Safe Haven Read online

  "It's a healthy walk and there's the Green Line."

  Drew had explained that she would use the subway system herself. Satisfied, she nodded and turned to leave.

  Ethan called out. "If I rang you up and asked you to come out for dinner or a drink maybe, would you come?"

  "Maybe."

  He smiled. "Then maybe you'll be hearing from me."

  * * *

  Boston on a Monday morning in spring hummed with a pleasant, understated excitement. Crossing Copley Square to the public library, she absorbed the energy of people filled with purpose, making their way.

  Inside, she wandered through the reading rooms, getting the feel of the place, exploring card catalogs, enjoying the quiet as she gathered her materials. By noon, she'd settled at a table in Bates Hall with a pile of magazines, newspapers and a long list of books.

  All the articles reported the same details of the accident. All mentioned pending investigations involving the builder, VolTerre, Inc.. Only one furnished details of the charges that the concrete hadn't been properly reinforced and that other materials hadn't been up to spec. That same article pondered the architect’s failure to recognize structural defects. This is not good, she thought. Not good at all.

  Another article contained bios and photos of the victims. Captions listed names, ages and whether each had been injured or killed. Of course, the names and faces were unfamiliar. Except one.

  She stared down at the photo in horror. She knew this man, or had known him, many years before. Hoping for a mistake, she searched for his bio.

  "Terence Conlon, Jr., age 29," it read, "son of builder Terence Conlon, Sr. (owner of VolTerre, Inc.) and Candace Minton Conlon. Graduate of Phillips Exeter Academy, University of Pennsylvania Wharton School of Business, single. Pronounced dead at the scene."

  The words blurred on the page. A sinking sensation gripped her, as if every drop of blood had drained from her body. Her hands began to shake and she broke out in a sweat.

  This can't be true, she thought. Apparently, she'd said it aloud, because a neighbor half way down the table shushed her. Ignoring the scolding, she switched off the brass lamp. Without the glare, she compared the photo to the sixteen year old Terry living in her memory.

  His face had lost its youthful fullness; his hair had grown longer. But his dark eyes held their familiar gentleness. Before life had changed, Terry, Jr. had been her friend and the object of her first girlish daydreams about love. Her parents hadn't approved of teenage dating, but he'd escorted her to dances at the girls' academy she attended. She'd gone to one or two functions at his prep school. It had all been very innocent and rather sweet.

  Tears stung her eyes. Although they’d lost touch after her parents died, she felt deeply bereaved. Further on in the article, she found a reference to his father as a man mourning the loss of his son and his friends.

  What does Terence Conlon know about friendship? Where was he when my parents needed him? And after their death, where was their old family friend when I needed him?

  As for his son, she'd forgiven his lack of loyalty to her. He'd been a kid, as she'd been. Now, struck by the irony of his death through his father’s actions, Jordan felt only regret that she’d never contacted him.

  Unable to concentrate further and feeling sick to her stomach, she gathered the periodicals together, returned everything to the front desk and went outside. At the top of the steps, she paused to rub the back of her neck. A voice reached out from off to her left.

  "Tired, eh?" Ethan's words rested easily on her ear, his soft tone a comfort.

  "A little."

  "Too tired to eat?" he asked.

  "I'm never too tired to eat."

  "You'd never know by looking at you."

  "You don't have other plans?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "I saw you working away in there and didn't want to interrupt or I would have asked earlier. What d'you say?"

  Despite her flippant response, food was the last thing on her mind. Still, she found the idea of spending the evening alone even less attractive. She felt no sense of urgency coming from him, no desire to pressure her, only a friendly gesture that, for the moment, filled a void.

  "Why not," she said, pasting on a smile.

  A few minutes later they left the busy center of town and walked through a quiet neighborhood of brownstone buildings and cobbled streets.

  "We're going to a pub called Durgin's Midstream," Ethan said.

  "I’ve heard of Durgin Park."

