Before they went home, Mac stopped at a pay phone to call Shelby. Thus far, his friend had learned nothing about the identities of the three men chasing them. Teddy, the gunsmith, had come up with zilch. If the men did business anywhere on a steady basis, it was outside Seattle. Shelby’s luck had been no better. A friend of his had run a tracer on the car, and the only real lead he got on a cream-colored Buick with similar tags turned out to be a vehicle that had been reported stolen. The three would-be killers were clearly professionals, far too clever to do their misdeeds in a car that could be traced to them. And Shelby had gotten no information on Miles out on the streets. He did agree to keep trying with the information they’d just gotten.
Mallory’s house seemed eerily silent when they went inside. And the overturned and dismantled furniture left by the searchers was a grim reminder of the danger they and Emily were in. Mallory tossed Mac’s sack of mail on the table in the breakfast nook and, driven by hunger she could no longer ignore, stepped to the refrigerator. She needed her strength.
She withdrew a container of yogurt. “Want something?” Mallory asked.
“Two of those for me,” Mac replied, pointing to Mallory’s yogurt.
They ate standing, backs to the counter, their gazes locked on nothing, eyes glazed with exhaustion. Mallory was trying desperately to be optimistic. Mac had to be right. Lucetti would give them more time. She either had to believe in that or lose her mind.
When the containers of yogurt were scooped clean, they gravitated upstairs to reassemble Mallory’s bed. It would accommodate two bodies. Both of them were too tired to wade through the shambles in another bedroom to fix a second bed, and Mac seemed inclined to sleep near her. She supposed he was uneasy because of the attempts on their lives that day. She could understand that and appreciate it. She needed to stay alive until Em was home safe. But it seemed an unnecessary precaution; every window and door had a safety latch. Then she remembered Lucetti’s men had already gotten into the house, and how easily Mac had broken in. Maybe it was a sensible precaution.
Mac stripped off his jacket, holster, shirt and wristbands, discarding them in a pile on the rug. Then he toppled onto the bed on his back. Slanting an arm across his eyes, he yawned and groaned. Mallory stared at him, convinced the breadth of his shoulders took up more than half the space. Her gaze lowered to his bronzed chest and her throat tightened. She had never seen male flesh contoured into so many rock-hard bulges and ridges.
“I’m so tired, I’m dead,” he murmured on the crest of a sigh.
He looked amazingly vital to Mallory. Suddenly she needed a little distance. “I’m going to wash off and put on my nightclothes. That is, if you don’t mind. I have a flannel gown that’s—”
“Honey, you can come back in nothing and I won’t notice,” he cut in gently. “Just do whatever you have to and come to bed so you can get some rest. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
Closeted in the bathroom, Mallory washed her face, applied night cream, brushed her teeth and wriggled out of her clothes. The clean flannel gown felt like heaven. She supposed she should sleep dressed since there was a man in her bed, but she was too sore. She had chosen her primmest gown. Stepping back into the bedroom, she felt suddenly shy and doused the light. As she moved toward the bed, a rumbling sound made her leap. She peered through the darkness. There it came again. Mac was snoring. The sound was comforting, made her feel less alone. She lay down, trying not to wiggle the mattress, and hugged her side to keep space between them.
Mac muttered something and rolled toward her, slinging a heavy arm across her waist. He pulled her close and nuzzled his face into her hair. Just when she was about to protest, he let loose with another rumbling snore that fluttered the hair at her nape. The stiffness left Mallory’s body. If this was a sly pass, he was a master and his embrace was comforting.
She leaned back against the broad, cushioned wall of his chest. It had been so long since a man had held her that she had forgotten how good it felt. Surely it couldn’t hurt...just for a while. He was asleep, after all. And—as she often told Em—everyone needed a hug now and again, even mommies. His arm was heavy, but not too heavy, the bone and sinew overlaid with a thick layer of muscle and smooth flesh. Wonderfully warm. Lying close to him made her feel confident that everything would indeed be okay. If needing that kind of reassurance was wrong, if it was weak of her, then it would be her secret. In just a few minutes, she would pull away. He would never know. She closed her eyes, absorbing his heat, finding solace, however meager, for this little while. Her last thoughts were of Emily as she plummeted into a black void of exhaustion.
