And the way he'd spoken to a woman he had once kept company with...slept with...
Keelin shuddered.
The sense of unease followed her straight into the park. She felt as if someone were physically pursuing her down the sidewalk, when she knew the only thing wrong was that her unprecedented actions were preying on her mind. Still, she clutched the strap of her shoulderbag.
All these years of waiting for the right man...Moira's legacy wanting to be fulfilled...and she'd gone and chosen a man who either didn't respect women...or didn't like them.
The scene with Vivian had reminded her of what Tyler had done to his ex-wife, of how he'd kept Helen from her own child. She'd conveniently forgotten about that for a while.
What was she to do now?
The sensation of being followed grew stronger. Thinking to see Pamela or Brock, she glanced over her shoulder.
But the only people behind her were a woman pushing a stroller, and behind the young mother, a man wearing a windbreaker, his capped head bent as he adjusted the portable radio clipped at his waist.
Nothing to concern herself over.
The man jogged past her at an easy clip. Keelin didn't give him a second glance as her thoughts strayed back to Tyler.
Tyler had shown a different, appealing side of himself earlier...strong yet tender...vulnerable yet commanding.
He had enticed her as no man ever had.
What to do?
The dream drifted back into her thoughts, undoubtedly because she was feeling a bit guilty at not having told Tyler. But what purpose would it serve to worry him further? Poor Cheryl tied up and gagged...
She came to a foot tunnel that would take her under a street that cut through the park. A large lagoon supporting both paddle boats and wildlife lay on the other side. Perhaps she could find some answers there. At home, Lough Danaan had soothed her more times than she could remember.
Keelin turned and made her way down the dark, dank tunnel. Walls covered with graffiti. Lights broken. Litter underfoot. Halfway to the other side, she looked to the opening ahead. An archway of sunlight. A frame for the large brick building that sat before the lagoon.
Her feet slowed.
For a second, the opening was a window, the building a church...
Her concentration was broken by feet beating the path behind her. A jogger. She moved to one side to let the person pass and so was startled when a body rammed her, knocking her down. Her shoulderbag went flying.
"Pardon me!" she said, getting a glimpse of sunglasses below a billed cap and a portable radio clipped to the man's waist.
She didn't see whatever smacked into the side of her head.
Chapter Nine
"THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING," came a gravelly and obviously disguised male voice as Keelin noticed the man wasn't wearing jogging shoes. "Stop trying to help Leighton unless you want to end up food for the fish in Lake Michigan."
Attempting to rise, she reached out and grabbed his wrist, then pulled herself up until he shoved her hard with his free hand. Something gave. She flew into the cement wall, the object clutched in her hand. Too dizzy to stay on her feet, she sank back to the ground. And though she tried to get a better look at the man as he tore down the dark tunnel, she could hardly focus.
Dazed, her heart beating too fast, she leaned her head against the wall and took deep breaths. She was going to have one grand headache. Slowly, she recouped her shoulderbag which lay several feet away. Then she worked herself back up to her feet. Her surroundings whirled and her stomach churned. She was definitely both dizzy and queasy, so she stopped moving. Wondering how she was going to get herself back to Tyler's office – crawl, perhaps? – she thought she was hearing things when her name reverberated down the tunnel.
"Keelin!"
"Tyler?" Bile rose to her throat and she instantly regretted trying to speak at all.
"Are you all right?" he demanded, twirling her around.
The motion was too much for her head and stomach. Keelin couldn't help herself. Doubling over, she lost her greasy lunch...all over Tyler's expensive leather shoes. To his credit, he didn't even utter a sound of disgust, merely supported her weight. When her world stopped spinning, she carefully inched herself into a standing position.
"Are you all right?" Tyler demanded in a low, urgent voice, his arms cradling her. "What did he do to you?"
"Hit me in the head with something," she said with a groan. "How did you know?"
"I was watching from my office window. The bastard was acting suspicious. I could tell he was watching you. I got down to the street as fast as I could. Apparently not fast enough. He was disappearing into the tunnel before I could even cross to the park."
"I could use some air."
With care, he guided her back the way they'd come. Once on the other side, he led her to a bench and made her sit. Only then did he try scraping the left-overs of her lunch off his shoes with a plastic bag he pulled out of a trash can.
"I think I owe you a new pair of shoes," she said.
"I'd rather have a description of your mugger to give to the police."
"He was not a mugger...didn't try to take my shoulderbag," she said, gripping the
leather strap. "He must be the man who has Cheryl."
"What?"
"He said..." She thought hard to remember. "...that this was my only warning to stop helping you."
Tyler threw the plastic back into the trash and said, "Don't move!" while heading back for the tunnel.
Keelin held her protest. She watched him disappear, figuring he was on a fool's errand. Her attacker had too good a head start and there were several directions to choose from on the other side.
Sure enough, Tyler quickly reappeared.
"He's long gone. Did you get a close look at his face?"
Keelin shrugged. Everything was fuzzy. "His hat was pulled low and he was wearing sunglasses. And street shoes."
She had the feeling there was something else...something that Tyler would want to know...but the thought was elusive. Her head was starting to pound. She looked down at the object still clutched in her hand.
