the concrete floor of the east wing of what was to be the Fifth Army’s new state-of-the-art communications center at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio. As a substitute for Eric Thompson, the government inspector normally assigned to the construction site, she wasn’t expected to do much except make sure nothing went wrong while Eric was on sick leave. She certainly wasn’t supposed to concern herself with a floor that had been approved weeks ago. But a familiar knotting in her gut warned her a mistake had been made somewhere. A mistake it was her job to catch.
Not liking her suspicions, she squatted to run her hand over the bare concrete. It felt fine, but she knew from experience that that didn’t mean diddly. If an unscrupulous contractor wanted to save some money and cheat on the specs, he could make a concrete floor that wouldn’t hold office furniture without cracking look like a work of art.
Still balanced on her haunches, she pushed her hard hat to the back of her head and frowned up at Roy Wilkins, the field superintendent. A bear of a man, he cast a shadow that would have done an oak proud as he returned her frown with a wary one of his own. The big boss was gone for the day, and Roy had obviously been told not to let her out of his sight. He’d stuck to her side like glue from the moment she’d shown up at the site an hour ago.
Another time Pru would have been amused by his watchdog hostility. She never understood why builders and contractors were so resentful of inspectors—she just made sure they did what they’d originally promised to do, which was put up a good building. But today, with the knots in her stomach drawing tight as a noose, she was anything but amused. “Who approved this floor?”
“Thompson.”
Pru nodded, her green eyes shifting back to the concrete. She didn’t know Eric personally, but that wasn’t surprising. She was new to the job, new to the city, new to Texas. In fact, if she hadn’t visited Laura, her college roommate and best friend, on Labor Day, she’d probably still be in Kansas City, where she’d been born and raised. But she’d taken one look at San Antonio and had instantly known that that was where she belonged.
Her family had thought she was crazy, of course, and she’d had to agree. But that hadn’t stopped her from moving. And the moment she’d driven into the city with everything she owned packed in the U-Haul trailer attached to her Jeep, she’d felt like she was coming home.
It was almost as if the powers that be were lighting her path, she’d thought whimsically. She’d stepped right from her old job as a city inspector into one with the government. She’d started two weeks ago and loved the work, even though it didn’t give her much of a chance to meet other inspectors. When she was on the job, the man she was replacing wasn’t.
Which meant she didn’t know a damn thing about Eric Thompson. He could be conscientious and dedicated...or an unethical jackass who took money on the side to look the other way when something wasn’t up to code. Torn, she pushed to her feet. She hated to doubt another inspector, but the feel of the concrete under her feet gave her no choice.
“You’re not going to like this—” she began, but before she could give Roy Wilkins the bad news, her beeper went off. One look at the number that flashed across the small screen and she swallowed a groan. Great. As if she didn’t have enough problems, she now had to deal with her boss. Wonderful.
Bruce James didn’t like her and probably never would. He’d resented her from the moment his supervisor had hired her...because she was a woman. A chauvinist right down to his shorts, he’d made no secret of the fact that he thought females had no business on a construction site and just as soon as he could find a way to send her packing, he would.
Wishing she could drop the beeper down the nearest open drain, she turned to Roy. “Is there a phone around here? I need to call my boss.”
Seconds later she was seated at the desk in the small portable shed that served as the contractor’s office, her voice coolly professional as she greeted her supervisor. “This is Pru, Mr. James. Is there a problem?”
“That’s what you’re getting paid to tell me, Sullivan,” he retorted coldly. “How’s the site?”
Later, Pru couldn’t say what set the alarm bells clanging in her head, but something in his tone jarred her. He knew, she realized suddenly, astonished. Somehow, some way, he knew something was wrong at the site and he was just waiting to see if she was going to turn in one of her fellow inspectors or keep her mouth shut. If she did the former, her name would be mud with her cohorts; the latter, and she’d be fired so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her.
The rat had set her up! she thought indignantly, clutching the phone as if it was his skinny neck. She could smell the stench from here. Wishing she had the financial independence to tell the jerk exactly what she thought of him, she asked sweetly, “What did you say Eric Thompson was out on sick leave for?”
“I didn’t,” he snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he fell on the site about a month ago and cracked his head. He’s been having headaches ever since, so his doctor had him come in today for some tests.”
“The fall...was it before or after the cement was poured?”
“Before, I believe. Why?”
“Then that would explain why he approved this spongy cement,” she said, the triumph she couldn’t quite conceal turning her voice the tiniest bit smug. “His brains were obviously scrambled and he wasn’t thinking clearly. Don’t worry, though, I’ll take core samples just to make sure my instincts are right. Gotta go, boss. Talk to you later.”
“Damn you, Sullivan, don’t you hang up on me!”
Her dimpled grin full of mischief, Pru gently replaced the receiver in its cradle.
“You’re not serious.”
Lost in the satisfaction of the small victory, her eyes flew to the open doorway where Roy had appeared without her noticing. From his glare it was clear that he’d caught enough of the conversation not to like what he’d heard. “I’m afraid so,” she said quietly, her smile fading. “I’m pretty sure Thompson made a mistake approving that cement. I’ll need to see the results of the slump tests and the cylinders, but even if they’re okay, I’m still going to take core samples. You can’t pour any more, though, until the results come back from the lab. I’m sorry.”
He cursed, her apology offering little consolation when he was all ready to start pouring the west wing. Each day she held up construction cost them not only time but money. “If you think I’m ticked, wait till you have to deal with Murdock,” he warned. “He’s going to be madder than a rooster with a bee up its butt.”
* * *
An understatement of the grossest proportions. Zebadiah Murdock was, in fact, livid. “What the hell do you mean work’s been shut down!” he barked into the phone an hour later. “By who?”
Wincing, Roy held the phone farther away from his ear. “Pru Sullivan,” he said in disgust. “The new inspector who’s substituting for Eric Thompson. She’s being a real hard ass, boss. Going over everything with a fine-tooth comb, not giving an inch. She claims the concrete’s not right in the east wing, so she’s getting core samples. Until the test results come back, we can’t pour squat.”
“But Thompson already approved that!”
“I know,” Roy grumbled. “But try telling her that. Once the lady makes up her mind, you can’t move her with a forklift.”
Murdock
