by Lisa Childs
Heaving a frustrated sigh, the man raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Keith didn’t tell you?”
His eyes unnerved her. They were that rare, light shade of gray that seems to see right through you. “Keith isn’t able to speak, so he hasn’t told me much of anything. The nurse, however, told me plenty. You’re the man who lied to gain admittance to Intensive Care, aren’t you?”
She didn’t miss the guilty surprise that flashed across his face. Without giving him a chance to speak, she rushed on.
“I suppose you’re working on a case for the law firm? I’ve known a few overzealous investigators before, but this stunt takes the prize. The hospital rules are meant to protect the patients. You can’t help but know my father-in-law is an extremely sick man.” She gave the elevator button another jab. She was so furious her hand was shaking. “What could be so important that you’d bother him here? See his partner, Mr. Finn. He’s handling everything until my father-in-law recovers. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He slipped his business card back into his jacket and stepped closer. “Wait. I have to talk to you. It’s urgent.”
Mallory, whose escape was thwarted by the slow response of the elevator, found herself meeting his unsettling gaze again. “Nothing you have to say could be that urgent. Christiani and Finn handles only civil cases.”
“Could we find someplace private where we could talk?” He was already looking around as he spoke and reaching for her arm. “Someplace where we won’t be seen or overheard?”
She avoided his outstretched hand. Now that she was studying him, she could see a fine sheen of sweat on his face. He kept looking around, as if he expected someone to creep up on him. Not the kind of fellow with whom she wanted seclusion. He turned to glance down the hall again. As he did, the front of his jacket fell back and she saw that he wore a shoulder holster and gun. Since Darren’s accident, just being in the same room with a gun made her nervous.
The elevator doors slid open. Before she could react, Mac Phearson stepped forward to block her path with a set of shoulders that suddenly seemed as wide as a linebacker’s. She tipped her head back to glare at him. He topped her five foot five by a good ten inches and outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. Her heart sank when the doors closed again behind him.
“Please,” he said. “I realize I’m scaring you, but if you’ll just give me a minute I’m sure I can explain.”
Mallory inched away from him, growing more uneasy by the moment. “So explain.”
“I’m an old friend of your father-in-law’s. I’ve been out of town on a case for nearly a week, got back a day later than I planned. When I called in to check my answering machine this afternoon, there was a message from Keith. He said that he needed me to get you and your little girl out of town. Immediately. A man named Pete Lucetti has made a threat on your lives.” He paused as if for emphasis. “He must have left that message yesterday, before he collapsed, which means I’m a day late as it is. We can’t waste any time.”
Of all the things Mallory had expected him to say, this wasn’t one of them. She didn’t like the way this man was behaving. Terrified was the only word to describe him. Or maybe paranoid, the way he kept checking the halls. “That’s preposterous.”
“But true. We can call Keith’s office so you can be sure I am who I say I am, but we can’t do it here in the hospital. Right before I went in to see Keith, some guy dressed like a priest visited him, and believe me, he was the farthest thing from a priest you’re ever going to see. I saw the guy up close, and I recognized him. The last I heard, he was a strong-arm type who collected on delinquent bets for a local bookie. I watched him through the window and it looked like he was threatening Keith. About what, I have no idea. Do you have any idea how Keith got tied up with Lucetti? Do you know what this is about?”
“I—no—I—” Mallory swallowed. “You’re really serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“Why didn’t Keith simply call the police?”
“He said Lucetti has a couple of cops on the payroll. He must have been afraid, not sure who was safe to talk to and who wasn’t. Mrs. Christiani, Pete Lucetti heads one of the largest crime rings in Seattle. He’s bad news—real bad news.”
Silence fell over them, such complete silence that Mallory could hear herself breathing. Her gaze dropped to the mustard stain on Mac Phearson’s shirt. She hesitated. Christiani and Finn was one of the most prestigious law firms in Bellevue. Surely no one associated with the firm would be dressed so scruffily.
The man heaved another exasperated sigh. “I had a run-in with a kid toting a hot dog. I know I’m a mess, okay? My flight was late getting in. I went directly from the airport to coach baseball—changed into my sweats in the dugout. During break, I went up to the pay phone to call for my messages. After hearing that recording from Keith, I didn’t take time for anything. My other clothes are in the car.”
“Do you have any identification? Something besides a business card? For twenty dollars, you can have one of those made up proclaiming that you’re just about anything, a snake charmer, an underwater basket weaver, anything.”
An angry glint crept into his eyes and he reached for his wallet. When his hand skimmed the smooth hip of his sweatpants, he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Mrs. Christiani, if I were some nut case looking for an easy target, would I pick on a woman in a busy hospital? Didn’t you hear what I said? An extremely dangerous man has threatened to kill you and your daughter. Do you think Keith would have left me that message if he hadn’t believed you were in serious danger?”