"This is his," she said, showing him a watch with a broken gold band.
But there was more, wasn't there? Thinking about it only made her head hurt worse.
Taking the watch from her, he said, "A Rolex." He looked at the back. "'Darling,'" he read, "'to our future.' No name or initials. But whoever was wearing this must have money."
"Not George Smialek, then," Keelin said. What she'd seen of his apartment hadn't reflected the money it would take to buy a Rolex. "Oh, Tyler, I'm sorry I cannot tell you more."
"No, I'm sorry," he said, slipping the watch into his trousers' pocket. "This never should have happened to you. My letting you help only put you in danger."
"Let me? I would have tried to find Cheryl with or without you."
"I believe you would have," he said, something like awe in his tone. He looked down the street. "Where's a taxi when you need one?"
"Your office is barely a block away."
"But the emergency room is a bit farther."
"No hospital. I'm fine." But the moment Keelin stood, she felt weak-kneed. "Perhaps I could use a place to lie down for a few minutes..."
"You could have a concussion. First the emergency room, then the lie down."
Keelin knew arguing wouldn't do any good – besides, which, she didn't have it in her – so she let Tyler hail a taxi and take her to nearby Grant Hospital. Fortunately, a lump on her head and a headache were the only things the intern who checked her over could find wrong with her. He gave her an analgesic for the pounding and a frozen gel-pack for the goose-egg. He suggested she get some rest, but that Tyler not leave her alone. Someone needed to check her on a regular basis to make certain her pupils stayed evenly dilated and that she could be roused every so often.
Just in case.
After bundling her into another taxi and giving the driver the L&O Realty addres
s, Tyler said, "I hope you don't mind resting for a while on one of our couches. I have a few things to take care of before leaving for home."
"About Cheryl," she said knowingly.
"I have to get my hands on that money. This guy means business."
Something he didn't have to tell Keelin. Her aching head said it all. If the kidnapper would hurt her to keep her out of the way, what would he do to Cheryl if Tyler couldn't gather together the million dollars fast enough?
AS TYLER SETTLED KEELIN ON THE COUCH in the conference room, he couldn't help but regret her involvement in his problems. But that would have to end.
"Keelin, from now on, I want you to stay out of the line of fire."
"I'm in this with you, Tyler."
"But you shouldn't be."
"I must."
"I won't have you getting hurt...or worse."
"I will not have you telling me what to do," Keelin returned, rising to her elbows. "I must see that Cheryl is safe...so that I can be at peace."
"That sounds pretty ominous."
"Sit." Keelin carefully swung her legs to the floor and straightened, then patted the cushion beside her.
Tyler complied.
And she went on. "I told you about the first time I had one of my night terrors."
"The friend you lost."
"I vowed then never to involve myself again. For a decade I wasn't even tested. Any such dream-visions were not of the desperate sort."
Tyler had the feeling he knew where this was going. He swung an encouraging arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Go on."
"I was still living with my family at the time. A traveler by the name of Gavin Daley did some chores for us. I fed him a good meal and gave him some of Da's old clothing, then saw him on his way. That night, I dreamed through his eyes. A true nightmare," she whispered.
"You said he was a traveler? You mean a visitor?"
"A person whose only home is his horse-drawn caravan," she explained. "Many don't like the wandering people. They chase travelers off their land...break up their camps...sometimes hurt them."
"And you saw someone trying to hurt this Gavin Daley?"
Keelin shuddered. "Aye, that I did. A group of lads coming home from a night at the local pub full of drink and meanness overturned his caravan. They were laughing when Gavin escaped. When he saw what they had done to his home, he grabbed one of the young men and threw him. The lad's head hit the wheel and he sank to the ground unconscious. The others went after Gavin. Out for blood, they were, they chased him down to Lough Danaan. I could see their black looks, hear their shouted curses. I could feel the terror in Gavin Daley's heart." She was trembling as if she'd just experienced the whole thing when she said, "And then I awoke...and did nothing. I did not want to play the fool again, you see."
He squeezed her and gently stroked her hair. "And later you were sorry you didn't."
"The next morning, they found Gavin Daley in the shallows of Lough Danaan. After they beat him, they held him face down until he drowned. I knew he was in desperate trouble...and I did nothing. That poor man's death is on my soul."
"You're not responsible," Tyler said, turning her so he could look into her face. How could she possibly take such a burden unto herself? He stroked her cheek. "You
didn't hold him under the water. And even if you had called the police, they might not have arrived in time to save him."
"But what if the constable had been quick?" Her expression desperate, she demanded, "Do you not see? I chose to hide from my responsibility and now I have a man's death on my conscience. For years, I thought there was no way I could ever forgive myself, but perhaps there is. I did not know your daughter or you, Tyler Leighton. So why did I dream through her eyes but for fate giving me another chance? By making certain your daughter is safe, perhaps I can redeem myself. I truly cannot live with another such burden on my soul. Do you not see?" she asked again.
He saw too much. A woman who was afraid. She'd told him so. He hadn't really believed her until this moment. She was a woman who most feared failing others. Feared that she would be unable to carry the burden of responsibility her grandmother had lain across her tender shoulders as a young girl.
