Authors: Renee Simons
Ethan nodded. "I've noticed."
"Glad those drongos didn't knock you senseless the other night," he said with a satisfied nod. "All healed, are you?"
"Almost."
"And just aching for another go at it, I'll wager."
Ethan groaned. They'd obviously had this discussion before. "I have no choice," he insisted, and leaned back against the padded booth.
"What d'you suppose you'll accomplish," continued Kevin, "except to get beat up again if you're caught." His voice went soft, his concern for his friend as clear as his wife's had been. "They nearly did you in the first time, mate. Don't look for trouble."
"I'm not looking for trouble, Kev, but I've gone over everything and I can't find any errors. I've got to get onto the site and see for myself where the failures occurred."
As the conversation continued, Lacey brought the wine and three glasses. Kevin poured the pale gold liquid as Ethan talked. The two men sat shoulder to shoulder, clearly sharing a special friendship, a kinship born of many years. They seemed as close as brothers, and to respect each other's opinion in a way that Ethan and Drew didn't.
Finally, Kevin shrugged and leaned back. Ethan smiled grimly, an indication he'd made his point. He looked at
Jordan
apologetically. "Sorry. I didn't mean to exclude you." He nodded at Kevin. "He takes some persuading."
"He's a good friend." She glanced at the pub owner, who gave her a smile of thanks.
"Then he should understand why I need to do this."
"He's worried about you."
Ethan stared at them, then took up his wine. "To friendship," he said, raising his glass to each of them in turn. "Objections and concerns duly noted and greatly appreciated."
After they acknowledged the toast and sipped the light, fruity wine, Kevin rose from his place and put a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "As you well know, I'm partial to green-eyed honey blondes. Best hold on to this one, mate, like I did mine." He left them to consider their wine and their menus, while
Jordan
made a mental note to watch for potential and unwelcome matchmaking schemes.
Hours later, they stood beneath a crystal chandelier in the white and gold lobby of her hotel. Ethan’s eyes were soft as he asked, "Have breakfast with me tomorrow?"
Don't be stupid, she thought, but some impulse led her to nod in agreement. His smile warmed her.
"I'll meet you here around nine,” he said.
Why did you do that, she chided herself. You’re supposed to be a pro at keeping your distance. Yet with the
Caldwells
you’ve broken all your own rules. She sighed. Dinner tonight, breakfast tomorrow - she needn't have worried about matchmakers like Kevin Durgin causing trouble. She was doing a fine job all by herself.
Still, as he turned to go, she called out, "Be careful tonight."
With a look of surprise, he lifted two fingers to his brow and left.
When Ethan reached the site he found it shrouded in darkness, except for pools of blue light cast by the safety lamps and a glow from the windows of the construction shack. He approached the small trailer and looked through the dusty glass. The night watchman leaned back in his chair, watching a row of monitors scanning the site. On the floor beside his chair lay a German Shepherd that looked powerful even in repose. When the animal sat up on his haunches and growled deep in his throat, the old man scratched him behind the ears, settling him down again.
“Easy does it, Smokey. It’s probably our old friend Ethan, is all. He won’t do us no harm.”
Ethan smiled. Old Lucas - a friend letting him onto the site when the builder locked him out. He watched the man rub the back of his neck at the same moment the dog pricked up his ears again. A pounding on the same door Ethan had used to enter sent him back into the shadows. Time to go, he decided.
Leading the Shepherd on a short leash, Lucas left the trailer and headed for the door. Ethan moved further into the cavern that would have been the central plaza for the complex and waited. The watchman returned with two enormous figures trailing close behind.
The men went inside the trailer only to emerge a few minutes later. "Let's check this place out," he heard one of them say. "The boss said to expect visitors tonight."
"Maybe we should take the pooch," another voice said. "If anyone's here that shouldn't be, he'll sniff 'em out."
"I'll have to come with you," Lucas said. "He won't mind no one else."
Ethan heard Lucas summon Smokey. The door to the trailer closed and the footsteps and voices moved away. He followed upwind of the small party at what he hoped was a safe distance. The trek would be worthwhile only if he heard something useful and if his presence remained undiscovered. Quite a trick, if he could pull it off.
Chapter 3
At
Jordan
’s hotel the next morning, nine o'clock came and went without Ethan, as did the following three hours. Finally, she got Kevin's phone number from directory assistance and called him.
"Could he have overslept?"
"I doubt it. He has a clock in his head. Damn! I told him to stay away from there." He softened his tone. "Don't worry,
Jordan
. There's a logical reason for this."
She sighed. "I hope so."
"I'd know if he were in trouble."
"How can you be sure?"
"We're mates, love. Pure and simple, we're mates."
They hung up, agreeing to touch base again when Ethan surfaced. For the rest of the afternoon, she tried to keep busy, going over her notes, writing outlines, reading and rereading photocopies of articles she'd gathered.
