"For two reasons. I expect the good Mr. Jackson is already intimately familiar with my cell phone number. And I think it would kick off fewer suspicions if you could leave a local number. For anyone to call my cell phone, they'd have to dial long distance."
Mallory stared at him, then nodded and looked away. She never said another word. Instead, she sat silently beside him, watching out the window, and he couldn't even see her profile. He could tell by the way she had her hands clenched together that she was struggling to keep her panic contained.
It wasn't until they could see the city rising out of the horizon that she spoke again, her tone quiet. "I'll drive from here."
Finn wasn't sure that was such a good idea either, but he didn't say anything. She was so tense it was as if she was held together by a thread, and he understood that she needed to do something. And that made his own mood turn grim. They were, without question, heading down to the wire.
The solution to a second cell phone presented itself at a red light in a seedy part of the city. Finn happened to glance across at Mallory, and he noticed the passenger in the car next to her was talking on a cell phone. Finn had learned to read more than body language in prison, and the tattoos covering the passenger's arms said it all. This dude had spent a lot of time on the wrong side of the law, and most of it in prison. And ten chances to one, the phone was illegal. Finn grabbed his own cell phone and launched himself out of the truck.
Mallory gave him an alarmed look as he slammed the door, commanding her through the open window. "Drive around the block and find somewhere to park. I'll find you."
It took him one green light, with horns blaring because of blocked traffic, to negotiate a deal. Before he handed over the cash, he used his own phone to dial the number they'd given him. When the phone rang, he handed the dude three hundred dollars, then dodged oncoming traffic. He would have paid twice that amount.
Finn found Mallory parked in a garbage-filled loading bay of a grimy brick warehouse, and he could see the relief in her eyes when he climbed back into the cab.
He held up the second cell phone. "We're in business, Red."
She gave him a weak smile. "I don't even want to know how much I owe you." Looking behind her, she backed into the street, then pulled into traffic. There was an odd silence; then she spoke. "I'm taking us to my place."
Finn stared at her, a hard knot settling in his belly. "I think that could be a big mistake."
She checked over her shoulder and moved over a lane, a hint of her old stubbornness in her tone. "Why?"
"For one thing, how are you going to get in? You don't have any keys. And secondly, if I were Ed Jackson, that's the first place I would have staked out, just in case."
She gave him a tight smile. "Not if he doesn't know about it. This is the apartment that no one, not even my father, knows about. And I can get in."
Still, he did not like the idea one little bit. With Ed Jackson's connections, no place was safe. As far as he was concerned, they were walking straight into the lion's den.
It wasn't until they were about to pull into a gated underground garage that she spoke again. "I'm not going to do anything stupid," she commented, as if adding to an existing conversation. "My neighbor is away on a Mediterranean cruise, and I know her security code." Stopping at a keypad mounted just in front of the gate, she punched in seven numbers, then the gate slowly rolled up, allowing them to pass under.
Finn's survival instinct kicked in, and the knot in his gut got worse. They were going into the lion's den—in more ways than one. And it made him uneasy. Damned uneasy.
Mallory parked in the wide empty space between a silver BMW coupé and an older Rolls-Royce. She put the vehicle in park, switched off the ignition, then got out—and immediately disappeared from view. Not liking the fact that she'd dropped out of sight, Finn got out and went behind the vehicle. He found Mallory on her back under the tail end of the BMW. "What in hell are you doing?" he demanded, the last couple of hours of tension getting to him.
Muttering something under her breath, she reached up under the vehicle, then a few seconds later she scrambled up, a magnetic key holder in her hand. She waggled it at him. "I have a bad habit with keys." She opened the case, took a key out and put it in the passenger side door lock. "I either lock myself out, or I leave 'em somewhere, or I lose them."
Mallory opened the door, leaned in and began rummaging in the glove compartment. Presented with a perfect view of her jean-clad bottom, Finn discovered he wasn't as tired as he thought. "That's not a bad habit," he felt obliged to point out. "That's pathological."
