Janelle Taylor

by Night Moves

  Oh, hell, no. The only if only he could logically entertain in retrospect was …

  If only he had been prepared to tumble into bed with her.

  He had no doubt that if their entanglement had followed through to its natural conclusion, he wouldn’t be going anywhere today. He would still be lying in her bed, in her arms.

  His caution had effectively shattered their fragile bond—the emotional one, not just the sexual one. The moment he rolled away from her, he had brought down a massive stone wall between them.

  Well, what should he have done? Proceeded to finish what they had begun, and to hell with protection?

  No.

  He had been there once before. With Jeanette.

  He had met her in Europe, while he was traveling there after finishing his graduate work at Rice School of Architecture. It was such a cliché. He was the privileged American guy, taking a year off and piddling away a chunk of his newly inherited trust fund. Jeanette was a beautiful, footloose California girl in Paris on an art scholarship. She captivated him the moment they saw each other at the café, where she was sketching passersby and he was nursing a wine hangover with a cup of strong French coffee.

  They were in his bed at the Ritz before the sun went down that night, and neither of them had stopped to worry about protection. Inseparable thereafter, they were so caught up in each other that Jeanette didn’t even realize when she had missed her period a few weeks later.

  Not until she found herself vomiting their usual breakfast of croissants and café au lait did it occur to either of them that their first night of passion might have created more than a carefree romance.

  Or that their romance wouldn’t always be carefree.

  But it worked out. He had proposed. She had accepted. They moved back to the States, into the sprawling Somerville plantation house, and along came Tyler.

  Everyone said their marriage wouldn’t last.

  After all, they were opposites: Beau the scion of filthy-rich Southern WASPs; Jeanette the product of alcoholic, blue-collar West Coast parents who divorced within months of her birth.

  People assumed that once the blush of falling in love with each other and with their son wore off, they would drift apart.

  He and Jeanette used to laugh about it—about how Beau’s father was braced for a bitter battle over alimony and a share in the family fortune, and his mother was worried about the future of her mother’s sapphire earrings, which Beau had inherited and presented to his bride on their wedding day.

  Well, his mother had the earrings now, Beau thought bitterly, his stomach roiling as he poured his uneaten cereal down the garbage disposal. The sapphires were safely back in Mother’s jewelry box after having been dredged from the depths of the bayou….

  Along with the bodies of Beau’s wife and son.

  Somebody was screaming.

  At the shrill burst of sound, Jordan sat straight up in bed, ripped abruptly from a deep sleep.

  Realizing that it was Spencer—and that she was naked beneath the sheet—Jordan fumbled blindly for the robe that was draped over the bedpost. She pulled it on, noting that the screams had subsided as she raced down the hall and grabbed for the knob. For a split second, she froze, all sorts of terrible scenarios invading her mind. Then she pushed Spencer’s door open, telling herself that it had to be another nightmare.

  It had to be….

  But what if it wasn’t? What if Curt’s phone really had. been tapped and somebody had found her and Spencer, and simply walked through the front door and …

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

  Spencer’s bed was empty.

  Frantic, she shrieked his name and hurled herself back into the hall.

  That was when she heard it.

  Sobbing.

  It was coming from downstairs.

  Jordan saw him from the top of the steps. He was sitting on the floor in the foyer, crying, rubbing his eyes. Relief coursed through her.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” She rushed down the steps to him, taking him into her arms.

  He was trembling violently. “The pirate,” he said, and began to cry. “He got me.”

  “Oh, Spencer, there are no pirates here,” she said soothingly.

  “Yes, there are. He was here. He took me out of my bed and he brought me downstairs and he was going to carry me away.”

  “Sweetie, it was just a dream. You must have been sleepwalking.”

  “I’m scared, Jordan.” He snuggled against her. “Please don’t let him come back and get me.”

  “I won’t,” she promised, because it was easier than protesting again. “You’re safe here with me, sweetie. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  For now, for once, she actually believed those words. Of course he was safe here. Nobody knew where he was, and anyway, why would Phoebe and Reno’s killer bother tracking down a young child?

  But…

  For that matter, why would anyone with a vendetta against Reno have bothered killing Phoebe? Well, maybe she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, alongside her husband, Jordan thought uneasily. The fact that they were dead didn’t mean Spencer’s life was still in danger.

  “Is it the middle of the night?” Spencer asked.

  She looked at the clock on a shelf across the dimly lit room. “It’s almost dawn,” she said reassuringly.

  “Do I have to go back to sleep? Please don’t make me. I’m scared he’ll come again.”

  “It’s okay,” Jordan said, yawning. “We can get up.”

  She stood, stretched, and reached for his hand.

  “Jordan?” he asked, allowing her to squeeze his fingers.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think my mommy will come back for me today?”

  She froze. A terrible, sick feeling washed over her.

  “No, Spencer,” she said quietly. “I don’t think she will.”

  She braced herself for the inevitable, but he seemed satisfied, if disappointed, with that answer.

  At least, for now.

