"The emotional depth and aura of danger I've come to expect."
Reviewed by Maria Munoz
Posted November 13, 2011
Romance Suspense
Fans of Adrienne Giordano's Private Protector's series will
be thrilled with this prequel that gives us Michael Taylor's
and Roxann Thorgesson's story. We met them as a married
couple in Man Law and now we get a peek into their
past. If you're new to the series, you should have no
problem starting with this book.
Michael, suspected of murdering his almost-ex-wife, turns to
Roxann for help; a ballsy move given that he walked away
from their relationship twelve-years ago and married someone
else. Roxann is still hurt by his desertion but, as the
publisher of Chicago's second largest newspaper, she
realizes that she needs to set aside her feelings and take
advantage of the scoop the paper will get by helping him.
Michael, CEO of his own security company, and Roxann find
themselves caught in a dangerous conspiracy that puts them
both at risk.
I have thoroughly enjoyed all three books in this series.
RISKING TRUST has the emotional depth and aura of danger
I've come to expect from Ms. Giordano's books. Both Michael
and Roxann have family and professional issues that add
depth and realism to the story. The chemistry between them
is strong and I could imagine them in my head tip-toeing
around each other as they try to figure out how to work
together given their history (and the fact that neither ever
really got over the other). If you are a fan of romantic
suspense, you should definitely pick this on up.
SUMMARY
Roxann Thorgesson’s world is out of control. After her
father suffers a fatal heart attack, she must take over as
publisher of Chicago’s second-largest newspaper. Then her
ex-boyfriend Michael Taylor, CEO of his own security
company, shows up needing a favor. The last thing Roxann
needs is Michael around causing trouble—and potential
heartbreak—but he’s involved in a scandalous story she can’t
pass up.
Twelve years ago, Michael walked out on Roxann without
explanation. Now he needs her help. Michael’s estranged wife
has been murdered and he is the prime suspect. He offers
something no newspaperwoman could refuse: exclusive access
to his headline-making murder accusation, in exchange for
her help in uncovering the true killer. When their
investigation leads them to a city hall conspiracy, both
their lives and their newly reignited flame could be
permanently extinguished…
ExcerptChapter One
"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."
"It's on the four o'clock news," Mrs. Mackey said,
pressing the button on the television remote.
Roxann tore her gaze from the declining numbers on the
revenue reports and watched as the Chicago Banner Herald's
longtime executive secretary, her hair teased and sprayed
into submission, switched the channel from CNN to the local
news station.
As much as Michael Taylor had wronged her, Roxann
couldn't imagine him a murderer. Or maybe she didn't want
to imagine him a murderer. "Has he been charged?"
"He's only been questioned. I heard from the newsroom
that his lawyer got him out before he said anything."
"What about an alibi?"
"He says he was home alone. His doorman saw him go up."
Buildings have back doors.
"I can't believe it. I'd heard they were fighting over
money and couldn't agree on a divorce settlement, but
still, to kill her?"
Mrs. Mackey shrugged. "I always knew he was no good."
"Eh-hem."
The secretary whirled to the office door and her head
snapped back. Michael Taylor, the man who at one time had
filled Roxann with unrivaled happiness, stood in the
doorway. Her body went rigid. Literally frozen.
Twelve years ago he ripped her in two, carved out a
chunk of her soul and left her emotionally obliterated to
the point where she'd made her life so orderly there'd be
no room for devastation. Ever.
She had yet to mend that wound.
How much did he hear? She shot out of her chair, sending
the blasted thing careening against the wall. He stepped
into the office and a tingle surged up her neck.
Michael.
Here.
Now.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said. The sound of his voice,
resonant and edgy, had stayed with her over the years. A
warm blanket on the coldest January day.
Then she remembered she hated him, despised him with a
fury that would level a city block. Her back stiffened,
pulling her into immediate battle mode. What could he be
doing here?
An explosion of something Roxann hadn't felt in a long
time consumed her. She'd spent years preparing a speech
that would reduce Michael to a sniveling lump of flesh. Now
she had her chance. Twelve years of compartmentalizing.
Twelve years of missing him. Twelve years of righteous
anger. Breathe. One, two, three. Stay calm. Roxann imagined
starting at her toes and rebuilding herself bit by tiny bit.
Michael continued to stare, his angular face resembling
sculpted rock. She had loved that face. Not quite handsome,
but rugged and intriguing. He wore his dark hair combed
back and the style accentuated the few wrinkles around his
eyes.
