“I’m almost finished here,” he said. “We can leave in a minute.”
She crossed into Brittany’s darkened bedroom, decorated with yellow-and-white gingham visible only by the single light from the living room. Of all the rooms in the apartment, this one evoked the most emotion, made her memories hover almost within reach.
In the white, spindled Jenny Lind crib, a well-worn white bear wearing a limp ribbon of yellow satin leaned against the pillow. She picked up the bear and held it in her arms. The familiar scent of baby powder filled her nose, inundating her with a longing so fierce, she gasped at the pain. Her knees buckled, and she sank into the white rocker with yellow gingham cushions beside the bed.
A tiny music box topped with figures of the polar bears Klondike and Snow from Sea World in Orlando—how had she remembered that?—sat on a low table beside her chair. She turned it over, wound the key and replaced it. The tinkling notes of “Teddy Bears’ Picnic” filled the room, and she closed her eyes and rocked gently to the music.
She was standing in front of a wide expanse of glass that separated her from a frigid polar pool. A little girl in a denim OshKosh playsuit and tiny red sneakers wiggled in her arms, clapped her hands, still pudgy with baby fat, and shrieked a delighted laugh.
“Wook, Mommy! Bay-uhs! Big bay-uhs.”
Angel bolted from the chair and dashed into the living room. “I remember!”
Jordan, who had been tying the flap on an accordion file bulging with papers, dropped the bundle on the desk and hurried toward her.
Embarrassed at her outburst, she shook her head. “I remember Brittany. She’s not just a photograph any longer.” Tears blurred her vision. “I feel as if a part of me has been ripped away.”
He encircled her with his strong arms and pulled her close. “We’ll find her. Maybe you left her in someone’s care. When we go back to the motel, we’ll look through the papers I’ve collected and start calling your friends and family. Someone has to know where she is.”
With the ache in her throat almost choking her, she rested her head on his shoulder and yielded to the consolation of his embrace. He had given her hope, and while it didn’t banish her terrible yearning for her daughter, it eased her pain.
He stepped back and lifted her chin with his finger until her eyes met his. “We’ll find her, Angel. I promise you.”
With the back of his hand, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, then dipped his head and sealed his promise with a kiss. He tasted of sun and salt and sea, and she pressed against his firm body. Drowning in forgetfulness and pain, she clung to him, a lone rock of solidarity in her nebulous world without a past, and a living, breathing shield against her fears.
Abruptly, he released her. “Sorry.”
She blinked in confusion. “Sorry?”
His eyes glowed almost black with passion, and he appeared as shaken as she was. “I took advantage of your grief. I had no right—”
She placed her fingers on his lips, hot and swollen from their kiss. “Please, don’t say you’re sorry again.”
“I won’t—” amusement sparkled in his eyes “—because it would be a lie. I’m not sorry I kissed you.”
He had stirred her senses for the first time that she could remember, and he had bolstered her hope that they’d find her daughter. She returned his smile. “Neither am I.”
“We’d better go.”
She nodded. If they continued looking at each other much longer, she wouldn’t be able to resist resuming where they’d left off, and she knew where that would lead. She had to concentrate on finding Brittany—and on not distracting Jordan from helping her.
He picked up the heavy file. “I’ve collected every name and phone number I could find. Maybe one of these people has Brittany.” He hesitated. “There’s just one thing that puzzles me.”
“What’s that?”
“My name isn’t in here, so how did you learn about me and where to find me?”
She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t know.”
“Why were you looking for me?”
“Do you think my contacting you had something to do with David’s murder?”
He studied her with bottomless blue eyes, eyes a woman could drown in if she wasn’t careful. “You’re the only one who can answer that question—” the familiar boyish grin that made her heart flutter split his face “—and so far, you’re not talking.”
“I remembered Brittany. Maybe the rest will come back to me soon.”