  He shook his head. “No connection. My mate bought this pub as a fortieth birthday present to himself when he decided to quit teaching - changing horses in... well, you get the idea."

  Inside the mahogany paneled room, electrified railroad lanterns bracketed the bar and brass lamps with green glass shades turned each booth and table into an oasis of warmth. The soft hum of quiet conversation greeted them as they stepped further inside. A pretty woman dressed in black broke into a smile at the sight of them, or more accurately, at the sight of Ethan. The two embraced warmly; tears sparkled in her eyes as she spoke.

  "It's sure good to see you. We worried."

  "I'm all right, love," he said.

  "Had a rough go, did you?" she asked in an accent much like his. Because her concern was readily apparent, Jordan wondered if here stood the woman she'd imagined waiting somewhere for him.

  "A bit," he said, "but things are better now." He turned to Jordan. "This is Lacey, Kevin's partner for life, partner in business and one of my best friends."

  Jordan refused to validate the feeling of relief that flooded through her. She was tired. She was disturbed by Terry's death. She was definitely disturbed. But certainly not by Ethan Caldwell.

  Lacey led them to a booth whose walls were hung with photos. Stark red deserts, a yellow river lined with trees and flowers unlike any she knew and a house standing alone on a vast tract of land, the low hanging eaves of a metal roof shading its wide veranda.

  "Ethan took those. Of home," Lacey explained. She put down two menus and added, "I'll be back with some wine."

  Jordan pointed to the bottom photo. "Is that the cattle station?"

  A tinge of the pain she'd seen before washed over his features. He nodded and cleared his throat. "My folks died there, in a fire, when I was sixteen. I was out larking about with my mates. By the time I got there it was too late to save them. It still hurts, even after all the years."

  "Unfinished business,” she said. “Like with my parents.”

  That's why I'm going to help you, Jordan thought. You and Drew will be able to let go of the accident, let go of the guilt. Because all your questions will have answers. "How do you work things out with someone who's gone?" Ethan asked.

  "It isn't easy."

  "Sounds as though you tried. Did you get it done?"

  "To a degree, but never to my satisfaction."

  “Well, well," boomed a cheerful voice from behind Ethan. "Sure’n I’d about given you up for lost, boyo."

  Ethan's surprise was unmistakable, but the eyes that rolled in droll amusement held an obvious affection for the newcomer. "Give us a break, Kevin, and ditch the brogue."

  She smiled as Ethan moved over to make room for the brawny redhead fixing them with an injured look.

  "Ah, but mate," Kevin protested, "I always favor our new customers with a bit of color and atmosphere. They seem to appreciate it."

  "A bit of blarney, you mean," interrupted Ethan, exactly mimicking Kevin's lilt. Then in his normal speech he continued, "Well, Jordan’s not a customer. She's a friend. And I believe she'd appreciate you more without the window dressing."

  "Is that true, darlin'? Would you prefer my plain old Aussie way?"

  She laughed. "Yes, but promise you'll dust off the brogue once in a while, just for fun."

  Kevin smiled at her. "You're beaut, love." Then he glanced at his friend. "I expect you've noticed she’s beaut?"

  Ethan nodded. "I've noticed."

  "Glad
those drongos didn't knock you senseless the other night," he said with a satisfied nod. "All healed, are you?"

  "Almost."

  "And just aching for another go at it, I'll wager."

  Ethan groaned. They'd obviously had this discussion before. "I have no choice," he insisted, and leaned back against the padded booth.

  "What d'you suppose you'll accomplish," continued Kevin, "except to get beat up again if you're caught." His voice went soft, his concern for his friend as clear as his wife's had been. "They nearly did you in the first time, mate. Don't look for trouble."

  "I'm not looking for trouble, Kev, but I've gone over everything and I can't find any errors. I've got to get onto the site and see for myself where the failures occurred."

