by Renee Simons
"I know that your goal is to sell books. Ours is to introduce Jordan to the public and, if we’re lucky, cause Volpe to think twice about going after her. If she can share a bit of the limelight with you, people will get to know and, maybe, sympathize with her. She must be seen as an innocent party caught in the fallout of mob politics. How can we do that?"
Drew had been writing on a yellow pad while Terence talked. Now he looked at the older man. "We can give Jordan a credit of some kind on the book - either as co-author or as a contributor, either of which would be appropriate in view of her contributions." He glanced over at the publishing team and received a nod of agreement. “Then the two of us will write an advance article with dual bylines and photos. That sort of thing usually gets picked up by local news, sometimes with interviews, which should give us the exposure you want without being too obvious or manipulative.”
“Just so long as we don’t portray me as some poor misunderstood mob princess.”
"My dear,” Conlon said with a wry smile. “You don't have the status of a mob princess. If you did, you wouldn't be in danger because no one would dare touch you. The fact is, you're a nobody, who has made herself a very annoying nobody, and unless we change Tony's perception of you, you're too easy to eliminate."
"Thanks a lot, Terence. You're a terrific ego builder."
"Building your ego is not my concern. Helping you out of the mess you created is. And," he looked at her pointedly, "finishing the job we started. If we do this right, the plan will seem like any other campaign to hype an explosive new book and not a scheme targeting Volpe."
"Well, I hope I can carry this off."
"Your father did it for sixteen years, not only because it was his job but also to protect you and your mother. I suggest that if you want to see some justice for him, you use what you inherited of his talents and stick it out the few short weeks we'll need to finish this.”
He gave her that special look of his, the one telling her she'd lost the debate. Resigned, she sat back in her seat, withdrawing from the talk that went on without her as her mind grappled with what lay ahead.
She and Drew wrote an article for the Boston World, the daily with the largest circulation in the city. The paper ran it with a four column headline in 36-pt type and a double byline bracketed with their photos.
The article discussed the accident and its causes, including the findings of union corruption, kickbacks and the bid rigging scheme that had cost the city millions of dollars. It went on to summarize the background of the partners in VolTerre, including their "alleged" mob ties.
Once done, she and Drew went back to the book without knowing what the ending would be. Jordan received her third and, she hoped, last lecture when A.D.A. Santorelli discovered what they were planning.
"I can't help wondering what kind of sins you think you're expiating," Dominique commented.
"Please spare me the amateur psychology. I've already been through years of the real thing."
"I'm far from being an amateur, Jordan. In addition to the law degree, I also have a doctorate in criminal psychology."
"Is that what you think I am?"
"No, of course not, but I did some clinical work with crime victims and I'm not unfamiliar with the drives that can motivate someone with your experiences."
"The only drive that motivates me is the search for justice. Volpe damaged me in more ways than you know - with all your background checks and reports. Finally, I have it in my power to see him stripped of everything that matters to him and that's what I will see done."
"But you're going about it the wrong way, Jordan, and putting yourself in danger at the same time. Don't you see that by confronting him you're courting disaster? Why couldn't you simply have passed on to us whatever you got from Conlon? We would have done the rest."
"Would you? Can you guarantee me that a jury will convict Volpe and put him away for life? That his power and influence can be eradicated permanently?” She paused to catch her breath and fought the tears that lately seemed to hover just beneath the surface. "Can you restore my youth or my parents? Or give back a future that remains irreversibly out of my reach?"
"What if you'd never met Conlon?"
"Then I would have had no remedy for my pain, no substitute for a future without dreams."
They sat in the sunlit garden, with a pitcher of iced tea on the table between them. Jordan poured the beverage into their previously untouched glasses and took a long drink of the sweetened liquid.
"Do you really believe that vengeance is a cure all?" Dominique asked, the expression in her dark eyes as soft as her tone.
Jordan winced at the accuracy of the woman's question. There were losses that even bringing the Wolf to heel would never remedy. "Maybe not, but it comes closer than anything else I know."
"I would have thought you too intelligent for so primitive an emotion."
"Well, Terence says I've inherited my father's cunning. If that's true, then in me also lives the same angry fire that burned in my mother's heart. Instead of turning the anger inward as she did until it destroyed her, I'll use it against Volpe and perhaps bring myself some peace as a result."
"Not Conlon? Only Volpe?"
Jordan shook her head. "Not Conlon. He gave me new memories of my father, and a new image of myself. I owe him too much."
"And now he's helped you concoct a scheme to save you from Volpe and you're even more grateful." Dominique leaned forward earnestly. "Don't you see that he's using you?"
"Then I'm willing to be used."
"But not by us?" Dominique asked.
"For what purpose?"
"To complete our case against VolTerre."
"You’re talking about Volpe and Conlon?"
"Yes."
"I don't know if I can do that, Dominique."
"Think about it?"
Certain she could never take any overt action against Terence, Jordan suddenly felt too tired to argue with the woman. "I'll think about it."
Mrs. Willis appeared on the terrace. "Excuse me, Miss Jordan, but could you please come into the house?"
Jordan saw the look of concern on her face and rose quickly. "What's wrong?"
