Authors: Renee Simons
Jordan
dug out the slip of paper and handed it to him. "Try that."
"What the hell is this?" he bellowed.
"Conlon gave it to me. It's the date, time and place where we'll be able to see his elusive partner."
He looked at the information. After starting it on its trip around the table, he looked at her with a sly, almost nasty expression. "How come he was so generous to you? You got something on the man?"
Dominique looked at Mahan. "Ease up, Gerry. Let her talk." She turned to
Jordan
.
"Why don't you tell us what happened?"
As she recounted the afternoon's events, Jordan’s mind raced ahead, carefully selecting what to tell them and what to leave unsaid, like some slightly out-of-whack computer sorting and selecting data. Tell them about the call, but don't tell them about the tunnel. Give them the cab but not where you picked up your ride. Let them have the conversation but nothing about Conlon's connection to your father. Beep.
Tell them he's willing to be interviewed by you, but don't give away the price you'll have to pay, if you agree. Will you agree? Beep. They have the rendezvous, but don't need to know about your interest in the partner. Who is he? Beep.
Give them some, but not all. SELECT! SELECT! When the crazy computer quieted and her mind went blank she knew she'd finished her narrative.
"Why do you think he's willing to give us this guy?" Dominique asked.
"He doesn't like him very much." Telling the truth helped her relax.
"Why you?" Patterson asked.
"I guess he trusts me." That wasn't exactly a lie, either. She relaxed a little more.
"How did you explain our presence?" Mahan asked.
"I didn't. He assumes I'm here to spy for him and get a story."
"Don't you think that's a little strange?"
She shrugged. "Why look a gift horse in the mouth?"
"If you remember," Mahan replied patiently, "that horse held destruction for the trusting fools who didn't look inside."
"What does he want in return?" Dominique asked.
Uncomfortable again,
Jordan
replied, "He hasn't said," and avoided Dominique's eyes.
"Watch out for this guy, Jordan. You might think you're using him, but that isn't how it works. He'll use you up and swat you like a fly."
"I'll be careful," she said, in a deliberately reassuring tone, though something told her "being careful" had become irrelevant.
On the appointed day,
Jordan
found herself excluded from the surveillance team. Though infuriated, she kept her feelings under wraps. Driven by a desperate need to see the man, she used the tunnel again and took her car out of the lot. After an uneventful drive downtown, she pulled into a spot across from the bank where Conlon and his partner would transact that morning’s business.
The surveillance van and support vehicles stood in position, disguised as service trucks. She got out a pair of binoculars and trained them on the bank entrance, adjusting the focus. Then she sat back and waited.
At precisely ll:00 o'clock, Conlon's limo pulled into a spot at the curb reserved for deliveries. The driver held the car door for him. Another man exited at the curb and stood for a moment or two, adjusting the jacket of his gray sharkskin suit.
Through the high powered lenses he seemed only inches away. His features filled the viewing field - black hair, olive complexion, high cheek bones, thin lips set in a hard flat line and the chilling yellow eyes that had haunted her dreams for years. As he moved away, she lowered the glasses and watched the two men enter the bank.
She sat for a long time, battling her emotions into submission. When the anger and pain had receded into the corner of her brain long reserved for them, she meditated away the giant knot in her stomach. The limo and surveillance vehicles would remain in position until the men came out of the bank. She had no reason to stay.
She drove for a long time, trusting some sixth sense she hadn't known existed to guide her through traffic and away from the city. Road signs and traffic lights, billboards and the weathered siding of
New England
salt boxes mingled with the man's face in a confusion of line, color and motion.
During the years between sixteen and twenty, she'd often wondered how she'd feel, what she would do, if she ever saw him again. She'd never known his name, but his features had been burned indelibly into her memory during the thirty-six-hour-long captivity that ended in her father’s death.
The further away she moved from the incident, emotionally and physically, through years of therapy and just plain living one day after the other, the more she realized how slim were the chances they'd ever meet again, especially after Uncle Dino turned his back on her. The rest of the family followed his example, leaving her no doubt that all ties with Dino's world had been severed, although no one had ever told her why.
She hadn't the heart to undertake a crusade to find the man on her own. She’d wanted to heal and get on with her life. Eventually, even the wondering stopped.
Now here she was, once again facing the problem, without any warning and totally unprepared for whatever happened next. Or was she?
That question brought her up short. Ahead, a green and white sign pointed to the beach. She pulled off the road and parked on a small area of blacktop overlooking the bay.
With her sneakers looped over one shoulder, she took a path down a low sand dune to the beach. Walking along the shore and listening to the lazy slap-hiss of the surf, she picked up her last thought. Had the years left her unprepared to face what lay ahead or was she in the best position possible?
True, she'd had some bad moments lately and would probably have more, but she hadn't crumbled, not completely anyway. If things got no worse than they'd been in the shed a couple of weeks earlier, she'd survive.