Mrs. Mackey glared at him. "How did you get up here? Did
you even stop at the security desk for a visitor's pass?"
This man left Roxann with enough emotional ruin to fill
Soldier Field and her secretary was worried about a
visitor's pass? Squeeze every muscle. More control.
Tighter. Rebuild.
She held up a hand. "He's here now. Let's not worry
about the pass."
"I would have gotten a pass if the guard hadn't ignored
me for ten minutes. What should really fry you is I made it
up eight floors unimpeded."
"Should I have him escorted out?" Mrs. Mackey asked.
A little late for that. Roxann turned toward her
desk. "No, but thank you. I'll handle this."
"But—"
Roxann eyed her. "I've got it. Thank you."
Mrs. Mackey offered Michael one last sneer before
leaving. Any other time, Roxann would have laughed, but
right now? Not so much. She ran a hand over the coil of
hair tucked behind her head. Something told her this
wouldn't be good.
"So," she said. "This is unexpected."
"That, it is."
The understatement of the century. If someone had told
her Michael would be in her office today she'd have stayed
in bed. Sure she wanted the opportunity to skewer him for
the destruction he'd inflicted upon her, but seeing him
now, a successful businessman whose simple presence
commanded the room, took her breath away. Yes, Michael had
become better looking with age and according to the media,
more dangerous.
She had wanted a life with him and over the years, as
she watched from afar, the what-ifs tortured her. He had
given himself to someone else, when all she'd ever wanted
was for him to give himself to her.
For all the time spent obsessing over it, Roxann still
couldn't determine why he had chosen Alicia over her.
In place of marriage, Roxann lived alone, worked like a
demon and occasionally squeezed in dating men who never
managed to capture her interest.
And Michael, the one man who had captured said interest
was now suspected of killing his wife.
After the Rottweiler of a secretary left—twelve
years hadn't thawed her out—Michael remained standing.
The light blue silk blouse Roxann wore magnified the
sparkle in her eyes, which shouldn't have been a surprise.
She always did have a sense of style. Her blond hair was
shorter now, but still long enough to tie back. He
preferred it loose, not that his opinion mattered anymore.
"I heard about your father," he said. "I'm sorry."
Roxann had adored her old man and losing the belligerent
bastard to a massive heart attack had to be rough.
It also left her in charge of the second largest daily
newspaper in the state.
"I'm managing." She tapped her fingers on the desk,
glanced at her chair and finally sat. "You're here, you
might as well sit."
He gave the office a once over and what an office it
was. No sharp corners—only a smooth cherry desk, a
couple of matching guest chairs and a shiny table with a
few cushioned chairs. The feminine version of a power
office. Gone were the days of her being buried under stacks
of newspapers in a cubicle the size of a matchbox.
On the walls hung a variety of framed newspaper front
pages from all over the country. Two from The Philadelphia
Times caught Michael's eye and his belly shrunk to the size
of a pea. She'd gone to Philadelphia following their
breakup. After he'd made the biggest mistake of his life.
Roxann studied him with those big eyes that weren't
quite blue or green and had always seen right through him.
After all these years, being face to face with her clawed
at him, reminded him of the pitiful excuse of a
man—namely him—who'd failed her. A lot had
changed since then and countless times he'd thought about
marching in here and telling her he'd screwed up. But he'd
never done that and always went home to the wrong woman.
The woman who, as of early this morning, was dead.
A knifing pain shot through his shoulders and he cracked
his neck against the invasion. Toast already. What a
goddamned day. He could sleep for a month.
"What can I do for you?" Roxann asked in that what-are-
you-doing-here-and-when-are-you-leaving tone she did so
well.
He ignored her comment and set his briefcase on the
floor before sitting in one of the chairs in front of the
desk. He didn't expect her to be happy to see him. Truth
was, he owed her a twelve-year-old explanation, and he'd
love to give it to her. Not gonna happen though. Telling
her why he'd left all those years ago would only hurt her,
and there had been enough of that between them already.
He glanced at the television where a local news reporter
stood in front of Area Thirteen headquarters speaking into
the camera about Alicia's murder.
"The victim was found in her North Side home," the
reporter said.
The victim. And then a photo from three years ago of
Michael and Alicia at some charity function flashed onto
the screen, and he dug his fingers into his forehead. What
a shit storm.
Roxann remained silent, but used the remote to turn off
the television before leveling a paralyzing gaze on him.
She should work for the government. He doubted any man
could withstand the pressure of those eyes.
"I'm sorry about your wife."
