Nora Roberts: Best Laid Plans

"An explanation." Abra took a step toward him, needing to see his eyes. "As to why you've been using substandard equipment on the Barlow project."

His hand shook once, and the whiskey spilled before he steadied it and poured. That was all she needed to be sure of the truth. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about materials that don't come up to code. I'm talking about payoffs and kickbacks and bribes." She grabbed his arm when he started to lift his drink, and her fingers dug in. "I'm talking about ruining a reputation your father spent his life building."

Whiskey in hand, Tim turned. Though the room was cool, there was already a light film of sweat beading above his mouth. "I have no idea what this is all about, but I don't appreciate being accused of any illegalities." He tossed back the whiskey, then poured another. "I realize my father had an affection for you, Abra, and that you feel a certain personal interest in my company. But that doesn't excuse this."

"Be careful." Cody's voice was too soft and too mild. "Be very careful what you say to her, or I may just decide to go with my instincts and break your arms."

The sweat was dripping now, hot and sticky down his back. "I don't have to stand here in my own house and be threatened."

Cody simply shifted in front of the door before Tim could storm out. "You're going to stand here and be a lot more than threatened. The game's up. We know about the materials, about the inspectors you bribed, about the laborers who were paid off to install and keep their mouths shut. Funny thing, Tim, it turns out that some of them have consciences."

"This is ridiculous. If someone's been skimming on the material, I intend to find out about it. You can be sure I'll initiate an investigation."

"Fine." Abra put a hand on his arm and looked him in the eye. "Call the building commissioner."

"I'll do just that."

"Do it now." Abra tightened her grip when he tried to pull away. "I imagine you have his home number. We can have a little meeting right here tonight."

Tim reached for his glass again. "I have no intention of disturbing the commissioner at home on a Saturday evening."

"I think he'd be very interested." Abra recognized the fear in his eyes and gave him one last push. "While you're at it, why don't you call Tunney, too? The commissioner's going to want to talk to him. Somehow I don't think Tunney's a man who'd be willing to take the fall alone."

Saying nothing, Tim sank into a chair. He drank again, this time in small sips, until the glass was empty.

"We can work something out." He leaned forward, his hands braced on his knees. "It's business, you understand. I took a few shortcuts. Nothing that has to matter."

"Why?" She'd needed to hear him say it. Now that he had, her anger drained away. "Why would you risk everything for a few extra dollars."

"A few?" With a laugh, he snatched the bottle from beside him and poured more whiskey. He'd already had too much and too quickly, but he badly needed more. "Thousands. It came to thousands. You skim here, cut through there, and before you know it there are thousands. I needed it." The liquor steadied his hand as he drank. "You don't know what it's like being the son, being expected to do things as well as they were always done. Then there's Marci." He glanced up as though he could see her in the room above his head. "She's beautiful, restless, and she wants. The more I give, the more she wants. I can't afford to lose her." He dropped his face into his hands. "I bid too low, way too low, on this project. I thought I could pull it off somehow. I had to. There are debts, debts to the wrong kind of people. Ever since I took over, things have been going wrong. I lost fifty thousand on the Lieterman project."

He glanced up when Abra said nothing. "It wasn't the first time. For the past nine months the business has been dropping into the red. I had to make it up. This was the best way. Cut a few corners, sweeten a few pots. If I brought this in under budget and on time I'd be in the black again."

"And when there was an electrical fire?" Cody put in. "Or the supports gave way? What then?"

"It didn't have to be that way. I had to take the chance. I had to. Marci expects to live a certain way. Am I supposed to tell her we can't go to Europe because the business is in trouble?"

Abra looked at him and felt only pity. "Yes. You're going to have to tell her a lot more than that now."

"Work isn't going to start again on Monday, Tim." Cody waited until he brought his head back up. "It's not going to start at all until after a full investigation. You bit this off, now you're going to have to swallow it. You can call the building commissioner, or we can."

Tim was getting drunk. It helped somehow. "You haven't told anyone?"

Not yet," Abra said. "You're right that I felt close to your father and that I feel a responsibility to the business. I wanted you to have a chance to make this right yourself."

Make it right? Tim thought desperately. How in God's name could he make it right? One official inspection and everything would be over. "I'd like to speak with Marci first. Prepare her. Give me twenty-four hours."

Cody started to object, but Abra touched his arm. The wheels were already in motion, she thought. Another day wasn't going to stop what had begun. She could give him a day, because she'd cared for his father. "You'll set up a meeting at your office? For all of us?"

"What choice do I have?" His words were slurred now by drink and self-pity. "I'm going to lose everything, aren't I?"

"Maybe you'll get back your self-respect." Cody took Abra's hand. "I want to hear from you by nine tomorrow night, or we'll make that call."

Outside, Abra pressed her fingers to her eyes. "Oh, God, it's awful."

"It's not going to get better."

"No." She straightened and glanced back at the house. The light was still burning in the library. "This was going to be my last job for them. I never expected it to end like this."

"Let's go."

Tim heard their car start up and sat listening as the sound of the engine died away in the night. His wife, his beautiful, selfish wife, was primping upstairs. In a fit of rage, he hurled his glass across the room. He hated her. He adored her. Everything he'd done had been to make her happy. To keep her. And if she left him…

No, he couldn't bear to think of it. He couldn't bear to think of the scandal and the accusations. They would crucify him, and he would lose his business, his home, his status. His wife.

Maybe there was still a chance. There was always a chance. Stumbling to the phone, he dialed a number.

Perhaps it was the strain of the evening, or the discomfort of witnessing another's despair and humiliation, but they needed each other. They fell into bed in a kind of fury, saying nothing, looking for what they could bring to each other to block out the lingering anger and disillusionment.

Together they had built something strong-or thought they had. Now they had learned that it had been built on lies and deceits. If they tangled together quickly, reaching, taking, it was to assure themselves that what they had built privately was no lie.

This was real, solid, honest. She could feel it as his mouth closed hungrily over hers, as their tongues met, as their bodies fitted together. If he needed to forget what existed outside this room, this bed, for just one night, she understood. She needed it, too, and so she gave herself utterly.

He wanted to comfort her. She had looked so stricken when Tim had collapsed into confession. It was personal with Abra, and he knew, though she had said nothing, that she was taking part of the failure as her own. He wouldn't have it. But the time for straight talk was in the morning, when her feelings weren't so raw. For now, for a few hours, he would give her release in passion.