Читать книгу Cavanaugh Vanguard - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 12

Prologue

“Hey, boss man, I think you’re going to want to see this!”

Javier Hernandez, head foreman of Preston, Butler & Cowan Construction, which had, after an intense bidding war, wound up submitting the winning bid to tear down the Old Aurora Hotel, the city of Aurora’s oldest landmark still in existence, emerged out of the building in a dead run. The tall, sinewy foreman was searching for the company’s owner.

Warren Preston was just about to get into his silver-gray 4x4. The freshly waxed, newly purchased truck had been Preston’s gift to himself after landing the contract.

It was Preston’s habit to visit a site on the first day that work was to begin. He’d done it with his very first project, and over the years what had begun as a display of involvement for his men had turned into a superstition, one that he had never taken lightly or ignored. No matter how busy he was, Preston made a point to show up on that crucial first day and remain for at least a few hours. After day one, his visits were sporadic at best—unless there was a problem.

Turning away now from his new pride and joy, he left the door of his truck open as he looked at the foreman rushing toward him.

Judging by the expression on Javier’s face, there was definitely a problem.

How could there be a problem? Preston wondered. The workday was barely a couple of hours old.

This morning the demolition ball had mightily swung into the rear wall of what had once been an elegant structure. When the Old Aurora Hotel had first gone up, it had been the first of its kind, not just in the newly formed town, but in the county as well. George Aurora was said to have worked on the building himself.

A great many people in and around Aurora had fought the historic hotel’s demise, wanting to preserve the sprawling three-story structure for a host of reasons.

But, as was often the case, money trumped history and sentiment. The land on which the old, boarded-up hotel stood was worth a fortune. Aurora had grown from a small, three-traffic-light town surrounded by farmland to a thriving, ever-expanding city. A city where, it seemed, everyone wanted to live.

Land was at a premium, and an old hotel that was no longer of any use became a casualty of that siren song. Decisions were made, money changed hands and the hotel was to be demolished to make way for a brand-new, state-of-the-art residential development.

After a run of bad luck and investments that hadn’t panned out, Warren Preston was counting on this development to put his construction company back on the map—and in the running for more construction bids farther down south.

That was why everything had to go smoothly with this job.

“Javi, I’m late for a meeting. Can’t this wait?” Preston asked impatiently. With one foot still in his truck, Preston was ready to take off the second his foreman backed off.

“I don’t think so, sir,” Javier answered.

The foreman’s stance and his body language made clear that he was waiting to reenter the building he’d just vacated—but only with his boss in tow.

“What’s with the long face, Javi?” Preston asked, resigned to the fact that he would be late for his meeting. Leaving his vehicle, Preston closed the door. “Buck up—this is the first day of a brand-new project. Everything’s still fresh and new. Hell, man, you look like somebody died.”

“That’s just it, boss,” Javier answered solemnly. “I think somebody did.”

Bushy eyebrows drew together above small brown eyes, looking for all the world like two caterpillars awkwardly attempting to rise up as Preston glared at the man who had worked for him for over fifteen years.

“What the hell are you talking about, Hernandez?” he demanded. “Who died?”

Rather than answer, Javier was beckoning for his boss to follow him.

Taller than Preston and leaner than his boss by half his weight, Javier had a lengthy stride that put more and more distance between his boss and him. Clearly agitated, Javier seemed to be restraining himself from breaking into a run.

Hernandez insisted, “You have to see this for yourself.”

“See what?” Preston snapped, trying to catch up with the younger man. “I don’t have time for guessing games, Hernandez,” he warned.

“It’s not a game, boss,” the foreman assured Preston. “I only wish it was.”

He brought the construction company owner into the rear of the hotel that had been designed to emulate an elegant Southern mansion.

The dining room had been considered exceptionally stylish and upscale in its day, but time and the elements that had seeped into the structure had not been kind. The expensive wallpaper that had graced the walls had long since begun peeling.

Standing in the doorway, Preston fisted his hands at his ample waist as he irritably scanned the area. Daylight was coming in through the hole where the wrecking ball had made first contact.

“Okay, so what’s this big emergency?” Preston demanded.

“Right there, sir.”

Javier pointed to the reason he had urgently called for both workers and machinery to come to an absolute grinding halt. To the right of where the wrecking ball had left its first startling imprint, knocking down part of a wall, what looked like a skeletal hand reached up out of the gaping hole.