Authors: Renee Simons
"With that collection of awards inside, I wonder what
is the point of hiring me
,”
Jordan
said.
"When you came to me and volunteered to help I realized you could bring a fresh perspective to this investigation. You know none of the people involved and very little about the accident itself. You’re the ideal person to help me prove my brother is innocent."
Jordan
winced. She hadn’t told Drew that Conlon had long ago been a business associate of her father. That he’d left her father to the less-than-tender mercies of his enemies, an act that destroyed her family.
Drew's housekeeper Mrs. Willis brought a pitcher of iced tea and steaming plates that might have set
Jordan
's stomach purring with anticipation had she been less agitated.
She glanced up to find Drew watching her. His eyes had misted over and his fingers trembled as he raked them through fine, straw colored hair. "I failed Ethan when we were both much younger. That will not happen again. This book you shall help me write will expose those responsible for the accident and exonerate him."
"I’m curious -- why haven’t you gone to the authorities?"
"The builder's influence reaches so high, one can't know who to trust. One can only get the information before the public and hope honest officials act on it."
He poked a fork into his food without tasting any of it. Instead, he took a last drag and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. Within seconds, he lit another.
Jordan
knew him from her previous job and even in moments of high tension had never seen him lose control. At the moment, he seemed very close to doing just that.
"You make your living as an investigative reporter," she said. "I was a researcher at an ad agency. Even though I’m here to help, I’m not sure I can do anything for you that you can't do for yourself."
"I believe that whatever went wrong did so because of the builder's malfeasance. I expect you to conduct your own investigation into the facts, starting from scratch. Either prove me right or prove me wrong." He pushed his plate to one side and leaned his arms on the table. "Whatever the outcome, I’ve seen your work and trust your skills. You have a knack for ferreting out even the most obscure bits of information. You’re thorough, resourceful and creative."
“I hope I can live up to that endorsement."
He focused on her eyes. She felt as if she'd been placed under a microscope and the scrutiny made her nervous.
"We both know what you can do," he said. "Yet you seem unsure of yourself."
"My actions never mattered so much before."
She, too, moved her unfinished lunch aside. The realization that her competence, or lack of it, would decide a man's future had dulled her appetite. The disappointment she would feel if they failed to bring Conlon to justice killed it dead.
"When and where do I begin?"
* * *
Two hours later, in tee shirt and shorts, she had nearly finished the first half of her run on the beach. She kept a steady
pace,
occasionally glancing up at the motels and houses perched atop the high bluffs that rimmed the bay. Her shoes slapped against the hard-packed, wet sand along the shore as her thoughts drifted back to Drew and his quest for truth.
Working with him challenged her, more than anything she'd tackled during her years of helping to plan ad campaigns at Hamill-Hanover Advertising. At stake were a man's reputation and career and the chance to see her family avenged. If she could help Drew get at the truth, whatever it turned out to be, she would know she had accomplished something that mattered, something she hadn’t managed to do for herself.
At a stone jetty reaching arrow-straight into the bay, she turned to complete the three-mile loop, finally stopping at a driftwood log to time her pulse. Satisfied she was nearly as fit as during her college track days, she walked the remaining distance to a wooden staircase leading up to Drew's property, with just enough time to shower and change.
He’d invited her for dinner and she'd accepted, although instinct warned that only by keeping her distance could she guard the privacy she'd always needed to feel safe. As they were finishing their coffee, the front door opened and booted steps thunked in the slate-floored entry.
“Hey, Andy, you there?”
“We’re in the dining room.”
Jordan
recognized the voice. The Australian filled the doorway with his broad shoulders and six foot plus frame. His gaze settled on her as if he’d expected to find her there. She wondered if he’d seen her enter. His blue eyes warmed with appreciation, starting an unwelcome flutter beneath her breastbone. She didn’t know whether to regret or be glad she’d worn her black halter dress to satisfy Drew’s request to “dress for dinner.”
"This is my brother," Drew said. “
Ethan
,
Jordan
is my new editorial assistant.” He motioned to an empty chair. “Join us for coffee?”
“Sure.
Wouldn’t mind a cuppa.”
He pulled out a chair as Drew filled a cup and passed it to him.
Jordan
watched Ethan add sugar and milk and raise it to his lips. The fine china seemed too delicate for his wide palm and long fingers, but he set the cup down gently and looked from
Jordan
to Drew.
“Did I interrupt something?”
“Business,” Drew said. “To what do I owe this rare visit?”
“I’m going into
Boston
. I need to borrow a car.”
“Come by when you’re ready to leave. I’ll give you keys.”
“Thanks.”
Their clipped responses confirmed how ill at ease the brothers were with each other.
Jordan
remembered Drew’s reference to their earlier history. Could it be the cause of their mutual discomfort?
