Janelle Taylor by Night Moves Page A

little boy’s life hung perilously in the balance.
    But somehow, deep in his gut, he couldn’t believe that Jordan represented any kind of threat to the child. Beau had no idea how Spencer had come to be in her care. And yes, the woman was a complete stranger to him—and, for all he knew, to Spencer as well.
    Yet he found himself wanting to believe in her. Based on nothing other than pure, illogical instinct.
    So…
    If he wasn’t going to call the police, he would have to confront Jordan. If he did it over the phone—and if by chance his instincts about her were completely off base—there was no telling how she might react. She could take off with Spencer, or …
    Or worse.
    No. Beau shook his head.
    Jordan wouldn’t hurt Spencer. He had no idea whatshe was up to, or even who she was, but he knew that much.
    Grammy used to say he was a good judge of character. She said it whenever she recounted the tale of how Beau, as a toddler, inexplicably bit the new bank clerk, Mr. Cheever, on the finger so hard it drew blood. Not long after, the man was arrested for embezzling. The incident shocked the town, but not Grammy. She told everyone who would listen that she knew something wasn’t right about Cheever when the normally affable Beau took such a violent dislike to him.
    Grammy also liked to tell people how Beau stubbornly refused to pose for pictures with the bride or even kiss her when he was the ring bearer at his Uncle Cal’s wedding. The marriage lasted only long enough for Cal’s new wife to run up a mountain of debt before running off with a married man.
    “That Beau,” Grammy always said. “He doesn’t put on any pretenses. If he likes you, he shows you. If he doesn’t, he shows you. And if he doesn’t like you, there’s usually a good reason.”
    Well, Beau liked Jordan Curry.
    He might not want to get involved with her, and he might not entirely trust her, but he couldn’t go reporting her to the police just yet, no matter what the newspaper said. He would just have to check things out for himself.
    In person.
    At last, her hair damp from a long hot shower, Jordan settled into the comfortable recliner in one corner of the living room with the newspapers she had bought that afternoon. Spencer was tucked into bed and hadbeen sound asleep before she even finished emptying the laundry hamper in one corner of the guest room.
    She had thrown a load of clothes into the washer, then turned on the television and tried to lose herself in an old Frank Capra movie.
    But she couldn’t concentrate. She realized she was waiting for the phone to ring again.
    So far, it hadn’t.
    Why hadn’t Beau left a message when he called?
    When she’d run downstairs to check the caller ID display, she had truly expected to see a Philadelphia phone number and perhaps Phoebe’s last name, not Beau Somerville’s. Obviously, he didn’t want to talk to a machine. Fine. He would probably call back, and when he did, she would come up with some excuse for why she—and Spencer—couldn’t see him again.
    The problem was, she wanted to see him again.
    Just knowing that he had called—-just seeing his name on the small digital screen—had sent a quiver of anticipation through Jordan. She could almost convince herself that she was on his mind today as much as he had been on hers.
    Almost.
    The truth was, he wasn’t calling her. She knew this had to do with Spencer. He was following through on his promise to the little boy.
    Jordan shook her head and opened the paper, trying to focus her attention on the news. The house was hushed, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the mantel.
    She read an article about the president’s upcoming trip to the Middle East twice without digesting a word of it. She was halfway through a third attempt when a shrill scream suddenly pierced the silence.
    Jordan leapt from her chair and raced for the stairs.
    Spencer.
    Spencer was screaming.
    Spencer was in