by Renee Simons
"Instead of going to my house, we drove for what seemed like hours. We got to a place I later learned was a farm owned by a member of the organization of which my father and my uncle were members."
She looked at her hands for a moment. "I didn’t lie, you know. I did grow up there."
Ethan took her hand. "I know, love. Go on."
"For 'organization' read 'mob.' It was a member of the mob who’d kidnapped me. And a low-level soldier who held me for thirty-six hours in a small shed. By the time it ended, I was no longer the pampered, favored niece, but a traumatized, brutalized child-woman who, in addition to everything else, had witnessed her father's death by his own hand."
Unable to look at Ethan, she focused on the back wall where black-eyed Susans and other wild flowers grew.
"Bloody hell." She turned to him and the anger burning behind his eyes. "What made you think your father took his own life?"
"I saw it happen, or at least enough to figure out the rest. I grew up believing he'd done it because he was ashamed of me, of what had happened to me. I hated his memory and despite a mostly successful therapy hated myself. I never fully accepted that I wasn’t responsible."
"That was your unfinished business, was it?"
She nodded. "When Drew told me about your trouble, I realized that Conlon was a partner in VolTerre." She glanced up at Ethan. "That's why I went to see him that first time. To make sure he was who I thought he was.
"Yesterday, he told me the truth about my father. That he didn’t take his own life. That he’d been under deep cover to expose the activities of the organization and bring down its leaders, including my uncle. It was Dino who gave the order for my abduction."
She sighed and fought back the tears filling her eyes. "My mother and I should have been safe from the harm that came to my father. Conlon said my uncle was so angry about having taken my father into his family, he used me to punish my parents."
She picked up the badge holder and stared at it for a moment, then looked at Ethan. "Now he sends me this. Obviously, he ended up working for those people instead of against them. Is he telling me that despite the corruption, I should trust him?"
Out of words, she could only look at Ethan, who reached across the table and took her hand as it lay beside her empty cup. "Maybe he's only saying he cares about you, and would like to know you feel the same about him."
"What do you think about that? Now?"
He hunkered down beside her and laced his fingers through hers. "If he can help you free yourself from the past, the bloke has my vote.” He kissed her palm. “My feelings for you are stronger than ever."
Chapter 10
A.D.A. Santorelli focused on making a case against Reiner-Lopes from the tape Terence had given Jordan, putting everything else on hold. Left with endless time and no way to fill it, Ethan got permission to go out every day with one surveillance team or another.
Jordan returned to her duties as Drew's assistant with new incentive. In her spare time she’d been putting down on paper the facts culled from her conversations with Terence. Notes made after each session helped her fill in the gaps. She gave this material to Drew who added her information to his.
At first, the work filled her hours, keeping her mind off things she preferred to ignore. As the days piled one on the other, however, her restlessness increased. The image of Tony Vee's face in the binoculars returned with regularity to haunt her, leading inevitably to the picture of her dead father. With all the mental and emotional barriers gone, the memories taunted her, though she had spent years sealing them off from her conscious mind. Outwardly calm and in control, inside, she seethed with a fury she'd never suspected could live within her. Something must be done - and soon. She just didn't know what.
Drew gave her the first clue when he wistfully declared, "Tony Vee is the key, you know." He sipped his after dinner liqueur and added, "I'd love to interview him the way you interviewed Conlon."
"You'd never get him to tell you anything," Ethan said. He shuffled manuscript pages Drew had given him to review for accuracy.
"I'm not so sure. Sometimes a man such as he has a tremendous ego and is flattered by the attention."
"Not him,” Jordan said.
"Why do you say that?"
"If he liked the attention, he wouldn't work so hard to stay anonymous." She shook her head. "You know he rarely leaves his house, and even if you managed to track him, he's unapproachable."
Ethan shook his head. "I wonder. Since Conlon's been away, Tony's been showing up at the office every day." He grinned. "Just like an ordinary businessman, a businessman named Anthony Volpe."
Jordan warmed her hands around a mug of steaming Earl Gray. "Strange to know his real name after so long."
Ethan nodded. "Once the police had his photo, the rest fell into place.”
Drew lifted a cigarette from a silver box and put it back without lighting it. “I wonder if it would be that simple to get past his secretary."
"I don't think you need to worry about her,” Jordan said. “The Terrible Twosome is the problem."
Drew laughed and tipped his chin at his brother. "Ethan calls them 'Romulus and Remus.'"
She joined his laughter. "I think that refers to two other guys, doesn't it?"
Drew nodded. "My kid brother relishes the irony."
Ethan’s expression of mock indignation dissolved into laughter they had no choice but to join.
"We’ll need a diversion to draw them away,” Drew said, “so we can get to Volpe."
"I can do that."
"No," the men chorused loudly.
“You must stay out of the way,” Drew insisted. "I've handled difficult interviews in the past. I'll have at him. His vanity will provide access." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I've got one question in particular I'd like to ask."
Ethan put aside the pages. "What’s so important you have to confront that sleeze?"
