“Pete O’Shay, Mike Lipetzky. They play ball at the rec center Thursday nights and drop by for a drink on the way home—usually around nine-thirty.”
Mitch set a second hundred-dollar bill on top of the first one. “Anyone named Tony?”
“There was a guy—I never knew his last name. I haven’t seen him since Brad died.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Dark hair, wiry. He had a tattoo on the back of his shoulder—red lips. He told me it gave women ideas of where he wanted them to put their lips. He was a funny guy.”
“How tall?”
“He wasn’t that big. He was probably the wing or the point guard on the team.”
Medium height, Mitch translated. “You know what he does for a living? Where he works?”
“Sorry.”
Mitch believed him. He put a third hundred-dollar bill on the bar. Sweat beaded on the bartender’s broad forehead. “Brad ever meet a woman here?”
“Maybe a couple of times while I was here, but I try to keep my nose out of that kind of business. I don’t ask questions, nobody gets hurt.”
“Was she blond? Brunette?”
“Brunette. The kind of dame who can make a man real nervous. Demanding, if you know what I mean.”
Mitch knew. The woman was definitely Sable. Not Stef. “You notice any hanky-panky going on between them? Hand holding? Exchanges of bodily fluids?”
“I might have seen some money change hands. But she was paying him, not the other way around.”
Mitch was relieved. He didn’t want to walk around with the knowledge that Sable and Brad had been swapping spit in public. The prospect that Brad might have cheated on Stef made him want to hit something.
He hailed a taxi to take him back to the Clairmont Hotel, pondering the information that the bartender had seen Brad and Sable together at least twice and money had changed hands. Had Brad ever delivered what he’d been preparing for her?
Mitch sighed, images of Stef and Keely and black jelly beans infiltrating his thoughts. Absently he reached for the hotel key card in his breast pocket. It was just after 8:30 p.m. Would Keely already be in bed? How much should he tell Stef of what Sable had said?
The key card wasn’t in the breast pocket of his suit.
Frowning, Mitch tried another pocket. Where the hell was it? Had Sable helped herself to the card when they were in the bar? Had that little hand trick on his thigh been a distraction? Or had someone been in Stef’s house earlier? A chill seized his heart. Maybe Stef’s purse hadn’t fallen over on its own.
Mitch wasn’t taking any chances. He called G.D. He wouldn’t feel better until he was sure Stef and Keely were safe.
THE GUESTS IN THE POOL had thinned out. Stef finally succeeded in coaxing Keely out of the water with promises of a story for her beddy time. She wrapped a thick white towel around her daughter’s body, smiling as Keely scuttled like a crab to the ladies’ change room. Stef heard a shower running. A warm shower sounded wonderful. She should have asked the towel boy for extra towels.
“I gotta go potty, Mommy,” Keely announced, her voice booming off the Art Deco tile walls of the locker room.
The shower would have to wait a few minutes. “Okay, sweets, the rest rooms are this way.”
Stef let Keely pick a stall and entered after her daughter, latching the door behind them.
She heard the door of the stall beside them swing open.
She’d just helped Keely onto the toilet seat when a massive stinging sensation jolted through her right leg as if she’d been bitten by something. Her brain felt strangely murky and she was having trouble standing. Stef grabbed on to the walls of the stall and looked down in dismay, trying to identify what was going wrong.
An arm snaking from beneath the stall next door was pressing a black object to her calf. She tried to move her leg to avoid the object, escape the pain, but her body seemed paralyzed.
Stef’s thoughts were disjointed. The pain wouldn’t stop. She tried to reach for Keely, to protect her as her knees buckled and she fell forward. Her head struck the tile wall and everything went black.
Keely giggled as her Mommy sank to the floor. Usually Mommy fell in leaves. Not in the bathroom. “Ha, ha, Mommy.”
She waited for Mommy to get up. It was taking a long time. Keely finished tinkling.
She shook Mommy’s head, her giggles turning to a whimper when she saw the red sticky blood on her fingers. “Mommy? I need toilet paper.”
“Keely?” a voice crooned like a troll beneath a bridge. “Your Mommy’s hurt. Can you unlock the door so I can help her?”
