Renee Simons Special Edition (14 page)

"We’re almost a mile from the house," Ethan said.

A gentle drizzle misted
Jordan
’s skin, cleansing and refreshing. The moist air cleared away the musty odor of the tunnel. Ethan watched her.

"What?"

"That was hard on you, wasn't it?"

"I just wish it didn't show."

"Nobody would know."

"You did."

"I'm starting to recognize your chin up, 'I've got to tough this out' stance."

She laughed.

"Let's go somewhere and talk," he urged.

Neither of them minded the rain while they searched for a coffee shop Ethan thought he remembered. Because of the weather, the usual crowds had deserted
Charles Street
. They felt safe enough to enjoy their freedom.

By the time they found the little hole in the wall nestled at the end of an alley, their clothes were thoroughly soaked. Laughing, they ran under the awning, eager to shake off some of the wetness, which turned out to be impossible, leading to more laughter.

Careless of whether she should take the liberty,
Jordan
reached up and combed her fingers through Ethan's rain-darkened hair. His gaze softened as his hand came around her waist and gently pulled her close. She closed her eyes to focus on his lips grazing her wet, spiky lashes and trailing down her cheek to nestle just beneath her ear where she could feel his warm breath. She sighed.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"I’ve never much liked walking in the rain. Until now."

He lifted her chin and looked into the eyes that now watched him. "Depends who you're walking with."

"Apparently."

His gaze traveled to her mouth. His lips followed, gently caressing hers, tasting, warming, then releasing them just as she decided her legs would give way if the kiss went on much longer.

He withdrew, as slowly as he'd approached. "C'mon, let's get out of the wet."  

Inside they slid into a booth at the back of the brightly-lit restaurant. They ordered bowls of creamy New England clam chowder and giant mugs of hot chocolate. When they'd finished, the waitress took away the crockery.

"Stay awhile,” she said. "You look like you got a lot to say. Might as well do it where it's warm and dry."

"Have you noticed we do most of our talking over food?"
Jordan
asked.

"There’s something about sitting across a table from each other...helps the talk flow."

"The right amount of distance between us?” she asked.

“Or just close enough?”

She smiled. "So what will it be this time?"

"Guess you could say trust is on the other foot. Do you trust me enough?"

"For what?"

"To tell me what happened to make you afraid of closed in places."

"You sure get to the point in a hurry."

"Learned the trick from you." He touched her hand briefly then leaned against the back of the booth.

"They're scary. That's easy enough to understand."

He shook his head. "Won't do, love. You were terrified and that's not an emotion I associate with you."

"Guess I'm just a wimp."

"Rot. A wimp would give in to her fears, not fight them as you do."

She thought about telling him, some, not everything. "I can't."

"Because I'd be too busy judging you to understand?" His perceptiveness surprised her, and she guessed that showed also. He nodded.

"I've got some growing up to do and maybe then you'll feel differently." This time, he took her hand and held it. "I'd like the chance to be as good a friend as you've been."

"So you believe I'm a friend. When did that happen?"

"Always known it. Just forgot for a while."

After they paid the check they waved good-bye to the waitress and stepped out into the street. The rain had stopped, allowing them to walk home under a clear sky.

Chapter 8

   The doors to the escape tunnel opened only from within, leaving Jordan and Ethan no way to retrace their steps. They would return to the house by the front door or not at all. At six o'clock they came walking boldly up the street. At the same moment, an unmarked police car turned the corner. The two detectives in the front seat seemed very annoyed.

Inside the house, Captain Mahan was less than amused by their escapade. "Childish, that's what the two of you are. How'd you do it? How'd you get past our men?"

"Sorry. I'm not at liberty to say."

"Damn it,
Caldwell
, this is no joke!"

"I know," Ethan said. "Would it help if I say none of your blokes was derelict?"

Exasperated, Mahan turned to
Jordan
. "And I suppose you won't tell me either?"

"Sorry, but I was sworn to secrecy."

Mahan was seething. "We're conducting a serious investigation here. We have a right to expect some cooperation from you."

“We’re getting pretty tired of arbitrary rules and regulations made without any consideration of the folks expected to follow.” Ethan shrugged. “Include us in the process if you want our cooperation.”

Mahan turned and went into the library. "What is he doing?"
Jordan
whispered.

"Calling off the units that have been beating the bush for us." He winked. "That'll teach 'em, eh?"

"You do know that what we did was really dumb, don't you?"

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Maybe, but I refuse to be repentant." He started up the stairs. "See you at dinner."

* * *

   The days in confinement wore all of them down. One sunny afternoon,
Jordan
found Mrs. Willis in the kitchen, crying quietly into a dish towel. Soggy with tears, the woman told her that Lieutenant Torres had kept her from visiting her husband in the hospital.

"I talk to him on the phone," she explained and took the hanky from her, "but it isn't enough." She dabbed at her swollen eyes. "I need to see for myself, and they won't let me go."

"Would you like me to speak to the lieutenant?"

The woman looked at her with an expression suddenly bright with hope. "Could you, dear? Maybe they'll listen to you. You have such a way about you."

Jordan
smiled. "And what way is that?"

