Man from Half Moon Bay (8 page)

“Sara, dammit, you can’t …” He trailed off. It was no use. No matter what he said, he could see he wasn’t going to be able to change her mind. “Tell me what I can do. Tell me how I can keep you alive.”

“You can’t do anything. Stay out of it and let the police handle it.” She met his gaze. “I don’t want you to come near me for the next few days.”

He stared at her, feeling the pain and panic swelling within him like a tidal wave. “I don’t know if I can do that. This is all crazy, Sara.”

“Sometimes that’s the way life is. Crazy and scary and …” She drew a shaky breath and forced herself to smile. “I think you’d better leave now. Lieutenant Blaise is going to be here in another fifteen minutes to discuss the surveillance.”

“I’ll stay and talk to the bastard.”

“No,” she said sharply. “You’re out of this. This is my business and I’m the one who’s going to take care of it.”

“The hell I will. I’ll—” He stopped as he saw the
wariness in her face. She hadn’t looked at him like this since that first night. He was pushing her, destroying the fledgling trust he’d nurtured so carefully. Why had this crisis had to come so soon? One false step and he could blow everything he had built between them. It was a catch-22 that made his frustration and fear escalate to new heights. His voice was hoarse. “Look, Sara, I can’t take this. I can’t
stand
the thought of your being hurt.”

“You have to stand it,” she said quietly. “Just as I do. If you want to help me, you’ll go now.”

He stood looking at her for a long moment and then turned and headed for the front door. “I do want to help you. I’ve
got
to help you.” He opened the door and glanced back over his shoulder. “Nothing in the whole damn world is more important to me than keeping you alive. Nothing, Sara.”

The door shut behind him with a forcefulness that held a hint of violence.

Sara sank down on the couch, her arms folded across her chest, hugging herself. She felt suddenly cold, isolated, now that Jordan had left. Lord, she hadn’t wanted to send him away. The temptation to go into his arms and let him hold her, protect her, had been nearly overpowering. She knew how strong Jordan was both physically and mentally, and it would have been wonderful to be able to lean on him when she was so frightened.

But she couldn’t lean on him if it meant putting him in danger. The very idea terrified her
even more than facing Kemp alone. No, there was no way she could have let Jordan stay and give her the comfort she wanted so desperately.

A knock sounded on the door. Lieutenant Blaise, she thought numbly. She would have to ask him to identify himself before she opened the door. He had a key to the lift, but told her not to open the door unless she was certain she knew who was on the other side. She got up from the couch and moved swiftly across the room toward the front door.

“Marambas called again,” Cam said as soon as Jordan walked into the suite. “He said to tell you he’d contacted his informant in the office of the New York police and there was something weird going on with the surveillance crew that was shadowing Kemp. It seems they intentionally distracted our people and—”

“Let him go,” Jordan finished for him as he threw himself into a chair. “What else did he say?”

“You knew?”

“It was a setup.” Jordan’s lips tightened. “With Sara as the sacrificial lamb. A very willing lamb.”

“No wonder you look so uptight.”

“That’s a massive understatement. If they pretended to lose Kemp, they must have arranged to keep a tail on him. Has Kemp reached San Francisco yet?”

Cam shook his head. “And he won’t be here for at least another forty-eight hours. Evidently, he’s
low on funds and bought a bus ticket from New York to San Francisco. It’s due in at the Greyhound station at 3:05 P.M. day after tomorrow. Marambas said to tell you his operative flew to St. Louis and will board Kemp’s bus there.”

Forty-eight hours. Kemp was coming, Jordan thought. There had been the slightest hope that Kemp might have decided not to make good on his threat, but now that hope was gone.

“What are you going to do?” Cam asked quietly. “Can’t you persuade Sara to get the hell out of this town?”

“No.” Jordan’s hands clenched on the arms of the chair. “She says she can’t let Kemp stay out on the street. She won’t even let me stay with her or help her.” He covered his eyes with his hand. It was trembling. “God, I’m scared.”

“The police will protect her,” Cam said. “I guess you’ll have to trust them.”

Jordan’s hand dropped again to the arm of the chair. “That’s easy to say. Would you be willing to sit on the sidelines if it was your wife they were using as bait?”

