Renee Simons Special Edition (3 page)

"Belt yourself in 'cause we're gonna ditch these blokes."

Ditching the blokes obviously involved moving at breakneck speed down one narrow street and up the next, cornering on two wheels and pushing through traffic signals as they turned red.

"Are you trying to bring down the law on your tail?"

"Not a bad idea," he muttered, turning a corner with squealing tires.

She winced at the abuse to rubber and brakes. I should have accepted Drew's offer of a car, she thought. The back window showed the street behind empty of traffic. Ethan slowed and glanced from side to side.

"What are you looking for?"

"A place to hide."

He seemed to find it in an alley housing a construction dumpster nearly as big as an eighteen-wheeler. He backed in and pulled up behind the container, then cut the engine. The Sunday-morning silence closed around them. She made out the hum of an approaching engine and the crunch of tires as the vehicle stopped at the mouth of the alley.

Ethan reached for the car phone that had been a birthday gift from her ex-boss. "Give me your scarf," he whispered, keying in some numbers as she unwrapped her hair. He folded the length of sea-green silk over the mouthpiece.

The heavy thud of her heart nearly covered the soft buzz but not the sound of a gravely voice filling the air. "Issat you boss?"

"Break off the surveillance. You gentlemen are needed back here at the office. Twenty minutes, tops."

Ethan spoke softly, trading his own accent for one faintly reminiscent of
Philadelphia
's blue collar south side frosted over with a touch of the Mainline. She’d been away from Philly a long time, but the familiar speech patterns rang true.

Jordan
tuned out the rest of the conversation to concentrate on the sound of footsteps tapping on the pavement as someone walked down the alley toward them. She checked her door lock as Ethan cradled the phone. He had one hand on the ignition key and the other on the wheel when a voice hollered from curbside.

"Hey, Aldo, da boss just called. Said to leave 'em be and come on back to the office!"

"In a minute," the near voice answered.

"Not in a minute. Now!"

A string of epithets prefaced the crash of a fist or, more likely, a shoe against the side of the dumpster. The reverberation covered Aldo's retreat back out of the alley. A door slammed. Tires screeched. The vehicle drove off, freeing
Jordan
to breathe normally again.

Ethan grinned and rolled his eyes. "That wasn't very original, but it was all I could think of."

"Does da boss really sound like that?"

"That was as close to the real thing as I could get."

"Never find fault with a ploy that works."

Her anger surfaced and she fought to keep her voice steady. "How did you know the number?"

He shrugged. "Funny what you remember in times of stress."

"You've just worn twenty thousand miles off my tires and ten years off my life. That entitles me to an explanation."

"Aldo and his partner work for the contractor on a building project I designed. They can usually be found guarding the person and property of “da boss,” but it seems they have a new assignment - me."

"Why are they interested in you?"

"There was an accident at the construction site with injuries and deaths among the crew. They got an injunction to keep me away, so I've been nosing around at night. Haven't found much so far. Maybe those blokes are making sure I don't."

"Then, maybe you should stay away."

"Not bloody likely. They're hiding something and I need to know what it is." He grimaced, then shrugged again. "Still hungry?"

"More so."

"Trust me to drive?"

She sighed. "Just keep it under seventy, please."

"Next stop - Boston Common."

Jordan
wondered whether a picnic in the park would return a strange day to normalcy or make it even more bizarre. Most disturbing of all, had they seen the last of Aldo and his pal?

Chapter 2

In the park, Jordan and Ethan found a spot under a tree and put out cheese and salami, olives, a crusty Italian bread, and a bottle of rosé. A cloudless sky hung above them and a soothing balm of warm air flowed over them. The laughter of children mingled with the sound of a guitar and the rustle of new leaves overhead.

"This is wonderful."

"I have one more surprise." He reached behind him and held out a basket of strawberries. "Mr. Brancusi grew these in his greenhouse and swears they're sweet as sugar."

She bit into one, closing her eyes in pleasure as the juicy sweetness ran over her tongue. "He deserves a medal."

She offered the other half. Ethan steadied her hand with his own as she fed him the fruit. A shiver coursed through her as she felt the rough texture of his callused palm - not a wave of fear, as she would have expected, but something strange, almost - exciting. Not possible, she decided.

"Your hands have known hard work," she said to cover her confusion. 

"The life of a stockman is a far cry from the one my brother leads."

Was there a hint of criticism in his words? "Is a stockman something like a cowboy?"

"Exactly."

"A hard life..."

"It'll test you."

He'd spoken softly, without brashness or bravado. His tone called attention somehow to his long, lean, yet powerful frame. An aura of authority surrounded him, like the solidity of a lone tree holding fast to the desert soil, its roots deeply imbedded in the ground as it reached for the sky.

A furrow spanned his forehead. She wondered if there was some woman back home who ached to soothe it away with gentle fingers. With a man this attractive, she thought so. Yet, looking past the cuts and bruises, past the creases at the corners of his eyes, she saw reflections of vast open spaces and uncounted days and nights alone. What kind of woman would it take to wipe away that loneliness, she wondered, and then wondered why she cared.

His quiet strength seemed to reach out to her. "I suspect you've never been found wanting," she said.