He nodded. “Michael’s office is only a few blocks from here. If we walk there, he can give us a lift to the motel. We don’t want anyone tracing your whereabouts through a cab company.”
He switched off the desk lamp, and low voices sounded outside the door in the front hall.
“I tell ya, this is a waste of time, Frank. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back here when she knows we’re looking for her.”
“Shut up and pick the lock.”
Angel surveyed the room in panic. The apartment had one entrance. Sliding glass doors in the living room led only to a small third-floor balcony.
Jordan grabbed her hand and whispered with his lips against her ear. “Come with me.”
He tugged her toward the glass doors. She had no choice but to follow.
Behind her, the tumblers of the front-door lock clicked. Ahead was a three-story drop to the parking lot.
They were trapped.
Chapter Six
Jordan closed the sliding door behind them and pulled Angel toward a corner of the balcony filled by an overgrown ficus in a terra-cotta jardiniere.
“That won’t hide us,” she whispered.
“Not the tree.” He swept aside branches. “Behind this door.”
A utility closet was built into the balcony wall. He pushed her inside, pressed in behind her and closed the door, counting on the compact leaves of the ficus to conceal the entrance. Earlier, in the bright sunlight, when he searched the apartment the first time, he had almost missed the closet, whose entry had been camouflaged by the builder as part of the board-and-batten wall. With any luck, Angel’s pursuers would overlook it entirely in the darkness.
A metallic rattle and Angel’s muffled exclamation shattered the silence in the confined space.
“What’s in here?” she whispered, so close he could feel her breath against his shoulder.
“An old barbecue grill, a tricycle—”
“Spiders?”
“Maybe.”
She hurtled against him and latched her arms around his waist. “Roaches?”
“Probably.”
Burying her face against his chest, she mumbled, “I hate bugs.”
At her quiver of revulsion, he dropped the folder at his feet and, abandoning resistance, wrapped his arms around her, reveling in the perfect fit of their bodies. Despite the seductive pleasure of holding her, he forced himself to concentrate on sounds coming from the apartment.
“Believe me—” his lips moved against the silky strands of her hair “—bugs are the least of our worries.”
As if to underscore his claim, a door banged against a wall inside, and she shuddered again.
“Not another word,” he whispered, and flattened them both against the rear wall of the closet, as far from the door as possible.
His pulse thundered in his ears, and despite the layers of clothing between them, the frantic rhythm of her heart banged against his chest. He recalled the sweet, stimulating taste of her kiss and how he’d longed to lift her in his arms, carry her into the bedroom and make love to her among the nest of white pillows until they were both too tired to move.
Keep this up, and she’ll wind up just like Jenny.
The thought doused his ardor as effectively as an icy shower. With a sinking sensation in his stomach, he reminded himself Angel was depending on him to keep her safe, and in order to guard her life, he couldn’t lose his focus.
When he’d recognized the voices at the door, with an ingrain
ed movement he couldn’t seem to break, he’d reached for his gun at the back of his waist. If he’d had a weapon, he could have surprised the intruders at the door and held them until the police arrived.
Or I could have committed another fatal error.
He’d learned the hard way that a gun didn’t guarantee success and had refused ever to rely on one again. His compact automatic, formerly his backup for his departmental gun, was locked in a bulkhead cabinet on his boat. On his next trip into deep waters, he intended to throw it overboard and, with luck, drown bad memories along with it.
The glass doors to the balcony slid open, and the wall behind him vibrated, setting his reflexes on alert. Footsteps thudded on the balcony floor. He had done a quick inventory of the closet’s contents earlier. It contained nothing he could use effectively as a weapon. He’d be hard-pressed to ward off a guntoting opponent with a Big Wheel.
“I told ya she wouldn’t be here, Frank.” The clarity of the hushed voice indicated the man was only inches from their hiding place. “If she was dumb enough to come back here, we woulda caught her by now.”
“She’s with that ex-cop, wherever she is.”