Mrs. Willis shrugged. "I don't know exactly, just something that makes folks want to please you."

"Well then, let's see if we can get this 'something' to work on the lieutenant." She squeezed the housekeeper's hand. "Be right back."

A few minutes later, she returned with permission for Mrs. Willis to see her beloved George. Pleased for her,
Jordan
felt only annoyance over her failure to arrange some release time for herself. She found the restrictions particularly galling because Ethan had wangled a place on the surveillance team staking out Conlon's office building.

From the dining room window she watched Lieutenant Torres guide Mrs. Willis into the car and slide in beside her. The car drove off and turned a corner, leaving her fervently regretting her promise to stay put.

  Man the phones, he'd said. Ridiculous. With people in and out all day long turning the place into Grand Central Station, calls had become unnecessary. She couldn't remember the last time the phone rang. The officer monitoring calls down in the basement must be as thoroughly bored as she.

Just then, the gentle purr of the portable extension made a liar of her. She dashed to the sideboard, waiting for the fourth ring before picking up the receiver.

"So that's how you planned to get your information. You're right in there with them," a familiar voice said.

"Excuse me? Do I know you?"

"Quit playing games." The man chuckled. "You know me."

"Okay, Conlon. Why are you calling?"

"Unfinished business. Something to improve your position. And you still want your story, don’t you?"

She let her incredulity come through in her tone. "Over the phone?"

"No. Face to face."

"I'm not free to come and go as I wish."

"You got out once. You can do it again."

A chill shivered through her. Had they been followed?

"Just leave
Caldwell
behind." The answer came like a body blow. "And forget the phony name and the glasses. They won't work a second time."

"We have to meet in a public place," she insisted.

"You name it."

"Faneuil Hall Marketplace."

"I'll be there. One hour."

In the kitchen, she searched the pantry shelves for the emergency flashlight, then took the steps two at a time to her room for comfortable clothes and hiking boots. She checked her bag for cab fare and tied a scarf around her hair. Although she wanted the surveillance team to know about the call, she meant to avoid running into anyone who could keep her from leaving the house. In eight minutes she entered the library.

"Let's see if we can get this thing to work." She felt under the shelves, finding the latch that released the book case. As the unit swung away from the wall, she held it, giving herself just enough room to squeeze behind and open the hidden door. Another press of the button allowed the shelves to slide back into place.

At the bottom of the stairs, she lowered the flashlight and swept the beam along the ground. Nothing stirred, giving her the courage to take the first step, and then another. Finally, she moved into the depths of the tunnel. The light, dim as it was, let her see that nothing frightening dogged her and made the walk easier. The air smelled stale and a little moldy but the place held no danger. The threat waited on the outside. She could only hope that the officer in the basement would direct the surveillance team to keep an eye on her.

She swept aside a cobweb. Mr. C. must still think I'm Augusta Maxwell. Wonder what he wants? Another web blocked her way. She used the flashlight to cut through its delicate tracings, sending weird patterns of light dancing along the ceiling and walls. One long streamer trailed across her face. She batted it away with a muted curse that echoed harshly in the emptiness. Her feet found the depression in the ground that had created a puddle the last time. Today the ground was dry.

She knew the end of the passageway was just ahead. She didn't know what to say or do once she and Conlon met. What would he ask for now in return for the story he would give her?

"Damn it,
Jordan
. You should be thinking about what you can get out of him." The sessions with the task force had taught her a lot about Conlon’s comings and goings. She would try to use what she knew.

The door stood outlined in the beam of light. She unlocked it and stepped into the vestibule, then passed her hand over the wall in imitation of Ethan's movements. The outer door opened.

The afternoon sun shone bright and warm. No one watched the wall so she stepped through the opening. The door hissed closed. Two blocks away, she hailed a cab. Despite heavy midday traffic, she arrived at her destination with time to spare. She paid the driver and joined the crowd strolling through the area.

As she waited to cross the street, a limo pulled up to the curb and Conlon stepped out. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Why not?"

"You're suspicious of me."

"Yes."

"But that didn't stop you." She didn't bother answering. "You must want this story very badly," he said.

She looked around, casually assessing the crowd, looking for a familiar face or a van that might represent her protection. "Ambition can overrule a lot of fear and even more common sense."

"There is no doubt that ambition can be dangerous, but no one ever got anywhere without it." He took her arm. "Shall we walk a bit?"

"I’d rather sit." Maybe a stationary position would make it easier for the team to track her.

He nodded at a bench under a shade tree. "That's as good a place as any."

"Want to tell me why you went to the trouble of tracking me down?"

"I expected you to call for the interview. When you didn't I got curious."

"This project must be as important to you as it is to me."

"You convinced me that getting out our story could be helpful.”

"I hope you mean that because I have a lot of questions whose answers can only come from you. You’re a difficult person to research."

"How so?"

Careful, she thought. "Well, for one thing, I keep running into dead ends. Records reach back only so far and then stop. People say only so much...and then stop." His features hardened. "Money appears suddenly and disappears just as quickly without any record of where it came from or where it goes. And then there’s your silent partner, whose existence nobody can prove."