Janelle Taylor (17 page)

Nor could they take their eyes off him for even a minute to get away by themselves and figure out what they were going to do.

So there were times when she could almost forget why they were here. Times when she could almost pretend that things were normal.

Then reality would intrude and she would realize that she and Beau and Spencer didn’t belong together.

This man and this child were strangers to her, to each other. Fate might have made them a temporary threesome, but it would soon send them on their separate ways.

But what about Spencer? she found herself wondering. What would happen to him when she and Beau brought him forward to the authorities?

Would he go to live with some family friends Jordan had never even heard of?

Or, she wondered with a pang, with an uncle he had barely seen?

Yet she supposed either of those scenarios made more sense than his staying with her.

Even if she were capable of caring for an orphaned four-year-old boy, she knew that Phoebe and Reno must have left wills. She also knew that they couldn’t possibly have named her—a single, self-employed full-time businesswoman who lived in another city—as Spencer’s guardian.

Even if she wanted to fight for custody, she knew she wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on. No judge would award the child to her under the circumstances. And if given a choice, Spencer certainly wouldn’t choose to be with Jordan.

Who would he choose?

Beau. He would choose Beau.

What a ridiculous thought! Beau was more a stranger to Spencer than Jordan was. Yes, he had bonded with the child more than she had, but that didn’t mean he had any stake in Spencer’s future. When this was over, he would walk away.

How will Spencer feel when that happens?

Jordan couldn’t let herself think about that any more than she could let herself think about Spencer’s reaction when he found out about his parents’ death. She had to tell him—or leave it to the authorities to do. There must be social workers who were brought into situations like this—people who were experienced with children and loss.

But they’ll be strangers,
too, Jordan thought grimly.

Spencer was surrounded by strangers.

Funny, aside from repeatedly asking for his mother and the few passing references he’d made to his father, Spencer hadn’t even mentioned anybody else from his old life. She found herself wondering about the people who must surely have populated it.

Then Jordan remembered that Phoebe had chosen to reach out to
her
when she realized danger was imminent. Not to someone who might be nearer, or closer. Phoebe had turned to someone she had barely seen in years. She had gone to the trouble of traveling all the way to Washington through stormy weather to deliver Spencer into Jordan’s hands.

Had there been nobody else in her life that she could trust?

Was there nobody else who would care enough about Spencer to keep him safe?

Filled with renewed determination to honor the last
promise she had made to her cherished friend, Jordan approached Spencer’s closed bedroom door. She opened it softly, tiptoed into the room, and leaned over the sleeping child. He looked innocent and vulnerable lying there in the night light’s glow.

Jordan leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

She half-expected him to swat at her sleepily as he had before.

But he didn’t.

As she turned to walk away, she heard a soft sigh escape him.

The hushed sound tugged at her heart.

This child needed her desperately. For all she knew, she was all he had. And she wasn’t going to let him down.

On the deck that opened off the living room, Beau sat on a teak lounge in the darkness overlooking the sea, listening to the waves pounding the shore. Tonight the sky was a murky canopy above him, with not a star in sight. The air was humid and warm, bordering on oppressive. It would probably rain tomorrow. Good. That meant Jordan and Spencer would stay inside while he was gone.

It wasn’t that he thought there was any chance anyone would recognize the child on the beach. It was private, which meant that it was sparsely populated. Nobody on it today had come within a hundred yards of them, and even if they had, they couldn’t have got a good look at Spencer. Beau had bought him one of those floppy sun hats while he was out shopping this morning. The low brim shielded most of his face.

Still, Beau again contemplated telling Ed he just
couldn’t come back to Washington right now, Landry be damned. But Ed would demand an explanation. He thought Beau was out here by himself. He wouldn’t understand how Beau could possibly put the firm’s future in jeopardy simply because of a vacation. He was already having a hard time understanding why Beau wouldn’t just catch a flight in from Norfolk to make the trip easier. He had even offered to charter a plane for him.

“You know I don’t fly anymore, Ed,” Beau had said quietly.

“I know, but Beau, you’re making things harder on yourself than they have to be. If you would just—”

Beau had cut him off there with a curse and an order to stay out of his personal life. He’d regretted his harsh words right after he spoke them, but he couldn’t take them back.

Ed had a wife and children. He had never been in Beau’s shoes. Nobody should ever be in Beau’s shoes.

He clenched his jaw and rubbed his tired eyes, craving bourbon.

If there were a bottle in the house, he would be filling a glass right now. He longed for the reprieve it would bring.

Restless, too warm, he stripped off his T-shirt and draped it over the rail. That was better. It eased his discomfort from the heat, but not the hunger for something to numb the bitter taste of sorrow.

There was a time when, struck by the craving for liquor, he would have gotten into the car, driven to the first liquor store he found, and indulged.

But that was when the wound was still raw, the grief still all-encompassing. It had dulled over the years until
it was mostly just a vague, throbbing ache tinged more with regret than agony.

But the guilt was still there, tormenting him, begrudging him every breath he took. And tonight it was stronger than ever.

Because there was another woman.

Another child.

They needed him, and he couldn’t be here to—

Suddenly, a pool of light spilled over him.

Startled, he turned toward the living room. He had closed the French doors because of the air conditioning, but through them he could see that Jordan had come into the room.

Her hair was damp. He knew it smelled of her fragrant shampoo. He inhaled, and it was almost as if her scent mingled with the dank salt air.

She wore a white terry cloth robe that covered her to her knees, but as she leaned over the coffee table, it fell open at the waist. Startled, he realized that she was naked beneath it. He glimpsed the span of pink skin on her neck and shoulders; the snowy slopes of her breasts.

All at once, his craving for bourbon was replaced with a need whose urgency drove him to his feet.

