him and he doubled over, sucking in deep breaths. Everything spun but he put a hand on the wall and concentrated on the design in the floor tiles. He’d been anticipating this day—the day of his arrest—but how does a guy emotionally prepare for that?

“Michael?”

Still bent over, he turned his head and saw Roxann standing a few feet behind him.
Oh, crap
. This was happening with her here. Could it get any worse?

Her cheeks sagged at the sight of him doubled over. He needed to compose himself. If
he
acted calm, everything would go easier.

He straightened. “This is probably it, Roxi. I have to open the door or they’ll break it in.”

Without waiting for a response, he flipped the bolt and the door flew open. Loud, demanding voices filled the entry foyer as two uniformed cops shoved through and pushed him against the wall.

Michael’s body spasmed with the instinct to fight.
Don’t make it worse
.
Let them do what they have to.

Roxann, wearing ratty sweatpants and a tank top—
Jesus
—remained frozen in her spot. He’d dragged her into this and now she had to face the humiliation of being with him during his arrest.

“Michael Taylor, you are under arrest…” Hollandsworth, the gray haired, pain-in-the-ass lead detective’s mouth was moving, but the words trailed off and Michael didn’t hear the rest. His body slipped to an alternate state. Deadened. Someone could have whacked him with a bat and he wouldn’t have felt it.

Hollandsworth continued reading him his rights while his younger partner, Dowds, did a quick search of the room looking for who knows what.
Look all you want, fellas. You won’t find anything
.

Roxann had backed herself to the sofa, but when one of the uniforms started to pat him down she lunged forward.

“Michael.”

He drilled her with a look, silently pleading with her to stay focused and not panic. “It’s okay.”

“Stay back,” Hollandsworth warned her just before he handcuffed Michael.

But Roxann wore the laser-sharp look of a woman to be dealt with. “Are the handcuffs necessary?”

“Procedure,” Dowds said, looking under the sofa.

She whirled on him. “Why behind the back? At least let him be comfortable. He’s not going anywhere.”

Suddenly, her face blood red, she charged to the sliding doors leading to the balcony, slammed the door open and peered over the rail before storming back inside.

“You leaked it.”

Oh fuck.
It just got worse. Not only was Roxann here, but so was the press.

“No, ma’am,” Hollandsworth said. “There were reporters out there when we got here. Word travels fast.”

Prick
. Michael turned himself to steel. Had to. These assholes were going to make him walk out bound up like a serial killer. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He turned to Roxann. “Call Vic, tell him to call my lawyer.”

Her gaze darted left and right as the cops continued searching. “Rox. Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.” She turned to one of the cops. “Do
not
trash this place. Not in front of the publisher of a daily newspaper.”

Hollandsworth snorted.
Fucker
.

“Just so we’re clear,” Michael said. “I want my lawyer.”

Hollandsworth grabbed his elbow. “Let’s go.”

Someone shuffled in behind him and Michael turned to see Roxann moving out the door with them. He halted and she plowed into the back of him. “Where are
you
going?”

“I’m walking out with you.”

That was all he needed; her parading in front of the press in rumpled sweats.

“No way, Rox. Stay put.”

True to her style of not responding to orders, she continued to follow them out the door. “I’m walking down with you.”

One of the detectives snickered and Michael wished he weren’t cuffed because he’d risk the assault charge and pop the guy. They stepped onto the elevator.

“Rox, don’t do this. Hit three and get off. I don’t want you here.”

She ignored him and fixed her eyes on the elevator doors. Stubborn. If he wasn’t about to vomit, he’d laugh. What a total piece of work.

“Go ahead then,” he said. “Go down to the lobby, but stay inside. Once you get to the street, you’ll be surrounded and
law enforcement
isn’t going to help you.”

She shifted toward him, but Dowds held his hand to block her and found himself on the receiving end of her do-you-know-who-I-am look.
Gotta love her.

She pushed Dowds’ hand away and stepped closer. “I’ll be okay. Your doorman will help me.”

