The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  "Anyway, Nate Feldman is definitely Leighton's chief business competitor," Skelly was saying. "Whether or not he holds a grudge at losing is another question."

  "Did you find anything to link him to Cheryl?"

  "Not directly, but hold on. Scoot over a bit."

  Keelin did as he asked, and Skelly moved in on the computer. He sped the mouse around its pad and his fingers over the keyboard, and the images on the computer monitor changed nearly as quickly.

  A moment later, they were looking at another page of The Chicago Tribune, this in the Chicagoland section. The headline indicated a christening of a factory building converted to mini-mall in the Clybourn Corridor. Keelin recognized the event from the video footage in her cousin's report the day before. Skelly used the mouse to mark the accompanying photograph, then hit a few more keys.

  A blink and the picture exploded outward, filling the screen.

  Tyler shaking hands with the mayor was the focus of the photograph. Cheryl stood slightly behind her father, nearly out of the frame. And on his other side, between Tyler and the mayor, standing some distance behind...

  "Feldman?" Keelin murmured, tapping the image of the balding man.

  Skelly nodded. "That's him. Odd that he showed for a celebration of a job he lost, don't you think?" He scooted his chair back and faced her. "He may not even have spoken to the girl, but he obviously knew about her."

  "Surely Tyler would have realized as much. Odd that he never mentioned Feldman."

  Or perhaps Tyler had been waiting for her to do so. Would he have considered that further proof of her perfidy? she wondered.

  "Maybe it never occurred to him that a business rival would be involved," Skelly mused.

  "Perhaps," Keelin agreed. "Did you learn anything personal about Feldman? Anything about his character that would make him capable of using a child to punish a competitor?"

  "I can give you tons of facts and figures about the man, but without hitting the streets and interviewing people who know him, it'd be impossible to analyze him personally."

  And Keelin couldn't ask her cousin to take the time from his work to do so. Another solution came to her. "Tyler has a private investigator trying to find Cheryl."

  "Checking out Feldman might be a productive use of the man's time."

  "I'll suggest as much."

  If Tyler would speak to her, given the way they'd parted earlier. Hopefully, he would still be in his office. Whatever his reaction might be to her unexpected appearance, Keelin knew she had to brave facing him.

  And this time, she would not let Tyler Leighton get under her skin and derail her from her purpose.

  TYLER BROODED IN HIS SHADOW-FILLED OFFICE. He'd spent the latter half of the afternoon calling the Hotel Clareton in an attempt to charm Keelin into forgetting his earlier accusations, but she'd up and disappeared on him.

  He was so frustrated that a knock at his door made him grouse, "What is it?"

  Pamela Redmond poked her head inside, her topknot bobbling. "Is it safe to enter?"

  He waved her in. "How come I never tick you off?"

  "Who said you don't?" His assistant raised her eyebrows but appeared as easygoing as always. "Uh, you want some light in here?" Her hand reached toward the wall switch.

  "Leave it be."

  He thought better in the semi-gloom. Or maybe it was that the light would make him face things he'd prefer to avoid at the moment.

  Pamela forgot about the light and stepped closer to his desk. "I had Mr. Bryant check out Keelin McKenna as you asked me to do."

  Tyler stiffened. Jeremy Bryant was the private investigator he'd hired to find his daughter. "And?"

  "As far as he could tell, she's genuine. No police record on anyone using that name. He couldn't find any trace of her in this city. Then he used a personal contact – a friend of a friend of a friend, as I understand – to get to Immigration. Keelin McKenna just flew in from Ireland just as she said."

  A weight lifted from Tyler's chest and he realized he'd been holding his breath. Though he'd thrown around accusations with impunity, he hadn't wanted them to be true. He'd wanted Keelin to be exactly who and what she claimed to be. While not the last word – a con artist probably could change identities easier than he could change

  the blueprints for a renovation – Bryant's research indicated that was the case.

  "I appreciate your help."

  Pamela backed off. "Sorry I can't do more."