  As the conversation continued, Lacey brought the wine and three glasses. Kevin poured the pale gold liquid as Ethan talked. The two men sat shoulder to shoulder, clearly sharing a special friendship, a kinship born of many years. They seemed as close as brothers, and to respect each other's opinion in a way that Ethan and Drew didn't.

  Finally, Kevin shrugged and leaned back. Ethan smiled grimly, an indication he'd made his point. He looked at Jordan apologetically. "Sorry. I didn't mean to exclude you." He nodded at Kevin. "He takes some persuading."

  "He's a good friend." She glanced at the pub owner, who gave her a smile of thanks.

  "Then he should understand why I need to do this."

  "He's worried about you."

  Ethan stared at them, then took up his wine. "To friendship," he said, raising his glass to each of them in turn. "Objections and concerns duly noted and greatly appreciated."

  After they acknowledged the toast and sipped the light, fruity wine, Kevin rose from his place and put a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "As you well know, I'm partial to green-eyed honey blondes. Best hold on to this one, mate, like I did mine." He left them to consider their wine and their menus, while Jordan made a mental note to watch for potential and unwelcome matchmaking schemes.

  Hours later, they stood beneath a crystal chandelier in the white and gold lobby of her hotel. Ethan’s eyes were soft as he asked, "Have breakfast with me tomorrow?"

  Don't be stupid, she thought, but some impulse led her to nod in agreement. His smile warmed her.

  "I'll meet you here around nine,” he said.

  Why did you do that, she chided herself. You’re supposed to be a pro at keeping your distance. Yet with the Caldwells you’ve broken all your own rules. She sighed. Dinner tonight, breakfast tomorrow - she needn't have worried about matchmakers like Kevin Durgin causing trouble. She was doing a fine job all by herself.

  Still, as he turned to go, she called out, "Be careful tonight."

  With a look of surprise, he lifted two fingers to his brow and left.

  When Ethan reached the site he found it shrouded in darkness, except for pools of blue light cast by the safety lamps and a glow from the windows of the construction shack. He approached the small trailer and looked through the dusty glass. The night watchman leaned back in his chair, watching a row of monitors scanning the site. On the floor beside his chair lay a German Shepherd that looked powerful even in repose. When the animal sat up on his haunches and growled deep in his throat, the old man scratched him behind the ears, settling him down again.

  “Easy does it, Smokey. It’s probably our old friend Ethan, is all. He won’t do us no harm.”

  Ethan smiled. Old Lucas - a friend letting him onto the site when the builder locked him out. He watched the man rub the back of his neck at the same moment the dog pricked up his ears again. A pounding on the same door Ethan had used to enter sent him back into the shadows. Time to go, he decided.

  Leading the Shepherd on a short leash, Lucas left the trailer and headed for the door. Ethan moved further into the cavern that would have been the central plaza for the complex and waited. The watchman returned with two enormous figures trailing close behind.

  The men went inside the trailer only to emerge a few minutes later. "Let's check this place out," he heard one of them say. "The boss said to expect visitors tonight."

  "Maybe we should take the pooch," another voice said. "If anyone's here that shouldn't be, he'll sniff 'em out."

  "I'll have to come with you," Lucas said. "He won't mind no one else."

  Ethan heard Lucas summon Smokey. The door to the trailer closed and the footsteps and voices moved away. He followed upwind of the small party at what he hoped was a safe distance. The trek would be worthwhile only if he heard something useful and if his presence remained undiscovered. Quite a trick, if he could pull it off.

  Chapter 3

  At Jordan’s hotel the next morning, nine o'clock came and went without Ethan, as did the following three hours. Finally, she got Kevin's phone number from directory assistance and called him.

  "Could he have overslept?"

  "I doubt it. He has a clock in his head. Damn! I told him to stay away from there." He softened his tone. "Don't worry, Jordan. There's a logical reason for this."

  She sighed. "I hope so."

  "I'd know if he were in trouble."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "We're mates, love. Pure and simple, we're mates."