Behind her stood a custom designed support system aching to bring this guy down. Facing each other from opposite sides of the law, both worked toward the same goal. If Conlon proved true to his word, the task force would end up with the ammunition necessary to satisfy its need. She could look forward to seeing justice done, maybe not for what had happened to her and her parents, but justice all the same. Best of all, she would have a hand in making it happen.
Of course, Conlon was going for immunity from prosecution, but that didn't bother her. He'd already paid a price for giving his partner the freedom to practice whatever dishonesties had led to the accident. If there had ever been a score to settle with Conlon, Terence Jr.'s death had settled it for her.
Out on the bay, the water reflected a gunmetal sky and lowering clouds. She headed back to her car. A highway sign put her near
Chatham
, tempting her to spend the night on the
Cape
. But that would be hiding. She had no time for such self-indulgence, no time to let events take their course or to let others dictate what that course would be.
In the end, making a decision proved easy. She would work with Terence Conlon, would meet with him whenever and wherever he said, passing his information to the task force. She would help Drew write the book he hoped would clear Ethan. Between them all, they would bring down the man who had destroyed her youth and family. He owed her and he would pay. At the first rotary, she turned the car around and headed back to
Boston
.
By the time she got back to
Beacon Hill
the lot had closed. She pulled in along the park side of the street. An officer let her in.
"They’re waiting on you in the war room, Miss."
With a nod she knocked on the library door and entered, leaning against the solid mahogany panel hoping to capture some of its strength for herself.
As before, the Captain was the first to speak. "Well? Where were you?"
"Driving around."
"Don't you ever follow orders?" he asked impatiently.
She stared at him for a moment. "I did once, a long time ago. I didn't like it."
His face went beet red. "What the hell does that mean?"
"None of your business."
"
Jordan
..." Dominique's tone was a warning.
"I don’t like being shut out."
"For God's sake, woman, we're only trying to protect you." Mahan seemed about to explode.
She moved over to stand before him. "I've been beyond your protection since I met Conlon. We just didn't know it."
"What's he got on you?" Dominique asked.
The computer in
Jordan
’s head buzzed a warning and she turned to the other woman. "Do you want to nail Conlon and his partner?"
"Of course."
"Do you agree that I'm the link to Conlon?"
"For now."
"Well, for now, I have no answers for you. When I do, you'll know about it. Until then, you'll have to trust me to play out this scenario my way."
"From now on," Lieutenant Torres said quietly, "use the front door. At least that way, we'll be able to keep a tail on you."
"It's foolish to be so cocky," the lawyer interjected. "Or to discount the protection provided by the police."
She looked over. His liquid brown eyes reflected sincerity. He meant well.
"Give me a break, Mr. Patterson. I'm telling you that protection works only because the opposition chooses not to test it. Those guys know every move we make. They probably know the names of every officer on every shift. How else could Conlon have timed his call as well as he did? How else could he have followed Ethan and me when we got out the other day?"
"Someone followed us?" Ethan's voice was soft, with an expression somewhere between denial and amazement. "How do you know that?"
"He knew I got out and he knew you were with me. Kind of scary, isn't it?" Calm once more, she looked from one person to another. "I propose that you all leave me alone while I'm working with Mr. Conlon. He wants to talk, and to talk to me, so let him. If you tail me, he'll know it. He might back away."
"If you're so safe," Mahan said, "how do you explain those mutts coming after you the other day?"
She shrugged. "Maybe they hadn’t gotten the message yet."
"Unless these guys are the partner's men," Mahan said, "which means they'll be a permanent threat."
"We'll need to deal with them eventually," the lieutenant said.
Jordan
needed to cut off the debate, at least for the moment. "I'm beat. Leave me on my own for a couple of days. I promise to come up with something scrumptious for you to chew on. Right now, I want a bath and some sleep." Looking around the table, she saw confusion, but not much else. "Good night."
Two hours later, after a long, relaxing soak, she slipped into a pair of satiny pajamas she'd purchased in the hotel's boutique. She settled on the window seat and looked down at a pocket-sized garden bordered by miniature fruit trees heavy with blossoms. Stars flickered in the dark sky. Through the open window, an apple-scented breeze teased her senses.
A knock sounded at the door, followed by Ethan's voice. "Are you decent?"
That depends on whom you ask, she thought. "Yes. C'mon in."
He moved over to the window. "No lights?"
"Easier to watch the night. Join me?"
Ethan sat opposite her. "I've never thought of you as a tense person, but you're closed off and wrapped tight, as if you're afraid something vital will slip. What happened between you and Conlon?"
"What makes you think anything happened?"
"I saw your face as the two of you talked. You looked as if lightning had struck. Downstairs, you were obviously holding back. Maybe you think you can't trust the others, but you can trust me. Tell me what's going on."
His voice was soft and persuasive, his presence calming.
Jordan
yearned to confide in him, to share the burden.
"Let me be your friend," he urged quietly.
"I promised to tell no one."
"He's a con man,
Jordan
, a bloody awful drongo. Do you think he'd grant you the same consideration? Can you imagine he won't turn you over to his goons the first time you cross him?"