by Renee Simons
"I wonder if he got it cheap because it's damaged," she muttered, knowing the doll had probably been perfect at the time of purchase.
How had Volpe or, more likely, someone in his employ twice gotten past the surveillance team? The warning voice she had managed to beat into submission on numerous occasions spoke again, urging her to tell Dominique. Three more dolls came in rapid succession. She knew she would have to inform the task force.
They had gathered in a conference room across the hall from Dominique's office to discuss strategy for the trial, slated to begin in one week. Present were Ethan, Drew, the lawyer Wallace Patterson, Lieutenant Torres, Captain Mahan and Dominique.
Throughout the discussion with its rapid fire exchange of ideas, Jordan found concentrating difficult. Tired from too little sleep, preoccupied by the need to be in control of a situation clearly beyond her control, she doodled on a yellow legal pad and sipped black coffee. Occasionally, she struggled up through the maze of conflicting thoughts in which her mind foundered.
Once the talk centered on Ethan's testimony, once around Drew's. Captain Mahan expressed reservations about Drew's effectiveness as a witness. Dominique felt certain she could counteract any negative feelings the jury might experience over his homosexuality, by making the fact known during his testimony. Finally, Jordan’s turn came.
As Dominique prepared to question her, a knock sounded on the door. An officer entered the room with a package. "This just came for Ms. VanDien," he said to Captain Mahan.
"Did you check it out?" the Captain asked.
The patrolman smiled. "Well, it isn't ticking, if that's what you mean."
Glaring at the young police officer, Lieutenant Torres, took the delivery and placed it on the table, then resumed his place beside Jordan. Ethan rose as if to come to her but Mahan held him back. Finally, she tore apart the wrapping. She worked slowly, deliberately. Why hurry. After all, she had a pretty good idea of the contents. Finally, she tipped the box toward her to see what was inside.
The object was an ugly perversion of the dolls Tony had sent before. While he'd damaged each one in some way, this barely resembled the others. He'd smashed it beyond recognition, except for its dress of bridal white and the great, shining glass eyes staring up at her, eloquently frozen in time.
She knew that tomorrow or the next day he would find her and try to destroy her as he had this innocent toy. She sighed, silently pushing the box toward Torres, who removed the doll and with a vicious curse slammed it down on the table.
"What in damnation is that?" Mahan asked.
"Me."
"What's going on?" Dominique asked softly. "Who sent that - thing?"
Jordan’s eyes shifted to her. "Volpe."
"What have you been hiding from us?"
Ethan leaned forward. "Has this been going on since the phone call." She merely nodded. "You bloody fool." He shook his head. "I think you are trying to get yourself killed. Or you wouldn't have let it go on."
"What phone call, Ethan?" Dominique asked. When he explained, she turned back to Jordan. "Talk."
"Not in front of them," Jordan insisted.
"Here and now. As is."
Ethan spoke up. "Some of this could be quite... sensitive. Why don't you give her a break, Dominique?"
She motioned to the lieutenant, who left the room briefly, returning with a policewoman carrying a stenotype machine. Jordan gave Dominique a questioning look as the officer made ready.
"Your break," she replied with a shrug. "You'll only have to tell your story once."
Chapter 13
Jordan stared at the officer for a moment more, then turned to Dominique. "You don't need her. I can say it all in two sentences."
"Okay. Say it."
"When I was fifteen I was raped. By Volpe."
In a room of people involved daily with the violent side of life, who'd had ample evidence of the cruelty of humans to their own kind, the statement shouldn't have been a shock. But the dead silence told her it had exactly the effect she had always dreaded.
Dominique pressed. "And the doll?"
"That's what he called me...Baby Doll. Over and over. When I demanded he use my name he said he didn't know it, and didn't want to. It was a job and to do a job right, you had to be impersonal. Later, I was glad. I would have changed my name rather than have it remind me of him."
