Risking Trust

"Mr. Taylor, do you want to make a statement?"

Michael remained still, his hands resting on his thighs, his shoulders back. He'd been in this Chicago P.D. interrogation room for the better part of an hour and hadn't said a word.

"Mr. Taylor," Detective Hollandsworth repeated, "your wife was murdered last night and you have nothing to say?"

Oh, he had a lot to say, the first being he didn't kill his wife, but if he'd learned anything running one of the nation's most elite private security companies, it was to keep his trap shut. "Not until my lawyer gets here."

An alien sensation settled on him. Shock? Disbelief? Maybe even sadness because a woman he had loved, a woman who had once been vibrant and fun and sexy, a woman who had grown into a greedy, unhappy wife was dead. Jesus. He may have wanted to end the nightmare of a marriage, but murder? No way.

In his worst bout of rage he wouldn't have done that to her. Sure they were finalizing a brutal—and costly—divorce, but money he had and if giving up some of it meant getting her out of his life, he'd do it. Simple arithmetic.

Right now, the only thing Michael knew was that these two detectives banged on his door at 8:00 a.m. to haul his ass in for questioning.

He flicked a glance to the two-way mirror behind Hollandsworth's head. The room's barren white walls and faded, sickening stench of fear-laced sweat made Michael's fingers twitch. He'd keep his hands hidden from view. No sense letting his nerves show.

The side door flew open and smacked against the wall with a thwap. Hollandsworth and his younger partner, Dowds, shifted to see Michael's lawyer storm in wearing a slick gray suit complete with pocket hanky.

Arnie Stark set his briefcase on the metal table. "Is he under arrest?"

"Not yet," Hollandsworth said.

"Do you have anything to hold him?" Arnie held up a hand and his diamond pinky ring flashed against the overhead light. "Wait. Let me rephrase. Do you have anything to hold him on that I won't shred in the next two hours?"

The room stayed quiet.

Arnie turned to Michael. "Have you said anything?"

"No."

The lawyer jerked his head without dislodging even one strand of his gelled gray hair. "Good. Let's go."

Thank you. Before Michael could move from his chair, Hollandsworth stood. "We're not done."

Arnie stopped in the doorway, spun around and said, "Charge him then."

Again the room went silent and Michael broke a sweat. The idea of being locked up scared the hell out of him. Hollandsworth's face took on the tight look of a balloon about to burst and Michael let out a breath.

Arnie pointed to the door. "We're leaving."

Once outside the police station, the late March wind coming off Lake Michigan slammed into Michael and he sucked in air as if he'd been without it for months. "I didn't do it."

"I don't care,"Arnie said. "I'm your lawyer, not your priest. You want someone to hold your hand, I'm not your guy. You want someone to keep you out of prison, that's me."

Not that Michael needed a babysitter, but hell, he'd appreciate his lawyer believing in his innocence. Then again, this particular lawyer was the best in the city. Anyone living in Chicago knew that because he seemed to be on the news every other week touting another win.

"Keep me out of prison. What now?"

"We go back to my office and you tell me every disgusting detail of your relationship with your wife."

"Ex-wife,"Michael corrected.

"Not yet she wasn't."