Ryan's Rescue

by Karen Leabo

  “I did raise my voice,” she admitted. “But I wasn’t exactly angry, more like desperate. He has an illness. I was desperate, and I used the only leverage I could think of to force him to get help.”

  Ryan could see why Chrissy had become a liability to Stan Greenlow. Drug addiction in any form made people do horrible things they wouldn’t consider otherwise. But to sacrifice his beloved daughter? To turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the possibility of her being raped, beaten, tortured to death?

  “You see why I prefer the collusion theory,” she said softly.

  He nodded, feeling a little sick.

  “And you understand why I didn’t call the police right away? I read the article in your paper. Dad was quoted as saying he had no idea what had happened to me, that no ransom demands had been made, and I knew he was lying.”

  She flopped back down on the bed. “I just couldn’t deal with it. All I wanted to do was push it from my mind, pretend I was some other person, without all these problems and decisions to make. It was almost like I had a minibreakdown or something.”

  “You’ll have to face your dad eventually, you know.”

  “Yeah. But not for a few days. I want to talk to Michelle first. She has a real practical way of looking at things. Sometimes she can see whole new angles that I never dreamed of.”

  Ryan clicked off his tape recorder, closed down his computer files. For some reason, he felt incredibly crummy. Chrissy had volunteered this information without much prompting from him, yet he felt that he’d somehow violated her.

  “You’re done?” she asked.

  “For now. We need a break. How about that fun trip to the medical lab I promised you?”

  “Okay. I guess I’m about tapped out, anyway.” She yawned. “I’d better call Michelle and tell her I’ve been delayed.” She picked up the phone by the bed and dialed the number from memory. Again, Ryan listened. Apparently Michelle had heard about her half sister’s disappearance, because this conversation involved some lengthy explanations.

  “I’ll arrive sometime this evening,” Chrissy said. “Then I can tell you the whole story. Please don’t worry.” She hung up, then disappeared into the bathroom without a word.

  When they’d both dressed, they packed up their few belongings and headed downstairs. Ryan checked out, and they took the elevators down to the garage. His car was exactly where he’d left it. Why he’d thought anyone would bother with it was beyond him. The terrorists were after Chrissy, not his car.

  He supposed he was a little paranoid where his Vette was concerned. He’d already lost his custom hubcaps.

  Chrissy, once again incognito with her hat and sunglasses, seemed to have more of a spring in her step this morning. “I really think this lab idea is so smart,” she said. “Have you thought of any other ideas that might help verify my story?”

  He unlocked and opened her door. “Well, you said they took your engagement ring and earrings, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did they mention what they planned to do with the jewelry?” He let Chrissy think about her answer while he walked around to the other side of the car and got in.

  “I don’t think they said, at least not to me,” Chrissy said. “Maybe one of the women wanted the jewelry.”

  “It seems more likely to me they would want to get rid of it—fence it, pawn it. I contacted a buddy on the police force who works in the theft division. He’s going to lean on some of the fences he knows, see if he can get some info. Meanwhile—”

  “We could try the pawnshops,” she finished for him, almost bouncing with excitement. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Two-carat diamond rings don’t get pawned every day. If some pawnbroker saw it, he’d remember it.”

  “I thought you were in a hurry to get out of town.”

  “Oh, what’s a few more hours?”

  “Great.” He had no idea how many pawnshops there were in D.C.—fifty or five hundred. But with two pairs of hands and two telephones, they could at least make a dent in the list. It wasn’t that Ryan truly believed they’d find the ring just sitting around in a pawnshop window. A professional fence would pay more for the jewelry. But who knew how savvy these environmental jerks were? Maybe they didn’t have good criminal contacts. They sure were piss-poor kidnappers—couldn’t get the ransom, couldn’t hold on to their hostage, couldn’t even get any publicity.

  Anyway, even if their pawnshop search yielded nothing, at least he’d succeeded in getting Chrissy to hang around a few more hours. He told himself he was just protecting his story, his source. But the reasons went deeper than that. He just plain liked having her around. She was nothing like he’d expected Stan Greenlow’s heiress daughter to be.

