Janelle Taylor (13 page)

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 of 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—”

“But you turned around? And came here? For no reason? It’s like you somehow read my mind. What are you doing back here?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but she rushed on, darting a look over her shoulder as if to make sure Spencer hadn’t materialized to eavesdrop. “I didn’t know who else I could call or what to do. I’ve been trying to reach you on your cell phone—”

“I didn’t have it turned on. I hardly ever do. Why? What’s wrong? Where’s Spencer? Did something—”

“He’s upstairs. Beau, we need you.” She was clutching his arm. He could feel the tension in her grasp, and realized she was trembling from head to toe.

Worry coursed through him. What the hell was going on? “Jordan—”

“Beau, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I had any option at all, but—”

“Ask me to do what?”

“You’ve got to get us out of here. Out of town. Now.”

They headed straight east out of Washington, following the route Beau had mapped for his solo journey. Rather than heading south on Interstate 95 through the more populous cities of the Eastern Seaboard, he had chosen a scenic route that led across the upper Chesapeake Bay near Annapolis and down the eastern shore to Virginia.

By late afternoon, they were headed along the flat, fertile, ever-narrowing peninsula on the eastern shore’s only major north-south thoroughfare, Route 13. It was little more than a local highway bordered on both sides by farms, shallow bays, produce stands, a few antebellum houses, and the occasional small town or strip mall.

Beau and Jordan didn’t talk much. They couldn’t, conscious, as they had been yesterday, of Spencer in the backseat. The little boy was too excited to sleep. Jordan had told him only that they were going on a
surprise vacation to the beach with Beau. They were on the road, their hastily packed bags joining Beau’s luggage in the back of the SUV, within five minutes of Beau’s unexpected arrival on her doorstep.

Jordan didn’t relax until they were well out of town and she was convinced that nobody was following them. Even now she felt jittery, and couldn’t help glancing regularly into the side-view mirror outside the passenger’s window just to see what was behind them.

She was still rattled by the thought that an intruder might have been in the process of abducting Spencer this morning when his screams woke her. Mrs. Villeroy’s mention of the shadowy stranger coincided too closely for comfort with the little boy’s “pirate.” And while Jordan was convinced that the mysterious “bad guy” with the eye patch had truly been a figment of Spencer’s nightmares the first few times he awakened screaming, she suspected that this morning’s threat had been all too real.

Beau seemed shaken by her theory that the man had somehow found out where Spencer was and had broken into the town house, meaning to spirit the groggy child out of his bed and away. Jordan figured that Spencer must have woken up, realized what was happening, and started shrieking. The intruder must have dropped the child and run off into the night when he heard her footsteps upstairs.

“Or it could have just been a nightmare, like it was the other times,” Beau had pointed out, obviously trying to reassure her.

“Even if it was just a nightmare”—and she didn’t believe that—”we can’t ignore that Spencer has an unhealthy dread of pirates, and that a stranger in an eye
patch has been snooping around. There’s a connection, Beau. There has to be.”

He seemed inclined to agree, though he couldn’t imagine how anyone could have found Spencer at Jordan’s house. But he didn’t know her guilty secret—the wee-hours phone call to Phoebe’s brother—and somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to confess.

She was convinced now that the clicking she had heard on Curt’s line meant that it was tapped, and that whoever was listening in had been led right to her doorstep, and to Spencer. She felt sick knowing that her actions might have put him in jeopardy.