Switchback

by Catherine Anderson

  Forcing her head up, Mallory pushed against his chest and took a wobbly step back. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. You must think—I’m really sorry.”

  His eyes probed hers. “I think you’re a mother who loves her child, that’s what I think.”

  Hugging her breasts, Mallory averted her face and avoided looking directly at him again. “I’m going to take a shower and dress. Keith’s room is down the hall. You’re welcome to use his things. He’s a little shorter than you, but his shirts might fit.”

  “I still have my luggage in the car, remember?”

  “Oh, yes. Your trip. Baseball practice.” Her gaze shifted to the mustard stain on his shirt, then to his sneakers, and she managed an anemic smile, remembering her first impression of him. What a great judge of character she had turned out to be. “There’s a bathroom two doors down, or you can use Keith’s.”

  She turned and walked to the doorway.

  “Mallory?”

  She glanced back, one hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

  His eyes locked with hers. After a long moment, he said, “She’s going to be home before you know it. Try to remember that.”

  She nodded. “See you downstairs.”

  * * *

  AFTER TAKING THEIR SHOWERS, Mac and Mallory utilized the time until eight o’clock to search both of Keith’s studies, this time looking everywhere, even going so far as to remove the covers from the furniture cushions. Their thoroughness turned up nothing. At seven-thirty, they headed for the kitchen to await the phone call.

  Stepping to the sink to fill the coffeemaker’s reservoir, Mallory said, “We should be thinking of alternate places to search, don’t you think, so we don’t waste time once we talk to Em?”

  Mac drew a chair to the table and sat down. “I’m not so sure where we search is as important as how we go about it. There aren’t that many places he might have stuck a key, are there?”

  “Here,” she replied. “Or in his office. Possibly his car. Other than that, I can’t think of anyplace, unless he rented a locker somewhere or put it in still another deposit box.”

  “Let’s not borrow trouble.”

  She flipped the brew switch on the coffeemaker, and turned to face him. “He probably won’t give us much time, will he? So how we go about looking will be crucial. Let’s face it. Something as small as a key could be hidden almost anywhere. Under some loosened carpet. Inside a book. In his mattress. We could spend weeks looking.”

  He nodded.

  “Then I say we use the process of elimination. Let’s search only in the likely places first, so we can make an initial sweep. If that turns up nothing, we can backtrack and take rooms apart, piece by piece, if we must. His office first, then his car, then back here.”

  Mac glanced around the kitchen. “You’re right. In this room alone, we could spend hours. For all we know, he could have stuck it in a cereal box or something.”

  “So we’re agreed, a superficial search first in the obvious places, then we go deeper?”

  “Agreed.”

  When the coffee was made, Mallory poured them each a cup, then joined Mac at the table to wait. It seemed to her that each minute was an hour long. She watched the clock. Fifteen before the hour. Then ten. Then five. Her breath began to catch as she measured off the remaining seconds. At last, the large clock hand moved forward onto the number twelve. She braced herself, her nerves raw with expectation. Nothing happened. The silence seemed deafening. And the minutes crept by.

  When it became apparent that Lucetti had no intention of calling at the agreed time, Mac leaped up from his chair and let loose with a string of expletives that expressed Mallory’s sentiments exactly. Then he began to pace. She counted the steps he took. Back and forth, his fist smacking his palm each time his right heel hit the tile. Just when she felt sure that the sound would drive her mad, he stopped and turned to look at her, his blond head cocked to one side, his gray eyes almost blue with anger. Leveling a finger at her nose, he said, “He’ll pay for this, I promise you that.”

  Mallory believed it. He looked furious enough to rip someone apart. He was a big man, lean of waist and hip, with heavily muscled shoulders and arms. Sunlight poured in the sliding glass doors and surrounded him with a golden aura, creating an almost mystical effect. Even in pleated gray slacks and a fresh blue shirt with tie, he managed to look formidable. His anger surrounded her and emanated an almost electrical charge, tingling on her skin. She was glad he was in her corner; she wouldn’t have wanted such a man as an enemy.

