by Renee Simons
Ethan poured himself enough coffee to heat what sat in the bottom of his cup. "We could use Kevin's van, maybe go out the back entrance or something..."
"Do you think those guys could have made Kevin's plates while we were parked behind them?" she asked.
"Not likely. I think the van's safe."
Safer than her car, which had been seen by VolTerre minions and was parked in a lot near the hotel. Clearly, she had to throw Conlon's men off her trail. Moving to the house was the only thing she could think of short of seeing him again and confronting him head on, a less than enjoyable prospect and considerably more dangerous than living only doors away from Ethan.
"Maybe you shouldn't go at all. I’ll take Mrs. Willis with me. She can pack your things while I handle the paperwork."
She stood up. "I wouldn't be comfortable having someone provide a screen for me, but I will check out of the hotel and move here. After I've called Drew."
She caught him at his word processor, but he listened attentively to her narrative. "Would calling the hotel help?" she asked after she finished.
He confirmed her worst fears. "It may be too late. They probably know my address here and by now have your number plates. These people are pretty good at putting two and two together, aren’t they? I doubt there's much we can do to keep them away. But stay with my brother. You're my eyes and ears."
"Who's only managed to make a bad situation worse."
"I disagree. Keep on and I'll talk to you soon."
She cradled the receiver and turned toward Ethan.
"So he's all caught up, then?" he asked. She nodded. "What did he say?"
"He’s worried about you."
Ethan took some of the dishes into the kitchen and she picked up the rest without bothering to decipher the strange expression that washed across his features.
Two hours later Ethan's friend, Pete Mosher, came over in a pickup and dropped them off at the side entrance of the hotel. "I'll cruise around for a few minutes and meet you where the delivery trucks unload." He jerked his head to indicate some vague spot ahead of them but she caught the twinkle in his eyes. "Make it quick."
He was gone before they'd cleared the hotel's revolving door. "Your Mr. Mosher seems pleased with himself."
Ethan chuckled. "I don't know anyone who loves an adventure more than Petey."
"He thinks this is fun?"
"Not us being in trouble, but outsmarting the bad guys gets his juices flowing. When we were kids, he always took the most chances and thought up ways for the 'Three Musketeers' to rid the world of its scoundrels."
"Who was the third member of the trio?"
"Eric Delavan. For Eric and Pete, having a real-life quest brings back a simpler, happier time."
They were in the elevator now, heading up. "And what about you?"
"I'm just glad to have them on my side."
"They're not the only people on your side, you know."
He gave her a look filled with skepticism. "Besides you?" They left the elevator and hurried through the thickly carpeted hallway to her room. "Can I help with anything?"
She shook her head and packed her bags. "Besides me," she said, picking up his thought. "And you know who I'm talking about. Why are you so unwilling to believe your brother wants to help?"
"Those two blokes and I were inseparable through a lot of my childhood. We kept in touch all the years I was away. Andy made choices that didn't include me. He cared about no one but himself."
"All I know is, he's here now and he cares. You'd do well to remember that."
Before leaving the room, she checked the drawers, the bathroom and under the bed but found nothing. Downstairs, the desk clerk and the manager assured her Mr. Caldwell had called and "everything is under control."
"Has anyone made inquiries about me? Of any kind?"
"Only Mr. Caldwell," the manager said.
"Not to my knowledge," the desk clerk added.
Less than reassured, she nodded and joined Ethan, who waited with one of her bags by the side door. Pete pulled up to the curb as they got there and left as they belted themselves in. "Where to next?" he asked.
"I'd like to move my car closer to the house," Jordan said.
"There's a lot a couple of blocks away," Ethan said. "I know the owner."
Pete followed her in his truck and Ethan introduced her to the owner of the small parking lot. With the car tucked into a back corner, they said good-bye to Pete and went to the house.
As they rounded the top end of the park, she pointed to one of two statues standing at either end. "Is this guy with the globe Columbus?"
"Yep."
"And the other?"
"Aristide the Just."
"Well, I'm certainly glad I asked."
Ethan laughed, a real honest-to-goodness laugh that sounded young and free and pleased her more than it should.
Later that evening, he asked to run with her. "Think you can keep up?" she asked.
He shrugged and tried to keep his expression serious, but his eyes danced with laughter as he assured her, "I'll certainly do my best."
His best was more than good enough for about three miles, when she became aware of his labored breathing. Glancing over at him, she saw his left arm slide around his middle as if his ribs were giving him some pain. She shortened her stride, gradually slowing the pace. When his jaw tightened, she touched his arm. "Enough."
He nodded and they walked the rest of the way home. "Guess my ribs aren't up to par yet."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"Thought I was all healed."
Back at the house, she took him by the hand and led him to a small study off the central hall, pointing to the sofa. "Sit. I'll be back in a minute."
She returned with an elastic bandage. "Open your shirt."
"What've you got in mind?"
"Just applying a little first aid, that's all." His grin was hard to resist. "That's all!"
She sat beside him and wrapped his ribs. Her fingers trembled as they brushed his velvety skin.
"Where'd you learn to wrap a bandage like that?"