  But sooner or later, she would have to tell him the truth.

  As they headed for the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure the front door was locked.

  It wasn’t.

  All three locks were undone.

  She stopped walking.

  “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked beside her.

  “Nothing,” she murmured, searching her memory.

  She was almost positive that she had come back downstairs last night to lock the door after Beau left. She remembered lying in bed before that, growing drowsy, and realizing she was going to fall asleep and leave it open. She was pretty certain she had climbed out of bed and padded to the stairs….

  But everything was fuzzy.

  She had been so exhausted.

  Maybe she only thought she had locked the doors. Maybe she had dreamed it, just as Spencer had dreamed about the pirate kidnapping him from his bed.

  That had to be it, she reassured herself, giving Spencer’s small hand another squeeze.

  It was almost eleven o’clock when Beau finally tossed the last duffel bag into the back of his SUV and climbed into the driver’s seat. It had been a long morning at the office, followed by a quick dash back to his apartment to pack and get ready for his departure.

  He still wasn’t comfortable leaving Jordan and Spencer behind, but what choice did he have?

  You could stay, he told himself as he drove out of the parking garage beneath his building.

  At least, he could call to make sure she was all right That thought had crossed his mind countless times this morning, but he had been so busy at the office that there was never an opportunity.

  Well, it was too late now, he thought … until he remembered that he still had his cell phone in his pocket. He hadn’t even planned to take it with him on vacation, balking at Ed’s insistence that he carry it to North Carolina and leave it on during the trip.

  They were in the midst of designing
a house to replace the historic Arlington home of a powerful—and notoriously prickly—corporate CEO after the original had been destroyed by fire.

  Albert Landry wanted—no, he expected—it to be rebuilt immediately: completely redesigned, with care to preserve the antique features and update it with modern amenities. Though both Beau and Ed were involved in the design, Landry had taken a liking to Beau. The partners had decided Landry didn’t need to know Beau was leaving town.

  Realistically, it would be at least another few weeks before the plans were ready anyway, and Beau wasn’t about to postpone his long-awaited vacation to be at a CEO’s beck and call.

  Beau had fully intended to leave the damn cell phone in the apartment, figuring that if something came up at the office involving the Landry project, it could wait till he reached his destination and called Ed to check in.

  It was Jordan he was worried about. He had planned to call her as well when he got to the beach, and give her the number of the phone in the house. Just in case she needed him.

  He decided now that he wouldn’t wait that long to contact her. Since he had the cell phone with him, he might as well call her now. Once he knew she and Spencer were okay this morning, he would be able to relax and enjoy the drive.

  He pulled up to a stop sign, saw that there was no one behind him, and dialed her number.

  She answered on the first ring, sounding breathless. “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s Beau. Is everything okay?”

  He noted a slight hesitation in her voice before she said, “Sure.”

  “No, it isn’t. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just…” She lowered her voice. “He had another nightmare. And he asked about Phoebe again. I just don’t know how long I can go on keeping all of this from him.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “Watching a cartoon.”

  There was a honk behind him. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw that a car had pulled up to the stop sign. The driver was angrily gesturing for him to proceed through the empty intersection.

  He did, telling Phoebe, “I should hang up now. I’m on the road.”

  “How’s your trip going?” she asked.

  “Great.” He didn’t bother to tell her that he was only two blocks from his apartment. Let her think he was merrily on his way.

  “Have a good time, Beau,” she said, and her voice sounded so hollow that he almost did a U-turn and headed back toward Georgetown.

  But he forced himself to keep driving. “I will. And you be careful. I’ll call you when I get down there and give you the number for the house, just in case you want to get in touch.”

  “That’s okay. Forget about all this and just enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.”

  “Sure, you will.”

  No, she won’t, he thought as he hung up and turned off the power on his cell phone, tossing it over his shoulder into the backseat.

  Damn it. Jordan had just lost her best friend. She had secret custody of a child whose life may or may not be in danger. And he was driving off on vacation, leaving her alone to cope.

  Well, what else could he do?

  He was supposed to be using this time off to escape the weight that had burdened him for far too long. It would be foolish to get further entangled with this troubled woman and child.

  If anything happens to either of them, you’ll never forgive yourself for leaving, Beau.

  No.

  But if he stayed, and let himself care for them, and tried to protect them …

  If he did all that, and still something happened, bringing them harm …

  He knew in his gut that it would be the end of him. He could never survive it.

  Never.

  If he were wise, he would keep driving and get the hell out of town as fast as he could.

  Only when she hung up the phone did Jordan remember Mrs. Villeroy’s call from yesterday. She realized she had better call the old woman back. If she didn’t, her neighbor might decide to toddle over here.

  Not that the old lady ever ventured far from her own doorstep. She suffered from arthritis that left her all but paralyzed most days. She was widowed and had no children to come by and check in on her. That was why Jordan usually didn’t mind the old lady’s frequent requests.

  It was no trouble really for her to stop at the pharmacy on her way home to pick up Mrs. Villeroy’s prescriptions every now and then, or run over there with sugar or flour or whatever the woman had run out of.

