Renee Simons Special Edition

by Renee Simons

"Smelly or no, that trash bin was a lifesaver I may need again."

  “You shouldn’t be there. How many times can you risk not getting caught?" She frowned. "What did you learn?"

  "Nothing."

  "Stay away, Ethan. It isn't safe."

  "That's the least of my troubles."

  A knock at the door brought room service with their food. Now swathed in a white terry cloth robe decorated with the hotel's monogram, Ethan ate with the relish of one who’d built up a lordly appetite in almost 24 hours.

  She wasn't hungry. She was, however, observant enough to notice that without his beard, Ethan resembled his brother - square jawed, with a strong chin and thin but well-formed lips that turned up at the corners as if he smiled often - a nice looking man, with the kind of face one would never tire of seeing across the breakfast table. Her stomach flipped. Another breach in the wall?

  The phone rang, saving her from the need to deal with that last errant thought. At the second ring, Jordan remembered her promise to call Kevin and made a dash for it. A worried voice sounded in her ear.

  "I'm sorry, Kevin." She glanced over at Ethan, who watched her with curiosity. "He got here about forty minutes ago, smelling like the town dump, but okay."

  "Damn it, woman..." Kevin began, then chuckled. "The town dump, eh? I'll wager that's a story. Put him on."

  She handed the receiver to Ethan. "He wants to hear your adventure first hand."

  At the window, she looked out at the street, where darkness had begun its first tentative invasion. Why had she spent nearly an entire day worrying about a man who'd been a stranger less than a week earlier?

  She wasn't interested in him romantically, any more than she was his brother, or the boss she’d just left behind, or any others she'd met over the years. Too much stood between her and a permanent relationship with anyone.

  Yet, the more time they spent together, the more difficult it became to ignore her body's reactions to him. Even at this moment, she struggled to bring a wildly beating heart back to its normal, steady pace - all because he now stood beside her.

  "Why’d you call Kevin?" he asked.

  "I was worried about you. I hoped he could tell me something that would help."

  "Did he?"

  "He said he felt you were okay, that he'd know if you weren’t. Trusting his instincts, I guess."

  "They've been sharply honed after years of saving my bacon from potential disaster."

  When the valet returned his clothes, Ethan went into the bathroom to dress, then lay down on the bed with one long leg dangling negligently off the side.

  Donning a sweat suit and running shoes, Jordan ran five miles in the darkened, almost deserted city streets. By the time she returned to shower and get some sleep, he'd made himself comfortable on the king-size bed. Taking pity on him after his experience of the previous night, she removed the extra pillow and blanket from the closet and lay down on a mauve silk chaise. Sometime during the night she felt herself being lifted and carried to the bed.

  "What are you doing?" she mumbled hoarsely. "Let me go, please." With her eyes still closed, she struggled against the arms holding her, pushing against them in an effort to get loose. "Please."

  Ethan heard the rising panic in her voice and felt her fear as she fought to get free. "Hush, love, hush. It's all right." He spoke in a tone he hoped would soothe. "It's just Ethan. I'm only giving you back half of your bed." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Don't be afraid. You're safe with me."

  She responded to his tone, or his words, maybe, and her frantic movements subsided. Still more asleep than awake, she murmured, "Not putting the hard word on me?"

  He grinned in spite of the tense moment. "Wouldn't think of it, love."

  He lowered her onto the bed, smoothing her hair back from her cheek. He listened until her breathing settled into a steady rhythm. Before long, she turned on her side and with a sigh, drifted off again.

  The momentary panic his actions had triggered didn't square with her image as a strong, confident woman. Behind the face she showed the world, and not too far beneath the surface, hid a frightened girl. That vulnerability surprised him, and aroused a protective instinct he never would have associated with either of them - not her need for it or his wish to offer it. He pulled up the covers and tucked them around her, then lay on top of the spread with his arms folded beneath his head.

