He sighed. She had seen an ugliness tonight she had never glimpsed before. He wished there was something he could say to ease her mind, but there was nothing. The bald truth was, she was right. Em might be dead. And if she wasn’t yet, she might be soon.
Gathering her into his arms, Mac rose to his feet, amazed that she weighed so little. As he shifted her so he could maneuver the stairs, Ragsdale’s wet ears flopped against his bare chest. He felt her drop the dog onto her lap. The next instant, she looped her slender arms around his neck and pressed her face into the hollow of his throat, clinging to him as though he were a lifeline. She smelled like night cream and flannel, a sweet, clean scent that was far more arousing to him than expensive perfume. Some knight in shining armor he was, he thought with disgust.
When he crested the landing, he turned left down the hall to her room. When he lowered her onto the bed, she still held on to him. Warning bells rang in his head. He stretched out beside her. She pressed close, flattening her small breasts against his ribs, fitting her pelvis to the slope of his denim-clad hip. Her hair fanned across his chest like warm silk. He felt her lips, velvety against the hollow of his shoulder, her breath a mist of sweetness. He could feel her trembling.
“Mac...” Her voice drifted to him no louder than a whisper. “Would you—” She pressed even closer, clinging, almost frantic. “Would you love me?”
Mac wasn’t sure where his stomach went, but from the feel of things, it was somewhere under the bed. His arm stiffened around her. It seemed to him that her small body turned molten, impressing itself into his skin like a searing brand. Would he love her? As if it would be some gigantic favor? He wanted her with aching intensity.
“You’d be sorry later.”
“I don’t care about later. Make the hurting stop. Make me stop thinking. Hold me. Oh, please, Mac, hold me.”
Her voice broke on the last word. Mac’s every instinct told him to go for it. Only a heel would turn a lady down when she said please, right? Wrong. Only a heel would take her up on it. For a long while, he lay there, battling with his hormones. At last she relaxed and nuzzled her cheek into his shoulder. It ignited his every nerve ending. He rolled toward her so he could come up on one elbow above her. Placing a hand on the curve of her narrow waist, he lowered his head and feathered kisses across her forehead, ignoring the inviting curve of her tear-swollen mouth.
“You’re not yourself right now, Mallory. You’re frightened and exhausted and vulnerable. Ask me when Em’s safe and sound, and I’ll take you up on it, fast.” As if she would. This was a once in a lifetime chance and, idiot that he was, he was passing it up.
She said nothing. He imagined that she was lying there feeling humiliated, and he wanted to kick himself. Truth was, he wasn’t well practiced in turning down gorgeous women. First off, not many had asked. Secondly, he was no monk. Mallory, however, seemed different. Too sweet, too vulnerable, too precious to him. Her hip bone fit into his palm as if she had been molded especially for him. One of his knees had slipped between her thighs, stretching the flannel taut between their juncture so he could feel the white-hot softness of her. The fire in his loins intensified. Without realizing it, he trailed his mouth to her cheek, to the corner of her mouth. He felt his willpower slipping, imagined plunging into the honeyed slickness of her, imagined touching every satiny inch of her skin.
“Unless you’re sure,” he amended, hating himself for being so completely conscienceless. “Do you promise not to hate me later?”
No answer.
“Mallory?”
He brushed his lips across hers. Her silken mouth was slack. His twisted into a reluctant grin. She had fallen into an exhausted sleep. He groaned and rolled off her, doing a face plant on the mattress. His body found no solace there. Nearly an hour later, he was still awake, his hands curled into loose fists. Mac, would you love me? The question replayed in his head a hundred—no, a thousand—times. When at last the ache of need released its hold on him, he was glad his answer had been no. Only desperation could have driven her to such a request. He had to find her child. It wasn’t just a favor to Keith anymore, something he was involved in because he felt obligated. It was something more personal. Mac, would you love me? Heaven help him, yes. It went against everything he had believed in for fourteen years, but yes...