Keely didn’t like that voice. “No.”
“Hurry, your Mommy needs a doctor.”
Keely recoiled in fear as the troll’s big scary hand reached for her leg.
Chapter Eight
Mitch’s breath turned to frost in his lungs when he saw the ambulance pulled up at the entrance to the Clairmont Hotel. Swearing under his breath, he thrust some bills at the taxi driver and bolted out of the cab.
The pool. G.D. had said Stef and Keely had gone to the pool.
Mitch sprinted across the lobby to the elevators and jabbed at the up button until the doors opened. He’d never forgive himself if something had happened to either one of them. Carmen Lopez’s murder and her grandmother’s stress-related death were already more than he could bear.
He’d only met Stef yesterday, but she’d impacted his heart. She lit up every room, every inch of space around her. She awakened hopes inside him that Mitch would just as soon stay discarded and buried, but he wasn’t holding it against her. He’d never known anyone so alive, so vital.
He couldn’t bear the thought she, or Keely, would be silenced. He wouldn’t be able to bear the resulting silence in his own world.
“Come on, come on,” he urged as the elevator finally lifted upward. Dread curdled in his belly when the elevator came to a halt on the pool level. Mitch heard screams as the door slid open. A child’s screams.
Keely’s screams.
He raced down the hallway toward the line of uniformed security officers blocking the access to the pool area. “Get the hell out of my way. I work for The Guardian,” he said. “Where’s your head of security?”
“He’s in the ladies’ room. Through there,” a black female guard told him, letting him pass.
Mitch didn’t know what the hell to expect as he entered the ladies’ change room. Keely’s hysterical screams made his blood run cold. A couple of EMTs and several men were crowded around a bathroom stall.
“I’m Mitch Halloran, I work with The Guardian. Which one of you is the head of security?” he demanded over the sounds of Keely’s screams. “What’s going on?”
An Asian man with salt-and-pepper hair turned to him, giving Mitch a terror-inducing glimpse of two golden female feet with heart-dotted toenails lying deathly still on the tile floor. “We’re not sure. The little girl won’t let us near. But we got a pulse at the victim’s ankle.”
Thank God.
Mitch had no idea how a toddler could hold so many adults at bay. “Step aside,” he ordered the two EMTs who were trying to coax Keely out of the stall. Mitch had seen hundreds of traumatized children in his career. But nothing in his lifetime had prepared him for the sheer terror he saw in Keely’s red, tear-stained face. She’d wedged herself between the toilet and Stef’s body and was holding on to the straps of Stef’s bathing suit for dear life. There was blood on her hands and on Stef’s face and chest.
Mitch couldn’t distance himself from the horrendous pain that seared his heart. Had Stef been shot?
He hunkered down and held out a hand to Keely, her distraught cries tearing through him like daggers. “Keely, it’s Mitch,” he said very firmly so that she would hear him. “I’m here, kiddo. You’re safe. Tell me what happened.”
Keely gasped in midsob. Her eyes opened and he saw the guarded uncertainty stamped in her expression when she recognized him. But she didn’t let go of
her mother. Mitch understood her desperate panic. When his mother had abandoned him at his grandfather’s he’d clung to her the same way Keely was clinging to Stef. He still remembered her red-painted nails peeling his fingers from her skirt.
He talked to Keely the way his grandfather had talked to him. Quietly. With compassion. He kept his hand steadily held out to her even though she regarded it with distrust. Inside, he knew she needed someone to reach out to her.
“Tell me what happened, Keely. Are you hurt? You have blood on your hands. Is Mommy hurt?”
Keely’s blue-green eyes were round with terror. “There was a troll. It hurt Mommy. Did you scare the troll away?”
A troll? Had someone attacked them?
“Yes, he’s gone now, Kee,” Mitch assured her. “You’re both safe, but Mommy needs a bandage for her owie—just like you do when you’re hurt.” Behind him he heard the head of security organizing a search. He plucked Keely off Stef’s chest, amazed when she came without complaint.