Cam hesitated. “No, I guess we’re both too possessive to rely on anyone else to protect what belongs to us. It must be a Bandor family trait.” He paused. “But what else can you do?”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to rest on my duff and do nothing.” Jordan stood up and headed for the front door. “I’m going back to Sara’s apartment and I’m staying there until they catch Kemp.”

“You said she wouldn’t let you stay with her.”

“I’ll find a way.”

A flicker of apprehension crossed Cam’s face. “Be careful, Jordan. For God’s sake, don’t lose the ground you’ve already gained. It may be too soon to—”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Jordan’s expression was bleak. “I have to take my chances. It’s better that I lose Sara than for Sara to lose her life.”

“Jordan …” Cam trailed off. What else could he say? He would probably do the same thing in Jordan’s place. “If I can help, let me know.”

“Just stay here in case Marambas calls again. Contact me right away if there’s any news about Kemp.”

“I won’t budge until you come back.” Cam hesitated. “You’ll be at Sara’s all night?”

“Yes,” Jordan lips tightened. “I’ll be at Sara’s.”

“Here take one of these sacks. I don’t want to crush your treasures.” He thrust a grocery bag into Sara’s hand and strode past her into the apartment. “Lord, it’s raining hard. I was lucky the sacks didn’t burst open in the supermarket parking lot. They’re soggy as hell.”

Sara quickly smothered the sudden leap of joy she had felt when Jordan had identified himself and she had opened the door to see him standing there. “What are you doing here? I told you—”

“To stay away from you.” Jordan gave her a flashing smile over his shoulder. “And I will, when
the trap is ready to be sprung. But I’m sure your Lieutenant Blaise has told you that you don’t have to worry about Kemp for another forty-eight hours. Why should I have to eat dinner alone when there’s no reason that you can’t join me?” He set two bags down on the kitchen counter. “Or rather I can join you. We’d both be drowned if we tried to make it to a restaurant.”

He pulled off his olive crewneck sweater and tossed it on one of the kitchen stools. The white shirt he wore beneath it was almost as wet as the sweater and clung like a second skin to his lean body. She could see the shadow of the dark hair feathering his chest through the damp shirt and had a sudden heated memory of the springy texture of that thatch as it touched her bare breasts.

She forced her gaze away from his chest and up to his face. “I don’t think this is a very good idea.”

“You have to eat.” He began unpacking the groceries. “Of course, you could send one of the policemen in the unmarked car across the street to the nearest Burger King.” He looked up and smiled. His dark hair was rumpled and slightly damp and the eye not covered by the black patch was twinkling. He looked like a mischievous pirate, and a melting tenderness touched her. “Now, wouldn’t you rather have one of these?” He rummaged in the sack until he found two cellophane-wrapped steaks and held them up triumphantly. “Did I ever tell you what a fantastic bush cook I am? I can do things with herbs and seasonings that will blow your mind.”

“You know how to cook?” Intrigued, she closed the door and moved toward him. “No, you know very well you never told me. You know everything about me and I know practically nothing about you.” She sat down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, gazing at him eagerly. “Did you spend much time in the outback?”

He lowered his gaze to the steak in his hands. “Pretty much. We didn’t always live at Half Moon Bay.” He ripped off the cellophane and turned on the broiler. “Until I was thirteen we had a station two hundred miles north of Adelaide. We barely eked out a living on the property, and my father and I earned extra money taking tourists into the outback to see ‘the glories of the land down under.’ ” He made a face. “God, I hated it. All I wanted to do was stay at home on Bandora and build our station into the best damn property in Australia.”

Jordan had never confided anything about his childhood and she was almost afraid to speak, afraid he would stop and withdraw from her again. “Bandora was the name of your station?”

Jordan nodded as he continued to unload the groceries. “My father said that someday our name would be sung from one end of the country to the other when we made Bandora all that it could be. How he loved that station.”

“And so did you,” she murmured, gazing at his face.

A sudden bitterness touched his lips. “Oh, yes, I loved it. Maybe even more than my father. We
ate, slept, and breathed Bandora.” He crushed the empty paper bag and threw it in the waste-basket beside the cabinet. “Neither of us could think of anything else.”