  Waiting for sleep to return, he stared up at the shadows crisscrossing the ceiling and remembered the conversation in Kevin's pub. She’d talked about unfinished business, but how did a bloke tie up the loose ends when guilt was the bottom line? How was he supposed to work out his responsibility for his parents' death? For not being where he should’ve been. And how did he balance the ledger on the guys who might still be alive if the job had gone as it should have?

  He glanced over at her. What unfinished business haunted her? She looked relaxed now, peaceful, as she'd been before he'd interrupted her sleep. Beautiful, he thought, in a way that went beyond her face and figure. Her beauty came from a fiery spirit, from her humor, tart though it might be, and a courage that had overcome some dark threat to her safety.

  Having seen her in an unguarded moment, he knew that whatever had caused the fear also turned her sea-green eyes sad when she thought no one was watching. She was young, not quite thirty, he guessed, but whatever she’d suffered had brought her pain and taught her kindness and the ability to empathize. He'd seen those emotions in her eyes also.

  Something about this woman tugged at him, but he would fight his need to get close to her. Experience provided a constant reminder that the only way to protect others from danger and himself from loss was to keep his distance. At least where she was concerned, he would suffer no guilt.

  * * *

  Jordan woke early, showered, dressed and left Ethan still asleep. He'd earned the rest after his gentle treatment of her during the night. She needed some distance from the man who could touch her fear and soothe it away in nearly the same motion. Out of courtesy, she left a note telling him where she'd be. After a hearty breakfast in the hotel coffee shop, she drove to Cambridge and the campus at MIT.

  By four o'clock she began to feel like a mole. Craving light and fresh air, like a creature too long in hibernation, she packed up and went outside where a marble ledge made an ideal perch. She glanced at the Alexander Calder sculpture in the courtyard behind her, then leaned against the wall with her legs stretched out before her.

  Content to absorb the last slanting rays of sunlight and the mild late afternoon air, she resumed her note taking. When a cool breeze came off the Charles River, signaling the day's end, she lifted her face appreciatively and saw Ethan sitting on the steps.

  "How long have you been there?"

  "Not long."

  "Why didn't you say hello?"

  He shrugged. "I wanted to watch you."

  "Your brother has the same annoying habit."

  "I'm sorry." Although his face held no expression his eyes glittered with suppressed laughter.

  "No, you're not."

  "You’re right." He sat down on the ledge. "I promised myself I wouldn't say this, but watching you reminds me of what's missing in my life."

  She felt her face go hot and cursed the tendency to blush at the slightest provocation. "Don't do that."

  "Don't look at you?"

  "Don't make a big deal of it."

  "Why not?" His eyes turned soft and liquid, as restless waves of thought and desire moved in their depths.

  "It makes me uncomfortable."

  "You should be accustomed to the admiration of men."

  "And you shouldn't have broken your promise." She'd had this conversation with other men, and had no desire to repeat it. "I have to go."

  She bundled her papers in the crook of her arm, slipped down from the ledge and went to her car. She found her way out of Cambridge, through downtown and onto a block bordering Faneuil Hall Marketplace, where a spot opened up despite the shortage
of parking. Her mind raced angrily as she walked to the tourist attraction with its Federal brick building and pedestrian walks dotted with trees and benches. She barely noticed the crowds strolling the cobblestone streets, window shopping or sampling delicacies purchased in Quincy Market.

  What he'd said might not have seemed offensive to some, might even have been considered flattering, but she'd just given up the job of a lifetime because a perfectly acceptable boss had turned romantic and incapable of maintaining a platonic relationship. She didn't need to be the centerpiece of Ethan's day dreams.

  Knowing how he felt and how he made her feel scared hell out of her. She wanted no part of the emotions that flared between them, or of the intimacy those emotions foreshadowed.

  "Tsk, tsk," said a voice in her ear. "No fair calling me names without giving me a chance to defend myself..."

  She stopped short, colliding with Ethan before turning to him. "You followed me?" Her voice shook with anger.

  He grinned. "Always wanted to tell a cabby, 'follow that car!'"

