THE RENEGADE AND THE HEIRESS

by Judith Duncan

  Feeling deadened inside, he went into the kitchen and found a small jar of instant coffee, the brand unfamiliar, the crystals dark. He heated a mug of water in the microwave, then dumped some of the crystals in. Noticing the clock on the built—in oven, he picked up the mug and left the kitchen, on the prowl for a TV. It was nearly the top of the hour, and he wanted to find out if there were any new releases concerning Patrick O'Brien's daughter.

  There was a small TV in what he supposed was the library—if the wall-to-ceiling, overflowing bookshelves meant anything. He found the remote and switched on the TV, then stood drinking his coffee, waiting for the headline news.

  If he'd thought Mallory O'Brien might get only a passing mention, he was dead wrong. The story of the missing heiress was the lead story, and it was more than Finn ever bargained for. In fact it was stunning, breaking news.

  George Tyson-Reed and his wife, Marion, had been shot to death as they returned to their country estate the previous night. That alone was bad enough, but what made Finn's blood run cold was a news release read by Edward Jackson, the chief of security for O'Brien Industries, stating that they had reason to believe that Mallory O'Brien was still alive and being held by a convicted felon from Canada. And police on both sides of the border were on the lookout for Finn Patrick Donovan. They believed him to be armed and dangerous, and the authorities were asking for any information on his whereabouts.

  It was like history repeating itself, and when a police photo of him flashed on the screen, a feeling of cold dread sliced through him.

  "Oh, my God," came the whisper of horror from behind him, and he turned, his gut clenching even tighter when he saw the look on her face. But before he had time to even wonder what was going through her head, she launched herself into his arms, clinging to him with terrified strength. And for the first time since he'd found her, Mallory O'Brien's fear had the upper hand.

  Her voice quivering with terror, she locked her arms around him. "Oh, God," she whispered. "What have I done to you? What have I done to you?"

  Her frantic concern for him made his heart stumble, and he shut his eyes and crushed her against him. Against all odds, her belief in him had never wavered, and Finn buried his face in her hair, his chest so tight he couldn't get his lungs to function. He felt as if she had just turned him inside out. "Hey," he whispered gruffly against her hair. "It's okay, Red. This is Jackson's doing. We both know that."

  She locked her arms even tighter, as if she wanted to climb right into his body. "But the police don't know that."

  He gave her a hug, trying to lighten the tone of his voice. "You know, and that's what counts."

  A warning of impending danger gnawed along his nerves, and he gave her another hug; then he eased her away from him. Taking her face in his hands, he made her look at him. Trying to lighten his own expression, he stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs as he managed a small half smile. "I'd like nothing better than to stand here all day with you, but the dogs have been turned loose." He carefully tucked a handful of hair behind her ear, keeping his touch light and gentle. "And if I were tracking us, the first place I'd check out would be your home base. Especially when Jackson knows damned well that if I have you, you aren't a hostage." He bent his head and gave her a quick kiss of reassurance, then met her gaze again, his own serious. "So I think we'd better get out of here—before Jackson and his crew show up. They might have found out about this place."

  They threw their stuff together and tried to eradicate as much evidence as possible that they'd been there. Mallory even had the presence of mind to grab a city map. Making sure she had the illegal cell phone in her small handbag, Finn threw his stuff into his duffel.

  They were out of the apartment in less than twenty minutes. Skirting the security cameras once again, they headed for the stairwell and the underground parkade. Knowing they couldn't leave Finn's vehicle for Jackson to find, they borrowed the front plate off the sedate Jag two stalls down and threw Finn's single plate in the cargo hold. Then with Finn behind the wheel, they roared up the ramp to the street.

  And directly into the path of a blue sedan with the O'Brien Industries logo on the side.

  Swearing, Finn cranked the wheel and stepped on the gas, shooting across oncoming traffic, barely missing the blue sedan and a city bus as he veered in front of it. Cutting off the vehicle on his right, he made a sharp right turn. Her hand on the dash, Mallory turned to look out the back window, her face ashen.