Her arms and legs twined trustingly around his neck and waist like vines. As much as he wanted to touch Stef, to reassure himself she was okay, Mitch focused his attention on the tiny child he held in his arms. The hummingbird pace of Keely’s heartbeat commingled with the frantic pace of his own as he rose and backed out of the stall, letting the EMTs in to examine Stef. Keely was so small. Still just a baby, really. And yet such a force to be reckoned with. All personality—like her mother.
And just as impossible to resist.
What would her life be like a month from now? A year from now? Would she be embroiled in a custody battle, pining to remain with her mommy?
Would Stef have lost Keely and lost her will to live? Or would she have her real daughter to help ease her through the pain of having to give up Keely?
He smoothed his fingers over Keely’s damp hair, attempting to reassure her as she burrowed her head under his chin. She was still trembling and her lips were blue. Her bathing suit wasn’t on her properly. The female EMT handed him a towel to wrap around her little body and checked her over to make sure she didn’t have any injuries. Keely screeched at the EMT’s efforts until Mitch convinced her that the nice lady only wanted to help her.
“She’s not hurt. The blood’s from her mother’s cut,” the EMT assured him.
Mitch exhaled in relief. That was one worry removed from his mind. But he couldn’t take his eyes off Stef. His stomach felt as if it were being stitched by a needle and thread. Who had attacked her and Keely? Did someone know Keely was the Collingwood heir? Or was it an unrelated attack?
The Guardian hurried into the change room, Juliana clutching his arm. “Mitch, what’s happened?”
“Oh, my God,” Juliana said, her face turning white as she took in the sight of Keely in Mitch’s arms, the blood stains on Mitch’s shirt and the EMTs kneeling over Stef’s prostrate body. “Stef. Is she—?”
“Her vitals are good,” one of the EMTs said. “She’s really groggy. She says she can’t move. She might have hurt her neck when she fell. There’s some kind of burn on the back of her right calf.”
Burn?
From what? A stun gun? The shock from a stun gun could have caused her fall.
Mitch was half out of his mind with worry. How hard had she struck her head? The EMTs immobilized Stef’s neck with a C-spine collar, then began the slow process of straightening her body so she could be log-rolled and a backboard placed against her neck and spine. Mitch had never felt so helpless in his life. Stef needed his support, his reassurance, but Keely needed him, too. He had no doubt that Stef would want him taking care of her little girl.
Be strong, spitfire. Be strong.
He spoke to The Guardian in a low tone. “Keely says a troll attacked them and he went away.”
G.D.’s brows rose. He told the security director he wanted to question the security team who’d been protecting Stef and Keely. Mitch had a feeling heads would roll.
“Keely, baby,” Stef murmured.
The sound of her voice uplifted Mitch’s spirits like a glimpse of a rainbow.
Juliana went immediately to Stef’s side and squeezed her hand. “Keely’s fine. She’ll be with me—us,” she amended, glancing at G.D. for confirmation. There was something in the silent message that transpired between them that flagged Mitch’s attention. “Don’t worry about a thing,” Juliana soothed Stef. “You just get better.”
The Guardian patted Keely’s leg. “You okay, princess?”
Keely nodded and popped her thumb into her mouth, her head braced on Mitch’s chest.
“Mitch said a troll scared you. Did you see the troll’s face?”
Keely shook her head.
Mitch tried the question another way. “What did you see, jelly bean?”
She popped her thumb out of her mouth. “I’m not a jelly bean.” Eyes wide, she spread her fingers like attacking claws as if demonstrating someone had grabbed her mommy. “I see’d his voice.”
“He was outside the stall,” Mitch explained to G.D. He tightened his arm around Keely, not caring that her wet bathing suit was dampening his clothes. “What did the troll say, Kee?”
Keely shook her head.
“You don’t remember?” The Guardian prompted her.
“Maybe you remember and you don’t want to say it in a loud voice,” Mitch said knowingly. “Can you whisper it in my ear?”
Mitch felt Keely’s indecisiveness in the restlessness of her body—even in the straining of her tendons when she finally straightened. Her tiny hands climbed his neck as her mouth settled close to his ear. He had the most surreal feeling that he would be happy to live the rest of his life inside this magic intimate world that Stef and Keely shared. He felt a familiar emptiness inside him. He’d loved his grandfather. He and Paddy had made the best of what they had. Mitch realized he’d been alone too long. That he wanted something more.
