by Kaylea Cross
“Let me know as soon as you get it, then.” Ty’s voice drew closer.
“Waiting for something in particular, Mr. Leighton?” the motherly receptionist Ty had hired after her husband left her called after him.
“Just let me know.”
In command, as usual, Ty took ownership of the office the moment he walked in the door. He didn’t look like a man who was suffering, Brock mused from his position at the window. Not at all like a father who feared he might have lost his only child for good.
Then Ty noticed him and frowned. “Brock. What are you doing in here?” He set his briefcase on his desk.
“Waiting to continue the discussion that got interrupted yesterday.”
“I asked you to give me time.”
“Time isn’t going to fix things.” Though guilt sneaked along his nerves, Brock wasn’t going to back down now.
Ty sat, stared at him pensively. “I thought we were friends.”
“We were. Hell, we are. I feel for you. You know I do. But this is business.”
Brock wanted more than a partnership in which he faded into the woodwork. An opportunity had come up, one too good to let slip through his fingers or he wouldn’t be so fixed on leaving now. If Ty got a whiff of his plans…
“Right at this moment, I’m having trouble believing you consider us friends.”
“Let’s say both the friendship and the partnership are strained. Maybe the first can be recovered if the second is dissolved amicably.”
“A friend would put this on the back burner until we get Cheryl home.”
“Which could be never.”
A thick silence followed, and Brock would swear that Ty paled. He went stiff as a corpse. Cold. His light blue eyes reminded Brock of shards of ice. He shifted uncomfortably under their glare. He’d seen that particular look before, but never aimed at him. He didn’t relish being the recipient of the other man’s ill-will.
“Don’t ever intimate such a thing again,” Ty warned him in a low, menacing voice. “I’ll bring my daughter home, and in one piece. You can bet your half of the business on that.”
“I’m not betting my half of the business on anything. I just want to pack it up and leave.” Despite his growing discomfort, Brock pushed forward. “I want half of everything. Split right down the middle. Clients, contacts, assets. Everything.”
“I promise you, we’ll talk about it. When I’m ready.”
When he was ready. Wasn’t that just like Ty. Decisions were always his call, Brock fumed, frustration getting the best of him. Without another word, he stormed out of the office.
Coming up the stairs, mail in hand, Pam gave him an intense, inquiring look. Not wanting her to guess what had gone on in there – how, once more, Ty had taken the upper hand – he turned his face away and escaped into his own office.
The one with the view of congested Clark Street rather than the tranquil park.
Brock’s insides felt as knotted as the traffic tie-up at the intersection, but he was determined for once to get what he wanted. Cheryl really was Tyler Leighton’s weak spot and Brock knew it. He loved the kid, he really did, and he didn’t want to have to use her disappearance as leverage.
But if it came to that…
For once in his life, he wasn’t going to back off because something was too tough.
“MAIL CALL.” PAMELA BROUGHT IN half an armload and set it on Tyler’s desk. “Alma said you were anxious for something or other this morning.”
Tyler was already flipping through the letter-sized envelopes when he grunted, “Thanks.”
He hadn’t thought to disbelieve Keelin about the ransom note when she’d seemed as shaken as he. At first, he’d clung to her with trust and something more, something that cut deeper despite his worry over his daughter…and then…suspicion had reared its ugly head.
Now he didn’t know what to think.
How could he be certain his feeling closer to Keelin hadn’t been part of her master scheme to take him?
She’d made moves on him, throwing her arms around his neck, touching his face in that gentle way that made his heart thunder in his chest. He’d wanted to touch her and kiss her and do more than just hold her. And this while his only thought should have been of his daughter, Tyler remembered, disgusted with himself. Keelin making him think he was to blame, that some enemy he’d made was using Cheryl to get even, could have been no more than a stroke of genius on her part. A smoke screen so that he would forget he didn’t trust her. That he’d vowed never to be fooled again.