Some time later—Mallory had no idea how long—she awoke with a start, her heart slamming as she clawed her way up from a nightmare. She had been standing on a city sidewalk, looking up at the grimy window of an apartment. Emily’s face was on the other side of the glass. Creeping up behind her was a horrible man with a switchblade, his mouth twisted in an evil grin. Running frantically back and forth in front of the building, Mallory sought a door. Above her, she heard Emily screaming. There was no way inside the building, no way to reach her. She was going to be killed, and Mallory couldn’t save her... Drenched in sweat, Mallory had jerked awake, her hands clawing the mattress.
For several moments, the dream still held her in its clutches, so real she could hear Em crying, “Mommy, Mommy, save me, save me!” Not wishing to wake Mac, Mallory slipped out of the bed. The residual horror of the nightmare drove her into the hall. She went to Em’s room and flipped on the light. After staring at the mess for several minutes, she began putting Em’s clothes back into her drawers. When that was done, she dragged the mattress into place and remade the bed. One chore led to another, and before she knew it, she was putting the whole room back together, feverish in her need to have everything as it had been before.
She worked until she was limp with exhaustion. Then she found Ragsdale. The little dog had been gutted, his stuffing tossed all over the floor. A cry tore from her throat and she began to shake. She fled the room, hugging the destroyed toy to her breast. She walked aimlessly through the house, stumbling sometimes on out-of-place cushions and lamps. Tears flowed down her cheeks and soaked Ragsdale’s floppy ears. When her sobs became so ragged that they sapped her remaining strength, she sank to her knees and leaned against the dining room wall. She had no idea how long she cried, only that she at last cried herself empty. No more tears, no more anything. Just a great aching hole where her heart had once been.
That was how Mac found her. He had missed her in his sleep and jerked awake to go find her. In the moonlight, she looked like a little girl, huddled on the floor in a trailing nightgown, hair tousled into a silken cloud. Dropping to one knee beside her, he touched Ragsdale and felt the wet fur.
“Mallory, sweetheart, what’re you doing down here?”
“Just thinking.”
“Thinking? You’ve got to get some sleep.”
“I did. I slept. They tore Ragsdale apart, Mac.”
He glanced down at the dog’s flattened torso. There was a peculiar, hollow sound to her voice. He knew that she was somehow equating the destroyed dog with her daughter, imagining Em destroyed, as well. Mac settled for touching her hair, but what he really wanted was to gather her into his arms and soothe away her pain. If only he could. “Can you think in bed where you won’t get chilled?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.” She turned her face toward him, “That Chapin man—he was a horrible person, wasn’t he? Em may be dead, Mac. I have to face that.”
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.”
“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 to 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.”
Randy. Mallory averted her face.
“I started drinking. I know that sounds weak, but I was young, confused—I think I wanted to die, too. I’d sit by his grave, me and my whiskey bottle, and stare at his name until I got so blasted I couldn’t read it anymore. When my poor mother was at her wit’s end, she called Keith Christiani. He found me. Took me to a hotel. Threw me in a cold shower. And made me so miserable I sobered up in self-defense. It took him a while, but he finally made me see that I wasn’t to blame, that I couldn’t have stopped what happened, even if I’d seen it coming.”
“He’s a wonderful man,” Mallory whispered. “A loving man.”
Mac sighed, a shaky, wet sound. “I never knew my biological father. Maybe it sounds corny, but Keith’s the only person besides my mother who ever believed in me. Because he had been so fond of my brother and knew I had worked to put him through school, he saw something worthwhile in me that I had never been able to see. He stuck his neck out for me, not once but a dozen times. When I didn’t have confidence, he had enough for both of us. If not for him, I’d be— You said once that I didn’t owe him my life? I do, Mallory, I really do.”
