Something About Joe (5 page)

“Thank you,” she whispered to Joe as their
eyes met above Mitchell’s head. Joe’s eyes were warm with
understanding and Allison’s heart gave a little lurch in
response.

Joe Martin was kind, and kindness was an
attribute she admired in a man, but had very rarely encountered.
“Thank you,” she said again and her voice regained its strength,
“for looking after Mitchell today.”

“
He’s a
great kid,” Joe said, and Allison felt he truly meant it. He
reached forward and ruffled Mitchell’s hair. His face was too
close. Allison stepped backward, in automatic defense of her
personal space. She wasn’t used to letting people, especially men,
get so close.

“
There’s a
message from Help F
rom Above for you,”
said Joe. “They’ve managed to find a nanny for Mitchell for
tomorrow. A female. But I guess you’ve probably organized someone
else yourself.”

“No, I wasn’t able to.”

Joe shrugged his powerful shoulders. His
face didn’t give away anything. “I know you don’t want a man. No
worries. The agency can easily get me something else. There are
some single mothers who value a man’s presence in their child’s
life.”

Allison
gasped at his bluntness. She hated the term “single mother”; she
wasn’t that way by choice.

Now it was his turn to apologize. “Hey, I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were a single mother. I
mean—”

Her mouth
twisted. “Don’t worry. I am a single mother. All the
way.”

She’d been
on her own from the second she’d joyfully told her husband she was
pregnant—and he’d told her to get a termination. And as her
decree absolute
had come through a few months ago, there was no doubt as to
her status.

Joe Martin’s voice seemed even huskier.
“I’ll check on your dinner before I go.” He started down the
stairs.

“You’ll check my dinner?” Allison couldn’t
stop her voice from rising in disbelief.

“Sure,” he said. “I found some chicken and
some veggies in the fridge and threw them together for you.”

So that was
the delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen, not Mitchell’s
simple meal. “I...I can’t believe you cooked my dinner.”

“Don’t the other nannies?”

“They don’t see it as part of their
job.”

Joe shrugged. “I like cooking.”

He bounded down the remaining stairs and
headed for the kitchen. Slowly, burdened by the weight of her
sleeping son, Allison went back to Mitchell’s room to put him down
for the night.

She tucked
him into bed, popped his favorite Elmo toy next to him, and kissed
him.

She loved how utterly innocent he looked in
sleep, his ginger eyelashes fanned on his cheek, his mouth slightly
open, his body twitching sometimes, obviously dreaming. What would
a child his age dream about?

Through the open door she could hear the
faint sound of pans clattering in the kitchen below. Was she
dreaming? She’d be able to eat a decent meal and relax in a tidy
house before she tackled that briefcase of work. With luck, she’d
be in bed before midnight. Thanks to Joe Martin.

She could also relax knowing her child had
been well looked after, even meeting Diane’s exacting
standards.

She switched
on Mitchell’s night-light and prayed that he would sleep through
the night. There was another round of meetings in the morning; if
she had to get up to him she knew she’d be operating below
par.

She went downstairs, where Joe Martin was on
her sofa pulling on his boots. Then he stood up, shrugged on his
leather jacket and picked up his helmet.

Dressed in his biker gear he looked somehow
less approachable than in his damp T-shirt and bare feet. Tough.
Unconventional. As far away from the picture of a nanny as it was
possible to be.

“I’m off,” he said.

They were standing close enough for her to
see into the depths of his navy blue eyes, to note his firm,
sensual mouth and strong jaw.

S
he wished she hadn’t met Joe
Martin like this—he her nanny, she his employer. She wished they’d
met in a club, a bar, even the supermarket. She took a deep
breath.

“Joe, I’d like you to come back tomorrow to
look after Mitchell. And for the remainder of your trial week as
booked. I’ll call Sandy and cancel your replacement.”

If she’d
expected gratitude, amazed surprise, she was disappointed. “That’s
cool. I’ll see you same time tomorrow,” was all he said.

He closed the door behind him. She could
hear the heavy beat of his boots sound down the short pathway, then
the squeak of her metal gate opening and the clunk of it
shutting.

She heard
the powerful throb of a motorcycle draw up in front of her house.
She hadn’t given a thought to where Joe had parked his bike during
the day. A permit was needed to park outside the house. But he
hadn’t left it here; someone was picking him up. She walked to the
window and pulled the curtain aside, just enough for her to see out
but not enough for Joe to be able to see her.

In the light
from the street lamp, she saw a small, slender figure spring off
the bike and take off her helmet, shaking out long, auburn hair to
fall around her shoulders. Joe Martin pulled her to him in a hug.
The girl’s arms reached up around his neck.

Allison let
the curtain fall, and stood there until she heard the motorcycle
roar away. She replayed the hug over and over in her head. Would
the hug be followed by a kiss when Joe and his friend got home? How
would it feel to be kissed by Joe, to have his sexy mouth possess
hers, to be pulled against his hard body and feel his hands
caressing her?

Her nipples hardened and tingled at the
thought. Her physical response surprised her—she hadn’t felt sexual
stirrings for a long time.

She knew she would think about kissing Joe;
think about it again and again as she lay alone and restless in her
bed, imagining herself in that young woman’s place, and desperately
trying to suppress a racing excitement at the thought of seeing her
son’s nanny again in the morning.

CHAPTER THREE

T
he lunch was going well. Not
only were the Hong Kong bankers positive about the syndication deal
for Allison’s client, but the bank colleagues Allison had invited
were amazingly supportive of her proposals.

Anything for the bank, she thought, cynical
at their show of support for her in front of the clients. She had
no illusions that the men in her division were rooting for her
personal success. She’d been promoted over them. If they could
snatch this deal from her for the bank, and get the glory and the
commission for themselves, they wouldn’t hesitate to cut her
down.