He heard her chuckle; then she backed out, dangling a key chain with a single key on it under his nose. "Voila! The key to my apartment."
Finn gave her a wry half smile. "How come you don't have a set in the heels of your shoes?"
Mallory grinned and reached into the back seat of the SUV. "Wrong shoes."
Swinging out his duffel bag, she handed it to him, then picked up hers. "I don't mean to be inhospitable, Donovan, but I can't say I'm sorry to see the last of your truck."
He frowned and turned, looking at the BMW. "I thought you said you were in your car when they grabbed you."
She gave him a speaking glance. "I do have more than one car, you know." Her duffel in her hand, she started walking toward a security door, an off-center grin appearing. "You're in my territory now, slugger. You're going to have to follow me."
To avoid security cameras, she took him up a poorly lit and little-used stairwell, using one of the keys on the chain to unlock the security door on the top floor. "You can get out by these doors, but they automatically lock behind you when you leave." She shot him another small grin over her shoulder. "Just in case you should need to know."
Finn did not want to step into that hallway for a whole lot of reasons, not the least being another security camera. Every instinct in him warned him to stay where he was, but his gut feelings had nothing to do with any threat. It had to do with the fact that he was going to be forced to come face-to-face with the reality of Patrick O'Brien's daughter. And all that it entailed.
He tried to stall. "I expect you have staff. What are you going to tell them?"
She gave him an annoyed look. "I don't have staff here, Donovan," she said, her tone pointed. "I had too many years with people hovering. And I hated it. I have a live-out housekeeper who comes a couple of times a week, and that's it." She gave him another half smile that did not reach her eyes; then she glanced through the narrow window, waited a second and opened the door. "Don't wander off," she warned. "We gotta do this fast."
Mallory waited as the camera made the rotation to scan the hallway that ran at right angles to the one the security door opened onto. She then took the key out of the lock, opened her door and shoved him inside. Abruptly shutting the door, she looked up at him, mischief in her eyes. "How's that for artful dodging?"
He gave her an amused look. "Don't you ordinarily unlock your door like a normal person?"
She dumped her duffel and jacket on the floor and smiled. Then she tucked the key chain in the breast pocket of his jacket and patted it. "Just in case you need it later."
Looping her hair behind her ear, she reached for the switch.
Light flooded the windowless foyer, and Finn's response died on his lips, a sick feeling rising up in him. It was even worse than he expected.
The evidence of her immense wealth was everywhere. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn't this. Exquisite Persian rugs, priceless Chinese porcelains, rare period antiques, crystal chandeliers and the kind of art that international museums would kill for. He remembered her comment that he needed some bright rugs on his plain wooden floors, and the sick feeling intensified. He didn't realize until that instant—when that second rush hit him—that he had been hoarding some vague hope that this was not the end. But one look at her elegant, priceless surroundings, and he knew it was. This was who she really was.
Aware that Mall
ory was watching him, as if assessing his reaction, he arranged his face into an unreadable expression, then forced himself to look at her. He experienced another surge when he saw how she was watching him. "I needed you to see this," she said, her voice soft and uneven.
Feeling dangerously off balance, he didn't know what to make of her reaction. And she threw him for another loop when she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him hard, her whole body quivering. "It's only me," she whispered brokenly. "It's just me."
A hollow feeling settling around his heart, Finn closed his eyes and gathered her up in a fiercely protective embrace, his throat getting very tight. He'd never expected to get a second chance at the kind of suffocating feelings that were welling up inside him—he thought he was damned lucky to have it happen once in a lifetime. But twice? No, he'd never expected it to happen twice, and not like this not as if she were his next breath—not as if the constant ache was eating him up alive. He wasn't sure how he was ever going to be able to walk away, but he'd known all along that he'd have to. She didn't fit in his world, and he sure in hell wouldn't fit in hers. But it was going to nearly kill him when he finally left her. It was going to rip him in two.
Swallowing hard, he thrust his hand into her hair and roughly pressed her head against the curve of his neck. He didn't want to think about tomorrow, or the day after that. It was now that counted.
