The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Keelin willed herself to relax.

  Legs...arms...body...mind.

  She breathed deeply, in through her nose, out through her mouth. She concentrated on the pattern of changing lights. Envisioned the pretty face and long brown hair she'd only seen in photographs. Her eyes grew tired, her lids heavy. She let them flutter closed.

  At first her mind wandered through a dark space.

  Then it raced faster and faster until she crashed into a million flickering lights.

  Even with her eyes closed, she was still seeing the Ferris wheel, Keelin realized, though from a different angle...

  CHERYL'S HEART POUNDED WILDLY as she was dragged along, bumped and jostled by tons of happy people. She glanced back past the Ferris wheel at the Skyline Stage beyond. She'd been to a concert there once, with her friends. They'd all loved the place and had been looking forward to the next time.

  After tonight, she never wanted to step foot on Navy Pier again.

  For a moment, the Ferris wheel mesmerized her, and she got that sensation again, like someone was inside her head, looking around. She must be going nuts.

  Wanting to scream, she instead gasped, "Who are you?"

  "You know very well who I am." The grip on her wrist tightened. "Stop dragging your feet."

  "I'm not," she answered sullenly as they passed the Merry-go-round and the now-familiar sensation receded as quickly as it had come upon her.

  She might have to do as she was told, but she didn't have to keep making things easy. All her fault. What a jerk! What a stupid jerk she was believing all those lies the woman had told her.

  How could she have trusted a stranger over her dad?

  "Remember, there'll be a gun aimed at your father. You do exactly as you've been instructed if you want him to stay alive."

  Afraid she might screw up again, Cheryl wanted to cry. "I trusted you. I wanted to be with you. Why did you have to turn out so awful?"

  Through her tear-filled eyes, Cheryl thought the woman actually looked like she might be sorry...but, as she was roughly shoved inside when she resisted going through the doorway leading into the garden, she figured that had to be her imagination, too.

  TYLER'S NERVES WERE ON EDGE waiting for what felt like forever. He sat at the base of a palm tree, the backpack nonchalantly dropped at his feet. The Crystal Gardens had emptied out in anticipation of the coming fireworks. A glance at his watch told him it was nearly quarter past ten. Only another few minutes, then.

  He'd figured on them being exactly on schedule, and so he was looking directly at the girl who stood at the other end of the garden for several seconds before realizing he was staring at his own daughter.

  "Cheryl!"

  He bounded up and took a few steps toward her before caution intervened. Her eyes were wide and she was visibly shaking, obviously scared and nearly in tears. His gaze flew over the few people who were not already outside for the fireworks. No one he recognized except his own private investigator, who was now on the alert.

  "It's all right, Cheryl. Come to me, baby," Tyler urged, spreading his arms. His heart was in his throat.

  He started toward her until her gaze shifted to somewhere over his shoulder. She

  pressed her fist into her mouth as if stopping herself from crying out. Tyler slowed and glanced over his shoulder to see a fair-haired woman pick up the backpack.

  But it wasn't Vivian who straightened and looked him straight in the eye.

  "You should have called me like I wanted, Tyler," his ex-wife said. "If you would have been reasonable, adjusted our monetary arrangement like I asked, this wouldn't've happened."

  Not having the slightest idea of what she was talking about, Tyler was stunned. Then his mind raced. She hadn't done this alone. She'd had a male accomplice. Feldman or Brock?

  "Take the money and run," he told her, turning back to his daughter.

  But Jack Weaver was already jumping up from his table and grabbing Cheryl.

  "Weaver, what the hell are you doing?" Tyler yelled as he started toward them.

  The investigator whipped out the handgun he'd assured Tyler he owned. "I'd stay right there if I were you."

  Realizing how stupid he'd been – he'd played right into their hands by believing Weaver really was Jeremy Bryant's replacement – Tyler stopped in his tracks, half the width of the garden still between him and his daughter. He felt sick inside.

  "No, Jack, let her go!" Helen yelled from behind him. "Cheryl wasn't supposed to get hurt!"