Nothing distracted her from the concern she felt or helped her deny that concern existed. Least effective of all? Grappling with the question of how her previous acquaintance with Terence Conlon would affect her assignment with Drew. A brief mental debate convinced her she could help Drew nail the man without conflict. After all, wasn’t that why she’d come?
At a little after three, she heard a knock. Ethan stood in the doorway - filthy, his windbreaker ripped at the shoulder, but otherwise apparently in one piece.
"Sorry I'm late." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His loopy grin caused a flutter in the pit of her stomach. "I can explain."
She held up a hand to cut off his next words. "Are there any new bruises beneath that grime?"
"No."
"Good. Then I won't feel guilty about giving an injured man a black eye."
"You've wanted to do that since we first met."
"You're right."
He looked disappointed. "Then nothing's changed?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Were you worried about me, love?"
"Yes, damn it. Where have you been?"
"I'll explain after I've had a wash."
She wrinkled her nose and smiled in spite of her irritation. "New cologne?”
He laughed. "Yeah, eau de dumpster."
She led him toward the bathroom and put on the light. "Care to explain?"
He stepped past her into the marble tiled room. "After the shower. I'm having trouble being around myself just now." He winked. "Twenty minutes and I'm all yours."
"Okay. For now, I'll settle for your clothes." She pulled out a muslin bag from a vanity drawer and handed it to him. "In here."
He looked at the bag, saw the valet service label and frowned in mock disappointment. "And here I thought you were putting the hard word on me."
"Translation, please?"
He dropped his jacket into the bag and handed it back to her, pulled his shirt over his head and dumped it in after. Her gaze dropped to a muscular chest covered with blond hair, then shot away as his hands gripped the snap fastening his jeans against his flat stomach.
"What do you think it means," he asked in a serious tone, "to a man wearing nothing but his skin?"
The message was clear, setting her cheeks on fire. She needed some way to control the situation. Things were getting too friendly, too personal, too...scary. She stepped backward and closed the door, leaving only her hand in the opening. "Just the clothes, please, Ethan, without any indecent proposals."
"Nothing indecent about it. Perfectly natural," he insisted, "considering the company."
"Ethan!"
The bag grew heavier as he added the rest of his clothing. With the water running in the shower, she turned the bag over to a valet. His expression confirmed that only his impeccable training kept him from asking about the odorous contents.
"Have these back to you in two hours," he said with a smile. "I hope!"
She closed the door, listening to Ethan's watery solo. It wasn't "Waltzing Matilda," but it would do. She opened the bathroom door an inch or so to make sure he'd hear her over the din.
"Have you eaten anything?"
"Not since dinner with you," he responded, and returned to his recital.
She called room service, ordering steak and eggs and tea for him, a salad and coffee for herself.
The water stopped and moments later, the door opened, letting out a cloud of steam.
"Did you run across a razor in here?"
Already disturbed by his presence in her room, she forced herself to ignore the fact that the man leaning out of the bathroom wore only a towel draped around his hips.
"In that wicker basket with all the complimentary toiletries." Her normal tone of voice pleased her. For the moment, at least, she had achieved the control she'd wanted, had put some distance between them. "Why are you shaving off your beard?"
He shrugged. "I grew it as a disguise, but they know this look, so it's got to go."
"I don't understand."
"Those blokes turned up again - at the building site."
"Did they see you?"
"Not this time. If I get rid of the facial hair, maybe it'll throw them off should our paths cross again."
"Want to tell me about the dumpster?"
He raked his fingers through his hair. "Nothing much to tell. I just got to the site when they showed up.
Between them and the security man and his dog I needed a place to hide. It worked before, with the car, you remember. Eventually, I fell asleep."
"It must have been really warm and cozy."
"Smelly or no, that trash bin was a lifesaver I may need again."
“You shouldn’t be there. How many times can you risk not getting caught?" She frowned. "What did you learn?"
"Nothing."
"Stay away, Ethan. It isn't safe."
"That's the least of my troubles."
A knock at the door brought room service with their food. Now swathed in a white terry cloth robe decorated with the hotel's monogram, Ethan ate with the relish of one who’d built up a lordly appetite in almost 24 hours.
She wasn't hungry. She was, however, observant enough to notice that without his beard, Ethan resembled his brother - square jawed, with a strong chin and thin but well-formed lips that turned up at the corners as if he smiled often - a nice looking man, with the kind of face one would never tire of seeing across the breakfast table. Her stomach flipped. Another breach in the wall?
The phone rang, saving her from the need to deal with that last errant thought. At the second ring,
Jordan
remembered her promise to call Kevin and made a dash for it. A worried voice sounded in her ear.
"I'm sorry, Kevin." She glanced over at Ethan, who watched her with curiosity. "He got here about forty minutes ago, smelling like the town dump, but okay."
"Damn it, woman..." Kevin began, then chuckled. "The town dump, eh? I'll wager that's a story. Put him on."