  By this time, Mallory felt as if she had been injected with a gigantic syringe of novocaine. In a hollow voice, she asked, “Do you think she’s dead?”

  He planted his hands on his hips. “It’s a mind game. He’ll call. We’ll talk to Em. But he wants to make us sweat first.”

  “But why?”

  “So we’ll jump when he tells us to, that’s why.” He grabbed a chair, turned it around and straddled it, folding his arms across its back. After studying her with a fierce intensity that unnerved her, he said, “I know I’ve stressed this once before, but it’s worth saying again. You can’t let him bully you. Emily’s life might depend on it. Insist that you be allowed to speak to her, not just this time, but every time you talk with him until we find that package. Ask her at least one question each time. We don’t want him playing us a recording. He’ll want to refuse. For one thing, he’ll be afraid we’ll put tracers on the phone. No matter what he threatens, you remember four words. No kid, no package.”

  “But—what if he gets angry and kills her?”

  Mac lifted an eyebrow. “Mallory, you and you alone can deliver that package to him. Whatever’s in it, he wants it so badly that he’s nabbed Emily to get it. He’s desperate or he never would have done it. You have to remember that. You can’t let fear do your thinking for you. If you want your daughter back, you’re going to have to get tough.”

  She knew he was right. To get Em back, she would have to maintain control, bargain, threaten if she had to. She couldn’t let Lucetti sense her fear. If she did, he would use it against her, and Em would be the loser. “Right. Tough, I’ll be tough.” She ran a hand over her hair. “I just wish he’d call.”

  Mac reached out and caught her hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong. “Just for the record, I think you’ve done great so far.”

  Heat crept up her neck. “After last night? And then this morning?”

  A slow smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Yeah, before, during and after. Believe me, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. I don’t dish out praise much, especially not to—”

  His eyes darkened. He let go of her hand and turned his head to gaze out the sliding glass doors at the pool deck. Mallory watched him and wondered what it was he had left unsaid. Especially not to who? Her? She nearly asked, but something about the rigid set of his shoulders forestalled her.

  An hour passed. Then another. When the clock in the hall chimed ten, Mallory knew firsthand what hell was like. She also knew now that you didn’t have to die to go there. There was nothing Mac could say to make her feel better, so neither of them said anything. They just sat there at the breakfast table and stared at the phone on the bar. And they waited...

  Mallory thought of little else but Emily. It was strange, really, the things she found herself remembering about her daughter, silly things that she scarcely noticed day to day. The way her mouth drew down at the corners when she felt disappointed, the dimples in her plump elbows, the silken hair that shimmered like gold on her upper lip when she stood in the sunshine. She remembered how it felt to snuggle with Em beneath the warm folds of her Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag on Saturday morning, their fingers sticky from eating hot Pop-Tarts, attention glued to the cartoons on television. Silly things...the sort of things only a mother would recall, things Mallory knew now she might never do again. She found herself wishing she could do them all just one more time—just once—so she could memorize ever
y precious moment.

  When the clock struck ten thirty, the phone rang almost simultaneously. Both of them leaped from their chairs and whirled to stare at it. Then sanity returned. Mallory crossed the room, made sure the speaker was on and lifted the receiver. “H-hello?”

  “Mrs. Christiani? I trust you slept well?”

  The voice on the other end of the line was so smug that anger flashed through Mallory. She tightened her grip on the phone. “I slept quite well, thank you.”

  The silence that followed her cool reply gave her a sense of satisfaction. Mac had been right. Lucetti had delayed calling to gain an emotional advantage. For once, she was grateful to her mother. She might sweat, but Lucetti would never know it.

  “Listen carefully. I have reason to believe that—”

  “Excuse me,” Mallory cut in. “You’re forgetting I requested that my daughter be put on the phone. First things first.”

  “Have you ever visited the King County Morgue to identify a body, Mrs. Christiani?”