A deep breath steadied her. "When you're involved in sports it helps to know some basic first aid."
"Which sports?"
"I lettered in two - diving and track. These days, running is all I have time for."
"Strange choices for a girl, weren't they?"
Lord he could be annoying, she thought. At the same time, she welcomed her anger as an antidote to the unsettling feelings he'd generated. "Think of the Olympics, then try rephrasing that question."
He grimaced. "You're right. That was stupid." He touched his midriff. "You did a good job. Thanks."
She shrugged. "No problem."
"I've been trying to be more careful, but I've gone and offended you again, haven't I?" His discomfort was unmistakable.
"You have some strange ideas about women, my friend, especially since you were raised by one who ran a cattle ranch...station...practically single handed. You should have learned more from her than you have."
"Well, she wasn't exactly a traditional housewife/ mother, if that's what you mean, but she was conventional in every other way and very easy to read. You're not either of those things.
"You live by your own rules. You don't flirt or play games or care about impressing anyone. There's a lot beneath the surface, but you keep it all neatly tucked away behind this wall you've built around yourself. You're self-contained and sometimes, even a little aloof, yet you'll reach out to help at the first sign of trouble. You're the most confusing woman I've ever met."
"Oh, I don't know. You seem to have figured me out pretty well. Just remember this conversation the next time you're tempted to say something stupid and we'll get along just fine."
Chapter 6
Jordan spent the next couple of days checking deeds and building permits, looking for partnership agreements to reveal the mystery partner's name. She found no one. Nothing turned up on the incorporatio
n papers, either. Yet Drew was certain there was someone. And if not a partner, then who or what?
Visits to some of VolTerre's older projects turned up the kinds of complaints she’d read about. At a hospital, the head custodian showed her cracks around door frames which could have allowed smoke and fire to sweep through the stairwells. All had been skillfully repaired and were inspected on a rotating basis.
"Got to make sure them things don't open again," the man said. "These patients got enough trouble."
Even worse were the problems existing at a nursing home she checked before ending her search for the day. She heard about plumbing that backed up several times a week, air conditioning that failed if the outside temperature exceeded 85 degrees and wiring inadequate to the job of providing electrical power to a 250-bed facility. Disgusted, she thought she might hire some goons of her own and "sic 'em" on Conlon. Instead, she took a cab back to the house.
At the corner, a patrol car blocked the cabbie’s way. An officer waved him past.
"Want me to go around?"
"No thanks. I'll get off here."
She approached the officer. "What's wrong?"
"Do you have business here, ma'am?"
"I'm staying with friends." When she gave him the house number, he spoke into a walkie-talkie before explaining, "There's been some trouble up there. The sergeant will want to ask you some questions."
An ambulance came down the hill, sending waves of fear rolling through her as she raced up the empty street. Glass crunched beneath her feet as she approached. One of the front windows had been smashed, destroying the panes, glass and wood frames. The officer guarding the door turned to her.
"I'm a guest here."
He took her name and let her inside. Ethan stood in the entry hall, talking to a man whose shield hung from the handkerchief pocket of his corduroy sport jacket.
"Can you have one of your people bring her home from the hospital when she's ready? She shouldn't be mucking around with cabs and the like after the fright she's had."
"Sure, we can do that. I'll have someone bring her back once she's satisfied Mr. Willis is out of danger."
Ethan nodded in her direction. "You wanted to speak to Ms. VanDien. Here she is." She shook hands with the officer, a man in his late forties with kind eyes and gently sagging jowls. "This is Sergeant O'Keefe, Jordan."
"What happened?"
O'Keefe consulted his note pad, then glanced at her.
"At approximately four o'clock this afternoon two men came to the house asking for you. There was an altercation during which Mr. Willis was knocked down, resulting in a broken right arm and a bruise to his left temple."
He looked down, turned a couple of pages and continued. "The subjects headed for the dining room where Mr. Caldwell, here, found them. As a result of his intervention and not-too-gentle persuasion, the two gentlemen made a fast exit through a dining room window."
She looked at Ethan. "Did you know them?"
"They might've been the guys in the car that followed us into Boston. The sergeant wants me to look at some photos tomorrow. Mug shots."
"You should come, too, Miss, since they were looking for you. You might be able to identify them." He looked at her over the rims of his half-glasses. "That a problem?"
“Why should it be?” Unsure of why Ethan hadn't mentioned the attempted rundown or the fact that he knew the two men, she proceeded carefully. "Truthfully, I'd be more likely to recognize the car than the occupants but I'm willing to try."
"Good enough. We'll see you in the morning. We'll leave a car out front but I doubt they'll be back tonight. Might be a good idea to get that window boarded up."
After he left, they went into the kitchen where the makings of a forgotten dinner cluttered the work surface. They were hungry and the meat still looked fresh so Ethan took care of the chops and vegetables while Jordan made salad and washed strawberries for dessert.
"These look like Mr. Brancusi's," she said.
"They are. I meant this to be your welcome dinner."
"It still is."
"No, we'll save that for a better time."
She transferred the fruit to a glass bowl and recalled Ethan’s touch the first time they shared the grocer’s bounty. "Why didn't you tell O'Keefe about the attempted hit-and-run? Or the fact that you met those men before."