“Come on, jelly bean,” he gently coaxed her again. “Tell me what the troll said.”
“Open the door,” Keely confided in a frightened little voice that took Mitch hostage, made him make silent entreaties that she’d always be innocent. Always be safe.
Had this been a random attack? Or had whoever attacked Stef wanted to snatch Keely?
He kissed her damp head, amazed how natural it felt. How gratifying. He’d never kissed a child before. Never held one the way he was holding Keely. God, he was sinking deeper and deeper into the lives of this mother and daughter. How hard was it going to be to walk away when this was all over? “Good girl that you didn’t listen. You should never listen to a troll.”
Keely nodded sagely.
“Can I give you to Juliana, jelly bean? I’m going to go with your mommy to see the doctor.”
Keely looked uncertain, her lower lip jutting out dangerously as if she were about to cry again. Or scream.
He was thrilled she no longer viewed him as the enemy.
“You’ll be safe, I promise. That kiss I just gave you is a magic spell. The troll can’t come back. And even if he tried, G.D. will be with you. Trolls are scared of G.D. He has an army of knights to keep you safe.”
“’Kay.” Keely held her arms out to Juliana, who scooped her up and kissed her pale white cheek. Mitch saw a fierce protectiveness in Juliana’s eyes that was both reassuring and an unsettling reminder that she represented the Collingwood family’s claim over Keely.
Mitch and the other security officers helped the EMTs lift Stef onto the stretcher. Mitch squeezed Stef’s fingers. They were so cold! Was she going into shock? “I’m here, spitfire. I’m coming with you.”
Quickly and efficiently the EMTs hooked her up to an IV and put pressure on the laceration on her face. As they wheeled Stef’s stretcher toward the exit Mitch promised Juliana and G.D. he’d call as soon as he had news. His gaze darted to Keely. He felt a gnawing reluctance to leave her, but he couldn’t bring her to the hospital. Stef needed him, too. “You won’t take your eyes off Kee, promise, G.D.?”
G.D.’s determined tone carried a promise that immediately eased Mitch’s concerns. “Not for a second.”
In the short time he’d been working for G.D., he’d realized that The Guardian wasn’t in this business for profit. He cared about the work he did as much as Mitch cared about the children he tried to help.
Mitch followed the stretcher into the locker room. But a muffled thumping from one of the lockers stopped him in his tracks. G.D. heard the thumping, too.
Mitch reached for his weapon, silently motioning for the EMTs to remove Stef from the room. G.D. hustled Juliana and Keely safely away, as well. With two of the security officers acting as backup, Mitch opened the locker door.
A body, the head and torso hooded by a white laundry bag, tumbled out.
Mitch caught it before it hit the floor. He pulled the hood from the victim’s head. It was a male Caucasian, in his mid-twenties. His chest was bare and his mouth was covered with a strip of duct tape.
His eyes were open and he appeared to be in a stupor. The type of stupor caused by a stun gun.
The security director knelt beside the injured man. “I know this guy. He works for the hotel—in the pool area.”
Fear burned like acid in Mitch’s stomach as his mouth flattened into a grim line. The attack on Stef hadn’t been random. The kidnapper had been in Stef’s house today, had lifted the hotel key card that would grant him access to the pool area. The kidnapper knew he had the wrong child.
THE KIDNAPPER FLED the Clairmont Hotel toward Times Square, merging into the ever-present nightly crowd that came to admire the barrage of advertisements affixed to the towering buildings—a symbol of the American way. Money.
Damn that brat. The kidnapper had been so close—mere inches from having Riana. From having everything. Ridding the towel boy of his hotel uniform had been a stroke of genius and had facilitated a successful escape.
It would be harder the next time. Riana had been well protected. Next time, there would be even more protection.
The kidnapper moved at the pace of the jostling crowd. The crowd stalled around a makeshift stall where knockoff wallets and purses were being sold. The raised voice of a woman haggling with the vendor drifted toward the kidnapper.
Operation Bassinet Page 12
