by Night Moves
What was going on? Why hadn’t Jordan been able to reach her friend since she left Friday night?
She had tried Pheobe’s number again several times last night and today, but each time there was only an answering machine.
Wouldn’t Phoebe want to check on her son? Wouldn’t she want to talk to him, to reassure him that she would be back?
What else had she said?
Jordan had gone over everything repeatedly in her mind, searching for some clue.
I’m so sorry to drag you into this …
Into what? Phoebe’s words made it sound as though there were something huge going on. Something scary. Dangerous. Life-threatening.
Jordan glanced warily around the parking lot, almost expecting to see strangers’ eyes probing her.
But there was nothing disconcerting about the scene.
Nobody in this supermarket parking lot on this sunny Sunday afternoon was paying the least bit of attention to her and Spencer. They must look like just another mother and small child out getting groceries.
She reached down for his hand, but he pulled it away. She tried not to be hurt, yet she couldn’t help remembering how quickly Spencer had warmed up to Beau last night.
Jordan had to remind herself to walk slowly through the parking lot so that Spencer’s short little legs wouldn’t have to run to keep up. Her usual pace was briskly efficient, and when she shopped, she was usually buying ingredients for her catering business, or staple items for her own cupboards. This, she decided, should be an interesting—and enlightening—experience.
“Now, if you see something you like, you have to tell me,” she told Spencer as she pushed a cart through the electronic doors and into a refreshing blast of arctic air.
“I like that,” he said promptly, pointing at a display of chocolate bars as Jordan plucked two bags of gourmet coffee from a large sale bin.
She grinned. “You like chocolate? Who doesn’t? Okay, sweetie, go ahead. Grab a couple.”
He grabbed enough to hand out to a horde of trick-or-treaters on Halloween night and deposited them in a heap beside the two bags of coffee. Jordan looked dubiously at the contents of her cart. “Does your mom let you eat chocolate?”
“Sure. All the time. Sometimes I have candy bars for breakfast,” he said, looking her in the eye.
She fought back another smile. Smart kid. “Okay, whatever you say, Spencer. Let’s move on.”
As they moved through the store, she learned that a four-year-old’s diet consists mainly of prepackaged, preservative-filled convenience foods. At least, if Spencer was telling the truth about his usual diet.
He probably wasn’t, she conceded as he tried to convince her that he always had an ice-cream sundae topped with M&M’s and a can of cream soda as a bedtime snack.
But she bought the ice cream, the M&M’s, the cream soda.
She bought the boxed, kid-targeted kits containing miniature rounds of dough and packets of tomato sauce, cheese, and pepperoni, even though she could make delicious homemade pizza with fresh tomatoes and basil.
She bought the canned franks and beans, casting a wistful glance at the packages of navy beans that she could soak overnight and simmer all day with molasses and mustard and thick slabs of bacon.
She bought the boxed macaroni and cheese, the grape jelly, the juice boxes whose ingredients seemed to be all sugar and water and very little, if any, actual fruit juice.
In the checkout line, she allowed Spencer to choose several kinds of Pez and packages of bubble gum from the conveniently placed display. He told her that his mom always let him do that.
When she and Phoebe were little girls, they always talked about the kind of parents they would be. They decided they would let their kids eat candy for dinner and pizza for breakfast, wear shorts in March if the weather was freakishly warm, and stay up as late as they wanted. They wouldn’t make the mistakes their parents did, and they wouldn’t have a bunch of meaningless rules.
Well, Jordan thought, placing the groceries on the conveyer belt, either Spencer was lying about what his mom let him eat, or Phoebe really had followed through on their plan.
Jordan suspected the latter was too far-fetched to be true. But she had to admit, it was fun to spoil the kid a little. This was the first time he hadn’t been sad or sulking since…
Well, since Beau Somerville left yesterday.
She felt her face grow flushed at the mere thought of the man. When he left, she was annoyed with herself for having invited him to stay in the first place. But when she finally climbed into bed, exhausted from lack of sleep the night before, she was transported swiftly off to dreamland—and Beau was waiting there.
In her dreams, they were alone together, making love. When she awakened abruptly, it was as though she could still taste his kisses, still feel his warm hands on her bare flesh.
Then reality crashed back in—and she realized what had awakened her.
It was Spencer, and he was screaming in the guest bedroom across the hall. Apparently he was having some kind of nightmare. By the time she rushed in, he was already sinking back into a fitful sleep. She sat by his bed in the dark for a long time, not sure whether her heart was pounding because she was haunted by his screams—or by her dream about Beau.
“Jordan, can I have one of those comic books?” Spencer asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Please?”
She glanced up to see the little boy gesturing at the display of newspapers and magazines, also conveniently placed beside the register.
“Does your mom—” she started to ask, but he was already nodding vehemently, and anyway, what was the point?
It didn’t matter what Phoebe let him read, or eat, or do, because Phoebe wasn’t here. Jordan was in charge. She had to find something for the kid to do for the rest of the day, since they couldn’t go anywhere or see anyone.
“Go ahead,” she told Spencer. “Get a couple. We can go back home and read.”