"If they find out about my after-dark visits to the site, I'm in contempt of court. I don't feature going to prison."
"If you knew them from when you worked on the project, that wouldn’t compromise you in any way, would it?"
He nodded. "The law might buy that."
They ate at a round table set into a far corner of the kitchen. "This is excellent, Ethan."
"Learned from one of the best trail hands in the Outback."
“We’ll have to call Drew and let him know what happened,” Jordan said.
Ethan’s expression froze. “You do it.”
She shook her head. “Your brother. Your brother’s house. Your job.” She stacked the dishes. “Besides, it’s past time you and he cleared away whatever's between you and got on with your lives.” My job would certainly be easier, she thought.
"Would you feel the same if we were talking about you?"
"I’d do whatever I could to regain the only family left to me. Especially, if a few questions would do the job."
From Ethan’s pained expression, Jordan knew she’d hit a nerve. The kettle whistled shrilly, causing her to jump. They went about the ritual of making tea.
"You're wasting time hating Drew because of a choice he made years ago." She pointed a finger at him. "And I'll bet you've never asked him why he did what he did." The expression in his eyes told her she was right. "Maybe if you had, you would understand and be more accepting of him."
"Taking that step is harder than you make it seem."
"Maybe, but I'd give anything for the chance to try."
She began to clean the table. Together, they gathered the debris of dinner and had the dish washer quietly sloshing away by the time the phone rang. Ethan answered in the other room and a moment later called out to her to pick up in the kitchen. She lifted the extension to her ear.
"Are you all right, then?" Ethan asked.
"I'm fine,” Drew said, “but Lady's come a cropper."
"Geez, Andy. How bad is she hurt?"
"An injured foreleg. She went after one of the intruders and he slammed her against a wall. She's at the vet's but she’ll be fine before long. How about you?"
"We had a couple of visitors, too. Mr. Willis was injured. A broken arm and maybe a concussion. They took him to Mass General to check him out and give him a couple of days rest."
“Are you and Jordan okay?"
"I was out doing research," she said.
"Good. What about you, Ethan?"
"No worries, but you've got a window that needs to be replaced. Are you okay?"
"I might have a shiner by morning. Other than that, I'm fine."
Ethan chuckled. "So you mixed it up, did you?"
"Hey, you Aussie Outbackers aren't the only folks that enjoy an occasional brawl. I'm glad you were there."
"Me, too."
"I'll be in day after tomorrow. Lady should be well enough to be moved by then."
After Drew rang off, Ethan came to the doorway and gave her a lopsided grin. "Was that any better?"
"Why do you care what I think?"
"Because I do."
She smiled back at him. "I believe there is hope for you, after all."
* * *
The reception area at the police station was spacious but crowded, with a noise level more subdued than she would have expected so many people to generate. She wanted to take a moment to look around and get her bearings, but Ethan strode to the front desk, forcing her to keep pace with him.
"G'day, Sgt. Herrera."
The sergeant looked up, eyeing them both before returning to something that resembled a log book. Jordan wondered if this
was the "blotter" of TV and movie fame.
"Just can't keep out of trouble, can you Caldwell?"
"This wasn't my doing."
"That's a switch." He made an entry. "Sgt. O'Keefe's waiting for you. You sure don't need no escort back there."
They went through a pair of swinging doors. "What a warm reception," Jordan remarked.
"He isn't exactly a fan," Ethan said.
"You've obviously been here before."
"More than once."
The doors opened on a large bullpen smelling faintly of human bodies and smoke, as if the air had been filtered, but not recently. Desks stood in pairs beneath the windows and took up the center of the room.
Here, too, the soft hum of voices accompanied the activities taking place. To her right, a typewriter clacked fitfully as a uniformed officer pecked away to the softly murmured responses of a carefully coifed matron seated at his desk. Her gray suit brought out the highlights in her silver hair. Pearls at her ears and throat completed a picture of refinement.
"I wonder what that lady is doing here," she muttered to no one in particular.
"That 'lady' deals crack."
Jordan recognized Sgt. O'Keefe's voice. "You're kidding, right?"
"You know what they say about the strangeness of truth."
He led them into a room where two piles of books, presumably filled with photos, waited on a large table.
"Take your time," O'Keefe instructed. "Each of you pick one stack and work your way through, but don't compare notes. Write your page numbers on those pads. When you're done hit the buzzer on the wall behind you. We'll switch and see what comes up."
Only one entry caught Jordan’s eye. She couldn't place the name or face, but it raised an echo that vibrated in her memory. Willy "Boots" Woerner, the caption read - she marked the page number. She completed her books without finding anyone else familiar. The buzzer sounded behind her. O'Keefe entered, they talked for a minute or two as they switched the books and he left again.
By the time she'd gotten to the end of the last book, a stabbing pain ran from her neck down into the soft flesh between her left shoulder blade and her spine. Her eyes stung, as if grains of sand had worked their way behind her contacts. Her search had proved fruitless, except for noticing two guys named Aldo. Ethan had made some notes. Eventually the sergeant returned. The process had taken nearly four hours.