"It's Mr. Ethan. He...he needs to see you."
Promising to return momentarily, Jordan excused herself and followed Mrs. Willis inside. Once out of earshot of Dominique, the housekeeper whispered, "He's in his room. He's been hurt."
Without waiting for more, Jordan dashed upstairs and quietly stepped inside Ethan's room. He lay on his bed, his eyes closed, one battered hand holding his ribs while the other arm lay across his brow, shielding his eyes from the light.
She sat on the edge of the bed, so gently he never stirred, and examined what she could see of his face, noting the cuts and bruises, the dirt and caked blood. Finally, she lifted his arm to view the rest of the carnage. He opened his eyes briefly, then wearily closed them again. A need to hold and comfort him nearly overwhelmed her.
But she could only hold his hand, wondering about the injuries inflicted by a set of bloody knuckles that needed tending as badly as his ravaged face.
"Oh, Ethan," she whispered. "What have you done to yourself?"
He attempted a smile that became a grimace and a laugh that ended in a groan. "You should've seen the other bloke," he whispered hoarsely.
"Does he look like he's been through a meat grinder?" Anger started to build and she forced it down.
"I couldn't say, but he knows he's been in a fight."
"Who was he?"
"One of the jolly giants in sharkskin," he said with his usual dry humor.
"What happened?" she asked. "I thought Terence was going to arrange things for you."
"I don't think Adonis got the message."
"Which one is he? Federico or Richards?"
"Federico. Adonis is his professional name."
"What profession? Stripping?"
"Please," he pleaded as his hands gripped his midsection. "Don't make me laugh
. I hurt too much."
"I thought he's a bodyguard. What does he do, moonlight?"
"The bloke told me he's an ex-wrestler. I have no doubt he spoke the truth."
"Not so 'ex,' by the look of you, my friend."
"Yeah, well, if I'd known about his ring career ahead of time, I'd have jumped off the ledge myself, instead of trying to throw him over. He took almost more convincing than I had strength for."
"He went, finally, I take it."
"You take it correctly, love."
She smoothed back the hair from his forehead. "Lie quietly 'till I come back with the first aid kit."
She left him and went downstairs to join Dominique. The woman rose to meet her eye to eye. "Well?"
"I'll do whatever you want."
"What made you change your mind?"
She had to do something to protect Ethan. "I'm afraid Conlon can't be trusted. Just let me know what you want me to do and when." Without another word, she turned and went back upstairs to Ethan.
* * *
Jordan never again met Terence without wearing a wire. Each time she dressed for a session, a tiny transmitter resembling a flesh colored adhesive bandage clung to her skin beneath her bra. The device transmitted her discussions with Conlon to the surveillance team in the vehicle that trailed them whenever they met. Their recordings would provide evidence for the state's case against VolTerre.
To recover a bracelet she pretended she'd lost, Conlon took her first to his office and then to Volpe's. While pretending to search beneath their seat cushions, she planted a bug hardly thicker than a human hair in each of the armchairs. After that she simply kept up the illusion of business as usual.
Terence knew something was wrong between them and the night before her first television appearance he broached the subject. "Why are you angry with me, Jordan?"
She kept her face averted. "I am not angry."
"But you are," he insisted, "and have been almost from the day I returned. Is it because I lectured you?"
Barely able to contain her feelings, she turned to him. "You promised to arrange for Ethan to get into the site. Did you also arrange for the beating?"
"It wasn't a beating. It was a fight." He chuckled with pleasure. "As I hear it, he gave as good as he got. Put Adonis in the hospital and in traction for a week."
"Did you know that Adonis would be there?"
"He's always there."
"How could you do that to Ethan?"
"Jordan, I did nothing but clear the way for him to see what he wanted to see. He crawled all over the place. He took pictures. He checked girders and beams. He lifted concrete samples for analysis, took pieces of lathing to examine, and fasteners to test. He stayed too long and got caught. I didn't plan that or make it happen." He put a hand on her arm. "He did what he had to do and if he paid a stiff price, I'd say he got his money's worth."
She pulled away. "You didn't have to doctor him afterwards."
"Use your head. Calling off Tony's handpicked watchdog might have aroused his suspicions, which could have prevented Ethan from getting as much as he did. As it turned out, he got what he wanted and no one was the wiser."
She framed an angry retort, thought better of it and clamped her jaws shut. Admitting he was right would mean admitting she'd betrayed him, and she was in no mood to deal with why that made her feel uncomfortable. Not when she was facing and fearing her first television appearance.
Only Drew's calming presence helped her through the fifteen-minute interview on a local morning magazine show. Later, she viewed a videotape of the segment. She found it hard to believe that the self-possessed woman fielding questions in a steady, confident manner was the same person who'd given back her breakfast in the ladies room once the program was over.
As the week went on, however, the nervousness lessened. By the time Curt Fellows, the host of a late-night talk show, approached the end of his interview, she had a faint hope of finishing the session with her composure intact.
"I understand," he said, "that you've only just found out the truth about your father's identity. He led a double life, and in a sense, so did you. How do you feel knowing that you're not a mobster's progeny, but the daughter of an undercover drug agent?"