* * *
LUCETTI CALLED AT eight fifty-nine the next morning, which was a vast improvement on the waiting game they had endured the previous day. They had discussed strategy, so this time Mac answered the phone. Mac was afraid Lucetti might get nasty, and they thought Mac would be better able to withstand his threats. In an icy tone, he explained that Mallory had not yet been able to find the key.
“I told you twenty-four hours,” Lucetti snarled.
Mac cocked his head. In the background, he could hear a church bell ringing out the hour. No horns, only an occasional hum of tires. Wherever Lucetti was, it was an extremely quiet neighborhood. “We did our best to come through. A key is hard to find. We’ve had some complications, namely some men trying to kill us at every turn. And they aren’t in any way connected to me, I can guarantee that. Three men, wearing suits—”
“You’re lying, Mac Phearson! I have my men shadowing you every minute of the day. If there had been an attempt on your lives, I would have been informed of it.”
“Then it must be your men doing it. At least check out my story. Put a tail on them or something. We can’t find a key while dodging bullets and car bombs.”
“You’re stalling. My men don’t act without orders. That’s how I operate and they know it.”
“We need more time. Two extra days, at least.”
“Forget it. Eight hours, Mac Phearson, then it’s funeral time. You don’t seem to understand. I’m holding the trump card, the kid.”
Mac had hoped to avoid admitting that he and Mallory knew about Miles’s murder, but Em’s life was at stake and it was the only bargaining chip he had. “You hold most of the trump,” he replied. “If you’re a pinochle player, however, you know that’s not enough. To shoot the moon, you need them all.”
“Meaning?”
“I went slumming in downtown Seattle last night.” Mac could only hope that by hinting around, he could imply that he knew a great deal more than he actually did. “Does the murder of Steven Miles jog any memories? And the death of a certain professional? If the wrong people get wind of that, things could become very uncomfortable for you.”
The silence on the other end of the line stretched into infinity. “Leak it to the cops and the kid’s dead.”
Mac swallowed down an upsurge of anger. “I have no intention of leaking anything. We need more time. And to borrow your phrase, I’m playing my trump. Cooperation’s the name of this game. Now do we get some leeway here, or not?”
“Another forty-eight hours. And that’s it. If you don’t come through by then, Mrs. Christiani will be the one who receives a package. A small one, to start. Would her daughter’s little finger motivate her, do you think?”
Mac heard a whimper erupt from Mallory. Sweat popped out on his face. He wanted to shove the phone down Lucetti’s throat. “Put the child on the phone. I stress this. If I don’t talk to her, if I’m not completely satisfied that she’s not only alive but in good spirits, I phone the cops. In short, you’d better treat that little girl like she’s made of glass. Got it?”
“I’ll call back.”
The line went abruptly dead. Mac hung up and turned to look at Mallory. She stood near him, her face blanched pasty white, her eyes gigantic. She looked like she’d topple if he touched a finger to her forehead. Mac closed the distance between them and enfolded her in his arms even though he had sworn off any further physical contact with her. Four o’clock that morning seemed like a lifetime ago. She felt so small and insubstantial. He tightened his embrace, hunched his shoulders around her and buried his face in her hair.
“It’s okay. Just threats. He won’t really do it.”
&nb
sp; “H-her finger? Oh, Mac...” Her voice trailed off into a wail. She clutched his shirt so hard that he felt her nails dig into his skin. “What am I going to do?”
“Mallory, it’s all right. Shh. Don’t let him do this to you.”
Unable to think of anything else to say, Mac simply held her, stroking her hair, swaying with her from side to side, keeping his arms cinched tight as if he could pour his strength into her. When the phone rang, he lowered her onto a chair.
“You want to talk to her?”
She covered her face with trembling hands and gave her head a vehement shake. “In a minute. I don’t want to f-frighten her.”
Mac stepped to the phone, lifted the receiver and said hello. A brief silence ensued. Then Em’s hesitant voice came over the wire. “Where’s my mommy? Do I have the wrong house?”
That voice reached right down inside Mac and wrapped itself around his heart. He closed his eyes and smiled. “This must be Em. I’m Mac, your mommy’s friend.”
Another silence. “A boyfriend?” she asked, clearly amazed.
Mac’s smile widened. “Sort of.”