  "She won't if your ex-husband co-operates." To Tyler, Weaver said, "We're going to use your daughter as insurance that we get out of here alive and with the money."

  From the corner of his eye, Tyler saw a bystander move toward the main pavilion door. To get help, he hoped.

  "Jack, leave her be!"

  "Helen, get out of here now with the backpack or I swear I'll shoot the kid!" Weaver threatened.

  "I'm going." Helen's voice was shaky. "Don't hurt her, please."

  Tyler heard her retreat even as his attention was distracted by a door opening behind the bastard. His heart lurched as a woman slipped through and slid back into the shadows.

  Keelin!

  "Leave Cheryl," Tyler told the so-called private investigator. "All I want is my daughter. I promise I won't come after you." Though he'd use all his clout to get the authorities to do so later.

  "No deal, Leighton. I don't believe you."

  Tyler felt impotent as Weaver backed up toward the door, Cheryl in tow. This couldn't be happening! But what could he do without endangering his daughter's very life?

  Suddenly Keelin made her move, closing the gap between her and them. Before a frantic Tyler could think of a way to stop her from doing anything foolish, a burst of sound reverberated through the building, an explosion of red and blue light reflected in the transparent panels all around them.

  The fireworks seemed to fill the hall, effectively distracting Weaver. His gun hand swung out as he turned toward the source of the threat.

  And Keelin lunged forward, grabbing his wrist.

  "Get away, Cheryl!" she screamed. "Now!"

  Tyler was already running as Cheryl screeched and struggled and somehow loosened Weaver's grip on her. And then she was flying toward him blindly, tears pouring from her eyes, her flight backed by a series of green flashes that built one upon the other.

  "Dad, oh, Dad, I'm sorry."

  Throwing his arms around his daughter, Tyler hugged her tight. He was speechless with gratitude. His thankfulness was tempered by the scenario before him, however – Weaver freeing his gun hand and striking out, clipping Keelin in the chin with the muzzle. Dazed from the hit, she tottered. And the bastard took the advantage, replacing one hostage for the other. Before Tyler could free himself from his daughter's tight grip, Weaver had hooked an arm around Keelin's neck.

  "Stay right where you are, Leighton, or she dies." The muzzle of the gun was snugged in the halo of her hair.

  "Let her go when you get outside." Tyler's order was backed by the blasts of a series of rockets that trailed white against the dark sky.

  "I'll let her go when I'm damn well ready!"

  "I shall be fine, Tyler," Keelin assured him, though she didn't sound convinced of it. "See to your daughter."

  Weaver changed direction, heading for a north door. Keelin stumbled and was jerked hard for her clumsiness.

  Tyler sweated inside his suit and tightened his grip on his daughter. If anything happened to the woman he loved, it would be on his conscience. He'd trusted the wrong person to help him. He'd excluded Keelin. No. The problem was including her in the first place. If he hadn't, this wouldn't be happening now. Self-deprecating thoughts raced through his mind as fast as the fireworks burst in the sky.

  He should have known Keelin would find a way to put herself in the middle of things. But how to get her out? He didn't trust Weaver to allow her to live when he was done with her. But how could he go after her without leaving Cheryl alone?r />
  Before he could think of what to do, yet another person burst into the garden, backed by the sound of whining rockets.

  Wild-eyed, the disheveled man took in the scene. "Leighton, where's Keelin?"

  Tyler took a breath of relief. "You must be Skelly."

  "Forget the introductions. Where is she?"

  "In big trouble. Stay with my daughter while I go after her."

  Cheryl clung to him. "Dad, don't leave me!"

  "You'll be safe with Skelly," Tyler assured his daughter, pushing her toward the other man. "Keelin trusts him and that's good enough for me."

  He started off.

  "But, Dad, wait!" Cheryl wailed.

  Tearing another hole in Tyler's heart. He stopped and faced his daughter. "I can't let anything happen to the woman I love any more than I could to you," he said, praying she would understand.

  Cheryl hesitated only a second. She sniffed and dashed a tear from her cheek. "They have a boat. It's tied up on the north side of the pier. Hurry before they hurt her!"