  "That makes two of us." He checked his watch. Almost five. "Go on. Leave. Get back to your life for an evening. Let me brood in peace."

  "Sure."

  Tyler didn't wait for the door to close behind her. Impatient, he picked up the telephone receiver and hit redial, mentally following the rash of beeps that followed.

  "Hotel Clareton."

  "Is Miss McKenna in, yet?"

  "No, I'm sorry, sir," came the aggravating reply. "But if you would like to leave another message..."

  Having left two already, realizing the clerk recognized his voice, Tyler felt foolish. "No message."

  He slammed down the phone. For all he knew, Keelin was in and avoiding him. So what next? He crossed to the windows and stared down at the park. He was trying to come up with some options when his office door opened again.

  Thinking Pamela had returned, he gruffly said, "I thought I told you to go home."

  "Of the many desperate things you said to me, that was not among them."

  The Irish lilt plucked at Tyler's insides, twisted him in knots as he turned to face Keelin. Wreathed in a flowing sunflower yellow jumper-dress over a white T-shirt, her cloud of hair a low simmering flame brushing her shoulders, she was a bright spot against the gloom.

  They spoke as one.

  "I was an ass."

  "You were frantic for your daughter."

  Tyler realized Keelin had come to make things right with him. She'd chosen to forgive – or at least to ignore – his accusations. Either that, or she was a very, very clever con artist. He had to consider the last option so that guilt wouldn't stop him from doing what he had to...to cover all bases.

  He couldn't screw up again.

  Registering a regretful expression, Tyler moved closer. "It seems emotions were running high on both sides earlier."

  "I wish you could accept me for who I am, Tyler, but if you cannot, you cannot." Her fingers tightened on the strap of the large leather bag swung over her shoulder. "Your suspicions will not sway me from my purpose."

  He couldn't be swayed, either, couldn't afford to lose sight of his plan.

  No matter that his investigator had found nothing in the least incriminating about her, Tyler couldn't let down his guard around Keelin. Too much was at stake. He couldn't trust anyone or anything but himself.

  He began the seduction by saying, "You have a generous heart," in as sincere a tone as he could manage. He nearly believed it himself.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't respond directly. "I carefully considered what you said earlier. About being closer to Cheryl through her things."

  He started. "You're talking about coming home with me. You're willing?"

  She nodded. "If you still wish me to."

  "That would be best," he agreed, crossing the room to her. "We can stop by your hotel and–"

  "No need. I brought a few things." She indicated the leather bag.

  So much the better, Tyler told himself. He could begin drawing her in immediately. Keelin's being in his territory would make his goal that much easier.

  So why was he having so much difficulty at working up the proper enthusiasm?

  THOUGH TYLER HAD MADE AN ATTEMPT AT AN APOLOGY, Keelin didn't fool herself into believing he trusted her. She could feel the suspicion simmering below the surface. Not that she blamed him. Not that it mattered. Nothing could sway her from her course of action.

  Despite herself, she felt her tension dissipate as they left the city behind and entered the suburbs of the affluent North Shore.
The houses along the east side of Sheridan Road were mansions, some clustered together, others solitary and facing the lake. A few even had coach houses that mirrored the main quarters. She caught sight of an outdoor swimming pool on one estate, clay tennis courts on another, and as they kept driving, more and more wooded areas separating the properties.

  The ravines.

  A thrill shot through her as she envisioned herself – rather Cheryl in her initial dream – stumbling down the incline, brush thrashing around her legs, the sound of turbulent waves battering the shore.

  Feeling as if her heart were going to burst.

  Keelin's blood pulsed at an alarming rate, and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself.

  "You all right?"

  Tyler's tone held the right amount of concern, and yet Keelin grew more tense. "I'll survive."

  "We're almost there. Only a few more minutes."

  A few minutes of curves and hills and ravines that grew deeper and denser. By the time they popped up over a knoll and turned into a drive, Keelin had dug her nails into her seat's upholstery in anticipation.