He automatically discarded any envelopes with a familiar return address. Two were from people he didn’t know. A third had no return address at all. His fingers tightened on the ordinary white paper that could have been purchased at any drug store.
“Are you okay?”
Tyler glanced up at his assistant, her gaze sympathetic, but he couldn’t answer. No, he wasn’t okay. He wouldn’t be okay until he held Cheryl in his arms. He tore open the envelope and pulled out the missive.
This was it.
No originality here. Block letters cut from magazines and newspapers glared out at him.
Don’t involve the police further if you value your daughter’s life. I’ll be in touch.
For a moment, Tyler forgot to breathe. Pressure built inside him until he was ready to explode.
“Tyler?”
He glanced up at Pamela, at the dark eyes reflecting his own anguish. He handed her the warning missive. She blanched when she read it.
“Oh, God. What are you going to do?”
“Whatever the bastard who sent that says.”
Inspecting the envelope as if he could read the sender’s true intentions from it, Tyler suddenly realized that while it had been stamped, there was no postmark. “This never went through the U.S. mail.” He showed Pamela.
“You think someone slipped it into the pile when it was first delivered?”
“How else?”
“We had at least a dozen strangers wandering around downstairs this morning,” his assistant admitted. “I suppose any one of them could have done it.”
Or someone who was not a stranger at all, Tyler mused. Keelin? Definitely someone who knew him. He still couldn’t get over the idea of Cheryl’s going off with someone she trusted more than him…
“What about George Smialek?” Pamela suggested. “Maybe he’s crazy enough to do something like this.”
“He’s suing me.”
“But a suit isn’t personal.”
“You have a point.” Though Cheryl didn’t know the man.
“So, aren’t you going to call the police?”
“No. The sender threatened to kill Cheryl if I did.”
“You could give them what they want and they could kill her anyway.”
As if he hadn’t thought of that.
“Pamela, I don’t want you telling anyone about this.”
He had to find his daughter before it came to a life or death situation, Tyler thought. Keelin McKenna was the key. Though he prayed Keelin was on the up-and-up, she could be part of the scam.
One way or the other, he feared he would be forced to put his daughter’s fate in Keelin McKenna’s hands.
SKELLY LIVED IN A POSH NEW BRICK AND STONE rowhouse on Lincoln Avenue, one of the diagonal streets cutting across Chicago’s north side. The triangular development with entrances at each of the three corners had been designed to emulate a London neighborhood. All the rowhouses looked over inner streets and small snatches of green. Living quarters stacked up two stories over the street-level garages.
“Quite a place you have here,” Keelin said, wandering around the generously apportioned living and dining areas. She wondered if Skelly was in love with black lacquered furniture, or if the same designer who’d planned his office had had a free hand in his home, as well.
As she stood over him, Skelly frowned. “You look tired.”
“Sleep seems a bit elusive these days.”
“A
nother dream?”
Keelin nodded. “Cheryl Leighton’s in trouble.” She tried not to dwell on the complex emotions she had for the girl’s father, all of which troubled her. “She trusted the wrong people. They’re going to want money to give her back.”
“I’m sorry.” He took a folder from his briefcase and indicated she should sit on the couch opposite him. “Especially sorry that you feel responsible for this girl. Tyler Leighton is the type of man a woman should avoid.”
Skelly spread the contents across the coffee table. Keelin sat and looked over copies of newspaper articles. Actually, they were society columns, most of which were accompanied by photographs of Tyler with some woman on his arm. Rather all different women.
And one she recognized.
“Over the years, Leighton’s been seen with a number of socialites, each for a limited period of time,” Skelly told her. “He’s never been seriously involved with any of them as far as I can tell. Never lets them get too close. The latest of his conquests was Vivian Claiborne.”