"Ex-wife," he said.
She turned her hand palm up. "Does it matter?"
"Legally, she was my wife, but the relationship was
over. Had been for two years. I didn't consider her my
spouse and I did not kill her."
If that information made any impact at all, Roxann
didn't show it. She simply stared at him.
"What do you want, Michael?"
"I have a deal for you."
"What kind of deal?"
Now or never, Taylor. "The P.D. is only interested in
hearing a confession. If I don't want to be charged with
murder, I'm going to have to find out who killed Alicia.
But I want you to help me."
She sat forward, folded her hands on the desk. "That's
what you want?"
"Yes."
"I could give you a list of things I want, but if memory
serves, that doesn't necessarily matter."
Michael whistled, long and slow. Damn, he'd missed
her. "I see your aim is still deadly."
"Don't start."
"Why not? You used to enjoy verbal combat."
It had, in fact, been their version of foreplay and
almost always wound up with them finding a quiet spot,
wherever they were, to bang the living hell out of each
other. Back then, whether it be sex or arguing, Roxann
always engaged. Always. Without a doubt, there'd been times
when he'd manufactured verbal swordplay to get himself
laid. As selfish as it was, he always made it worth her
while.
She sighed. "Our history doesn't give you the right to
expect things from me."
Expect things? He didn't expect squat from anyone,
particularly her. The instant throbbing behind his eyes
warned of his firing temper and he stood to release some
energy. You're blowing it, Taylor. "Wait—"
"My days of waiting for you are over, Michael."
Verbal swordplay engaged. "This is business, Roxann, not
personal."
She stood. "I don't want any part of either."
"Yes, you do, because you'll get an exclusive. I'll give
the Banner total access to my life, good or bad."
That stopped her cold. A high profile murder and an
exclusive. A publisher's dream come true.
Roxann pursed her lips, probably thinking about it. "Why
come to me with this deal? Why not the Chronicle?"
"I'm pissed at them."
For some reason, that made her laugh. "Why? Because they
lambasted your company last year when your operative got
caught in that civilian shooting in Afghanistan?"
"Yes. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time and
was eventually cleared. The Chronicle never followed up on
that detail and left the public thinking my guys were a
bunch of heartless, murdering barbarians. The Banner at
least got the story right."
"Yes we did. Thank you for saying that. I still don't
want your deal though."
She headed toward the partially open door, pulled on it
and peeked out to the reception area where the Rottweiler
waited to attack.
Michael's head pounded a steady beat as his frustration
mounted. This meeting hadn't gone as he'd planned. He'd
expected her to jump at the exclusive. Should have known
better. She didn't jump at anything. He picked up his
briefcase, wandered to the door and stopped close enough to
Roxann to get a whiff of her almost non-existent perfume.
Was it that same fruity, kind of floral scent? He had to be
imagining it. He closed his eyes and breathed it in again.
Yep, the same. Good old predictable Roxann.
He opened his eyes, their gazes met and the magnetic
charge pulled him closer. That deep wanting he'd never
recovered from still existed.
But Rox wasn't having any of it and slid sideways to
reclaim her personal space. Didn't matter. She felt the
power between them. How could she not? Her eyes narrowed
and he half expected her to whack him.
"Just think about it, Rox. Please." The please couldn't
hurt. "You'll realize it's a good deal."
She shook her head no, but said, "I'll think about it."
Forward motion. Excellent.
"There's something else you should know."
"Can't wait," she cracked.
"As of last Friday, Taylor Security has acquired DSI,
the Banner's security company. You'll get a letter. Nothing
in the agreement will change."
Her eyes opened a bit wider, but she remained quiet.
"The Banner is an important client. I wanted you to hear
about the change from me."
After another long minute of staring at him like he'd
stolen her life savings, she said, "Well, I appreciate
that. It's a bit of a shock, but hopefully the good service
we've been getting from DSI will continue."
Yeah, this conversation was awkward, but a good
businessman didn't walk away from a solid deal because his
ex-girlfriend would be a client.
"I'll set up a meeting with your facilities manager.
We'll bring our key people over, do a walkthrough of the
building and make sure your security is adequate."
Roxann grinned for the first time. "Given that you got
up here, I think we both know the security isn't adequate."
She had that right. Any psycho could have stumbled into
the newsroom and blown it away. "You'll need some minor
upgrades."
"I'm sure we will."
Mrs. Mackey appeared just outside the doorway. "Now
should I call security?"
"Unfortunately," Roxann said. "He is security."
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