  Tyler pulled the Jaguar into the shade under the carport. Keelin didn't wait for him to open her door, rather popped out and breathed in the lake-scented air. Her eyes strayed to the ravine to the south, and again she mentally replayed Cheryl's escape into the night and wondered if retracing the girl's steps along the wooded gully would be of any help.

  "I'll take your bag," Tyler suddenly said, giving her a start. He was directly behind her.

  "No. I have it."

  Keelin slung the leather strap over her shoulder and circled the car, making for the entrance with its high double-doors. She would begin inside.

  Tyler unlocked the house for her, and she entered as if in a dream. The marble floor whispering beneath her booted feet felt familiar. She recognized the freeform winged sculpture. Passed by the formal living area and went straight for the smaller room off the foyer.

  Tyler's office.

  Standing in the doorway and gazing at the heavy mahogany desk, she felt as if she'd actually been inside. Had ransacked his drawers for the money he kept for emergencies.

  "You seem mesmerized."

  "It's all so...odd." Her pulse danced to a strange rhythm. "I've never been here before, and yet..."

  "You feel as if you have, through Cheryl." Tyler wrapped an arm around her back, his hand lightly resting on her shoulder. "I can't imagine how difficult this is for you," he said solicitously. "Maybe you'd like to sit down and catch your breath."

  Not unaffected by his touch, Keelin had to fight to remember why she was there. "Her room."

  In a haze, she pulled away from Tyler and turned to the staircase. She slowly climbed. Hesitated halfway. Purposefully tested the next step.

  The wood creaked.

  And a chill shot up her spine.

  Barely aware of Tyler following, she continued ascending and with unerring instinct turned to her right. She kept going until she reached a room halfway down the hall. Keelin opened the door and entered.

  No doubt in her mind that this was a teenager's room. Cheryl Leighton's bedroom. A place at once both familiar and alien.

  In her dream, she'd merely gotten vague impressions of the heart-throb and New Age and sports posters tacked to hot pink walls. The futon Cheryl used as a bed lay open, a worn stuffed dog with a torn ear at its foot, the only indication that the teenager was still a child, the covers mussed as if Cheryl had just risen. A corner wall unit held a computer, sound system and television. Books, videotapes, computer programs and CDs were scattered across nearby shelves, these a brilliant purple. Keelin could see shoes and clothes strewn about the closet. The floor of the private bathroom was also a repository of discarded clothing and a pile of used towels.

  "I told the cleaning woman to stay out of here." Expression grim, Tyler stood at the door as if reluctant to enter, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. "Stupid, but I keep thinking that nothing is changed...I keep expecting to see Cheryl curled in bed with her headsets on...or at her computer, playing a game or flying through cyberspace."

  Remembering how easily Skelly had whipped along through sources of information using his computer, Keelin nevertheless eyed the electronic contraption warily. She lived several decades separated from the technology that Tyler's child took for granted. She dropped her leather bag near the futon and circled the room, touching the girl's things, almost as if she expected to feel her.

  "Anything?" Tyler asked.

  Keelin shook her head. "I dream through another's eyes. That's the extent of my gift as I told you. Awake, I cannot conjure her. I agreed to come with you so I could get to know Cheryl better. Or remember something I missed. Perhaps find some material indication as to her intentions."

  She couldn't miss the disappointment he quickly masked as he said, "Of course."

  Compassion made Keelin cross to Tyler and place a hand on his arm. The physical link drew her closer to this distrusting, angry man, even as she knew keeping her distance would be a far wiser course. "Come." Hooking her fingers into his flesh, she drew him into the room.

  He moved with her as if mesmerized. Confused. As if, for a moment, he forgot what he was about. Their gazes meshed. He allowed her in...and she felt his pain with agonizing clarity. Then he blinked, as if awakening from a spell, and a subtle change came over him.

  Keelin suddenly found herself shut out.

  "Where shall we start?" he asked.