Whispering his name, Mallory pressed a soft, intimate kiss against the tight cords in his neck, the effects of the caress making his knees want to buckle. Doing unbearable things to him, she slid her hands down the back of his jeans, pressing him against her. And Finn hauled in a ragged breath and clutched her tighter, an age-old desire roaring through him. It was as if those soft wet caresses ripped open something inside him, and the only way he could survive was to climb right inside her brightness.
Mallory abruptly shifted her hold and clasped the back of his head, her breathing just as ragged as his as she pressed her face against his neck. Locked in a common need, they remained motionless, clinging to each other. Finn felt so exposed, so raw with wanting, he didn't think he could let her go. He really didn't.
As if fighting to collect herself, Mallory remained motionless for a moment; then she pulled away and grasped his hand. Without looking at him, she led him up the curved suspended staircase to her loft bedroom.
The space was nearly as large as his entire cabin, with a huge tester bed centered in the deep burgundy room. White gauzy fabric hung draped over the crossbars of the bed, the enclosure as airy as a dream.
Finn allowed her to lead him to the bed. Then, bracing himself for an agonizing surge, he grasped her head and tipped her face up, covering her mouth with a soft, feather-light kiss. But softness backfired on him, and the moistness of her open mouth pulled him in, nailing him with such a surge of need it compressed the air right out of his lungs. Kissing her was like drowning in moist heat, and he fought for air as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her mouth offering him everything.
Unable to tear himself away from her, he fought with her clothing, stripping it off piece by piece, her urgent, questing hands setting off one throbbing response after another. The kiss turned more frantic, more urgent, more desperate. It was like being trapped in a fever, but finally they were rid of the confining barriers of their clothing.
His blood racing thick and heavy, Finn carried her down onto the huge bed, the feel of her hot naked body beneath him making him shudder. It was too fast, too frantic, too out of control, and he tried to stop, to slow down, but then Mallory wrapped her legs around him, rubbing the tip of his hardness against her moist heat. And right then, he lost what little control he had left. His face contorting, he thrust into her, the hot, slick sensation wrenching a ragged sound from him. He was drowning. Drowning in the heat of her, the tightness of her, the frenzy of her. But he was not alone. She locked him to her, thrusting up against him, calling to him, taking him deeper and deeper. Then the blackness exploded, and he was lost in the bright white light.
When Finn finally surfaced, he was damp with sweat, his arms were trembling and he was so emptied and weak he couldn't move. But he was still holding her, his arms locked around her, their bodies tightly fused together. Collecting what little strength he had left, he braced his weight on his arms and tightened the hand tangled in her hair, then kissed her with every ounce of gentleness he could muster, his throat jammed up tight. In the space of days, she had become the air he breathed, and he wasn't sure how he was going to survive when he had to leave her.
A tight ache formed in his throat and he cradled the back of her head, pouring everything he felt into that one gentle kiss. He could never say the words—but he could feel them. By God, he could feel them.
His hand cradling her head, he looked down at her, his expression softening. Managing a smile, he used his thumb to dry her mouth. "This is some bed, Red. We could play tag football in here."
She ran her hand up his back, pulling his head down, then whispered against his mouth. "I like the way you tackle me. Are you ready to play?"
He didn't think so, but she proved him wrong. The next half hour nearly destroyed him. And when he surfaced that time, he was flat on his back with her astride him, her hands braced on either side of his head, her hair a wild tumble around them. Behind her the gauzy fabric seemed to float. And he knew he'd carry that image of her to his grave.
Catching her by the back of her head, he drew her down into his arms and gave her a long kiss, then nestled her head beside his on the pillow. Closing his eyes, he smoothed his hand up her back, trying to tell her by touch alone what she meant to him.