“Do you have hair?”
That question took him aback for a moment. “Um—yeah, I have hair.”
“Oh, good. Gerald didn’t. I didn’t want a new daddy who didn’t have hair so Mommy stopped bringing him. Gramps said he was stuffy, anyway.”
Good for Keith. “How are you, Emily? Are the people there treating you nice?”
“Yeah, but I still wish Gramps would get well so I could come home. The lady where I’m at brings me movies and ice cream, but it’s not fun like it is with Mommy. I don’t have my Pooh bag and I miss Ragsdale.”
The child evidently still believed she was staying away from home because her grandfather was still in the hospital. “Your mommy’s been really busy,” Mac replied. “She couldn’t get away to bring you Ragsdale.”
“Is my Gramps real sick?”
“He’s a little better, but still very weak.”
“Can I say hi to my mommy, please?”
Mac glanced toward Mallory. She was so white, she looked as though she might faint, but she stood and came to take the phone. In a tremulous voice, she said, “Hi, princess. How’s my favorite girl?”
“Fine. Do I get to see you today?”
Mallory closed her eyes. “Not today, darling, but soon.”
“Tomorrow, then?” Em whispered something and the line crackled. “I have to go, Mommy. Would you bring me quarters when you come so I can talk a long time? I love you. Don’t forget Ragsdale, okay? Bye.”
“I love you, too, Em.” Mallory tightened her grip on the phone. Mac heard more rustling noises coming over the wire. The next moment, Lucetti’s voice rasped over the speaker. “Forty-eight hours, same place, same time of morning.” Lucetti punctuated the order with a click of the phone. Mac sighed and cast a concerned glance at Mallory as she dropped the receiver into its cradle. She was still shaking.
“I want to try questioning Keith again,” she said. “There m-must be a way to set up some s-sort of signal. There has to be. I’ll call his physician and get special permission for you to enter the ICU.”
“Are you sure you want to take that risk? If he realizes Em’s been kidnapped, it might make him worse.”
She nodded. “If something happens to her, he’ll n-never forgive me for not at least trying.”
Mac wasn’t as concerned about Keith’s feelings as he was about Mallory’s. If questioning the older man caused a second stroke, she would spend the rest of her life blaming herself for it. On the other hand, if they didn’t question Keith, and Emily was killed... Mac shuddered. Just talking to the child for a few minutes, he had completely lost his heart to her. And if he felt that strong a pull, what must Mallory be feeling?
* * *
THE MOMENT THEY stepped into the ICU, Keith’s eyes filled with apprehension. Mallory caught her lower lip between her teeth and approached the bed. As before, Keith’s hand felt cold when she grasped it. Was it her imagination, or was he thinner? The network of bones in his hand felt fragile. Mallory tried to smile and failed miserably. Keith’s mouth drew down at one corner and he moaned, glancing pleadingly at Mac.
“Dad,” Mallory began hesitantly. “I, um, want you to stay calm, okay? I have something to tell you—bad news, I’m afraid.” She hesitated to let that sink in. “Em’s been kidnapped.”
Keith shrank into the mattress like a deflated doll, his eyes falling closed.
“She’s safe. We spoke to her just a few minutes ago. They’re giving her ice cream and showing her movies. She sounded fine.” Mallory took a deep breath. “In exchange for her return, Lucetti is demanding a package. He believes it’s in your safe-deposit box at the bank. We, um, are having some difficulty finding the box key.”
Keith’s eyes flew open. He looked imploringly at Mac. Leaning forward, Mac grasped his shoulder. “You can count on me, Keith. I’ll get her home, safe and sound.”
Mallory took another deep, bracing breath. “We’re hoping to set up some kind of signal with you so that you can give us some hints as to where the key might be.”
Keith kept his gaze glued to Mac and moaned. The sound was so pitiful that Mallory flinched.
“Anyway, I came up with an idea. I know that you can’t control your eyelids enough to blink just once. We tried that last night. But if you could only blink when you mean yes and try your best not to let your eyelids close when your answer is no, maybe we can ask you enough questions to find the key. Do you think you could do that?”