  "I can't see them," she said, her voice shaking.

  Caught in the middle of morning rush-hour traffic, Finn had nowhere to go. He thought maybe, just maybe, he had outmaneuvered them, then he saw the blue car swing out from behind a truck that was following him, and he swore again. It was bad enough that they'd been spotted. But Jackson's crew had them in their sights, and that made his gut ball up. The blue sedan bullied its way through traffic, until it was only two cars behind them.

  It took Finn one long look in his wide side mirror to realize two things. The man in the passenger seat had a weapon, and the driver was talking on a cell phone. Finn had done enough tracking himself to know what was happening. If they were talking on a cell phone, his guess was that reinforcements were being mustered in—and it wasn't going to be the Chicago police department. And that upped the odds. The only way that Ed Jackson could save his own ass was for Mallory to turn up dead. And it was evident from the news release that Jackson planned to hang her death on Finn.

  Mallory spoke, her voice barely controlled. "If I remember correctly, there's some construction about four blocks ahead."

  Knowing they could not risk getting boxed in, Finn made another right-hand turn, and horns blared behind him as he cut through traffic. Spotting an alley and a God-sent break in the traffic, he made an immediate left turn, following the alley down to a less congested side street. Watching every intersection for the blue sedan, he gripped the wheel. Damn it, they couldn't just keep driving around, hoping they'd lost them. Finn glanced at her. "Where's the nearest police precinct?"

  Twisted in her seat, she watched the traffic behind them, fear imprinted on her face. "We can't go to the police," she said, her voice shaking. "If they spot you, they're going to shoot first and ask questions later."

  He managed a small grin. "Now who's sugarcoating things?"

  She looked at him, a dark stricken look in her eyes. "Don't joke," she said, her voice breaking. "Didn't you hear what they said on the news—that you're believed to be armed and dangerous?"

  Trying to keep his tone calm and rational, he answered her. "We can't just keep driving around, Red." Not with Ed Jackson's armed men on their tails. Finn glanced at her, his expression fixed. "Now, where is the nearest precinct?"

  "Oh, God."

  He swiveled his attention to the traffic ahead, his insides dropping when he saw the blue sedan pull out directly in front of them. That was bad enough. But now there were two blue sedans. The second one was waiting at the next intersection, and Finn knew the net was about to close.

  Spotting a loading bay tucked in the back of a big brick warehouse, Finn wheeled into it, slammed the truck into park, snatched the keys out of the ignition and threw open his door. "Get out and run, damn it!" he commanded, grabbing his own cell phone and hitting the automatic door lock.

  She never hesitated. She hit the ground running, her handbag slung across her chest, and headed down a narrow alleyway. His whole body braced for the impact of a bullet, he stayed right behind her, trying to shield her.

  The alley spilled out onto the adjoining street, and as they turned on the sidewalk, Finn saw two men pounding up the alley behind them. Knowing he had to get her some place safe damned fast, he grabbed her hand. "Come on!"

  Breathing hard, she sprinted beside him, gripping his hand. "Is this supposed to be fun?" she managed, her breathing harsh and labored.

  He might have smiled but he was too busy scanning ahead for a possible escape route. The light at the crosswalk changed just as one of
the blue sedans shot across the intersection, the driver slamming on the brakes when he spotted them.

  Men behind them. Men in front of them. They darted across the street, running for their lives. "The office building," Finn directed. They dashed in through the big glass doors and through the marble lobby, the security guard shouting at them. Just as they burst out the other side, Finn spotted the taxi, the wheels cranked, the driver watching for a break in traffic.

  Finn banged on the roof, then yanked open the door and shoved Mallory in. The driver pulled into traffic just as Finn slammed the back door. "Where to, folks?"

