Janelle Taylor

by Night Moves

  “But you turned around? And came here? For no reason? It’s like you somehow read my mind. What are you doing back here?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but she rushed on, darting a look over her shoulder as if to make sure Spencer hadn’t materialized to eavesdrop. “I didn’t know who else I could call or what to do. I’ve been trying to reach you on your cell phone—”

  “I didn’t have it turned on. I hardly ever do. Why? What’s wrong? Where’s Spencer? Did something—”

  “He’s upstairs. Beau, we need you.” She was clutching his arm. He could feel the tension in her grasp, and realized she was trembling from head to toe.

  Worry coursed through him. What the hell was going on? “Jordan—”

  “Beau, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I had any option at all, but—”

  “Ask me to do what?”

  “You’ve got to get us out of here. Out of town. Now.”

  Chapter Eight

  They headed straight east out of Washington, following the route Beau had mapped for his solo journey. Rather than heading south on Interstate 95 through the more populous cities of the Eastern Seaboard, he had chosen a scenic route that led across the upper Chesapeake Bay near Annapolis and down the eastern shore to Virginia.

  By late afternoon, they were headed along the flat, fertile, ever-narrowing peninsula on the eastern shore’s only major north-south thoroughfare, Route 13. It was little more than a local highway bordered on both sides by farms, shallow bays, produce stands, a few antebellum houses, and the occasional small town or strip mall.

  Beau and Jordan didn’t talk much. They couldn’t, conscious, as they had been yesterday, of Spencer in the backseat. The little boy was too excited to sleep. Jordan had told him only that they were going on a surprise vacation to the beach with Beau. They were on the road, their hastily packed bags joining Beau’s luggage in the back of the SUV, within five minutes of Beau’s unexpected arrival on her doorstep.

  Jordan didn’t relax until they were well out of town and she was convinced that nobody was following them. Even now she felt jittery, and couldn’t help glancing regularly into the side-view mirror outside the passenger’s window just to see what was behind them.

  She was still rattled by the thought that an intruder might have been in the process of abducting Spencer this morning when his screams woke her. Mrs. Villeroy’s mention of the shadowy stranger coincided too closely for comfort with the little boy’s “pirate.” And while Jordan was convinced that the mysterious “bad guy” with the eye patch had truly been a figment of Spencer’s nightmares the first few times he awakened screaming, she suspected that this morning’s threat had been all too real.

  Beau seemed shaken by her theory that the man had somehow found out where Spencer was and had broken into the town house, meaning to spirit the groggy child out of his bed and away. Jordan figured that Spencer must have woken up, realized what was happening, and started shrieking. The intruder must have dropped the child and run off into the night when he heard her footsteps upstairs.

  “Or it could have just been a nightmare, like it was the other times,” Beau had pointed out, obviously trying to reassure her.

  “Even if it was just a nightmare”—and she didn’t believe that—”we can’t ignore that Spencer has an unhealthy dread of pirates, and that a stranger in an eye patch has been snooping around. There’s a connection, Beau. There has to be.”

  He seemed inclined to agree, though he couldn’t imagine how anyone could have found Spencer at Jordan’s house. But he didn’t know her guilty secret—the wee-hours phone call to Phoebe’s brother—and somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to confess.

  She was convinced now that the clicking she had heard on Curt’s line meant that it was tapped, and that whoever was listening in had been led right to her doorstep, and to Spencer. She felt sick knowing that her actions might have put him in jeopardy.

  Thanks to Beau, they had escaped. Spencer was safe—at least, for now.

  “How much farther do we have to go?” she asked Beau as they passed yet another sign for the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, which lay only a few miles ahead now.

  “Till we get there? A few hours, at least,” he said, carefully pulling into the left lane to pass a slow-moving pickup truck loaded with hay bales. “Do you want to stop for the night on the other side of the bridge?”

  “No!” she said quickly.