His perplexed look mirrored her own confusion. "We got off to a rough start, surely more my fault than yours.” He thrust out his right hand. “Can we begin again?"

"I'd like that."

"Pleased to meet you, Jordan."

She took his hand. Startled by the almost electric warmth that flowed between them, she could only offer an inane, "Pleased to meet you, too."

"Right then," he said. "Let's walk."

After they disposed of the wrappings, he slung the blanket over his shoulder. They strolled across the green, watching others share in the beauty of the day. An object came hurtling toward them. Ethan stepped in front of her. He pulled it down and with a deft twist of the wrist, tossed it back to a player across the field.

"Where did you learn to play Frisbee?"

He gave her a wry look. "Never heard of a boomerang?"

She felt her face grow hot at his mildly sarcastic tone. He ducked his head in embarrassment.

"There I go, being ill-mannered again. Guess I'll have to start over - again.”

“We don't have to talk.”

"I'm out of practice," he said with a chuckle. "That's what comes of living alone."

"But you have Drew."

"We don't speak the same language."

"Or have the same accent. How did you manage that?"

"You can't be interested in the
Caldwell
saga."

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."

"When my father's job with a mining company took us from
Boston
to
Australia
, Andy had other things to do so he stayed behind."

"Why do you call him Andy?"

"Old Andrew thought Drew sounded more distinguished and ‘literary,’ but he’ll always be just Andy to me."

"What things did ‘just-Andy’ have to do?"

"First Harvard, then
Oxford
,” he said with a grin. “All the rough edges were polished to a fare-thee-well in the mother country and he's been 'veddy, veddy upper crust' ever-bloody-since."

"What about you? Did you like your new home?"

"Kids adapt. I spent a lot of time trekking from one encampment to another with the son of our Aboriginal stockman. These days, Luther Marramuti’s trying to preserve his people’s culture while easing them into the twenty-first century. Back then, we were just kids together, living free and losing track of time."

"Your mother didn't mind?"

"She had her hands full. My Dad's company leased him a cattle station for us to live on. He spent most of his time at the mine. Running the homestead fell to my Mum, a lot for a woman fresh from the States and city born and bred."

"Freedom," she remarked with a nod.

"A good life. I miss it."

"Are your parents still there, on the station?"

After a noticeable hesitation, he said only, "They're dead."

"Mine, too,"
Jordan
said with a nod. Instantly, she regretted her impulse to tell him what few people knew.

"It can be rough - being without family."

"You have a brother, imperfect though he may be."

"Your turn," Ethan said.

What could she tell him that wouldn't be a lie, or more of that same truth she'd never told anyone. She settled for a compromise between the two.

"There's nothing much to tell. I grew up on a farm in
Pennsylvania
, went to college in the mid-West and then moved to
New York
. I worked there for four years. A very ordinary life, and nowhere near as idyllic as yours."

"Not so ordinary. I know lots of folks who've never lived more than 10 miles from where they were born. Striking out on your own took courage."

"Sometimes you don't have a choice."

He shook his head. "When we were trying to evade those guys, you stayed cool, no matter how dicey things got. You've got guts. I admire that."

"You called it stupidity. Remember?"

"There's a difference between taking foolish risks and toughing out a sticky situation."

"I'll try to remember that."

"How did you hook up with my brother?" he asked.

"I’d worked with him at the advertising agency when we did pro bono work for some of his pet causes. I’d just quit my job and was at loose ends. He needed help."

"Why'd you quit?"

Why indeed. Why walk away from a flourishing career, a condo on
New York City
's upper east side, a man who'd gone from ideal boss to close friend, to would-be lover? No one in her tiny circle of friends had understood her concern that Gray Hamill had gotten too close, that he wanted more than a working relationship, more than she could give. And she wasn't about to explain - then or now.

"The time had come to move on."

"Was it really that simple?"

"No,” she replied, “but in the end, it was necessary."

"And now you're Andy's assistant?"

"For the next few weeks."

"Doing what?"

"Helping him research his next book," she said, mindful of Drew's request.

"If you’re helping him do what he does best he must be worried about this one."

"He wants to get it right." Although no stranger to secrecy, somehow being evasive with Ethan over something that concerned him left her feeling uncomfortable. She was glad he didn't question the matter further.

"What happens when the book is finished?"

Jordan
shrugged. "I’ll move on, find something new."

"Not 'someone' new?"

Confused by the question, she stared at him until the implication became clear. "Drew and I are not 'hooked up' the way you apparently mean.”  Her voice shook with anger. “We work together. That's all."

"When you stayed behind last night, I guess I thought...” He cleared his throat. “...I'm not doing very well in the diplomacy department, am I?"

"Your technique definitely needs work."

"I know I don't deserve another chance but if you'll forgive me I will try to do better."

He looked so contrite she nearly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, despite her anger of only a moment ago. What he lacked in tact he certainly made up in charm. "How many chances do you think you'll need?"

"To stop putting my foot in my mouth every other sentence?"

She nodded.

"I hope not so many you run out of patience."

Back at the car Ethan asked, "Where are you staying?"

"At The
Taylor
. Do you know it?"