  Ryan knew right where one of those independent medical labs was. They’d sprung up everywhere since the demand for confidential AIDS testing skyrocketed. People didn’t like going to their family doctors for something like that. Chrissy gave her name as Dawn White—an alias Ryan had chosen for her, a bit more anonymous than Chrissy Green would have been. They ordered a comprehensive drug screening, and then Chrissy disappeared through a door marked Patients and Medical Personnel Only.

  He paid the fee while he waited for her—another blow to his credit card, but who was counting these days? He was amazed the charge went through.

  She reappeared a few minutes later, holding a wad of gauze in the crook of her arm. “Okay, I’m done. How long will it take to get the results?”

  “They said three to five days.” And no amount of wheedling or bribery would make it happen any faster, Ryan had discovered.

  “Oh.” She frowned. “That won’t even be in time to make your deadline.”

  “No, but it’s the best we can do.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. What next?”

  “We need phones and a yellow pages. I called Fran while I was waiting. She said we can work at her studio as long as we don’t bring any terrorists with us.”

  Chrissy shivered. “You don’t think they know where we are, do you?”

  Without thinking much about it, he put his arm around her. “I think we shook off your friend Denny last night. He was working alone, it seemed to me, maybe trying to redeem himself for letting you escape. I’m hoping he’s given up.”

  “For now.” She shivered again. “I hate having to be constantly afraid. If the police don’t catch these guys, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for a long time to come. And I won’t have the benefit of my father’s security, either.”

  He gave her shoulders a squeeze and released her. “You won’t be alone. You’ll have your sister—”

  “Living hundreds of miles away.”

  “What about friends?”

  “I doubt any of them will even speak to me after this fiasco. My so-called friends avoid scandal like the plague. I only realized it recently, but I don’t have a single close girlfriend I can call.”

  “And your fiancé?” He hated to even ask.

  “Ha! Are you kidding? I tried calling him for help. I might as well have told him I had leprosy and several STDs.”

  They stopped in front of Ryan’s car. “And you’re still going to marry the jerk?”

  She peeked out from behind her sunglasses. “Did I say that?” She climbed into the car before he could respond, but that was just as well. Better that she didn’t see the silly grin that was undoubtedly lighting up his face. His step was a little bit lighter as he sprinted around to the driver’s side.

  “So, you’re giving Roberto the boot?” he asked as he started the engine.

  “Absolutely. I realized I was about to settle for a lukewarm situation. Robert and I were...comfortable together. I used to think that was appropriate—desirable, even. No messy emotions getting in the way of day-to-day harmony. But I was wrong.”

  “I should hope so,” Ryan murmured. A passionate, exciting woman like Chrissy locked in a bloodless marriage would be a colossal waste. “Anything in particular make you change your mind?” H
e wasn’t holding his breath for any specific answer to that question, he told himself sternly. Perhaps she didn’t see him as the enemy anymore. In fact, they were uneasy allies now. But that was a long way from... well, it was a long way.

  “I think it’s just that, for the last couple of days, I’ve been feeling everything very intensely—fear, anger... passion.” Her voice dropped on the last word. “I realized that I’ve been living in this emotional vacuum. All these feelings I had were blocked up somewhere in my brain, and now they’re pouring out of me. I think that’s why I’ve been crying and shouting and laughing so much, not to mention the bad dreams.”

  “And the kissing,” he added, flashing her a mischievous wink. “Don’t forget that.”

  Her face turned a charming shade of pink. “Ryan, please.”

  “Is the memory that unpleasant?”

  “It’s embarrassing that I fell all over you like that. And that picture! I hyperventilate every time I think about it. I would just die if that picture went into Primus magazine.”

  “It won’t.” The pictures belonged to Fran, of course, and she could do whatever she pleased with them, but he was confident he could’s way her to his way of thinking on this. If anyone even suspected he was on intimate terms with Chrissy—whether it was true or not—the integrity of his story would be shot to hell.

