by Renee Simons
"He was a man like you and Tony, outside the law, a gangster. He was charming, handsome, well versed in the social graces...and a coward."
"Your criticism surprises me." He arched one eyebrow. "What's the last thing you remember about him?"
She kept silent for a moment or two and then answered, "His eyes as he lay on the ground after killing himself."
"Did you see it happen?"
"I was watching through a dirty window. I didn’t get every detail, but I saw enough to get the picture."
His lips compressed into a thin line. "I didn't know you witnessed his death."
"Because you weren't there."
She felt ill at ease discussing that time with him. She turned away and stared blindly at the paintings on the opposite wall.
“This is for you.”
She saw him reach into his breast pocket and pull out a black leather wallet. He flipped it open and held it nestled in his palm, showing her what lay inside. "It was his."
She stared at the shield. "A badge? For God's sake, Terence, what are you telling me?"
"Your father was a member of a special unit in the Treasury Department, similar to the Drug Enforcement Administration. This group investigated illegal drug activities. Its men went under deep cover, adopting false identities and infiltrating various organizations to become a part of the operations they'd been assigned to destroy. Often they stayed under for years, surfacing only after the law apprehended the key people."
Bombarded by the new information, Jordan listened in stunned silence. She no longer knew what to think or feel.
"Your father was one of those men. He became a part of the organization, trusted by the leaders. When he fell in love with Dino Fratello’s sister, his future brother-in-law made the wedding." He shook his head and smiled. "Nearly five hundred people showed. The reception went on for twelve hours. Best damned affair I ever attended.
"He and your mother were very much in love. When you were born, he was the happiest sonofabitch I ever saw. Never was a prouder father, so proud he got a little boring sometimes, but no one dared say so. He was the capo's left hand and his brother-in-law the right.
"After sixteen years and a dozen successful operations, your father's cover was blown. I never found out how or by whom. I warned him that all hell was about to break loose.
Never believing Dino would harm you, he went for your mother first and got her to a safe place. By then you'd disappeared. Your uncle had one of his men kidnap you to punish your father, as a special kind of revenge for betraying his trust and for causing him to lose face.
"When Dutch found out where they were holding you, he went to get you, to trade himself for you. There was a struggle. He was shot. Any reason for holding you evaporated when he died. They made it look like suicide, to deflect suspicion away from the organization."
With so many questions and conflicting emotions, she had to force herself to speak. "But I saw him lying there with a gun in his hand."
"You saw what they wanted you to see."
"And where were you while all this was going on?"
"Because of my friendship with him my own family was in danger. I had to protect them. I told your father as soon as I found out you were at the farm. I was too late."
"Why didn't you go with him?” she asked angrily. “Maybe if you had, he'd have survived."
"If I'd gone with him, we'd both be dead."
"How do you know how he died?"
"Dino told me. Right after it happened."
Her anger cooled as Conlon continued to talk, she took the badge from Conlon and stared down at it through a film of tears, hardly hearing anything he said. She traced the outline of the shield and number, as if her fingers could extract some sense of the man who'd carried it. A man she’d thought she knew, but who’d been a stranger. She felt only cold metal. A tear splashed across its surface. Conlon gave her his handkerchief and watched as she dabbed first at her eyes and then at the memento.
"How did you get this?"
"Your father gave it to me, to hold or pass on to you, if things went badly. Your doctors felt any contact during your rehabilitation would do you harm. They refused to let me see you. The more time passed, the easier it became to stay away. You'd made reasonably good progress in putting the tragedy behind you and eventually I convinced myself the doctors were right. I kept the badge in case I ever found the courage to face you. It's yours now."
"He trusted you? Why?"
He reached for his pipe, packed it with fresh tobacco and lit it before answering, "We were friends, and that's all you'll get for now."
"But what if...?" She halted in mid-sentence, blushing as she realized how callous her next words would have sounded.
"...I don't make it back?" Conlon shrugged. "Then the rest will die with me."
"All right. We'll leave it alone for now."
"You have your father's quality of acceptance."
"No. I'm just smart enough to know when a person has been pushed as far as he'll go."
"Has Caldwell been pushed that far?"
"What does that mean?"
"You said you had a dinner date. He couldn't have been happy about your breaking it to be with me."
"I guess not, but he didn't have much choice."
"I'd resent that if I were in his shoes. I wouldn't want to share you with anyone."
She blushed again. "It isn't like that."
"Aren't you and he lovers?"
Her body stiffened. "That’s none of your business."
"Why haven't you become lovers?" he persisted. "You must feel something for him. Or you wouldn't have involved yourself in this whole mess. What's causing you to hold back? You could do worse, you know. I worked with him. He's a fine man - strong and steady, loyal almost to a fault, and I would think women find him attractive enough..."
"You sound like a damned dating service. He doesn't need you to speak for him."
"Then what is it? Something left over from the bad time you had?"
"I didn't push you. Don't do it to me." This time, she did nothing to hide her anger. Her voice shook with it.
