MacKenzie's Lady

by Dallas Schulze

Ken chewed thoughtfully on his hamburger. "You're not the only one who's been thinking along those lines. Mary-ann and I haven't worked out all the bumps yet, but I think we will, and I'd like a chance to build some kind of a life with her. I've even thought once or twice that maybe having a kid might not be quite so bad." He grimaced as Mac threw back his head and laughed. "I hate to admit that after all my comments about the little animals, but the thought has slipped in once or twice.

  "But I keep coming back to the same problem over and over again. What else am I trained to do?"

  Mac shoved aside his uneaten food and leaned over the table. "Security consultants. We've got the knowledge and we've got the perfect background to inspire confidence in the hearts of clients."

  Ken stopped chewing and stared past Mac's shoulder for a moment, his eyes distant. "Security consultants. Not bad. We wouldn't be stuck at a desk all day. We could probably hire a secretary to do the paperwork once we get things off the ground. Not bad."

  "Think about it. I'm not giving my notice tomorrow, but I will be soon. There's nothing I'd like better than for you to continue as my partner."

  "I'll give it some thought."

  "Excuse me. A gentleman asked me to give you this note." Mac's contented mood vanished as he heard the waiter's words. He took the folded sheet of paper, murmuring his thanks. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he unfolded it, vaguely aware of Ken's sudden alert ness.

  The printing was simple block capitals, simple but effective: "DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR WIFE IS?"

  China rattled and slid to the floor as he shoved the table aside and surged to his feet. Ken was hastily throwing money on the table as Mac ran from the restaurant like a man possessed, pushing his way past anyone who got in his way and hurtling over a low planter when a woman in a wheelchair blocked the aisle around it.

  He was pulling out of the parking lot when Ken caught up with him. Mac tapped the brakes just long enough for the ::her man to swing in, stepping on the gas before the door had shut behind him. Ken fastened his seat belt and picked up the crumpled sheet of paper, reading the one line.

  "Oh, my God!" The words were a prayer and they were the only words said during the mad drive to Mac's home. Mac kept the gas pedal to the floor, using the horn to clear intersections ahead of them. Ken glanced over his shoulder when he heard the wail of a siren but he said nothing, knowing that Mac must have heard it, too.

  By the time they fishtailed their way into the driveway, they had picked up a two-car escort. Knowing that Mac wasn't going to take time to explain, Ken got out his wallet and opened his door, holding his identification in a prominent position as the police cars skidded to a halt and the officers leaped out, guns drawn.

  Mac was oblivious to them; his long legs had already carried him across the lawn. His palm hit the front door, noting the already broken lock as the panel thudded back against the wall. Some remnant of training had him flattening against the door, reaching beneath his arm to pull out his automatic.

  "Holly?" But the house was empty. He could almost smell the emptiness. He went through it room by room, coming to the bedroom last. Each room had been thoroughly searched. But until the bedroom, there was no sign of unnecessary destruction. Even there the destruction was minor. Drawers gaped open, their contents strewn around them. He noticed vaguely that the false bottom on the lowest drawer was still intact, which meant that they hadn't taken time to really search the place. But what drove the color from his face was the shattered lamp that lay in pieces next to the bed and, on the pale bedspread, the bright, unmistakable tint of blood.

  ❧

  The first realization Holly had that something was wrong was when she looked up from making the bed and found two strange men entering the bedroom. There wasn't time for more than a startled, convulsive movement toward the bathroom to lock herself in before one of them was across the room, his fingers closing around her upper arm.

  "Do not scream and we won't hurt you. Understand?"

  She nodded. Her throat felt as if it had permanently closed. She didn't think she could have forced a scream out if she'd tried. In fact, she couldn't even find the voice to ask who they were and what they wanted.

  The one who stood beside her was short and stocky. The other one, who proceeded to search the room, was taller and slimmer. Both had dark hair and eyes and both wore neat gray suits, white shirts and conservative ties. She stifled a hysterical giggle. They looked as if they'd stepped out of an ad for the perfect IBM man.