She picked up a couple of papers for herself: the hefty Washington Post, the heftier New York Times.
She used to have the Sunday paper delivered, but finally realized that she never had time to read it. She worked weekends, after all, and by the time she dragged herself in the door in the evening, the last thing she wanted to do was face a newspaper thicker than the metro phone book. She would keep the thing around all week, telling herself that she would get around to reading it, but invariably tossed it into the recycling bin on Saturday, just in time for a new paper to arrive.
Well, today she would certainly have time to read. Heck, she could probably get through both papers word for word while Spencer leafed his way through the pile of comic books he had just dumped into the brimming cart.
After she had paid for their purchases, they left the store.
“It feels like a furnace out here,” Spencer complained, shading his eyes against the sun’s dazzle.
“I know, sweetie. We’ll turn on the air in the car. And the house is cool, too.”
“We’re just going back to your place?” he asked, sounding disappointed.
“What else did you have in mind?”
“The zoo. Beau said—”
“But Beau isn’t here today,” Jordan pointed out. “And he’s going away on vacation, I think. Didn’t he say something about that?”
“He said he would take me to the zoo.”
“Maybe I can take you to the zoo,” Jordan offered.
“Today?”
She glanced at the cart full of groceries, newspapers, and comic books. “I thought we could go home and read today.”
“Read?” he echoed, as though she had suggested that they go home and scrub the floor with a toothbrush.
“Don’t you want to read your new comic books?”
“No. I want to go to the zoo.”
“But Spencer—”
“With Beau.”
“Spencer…” She sighed.
He was just a little boy. He was bored out of his mind. She had to g
et his mind off Beau and the zoo—and off his missing mother, too. He had frequently asked about Phoebe this morning, wanting to know when she was coming back and why she had left him here.
“How about the movies?” Jordan said suddenly, on a whim.
“The movies?”
“Sure. We can bring the groceries home—we have to put the cold stuff away—and then we’ll go see something.”
“What?”
“We’ll check and see what’s playing.”
“I don’t want to see anything with pirates,” he said quickly.
“That’s okay. I’m not crazy about pirate movies, either. You can pick.”
He seemed to be mulling it over.
She did the same.
It would be dark inside a movie theater. Dark enough so that they wouldn’t be seen.
Again with the secret agent stuff. Why did she feel this unnerving sense that danger was dogging their every move?
Because Phoebe made it sound that way, she reminded herself.
Or had she?
Had Jordan read too much into her friend’s words?
Had Phoebe literally meant that Jordan’s taking Spencer was a matter of life and death?
Remembering Phoebe’s haggard appearance and the haunted expression in her eyes, Jordan was able to answer her own questions.
No, and yes—in that order.
Late Sunday afternoon, Beau settled in front of the television on the burgundy leather couch in his living room. The air conditioner was running full blast, but it still felt warm in here. Maybe he should call the building super.
He was renting a furnished two-bedroom apartment in a four-story brick building not far from DuPont Circle. The place was perfectly functional—clean, roomy, and efficient.
Everything about it was rectangular, Beau had noticed. The rooms, the windows, the furniture—even the draperies in every window fell in geometric precision, with nary a ruffle or tieback in sight.
There was a lot of chrome and glass, mirrors, and lacquer in the modern decor. Beau couldn’t help contrasting the look to his collection of antiques back home, with their flowing, graceful, curved lines and rich, polished finishes. The upholstered pieces he had were overstuffed and warm in color, rather than the navy-and-maroon color scheme in this place.
No, this certainly wasn’t his kind of apartment—but then, the situation was only temporary. Sooner or later, he would buy a place of his own and move all his stuff up from Louisiana. He just hadn’t had the time or energy to go house hunting yet.
Beau leaned back against the couch cushions, his neck muscles aching from working in front of the computer screen at his office all day. Now all he wanted was to relax. In one hand was the television remote; in the other, a sandwich he’d picked up at a mini-mart on the way home when he’d stopped for the Sunday papers.
Taking a bite, he channel-surfed past a wrestling match, a home improvement show, and a couple of tearjerker movies. Coming across a golf game, he watched for a few minutes. He hadn’t played in a while, he realized. Maybe he should bring his clubs along on his vacation. The beach house he was renting wasn’t far from one of the finest golf courses on the East Coast.
Taking another bite of the sandwich, he decided that he should have got the ham instead of the turkey. This was pretty flavorless.
Then again, everything he had eaten today tasted flavorless compared to that amazing meal Jordan had whipped up last night. Andrea MacDuffwas right about one thing: the lady was some cook.
Andrea. That reminded him. He had promised to call her today and let her know whether he’d be able to have her plans ready to file for a building permit before he left for North Carolina.
He had worked exclusively on her project all day, and it looked as though the plans would be ready to go to the zoning board by Tuesday morning. Thank goodness. Andrea MacDuff wasn’t the kind of woman who tolerated delays very well.
After finishing his sandwich, Beau reached for the cordless telephone on the rectangular—of course—glass coffee table beside the couch. Might as well call Andrea now, since the news he had for her was good.