  "He must have thought you'd lost your mind."

  "Nah." He waved his hand. "He thought I was rehearsing for the telly. I did a routine for him in my best Aussie accent. Went over pretty well, if I do say so myself." He went quiet, waiting.

  "I am not amused."

  As she turned to leave, he touched her arm and fixed her with a penetrating look. "Give me ten minutes. Then if you want me to go, I will."

  Would it hurt to hear what he has to say, she wondered. But a voice whispered it might be easier to walk away now, before he got to her any more than he already had. That since she'd already taken the first step, she need only keep going to preserve the protective screen she’d fought so hard to maintain, that seemed so near crumbling to dust.

  "No, Ethan. I don't want to hear explanations or justifications. Most of all, I don’t want to hear another apology."

  She left him with a shrug. She needn't waste time worrying about him. He would find comfort at Kevin's place.

  For her, dinner came courtesy of room service, with the rest of the evening spent on the phone with Drew in an extensive review of her research. When they had covered all the familiar territory, he asked, "Have you any questions?"

  "What do you know about VolTerre?"

  "Terence Conlan owns the company. He’s built a number of city projects, and several in the private sector. I’m told he's mob connected, but I can’t confirm."

  "Have you looked into the company's performance record? And the problems they've experienced on other projects?"

  "Everything from budget overruns to structural defects,” he said. “On one job, workers poured the walls of a concrete elevator shaft two-and-a-half inches off center. Can you believe that?”

  “How about the hotel project where the metal roofing collapsed because they poured too much cement? That fiasco also caused injuries to workers."

  "That's one I missed,” Drew said.

  "But you have heard the talk about a silent partner?”

  “Who we’ve been trying to identify with no luck.”

  “Well, I'd like to know who he is. Everything I've read points to hanky panky of some kind, or at the very least, gross negligence."

  His cigarette lighter clicked. "About Ethan...you haven't told him what you're...we're doing, have you?"

  "No,” she replied, “but the secrecy is making me very uncomfortable." How many lies - of omission and otherwise - could she juggle before the load became too heavy to bear?

  "I'm sorry to put you in this position, Jordan, but he mustn't know."

  "You’ve said that before."

  "Because his anger at me might cause him to undermine our efforts to help him."

  "He's obviously very critical of you, but there must be some positive feelings also. Why else was he living with you on the Cape? And why is he at your Boston house instead of with his friends?"

  "He said the Cape compound would keep him out of the way of his adversaries. As for the house on Beacon Hill, you must agree it's convenient."

  Jordan told him about Ethan's near-accident and his latest foray into the site.

  "He will continue to take foolish risks to uncover the truth," Drew said. "But if the other side is watching him, I need someone trustworthy to keep an eye on him, don’t I? Would you do that for me?"

  She laughed. "He's a little old to have a nanny."

  "But not a friend."

  Her fingers beat a gentle tattoo on the table as she considered his request. "You're asking a lot."

  "Perhaps, but we need your help."

  The warning bells clanged but it seemed to Jordan the time for caution had come and gone. "All right. I'll try. I'm not promising results but I will try."

  "Have you thought about moving over to Beacon Hill?”

  "With Ethan already there? You're really backing me into a corner."

  "I don't mean to go on about it, but the Willises are there and surely living in my home is preferable to a hotel, more warm and personal, less...lonely."

  During the pause that followed his last words, Jordan considered the danger of being under the same roof with Ethan. The man stirred emotions she would rather not feel - a need to be close to another, a warmth that filled her dark, lonely places, a stirring in that feminine core she’d long ago relegated to the deep freeze.

  "I'll stay at the hotel. Fewer complications."

  "Whatever you say. Mind you, there’s a place waiting should anything change."

  When he hung up, Jordan reached into a stack of folders and pulled out the file on VolTerre. She opened to an article about Terence Conlon. The photo showed an older version of the man who'd been a frequent visitor to her childhood home and a trusted friend and business associate of her father's. The friendship had been strong enough for Jordan to call him "Uncle" and his wife "Aunt."