Michael closed his eyes. She would walk out into a sea of reporters, some of whom worked for her, and risk the credibility of the
Banner.
All to support him. Later, he’d tell her what it meant to him, but right now, it was editorial suicide. The muscles in his neck coiled and he opened his eyes to find her staring at him.

“They’ll take your picture. You know that. Please, get off this elevator.”

The lobby bell clanged.

Damn
.

“Too late.” With her head high, bedhead and all, she stepped out of the elevator.

The detectives, followed by the uniformed cops, led Michael off the elevator and he could already see the flashbulbs snapping. Hal, the doorman, rose from his seat at the lobby desk and his normally cheerful face drooped.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor.” As if it were his fault a cop stood guard to prevent him from calling upstairs. Michael actually felt sorry for the guy.

Roxann asked Hal to walk outside with her and Michael turned to see the two of them behind the three uniformed cops. Hal would get a nice Christmas gift this year. It took one hell of a person to walk into that crowd.

“Thanks, Hal,” he said, as they walked through the lobby doors into a crush of news media.

Now Roxann understood the other side. Reporters shoved microphones at them and screamed questions while cameramen jockeyed for the spot that would give them a page one photo. Someone plowed into her and Hal pushed the cameraman away. She righted herself. Shook it off by breathing deep, in and out, in and out. She could do this. Risk everything. For Michael.

He had done his job by keeping his head up and his mouth closed as the detectives led him through the throng. She could do the same.
Lock it away, rebuild, concentrate
.

The detective opened the car door and guided Michael into the backseat.

How humiliating for him. She’d give Max a lashing on this one. Particularly if the police had leaked the story. She didn’t care what Hollandsworth said, this whole scenario shouted l-e-a-k and it would be easy for her to confirm. She’d simply ask Phil.

None of this made sense. They must have something. Why else would they suddenly arrest him? At his home? He’d been cooperating these last weeks and they could have allowed him to turn himself in.

That alone infuriated her. Well, Max would get a little surprise of his own. His niece’s picture would be plastered all over the morning news as the woman walking out with the accused. He wanted to play dirty, she’d play dirty.

Someone said her name and Roxann turned. A flash popped in her face and white spots saturated her vision. She slammed her eyes shut, let the spots disappear.
Rebuild
. She opened her eyes to Hollandsworth closing the door behind Michael. She stepped to the door and Michael jerked his head toward the building, silently ordering her inside. For added drama, she placed her hand on the window until the car pulled away—oh, she’d play dirty—and left her with ravenous reporters.

“Ms. Thorgesson, what do you think of the charges?”

Roxann, with Hal beside her, angled back to the crush of reporters and ran smack into Phil. Would she, at some point, realize she should be mortified? She honestly didn’t know because right now, Michael needed her help. An injustice had been done.

“No comment. At this time.”

Once inside the safety of the lobby, Hal locked the doors and Roxann stepped behind a large support column to shield herself from the prying eyes. The sudden quiet surrounded her and the free-fall of adrenaline left a clanging inside her skull. She reached a hand to her head.

Count to ten
. She could do this.

“Are you all right?” Hal asked.

“I’m fine. I think I locked myself out of Mr. Taylor’s apartment.”

Hal pulled a key ring from a locked drawer in the lobby desk. “I can let you in.”

They rode the elevator in silence. Hal may have said something, but she wasn’t quite sure. Her mind stayed busy with the effort to remain calm. Michael was going to jail. Possibly for the rest of his life.
Helpless
. No. She needed to concentrate on the next step. Contain the anger.
Use
it. The anger would keep her moving.

Hal let her into Michael’s apartment and she thanked him. For everything. That scene could have been a lot worse had he not been there. She closed the door and spotted Michael’s jacket hanging on the coat hook and something inside her splintered. She brought the jacket to her cheek and the clean, woodsy scent of him tore into her.

Rebuild
. But the agony remained, ripping, clawing at her flesh and—
oh no
—the pressure stole her breath and her legs snapped like brittle straw. She hit the floor with enough force to make her hurt later, but the only thing that registered was her heart tearing away. The scream she needed to let out couldn’t materialize. These past weeks had tested her and she wondered when it would all end.
Someone please make it stop. Please.