  "Nothing." The slim one had finished his search.

  "Are you sure?"

  "What did you expect to find? Even if he did have records at his home, they'd be only copies."

  They'd missed the false bottom, Holly realized. Looking at the clothes strewn about the room, the drawers hanging drunkenly open, the closet door gaping wide, she felt a tingle of healthy anger. How dare these men search her home and intrude on her privacy like this? The anger burned away some of her fear-born paralysis. The short one had taken a step toward his companion and they were now arguing in a language that sounded vaguely German, their attention shifting away from her for the moment.

  She reached behind her with one hand, fingers groping for the table lamp. If she could just make it to the bathroom, she might have a chance of escaping. The two men continued to argue as her fingers closed around the lamp. It was nice and solid. She'd have to jerk it from behind her and bring it down on his head in one smooth move and then sprint for the bathroom.

  One of the intruders was leaning over the bed, gesturing with one hand to emphasize his point. Holly took a deep breath, jerked the lamp away from the table and smashed it down on his head. The other man was too near the bedroom door, but the bathroom was within reach. She was on her way before he hit the bed. She slammed the door behind her, leaning back against it for a breathless moment. She would have only seconds. Bathroom locks had never been intended to keep a determined man out. To give herself an extra edge, she wedged the back of a wicker chair beneath the knob. She threw open the medicine chest, searching for some kind of weapon. Why couldn't Mac shave with a nice, vicious straight razor? She discarded his electric shaver and finally settled on a can of hair spray. It wouldn't be fatal, but it might blind someone for an instant.

  The wicker chair creaked ominously and she cast one glance over her shoulder before opening the door on the other side of the bathroom and slipping into the baby's room. Mac had put that door in less than a month earlier, when they'd decided that it would provide convenient access to the nursery.

  Holly hurried through the nursery and cracked open the hall door. With any luck, they would spend a few minutes trying to get the bathroom door open and give her enough time to get to the front door. Being almost nine months pregnant was not conducive to speed but she didn't need much time. Her purse was on the hall table and the car keys were in it. All she needed was a few precious minutes.

  She didn't get them. She was only a few feet away from the door when hard fingers caught her from behind, spinning her around and pushing her back against the wall. Her wrist tingled from the force of the blow that knocked the pathetic hair spray can from her fingers. She stared wide-eyed into hard, dark features, the almost-black eyes as cold as sin.

  "We do not want to hurt you, Mrs. Donahue. If you cooperate with us, it will be much easier for everyone. And if you do not cooperate, it will not only be more difficult for you, it will go much harder on your brother.''

  Holly went limp. "James? You have James?"

  "You will be more cooperative. Yes?"

  "Yes. Is he all right?"

  "You may judge that for yourself."

  His partner staggered out of the bedroom then, one side of his head covered in blood and murder in his eyes. Holly shrank back against the wall, grateful that Icy Eyes stood between her and the bleeding man. The conversation was short and harsh. It was obvious that Icy Eyes was in charge and equally obvious that Tubby wanted to extract revenge but the other man wasn't g
oing to let him. After a moment, Tubby shrugged and stalked out of the house, giving Holly a baleful glare as he went by.

  She was led out and seated in the back of a dark van. They didn't tie her up, but Icy Eyes did point out the damage that trying to leap from a moving vehicle would do to the human body. Tubby got into the driver's seat, using a rather grubby rag to clean up his face.

  She cleared her throat nervously as the van moved away from the curb. "Who are you?"

  "He is David Brown and my name is John Smith."

  Brown and Smith? Holly muttered a mental Ha! but didn't say anything. Smith sat in the back across from Holly and closed his eyes, but she was sure that he was aware of ha every move.

  The drive was not long, but it gave her plenty of time to reflect on the situation. Her hands rested lightly on the Mollen mound of her stomach. Her first consideration had to be protecting her child. Mac would find them.