Keith blinked in rapid succession. Mallory threw Mac a joyful glance. “Oh, Dad, that’s great.”
Mac drew up a chair and sat down. Mallory lifted Keith’s hand to enfold it in hers. “Dad, it’s crucial that you stay calm through this. We don’t want to hurt you, you know. So before we start, I want to assure you that Emily will be fine. Mac dug up some dirt on Lucetti, so he doesn’t harm her. If he does, he knows we’ll have him arrested. So there’s no reason to feel frightened for her, okay?”
Keith’s eyelids fluttered and Mac smiled encouragement to Mallory. “Okay,” she said, “if you get tired, just keep your eyes closed and we’ll let you rest. First question. Is the package in your safe-deposit box?”
Keith blinked furiously.
“Okay, so all we have to do is find the key.” Mallory glanced at Mac. “Is the key at the house?”
No blinking.
“Not at the house. Okay. Is it at your office?”
No.
“Is it in your car?”
No.
“Is it in Bellevue?”
No blinking. Mallory began to squirm. This yes and no questioning could only go so far. Please, God.
“Is it in Seattle?”
Keith’s eyes went crazy and he moaned.
“Now, Dad, stay calm,” she reminded him. “Don’t become frustrated. Remember that every answer you give us eliminates a wild-goose chase and brings us one step closer to finding the key. Think of it positively, even if you can’t tell us everything you’d like.” A frown drew her brows together. “Is it in another safe-deposit box in Seattle?”
No.
“In a locker at the bus depot?”
No.
“At the airport?”
No.
Keith was breathing heavily now, his air rasping as it went down his throat. Mallory glanced at the monitor. His pulse had accelerated. “Mac, it’s about time for him to rest,” she warned.
Mac rose from his chair to place a staying hand on her shoulder, his gaze intent on Keith’s. “Just one more question. Did you give it to a friend?”
Keith’s eyelids fluttered wildly and his bottom lip twisted in a grotesque grin as he tried desperately to say something.
“Okay—okay, relax, Keith,” Mac said soothingly. “It’s with a friend. That’s something for us to go on. The rest is elementary. We’ll just get on the horn and start calling people. Did you tell this friend not t
o give the key to anyone?”
No.
“That’s great,” Mac said enthusiastically. “Now all we have to do is find the friend. There can’t be that many people you trust that much.”
Keith looked so tormented that Mallory wished they hadn’t come. “Dad, you have to stay calm.”
The ICU nurse came bustling in just then. Her blue eyes shot daggers at Mac as she came around the end of the bed. “He’s going to have to rest now. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Mac leaned over Keith. “Trust me. I’ll find it. We’ll try to get word to you as soon as we have news. Meanwhile, remember one thing. When I needed you, you were there. This is my chance to pay you back. I’ll come through for you. You’ve got my word on it. So don’t worry, okay? Concentrate on getting well.”
* * *
AS THEY EXITED the hospital, Mallory glanced up and spied tears glistening in Mac’s eyes. To her surprise, he made no effort to conceal them. When one escaped and trailed down his cheek, he wiped it away, throwing her a rueful smile.
“I love that old man,” he muttered. “It kills me, seeing him like that. I hated upsetting him. Makes me feel like I ran the knife in deeper and gave it a twist.”
“I know what you mean,” she said in a tight voice.
“No. I don’t think anyone can.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “He’s—” He shook his head. “To me, he’s the father I never had.”
“What was the favor he did for you?”
He shoved his hands deep into his slacks pockets. “Put my life back together for me. Have you ever been completely alone?”
Mallory hadn’t been, but she understood now what he meant, better than he knew. If not for Mac, she would have been alone since Em’s abduction. Alone and desperate.
“So alone that there’s no hope, no way out? I—” He took a ragged breath. “Someone I loved got killed. My brother. We’d had an argument. I was working to put him through school. He was throwing four years of my life away, his grades going to hell, his attitude disintegrating. I had put up with all I was going to. He left in a rage. Got drunk. Killed himself in a car. I blamed myself. Couldn’t forget the ugly things I had said. I felt like I had driven him to it.”
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