She motioned to the box. "He sent several of these, each damaged in a different way to let me know what his plans are. His way of wearing me down." She sighed and rubbed her temples. "It worked."
"Why didn't you tell us about him?"
She glanced around the room. Those at the table looked everywhere but at her. Only Ethan's gaze met hers, holding promise of support despite his disapproval of what she'd done. Did he understand what a victory over fear their lovemaking had been?
"I was afraid you'd treat me differently if you knew. That you'd prevent me from continuing with Conlon and from avenging my father's death."
"And your mother?"
Jordan didn't answer.
"What about your mother?" Dominique repeated. "What happened to her?"
"If you checked on me, you know the answer to that."
"Tell us."
She shook her head. "No."
"Jordan..." Dominique's voice coaxed. "We need it all."
"Damn you! I'm not the enemy. I refuse to bare my soul before the world." She pushed back her chair and went to the window, staring out but seeing nothing.
Wallace spoke up for the first time. "Just consider this a preview of the trial."
She turned to him. "What do you mean?"
"The defense will ask these very same questions," he replied, "only it won't be as polite."
"But why?" she asked, truly confused, and desperate to avoid laying out her entire past before the others.
"To suggest that you'd be willing to lie on the witness stand in order to exact revenge." His tone and the expression he wore spoke of his regret. "We have to know everything. It's the only way we can be ready for them."
Defeated, she returned to her seat. She looked at Dominique. "Will you at least tell me what you know about her before I begin?"
"Your mother was only eighteen when she married your father. She'd led a sheltered life and he cared for her in the same way. They adored each other. A storybook marriage, especially after your birth. She fell apart emotionally when your father died and lasted only one year without him. She was gone by the age of thirty-six."
"You have it all. What more do you want?"
"You have nothing to add?"
"Nothing."
"Where were you when your mother died?"
Jordan stared at her. "Don't do this to me, Dominique. I've spent my adult life trying to put those years behind me. Don't make me dredge them up again."
"I have no choice. We need to hear your past from you, before the defense throws it in our faces."
Resigned that she had no choice but to reveal everything, she answered, "I was away, in a hospital."
"Why?"
"They finally let me go after my father died. I was a mess, ripped apart physically and emotionally. My mother sent me to a private sanitarium for medical attention and psychotherapy." Her gaze met Ethan's across the table. "I spent three years there while they tried to make me into a whole person, with all my parts in working order. They had somewhat better luck with my emotions than my body, but I did have the best that money could buy and help when my mother died. The doctors and counselors got me through it all. I finished high school while I was there, then went on to college and a life."
"Do you know where the money came from for all that?" the lawyer asked.
Jordan shrugged. "I always assumed from my mother or her estate."
"It was Conlon."
She stared unbelieving at Wally. "How do you know this?"
"He told us. Frankly, I don't think he knew about the rape, but he blamed himself for the kidnapping, for not notifying your father in enou
gh time to pull you away. He paid for everything during those years and kept your mother going as long as he could. Unfortunately, he couldn't give her a reason to live."
"She tried to kill Volpe, you know."
"We didn't," Dominique said.
"My mother seethed quietly for months, trying to figure out how to get even with him. ‘That man,’ she called him, so I never knew his name. Anyway, she took my father's gun and went to see Volpe, but when she pulled the trigger, it failed to fire. She felt humiliated, but I told her she was the bravest person I knew and I was proud of her for trying. That seemed to please her. It was the only time I saw her smile during that whole period."
She waited in silence as each person at the table digested in his or her own way what they had just heard.
Finally, Lieutenant Torres cleared his throat. "Would you tell us when and how you received the other dolls?"
"I found the first in my car after looking at mug shots. The second in my bedroom after being out one evening." She thought about the others. "The third came in a florist's box to my beauty salon. The next was waiting at reception in the lobby of Wally's office building."
She paused again to put down the feelings of fear and revulsion she'd experienced only the night before. "Last night, when I went for my run, I found another hanging from a street lamp, with a dead canary tied around its neck. I thought that would be the last." She looked at the box again. "I was wrong."