After a long struggle for the right answer she said only, "Relieved."
"Does it frighten you to know that what you've told Mr. Caldwell for his book could prove dangerous? That someone might take revenge. Or keep you from revealing more than you already have?"
The frankness of the question stunned her. The danger had been discussed ad nauseam within the group. To hear an outsider voice similar fears only intensified the problem. A soft murmur rippled through the audience.
"Ms. VanDien? Did you hear me?"
"Yes."
"And?" he prompted. "Are you afraid?"
"Yes."
"Didn't it occur to you that you'd be putting yourself in danger?"
Clasping her hands together didn't prevent their trembling. "I don't know if I really thought about it at all, in the beginning..."
"I can't help wondering if you have any regrets about taking the step."
Jordan thought about Ethan and Terence and her parents and all the people she'd never known who'd been hurt by Anthony Volpe. Something surged within her - a feeling that her actions had been inevitable, as inevitable as their consequences, whatever they might be. "No." Her voice had steadied, along with her resolve. "The truth must be told."
"I wish you luck." He turned to the camera. "We'll be back after these words from our sponsors."
Jordan spent a sleepless night after the appearance on the Curt Fellows show. His questions and her answers echoed ominously inside her head, allowing her no rest. She sat at her window for a long time, then wandered downstairs to the library, where nothing tempted or distracted her. Even a mug of warm milk didn’t help. Finally she moved to the dining room window and looked out at a street empty of all life except the police officer in the surveillance car struggling to stay awake while his partner dozed.
At nearly dawn the phone rang and she ran to pick up the receiver before anyone woke. She whispered softly into the mouthpiece and an equally soft voice caressed her ear.
"That was some performance, Baby Doll. Almost as good as the one in my office. Your old man would've been proud."
The false gentleness of his tone chilled her. She knew his potential for cruelty. "I'm gonna get you, only this time you won't have him to come let you off the hook." She heard a click and the phone went dead in her hand.
Back in the library she curled up in a corner of the sofa. So there it is, she thought. I know him and now he knows me. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against the cool leather. It wasn't so bad - knowing what could happen.
Surely her father had understood the ramifications of straddling both sides of the fence. When he'd come to the farm, he could have had no doubt about how things would end. But he'd done what needed doing, what he'd thought was right. With his face before her, and the first rays of morning sunlight peeking through the drapes, she finally fell asleep.
A whiff of strong, hot coffee woke her. Through one open eye she glimpsed Ethan sitting on the edge of the sofa, passing a cup of the aromatic beverage back and forth beneath her nose.
She smiled sleepily. "Why the special treatment?"
"You were up most of the night. To wake you any other way seemed unnecessarily cruel." She took the cup from him and sipped the steaming liquid. "Who was on the phone?" he asked.
"Wrong number."
"Why do you have to lie? Why can't you, after all this time, trust me?"
She had trusted him with her heart and her body. Why not this? "First promise you won’t do anything." He nodded though his reluctance was obvious. "It was Volpe."
"What did he want?"
"Just engaging in a little harmless baiting, that's all."
"That's all?" She could see he was finding it difficult to stay calm. "That's enough!"
&nb
sp; "Ethan, you promised."
He shook his head. "This isn't the first time I've made a promise only to regret it later."
"I refuse to let the man get to me, and you mustn't either. The trial is only days away. We have to hold out until then." She touched his arm. "Please?"
"I promise to try, love, but I can't help being concerned when you seem hell-bent on destruction."
"Have you been talking to Dominique again?"
"Nope. I may be stupid, but I'm not bonkers."
She smiled. "You're neither, as far as I can tell."
"I'm glad you see it that way." He took the cup with one hand and hoisted her to her feet with the other. "Now, go on up and have your shower. Mrs. Willis is holding breakfast for you."
A day or two later, the last strategy meeting took place at the house. Lieutenant Torres lifted all restrictions on Jordan’s comings and goings, but kept in place the surveillance team at the house. The other trailed discreetly behind her or her car at all times as she moved about within the city.
Sgt. O'Keefe asked Jordan to come down to the police station and try to identify some of her father's mob contacts. One or two faces looked familiar, but she didn't think she'd been of any real help.
"It was worth a shot," the officer said. "Thanks for taking the time."
Exhausted after an entire morning of looking at mug books, she left the building, nodded at the surveillance team and got into her car. A package wrapped in emerald green paper topped with a shiny gold bow the size of a cabbage rose filled the passenger seat.
Despite her raging curiosity, she decided to wait before looking inside. When she opened the box and laid the object on the bed, she was grateful for the privacy of her room.
To a casual observer the baby doll with its mint green dress and lacy bonnet would have seemed perfectly harmless. To her it meant that Volpe's assault on her senses had begun. She returned the doll to its bed of tissue, replaced the cover and placed the box at the back of her closet.
After arriving home from dinner with Ethan the following evening, she found another sitting on her dresser. With a pounding heart and trembling hands, she dashed to the closet and pulled out the box, posing both play things side by side on the edge of the dresser. They were identical except for a broken finger on the new "present."