He found himself striding toward the French doors, stopping short before he got there only because he realized he needed to put himself in check.

He couldn’t barge in there, take her into his arms, and ravish her.

He had to think this through. Think of the consequences.

All right, what will the consequences be?

Right now, his thoughts clouded with desire, his eyes
feasting on the woman before him, he couldn’t think of any.

Only of pleasure.

He opened the door.

Jordan cried out.

Their eyes met.

“It’s only me,” he said, stepping into the sterile chill of the house.

“You scared me. I thought you were in bed.”

He saw that she was holding the lotion bottle in her hands.

“Why don’t you come out here with me?” he invited, trying to keep his eyes focused on her face and not the V-shaped crevice between the folds of the robe.

She looked past him, at the empty deck where two wooden lounge chairs seemed to beckon.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he lied.

It wasn’t beautiful. There were no stars, and the temperature was uncomfortably humid.

What the hell was he doing?

Quite simply, he was luring her out there. There, under cover of darkness, with the sound of the crashing surf, she wouldn’t be able to see the blatant hunger in his eyes. His words wouldn’t sound so hollow.

“All right,” she said, glancing down and pulling her robe firmly closed. “I’ll come out for a few minutes. We need to talk about Spencer.”

“We do. We do need to talk about him,” Beau agreed, holding the door open for her. As she passed him, the herbal scent he had imagined became tantalizingly real, wafting in the air so that he found himself longing to bury his face in her hair.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

“Where are you…?”

He was already on his way to the master suite. In his bathroom, he swiftly reached for the leather bag that held his toiletries. As he slid a foil-wrapped packet into the pocket of his shorts, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

What are you doing? What are you thinking?

He
wasn’t
thinking.

The truth was, he was tired of thinking. All he ever did was think. For once, he wanted just to feel.

He turned away from his own accusatory gaze and made a hasty retreat back to the deck, where he settled again in his lounge chair.

They were side by side, facing the shadowy dunes, legs outstretched.

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” Jordan said, surveying the sky as she adjusted her chair’s back to a more comfortable slant.

“Maybe.”

“Did you hear a weather report on the radio or get a newspaper when you went shopping this morning?”

“I didn’t bother. If it rains, it rains,” he said with a shrug.

“I guess.” She paused. “We should be checking the papers. Just in case there’s been any news….”

About Phoebe and Reno. He knew that. Why hadn’t he thought to buy the paper this morning? Was it because he didn’t think it likely that the local news would carry the story? Or was he subconsciously trying to prolong their time here together? Was he fearful that, if they discovered that the murders had been solved and the culprits were in custody, there would be no reason for her to stay?

If that were the case, he could bring her and Spencer back to Washington with him tomorrow. He could go
to his meeting and Jordan could go to the authorities, and that would be that. When he returned here, he would return alone, just as he had intended.

But now the thought of a solitary week in the Outer Banks seemed terribly depressing.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

And for a moment, he was so struck by the
we
that he didn’t really comprehend the question. He was part of a
we.
They were in this together. He was no longer alone. Incredible what a simple pronoun could do to—

“Beau…?”

He turned to her. “When I go back, I can try to see what I can find out,” he said. “If there’s been any progress in the case, we’ll have a better idea whether it would be safe to go to the police.”

She sighed, looking out over the railing, toying with the cap on the lotion bottle in her lap. “I’m starting to think that’s what I should have done all along.”

I
. It was back to
I.
She had separated them once again.

“No,” he said, trying to stay focused on Spencer. “You shouldn’t have gone to the police. Phoebe didn’t. There was a reason for that. She went to you. She trusted only you. You couldn’t be sure you could trust anyone, even the police.”

“I trusted you,” Jordan said, looking at him.

He turned to meet her gaze. “Why did you trust me?”

“For one thing, it wasn’t as if I had a choice. You kept showing up. You figured it out. But even then … there’s something about you, Beau. The way you bonded with Spencer … and how you knew what to do. You always knew what to do, with him, and…”

She trailed off.

He waited.

“How did you know what he needed, Beau?” she
asked softly. “Was it because you were a little boy once? Or because…”

He didn’t want to say it.

But somehow, the words spilled from him.

“Because I had a little boy once, Jordan.”

He could see by her expression that those were not the words she expected to hear.

“You
had
a little boy?” she echoed.

He nodded mutely, a massive lump choking further words from his throat. And in that instant, her face changed. She knew. He could see that she knew the terrible truth that he couldn’t utter.

“Oh, Beau.” She reached toward him.

He thought she would take his hand, or squeeze his arm.

She didn’t. She laid the backs of her fingertips against his cheek, like a concerned mother checking for fever. A flood of emotion surged forth as he realized the gesture was made not out of pity or obligation, but because she cared for him. She felt his pain, and she wanted to ease it.

“They both died, Jordan. “

There. He had confessed the tragic truth. The words were wrenched from him on a shuddering sob. He struggled to maintain control, but the dam had broken and the words cascaded from his tortured soul.

“Tyler and Jeanette … they were my whole world. And they died. I couldn’t save them. Oh, Lord, I tried to save them.”

“Oh, Beau.” Jordan was out of her chair now, sitting on the edge of his, alongside his outstretched legs. She cradled his head against her, stroking his hair. “Oh, my god, Beau. What happened?”

“I was flying us home from the Keys after a weekend trip.”

It all came back to him now. How they had lingered in the warm aquamarine water behind the hotel until late in the day, then meandered into Key West for conch fritters and key lime pie as the sun set. They didn’t set out for home until well after dark that Sunday night. He was too carefree—no, too reckless—to worry about the remnants of a tropical storm that was hovering along the Louisiana Gulf Coast.

“You were flying?” Jordan’s gentle question brought him back.