  Fighting for breath, Finn grabbed Mallory by the back of the neck and forced her down on the seat. "Just drive. We got some thugs chasing us." This was not his type of wilderness, but it was wilderness just the same, and he considered their options. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the police were not viable options. After the smoke screen Ed Jackson had laid down, the good men in blue were apt to shoot first and ask questions later. And if they happened to take him down, Finn knew that Mallory didn't stand a chance.

  The muffled ring of an unfamiliar cell phone shattered the tense silence, and Mallory abruptly sat up, fumbling for her handbag. "Oh, God," she breathed unevenly. "Let it be Malcolm."

  Her hands shaking, she flipped open the mouthpiece and pressed the connect button. Her face white, she stared at Finn as she put it to her ear. "Yes?"

  Abruptly she pressed her hand to her face, a tremor coursing through her whole body. "Oh, God, Malcolm. Ed Jackson is trying to kill us."

  She lifted her head and stared at Finn, listening. Finn knew they were sitting ducks. It was only a matter of time until Jackson's crew located them, which meant they had to get out of this damned cab and somewhere safe. The cab pulled up beside a city bus, and the huge ad painted on the side jumped out at Finn. And he got a shot of pure adrenaline. Why in hell hadn't he thought of that earlier—like the day after he found her? It was a solution to end all solutions.

  His voice was sharp when he spoke. "Tell him we're heading to that TV station," he ordered, indicating the huge ad. Checking behind him, he gave the cabby their destination, his gut knotting as he spotted one of the blue sedans coming through traffic. "And tell him to be quick with help. We've got trouble on our tail."

  It took them fifteen minutes to get to the station—and it was the longest fifteen minutes Finn had spent in his life. Finn stuffed some cash into the cabby's hand, and once again they hit the sidewalk running. He managed to shoot Mallory a tight smile. "How do you feel about appearing on TV, Red?"

  They managed to bluff their way past the receptionist at the TV station, but they weren't so lucky with the security guard. But Mallory, pale and shaking, made things happen by announcing who she was. And lucky for them, the security guard recognized her.

  Within minutes, they were seated in the office of the station manager, with the security guard posted at the door, and several other personnel standing by. Her legs finally gave out on her and Mallory sank into a chair, still clinging to Finn's hand. Taking a deep breath she squared her shoulders, and looking very much the wealthy industrialist's daughter, she told her story.

  The station manager was an old news director, and his reaction was immediate. Not only did he have the scoop of the decade sitting in his office, he also recognized that Ms. O'Brien's safety depended on how he handled the situation. He immediately moved Finn and Mallory to an inner corridor, barred by heavy security doors. Leaving two more security guards posted outside, he ushered them both into a control room. And before Finn really had time to assess what was going on, he found himself standing in a darkened comer of a brightly lit studio, a dozen people milling around him, instructions being shouted from every direction. He never took his eyes off Mallory, who was huddled with the station manager, discussing the content of a hastily written script.

  With cameramen positioned behind their cameras, a woman with a headset handed the script to the announcer, then raised her arm and began the countdown. The instant she pointed at the announcer, the red light came on, and the man behind the news desk looked directly into the camera.

  "Good morning. This is Chicago AM and I'm Brian Black with breaking news." Then, reading from the script he'd just been handed, he announced that there were new developments concerning Mallory O'Brien, the missing daughter of Patrick O'Brien. Looking straight into the camera, he said that in an exclusive interview with the station, she had told about her abduction, about the plane crash and how Mr. Donovan had stumbled across her in the wilderness. And how, at great personal risk, Mr. Donovan had gotten her safely back to Chicago. The announcer concluded the newsflash, and the woman with the headset turned and pointed to the control room for a hastily assembled profile on the case. The red light immediately switched off and everyone started milling around.

  The whole thing lasted maybe three minutes, and Finn got a sick feeling in his gut when he realized his mission was completed. He knew that with the airing of that report, the authorities would be looking for Ed Jackson. His face set in stern lines, Finn shifted his position, his gaze never leaving Mallory's pale face, the heavy, empty feeling unfolding in him. Clenching his jaw against the rush of emptiness, he looked away, his throat knotted. He had accomplished what he had set out to do—to keep her safe. Now she would be enfolded in her father's millions, and he would go back to his high country. And that would be that.