“I’ve no proof that he even called you. Keith and I are very close. If he had been in trouble, he would have told me.”
Mac Phearson parted his lips to make a retort but was cut short by the sharp sound of footsteps as someone came up behind them. Both he and Mallory glanced at the direction of the sound to see a priest rounding the corner up the hall. The priest paused midstride, his gaze coming to rest on Mallory. With a thoughtful frown, he reached a hand under his jacket. Mac Phearson cursed under his breath, seized Mallory by the arm and pulled her between him and the wall. Leaning sideways, he punched the elevator button and then slid his hand under his windbreaker. When Mallory saw that he was pulling his gun, she shrank back.
The priest had drawn a square of paper from his pocket. He studied it a moment, then resumed his pace.
“I thought he’d recognized you and was going for his weapon,” Mac Phearson hissed. Hiding her from the other man’s view, he whispered, “Don’t scream. Please don’t scream.”
Mallory wouldn’t have dreamed of it. This man was clearly suffering from paranoia. He had his gun concealed between their bodies. If he accidentally pulled the trigger, the bullet would go straight through her right breast. She could feel the tension in him, his muscles coiled tightly, his breath coming in short, uneven rasps. She craned her neck toward the priest. The man looked completely harmless to her, just a priest making duty calls to sick parishioners. He had probably pulled the paper from his pocket to check a room number. Mallory watched him, willing him to look her way again. If only he would see what was happening and help her. To her dismay, he walked past, sparing her not a glance.
A heavy ache pooled in her lower abdomen, and she pressed her shaking knees together. Mac Phearson’s features swam before her in a dark blur. Her brain kicked into low gear, registering everything in slow motion with superclarity: his breathing, the drumming of her own pulse, the beads of sweat popping out on her forehead. The chime signaled the elevator’s arrival on their floor. The instant the doors slid open, Mac Phearson jerked her half off her feet into the cubicle, releasing her only long enough to holster his gun and hit the lobby button.
Mallory threw a panicked glance at the swiftly closing doors. There hadn’t been time to run before Mac Phearson had grabbed her arm again. She stood there in frozen horror and tried desperately to think what to do. If she screamed, would she be heard? How well we
re elevators insulated? And suppose someone did hear her? Was she willing to jeopardize the lives of innocent people? This man couldn’t be sane. He might open fire in the busy lobby.
He threw her a look that seemed to mirror her own feeling of terror. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but right now my first priority has to be getting you out of here in one piece. If that means I have to be a little heavy-handed, it’s better than you getting killed.”
Hysteria closed her throat. She had read about this kind of thing occurring, but she had never dreamed it could happen to her. Think. Don’t give way to panic. What was the best way to handle someone who had lost his grip on reality? Appearing calm was a must. Angering or frightening him could prove fatal, not just to her but to others.
She ran a cottony tongue over dry lips. Suddenly, insanely, she wanted a drink of water. Visions of her little girl’s face swept through her mind. Emily. Mallory didn’t want to die. Not yet. She had left too many things undone. She wanted to hug her daughter and tell her one last time how much she loved her. There were some dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. She hadn’t finished weeding the violets yet, either. And who would take care of Keith?
Mac Phearson was watching the floor numbers flash on the panel above their heads. Without looking down at her, he gave her a perfunctory pat on the back, which she presumed was meant to comfort her. “With any luck, they’re all upstairs, Mrs. Christiani. Maybe we’ll make it out of here with no trouble.”
Mallory had no idea who they were. Pete Lucetti? The name sounded like something out of an old gangster movie; it had nothing to do with reality. Who was this man? And where was he taking her? She fixed her gaze on the left front panel of his jacket. Having the gun out of sight did little to comfort her.
“Where’s your daughter?”
“Sh-she’s staying with friends.”
“Do they live far from here?”
Mallory could only pray her face didn’t betray her. “A long way.”
“How long has it been since you spoke with her? Since you knew for sure she was all right?”
“This morning.”
He threw her a sharp glance. “Did she attend school today?”
Surely he didn’t know what school Emily attended. “Yes.”
“Your sitter takes her and picks her up, I take it?”
“She has kids who go there.”
“Does she keep a close eye on Emily?”
Mallory was startled. He knew her daughter’s name? Of course, he could have learned it in a dozen different ways, not necessarily through an association with Keith. Indecision held her paralyzed. His gray eyes locked with hers, compelling her to answer him. “I—yes, she watches her closely.”
The floor panel light indicated that the elevator was approaching the lobby. Mac Phearson took a deep breath. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, he looped an arm around her shoulders and propelled her forward into a short hall that opened into the lobby. The lean, hard ridges of his body pressed against her arm. She felt him grow tense, and her heartbeat accelerated.