  “Are you sure? It might be better if—”

  “No, let’s just keep driving,” she cut in.

  There were countless reasons why she didn’t want to stop for the night before they reached their destination.

  For one thing, the area where Beau had rented his house on the Outer Banks was indisputably remote. He had told her that it was located just above the tiny northernmost town of Corolla, at the edge of the unpopulated nether regions of the narrow coastal island, where, to Spencer’s delight, Beau had told them wild mustangs ran free on the beach.

  Once they got to the house—which he had promised was a sprawling three-story, five-bedroom oceanfront spread with plenty of room for all three of them—they would be safe at last.

  “Are you okay to keep driving?” Jordan asked him anxiously. “Because I can take over if you’re tired.”

  “No, I can make it,” he said. “I was just worried about Spencer. I thought maybe it would be easier on him if we stopped and got a room and continued in the morning.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said—perhaps selfishly, but she couldn’t help it.

  She knew she wouldn’t be fine if they stopped.

  She would feel too vulnerable alone overnight with Spencer in a mainland motel room.

  She would feel even more vulnerable if the two of them shared a room with Beau.

  Granted, Spencer’s presence would ensure that there would be no replay of what had happened last night. But Jordan intended to shy away from any situation that had anything to do with Beau and bed—chaperoned or not.

  It would be hard enough at the house, sharing a roof with him for God only knew how long.

  She knew they couldn’t hide forever. In fact, she had been on the verge of calling the police when Beau showed up earlier.

  When she couldn’t reach Beau on his cell phone, she had concluded that if Spencer’s life was in danger, the authorities would be able to protect him better than she could on her own.

  Then along came Beau, and the prospect of instant salvation. Getting Spencer out of town, and away from “the pirate” was her first priority. Once they reached their destination, she and Beau could decide how to proceed next.

  “Do you want to hear a different CD?” Beau asked, as the Rolling Stones one they’d been listening to came to an end.

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Are you sure? We’ve heard that one twice.”

  “Have we?” She hadn’t even noticed. “How about the radio instead?”

  “Nah. Long road trips are for CD listening,” Beau said, as cheerfully as if they were on a regular vacation. He leaned over, pressed “Eject,” and handed her the silver disk that popped out of the dashboard. “Choose something else, Jordan.”

  She wasn’t in the mood for music. She was in the mood to brood in silence. But she glanced halfheartedly through the built-in disk holder between the seats.

  She couldn’t help noticing that Beau’s taste in music was eclectic. Lynrd Skynrd was next to Patsy Cline, and next to that was a compilation of greatest hits from the 80s.

  “Hey, look, fella,” Beau said over his shoulder to Spencer as Jordan put an Elton John CD into the player. “There’s the bridge I’ve been telling you about!”

  Jordan looked up. Yes, there it was, its girders gleaming in the evening’s rapidly fading light.

  This was another important milestone on their journey, placing a roughly twenty-mile-long obstacle between Spencer and Georgetown, and the pirate.

  That’s not true—it isn’t really an obstacle,
Jordan reminded herself as Elton John sang the opening lines to “Your Song” on the car’s speakers.

  Anyone could cross the bridge.

  But its meaning for her was symbolic. With every mile that they covered and every bridge that they crossed, she could breathe a little easier.

  “Bet you’ve never driven over the ocean before,” Beau drawled, steering up the sloping incline.

  “Nope,” Spencer said.

  He sounded subdued. Jordan turned to look at him. He was staring out the window at the pink-streaked sky and the rosy, sparkling sea.

  Spencer must have felt her eyes on him, because he said softly, without turning his head, “My mom would like this bridge. She likes going places. But my dad never wants to.”

  A silent sob caught in Jordan’s throat.

  “How is my mom going to find us so far from your house, Jordan?” he asked. Now he turned to look at her. She wished he wouldn’t. She didn’t want to see the blatant homesick longing in his face, and she didn’t want him to glimpse the grief that was growing more difficult to mask.