Captain Mahan looked at the Lieutenant. "What's troubling you, Bernie?"
Torres grimaced. "The same thing that would trouble you if you were running surveillance. Either my men are unbelievably and unforgivably sloppy, or we've got a bad cop on our hands. Either way, I have a problem."
"What are you planning to do?" Torres' superior asked.
The lieutenant turned to her. "Would you consent to remain a target for a little longer? To help me find out where the weak link is?"
"Yes," she replied.
"No!" Ethan thundered.
Torres looked from her to Ethan. "If she's willing, what's your objection?"
"Look at her. Look at what being a target has done to her already - thin as a rail, circles under her eyes. She's on the edge. Any more of this and she'll go over. Can't you find some other way to expose your bad apple?"
Torres shook his head. "I've got six guys to check out. The only way I know is to do business as usual, with me watching the action. And she has to be out front, as usual."
"Damn it, Lieutenant," Ethan said. "I don't like you playing fast and loose with her life. Your men are your problem. I'll not have her put in further danger...or torment."
"Is this a two-person conversation, or can anyone join in?” Jordan asked.
"Sorry," Ethan said. Like Conlon, Torres stared at her as though she’d spoken in a foreign language.
"I appreciate your concern, but there's really no other way." She smiled at Ethan and shrugged.
He turned to Torres. "If you insist on going ahead with this, I want to be in on it as well."
Torres gave him a small smile. "Don't you trust me?"
"I don't trust anyone," Ethan replied. "Not where Jordan’s safety is concerned."
The lieutenant nodded. "All right. You can come along."
* * *
At three in the morning, Ethan was still wide awake. When the knock sounded on his door, he answered immediately, quickly pulling up the sheet to cover himself as Jordan stepped into the room. Wordlessly, she closed the door and moved to the window seat.
"I couldn't sleep," she explained in a throaty whisper.
"I know the feeling," he commented dryly. "I'm having the same problem."
"Are you?" Her voice sounded suddenly tense. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. "Because of what happened this afternoon? At the meeting?"
"Partly."
"I know what I had to say, what they made me say, was hard to take. I would understand if you never wanted to have anything to do with me."
The darkness hid her expression, but Ethan could hear the yearning, and the fear. "My God, Jordan, that's the farthest thing from my mind." He reached out a hand. "Sit beside me."
She came and sat down on his bed. Her weight shifted the sheet, drawing her eyes to his bare chest and flat stomach. "I shouldn't be here," she said and rose.
He took her hand. "Do you want to be here?"
"Yes," she answered.
"Then stay."
He pulled her to him. With a sigh she nestled her head against his shoulder and rested her hand lightly on the mat of silky hair that covered him. He shifted position so she lay on her back with her head cradled on his arm.
"Do you have any idea how remarkable you are?" he asked softly.
"Remarkable? Not me."
"Despite everything that's happened in your life, you still have the courage to take risks, to let yourself love." He pressed a kiss on her forehead. "I admire you for doing something that I never could. I closed myself off - from everyone."
"I did, too, until you came into my life." She reached up and touched his cheek. Her fingers tingled at the touch of stubble. "You made loving possible."
Her hands slipped around his waist and moved slowly up his back, tantalizing with their feathery softness, setting his flesh to quivering wherever they touched. Passing down the ridge of his spine and beneath the sheet, they settled finally at his hips, where with gentle insistence she pressed him against her. He allowed his weight to settle easily on her, watching her eyes for the first sign of fear or resistance. He saw only the moonlight glittering in their depths.
Jordan sensed his reluctance to rush her. A familiar warmth blossomed deep within her, fed as much by her gratitude and trust as her physical need for him, a need that had grown steadily since their night on the Cape...that had brought her to his room in the middle of the night. She felt the heat of his body through her shirt and wanted to be free of it. She reached between them to open the buttons. His hand came around to help, easing the garment off her shoulders and pulling it from beneath her to toss it aside.