"Do you recall what Mahan said at the last meeting? Tony and Allen Blakeley were longtime friends before the Senator's death two years ago."
"No, but my mind probably was focused elsewhere. Wasn't Blakeley the guy who ran for the Presidency?"
Drew nodded. "More like a potential candidate. He didn't live long enough. I should give my right arm to know what Volpe knows."
They agreed to discuss their ideas at breakfast, but the next morning, a phone call interrupted them. An emergency meeting of the Civic Association would occupy Drew for most of the day.
"We'll do it tomorrow," he said. "This will give me more time to work up a ripping good plan."
She nodded while silently vowing that her totally sleepless night would not go to waste. She had a ripping good plan of her own, that didn’t involve either brother.
Once she was alone, she went up to her room, showered and dressed carefully. She styled her hair to sweep back from her face in a flamboyant golden mane. Keeping her makeup subtle yet dramatic, she accentuated her cheekbones and eyes and defined her mouth and nose in a technique designed for her during a brief stint as a model.
The dress of white handkerchief linen was simple, elegant and, she'd once been told by her ex-boss, flattering. To complement the gold belt, she added shiny gold hoops to her earlobes and examined the image in the mirror - a Jordan she hadn't seen in ten years, with every physical feature heightened to its utmost and yet so minutely altered that the face seemed to belong to another woman. Perhaps this look would work better than the disguise she'd used with Terence.
She left the house boldly, by the front door, and used her own car to get downtown. She parked in a lot a half block from the VolTerre Building. Heads turned as she made her way through the crowds. She’d quit modeling after only a few months because she’d hated the attention. Now, the interested glances told her she had achieved the dramatic effect she wanted. She would soon find out if she had also achieved the anonymity she needed to get past the team watching the building. Past Ethan. After that, her only worry involved getti
ng in and out of Volpe's office with her “skin intact,” as he’d once said.
Near her destination, she spotted the surveillance car, but couldn’t identify the team members through the tinted windows. Not that their identity meant anything. She was headed up to the thirty-ninth floor, no matter who was watching. She breathed a small sigh of relief when no one stopped her.
In the elevator, she deliberately made her mind a blank. Thinking only stirred the butterflies that unsettled her insides. She decided to trust her instincts, following wherever they led and letting her imagination dictate her behavior.
She wondered if she'd inherited any part of her father's ability to play act. With a little luck, that talent would get her through the next minutes. The elevator door opened with a hiss and she stepped into the waiting room.
An unfamiliar face at the receptionist's desk lifted her spirits. Perhaps gaining entrance to Volpe's office would be easier with someone who had never seen her before.
"Good morning," the young woman said with a smile.
"I'm meeting Mr. Conlon. Buzz him, please?"
"I'm sorry," she said, "but he’s out of the country."
"Oh, has Candace - Mrs. Conlon - taken a turn for the worse?"
The younger woman relaxed and smiled, as if Jordan had passed a test. "It's business."
Jordan smiled back. "That's good to hear." She went silent, as if considering her next move. "Well, then, suppose you pop into Mr. Volpe's office and tell him the reporter, Augusta Maxwell, is here. Ask if he wouldn't mind filling in for his partner."
The young woman did just that, allowing Jordan to locate Volpe's office. She followed close behind, entering after knocking once. Tony looked up, ending his phone conversation with a quiet murmur into the receiver. He motioned the receptionist out and watched Jordan approach. The cold gleam in his eyes changed to something a bit more calculating as he examined her carefully. Finally, he smiled.
"You’re that reporter wannabe Terry spends so much time with. Now I understand why." He stood and put out a hand. When she reached over, he pressed her hand to his lips in an attempt at gallantry. She fought to keep down a rising nausea. "I'm sorry I left the job to him." She pulled her hand slowly from his and took a seat.
"You have an opportunity to change your mind," she said, almost wishing he wouldn't. "I understand he's away."
His eyes narrowed for a split second before he spoke. "I know the line you're in, but don't think you can pump me about our business affairs. It won't work."
"Then we'll stick to 'safe' topics, okay?"
"What's your idea of a safe topic?"
"Where were you born?"
He laughed. "You're a quick learner."
"I try."
"Philly," he said.
"South Philly?" she asked. He gave her another searching look and the warning to go easy sounded in her head.
"Do I know you?"
She shrugged. "Just guessing."
"That's a pretty good guess."
"Part of my job." He seemed to be waiting for the next question. "Are you married?"
"No."
She let her surprise show. "Why not?"
"What's the point? I can have all the women I want, whenever I want ‘em. I have a house full of servants to do for me. And I don't have to consider anyone's needs but my own." He leaned back in his chair.
His unfeeling manner evoked a strong memory. She struggled to remain detached. "What about love?"
"There's no such thing," he replied. "When people use that word, what they really mean is 'what can you do for me that I don't have to do for myself.'"
"And caring? Or compassion?"
"I'll care for me, you care for you and compassion be damned."
"You don't really mean any of that, do you?"
He tented his fingers beneath his chin as if praying, but she knew he wasn't. "I never say anything I don't mean."