"I just want you to have what every woman should - a husband, a home, kids. What's wrong with that? It's what Dutch would have wanted for you."
She glared at him. "Don't try standing in for my father. I haven't needed either one of you for a very long time." She left him sitting in the booth and walked out. He followed close behind her.
"What did I say, Jordy?" He put a hand on her arm. "Tell me?"
"Don't call me that. She's some other person in some other life, a child who died the day those animals kidnapped her and who was buried beside her father. The woman I am can never have any of the things you envision - because of Dino and Tony Vee and because of Dutch. Because of men like you."
She turned on her heel and walked away, ready to find a cab, but something caused her to turn. Conlon stood watching her with an expression more like contrition than anger. She couldn't have said why, but she walked back and kissed him on the cheek.
"Take care of yourself. I want you to come back."
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly to him. "You are my best friend's precious daughter and you have been terribly wronged. I'll be back. Then you and I will make them pay."
Jordan returned to a darkened house, welcoming the private time after her upsetting encounter with Terence. She brewed tea. With shoes in one hand and a steaming mug in the other, she padded into the library. Wishing for a fire to take out whatever chill the tea missed, she moved to the leather sofa, only to find Ethan already there, deep in thought.
"Hi. What are you thinking about?"
Ethan had been staring at the empty fireplace, arguing with himself. Keeping Jordan at arm’s length had become increasingly more difficult. He was close to telling her exactly how he felt, despite his promise to both of them not to.
He felt her slip into the corner of the couch opposite him and fold her legs beneath her.
She sat quietly, neither moving nor speaking, but she filled the entire room with her presence.
Dreading the way the first sight of her always sent him into turmoil he glanced over, taking in her image in small, manageable doses. His gaze traveled from her hair falling in honeyed waves about her face, to her lips as they touched the cup, sipping at some steaming liquid - tea, he supposed - to her eyes with their worried weariness, to her cheek, pale as it was so often lately. Damn, he swore silently.
"What are you thinking about?" she repeated.
"How tired and worried you look these days. How you always seem worse when you come back from your meetings with him."
"Want some?" she asked, holding out the cup. "It's hot tea."
"Don't change the subject."
"He likes you. Thinks you're a fine man."
"Uh huh."
"He can't understand why we aren't lovers."
That made him smile. "The bloke might get on my right side after all, though I can't say it's any of his business."
"He seems to have taken a fatherly interest in me."
"The last thing you need is a father."
"I agree."
"So what do you feel toward him?"
"Sometimes I forget all the rotten things he’s done and I almost like him, but don't read anything into our relationship that isn't there." She took a sip.
"Don't you let yourself be taken in by the man. I tell you he's not to be trusted. Not too long ago, you felt the same distrust. Have you forgotten?"
"I remember."
"Do you need to meet with him so often?"
A tiny smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. "Are you jealous?"
He took a breath. "How do you expect me to answer that? If I say yes you'll think I'm an immature jerk. If I say no you'll think I don't care. And though I've kept silent about my feelings for you, I do care. More than you know. Seems to me that either way I'm left holding the short end."
"Tell me," she prompted softly. "I need to know."
"What’s changed?"
"I have."
His heart pounded in his chest as he stared intently into her eyes. She gazed back at him without turning away. He thought maybe he could tell her.
"All right," he said, though exposing his feelings made him uncomfortable. He took a long time to gather his thoughts into something that made sense. "When we’re together it’s all I can do to keep from sweeping you up in my arms and carrying you off to bed. When we’re apart I think of you - how you look and sound, your scent, the way you walk..." He ran a finger down her arm as it lay stretched along the back of the sofa. "It seems like you're with Conlon a lot lately and sometimes it's tough to remember why. I feel as though I'm losing you, which is stupid, 'cause you can't lose what you've never had. I'm not sure if that's jealousy, but whether it is or isn't, it feels like bloody hell."
Jordan turned her hand palm up and twined her fingers through his, strengthened by his touch. "He’s tied up with a past I'm trying to reconcile and file away under finished business. He has answers I need, so it's vitally important for me to work with him. Can you understand that?"
"No." Ethan looked at her for a long time, then pulled her into his arms for a long, probing kiss that sent heated blood spinning through her veins and started a slow, sensuous writhing in that place she had denied for so long but which she could no longer ignore.
She was barely breathing, it seemed, when he finally released her. "Don't understand it, don't like it, not at all, but after that kiss, I’m willing to give it a go."
* * *
Jordan woke to the sound of voices drifting up from the garden. Turning on her side, she drew up the covers and let herself drift off again until the conversation cut through her dozing.
"Smoking is bad for you, big brother."
"Is that why you asked Mrs. Willis to serve breakfast out here? So you could have at me?"
"It's time we talked, Andy, and I don't expect it'll be easy. I figured talking outside would force us to keep this civil."