  As for Chrissy falling all over him, he seemed to remember some mutual falling going on.

  “This is Fran’s studio?” Chrissy asked when Ryan pulled into an alley a few minutes later. “This looks almost as bad as that street where the Pit Bulls hang out.”

  “It’s a warehouse district, Princess,” he said. “The rent’s cheap, and there’s plenty of space. Lots of photographers are located down here. Don’t worry, it’s safe, at least during the daytime.”

  Chrissy’s nose was wrinkled in distaste as he led her up a flight of crumbling concrete stairs to a steel door. He rang the buzzer. Moments later, Fran answered. “Come on in, guys. My partners are both out today, so we have the place to ourselves. How’s the story coming, Rye?”

  “It’s coming,” he said. “I’ll let you read what I’ve got.”

  “Can I read it, too?” Chrissy asked.

  “No!” Fran and Ryan said together.

  Chrissy stopped. Her body went tense, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “Why not?”

  Ryan put a hand on her shoulder, soothing, calming. He really liked touching her, and he was glad to find excuses to do so. “Reporters never let their sources read their stories until they’re in print,” he explained.

  “Why not?”

  “Because they always start screaming for changes if they don’t come out looking squeaky-clean,” Fran said.

  “But I wouldn’t do that,” Chrissy argued as they all walked across the cavernous studio’s wooden plank flooring. “Maybe I could help you fill in the holes.”

  “Every source does it,” Ryan said. “And if there are any holes, I’ll find them and fill them myself, thank you.”

  “Well,” Chrissy said huffily. “I’m only trying to help.”

  Fran laughed uproarously at this, and Ryan kept his own smile under control only with the utmost willpower. For a woman in her position, Chrissy was surprisingly ingenuous, even naive. And he enjoyed the hell out of her. A lot.

  Chrissy’s back was hurting, and her bottom was asleep. She and Ryan had been on the phone for hours in Fran’s office, checking out dozens and dozens of D.C.’s hundreds of pawnshops. They were concentrating on the ones closest to Peak Street, and it seemed there was one on every corner in that neighborhood.

  Most of the people she talked to were nice, some were indifferent, a few were downright rude, as if she’d just called and asked if they had Prince Albert in a can.

  She punched in yet another number. “Good morning... er, afternoon. I’m looking to buy a high-quality diamond solitaire, and I was wondering if you might have something in the neighborhood of, oh, one and a half carats.” This was the ruse Ryan had devised. Posing as customers, he’d said, would get them a lot more information than mentioning right off the bat that the jewelry was hot.

  “As a matter of fact, miss, I do have something in that range. It’s actually about two carats, but I can work with you on the price, you know what I’m saying?”

  Chrissy gestured frantically toward Ryan. “Well, that’s very accommodating of you. Can you tell me more about the ring?”

  “A guy brought it in just last week. It’s pear-shaped. Good-quality diamond, real clear, no occlusions. It’s set in white gold.”

  Ryan had his ear pressed up against the phone, listening in. His nearness distracted her. She closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to come together. “Um, are you sure it’s white gold? Not platinum?”

  “I’m sure. I got some earrings, too, real knockouts. A carat apiece. I could cut you a real good deal if you bought the ring and earrings together.”

  “Hmm...I might be interested,” she said, trying to contain her excitement. This had to be ii! “Can I come by and see the pieces this afternoon? Will you hold them for me?”

  “They aren’t going nowhere. You need directions?”

  “No, I see there’s a map in the yellow pages.” She concluded the call, then gave a war whoop. “I found them! Ryan, you’re a genius!” Impulsively she threw her arms around him, her feeling of triumph bubbling over into something more, something visceral and earthy that made her want to do more than kiss Ryan.

  But kiss him she did, long and slowly and thoroughly.

  Ryan didn’t take long to pick up the ball. His surprise over her exuberance turned quickly to an enthusiastic response. He kissed her back, with a fervor equal to her own, invading her mouth with his tongue, burying his fingers in her hair. He pulled her closer, leaning against a work table, snugging her body between his legs.