  She forced a smile and said, “Look out there! I think I see a dolphin splashing in the surf.”

  Spencer squinted out the window.

  After a moment he said, “Where? I don’t see it.”

  “Maybe it was just a trick of the light,” she said.

  Sure. Blame it on the sunset.

  She swallowed hard and glanced at Beau. He was staring straight ahead, focusing on the road now as he steered down the slope onto the flat causeway that stretched ahead as far as they could see. There was no shoulder on the two-lane road; directly beneath the low guardrails was the drop-off to the water.

  She wondered what he was thinking.

  After last night, she had never really expected to see him again—and certainly not so soon. The tension of what had happened in her bed paled beside what they were going through to keep Spencer safe, but sooner or later it was bound to come up again.

  And sooner or later, if they spent time alone together, lust was sure to make another appearance as well. This time, Jordan thought, she would be better prepared to resist him. Last night she had been caught off guard. That wouldn’t happen again. She would steel herself against temptation every second of this journey.

  “What the hell… ?” Beau muttered, frowning into the rearview mirror.

  Glancing into the mirror out her window, Jordan saw a car fast approaching their bumper. It was a sleek, black sports car, and it seemed to have come out of nowhere.

  Her heart began to pound as it crept closer. She turned her head to look over the seat.

  The sun glinted on the black car’s windshield, obscuring the driver’s face.

  “Beau … ?” she said questioningly, and looked to see him watching the rearview mirror intently.

  “It’s okay,” he said. He sped up a bit, but there was a minivan in front of them. A tractor trailer blocked the passing lane to the left. To the right was only the rail, and the choppy waters of the bay.

  The black car was now glued to their rear bumper, dangerously close. Jordan tried to fight back panic, but her mind was racing with terrified thoughts.

  If Beau had to brake suddenly, the car would slam into them from behind. Or maybe that was the driver’s intent. Maybe he was going to force them off the road.

  There was nowhere to go but over the side of the bridge.

  Beau cursed under his breath as a sign popped up, alerting them that the first of the bridge’s two tunnels was just ahead and traffic was being diverted into a single lane.

  The truck in the left lane promptly began to pick up speed.

  Jordan continued to face the rear of the SUV, keeping her eyes on the car behind, fearful of who was driving it. Was it the pirate? Had he found them somehow?

  “Are you okay, Jordan?” Spencer asked, seeing the look on her face.

  She attempted a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, sweetie.”

  “Then what are you looking at?”

  “The bridge behind us.” Her voice cracked. She managed to add, “I’m just checking to see how far we’ve driven.”

  Spencer tried to swivel his neck to see, but he couldn’t see over the high back of the seat from his position. He made a move to unbuckle his seat belt.

  “No!” Jordan said. “Stay strapped in, sweetie.”

  “Why? I just want to—”

  “No!” she repeated. “It’s not safe.”

  “Keep your seat belt on, Spencer,” Beau barked, his eyes on the road, hands fiercely clenching the steering wheel.

  The mouth of the tunnel was just ahead. Jordan saw that the left lane beside them was vanishing fast as the truck sped past them, maneuvering abruptly between their SUV and the minivan ahead, cutting them off. Beau braked, cursing again.

  In the next instant, as the causeway sloped toward the depths of the tunnel beneath the bay, the sleek black car that had been tailgating them darted out to the nearly evaporated left lane.

  There was oncoming traffic. An approaching car blared its horn and screeched its brakes.

  Jordan cried out. Beau cursed colorfully, and loudly.

  “You said a bad word!” Spencer bellowed from the backseat.

  As the black car swept past Beau’s window, Jordan, heart pounding, saw the blurred image of the occupants.

  A couple of teenaged girls. Just joyriding, reckless kids.

  The blond driver flashed her middle finger at Beau as they passed, just before she swerved back into their lane and cut him off, tucking the sports car into the impossibly small length of road between the SUV’s front fender and the rear of the truck that had just done the same thing.