  Swallowing hard, he gouged at his eyes, the hollow feeling climbing higher. He had known her only a matter of days, and she had taken over his entire life. And he wasn't sure how he was going to survive without her.

  Mallory had just started toward him, a smile on her face, when the studio door burst open and a heavily armed tactical team rushed in and fanned out. Someone shouted, "Everybody freeze! Hands on your heads!"

  One of the team grabbed Mallory and shoved her in the corner; two other members hemmed her in. Finn saw her stumble and fall, and she yelled his name, and he exploded.

  He was across the room before anyone had a chance to contain him, managing to tackle two of them before the others shut him down. It all happened so fast Finn could barely assimilate it. One moment he was standing there feeling like hell, then in the next instant, he was restrained by three men, his face shoved against the wall and his arms twisted up behind his back. Fury slicing through him, he collected his strength, prepared to take his assailants down; then he saw the police flash on the shoulder of one of the men and he forced himself to go slack. For one terrifying moment, he'd thought it was a team of Jackson's men. And he'd thought he'd lost the game after all.

  His heart slamming against the walls of his chest, adrenaline still pumping through him, Finn closed his eyes, his face twisted against the wall. Above the racket, he could hear Mallory putting up a hell of a fight.

  "Let me go!" she demanded, her voice rising in fury. "And you take your damned hands off him!"

  There was the sound of a tussle, and somebody swore, and the cop holding Finn jammed him harder against the wall. Finn felt the bite of tie-wrap handcuffs around his wrists. He heard another scuffle and saw the flash of red hair very close to him, then a wall of black uniforms. Hauling in air, he turned his head, his face scraping against the rough texture of the wall. "It's all right," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Don't fight 'em, Red. These are the good guys."

  The man holding him grabbed him by the hair and yanked him upright, jamming a baton under his chin, his tone threatening. "You got that right, buddy. Now, march. We're going for a little ride."

  And the last glimpse Finn had before he was taken away was of Mallory trying to fight her way free of the security around her, her face white with alarm. "No! No! I'd be dead if it wasn't for him!" Each arm restrained by the two police escorts, Finn got shoved into the hallway, Mallory's voice rising in a mixture of fury and panic. "Damn it! Why won't you listen?"

  Finn knew damned well why they wouldn't listen. He had walked this walk befor
e. His expression completely shut down, he looked straight ahead, his jaw locked, the hole in his chest spreading. It was a hell of a way to say goodbye.

  * * *

  Sitting with his back against the cinder block wall, Finn stared across the jail cell, the smell and the layers of graffiti on the dirty green paint dragging him back to a time he'd never wanted to recall. And although the plastic cuffs had been removed, he could still feel where they had cut into his flesh.

  He hadn't been photographed or fingerprinted, but his personal effects had been confiscated. And he had been interrogated by two detectives from the Chicago police department and by four FBI agents. At this point, he really didn't give a damn who came through the door anymore. Once he had been assured that Ms. O'Brien was safe, he answered their questions, offering up nothing and trying not to think. But there was nothing like being held for four hours in a dingy, stinking cell to remind him of who he really was.

  Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and clamped his jaw together, trying to will away the feeling of claustrophobia—the feeling of being trapped. He knew why he was there. No one got away with slugging two cops, especially an ex-con, and especially someone who'd been accused by Ed Jackson of being armed and dangerous. He understood their caution—he didn't like it, but he understood it. He also knew they couldn't hold him for long. Which meant he was going to have to just damned well grit his teeth and tough it out. Things would happen when they happened.

  Using a technique he had learned from his years in prison, he tried to block everything out by holding one clean bright memory of Mallory in his mind. But in some ways, that only made it worse. It reminded him of just how damned alone he really was.