She at last found the courage to face him. “Add another person to that list.”
“What list?”
“Of people who believe in you.” She felt tears welling in her own eyes. “Make that two people. I have a feeling Em will want to be on it one day.”
When they reached the BMW, Mac checked the car over for explosives. When he found nothing, he waved Mallory in on her side, then climbed behind the wheel and cranked the engine. He didn’t seem to want to talk about Keith anymore. She didn’t, either. It could lead too easily into a discussion of Randy.
“Well, now where to?” he asked. “Your head seems to be operating better than mine, today. You choose.”
“His office.”
“But he said it wasn’t there.”
“Yes, but Trudy is. If anyone would know who Keith would have given something that important to, it’d be Trudy.”
* * *
“WHY MAC, OF COURSE,” was Trudy’s immediate response after she had pummeled them with questions about the gunfire yesterday. “Of all his friends, it would be Mac he’d call if he were in trouble. What kind of trouble was he in? I knew he was upset, but I didn’t know why.”
Mac ignored the question. “I was out of town. Who else, Trudy? Think hard. It’s extremely important.”
Trudy hesitated. “Well, he has dozens of friends, all of them loyal, I’m sure. Keith inspires that in people.”
“Dozens?” Mac said faintly. “Do you have a list?”
“I can give you his Rolodex.”
Mallory’s heart sank. It would take the remainder of the day to call all the people in a Rolodex. “Would you, Trudy?”
Trudy disappeared into Keith’s office and reappeared a moment later with the Rolodex, which she handed to Mac. Her green eyes filled with concern as she peered at Mallory over the tinted lenses of her glasses. “There’s something terribly wrong, isn’t there? Something’s happened? Something other than Keith’s stroke.”
“I—I can’t say,” Mallory told her gently. “Just pray for us, Trudy. We need all the help we can get.”
* * *
THEY DID THE phone calling in shifts. Late in the afternoon, while Mallory took her turn dialing and interrogating people, Mac cleaned up the kitchen, then foraged in the freezer and quick-thawed some sirloin for dinner. She wasn’t sure how she was going to manage to eat. But she knew she must. To help Em, she needed to keep her strength up. That meant eating nutritious food and resting whenever an opportunity presented itself. It also meant she must have faith that everything would turn out all right. Otherwise, swallowing food would be an impossibility. And so would closing her eyes.
In less than an hour, Mac insisted she take a break from telephoning and eat the meal he’d prepared. She finished her conversation with a man from Seattle named Harry Reisling who claimed to be an old service buddy of Keith’s. No, he hadn’t seen Keith in months. No, he didn’t have a key belonging to Keith. He was extremely sorry to hear that his friend had suffered a stroke. Mallory rang off with a promise that she would give her father-in-law Harry’s best.
To her surprise, she was ravenously hungry and managed to make quite a dent in the food Mac had heaped on her plate. When she couldn’t swallow another morsel, Mallory settled back in her chair and toyed with the handle of her coffee cup. Mac propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fists. “Now,” he said in a low voice, “how about a long, hot shower and an early night. You didn’t get much rest last night.”
Despite the fact that she had only just lectured herself on the importance of getting rest, Mallory found it difficult to follow through. Em was out there somewhere. Her life was in danger. She glanced at the Rolodex. “I’m not finished.”
“I’ll finish. We have an entire day left.” Not a lot of time, he thought, but he wasn’t about to say so. “You can afford to rest and recoup your strength.”
As tired as she was, Mallory hated to leave him with all the work. “Only if I clean up the kitchen first.”
“A deal. I hate dishes.”
They finished their coffee in silence, the first real lull they’d had all day. Mallory avoided looking at him, afraid of what she might read in his eyes. Had she really asked him to make love to her last night? Or had she dreamed it? It was a question that had plagued her all day. An unanswerable question because her memories of it were so jumbled and vague. She remembered feeling frantic, clinging to him, wanting him to make the pain go away. And then...nothing. Had she fallen asleep in his arms? What had he said? When she had awakened beside him this morning, both of them were still clothed. Clearly Mac had declined her offer if she had made one.