They lay like that for a long time—not speaking, not moving just absorbed in the feel of each other. Then finally Mallory took a deep uneven breath and hugged him hard, her grip almost desperate. Feeling the change in her, Finn tucked her head under his jaw and tightened his hold, his own expression turning sober. Ever since she had tried to call her father and got Ed Jackson instead, Finn had sensed a barely controlled dread in her, and he sensed it again now. And he knew, in spite of how much he'd like to keep reality at bay, they could not drift any longer.
He held her for another few seconds, then let his breath go as he gave her a reassuring squeeze. As if reading his mind, she pulled out of his arms and sat up, then reached for his shirt. Her back to him, she buttoned it, then rose. Still avoiding his gaze, she disappeared down the stairs. His expression sober, Finn stuffed one hand under his head and stared at the ceiling. He wished to hell they had a Plan B.
He heard her footstep on the stairs, then Mallory appeared with the illegal cell phone. Her face stiff with tension, she climbed up beside him, flipped open the mouthpiece, then looked at him, fear shimmering in her moss-green eyes. Running his hand up her thigh to reassure her, he held her gaze and nodded. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, she punched in the numbers. Then tossing her head to flip back her hair, she lifted the phone to her ear, her hands visibly trembling.
Her face like wax, she drew lines on her bare leg with her thumbnail, her whole body tensed. Finn could tell by the reaction in her eyes when the call was answered, and he saw her eyes brighten with relief. She put a smile into her voice. "Hi, Joyce. I'm an old friend of Malcolm Bainbridge, and he gave me this number sometime ago. I'm going to be in Chicago for a few days, and I was wondering if you could pass a message on for me?"
There was a small pause; then Mallory spoke again.
"That would be great. Would you please tell him that Marigold called, and he can reach me at this number." She repeated the number twice. As soon as she disconnected, she dropped the phone on the bed, then looped her arms around her upraised knees and pressed her face against them. She sat like that for just a moment; then she abruptly got up and went to stand before the windows overlooking Lake Michigan. Her arms folded, she stared out, her profile stark in the heavily shadowed room.
His expression unsmiling, Finn pulled on his jeans and went over to her. Withou
t speaking, he slid his arms around her, pulling her back against his naked chest. As if emotionally exhausted, Mallory rested her head on his shoulder, then shifted so her forehead was pressed against his jaw. Tightening his arms around her, Finn tucked his head against hers. Now all they had to do was wait.
* * *
Chapter 10
«^»
And they waited. Afternoon dragged into early evening, early evening dragged into night, and the illegal phone did not ring. Unable to stand the growing panic in her eyes, Finn took her to bed and made love to her until neither one of them could think straight. And then he held her, quietly telling her stories of his wilderness until she drifted off, curled up in his arms.
After she fell asleep, Finn stared into the darkness, dread rolling around in his gut. Either her father was already dead, or his bodyguard had taken him so far underground no one could reach either of them. Which meant that he and Mallory were very much on their own. Thinking of the rifles locked up in his gun safe at home, Finn clenched his jaw. The cell phone was useless. He should have bought a damned gun instead.
It was still dark and very early when Finn got up the next morning. Leaving Mallory asleep in bed, he left the loft without making a sound and went downstairs, the knot in his gut getting worse. He retrieved his shaving gear and clean clothes out of his duffel bag, then used the bathroom adjacent to what appeared to be a guest room. Trying to block out the signs of immense wealth around him, he had a long, hot shower, the hollowness in him continuing to expand. He had trained himself a long time ago not to think about the future. And he was going to have to learn to do it again. Except without her in his life, there wasn't going to be much of a future.
Nailed with a sense of loss so strong that it was physical, Finn braced his hands on the shower wall and bent his head, grief slicing through him. Without her, nothing much mattered a damn.
It took Finn a long time to get it together, and early morning traffic had already started to move when he went into the living room. The sound rose up from the street, invading the silence of the apartment. Finn stared out, his arms folded, his shoulder braced on the casement. Like a moving chain, the headlights of an assortment of vehicles moved along the drive, and Finn watched it, wondering how people could live with the constant noise, the constant hustle and bustle.
THE RENEGADE AND THE HEIRESS Page 19