She felt a tiny thrill of excitement. She was coming so close. He had revealed more of his past to her in the last few moments than he had during the entire period of their marriage. If she was patient, surely he would give her the key to understanding him. “Did Cam live at Bandora too?”

“Not during the rough years. Those times were over when my father married his mother.” He looked up. “Where can I find a grill to put these steaks on?”

“In the cabinet.” She gestured to the doors below the sink. “Cam is your stepbrother? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“It wasn’t important. Cam is as close as any real brother to me and my father legally adopted him.”

It was important. Everything he was telling her was an important revelation that was ripping aside the barriers and the mystery that had kept her from knowing Jordan. “When did you move to Half Moon Bay?”

“Why don’t we talk about it later?” He gave her a surprisingly boyish smile over his shoulder as he knelt to find the grill. “To maintain my reputation I’ve got to concentrate on making you the best steak you’ve ever eaten.” He peered into the cabinet. “I don’t see a grill. Are you sure it’s here? Oh, there it is.” He drew out the grill and stood up with one lithe movement.

His damp jeans were clinging to the strong line of his thighs, she suddenly noticed worriedly. He’d probably catch cold standing there in those wet clothes. “Why are you worrying about those blasted steaks, when you’ll be lucky if you don’t get pneumonia?” She plopped the bag he had given her when he’d entered the apartment onto the breakfast bar and slipped from the stool. “I’ll put the steaks on while you go into the bathroom and towel off and use my hair dryer. Then light a fire in the fireplace and bake some of the dampness out of those clothes.”

“I’m not that wet. I’ll wait until—”

“Go,” she said firmly as she went behind the counter and took the grill from him. “Now.”

A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned toward the bathroom. “But you don’t know the culinary experience you’re missing by riding roughshod over my humble person.” He glanced back over his shoulder and solemnly winked his right eye. “You do know that it was all a plot?”

Her eyes widened warily. “A plot?”

He nodded solemnly. “I hired a pilot to seed the clouds and cause a cloudburst to place you in just this dilemma. I can’t really cook a great beefsteak.” He opened the door to the bathroom. “I’m much better with kangaroo meat.”

The smile was still lingering on Sara’s lips as the door closed behind him. She shook her head as she turned and placed the grill under the broiler. She had never known Jordan to behave with such boyish lightheartedness. She was glad she had decided to let him stay for dinner. But had she
decided or had she been swept along on the wave of Jordan’s personality? She frowned with sudden apprehension. She didn’t like the idea of being swept anywhere against her wishes, and the phrase brought back too many memories of Jordan’s manipulation of her in the past.

Still, the decision hadn’t really been against her will. She desperately wanted to find out more of Jordan’s past and he wasn’t treating her as he had before. His demeanor had been companionable, even sweet. Not calculated and sensual. No, she was being too wary of Jordan’s motives. He had come because he wanted to give comfort. He hadn’t wanted her to be alone with her fear and dread.

She began to season the steaks, her heart lighter and more full of hope than at any time since she had heard that Kemp had left New York.

“Tell me more about Bandora.” Sara snuggled deeper into the softness of the cushioned couch and gazed dreamily into the depths of the fire. “You said it wasn’t like Half Moon?”

Jordan shook his head before lifting his glass to his lips. “Night and day. Nothing was easy there. The land was hard and unforgiving.” He gazed down into the ruby depths of his wine. “So were the people who lived there.” He abruptly set his glass on the end table beside him, stood up, and crossed to the fireplace. “There’s nothing much to tell.” He picked up the poker and briskly stoked
the logs until the sparks flew. “Not much happens in the outback.”

But Sara had an idea something very important had happened to Jordan at Bandora. The sudden tension that wired his every movement was sending out clear signals that she was effortlessly picking up. She was beginning to be able to read him, she realized contentedly. He was no longer the enigma that had both fascinated and intimidated her. In the last week he had shown a vulnerable side that had touched her as his more forceful persona never had. “How old did you say you were when your mother died?”

He stopped in mid-action as he stirred the logs. “Twelve.” Then he straightened and replaced the poker before turning and smiling at her. “How about another glass of wine?”