Jordan connected the voice to the weasel-faced man from the bar.
“But where’d they go? His boat just disappeared. How do ya hide a forty-foot boat?”
“Now who’s being stupid, Sidney? There’re small marinas and private docks all over where Trouble could hide. And the man is shrewd. He knows we’re looking for his boat, so my guess is he ditched it and headed for dry land.”
“Okay, since you’re so smart, where do we look now? It’s a big state, and James is antsy. And when the boss gets antsy, we catch the flak.”
“Search the apartment. Copy every name and address you find. She could be hiding with someone she knows.”
“But Spacek told us she lost her memory. He said that’s why the judge let her out.”
“And you believe that?” Frank’s derisive laugh carried clearly into the closet. “Claiming his client has amnesia is one of Winslow’s legal-eagle tricks. He wanted to get her out of jail and throw us off her trail by making us think she can’t remember.”
“If she can remember, how come she ain’t blabbed to the cops?”
“We don’t know she hasn’t. Quit your chattering and start searching for names. Use gloves and leave everything as you found it. We don’t want to tip off anybody that we’ve been here.”
In the dark, stuffy utility closet, Jordan, thankful he’d beaten them to the search, nudged the reassuring bulk of the accordion folder with his foot. His hunch had been right Evidently, someone named James had provided Spacek the collateral to insure Angel’s release, then set his hired thugs on her trail.
Jordan struggled to ignore the curves of her supple body pressed between him and the wall. If there was ever a time he shouldn’t be preoccupied with Angel’s undeniable magnetism, it was now.
Slamming doors, mutters and footfalls reverberated inside the apartment, marking the slow progress of Frank and Sidney’s search. Sweat rolled down Jordan’s forehead and into his eyes, but he couldn’t risk moving to wipe it away. Angel’s breathing grew raspy and shallow, and he feared one or both of them would pass out from lack of oxygen and the suffocating heat before Frank and Sidney left.
Finally, Frank’s voice boomed from the living room near the open balcony door. “The only names and addresses in the whole place are in the damn phone book. She must have been here before us and cleared them out.”
“Does that mean she really ain’t lost her memory?”
“It means we have to find her fast. James wants her dead, but we can’t kill her if we don’t know where she is.”
Angel stiffened, but Jordan didn’t flinch. He had already guessed why the men were after her.
“We’ll have to use her kid as bait,” Sidney said.
Angel’s quick intake of breath hissed in the silence.
“I like the way you think, Sidney. Let’s get out of here.” Frank’s ruthless laughter filtered into the utility closet, and Jordan clamped his jaw against rising rage.
A few seconds later, the apartment’s front door slammed. Angel stirred beneath him, but Jordan held her still, wanting to make certain both men had left. “Not yet. Stay here.”
Groping carefully in the darkness to avoid disturbing the stored paraphernalia, he reached the door and opened it a crack. Fresh, cool air flowed in, and he inhaled deeply to clear the mugginess in his head. Night sounds of singing cicadas, a loud television on the floor below and a distant siren drifted on the breeze.
“Where to now?”
Sidney spoke, so loud and close that Jordan jumped, thinking the intruders had returned, before he realized the voice had risen from the parking lot below.
“We’ll keep searching for Trouble,” Frank said. “We find him, we find the woman.”
Jordan waited until their car started before stepping onto the dark balcony. The departing vehicle was too far away to read the lighted license plate, and in the shadowy parking lot, he couldn’t identify the make or color of the dark sedan.
He returned to the utility closet, scooped up the folder and gave Angel a hand as she threaded through the tangle of objects to the entrance.
Outside the closet, she bent forward with her hands on her thighs, sucking in fresh air like a winded runner.
“They have Brittany,” she gasped.
“We don’t know that for sure.” He didn’t add that if Frank and Sidney and their mysterious boss named James didn’t have the little girl, they would definitely try to find her.
She shook her head. “I have to find Brittany before those two killers get to her. You heard what they said.”