Ethan turned to her. “It’s dark out there, but I’m heading back to my cottage. We could walk together.”
“We have one or two more things to discuss,” Drew said to her relief. “I’ll see
Jordan
gets back safely.”
When Ethan left,
Jordan
scolded herself for reading disappointment into the shrug he’d given in lieu of a response. Surely, he couldn’t have cared one iota whether she went with him or stayed behind.
"How do you feel about driving into
Boston
?" Drew asked.
"No problem. Can you suggest a hotel?"
"I have a house on
Beacon Hill
. It's roomy and comfortable. The Willises would move over with you to keep the household running.”
"I'd prefer to make other arrangements, Drew."
He quickly controlled an expression of surprise. "If that is what you want."
"I'd be more comfortable."
"As you wish.
Do you have any preference in a hotel?"
"I've never been to
Boston
."
"I’ll make a reservation for you at The Taylor. It's near the library, convenient to mass transportation and the atmosphere and service are impeccable." He held out two items.
"A map of the city and a guide book.
I have a car for you to use."
"You’re giving Ethan a car.” She smiled. “How many do you have?”
“Enough to assure you of transportation.”
“I'll drive my own, thanks."
"Well then, keep a record of your expenses. You'll be reimbursed for everything. The bill for accommodations and services will be sent to me." He leaned back and combed his fingers through his hair again. "I believe we’ve covered everything. For the moment."
"When would you like me to get started?"
"You’d best be off directly you feel ready. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll return."
"I'll leave in the morning. I’m anxious to begin."
"If that’s the case, would you kindly give my brother a lift?"
If he was still battling guilt and depression, Ethan Caldwell might not be fun, but that was no reason to refuse. "Of course. No problem."
"Ta. As I said earlier, discuss your research with no one, not even him."
At her own request, she made her way back to her cottage alone. How strange that he doesn’t want Ethan to know what we’re doing. If she had any family, they would share everything. What kind of relationship forced one brother to hide his actions from the other? Would Drew's secret cause any complications for her? Certainly, her own secrets caused complications enough.
* * *
The following morning
Jordan
found the brothers waiting beside her car. She couldn’t resist baiting Ethan. Just a little. "Are you sure you want to risk your life?"
"What d'you mean?"
"How smart is it to hitch a ride with a - what did you call me - a bloody galah?"
"Good God," Drew exclaimed. "You didn't..."
"Yeah," his brother said. "I did, and with enough reason, I'd do it again."
"Well, I'll certainly try not to give you any." She smiled at Drew. "You'll hear from me in a couple of days."
The trip off the
Cape
went smoothly, and as silently as she'd expected. The day was fine and sunny, the traffic sparse along Route 6. The sports car had begun to feel cramped by the presence of her passenger and she wasn't sure why. It certainly couldn't have had anything to do with those long legs of his or his powerful shoulders.
"Let's stop for a few minutes,"
Jordan
said, parking in a pullout overlooking the canal.
"It's your car."
With a sense of relief she stood at the rail and watched a boat moving gracefully through the waterway. Sunlight splintered on the waves and bounced off brass fittings as the sleek hull skimmed the surface, its sails bellied in a freshening breeze. Two people moved about on deck.
"She's beaut, isn't she?" Ethan had approached quietly.
"They’re lucky to be out on the water on such a lovely day,"
Jordan
said. "I envy them, don't you?"
"I haven't known that kind of freedom in too bloody long."
"You're fortunate to have known it at all." She looked up at him.
His lips narrowed in grim acknowledgment and sadness hovered in eyes whose vibrant blue irises tagged him as Drew's brother. Even if his accent didn't.
The clear bright light of morning treated his bruises harshly, making them seem more raw than the day before. The sympathy she'd squelched on seeing them the first time intensified on a second look. She shrugged off the feeling. People hurt in many ways - some more obvious than others. She turned away and watched the ketch move out of sight, then stepped back from the rail.
"We should be going."
They continued on to
Boston
. On the outskirts of the city Ethan asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Starved. How about you?"
"Yeah."
"Any suggestions?"
"Take the next off ramp and I'll navigate." After more turns and narrow streets than she could keep track of, he motioned to pull up at the curb in front of a small Italian deli. Ethan tapped on the window. After a minute or two, someone came to the door and let him in.
She waited behind the wheel until a flash of red in a shop window across the way caught her eye. As she went to investigate, a gray car pulled in and parked behind her car. She turned to a display of decorative mirrors. The shop owner had angled them to give a kaleidoscopic view of the street behind and to either side of the viewer.
Intrigued by the bizarre effect of the buildings and her red MG moving in fragments across the display, she stepped from side to side, watching the view change with each new position she took. She used the other vehicle as a reckoning point and wondered why, on a nearly deserted street the driver had found it necessary to crowd in so close to her car.