“We’ve met, so to speak.” Pushing away the memory of being held in Tyler’s arms, Keelin said, “Skelly, if you’re afraid Tyler will turn my head–”
“I’m afraid for your safety. He moved from Indiana when his daughter was about a year old after his wife died, supposedly in a car accident. Only I couldn’t get a bead on the particulars. No tragic story in any Indianapolis newspaper. No obituary. If you ask me, Helen Leighton must have died under some mysterious circumstances…”
“You’re not saying you think he killed her and buried her in the backyard, are you?”
“I’m saying that it’s possible.”
Remembering her caution around Tyler, having recognized his dark side, Keelin shifted uncomfortably. Tyler a murderer? Surely not. Surely she would sense it if he were truly dangerous.
But why should she?
Though she might be able to see through another’s eyes, that’s as far as her so-called psychic gift went. She couldn’t see into another person’s soul. Couldn’t read anyone’s mind. She had to rely on her natural instincts, the same instincts that everyone possessed, to judge character.
Besides, Keelin reminded herself, Skelly sensationalized stories for a living. Maybe he was digging for a story where there was none.
Keelin shook her head. “No, it’s too bizarre.”
“The strange disappearance of the first Mrs. Leighton is bizarre,” Skelly agreed, “and that’s why I want you to be careful. I don’t want to chance losing my new cousin before I even get to know what makes her tick.”
“You mean afterward would be all right?” she asked with a straight face.
Skelly seemed startled for a moment. Then, when he realized she was joking, he grinned. “Aileen’s going to love your sense of humor. And speaking of my sister, we ought to get a move on or she might be unavailable. I don’t have a clue to her bookings for today.”
Keelin already knew his half-sister was a massage therapist and that she’d been enthusiastic at the prospect of meeting her cousin from Ireland.
“Then we had best hurry,” Keelin agreed. She indicated the copies. “Can I keep these?”
“Consider them yours.”
Keelin stuffed the papers back into the folder and took it along. She’d have the time to look them over more carefully later in her hotel.
Taking Skelly’s car, they drove north up Lincoln Avenue to Aileen’s place of work.
“Natural Is…is an alternate lifestyle business owned by a local health food guru,” Skelly said. “It promotes a more natural way of life, from organic foods to homeopathic medicines to healing hands. There’s a combination shop/cafe and a health clinic. Aileen is the massage therapist.”
“How peculiar and grand that I share a similar interest with a cousin who was born thousands of miles from me,” Keelin said with wonder.
Natural Is…was located in a double storefront in an area that Skelly told her was still recovering from an economic fallout. Two major department stores had gone out of business with most of the smaller shops following. But eventually new businesses had moved in, loft condominiums had been created, and the neighborhood had received a face-lift in general.
Keelin especially appreciated the old building facades that had been cleaned up and restored. And she felt comfortable entering Natural Is…The reception area of the clinic was anything but sterile. Purple walls. Oriental carpets underfoot. An eclectic mix of second-hand furniture, some of it painted bright colors, scattered about. A mobile of the universe glittering in one corner. And plants peeking out from every nook and cranny. Lots and lots of plants.
And her cousin Aileen was equally colorful, wreathed in a brilliant fuchsia, turquoise and jade print cocoon jacket that shimmered as she threw her arms around Keelin for a hug.
“My schedule is clear for the rest of the hour,” Aileen said before Skelly could make more formal introductions. “Let’s go next door into the cafe.”
Half-brother and -sister had the same blue eyes and Keelin could see a resemblance in the cheekbones and jawline. But where Skelly had black hair, Aileen was blond, her extraordinary fairness no doubt inherited from her mother LaVerne.
Keelin knew that Skelly’s mother Faye – her own father’s first love and the reason for the division between James and Raymond – had died shortly after his birth. Raymond had quickly remarried, but his union with LaVerne Gordon had ended in divorce. Gran once mentioned Raymond also had a child by a woman he’d never married, but Keelin hadn’t found any letters or cards from Skelly and Aileen’s natural half-brother in Moira’s box of cherished memories.
