CHAPTER ONE

      JONAH CLOSKY stared out the window and thought of money. Great heaps of it.

      He barely listened to Gary Murphy, his business partner, read over the contract. Most days he barely listened to Gary, but today Jonah was mentally counting the profit they’d make once Gary stopped reading and everyone got to the signing part.

      The answer, of course, was a fortune. Plenty, for anyone else. But, for Jonah, for his plans, for Haven House, it wasn’t quite enough.

      It was never quite enough.

      “Rick Ornus, seller, agrees to pay the cost of soil removal in the northwest corner of the property,” Gary read from the sheath of papers in front of him.

      Rick, who sat at the corner of the boardroom table, put up his hand, interrupting Gary. “About that,” Rick said.

      Jonah tuned in to the conversation with his whole body. The terms of this contract had already been hashed and rehashed. There should be no “about that’s.”

      “Is that really necessary?” Rick asked. “That soil thing?”

      “Well.” Gary laid the papers down on the table, keeping his cool when Jonah knew his partner had to be having a heart attack. Gary wasn’t much for “about that’s,” either.

      “Considering the amount of arsenic in it, yes,” Gary said. “It is. We will treat the rest of the property and retest, but that northwest corner needs to be dug out and all that soil replaced.”

      Rick looked over at Jonah and smiled. “Jonah,” he said, holding out his hands, as though they were coconspirators.

      “Come on. Between us. You know that with the right amount of money Barringer will overlook that—”

      “I don’t bribe city officials,” Jonah said. “And I don’t build on dirty land.”

      “What about your current site?” Rick asked. “I heard you were about to start building and the city just shut you down for poisoned soil.”

      “Where’d you hear that?” Gary asked and Jonah nearly hung his head at his partner’s transparency. It was no wonder Gary couldn’t play cards—a ten-year-old child had a better poker face.

      “Everyone knows,” Rick said. “Yesterday, I must have gotten seven calls from people telling me about it. It’ll be all over the papers in no time.”

      Gary’s worried gaze flicked to Jonah and Jonah held up a hand, trying to get his business partner to relax, to not fly off the handle like some freaked-out howler monkey.

      “So,” Rick continued, his eyes gleaming with a certain smug satisfaction. “Why don’t you guys cut the righteous environmental act—”

      “Act?” Gary nearly squealed and Jonah rolled his eyes.

      “Yeah, and we can get down to business,” Rick said. “You guys have a good racket going pretending to clean up all this bad land, but obviously—”

      Well, crap, Jonah thought. Now I’m offended.

      And the estimated revenue from this project that he’d just totaled in his head went back to zero.

      “There will be no business,” Jonah said, leaning forward.

      “What do you mean?” Rick asked. “We’re ready to sign the papers—” Rick looked at Gary, who had seen this kind of scenario enough to know the ending. Gary simply leaned back and tossed the unsigned contract in the garbage.

      “What are you doing?” Rick cried.

      A long time ago Jonah had made the promise that he’d do whatever he had to do to get the job done, but he wouldn’t explain himself and he wouldn’t beg. And while he might have to do business with rats like Rick, he’d make sure the rats always knew he wasn’t one of them.

      “I’m not sure what the problem is here, gentlemen,” Rick said, looking far less smug and a little more sweaty. “You need the land, I can sell it to you. And we can all make a bunch of money if you just forget this soil problem. It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

      “We’re done,” Jonah said, standing so fast the chair spun backward and hit the floor-to-ceiling windows of his boardroom. “Get