  When the trouble hit Dutch VanDien's family, however, Uncle Terry had been unavailable and Aunt Candi a stranger, forcing a teen-aged Jordan to discard the myth of friendship she'd been taught to believe. By the time both her father and mother had died, leaving her orphaned at the age of sixteen, she'd become accustomed to trusting no one, to relying on no one, except herself. Nothing had changed during the thirteen years that followed.

  A pain started deep in her gut and traveled upward until it filled her chest and threatened to overcome her. She slammed the file shut and closed her eyes. Thinking about Conlon had resurrected feelings she'd considered long dead.

  "I won't think about this. Not now. Not till I'm ready." The words echoed in the silent room while a still, small voice wondered when that would be.

  She had the dream again, the same dream that had plagued her since her father's death. In the middle of a deep, dark night, the wolf came, stalking, watching with yellow eyes for a sign of weakness. Most times, he kept his distance. This night, he left the shadows, coming close enough for her to see the saliva dripping from his jaws, to smell his hot breath, fetid from old kill, to hear the low fearsome growl that rumbled up from his belly and grated at the back of his throat. Close enough to imagine his sharp fangs tearing into her flesh.

  Afraid he might attack, she searched frantically for a weapon and finally picked up a piece of tree branch and held it in front of her like a sword. The tip burst into flame reflected in his eyes. For a long, terror filled moment, he paced back and forth, looking for some way past the threat. Finally, as if unwilling to chance the danger, he backed away and melted into the dark forest.

  Sweat prickled on Jordan’s skin, a cold, numbing moisture that ran down her face and soaked her tee shirt and the sheet covering her. She felt the wetness before hearing the long, haunting wail that roused her from the dream to lie shaking with fear until she recognized the siren of a fire engine passing in the street below.

  Neither asleep nor fully awake, she stripped off her wet clothes, took a lukewarm shower and wrapped herself in a terry robe before getting back into bed. Comforted by the faint sandalwood sce
nt of a man's after-shave and freed of her nightmare pursuer, she slept until ten o'clock when the telephone woke her.

  "You loafin', love?"

  "Sleeping in. What's wrong?"

  "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

  She started to say no, then remembered her promise to Drew. "No disagreements?"

  "I’ll watch my mouth. Promise."

  "Then how can I refuse?"

  "Come over at five, but take a cab. Parking's rough."

  The house stood on a street whose buildings formed a U surrounding a small park on three sides. The ride up the hill revealed bow fronts, red brick, cobblestones, and multi-paned story-high windows glowing with the last light of the fading afternoon. Like the others, Drew's house appeared more than a hundred years old, but seemed solid and well kept.

  The brass door knocker brought Mrs. Willis, who ushered her through a marble-floored gallery big enough to hold a dance and into the dining room. Formal and elegant, its sage green walls found echoes in the drapery framing ceiling high windows. Matching damask seats covered twelve Queen Anne chairs arranged around the banquet table and bracketing a highboy and buffet. That the mahogany furnishings were authentic antiques was obvious from their lustrous finish and fine workmanship.

  "Do you like this room?" Ethan stood in the doorway as if reluctant to join her.

  "Very much."

  He motioned with a lifted chin. "All this came from the house where we grew up. Our Mum paid storage on it for years hoping we'd get back to it someday. Andy bailed out the lot when he bought this place."

  "Family heirlooms make the room special."

  "I'm glad you’re here."

  His hesitant smile turned her knees to mush and his strong presence drew her like a magnet. Beige slacks and a matching turtleneck sweater emphasized his slim length and broad shoulders and brought out pale lights in his blond hair. Devastating, she thought. Unmistakable pleasure lit his eyes, leading her to wonder what her own eyes gave away.

  "Ethan, I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. I overreacted and..."

  "Don’t apologize. If my admiration for you is unwelcome, I can keep it to myself. Your friendship is too valuable. I missed you like hell - especially when I came back from the building site."