He nodded, but didn’t have the heart to tell her just how tough finding Brittany might be.
A POD OF SLEEK DOLPHINS frolicked in the boat’s wake the next morning as Jordan headed west, away from the rising sun. He’d had only a few hours’ sleep, but he wanted to reach open water as soon as possible, just in case Frank and Sidney decided to check local marinas in search of his boat.
Leaving the Intracoastal Waterway, he allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. The thugs could search for Oblivion till hell froze over, but they wouldn’t find her. Thanks to his friend at the marina dry dock, whose discretion he could count on, Oblivion had been transformed. Her formerly black trim now glistened as blue as the Florida sky, and a new name replaced the old one on her stern. Paying for the metamorphosis had maxed out his credit card, but he wouldn’t worry about that until the bill arrived in thirty days.
More pressing concerns occupied him now. Like keeping Angel out of the hands of two hired killers and finding her little girl before they did. Last night, when he and Angel returned to Michael’s office, the attorney had volunteered to give them a hand in their search. After they had filled Michael in on events in Angel’s apartment, he flipped rapidly through the contents of the file Jordan had gathered.
“I’ll turn these names and numbers over to Claire and her assistant first thing tomorrow,” Michael said. “If we don’t locate Brittany, we can at least narrow our search from the results of their phone calls.”
“I’ll help,” Angel offered.
Jordan shook his head. “Not a good idea. Frank and Sidney know Michael’s your attorney. They may stake out his office in case you show up.”
“Jordan’s right. You should stay out of sight.”
“You mean do nothing while my baby’s missing?” Spots of vivid color blotched her cheeks.
“I’ll need your help,” Jordan said in a placating tone, “interviewing the staff at David Swinburn’s estate. They may know something about Brittany’s whereabouts or who this James is. Besides, the last place Frank and Sidney will expect to find you is at the scene of the crime, so you should be safe there.”
“Speaking of which,” Michael said, “the house is off-limits until the crime scene unit is finished there.”
“Maggie’s orders?
” Jordan asked.
“She runs a tight investigation,” Michael said.
“Is Maggie the policewoman who interviewed me at the station?” Angel asked.
Jordan nodded. “Maggie Henderson is the best detective on the force.”
“She moved into first place only after you resigned,” Michael said.
Jordan shifted uncomfortably in the upholstered conference chair. Since his final interview with Internal Affairs, he had refused to talk with anyone about his former job or associates, and he wasn’t about to break his silence now. “Are the grounds of the estate cordoned off, too?”
“Since you’re my official investigator on this case, Maggie’s granting you access to the grounds and outbuildings. You can interview the staff outdoors if you have to, but—” Michael glanced at Angel “—I suggest you keep out of sight as much as possible. With your looks, Sara, you draw a lot of attention, especially now that your picture’s plastered on every TV screen and newspaper in the county.”
Angel had taken Michael’s warning to heart. Although it was almost midnight when he dropped them at the motel, she had marched into the bathroom with a resolute expression and the Wal-Mart bag in hand. A half hour later she emerged with her blond hair cropped in a bouncy cut just below her ears and dyed a honey-maple shade that matched her eyes.
Jordan had barely time to admire the results before she dropped into the deep sleep of exhaustion, still wearing the clothes she’d worn to court. She didn’t rouse when he removed her shoes and tucked a blanket over her.
Exhausted, he set the alarm for five o’clock, lay beside her and fell instantly into a deep, restorative sleep, oblivious, for once, of temptation slumbering beside him.
When the alarm went off, they had both showered and dressed in casual clothes, then walked to the marina in the early morning darkness. The boat, complete with its new name and accent color, was tied at the pier beside the office, gassed up and ready to go. Late last night, Michael had loaded their clothes and supplies while it was still in dry dock.
“Heavenly Days?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “It’s built exactly like your boat.”
A Woman of Mystery Page 8