  Like they'd hurt Cheryl? Tyler thought grimly.

  Wondering that a fourteen year old could be worried about someone else after what she'd been through, he ran out to the open upper deck under a canopy of blurred color, half-blind for the emotions affecting his vision.

  "SHE'S THE ONE, ISN'T SHE?" Cheryl asked, wiping away her tears as her father disappeared.

  She didn't like his going after her mother and her awful boyfriend, but she didn't want the woman who'd helped her to be hurt, either. Somehow she just knew her dad would make everything all right.

  "Keelin's the one what?" Skelly asked against another series of explosions.

  Embarrassed, she couldn't quite meet the handsome man's eyes. "Um, you wouldn't understand."

  Skelly lifted her chin. "Women usually find it pretty easy to talk to me."

  Cheryl bit her lip. "She was...at least I...you'll think I'm crazy.

  "Try me."

  "I swear someone was inside my head." The words spilled out so fast they were nearly one. "Her."

  Skelly smiled. "My cousin Keelin is an unusual woman. You're not crazy," he assured her as four uniformed police burst into the garden from the main hall.

  "Hands up and get away from the kid," one of them yelled.

  Skelly immediately complied. "I'm afraid we have a lot of explaining to do," he told Cheryl. And in a lower voice, added, "Uh, I'd suggest we keep what you just told me between us, though."

  "Right. They'd think I was nuts for sure." Though she'd never been so happy to see cops in her entire life.

  "Are you all right?" a fatherly type asked her.

  Cheryl nodded. "He's okay," she said of Skelly, who still had his hands raised. "But his cousin and my dad..." She nearly choked saying, "They could be hurt bad. Help them, please. The people who were holding me are real dangerous." She couldn't call Helen Dunn her mother. "Their boat is tied up on the north side of the pier."

  "Giordano, stay with these two and get the whole story," the fatherly type said. He motioned the other two uniforms to follow him and raced for a door.

  Giordano was a pretty dark-haired woman with sympathetic brown eyes. "If the kid thinks you're okay, you can lower your hands," she told Skelly. She pulled out a notebook and indicated they should both sit. "Now, about that story."

  Cheryl began with her finding the note and deciding to meet the mother she'd been told was dead.

  KEELIN TRIED TO KEEP HER HEAD, but under the circumstances, doing so wasn't easy. His gun pressed into her side, his other arm around her as if they were lovers – no doubt in case anyone noticed them – Weaver had hauled her around the back end of the stalled Ferris wheel. Nothing was moving during the fireworks display. And since everyone's attention was glued to the south lakefront, no one paid them any mind when he forced her down the ramp toward the dock level.

  "Did Jeremy Bryant put you up to this?" she asked, pushing the question past the lump lodged in her throat.

  "The geezer doesn't have a clue. Cheryl's grieving mother sent Bryant on a wild goose chase to Indianapolis to get him out of the way."

  The sky lit with a myriad of trembling colors, and Weaver popped her inside the dock-level building, this time to cross through the car park. The explosives rang hollowly through the poorly lit, dank garage. Keelin thought fast, wanting to get as much information as possible out of the man. Helen's taking Cheryl at the same time Feldman was trying to ruin Tyler was too convenient to be mere coincidence.

  "Were you working with Nate Feldman all along?" she asked, as they dodged a couple of cars parked too close together and hurried through an empty slot.

  Weaver seemed surprised at her acuity. "Feldman sent me to find Leighton's ex."

  Eureka! Gathering her courage – she would rather think of anything but the gun he held – Keelin doggedly kept on in the belief that Weaver would want someone to realize how clever he'd been.

  "How could Feldman know Helen Dunn was alive?"

  "That blonde broad he's been showing around, she found Helen's demand for more money to keep playing dead. It didn't take much to seduce Leighton's ex," he bragged. "Not that I'm complaining. Didn't take much to get Helen to spill her guts about her ex and what he owed her. Took even less to convince her that if we snatched the brat, Leighton would pay anything to get the kid back."

  So Vivian had only a minor role in the drama, and Helen had been duped, probably didn't even know anything beyond her own involvement.