And yet she was truly the most fearless, selfless woman he'd ever had the good fortune to know.
"I see," Tyler agreed, silently vowing that if he couldn't stop Keelin, he would find a way to protect her. He brushed her lips with his and stroked her cheek again. "I do see."
Her expression lightened. "Good. Good, then."
Tyler untangled himself from her and rose. "Now you get some rest while I do what I must to raise the ransom."
She nodded and stretched out on the couch again. "Don't forget about me."
As if he ever could.
Tyler followed up with his broker and banker and real estate staff, checking on Keelin in-between. He even called in a few favors, asking for personal loans. No matter which way he added up the liquid assets available to him, however, they didn't come to enough. He was short more than two hundred thousand dollars. He neither had a serious prospect for the Barrington property nor could second-mortgage the North Bluff estate until the next week at the earliest. He was certain a week would be too late.
It was the business, then.
Swallowing his pride and his anger with his partner, he went to see Brock. The office door was open and Brock was busy going over some contracts. Tyler knocked on the wooden panel and stood in the doorway until the other man glanced up, his expression immediately darkening.
"Can we talk?" Tyler asked. "About the business."
"You've actually thought about it, then?" his partner asked, sounding surprised.
"I've been forced to..."
Brock's features went blank. "What do you mean?"
"I need to know how much getting out of our partnership is worth to you. Above taking half of the company's assets and clients with you, that is."
Brock indicated Tyler should come in and take a seat. "So make me an offer."
Tyler didn't fancy it up. "I need a quarter of a million in cash. Fast."
Brock didn't even blink. "How fast?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"You have the rest of the ransom money?"
"I will by tomorrow."
How did Brock know about the ransom when he'd asked Pamela to keep the information to herself? Tyler wondered. She must have told him anyway. But why? She knew he and Brock were at odds. Then he remembered the scene between his partner and assistant at the end of the hall. Pamela had brushed off his concern...
"The kidnappers want a cool million for Cheryl's return," Tyler said, in case Brock didn't have all the details. "I don't know when. I don't know where. I only know it's going to be soon."
"And you're not bringing the police in on this?"
"I won't risk my daughter's life."
His soon-to-be-ex-partner sprawled back in his chair. A moment's hesitation and he said, "I think we can work something out...especially if you're willing to hand over the Uptown renovation to me."
And Tyler took his first deep breath in days.
"YOU HAVE COMPANY," KEELIN SAID when they reached Tyler's North Bluff property just after sunset.
Two other abandoned vehicles were parked under the carport. One she recognized as belonging to Helen.
"Either my ex-wife stole a spare set of keys the other night or she broke in," Tyler muttered, cutting the ignition.
Keelin didn't react to the caustic remark. He hadn't, after all, given Helen Dunn the keys to his home.
After a few hours of rest – she couldn't exactly call her time on his sofa sleep since Tyler had checked on her every half hour – plus a shower at her hotel and a fresh set of clothes, Keelin felt decidedly better. As long as she didn't touch the left side of her head carelessly, she reminded herself. Washing and combing through her hair had been especially unpleasant.
Tyler raced around the Jaguar before her door was half open. Continuing to
be solicitous, he helped her out. "If you like, you can go right upstairs."
"I would not sleep," she cut in. "Besides, you need me." When he gave her a questioning look, she kept her gaze steady with his. "Well, is that not what you told me earlier?"
"It was," he said. "But I don't need you to protect me from my ex-wife."
As he opened the front door, she returned, "You are more certain of that than I."
Laughter carried into the foyer from the living room. Tyler stopped short in the double-doorway, Keelin at his side. She saw that his ex-wife was entertaining a muscular young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. Thick golden brown hair brushed a high forehead and topped perfect features that could belong to a model or actor. Half-empty drink glasses sat on the coffee table and the two appeared to be enjoying each other.
Tyler's tension was palpable. And Keelin suspected old, harsh memories were surfacing.
Before he could announce his presence, Helen spotted him. "Ah, there you are, Tyler. I was beginning to think you would never come home." She shot a significant glance at Keelin and raised her eyebrows. "Have you heard anything about our daughter?"
"My daughter is none of his concern."
"Why, that's where you're wrong, darling," Helen stated. "Mr. Weaver is an associate of Jeremy Bryant, the private investigator you hired."
"Jack Weaver," the young man said, getting to his feet and crossing the living room with hand outstretched. "Jeremy had to leave town unexpectedly. The case was one he'd been working on for weeks and something important broke. He asked me to cover for him here."
Though Tyler seemed reluctant, he shook the young man's hand. "And when was that?"
"A while ago," he said vaguely. "You'd already left your office. Naturally, I assumed you were headed home. So here I am."
"And isn't it fortuitous that I was here to let Mr. Weaver in," Helen said.
"Fortuitous," Tyler echoed. "Question is, how did you get in?"
"I was married to you for several years, Tyler. Long enough to know where you like to keep things. Finding your spare keys was a snap."
"Well, snap them over here," he insisted, holding out his hand.
The McKenna Legacy Trilogy Page 14