Get up. He needs you
. She shot to a sitting position, placed her palms over her eyes and pressed.
Think. Work the problem.

Her purse had been dumped over by the cops—
damn them
—and she dove for it. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed.

“This early?” Vic said. “It better be good.”

“I’m at Michael’s. Michael…” She took a deep breath.
Control.
She needed it. Now.

“What?” Vic sounded instantly alert. “Talk to me, Roxann. What’s going on?”

She couldn’t do it, couldn’t stay calm. The words came fast and jumbled and she hoped they made sense. What had happened to her? When had she become this insane person?

“They took him, banged on the door and he said to call Arnie. He told them he wanted Arnie.”

She sifted through the contents of her purse on the floor. Where were the car keys? Throwing the purse aside, she remembered she didn’t have her car. She’d have to get a cab or even run home.

“You have to call Arnie.”

“Slow down. Please,” Vic said, his voice strained with the effort to remain patient.

“They arrested him. He’s going to jail.”

The sound of it should have made her ears bleed. Michael in jail. Not possible. They had to get him out. Had to help him.

“Roxann, calm down. You need you to get your shit together. I gotta help Mike, but I can’t do that with you like this.”

Rebuild. You can do this
. She bobbed her head up and down, forgetting Vic couldn’t see her. And then her focus came back because Michael needed her.

“I’m okay. It was hard seeing him in handcuffs. What should we do?”

She could handle paralyzed presses, but this she wasn’t ready for.

“I’ll call Arnie and then I need to tell the Taylors.”

The Taylors. God help them. “The press was outside. It’s probably all over the news by now.”

“Fuck!”

Roxann jerked the phone from her ear.

A noise from the hallway caught her attention and she turned to see a cop rummaging through the desk in the corner.
God.
She’d had that meltdown with people here. Fabulous.

“I’m assuming you have a warrant,” she said to the cop.

“Yep.”

“Who’s there?” Vic asked.

With her eyes still on the cop, she went back to Vic. “The P.D. is searching the apartment.”

Suddenly the competitor in her focused on the task ahead and she became an Olympian, about to run the 400 meter relay. All her energy channeled into the athlete that blocked out emotion and distractions. The gold medalist was back. “You call Arnie, I’ll call Gina. She’ll help with Mrs. Taylor. I’ll go with you to the Taylors’. They’ll need to hear he’s okay.”

“I’ll pick you up in ten.”

“This is a bad idea,” Vic said three hours later when he pulled into a visitor’s parking space at police headquarters.

Roxann stared straight ahead at the non-descript five story stone building, mentally reviewing her game plan. Oh, yes, she would be ready for anything Max threw at her. “I’m okay. Besides, he knows I’m coming.”

She ran her hands down her slacks to warm them. Even the steaming shower hadn’t gotten rid of the chill that gripped her. She snapped open the vanity mirror, checked her hair and lipstick. Everything in place. Not a smudge or errant hair to be found. At least she would look in control.

“You think he’ll tell you anything?”

“I have no idea.”

“You want me to go with you?”

She shook her head. Vic would jump into this snake pit with her, and she was thankful for that, but knew she had to face Max alone. “Thank you, but it’ll be better if I’m alone.”

Within minutes her heels tap-tap-tapped against the ceramic floor as she made her way down the long, narrow hall to Max’s office. The desk sergeant had wordlessly waved her in as Max was expecting her. Most of the offices remained dark, their administrative occupants off enjoying family time on a bright Sunday morning.

“Good morning,” Max said before she’d even reached his doorway. Must have heard her coming. And if his grumbling tone were any indication, he was not happy.

She stepped into the doorway, saw him in full uniform—unusual for a Sunday—and his gaze impaled her. Was he tired? Disappointed? Frustrated? All of the above?

Well, that made them a pair because she was disappointed too. Disappointed that he’d turned cold toward her and that she no longer felt able to confide in him. More than that though, he’d chosen to let their relationship crumble while she grieved for her father.

She held her hand toward one of his guest chairs. “May I?”

“Please do.”