This
ruthless male competitiveness was a part of her job she
hated—accepted, it went with the turf—but hated all the same. And
it made her determined not to let them win. She knew she was
smarter and more perceptive than most of these guys—that’s why
she’d gotten the job.

Clive made a
point of praising some research Allison had done. She looked across
the table at him with gratitude—he was the exception among her
ruthless, power-hungry colleagues. About forty, attractive in a
lean, intense way, Clive Henderson had been her mentor since she’d
started at the bank.

However, her
cynicism button was not switched off. Clive had never hidden the
fact he found her attractive. And it was in his interest to have
her succeed. It didn’t do his career any harm to have a rising star
such as herself on his team. But he’d helped and encouraged her
more than he had to, especially when she’d been going through the
traumas surrounding Mitchell’s birth and the divorce.

“Been there, done that,” he’d explained when
she’d thanked him for his support. He’d been divorced
twice—marriages were a casualty of the long hours and excessive
dedication her business demanded.

As a result,
she had sworn she would be loyal to him. If she could close this
deal it would not only help her out financially, but also in some
way repay him for the trust he’d placed in her.

There was a lull in the conversation and
Allison seized the opportunity to excuse herself and head toward
the restaurant’s rest room.

That morning, Joe Martin had turned up on
time and she’d felt confident about leaving Mitchell with him. But
Mitchell was developing a cough and she wanted to check he was
okay.

She used her cell phone to call the other
cell she’d given Joe Martin that morning, asking him to keep it
switched on so she could always get in touch. A cell phone for the
nanny was an expensive luxury, she knew, one she could ill afford
with the debts she had to repay, but worth it for the reassurance
it brought her.

Joe answered the phone in his distinctive,
husky voice.

“Is Mitchell okay? How’s the cough?” she
asked.

“Fine. No trace of it now. It’s warm and
sunny so I thought he was well enough to let him go to the park.
His grandparents think he’s okay, too.”

Allison felt
her heart pump violently in her chest. The blood rushed in her ears
and the sounds of the restaurant receded.

“
But he
doesn’t have any grandparents.” Panic squeezed her voice to a
shriek. Her mind began to race. Mitchell did have grandparents but
not any who had ever acknowledged his existence.

Joe Martin sounded puzzled but not
concerned. “They said they visit with him on Wednesdays.”

“You believed a pair of strangers?” Rage and
terror choked her. “What did they look like?”

Cell phone
reception was notoriously bad in harbor-side McMahons Point, thanks
to interference to the signal from the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
Allison strained to hear Joe’s reply as his voice broke up. “In
their sixties, gray-haired, the woman—”

That gave her no clues.

“Where is Mitchell now?”

“At the park—”

“Go after him. Get him back. Now.”

“But I—”

The phone cut off. She couldn’t even be sure
Joe had heard what she’d said. She shook her cell and hit it hard
but still no reception. She shoved it back in her purse.

Mitchell. Her baby. Abducted. Kidnapped.
Worse.

She could be cool and calm in the boardroom
with billions of dollars at stake, but a suggestion that Mitchell
was in danger or trouble and her professional control went out the
window.

What to do? Surely Joe wouldn’t put Mitchell
in danger? But how much did she really know about him?

Her palms felt slick with sweat, her heart
thumped with panic. She would have to go home and check. But first
she would call again on a landline. It might be a mistake. Falling
apart would not help Mitchell. She found the restaurant’s reception
desk.

“Please, I have to use your phone.” The
waiter behind the desk must have read something in her face
because, without a word, he pushed it toward her. She called the
house, but her voicemail cut in.

She slammed down the receiver. The waiter
started at the noise. “Is everything all right?”

Allison covered her eyes with her hands and
shook her head. The lunch. The meeting. The deal. The deal that was
so big, so important, Clive had taken her off her other
accounts.

Blow this
deal and she could well be heading out the bank’s revolving door
the wrong way. No commission. Her reputation shot. No way to pay
off the debts. No money to support Mitchell. The only way open the
stigma of bankruptcy and the end of her career in
banking.

She had no choice. She broke into a half run
toward the table. Eight pairs of masculine eyes looked up at her in
surprise.

“My son,” she choked out, “something’s
happened to my son. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

From the
visiting bankers, surprise, shock. From her colleagues, stunned
disbelief, even a thinly disguised glee. To them, she’d proven what
they privately maintained—mothers didn’t make senior managers. And
they’d turn her perceived weakness to their advantage.

Clive jumped to his feet. “Allison, surely
it’s something your nanny can manage.”

She shook her head. “No. It isn’t. I’m
sorry.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. He couldn’t dissuade her.

She turned to the men from Hong Kong. “We
understand of course,” one murmured politely. She didn’t care if
they didn’t. Her child came first and always would.

She ran into the street and immediately
hailed a taxi. “McMahons Point, as fast as you can.” She fumbled in
her purse and threw a fistful of notes onto the front seat.

“
Right,”
said the taxi driver and took off.

With
trembling fingers, Allison punched out the number of Joe’s cell
phone, but only got an impersonal voice telling her the number was
not responding.

Where was Joe? With Mitchell and these
“grandparents”? Or still at home?

She gripped the seat in front of her,
mentally urging the car on. Traffic was sparse and the taxi was
speeding. She was in her street within five minutes.

“
Wait here,”
she instructed the driver. She dashed into the house. Empty. She’d
try the park. Though why the heck would kidnappers take a child to
a nearby park?

She got back into the taxi. “The park at the
end of Blue’s Point Road,” she directed the driver.

The park was
right at the edge of the harbor. But Allison didn’t notice the
breath-taking views of the bridge and the Opera House or the
ferries plying their way across the dancing blue water. All she saw
was Joe Martin sitting on a park bench reading a book.