Ethan's gaze traveled to her breasts. She felt its silky fire on her skin. Her body responded to a look as palpable as his touch. With a shyness barely overruled by her curiosity, Jordan looked at his body as he did hers.
Set in stark relief by the moonlight from the window, his frame seemed all lean, hard angles, barely tempered by the knotted cords of his muscles and softened only slightly by the fine blond hair that covered his chest and arms. His bright blue eyes were black in the darkness, the lids heavy with passion. Dampness glistened at his temple. She touched his cheek, fixing his eyes on hers. Reaching between them, she touched him softly but purposefully, then put her arms around him and pulled him close once more, letting him know that she remembered the pleasures they'd shared.
"Please make love with me, Ethan," she whispered. "Take me back to that night."
She arched her body toward him. His arms closed around her. His lips found hers in the moon-frosted darkness and with gentle passion, he welcomed her back to that special place he had made for her, where no fears intruded, where only loving, giving and sharing existed, where the past was only a distant memory.
Later, they lay in each other's arms, watching the sky go from darkness to the beginning of light. An early morning breeze swept through the window, caressing their bare bodies with its gentle coolness, drying the moisture that still misted their skin. It skimmed over two pairs of legs tangled from lovemaking, two pairs of arms folded around each other as they lay like spoons, with Jordan’s back cradled against Ethan's hard chest and his chin tucked against her shoulder. When traces of mauve streaked the sky, she stirred.
"I'd better be going - before Mrs. Willis is up and about."
Regretfully, Ethan released her and she sat upright. He watched as she swept her hair back from her face, tying it in a makeshift knot at the back of her neck. The unstudied gesture brought into sharp relief her slim waist and gently rounded hips and the taut o
utlines of her breasts. His hands ached to touch her as he had during their lovemaking. His lips remembered their texture and taste. His eyes swept upward and met her gaze.
"You're beautiful," he whispered softly.
She smiled. "I'm not, but I’m pleased you think so."
“That’s new,” he said with a grin.
She pointed to the night stand. "Hand me the shirt?"
"I know I shouldn't say this, but I wish you didn't have to go."
She kissed the tip of his nose. "Why shouldn't you say it?"
He looked into her eyes. "I'm trying to give you the time you need, and the space. So you won't feel pressured."
She walked to the door. "Maybe there's no need for all that space anymore. Maybe I'd rather have the company."
Ethan and Lieutenant Torres were always near as Jordan kept her appointments. Although pleased to have them nearby, she avoided acknowledging their presence. She stayed out in public until five or five-thirty in the afternoon, giving Volpe and his people ample opportunity to make a move against her. Nothing happened.
She and Drew agreed to make another appearance on the Curt Fellows show. They drove to the studio together and parked on the street with O'Keefe and Meade on surveillance. Torres and Ethan sat in another car across the street, keeping their faces averted to avoid detection.
In the studio, Fellows directed most of his questions to Drew, who'd been told to answer truthfully but in generalities to protect the prosecution's case.
The audience seemed interested in Jordan’s comings and goings. She fielded questions about what a researcher actually did, about her nonexistent love life, and about how life had been since her first appearance. One motherly type offered to cook dinner for her. She looked too skinny, the woman said, and mustn't be eating right now that she led such a busy life as a celebrity. Jordan thanked her and promised to take better care of herself, to slow down a little now that the trial loomed just ahead.
Out on the street, Ethan and Torres sat in their car, talking about the coming trial. About a half-hour before the show was due to end, O'Keefe left his vehicle and walked toward an all-night diner, to bring back coffee, Torres guessed. When the sergeant disappeared inside, his partner also got out and went to Jordan’s sports car, circling around it several times as if inspecting it. He disappeared around the passenger side, but seconds later, Ethan tapped Torres on the arm and pointed.