  Mallory’s legs quivered. She glanced at Mac, licked her lips and said, “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m a retired nurse and I’ve worked in the hospital morgue.” Mac’s eyes locked with hers and he gave her a thumbs-up signal as he walked toward her. A proud grin slanted across his mouth. She pressed a trembling hand to her throat. “I think perhaps we’ve reached a stalemate. Mr. Mac Phearson made our position quite clear last night. Call back when you can put my daughter on the phone.”

  With that, Mallory hung up. For a moment, absolute silence resounded in the room. Then Mac let out his breath in a rush. Mallory threw him a frightened look.

  “Oh, Mac—” She clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

  Mac came over to stand beside her. “You did the right thing. He’ll call back, honey. And when he does, he won’t play mind games.”

  Mallory nodded and made an odd little sound behind her palm, half sob and half hysterical laughter. She prayed he was right, that she hadn’t just signed Em’s death warrant. The phone rang again, making her jerk. Her eyes flew open. Mac put an arm around her and held her clasped to his side as she reached out for the phone.

  “Just stay cool,” he whispered.

  Mallory gulped down panic and lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Mommy?”

  Joy welled within Mallory, so intense that she couldn’t speak for a moment. She moved closer to the phone, as if somehow she could get closer to her child. That precious little voice ran over her like sunshine. “Em? Oh, Em! How are you, princess?”

  “Fine. Mommy, why didn’t you tell me I had to stay someplace new? I felt awfully angry with you at first. Is Gramps better yet? I’m tired of staying places. I wanna come home. I miss you, Mommy. And you forgot to bring me Ragsdale.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “You promised you would when we found out I forgot him, remember? I’ve had bad mares for two nights now.”

  The scolding note in her daughter’s voice brought a fresh rush of tears. “Nightmares, you mean? Not bad ones, I hope? I wanted to bring you Ragsdale, darling, but something came up and I—I couldn’t. Em, are the people there treating you nice?”

  “Yes, but I’m—” Emily’s voice broke off “—homesick. I can’t talk more, Mommy. We don’t got enough quarters.”

  “Em? Em!”

  “Satisfied, Mrs. Christiani?”

  Mallory leaned heavily against Mac, drawing strength from him. “For the moment, yes.”

  “I’ll call back with the instructions.”

  The phone clicked and went dead. Mallory threw Mac another panicked glance. “He’s afraid to stay on the line too long in case we’re trying to trace him,” he explained. “It’ll be a few minutes. He’ll call from another phone so he can’t be located.”

  Mallory grabbed the back of a bar stool and swung into it. “That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. The very hardest.”

  “I know, but you didn’t show it. That’s what counts. I thought you were the lady who couldn’t act?”

  Mallory leaned her head back. “That wasn’t an act. It was just—” She broke off and licked her lower lip. “You’d have to know my mother. A regimental upbringing comes in handy.”

  Mac lifted an eyebrow. “Regimental?”

  Mallory met his gaze. “How long before he calls?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Another five minutes, probably. So we wait again.” He studied her for a moment. “I’m curious. What is a regimental upbringing? Tell me about your mom.”

  Mallory hesitated, but something in his expression—she had no idea what—made her start talking. When she finished, she couldn’t remember exactly what she had said, but Mac’s expression, which had started her talking in the first place, had subtly altered. “Do you like your mother?”

  “Of course I do. I love her.”

  “That isn’t what I asked.”

  “I admire her.”

  “But do you like her?”

  Mallory frowned. “That’s a terrible thing to ask.”

  “Only when you can’t say yes.” He caught her by the chin, his eyes searching hers. Then the phone rang and interrupted them. Mallory turned on the bar stool, her heart slamming.

  “Wait for the third ring so we don’t appear too anxious.”

  Her hand shook as she reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Listen carefully,” the now-familiar voice hissed. “As I mentioned last night, I have reason to believe your father-in-law put the package in his safe-deposit box. You find that box key and get the package. Once you have it, return with it to your home. I’ll phone you there to arrange a meeting place for the exchange.”