  “Suddenly, I can understand road rage,” Beau muttered, hitting the brake, backing off. “I think I just experienced it. If you two weren’t in the car …” He shook his head. “That was a close call.”

  A close call.

  Jordan nodded, leaning her head back against the seat and closing her eyes, too limp to speak.

  The house was more beautiful than it had appeared in the realtor’s catalogue, and much too big for the three of them. Beau had selected it because, of course, money was no object—and because Lisa had insisted that she wanted something with lots of space, a private pool and hot tub, and majestic views of the sea.

  This place had all that, and more.

  It was situated on a stretch of beach just beyond where the paved road tapered off to sand, accessible only by four-wheel drive. The house was private, the most isolated of a cluster of sprawling seaside homes.

  Beau figured that there was enough distance between this place and the neighbors so that they would have the privacy they sought.

  He left Jordan out in the car with the sleeping Spencer while he unlocked the door and checked out the layout.

  The first floor contained a game room with a pool table and wet bar, a bedroom with twin beds, and a private bath.

  On the second floor were three more bedrooms, all of them suites with private baths and access to outer decks and screened porches.

  The top floor had a master suite, a sprawling living room, a dining room, a kitchen with a breakfast bar, two more balconies, and another screened porch.

  The house was carpeted, tiled, and painted in shades of cream and white. The upholstered furniture was covered in bright-colored fabrics with splashy prints that complemented the framed artwork on the walls.

  Jordan will like this place, Beau thought, looking around. Everything was bright and airy, and perfectly coordinated. Spencer would like it, too, when he woke up tomorrow and saw the blue sparkling water from almost every window.

  Beau stepped out onto a third-floor porch facing the dunes. There were no stars in the night sky, and he couldn’t see the water, but he could smell the salt in the air and hear the thundering surf just yards away.

  He breathed deeply, relieved that he was here at last, that he had made it—and that Jordan and Spencer were with him. Somehow, this felt right. />
  He walked back through the house, peering into bedrooms, turning on lights, and adjusting the air conditioning. In the second floor hallway, he found the large cotton bags the rental place had left containing bed linens and towels. He quickly made up a queen-sized bed in one of the second floor rooms for Spencer and left it turned down so that he could carry the little boy up and put him in without waking him.

  As he headed back downstairs and outside, Beau wondered which room Jordan would want. He assumed she would take one of the second floor rooms to be close to Spencer. That would leave him with the king-sized bed in the master bedroom all to himself. But it wasn’t an appealing thought. He would almost rather be down on the second floor with the two of them.

  Or was that too intimate? Would Jordan want him on the other side of her bedroom wall?

  He knew where he wanted her: in his bed.

  Memories of last night’s curtailed lovemaking sailed into his head, refusing to budge even as he stepped back outside and saw her standing beside the car. She was leaning on the open door on her side, watching Spencer sleeping in the backseat. She looked like a mother bear standing guard over her cub.

  Hearing him behind her, she turned toward him. The light he’d turned on inside the house spilled out into the night, catching her in its glow. She looked exhausted, yet—at least for the moment—serene.

  “How’s the house?” she asked quietly.

  “Beautiful. I made up a. bed for him. That’s what took me so long. I’ll get him and carry him up.”

  She nodded.

  As he opened the back door and scooped the sleeping child into his arms, Beau was reminded of last night—and of countless other nights like it. But then it had been a different car, a different child, a different woman hovering at his side. A different life.

  “Got him?” Jordan whispered softly, closing the car door.

  Beau nodded, walking toward the unfamiliar house, remembering.

  He and Jeanette used to spend weekends traveling—flying off in his private plane or sailing on one of his boats. They always prolonged Sunday nights and the leap back to the real world, stopping for a late dinner and then driving home under the stars, with Tyler sleeping in the backseat.