After counting three breaths, she looked up at him. “As you know, Michael Taylor was arrested this morning.”

“I saw it on the news.”

“I found it interesting that the press miraculously knew where and when the arrest would happen. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a blatant leak.” Max shrugged and she held up two hands. “You want to be mad at me, be
embarrassed
by me, that’s fine, but why was he suddenly arrested? Particularly with our former director of streets and sanitation popping off about bribes, ghost payrolling and the litany of other infractions performed by the mayor’s staff. Alicia Taylor had some sort of relationship, which I think was a blatant affair, with the mayor’s
married
chief of staff. Who knows what he might have told her? Nobody is pursuing
that
angle.”

Max picked up a report sitting on his desk and perused it. “That’s a police matter. I can’t comment.”

Roxann dug her heels into the floor. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her struggle. “Nice talking to you.”

She rose from her chair, swearing to herself it would be a ninety-degree day in January before she gave into his controlling ways.

“What the
hell
is wrong with you?” Max roared.

A glorious buzz raced up her spine.
Yes.
Finally. She slammed the door and spun on him. “What is wrong with
you
? You’ve been acting like an idiot for weeks.”

Max bolted out of his chair and came around the desk.

“Let’s talk about idiots. You—” he poked a finger at her, “—have chosen to align yourself with a murderer. Then you go parading around on the news in your pajamas while they’re hauling his ass to jail. What were you thinking?”

“There’s no solid evidence against him and in order to clear this case the Chicago P.D. will fast track him through a trial.
That’s
what I was thinking.”

“You think we can’t get a conviction on a circumstantial case?”

She snorted in disgust. “It’s weak and you know it.”

“Not that weak.” His tone reeked of sandbagging.

He walked back to his desk and sat. “You are wearing me out, Roxann.”

She remained standing and stuffed her hands into her pants pockets. He wasn’t the only one worn out.

“So, what is it then? Obviously you have something you’re dying to tell me.” She’d call his bluff. If there was anything, Phil would have gotten wind of it.

She hoped.

Max reached into his desk for a file. “I prepared for this meeting.”

He held his hand for her to sit, but she waited a moment. Did she even want to hear what he had to say?

She sat.

“Ever heard of a mail cover?” Max asked.

“No.”

“We did one on your boyfriend. Had the post office monitor his mail and tell us the return address of all mail received.”

A tiny bit of something—fear maybe—rolled in her stomach. “And?”

“He renewed his passport.”

Max leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. So smug.

Roxann scoffed, “Maybe the old one expired. He travels for work.”

“Your boy was going to run. As I recall, he’s been known to do that.”

His words stung like a blast of a hundred tiny pellets. And the triumphant look on his face needed to be slapped off. Just one good
whap.
Damn him for being such a bastard. What she wouldn’t do to scream at him, tell him how his attitude sickened her, shattered her already iffy emotional state and then just march out.

But the passport bugged her.

Why hadn’t Michael mentioned it? He had to have known it would make him appear guilty. She shook her head.

“There’s no proof he was going to run.”

“We don’t need any. All we have to do is prove there’s a possibility we might lose a murder suspect and the D.A. will let us bring him in. He’s not going anywhere now.”

“So, all you have is the passport and an assumption that he would flee. No DNA? No fingerprints? Nothing else?”

No answer. Just a stone wall of a face. Perfect.

“Stay out of this, Roxann.”

She stood and leaned forward on the desk, hovering over it and Max stared at her, his eyes steady on hers. “Not a chance.”

She strode passed the desk sergeant, making sure to smile and wave goodbye as if her world was a beautiful place.

Who knew Max’s office would make a perfect stage for this actress?

Vic waited in front of the building. A rush of relief over seeing a friendly face filled her, but as she made her way to the car, her body began to crumble and the now familiar squeeze of a bad situation settled in her chest.
Dammit.
The men in her life were tearing her apart. She hoisted herself into the SUV.

“Drive me to the county lock-up.”

“No,” he said, making no effort to drive anywhere. “You won’t see him. They’re probably questioning him.”