  From her position in the back of the van, she was unable to see much of their direction, but they hadn't driven far enough to be out of the city, so they were staying in L.A. They parked the van in an underground garage and led Holly into the apartment building above. The elevator was old and rickety and smelled musty. It creaked its way upward, threatening to grind to a halt at any moment. When the doors slid sluggishly open, the three of them stepped out into a long narrow hallway with a tattered carpet. Smith kept one hand around her upper arm, his hold relaxed but tight enough to let her know that he wasn't going to let her escape, not that there was any place to escape to.

  The larger man knocked twice on a door that had long ago been white. It was now a grubby tan, the paint peeling in places. He paused and then knocked three times, and the door was opened by a man who could have been his twin brother, down to the dark hair on the back of his hands.

  Reluctantly Holly entered the apartment, her nose wrinkling at the smell of stale onions. It was a good thing she was past the queasy stage of her pregnancy. There was a babble of conversation between David Brown and his clone, and from the gestures Brown was making, she assumed that he was explaining how he'd come by the gash in his head.

  Smith led her farther into the room and gestured to her to be seated. Holly suspiciously eyed the sofa he indicated and then decided that it was probably just as well that the dark brown fabric hid most stains and flaws. She sat down gingerly and looked up at her captors.

  "Where's my brother?"

  Smith shrugged. "I have no idea. We were rather hoping that you could tell us that."

  "You said you had James!"

  "You are mistaken, Mrs. Donahue. I said that it would be harder for your brother if you did not cooperate. It was your assumption that we 'had' him."

  Holly didn't bother with recriminations. "Well, I don't know where he is. If I did know, I would hardly have come along without an argument, would I?"

  He sat down in a sagging chair, scowling as a broken spring snagged his pants. "The accommodations are most distressing," he muttered before turning his attention to her question. "A woman in your delicate condition cannot afford to fight too many battles, Mrs. Donahue. If I implied that we had your brother under control, it was as much for your sake as for my own. Despite the circumstances under which we have met, I assure you that I am not in the habit of harming pregnant ladies."

  He smiled, and a chill worked its way up Holly's spine. The polite gesture might have been intended to reassure her, but his eyes remained cold and frightening. She quelled her fright, lifting her chin unconsciously.

  "You've made a mistake, because I can't help you, even if I wanted to. I don't know where James is."

  "Yes, I had guessed that when you so easily believed that we might have him. This will do just as well, though. He will come when he knows that we have his sister."

  "If you don't know where he is, how are you going to let him know that you have me? You may not have realized this, but my baby is due within the next week. With James in Europe, it could take days to track him down. No offense, but I really don't want to have my child in this seedy apartment."

  "Seedy?" He raised a dark brow. "This is slang for poor accommodations, no?" He lifted his shoulders. "I cannot argue with your opinion. To answer your question, we know that your brother is in this country. As to how we will get a message to him, we will deliver a note to your husband and I'm sure that he will contact your brother."

  "But Mac doesn't know where James is, either."

  Again he parted his lips to display a row of shiny teeth that put her strongly in mind of a piranha. "Your husband works for your FBI. The power of this agency is well known. I'm quite sure he will find a way to contact James Reynolds."

  "But..." Holly bit off her protest. What difference did it make what he thought? He was going to contact Mac and that was all that mattered. He probably got his ideas from old reruns of The Untouchables. If he wanted to equate Mac with Robert Stack, then he was welcome to the comparison, just as long as he told Mac where she was.

  "What do you want with my brother?"

  He had pulled a nail file out of his wallet and was carefully filing his nails. His hands were long and slim, and Holly had no trouble at all imagining them around her throat. He glanced up and appeared to consider her question.

  "Your brother has caused my friends and me considerable trouble. We would like to talk to him, to see if we can't come to a better understanding of each other." He fingered the pointed tip of the file as he spoke, and she felt another chill slide up her spine.

  "What if Mac can't find him?"