  For the next hour, they browsed through the items on the teaming shelves, hoping for some clue as to Cheryl's state of mind. Looking for anything that would jog Keelin's memory. Nothing. They didn't even find the address book that Keelin had hoped for. No reference to acquaintances in the city.

  "She must know all her friends' telephone numbers by heart," Keelin murmured.

  "More likely, they're programmed into her phone."

  Surrounded by Cheryl's things, they were sitting on the floor together, Keelin's legs swept behind her, Tyler's before him, knees up, ankles crossed. How odd that they seemed of a mind, at last. They'd worked seamlessly together, and Tyler hadn't uttered one biting word since they'd begun.

  Moving to the bottom shelf, Keelin chose one of several scrapbooks and began paging through photos and souvenirs that were several years old. Her eyes were tired and threatened to close on her at any moment, but she forced herself to examine each page before going on to the next.

  Thinking talking would keep her awake, she said, "Tell me about your daughter."

  Tyler flipped through a magazine and threw it onto a growing pile. "Cheryl's bright and passionate about life," he said, sounding every bit the proud parent. "She's trusting, big-hearted and, I fear, too-easily hurt. She's easy to anger...and easy to..."

  "Forgive?"

  "I always thought so."

  But not now? What wasn't Tyler telling her? Keelin wondered. What had he done that his daughter was finding hard to forgive? What lies could he have told her that were so terrible that Cheryl had felt betrayed enough to run away?

  Tempted to ask directly, Keelin bit back the question. Asking would only anger him. Better that she wait until he was ready to share whatever it was that was eating him up inside. Though she had no extraordinary powers beyond her mysterious dreams, she had the natural instinct that every person possessed. Perhaps she was more attuned to her intuitive side than some, for she was certain Tyler's harshness was meant to cover up his own feelings of guilt.

  "Cheryl sounds a bit like Flanna," Keelin said, going on to another scrapbook, this one older. "My sister. And my grandmother Moira, too."

  She was looking at Cheryl's baby book, Keelin realized as Tyler said, "I thought you were like your grandmother."

  His attention was on a stack of Cds, hers on the faded photographs of the infant and her parents.

  "We shared some traits, yes. But I think we're all a bit like her in some way or other. Flanna has a wildness about her that was definitely Moira's."


  Tyler's late wife had been stunning, curvaceous and blond, Keelin noted. And she was a natural model. She knew how to make love to the camera, and the camera, in turn, had loved her. Plus, in each photograph where they posed together, Tyler wore the besotted expression of a truly happy man.

  A stab of envy made Keelin too-quickly close the album, telling herself that she'd find nothing of value in these pages. She slid it to the side with the others.

  "Cheryl sounds very different from you," she mused. Or at least different from what he'd become since losing his young wife. "Does she favor her mother?"

  Tyler's "Cheryl's nothing like her mother!" was so vehement, his words sent a chill through Keelin.

  He sounded as if he hated the woman, and more than a decade after her death. And yet the love he'd had for his young wife was obvious for anyone to see in those photographs. Uneasy, she wished she hadn't brought up the subject.

  To break the tension, she turned the conversation back to her own family. "I wish I were more like Moira."

  Words stiff, he asked, "How so?"

  "She was a woman who drew people and creatures alike to her. More important, she was so unafraid of who she was."

  He seemed to let down his guard when he asked, "What do you have to fear?"

  Her gift. Not knowing if she could ever live up to its expectation of her.

  People.

  Him.

  "Sometimes...everything," she admitted.

  His dark eyebrows slashed upward. "You could have fooled me."

  Warmth crept through Keelin. Tyler almost sounded as if he admired her. A little flustered, she chose another of Cheryl's scrapbooks, this one newer than the others, and turned back the cover. A large glossy print of father and daughter stared back at her. They stood in the shelter of some trees. The facades of buildings behind them had a medieval look as did several costumed people. A summer fair. Cheryl looked only slightly younger than she had in the news clip Skelly had shown of her. This probably had been taken the year before.