She glared at him, but if it had any effect, he didn’t show it. She shifted toward him. “Did Michael renew his passport?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Don’t lie to me. You know everything he does.”

Roxann’s temper rarely flared in seconds, but this was most definitely one of those times. She needed someone to be honest with her and Vic was the lucky contestant. Badgering him until he gave in would not be out of the question.

“Back off, sister. I don’t know anything about his damned passport.”

She folded her arms. “He renewed it. They think he’s a runner. That’s why they arrested him.”

Vic snorted. “What a load of manure. You can’t believe that. Max is messing with you.”

She let out a long breath, stared toward the building where her uncle would be enjoying his victory. “Michael left me before without an explanation, and I have a lot more at stake this time. I’ve put my newspaper’s reputation behind him. He’d bankrupt me by running.”

“Mike wouldn’t run. Not this time. Not with his responsibilities and not with how he feels about you.” He started the car. “Besides, if he was gonna run, I’d know.”

“You think?”

“I
know
. You know it too. And I’m gonna cut you some slack because your uncle got into your head, but by the time I drop you off, you’d better know whose side you’re on. It’s crunch time.” He shook his head. “This is one hell of a time to be waffling. I don’t fucking get it.”

“
You
don’t get it? How the hell do you think I feel?”

She spun toward the door, stared out over Lake Michigan and did a mental ten count. Vic continued to drive toward her house and she willed herself to hang on until they got there. She could fall apart in private. But, as she sat in that passenger seat, her body expanded from the pressure. She cracked the window a few inches, sucked in fresh air, but—
dammit
—she couldn’t breathe.
Not working
. The pressure. Too much. She bit down, squeezed the door handle until her bicep burned, but still no relief. Insanity. She closed her eyes.
Start at the toes. Rebuild. Rebuild. Rebuild.

The car stopped and she opened her eyes. Home. Finally. She drew a long, luscious breath and eased her grip on the door handle. Vic shoved the car into park and when she looked at him the disappointment in his eyes turned her rock hard body doughy. Someone else mad at her. The list continued to grow.

Pushing past opposition had never been an issue before and it wouldn’t be now. The Olympic medalist in her wouldn’t allow it. No way. “I do believe in him. I do. Lately, I’m always choosing sides. I’ve lost my father and if I take Michael’s side, I’ll lose Max, but if I take Max’s side, I’ll lose Michael.”

Vic squeezed her shoulder and it felt soooo gentle and forgiving, as if, for a moment, she hadn’t let everyone down.

“Max is a jerk-off,” he said. “Who needs family like that? You can talk to Mike about the passport, he’ll tell you he wouldn’t run and you’ll believe him because we’ve had this conversation. Mike doesn’t have to know any of this. We’ll just chalk it up to you being overworked, overstressed and temporarily whacked out. We all have shitty moments, right?”

Shitty moments? She was having a lot more than that. This nonsense with Max had to stop. He’d been trying to manipulate her for weeks because his boss wanted to suppress the
Banner
’s content. Well, she now knew where Max’s loyalty stood.

A welcome silence filled the car and she glanced at Vic who stared out the windshield. He probably couldn’t stand the tension. He wasn’t the only one.

She straightened up and focused on the house in front of her. She was back. The controlled, together Roxann had come home.

“Vic, I am losing my mind. This emotional havoc is making me crazy. I have no where left to put everything and eventually it’s all going to tumble out.”

“So what? Let it tumble. You’re entitled.”

She jerked her head. “Thank you for setting me straight. I was angry. Max led me to believe I had been used. I should have known better. Michael warned me about this a couple of weeks ago. He knew Max would continue to manipulate me.”

Vic grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Rox, people do crazy shit. Max likes Mike for this murder and he’s made you the prize in this pissing match. When this is over, you’re gonna have to deal with him on that, but for now, let’s work on getting Mike out. Okay?”

She nodded.

“Good,” Vic said. “I want to check on Gina and get an update from the lawyer. See what’s up. You gonna be all right for awhile?”

Roxann pulled on the door handle. Oh, she’d be all right. She was going to find a way to get Michael out of jail. Whether Max approved or not.