  They hung up, agreeing to touch base again when Ethan surfaced. For the rest of the afternoon, she tried to keep busy, going over her notes, writing outlines, reading and rereading photocopies of articles she'd gathered.

  Nothing distracted her from the concern she felt or helped her deny that concern existed. Least effective of all? Grappling with the question of how her previous acquaintance with Terence Conlon would affect her assignment with Drew. A brief mental debate convinced her she could help Drew nail the man without conflict. After all, wasn’t that why she’d come?

  At a little after three, she heard a knock. Ethan stood in the doorway - filthy, his windbreaker ripped at the shoulder, but otherwise apparently in one piece.

  "Sorry I'm late." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His loopy grin caused a flutter in the pit of her stomach. "I can explain."

  She held up a hand to cut off his next words. "Are there any new bruises beneath that grime?"

  "No."

  "Good. Then I won't feel guilty about giving an injured man a black eye."

  "You've wanted to do that since we first met."

  "You're right."

  He looked disappointed. "Then nothing's changed?"

  "I wouldn't say that."

  "Were you worried about me, love?"

  "Yes, damn it. Where have you been?"

  "I'll explain after I've had a wash."

  She wrinkled her nose and smiled in spite of her irritation. "New cologne?”

  He laughed. "Yeah, eau de dumpster."

  She led him toward the bathroom and put on the light. "Care to explain?"

  He stepped past her into the marble tiled room. "After the shower. I'm having trouble being around myself just now." He winked. "Twenty minutes and I'm all yours."

  "Okay. For now, I'll settle for your clothes." She pulled out a muslin bag from a vanity drawer and handed it to him. "In here."

  He looked at the bag, saw the valet service label and frowned in mock disappointment. "And here I thought you were putting the hard word on me."

  "Translation, please?"

  He dropped his jacket into the bag and handed it back to her, pulled his shirt over his head and dumped it in after. Her gaze dropped to a muscular chest covered with blond hair, then shot away as his hands gripped the snap fastening his jeans against his flat stomach.

  "What do you think it means," he asked in a serious tone, "to a man wearing nothing but his skin?"

  The message was clear, setting her cheeks on fire. She needed some way to control the situation. Things were getting too friendly, too personal, too...scary. She stepped backward and closed the door, leaving only her hand in the opening. "Just the clothes, please, Ethan, without any indecent proposals."

  "Nothing indecent about i
t. Perfectly natural," he insisted, "considering the company."

  "Ethan!"

  The bag grew heavier as he added the rest of his clothing. With the water running in the shower, she turned the bag over to a valet. His expression confirmed that only his impeccable training kept him from asking about the odorous contents.

  "Have these back to you in two hours," he said with a smile. "I hope!"

  She closed the door, listening to Ethan's watery solo. It wasn't "Waltzing Matilda," but it would do. She opened the bathroom door an inch or so to make sure he'd hear her over the din.

  "Have you eaten anything?"

  "Not since dinner with you," he responded, and returned to his recital.

  She called room service, ordering steak and eggs and tea for him, a salad and coffee for herself.

  The water stopped and moments later, the door opened, letting out a cloud of steam.

  "Did you run across a razor in here?"

  Already disturbed by his presence in her room, she forced herself to ignore the fact that the man leaning out of the bathroom wore only a towel draped around his hips.

  "In that wicker basket with all the complimentary toiletries." Her normal tone of voice pleased her. For the moment, at least, she had achieved the control she'd wanted, had put some distance between them. "Why are you shaving off your beard?"

  He shrugged. "I grew it as a disguise, but they know this look, so it's got to go."

  "I don't understand."

  "Those blokes turned up again - at the building site."

  "Did they see you?"

  "Not this time. If I get rid of the facial hair, maybe it'll throw them off should our paths cross again."

  "Want to tell me about the dumpster?"

  He raked his fingers through his hair. "Nothing much to tell. I just got to the site when they showed up. Between them and the security man and his dog I needed a place to hide. It worked before, with the car, you remember. Eventually, I fell asleep."