  “How will you know when I’ve gotten the box opened?”

  “I have you under constant surveillance, so I’ll know.”

  “And what if I can’t find the key?”

  “For your child’s sake, find it. You have twenty-four hours. Countdown begins now.”

  The moment the phone went dead, Mallory dropped the receiver and made a fist in her hair. “Twenty-four hours! He can’t expect—what kind of miracle worker does he think I am?”

  “That’s not what has me worried. Are you on the safe-deposit contract at the bank?”

  “The what?”

  “The contract. It just occurred to me that if you aren’t authorized to open that box, key or no key, they won’t let you touch it. Did you ever go in to the bank and sign a release?”

  Pressing her hand to her forehead, Mallory tried to remember. “I—I don’t know. I’ve signed so many things. After Darren died, there was so much red tape, so many contracts and releases and affidavits. Keith, being a lawyer, was relentless about having everything done to the letter.”

  “Let’s hope he didn’t forget any minor details, like giving you access to his deposit box. If you aren’t on that contract, it would take a court order to get the box opened even with a key.”

  Mallory’s hopes lifted. “But, Mac, if I am on the contract, couldn’t I have the box drilled myself?”

  “Sure. But it might take too much time. One locksmith is authorized by the bank chain to drill their boxes, and it’d be our luck he’d be in Spokane or someplace. Let’s see about the contract first.”

  Mac leafed through the phone book, ran his finger down a page, then punched out a phone number. A woman’s voice came over the speaker, “Good morning, Ann speaking.”

  “Yes, Ann, this is Keith Christiani. I’d like to do some checking on my safe-deposit box contract. I need to find out if my daughter-in-law, Mallory Christiani, is down as an authorized user?”

  “One moment, please.” When the woman came back on the line, she said, “No, Mrs. Christiani’s signature isn’t on file. If you’d like for her to be, it’s a simple matter of signatures.”

  Mac closed his eyes for a moment in disappointment, then angled a meaningful look at Mallory. “I might do that. Well, um, thank you.” Dropping the receiver into its cradle, Mac turned and
leaned a hip against the counter. “That’s not good news.”

  Mallory could feel her blood pounding in her temples, hear the pulse beats going swish-swish in her ears. “But we have to open it. What are we going to do? Does that mean that even if we manage to find the key, we can’t get the package?”

  A distant, thoughtful look crept into his eyes. “No, it just means we can’t get it legally.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that once we find the key, I’ll have to forge Keith’s signature and pray I’m good enough they don’t suspect.”

  “Couldn’t you get in trouble? What if they caught you? Someone there might know Keith on sight. He isn’t exactly a nobody in town, you know! If they’re that strict about who can open those boxes, you could be arrested or something.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.” He chucked her under the chin. “Don’t look so horrified. It isn’t a hanging offense.”

  “You mean it, don’t you? You’d actually risk jail.”

  “Don’t pin wings on my shoulders. You can’t pass for Keith, so I’m elected, simple as that. So where do we start? His car or the office? We have to start searching. Like you said, a key could be almost anywhere.”

  A key. A cold prickle began at Mallory’s nape and crept up to her scalp. Keith’s face flashed before her. She remembered how his hand had clawed the air when she had mentioned that her father had lost the motor-home key. Now she realized what he had been trying to tell her. “Mac!”

  He glanced over at her. “What?”

  In a rush, she told him what had occurred yesterday. “Do you suppose we could set up some kind of signal to question him?”

  Mac shook his head. “It’s no use. I tried that yesterday before you arrived. He hasn’t got enough control over his body. If he could open and close his eyes upon command—anything like that—we could set up a signal, but he can’t. Trying just frustrates him. Unless he improves dramatically, we’re on our own.” He sighed. “Well? Where do you want to look first?”

  “My vote is his office. He was there when he collapsed, so it seems the most logical starting point. And if the key isn’t there, maybe we’ll find a clue to lead us to it.”