What if he were telling the truth? As she watched his gaze dart suspiciously around the waiting area, she couldn’t help wondering. He seemed as scared as she was, which meant he truly believed they were in terrible danger. Her thoughts flew to Emily again. Mac Phearson was either totally immersed in make-believe or on the level. Her skin prickled. Had someone really threatened to kill her and her daughter? Mac Phearson had reached for his wallet earlier, presumably to show her his ID. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he had forgotten his wallet in his street pants, just as he had claimed. And there had been a priest in the ICU visiting Keith.
What if? She recalled the terror she’d seen in Keith’s eyes, the feeling she’d had that he’d been trying desperately to tell her something.
They were halfway across the lobby. Time was ticking by, second by treacherous second. If she was going to scream and try to get away, it was now or never. The click of her shoes against the tile resounded inside her head as her captor led her through the milling people. She fastened her gaze on a toddler fleeing from his mother. If Mac Phearson was unbalanced, he might pull his weapon and fire indiscriminately. On the other hand, what if he was perfectly sane and telling the truth? What if there were killers in the hospital? Now or never. Now or never, her mind taunted. A few more feet and they would be out of the building.
Mallory couldn’t be sure what it was that finally decided her. Perhaps it was the firm but somehow gentle pressure of Mac Phearson’s grip on her arm. Or the way he walked, turned slightly toward her, as if he were trying to shield her. She only knew she couldn’t risk being wrong. It was broad daylight, after all. There were bound to be people in the parking lot. If he was telling the truth, he had identification in the car. She would simply demand to see it before going anywhere with him.
A sea of parked automobiles stretched before them as they left the loading area. Mac Phearson never broke stride as they crossed the parking lot. His arm felt unnervingly strong vised around her shoulders. He was a tall man, heavily muscled and agile. If he wasn’t who he claimed to be, she was in big trouble. Just as far as the car. If he didn’t come up with identification then, she’d scream so loudly that people on the next block would hear.
He drew her closer to his side. “Lean into me and look down, Mrs. Christiani.”
“What for?”
“To hide your face. Just do it.”
Mallory almost refused, but the urgency in his voice compelled her. She dropped her chin to her chest and pressed her shoulder against his ribs.
He quickened his pace. “Be sure you don’t look up.”
“Is there really someone out here?” Now that was a brilliant question. If he was lying, would he admit it?
“In a car to our left, two rows over. Three men. Listen to me and listen close. If I tell you to get down, I want you to drop right where you are. Understand? Don’t try to run.”
Surely this wasn’t an act. Fear inched up her spine.
“They may have a perfectly legitimate reason for sitting there. But it pays to be safe, and they look suspicious. If they have guns, I can’t see them. My car’s not far.” He fished in his jacket pocket for his keys. “Just a few more steps. You’re doing great.”
He drew to a stop and reached across her to unlock the door of an old, blue Volvo. As he opened the door, he took hold of her elbow and shoved her forward, giving her no time to protest.
“Fasten your seat belt,” he ordered, as he slammed her door.
On the floorboard was an array of tools, including a hefty screwdriver and a tire iron. An investigator might use such things. On the other hand, so might a killer. Mallory reached for the door handle. She threw open the door, but before she could get out, Mac Phearson had climbed in on his side.
“What are you doing?” he snarled. “You don’t seem to understand, lady. This isn’t a game we’re playing.”
He seized her arm, jerked her back into the automobile and leaned across her to slam the door. He glared at her as he fastened his own seat belt, then reached over to buckle hers. The clasp clicked with finality. Mallory dropped her head to avoid eye contact. What if she looked into his eyes and saw madness gleaming back at her? What if there weren’t any hoodlums in the parking lot? What if the priest had been just that, a priest who had visited Keith by mistake?
The car engine leaped to life and Mallory leaped with it. Her head shot up and she fastened a terrified gaze on Mac Phearson’s taut features. He threw an arm over the seat and craned his neck to see behind them as he backed the Volvo out of the parking space. Despite the mustard-stained sweat suit and tousled hair, he was an extremely attractive man. Were madmen good-looking? She remembered seeing the infamous Ted Bundy’s photograph, remembered thinking how incredible it was that he’d murdered so many women. The police claimed he had convinced some of his victims that he was a police officer and coaxed them into his car. Like Mac Phearson had just coaxed
her?
As the car surged forward, she turned to look back at the parking lot, not sure whether or not she wanted to see a carful of men pursuing them. Either way, she was in a mess. He was driving too fast and the slanting sun reflected off all the windshields. “May I see your ID now, Mr. Mac Phearson?” she asked as calmly as she could manage.
“Now?” He threw her an incredulous look. “It’s there in the backseat, but I’d really rather you didn’t undo your belt. As soon as we’re someplace safe, I’ll get it for you.”
Someplace safe? she thought. Safe for who? Him or her?
Copyright © 1990 by Adeline Catherine Anderson
ISBN-13: 9781460388204
Agent to the Rescue
Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Childs
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