Renee Simons Special Edition (19 page)

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 getting 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."

"Because you knew he'd try to talk you out of it."

"My mind was set. Not telling him saved both of us a lot of time and energy."

"You might have been wiser to let Drew do the interview instead of calling attention to yourself. He is the reporter, after all, and you have more reason to be careful."

She looked down at her hands. "I had to do it."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I just did."

"There must have been a reason." He lifted her face with one finger beneath her chin. "You trusted me enough to tell me the other. Tell me this."

"I can't."

"What are you hiding?"

Tears welled up in her eyes. She tore away from him before they brimmed over. At the living room window, she pushed down the feelings of anger and frustration that threatened to dissolve what remained of her composure. Ethan came up from behind and put his arms around her, sheltering her against his chest. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It's all right, love. If you can't talk about it, don't. I understand."

Still in his arms she turned and looked up at him. "Do you?"

"I think so," he said, touching her cheek.  "Dominique and her people have been running a check on you since you started working with Conlon. They figured you had to be tied to him somehow or he wouldn't have given you the information you've been bringing back. The fact you recognized Boots Woerner didn't help."

She started to protest, but he stopped her. His hands on her shoulders sent gentle ripples of heat flowing through her. She allowed herself to feel the familiar warmth and be comforted.