"Your world isn't a very nice place, Mr. Volpe."
"Maybe not, but it's real." He pointed a finger at her. "You writers are all dreamers and idealists. You see things the way you want 'em to be, not the way they are."
Amazed to be having this conversation with a person she despised, she pressed on. "Surely, sometime in your life you've known love."
"Known it?" He shook his head. "But I saw it once."
"When?"
"I once saw a guy get himself killed trying to protect someone. He loved. He was compassionate. He was a damned fool."
"That isn't foolish," she said, almost without breath enough to speak.
"Sure it is. If the person he was protecting was strong enough to survive, then he didn’t have to die. If not, they weren't worth dying for. Either way, he would've been smarter to try to stay alive." He squinted as if reaching for something he couldn't quite touch. "See that's the most important thing - to survive, to grab what you can till your number's up - and never crap out."
"And never care about anyone else?"
"You got it," he drawled in satisfaction. "Now you have my philosophy of life. What else do you want to know?"
"Who killed Allen Blakeley?"
His eyes widened in surprise. She knew he was stalling when he asked, "The senator?"
"And potential presidential candidate."
"No one knows the answer to that. What makes you think I do?"
"You were good buddies. Went to the track and to ball games together. You spent weekends at his ski lodge. He sailed on your yacht." She gave him a knowing look. "You have the answer."
"If we were such good friends, don't you think I would've got his killer by now?"
This was his first unconscious admission of power. She jumped on it. "Yes," she replied, "unless the killer did you a favor."
He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes hard as amber nuggets, his thin lips drawn thinner. She knew she'd gone too far. Her mind flashed back to another time when a similar look had paralyzed her and she felt again the heartless cruelty of the man.
Time dragged. She swore a clock ticked away the minutes, except there was none in the room. Finally, he leaned back again and bared his teeth in a smile so threatening she found it impossible to suppress a shiver of fear.
"You got brass, kid. I'll give you that. If you were a man, I'd congratulate you on your masculine equipment." He leered suggestively. "If you get my drift." He rose. "Anyhow, you won't be surprised to hear this interview is over."
She got to her feet as he came around to her side of the desk. He looked into her eyes for so long she was certain he would recognize her.
He put a hand under her elbow and steered her toward the door. "I don't want to see you around here again," he said and firmly ushered her out.
As the door closed behind her, she sagged against it, taking her first deep breath in what seemed an eternity. An arm snaked out and pulled her around the corner. Heart pounding at the sudden movement, she looked up and found Ethan glaring at her.
"How did you get here?" he asked in a tone she knew meant trouble.
"My car."
"Where is it?"
"In a lot about a block away."
"We're taking the stairs."
“Why?”
“Volpe’s men are coming up in the elevator.”
Four floors later, they caught the elevator on its way down. In the street, he took her by the arm and they walked down the block in tandem.
After a few steps Jordan balked. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"You're the one who should be answering that. And if you give me any more cheek, I'll hoist you over my shoulder and carry you."
"You and what army?"
He kept silent for a moment and finally said, "Yeah, I forgot, Ms. Tough Guy. You're invincible."
"What's this all about?"
"About the recklessness I saw in you the first time we met."
"You called it stupidity."
"I underestimated you. Your behavior is worse than stupid. It's bloody dangerous."
When they got to the lot, he held out his hand. "The keys?" She squelched a desire to smack his hand away and instead, handed them over. They headed out of the crowded downtown area in silence.
Suddenly she began to shake, a delayed reaction to the past hour, she supposed. It had taken every bit of her courage and self-discipline to enter Volpe's office, to sit across from him, to talk to him as she would to any other human being. She still wasn't sure why she'd gone, except in answer to a strange, perhaps morbid, curiosity, or a need to test herself in his presence.
A bigger question concerned what she'd accomplished. The answer was a resounding "nothing," unless one considered that he was now on his guard with her, in which case, the visit had done more harm than good. Was that the message behind Ethan's anger?
"Where are we going?"
"To the Cape."
"Why don't you tell me what you're thinking?"
His mouth tightened. "Because what I have to say can't be done properly from behind the wheel. Time enough when we get there."
* * *
The house had grown musty since Drew had joined them in Boston. Jordan went through it opening windows to take advantage of the breeze blowing in from the bay. Ethan opened the gas and water lines.
"Does this mean we're going to be here for a while?" she asked.
"Haven’t decided." He checked the cupboards and freezer. "You hungry?"
She shook her head. "I rarely eat while in the dog house. The cramped quarters kill my appetite."
He looked at her sharply, then retreated from his near-silent anger. "Damn it, Jordan! Do you know the hell you put us through? We didn't know what was happening, but we couldn't go in without endangering you and the surveillance. When you took so long what could we think but the worst?"
"You know Drew wanted to interview Volpe for the book. He got sidetracked. I went alone."
"I can't believe my brother let you do that."
"Nobody lets me do anything, Ethan. Please try to remember that I don't need your permission or your brother's."
"Maybe not, but did he know you'd decided to see Volpe?"
"I saw no reason to tell him."