They lowered their voices and she sank back into sleep. Happy they were talking, she didn't need to hear what they said. Maybe that's why she felt so disappointed at waking again to the low rumble of barely controlled anger.
"How could you think those letters would substitute for your being there?" Ethan asked. "I would read them aloud while he hid behind his paper, pretending not to care and she wiped away her tears with those frilly little handkerchief things she loved. When what they both wanted was to hear your news from your own lips."
"No one's figured out how to be in two places at once," Drew countered.
"You could've rung us up. That would've been something at least."
"I did." Drew spoke softly but emotion vibrated behind each word. "More than once - only to have the phone slammed down in my ear."
"What the bloody hell are you saying?"
"I'm saying that when I called and our father answered, he hung up without letting me speak. When our mother answered, at least she listened before hanging up with a 'sorry, you have the wrong number.' After a year, I stopped calling."
"Geez, Andy, they never said anything about the calls."
"You weren't meant to know."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It does if you know why I didn't go with the family."
"Why?"
"I attended university on a full scholarship based on academic merit and financial need. I qualified for assistance as an independent student because I received no monetary support from my family."
"Dad wouldn't help you with your tuition?"
"He refused to acknowledge me as his son. He returned all letters and applications unanswered."
"Why?"
"I didn't fit the image he considered appropriate to a firstborn male of the Caldwell clan. He hated my clothes, my friends, my need to speak out on issues I believed important. Most of all, he hated what he euphemistically called my 'alternative lifestyle.' When I decided to major in literature instead of engineering, he refused to back me.
"The scholarship and work study got me through. The hard part came when he froze me out of the family. To keep me from being an unhealthy influence on you. I couldn't fight him, not back then..."
"This alternative lifestyle - didn't mean you were a hippie."
Drew chuckled. "No Ethan, not a hippie."
She didn't have the heart to listen further. Instead, she slipped out of bed and into the bathroom to shower and dress for the day.
Finally, she headed for the patio, nearly colliding with Drew, who’d just cleared the open French doors. He grabbed her hand and kissed it.
"Thank you for bringing about a reconciliation with Ethan. You have returned my family to me." Before she could protest, he was gone.
She joined Ethan. "Why was he in such a hurry?"
"All the police activity is driving our sedate neighbors bonkers. He’s repairing community relations." Ethan raised the china pot. "Tea?"
"Yes, thanks."
"We talked," Ethan said. "Trying to work out the problems, to figure out which ones are ours and which we inherited from others."
"He was ecstatic, so I guess it went well?"
"How does a peace treaty sound?" he asked.
"As a little girl I thought that if I had a sister, she'd be my best friend. That's all I want for the two of you."
Terence had spoken similar words to her. Now, she, too understood what it meant to care enough about someone to want good things for them.
"I'm glad," she said. "For all of us."
Mrs. Willis came out and handed her a small package. "This just came for you, miss."
She tore at the brown paper wrapping. "Is this from either of you?"
When she opened the box, the answer was obvious. Nestled in the bottom lay a mate to the first black leather wallet and a silver and gold shield with a badge number preceding her father's by one digit.
Confused, she unfolded the note that lined the
box. "Keep this for me till I get back," it said. It had been signed with a large, gracefully formed T.
She looked from the note to the badge and back again. Terence had been a Federal agent, like her father. Only he had gone over to the other side. How had he been subverted? Did it matter?
Ethan took her hand. "What's wrong, love? Can I help?"
She gave him the shield in its holder. "This belongs to Terence Conlon. The other day he gave me one like it belonging to my father."
"Bloody unbelievable."
"For me, also." She took a sip of tea, welcoming its warmth. "Care to hear the VanDien saga?"
"Anything you care to tell me."
"I grew up knowing my father was different from those of my friends. He was handsome and polished in a way that you don't see very often, except among certain types of people - like Conlon.
"But it was more than that. There was an air of mystery about him and the others - my adored and adoring Uncle Dino and their business associates. They came for backyard barbecues, and Saturday night parties with their wives, laughing and joking while unsmiling men in dark suits stood guard with walkie-talkies and paced the boundaries of our property.
"Always, before the evening ended, the men moved behind closed doors. At those times, I felt the difference, the sinister quality beneath the joviality. There had to be a reason why two guards barred the way to a room where cigars and after dinner drinks were being served.
"My mother told me 'man's business' didn't concern her or me. 'You just pay attention to your school work,' she said, "and forget everything else."
"So I lived in our mansion, with its acres of manicured lawns and sumptuous gardens. I was pampered by the cook, the maids and the chauffeur who drove me back and forth to school. On Wednesdays I went to a friend's house to study. After supper, I was driven home by her father.
"One Wednesday I went to her house as usual. At the end of the visit, one of my father's friends came to her door to drive me home. He said my father had sent him. He'd been to our house often. I knew my father trusted him so I went."
Ethan held up a hand to ask, "Not Conlon?"
"Not Conlon. My life would have been very different if it had been him. I’m fairly certain of that." She took a minute to gather her memories together.