  In fact, Jordan thought now with a twinge of guilt as she dialed Mrs. Villeroy’s phone number, she should probably be more neighborly. It wouldn’t hurt her to stop over there with a container of vichyssoise the next time she made it, or to cut a bouquet of zinnias when they reached full bloom in her container garden.

  “Hello?” the old lady rasped into the receiver after the third ring.

  “Mrs. Villeroy? It’s Jordan Curry calling back. I’m sorry I didn’t return your call last night, but…”

  But I was swept away by passion for a man I barely know.

  Jordan paced over to the doorway of the living room and peeked in to see Spencer sprawled on the couch, engrossed in his television program.

  “That’s all right, dear,” Mrs. Villeroy said. “I thought you must be busy. After I called, I thought I probably shouldn’t even have bothered you with this, but that man just left me feeling so unsettled….”

  Midway back to the kitchen, Jordan stopped short. “What man?”

  Had Mrs. Villeroy peered out the window and seen her with Beau? Oh, Lord, had she somehow looked through Jordan’s window and glimpsed the two of them in a clinch?

  “The man who was here yesterday,” Mrs. Villeroy was saying. “I was outside trying to pick up the mail that I had dropped when I opened my mailbox, and he came right over to help me. I thought that was kind of him, but then he started asking questions about you.”

  “Somebody was asking questions about me?” Jordan asked slowly, her heart pounding. “What kind of questions?”

  “He just wanted to know whether you lived here, and whether I knew you. He seemed to think you might have a nephew staying with you, but I told him I didn’t know anything about that.”

  Jordan sank into a nearby chair, running a distracted hand through her hair. Could it have been a police officer? Had the authorities somehow traced Spencer to her?

  “Was this man a detective or something, Mrs. Villeroy?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice level.

  “A detective? Oh, my, I don’t think so. That is, he didn’t say he was a detective, and he didn’t look like a detective.”

  “What did he look like, Mrs. Villeroy?”

  “That’s the thing. I know it isn’t right to judge someone based just on his looks, but I didn’t trust him the moment I saw him, Jordan.”

  “Why not? What did he look like?”

  “He was tall, with straggly dark hair, and he had a black eye patch, just like a pirate.”

  Beau got as far as the Maryland state line before he turned back.

  He might be a fool, he thought, as he reached Georgetown’s familiar bustling streets, but men had been fools for far lesser causes than his.

  He wasn’t going back because he had fallen for Jordan, or because of what had happened—and almost happened—between them last night. None of that fit into the big picture for him. He had no intention of pursuing a relationship with her, and as far as he was concerned, their brief romantic interlude was over.

  No, he was going back because he had glimpsed the frightened look on her face when he reminded her to lock the door last night. She was alone, and afraid for Spencer, whether or not there was a real threat against the little boy’s life. Beau could be there for her, to help her sort things out. He could be there to distract Spencer, and to listen if either of them needed to talk.

  The streets of her neighborhood were crowded at this hour on a sunny weekday morning. As he parked on her quiet side street and stepped out o
f the car, Beau noticed that the weather was hot and humid again. He firmly pushed from his mind the notion of the sparkling blue water and cooling seaside breezes that waited in the Outer Banks. He, veteran of a lifetime of Louisiana summers, could certainly handle this urban steam-bath.

  As he marched toward the front steps of her brick town house, he wondered what he was going to say to her now that he was here. She wouldn’t be happy to see him. Not after the way they had parted last night.

  What if she thought he had made a trip to the drugstore and come back to pick up where they’d left off? He had to make it clear that their mutual attraction had nothing to do with why he was here.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t feel tempted by her—especially now that he’d had a taste of the forbidden. And an utterly chaste lifestyle certainly wasn’t what he had pictured for himself when he’d left Lisa and moved to D.C. He was a red-blooded man, and he knew women would come along who would make him forget, temporarily, his vow to steer clear of relationships.

  But Jordan wasn’t the kind of woman he could bed and then leave. There was something about her that set off warning signals in him, telling him to get away from her before he got too involved.

  But you’re involving yourself now, aren’t you? he thought grimly as he mounted the steps.

  One thing was certain: this time, he wasn’t going to wait for her to tell him she needed him and ask for his help.

  He reached out to ring the bell, but the door was thrown open before he could touch it.

  Jordan stood there. In her eyes was the last expression he’d ever expected to see there. Sheer, wild relief.

  “I heard your car pull up outside,” she said, her voice hushed but urgent. “I can’t believe you’re here. Come in. Hurry …”

  She reached out and pulled him over the threshold, her eyes frantically scanning the street behind him.

  “What’s going on, Jordan?” he asked as she closed and triple-locked the door.

  “It’s—my God, I can’t believe you’re here,” she said again. “An hour ago, when you called, you were on your way to North Carolina, and now—it just seems impossible.”

  “I wasn’t out of town yet when I called,” he admitted. “I was just leaving. And I left, but—”