He dialed her number, wondering whether she would even be home, but she picked up on the first ring.
“Beau! How wonderful to hear from you,” she drawled. “How is every little thing?”
“Every little thing is great, Andrea, and so is the big thing,” he said easily. “Meaning, I’ll have everything ready to file for the building permit before I go away this week.”
“Why, Beau, bless your heart!”
They chatted for a few minutes about the changes that she had requested and he had incorporated into the plan. He promised to have the paperwork to her for a signature by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.
About to hang up, he was startled when she slyly said, “So where is it that you and Jordan are headed on this little romantic getaway, Beau? Or can’t you tell me?”
“Jordan!” he sputtered. “What makes you think I’m going on vacation with her?”
“I called her office this morning to see about ordering some of her cold lemon-spinach soup and tomato tartlets for a little garden luncheon I’m having this week, and her partner told me that she was away. He hinted she had met somebody and that it was about time.”
“Well, she may have met somebody, but it isn’t me. And she isn’t away,” Beau added.
The moment he said it, he wished he could take that last part back.
Sure enough: “How do you know she isn’t away?” Andrea asked.
“Because I saw her just last night,” he said. Rather than going into the complicated details of how he had come to be at Jordan’s apartment, he said—because Andrea seemed to be waiting for further explanation— “We had dinner together.”
“How wonderful! What did you think of her?”
“She was very sweet, Andrea, and I appreciate your introducing me to her, but—”
“But what? Don’t tell me you aren’t interested. She’s beautiful, intelligent, charming—”
“She is all of those things,” Beau agreed.
Yes, Jordan was all of those things, and more. He had found himself recounting her various charms ever since he left her last night—along with all the reasons he could never get involved with her.
“So what can possibly be the problem?” Andrea asked.
“It’s just that she seems to have her hands full right now, with her nephew, and—”
“Her nephew?”
“Spencer. The little boy who’s staying with her. At least, I got the impression that he was her nephew. Maybe he wasn’t.” Beau frowned, trying to remember exactly what Jordan had said about Spencer when Beau finally figured out that they weren’t mother and son. He thought he recalled the little boy calling her Auntie Jordan….
No, wait. That was what she called herself when she was talking with him. Spencer only called her by her first name.
“And will her nephew be traveling with you on your trip, Beau?” Andrea asked.
“No! Why would he be coming along?”
“I thought maybe it was a threesome, and maybe you had hoped it would be a twosome instead. After all—”
“Andrea, as I said, I’m not going on vacation with Jordan Curry or her nephew. I’m going by myself, to the Outer Banks.”
“All right, Beau,” Andrea said in an infuriating sure, whatever you say tone. Obviously, she didn’t believe him.
He thought about Jordan’s business partner. He had said she was out of town with a man. Spencer was no man, and they seemed to be settled in at Jordan’s town house with no plans to leave. Was she taking time off to baby-sit the child? Had she lied at the office about it? If so, why?
With some effort, Beau extracted himself from the conversation with Andrea.
After hanging up, he sat pondering Jordan Curry and her nephew—if Spencer was her nephew.
There was very little affection between them, and it was clear that Jordan wasn’t used to being around chil
dren.
Not only that, but she had seemed tense. Not the whole time, because if she were, then he could assume that she was just nervous by nature. She was, after all, a stranger.
But looking back on their encounter, he realized that she had seemed to alternate between being a laid-back, casual person and an uptight, wary one. It was almost as if every time she forgot whatever was troubling her, she allowed herself to relax. But there was no denying her cagey answers to some of his questions, and her skittishness when she thought he was getting too close.
What the heck was up with her? What was going on over there? Whatever it was revolved around the boy; that much was clear.
Maybe he was Jordan’s foster child.
Maybe he was her own child, and she had never told anyone she was a single mom.
No—you couldn’t hide a thing like that. Besides, she had said he wasn’t hers, Beau reminded himself. And Spencer had talked about his parents and his home in Philadelphia.
Well, whatever the case, something told Beau that there was more to the situation with Spencer than Jordan had told him—or her business partner.
Oh, well. None of this had anything to do with Beau. He planned on keeping his distance from Jordan Curry … no matter what he had promised Spencer when he left.
Spencer…
No.
Maybe you can tell a woman you’ll call when you have no intention of doing so, but you can’t do that to a little kid, he scolded himself. You told him you’d take him to the zoo. You can’t just vanish off the face of the earth.
He still didn’t know why he had blurted out the invitation as he was leaving. Now he was stuck.
Well, maybe he could call over there before he left for North Carolina. He would make up some excuse about why he couldn’t go to the zoo after all.
A prickle of guilt threatened to push its way forward, but he shoved it away from his consciousness.
By the time he got back from vacation, Spencer would no doubt be back home in Philadelphia, and Beau would have put Jordan Curry’s charms out of his mind for good.
He hoped.
The movie was actually enjoyable, to Jordan’s surprise. Naturally, on her own she would never have chosen an animated Grated comedy about a talking piano’s journey to another galaxy, but she found herself laughing at the slapstick mishaps along with a genuinely amused Spencer.