  “I know this is crazy,” she murmured against his lips between kisses.

  “Mmm-hmm...” Ryan agreed complacently as he trailed damp, satiny kisses along her jaw, then her neck.

  “I just threw myself at you,” she whispered, as if confessing some terrible sin to a priest. “That’s not like me.” But she didn’t regret it, not for an instant. Ryan’s kisses had migrated to her collarbone while his hands roamed up and down the sides of her hips, then encircled her waist and imprisoned her so that she couldn’t move—not that she wanted to.

  “It’s those blocked-up emotions you mentioned earlier,” he murmured, still kissing, still teasing with his tongue. He’d nuzzled aside her shirt, trying to gain better access to her breast.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra. She didn’t have one, and she hadn’t thought it mattered that much, since she was wearing Ryan’s thick cotton shirt. Now she felt suddenly vulnerable. If he even came close to touching her nipple...

  He did, and fire shot through her, turning her knees to jelly and the rest of her to quivering acquiescence. No kisses had ever produced such results, not even with Doug. She felt helpless against the roaring tide of passion washing over her.

  “Ryan?” His name on her lips was both a plea and a caress.

  He raised his head and met her gaze with desire-glazed eyes. His breath came in short gasps. “Lord, Chrissy, what’s happening? I suddenly want you so bad I could take you right here on this table.”

  “It’s my fault,” she said immediately. “I was so excited about finding my ring, and so grateful for all the trouble you’ve gone to dig up the truth, and I—”

  He silenced her with another kiss. “I wasn’t exactly looking to assess blame.”

  “I wish we hadn’t checked out of the Sheraton.” She could hardly believe she’d dared to whisper that, but it was true. She wanted him. She was crazy about him—Ryan Mulvaney, the man who was going to destroy her father’s reputation.

  But he was also going to salvage hers, she reminded herself. If he didn’t publish his story, everyone would think she was a liar or a lunatic, or both.

  “Don’t say that,
” he said sharply. “Don’t tempt me.” He tensed. “This has gone far enough. I’m a reporter. You’re a source. I can’t sleep with you, don’t you see?”

  She was afraid she did.

  “How do you think people would view the story if they found out I was your lover? Every word I wrote about you would be suspect. They would think you slept with me so I wouldn’t write bad things about you.”

  She nodded, deflated. Why did he have to be so damn right? She was appalled that her eyes had filled with tears.

  “Oh, Chrissy, I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, but the embrace was meant to comfort, not to excite. “Your life has taken a traumatic turn,” he said. “Don’t make crazy decisions you might regret.”

  Chapter 11

  “I’ve already made some crazy decisions,” Chrissy said with a crooked smile. “Why stop now?”

  Ryan had to make her understand. If she came on to him again, there was no way he’d be able to turn away from her. It would take a stronger man than him. “Chrissy—”

  “No, really, Ryan, I know you’re right.” She sniffed and blinked. Her eyes were shiny with tears, but they didn’t spill over, thank God. He’d have done anything to stop her from crying, but it looked like he wouldn’t have to this time.

  She took a deep breath and pulled away from him. “Let’s go to the pawnshop, okay?”

  He nodded, not meeting her gaze. He had to force his mind back to business. “I need to call my cop friend and see if he can go with us. As an independent witness, he can verify our story about where the jewelry turned up, and he can get a warrant to seize the stuff as evidence, or stolen merchandise, or something. That way we’ll make sure the diamonds don’t go for a hike once the dealer figures out you’re not a real customer.”

  Christine finger-combed her mussed hair, her hands trying to undo the damage his had done moments ago. “Mmm-hmm, yes, that sounds smart.” She refastened her shirt, which Ryan had managed to unbutton. She had incredible breasts, not large, but round and firm and luscious—

  Stop it! He would drive himself crazy if he didn’t stop thinking about it. This wasn’t like turning down a call girl or some guy’s wife. This required restraint like he’d never had to call on before. The realization that he could never have her, no matter how much mutual desire smoldered between them, made him want to throw his computer in the Potomac and forget about this whole stupid story.