Children of Dynasty by Christine Carroll Read Free Book Online Page B

a halt.
    “What’s that?” Mariah squinted up into the midday sun.
    The elevator began its descent slowly, but within a second, she realized it was accelerating. A high-pitched whine began, and the frame started an ominous rattle.
    “Run!” Cassie ordered.
    Mariah tore her gaze from the falling cage and tried to move, but the air seemed to turn to a thick liquid that she swam through. Through the din, she detected the shrill note of screaming. A nearby aluminum shed, set up as a break room, offered the only shelter, but the door was on the opposite side. Out of time, she dove for the space beneath where the shed was propped on cinder blocks.
    The loaded hoist smashed into the ground level steel plate. Despite the wire mesh enclosure, shrapnel flew. Although Mariah rolled herself into the small space under the shed, something struck over her left eye.
    For what felt like a long time, a cacophonous rain of chunks and splinters hit the ground around her. Her heart raced, so hard she felt sick.
    An unnatural silence fell. She listened for the workers’ shouts and imagined everyone staring open-mouthed at the wreckage. In disbelief, she raised her hand and traced a sticky warm wetness on her face. Though the vision in her left eye was blurred, she made out a litter of twisted metal and glass at the base of the building.
    Blood spattered the steel frame ten feet in the air.

     
    Rory sat at his drafting table, reviewing a computer plot of an elevation. Normally, he loved envisioning a building he’d conceived, but this afternoon he’d lost focus. As he’d told Mariah, it had taken all his nerve to phone her. Like a fool, he’d thought if he were willing to ignore his father’s wishes, she’d do the same.
    His office door opened. “Did you hear?” His secretary babbled.
    “Slow down and tell me.” He braced for war news or a report of a terror attack.
    Her round face pink, she twisted her hands in her floral print skirt. “The hoist at Grant Plaza fell … killed some people.”
    “Good Lord.” Mariah had said …
    Leaving his suit coat behind the door, Rory ran through reception and stuck his hand into a six-inch gap to reopen a crowded elevator. The passengers stared owl-eyed. When the car stopped in the lobby, he shoved out through the revolving doors and onto the street.
    He ran, heedless that his dress shoes weren’t Nikes. Sweat broke out, and his shirt clung to his back. He ducked around a vending cart selling hotdogs, passed a line of elementary school children on a field trip, and dodged businessmen carrying briefcases. When he turned a corner and saw Grant Plaza on the skyline, he stared at his goal, only to be jerked back to reality by a bicycle courier’s angry shout.
    After six blocks, he rushed up to the site and found yellow police tape around it. Without slowing, he lifted the plastic strip and went under. Somebody yelled, but no one stopped his getting to the main construction trailer.
    Rory yanked open the door and found a group of hard-hatted men in a heated discussion. One with a black beard was saying, “Zaragoza went up to weld just before, but nobody’s seen him.”
    “I saw him on the ground after,” said a blond youth. “Must have come down the stairs.”
    The group dynamic perceived an outsider, and they fell silent. A dozen pairs of eyes focused on Rory’s disheveled state.
    “Help you, sir?” asked the fellow sitting at a battered desk.
    His chest heaved. “I’m a … friend of Mariah Grant. Supposed to meet her here.”
    The man shook his head.
    Something clutched in Rory, and he reached to support himself on the doorframe. “She’s not …”
    “No,” the bearded man said, “but she was pretty close when the elevator came down. Got some glass … “ He gestured toward his eyes.
    “They said somebody died,” Rory got out.
    “A laborer and one of the glaziers.”
    “That’s rough,” he said, letting a moment of silence elapse. “Got any idea where Mariah