Rising from the table, she gathered the plates and scraped the food off them into the disposal. Mac stationed himself on the other side of the counter and began phoning the S section in the Rolodex, hitting every Seattle address. He had finished and begun the T section by the time she wiped the last trace of their meal from the counters and table.
Folding the dishcloth and laying it across the sink divider, Mallory waited for him to end a conversation, then said, “I’ll take Em’s room. You’ll be more comfortable in the larger bed.”
His gray eyes lifted. Mallory glanced uneasily away, unable to meet his gaze. Heat flamed to her cheeks.
“You sure? I hate to run you out of your own room.”
“Her bed is perfectly comfortable. And I’ll feel closer to her in there. Really, I don’t mind.”
Escaping the kitchen, Mallory took the stairs at a near run. After gathering her night things, she showered in the main bath just in case Mac finished up the Rolodex and wanted a shower himself. The hot water felt wonderfully soothing on her bruised body. After soaping down and shampooing her hair, she stood under the spray for several minutes, making her mind completely blank. No thoughts of Em. Of Keith. Of his many friends in Seattle. Of anything. She had to relax if she intended to sleep. And she needed sleep. Exhaustion was weighing on her, making her feel rubbery all over.
After blowing her hair dry, she tugged on her gown, straightened up the bathroom and went across the hall to Em’s room. The bed felt like a mother’s arms as she stretched out between the sheets and pulled the pink down comforter to her chin. Now if only she could sleep. A picture flashed in her head of Em’s finger lying inside a small box and she rolled onto her stomach to bury her face. The tears that she had held at bay all day flooded from her eyes, accompanied by muffled sobs. She cried until she was empty and numb again, then just lay there, her eyes squeezed closed, her hands knotted into fists.
It wouldn’t happen, she promised herself. She and Mac were going to find the key. They had to. If they didn’t, Mallory didn’t want to live. That was her last thought. Like a blown bulb, her lights went out. Blackness swooped over her.
* * *
RUFFLES AND LACE and Mallory Christiani...a heady combination. Mac leaned a shoulder against the bedpost and studied the sleeping woman before him, his mouth curved into a wry smile. He toyed with his tie, rasping his fingertips across the silk, imagining silken skin instead. Mac, would you love me? An ache of longing had centered itself in his chest last night and hadn’t eased up all day. Not a sexual longing, just need, raw and elemental and completely baffling. He wanted inside her skin, to drown in the sensation of simply holding her. Dangerous feelings. Not even thoughts of Randy seemed to douse the fire.
She had been crying. Even in the shadows, he could see the puffy blueness of her eyelids, the swollen vulnerability of her lips, the streaks on her cheeks. All day long, she had held it in. He wished she hadn’t, that she could let herself go, but at the same time, he had to admire her grit.
Mac sighed and turned away. The last of the Rolodex file hadn’t turned up the possessor of the key. No key, no kid. Simple as that. He strode to Mallory’s room and flung open the door. As he stepped across the threshold, memories of the previous night washed over him. He approached the bed and stared down at the destroyed toy dog. Good old Ragsdale. Ripped apart. Just like Mac would be if he didn’t get a handle on his emotions. His and Mallory’s worlds were so far apart. When this was over, he’d go his way, she’d go hers. He would probably see her only rarely, from a distance, just as before. Which was as it should be.
He glanced at the beautiful bedroom. It had taken a great deal of money to decorate it. More money than he had to spare in a year, probably. Even if Mallory fell in love with him, which was hoping for the moon, she’d soon grow unhappy when she found out he couldn’t afford the lifestyle she was used to. Not for her. Not for her daughter. There’d be no fancy canopy beds. No Mercedes-Benz. No tailored suits. No salons.
He flopped onto his back and closed his eyes, determined to banish foolish thoughts about Mallory and any kind of future with her from his mind. He was just a poor kid from Seattle. That was all he had ever been, all he would ever be. He’d best remember it and keep his mind on the job.