  "I'm sure he will." He tucked the file back into his wallet and leaned back in the lumpy chair. She was vaguely aware that Brown and friend had disappeared into one of the other rooms but she wasn't all that interested in them. Smith was the man to watch.

  "You see, we did not make the connection until we realized just who your husband was. We thought your brother was working alone, trying to cut himself in for a piece of the action, as they say on tv. But when we found out about your husband, it became clear that he must have been working for your government all along. A very good cover.

  It would have been perfect if we had not found out that his sister was married to a fed."

  He was obviously rather pleased by this last bit of slang, and Holly had to swallow the urge to laugh hysterically. The whole situation was like something out of a bad movie. Mac thought James was working for these people, and they thought he was working for Mac. Both sides were unknowingly united in the common goal of finding James, each for its own reasons and each mistaken in what it thought he was doing.

  And while they were all stumbling around looking for him, he had managed to slip between them and disappear. There was a certain sisterly pride in the thought, but it was dampened by a strong urge to shake him until his teeth rattled. James must have suspected something about the art thefts and decided to play Lone Ranger.

  Holly leaned back against the sagging sofa and closed her eyes. She was tired and scared, and all she wanted was to be home, safe in Mac's arms. He would hold her and tell her he loved her and make everything right again.

  Chapter 16

  The twenty-four hours that followed Holly's kidnapping were a nightmare for Mac. The agency responded rapidly, mobilizing agents to canvass the neighborhood to see if any of the neighbors had seen anything. A description of the van allowed them to identify the men as members of the ring of smugglers that Holly's brother had been suspected of being involved with.

  Since Mac and Ken pulled out, the case had been progressing and was nearing a resolution. Now that Holly had been kidnapped, the case itself had become of minor importance to Mac. All he wanted was his wife back, safe and sound.

  "Mac, you've got to slow down, or you're going to burn yourself out before we ever get to Holly."

  Mac knew the truth in Ken's words, and he forced himself to stop pacing and sit down. His hands flexed into fists and then relaxed as he sought to work the tension out of his body.

  Ken handed
him a glass of Scotch. "Drink it. You didn't get any sleep last night. Maybe this will help you get some tonight."

  "I can't sleep in that bed. All I can think about is that Holly should be there. And I wonder where she is and if she's scared or cold or hungry or—"

  Ken pushed the glass into his hand. "Drink it. The note said they were taking care of her, and they have no reason not to, in fact, they've got good reason to take good care of her. Lady's a lot stronger than she looks. She'll be all right."

  Mac took a swallow of Scotch, letting it burn its way down his throat and settle in a knot in his stomach. "I know she's strong, but she's nine months pregnant. She shouldn't be trying to deal with kidnappers at a time like this."

  "You mean there's a good time to deal with kidnapping?"

  "You know what I mean." Mac took another swig, draining the glass.

  "Yeah, I know." Ken poured himself a drink and sank onto the sofa. "You've just got to believe that she's okay. You don't have any choice. We've got people tracking them down, and as soon as we get the call telling us where to meet them, we'll get your lady out."

  Mac's fingers tightened around the glass. "I'd give a lot to know where James Reynolds is right now. Whatever damn stupid game he's been playing has gotten Holly kidnapped. If anything happens to her, I'll track him down myself and tear him into bite-size pieces. I may do it anyway, just for the satisfaction it would give me."

  "I have a feeling Lady wouldn't like it if you killed her brother. She seems to be rather fond of him."

  "Then she can be fond of him in pieces," Mac growled.

  As if the words had conjured up the man, the conversation was interrupted by a commotion of raised voices at the front door. One of the agents watching the house was protesting angrily, and there was another voice, softer but determined.

  "I've got to get in. I'm James Reynolds, I tell you. My sister lives here."

  Mac was on his feet before the words stopped. He was vaguely aware of Ken moving with him, but his attention was centered on the man who stood in the hallway, arguing vehemently with the agent.