  As Weaver shoved her through a door to the north side of the pier, Keelin asked, "How did you hook up with Nate Feldman in the first place?"

  "Did some work for him on one of Leighton's buildings. Feldman didn't want it to meet city inspection."

  Horrified, Keelin said, "But that's the building where the Smialek boy died!"

  "Shame about the kid." Not that he sounded sorry. "Shame you put it together, too."

  Keelin recognized a threat when she heard one. Though the gun was still pressed into her side as they approached the boat where Helen already waited, the idea of her dying somehow seemed surreal.

  While a series of fireworks rent the sky above the pier's buildings, Keelin calmly asked, "Do you plan on shooting me?"

  "Won't have to," Weaver said with a brutish laugh. He pushed her forward so that she went flying down into the boat. "I can take this baby far enough out that you'll never be able to swim back."

  Keelin heard the last through a daze of pain. Crumpled on the floor where she'd landed between the middle and back seats, she saw him jump down after her.

  "What are you talking about, Jack?" Helen asked nervously. "We only planned to get Tyler's money, not kill anyone."

  "Plans change," Weaver said grimly, cranking the engine to life. "Here, hold this on her. You let her go and it's your neck."

  "Jack, please..."

  Still stunned, Keelin pushed herself into a sitting position and noted that while the gun was pointed her way, Helen seemed distracted. Truly upset. Her hands were shaking. Perhaps she could capitalize on the fact.

  "He's using you, Helen," Keelin said as Weaver leaped up to the dock and began untying one of the lines. "He was paid to find you."

  "Shut your mouth, bitch!"

  Wide-eyed, her face cast a sickly green by the mercury vapor lights, Helen said, "That's not true, is it, Jack?"

  "Of course not, baby. She'd say anything to turn you against me."

  The bastard was so arrogant that when he lied he didn't even look at the woman he'd duped, Keelin realized. Nor did he notice the movement in the shadows mere feet from where he worked, his attention focused on untying the last line.

  Heart thrumming with sudden hope, Keelin pulled herself to her feet and pressed Helen. "A crooked businessman named Nate Feldman put Weaver up to finding you and seducing you to get at Tyler."

  "I said shut your damn mouth!" Weaver spun around, his attention now directed on her. "Or maybe I won't wait to let the fish get you."

 
Another burst of twinkling blue and white lights revealed a figure running toward them even as Weaver hurled himself into the craft and took the wheel. Keelin nearly fainted with relief when she realized the man was Tyler. The explosion of accompanying sound covered his footsteps as the craft slowly turned, its prow headed straight out toward the middle of the lake.

  And then Tyler leaped.

  "Jack!" Helen screamed too late.

  Keelin's heart was in her throat as Tyler flew through the air. His foot touched the side of the boat; his momentum kept him sailing. Even as the villain turned, Tyler was upon him, the thud on contact audible.

  The men went down in a heap, Tyler on top. But Weaver was a decade younger and undoubtedly stronger considering his massive physique. Keelin held her breath as they rolled in the confined space, arms flashing, the sound of fists contacting flesh more imagined than heard beneath the increasing cacophony of the fireworks display. Rockets were bursting in the sky as fast and furious as the men were hitting each other.

  Suddenly Tyler flew back, arms flailing. And Weaver was instantly on his feet and after him. Forgetting Helen for a moment, Keelin looked around wildly for something loose that she could use as a weapon. Her gait was unsteady as the boat slowly continued moving out into the lake.

  Keelin was wondering if a loose flotation cushion could do any damage when Helen ordered, "Just stay put," as her lover pounded her ex-husband with his fists.

  "Is that what you want?" Keelin asked, revolted by the brutality. "You want to see Tyler dead because he divorced you?"

  "He stole my child from me!"

  "He paid you to stay out of your child's life because he wanted to protect her. And you readily took his money."

  The gun wasn't even pointing at her anymore, Keelin realized. Helen's heart wasn't in this. Cheryl's mother might be greedy, but she obviously wasn't given to violence. This time, she'd chosen the wrong man to partner.