The cafe took up the front third of the other half of Natural Is… Keelin barely got a glimpse of the displays of books and supplements and more eyecatching treasures sold in the store before they settled at a table overlooking the busy street. Keelin and Aileen ordered herbal teas, while Skelly stuck to a hearty coffee.
They exchanged details about their lives while waiting for their order. Once they were served, Skelly got down to business.
“It’s up to you to convince Dad to make this trip back to Ireland, Aileen.”
“I can try.”
“She can wind him around her little finger,” he assured Keelin.
Aileen shrugged modestly. “Plus we have the advantage because Dad never did get over not seeing his mother again before she passed on last year. I can probably use a little guilt…uh, not that I think your father is going to die or anything,” she hurriedly added.
“Use whatever ammunition you have to. Right, Keelin?”
His statement reminding her of what Skelly did for a living, Keelin squirmed. “Within reason,” she agreed, disliking the idea of being underhanded.
For wasn’t that what Tyler thought of her? That she would do anything, fabricate anything to get to his money?
She hated that Tyler Leighton could get to her even when he wasn’t in her presence. When she was trying to concentrate on family, on her original mission. She hated that Tyler thought she might be a charlatan when all she wanted was to help him and his daughter.
And herself, an inner voice reminded her.
“Dad’s planning on taking the Friday night red-eye in from Washington,” Aileen was saying. “Maybe I’ll surprise him, meet him at the airport.”
“Get him in a weakened condition.” Skelly grinned. “You’ll have him agreeing before he knows what hit him.”
Keelin shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Skelly. She just wasn’t certain that she approved of him. Or rather of his methods of doing things.
“If he puts up a fuss,” Aileen said, “I’ll tell him we’re going, with or without him.”
“Will you really come?” Keelin asked.
“I’ve always wanted to see Ireland.”
Skelly added, “I might be able to find an angle for a story. A tax write-off.”
As long as the story was not about the McKennas, please God, Keelin thought.
Siblings exchanged looks.
“Who knows what Donovan’s likely to do,” Aileen said, tearing her gaze from Skelly to Keelin. “I’ll tell you, it’s doubtful, considering he doesn’t even think of himself as one of us.”
“Who even knows where Donovan is or what he’s been up to for the past dozen years,” Skelly muttered less amiably.
Arousing Keelin’s curiosity. But, with the distinct impression that Skelly would rather not talk about their mysterious half-brother, she asked, “What about Aunt Rose? Do you think she’s open to a reunion?”
“Mm, I don’t know.” Skelly sprawled back in his chair. “She has the biggest reason to stay away, doesn’t she, considering she was told never to darken a McKenna doorstep again.”
Harsh words and hardly believable as coming from her father’s lips, but Keelin knew them to be true. For centuries, the Troubles in Éire had pitted Catholic against Protestant. When Rose fell in love with a man who was both Protestant and American, her brothers forbade her to see him. When she defied them, saying she would marry Charlie and go off to America with him, they felt she betrayed not only their country, but them personally.
And when they disowned her, an angry Rose cursed her brothers, wishing them the same luck in love for them that they wished for her.
Not long after, the brothers bitterly fought over a woman. Raymond won Faye O’Reilly’s heart. They, too, came to America, with him never looking back on James. Faye hadn’t long to live, however, and Raymond never found a lasting relationship with another woman.
The only triplet to remain in Éire, her own father had settled for a young girl he’d had no romantic notions over. And while he’d learned to love Delia in his own way, Keelin had always sensed something missing in her parents’ relationship.
She could only hope that Rose had fared better with her beloved Charlie.
What she knew of the story, Keelin had gleaned directly from her grandmother. The triplets had broken her heart, and thus Moira had created what Keelin thought of as the McKenna Legacy, wishing for her grandchildren the personal happiness denied her own offspring because of their selfishness and intolerance. And for all their sakes, Keelin hoped the legacy held all the power of Moira McKenna’s love.
