Switchback

by Catherine Anderson

  Chapter Seven

  The moment Mac and Mallory stepped into the lobby of the law firm, they froze. The elegant room looked as if a quake had hit: furniture upside down, plants dumped on the rug, paintings hanging askew. Trudy, the secretary, sat at her rifled desk speaking on the telephone with the insurance adjuster, one hand buried in her graying blond hair. Her tortoiseshell eyeglasses were perched on the end of her nose so she could see over the rims to assess the damage.

  “Nothing valuable was stolen, and nothing seems to be missing from our files.” She rolled her eyes. “And how long will that take? I can’t leave things like this, you know.”

  “What on earth happened?” Mallory asked, the moment Trudy hung up.

  “Vandals,” she replied with a groan. “This is how I found it this morning. Awful, isn’t it? All three offices. Keith’s got it the worst.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I wasn’t going to tell you. I figured you had enough on your plate.”

  Mac stepped over a pile of potting soil and the wilted remains of a fern. “How many offices in the building were hit?”

  “Only ours. I guess we were the most convenient.”

  Mac’s gray eyes met Mallory’s in silent communication. Turning simultaneously, they headed for Keith’s office. The mess in the lobby didn’t prepare Mallory for the destruction that greeted them. Nothing of Keith’s had been left unmolested. Even his law books lay scattered on the floor. His files had been dumped, his desk gutted, the phones disassembled. The top had even been pried off the IBM Selectric. His sofa and chair had been slit open, the stuffing strewn everywhere on the rug. With a grim scowl, Mac planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the wreckage.

  “Well, I wonder if they found it.”

  Mallory could only stare. The photos of her and Em had been taken apart. Keith’s snow globe was shattered. Clearly the intruders had been searching for something small, like a key. “What if they did? Why is he doing this? I don’t understand.”

  “Doesn’t make sense, does it?” He sighed and gave the room another once-over. “From the looks of things, they didn’t miss anything. That’s a good indication.”

  “It must be Lucetti. It has to be. Who else could it be?”

  “That’s a question I can’t even start to answer. And, given the time schedule, I don’t have time to find out. Tunnel vision, Mallory. We have to stay focused on one thing, finding that damned key.” He scattered a pile of papers with the toe of his loafer. “Why is he undermining you like this?”

  She walked to a file. “Looking now will be twice as hard. He must realize that. Maybe it wasn’t even Lucetti who did it.”

  “And if not, then who?” He shook his head. “No point in even bothering to look here.”

  She knew he was right, but desperation made her refuse to admit it. “They might have missed it. A key is so small.”

  “Mallory.” Mac’s voice was low pitched and persuasive. “Come on. It’s hopeless. They put everything through a sifter.”

  “Let’s check his car, then.”

  “Where is it? We’ve got to get ahead of them.”

  “Out back.”

  Trudy was on the phone rescheduling appointments when they returned to the lobby. She excused herself and said, “Awful, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is,” Mac agreed. “Did you call the police?”

  “First thing.”

  He gave a brisk nod. “We’ll be in touch, okay?”

  “Tell Keith I’m thinking of him. I hoped to go see him today if they moved him from the ICU, but this—” she waved her hand at the mess “—has changed my plans.” Her green eyes rested on Mallory’s pale face and clouded with sympathy. “Keep your chin up, honey. He’ll pull through.”

  Guilt washed over Mallory. She hadn’t given poor Keith much thought since yesterday. Not trusting herself to speak, she slipped out the door ahead of Mac. Leading the way down the hall to the front exit, she blinked back tears. Tears wouldn’t help Em. Like Mac said, she had to get tough. If only it were her in danger instead of her child. She felt so helpless. All her maternal instincts were screaming at her to do something. As she drew near the door, it seemed to her that the tapping of her heels sang, The key, the key, you have to find the key. If someone else had found it, how could she ransom her daughter? How much of their twenty-four hours had been wasted by coming here? Time was slipping away, each second taking them closer to deadline. Her mind stumbled on the first half of that word. Dead. Oh, Em, I love you. I couldn’t bear losing you.

  She felt Mac come up behind her, felt his sleeve brush the back of hers.

  “You okay?”

  Mallory sighed and glanced over her shoulder at him. How many times had he asked her that since last night? Concern lined his face. Well, that was all about to change. A person could only become so scared. Then numbness set in. After that came resignation. Lucetti had Em, and there was nothing she could do to change that. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t fight back.

  When she stepped outside, the morning breeze touched her cheeks and whispered softly through her hair. Above her in a gnarled elm, a pair of birds twittered and hopped from branch to branch, celebrating the sunshine. Tipping her face skyward, Mallory absorbed the warmth and parted her lips to take a bracing draught of fresh air. The expanse of blue overhead was the color of robin eggs, the clouds fluffy wisps of white. “Do you believe in God, Mac?”

  He studied the branches silhouetted above them, the azure sky, as if the answer to her question lay there. “Not the way you probably do. I don’t attend church and go to pancake breakfasts, that kind of stuff.”

  Her gaze rested on his upturned profile, on the crooked bridge of his nose, the tiny scar above his eyebrow, the rock-hard line of his jaw. He was incredibly handsome, but not in a refined way, more rugged and rough, like one might expect an ex-boxer to look. She tried to imagine him at a stuffy church brunch and found herself smiling the first real smile in days. Did he really think the sum total of her life revolved around linen napkins and place settings? “But you do believe?”

  His gray eyes fell to hers, eyes so clear, so transparent that a reply wasn’t necessary. “He watches out for fools and children, you know. She’s going to come through this okay.”

  Taking another deep breath, she stuffed her hands deep into her blazer pockets. “Yes, I think she is, too. I know it. I’ve already lost my husband. It wouldn’t be fair if I lost Em.”

  “Nope, sure wouldn’t.”

  “Besides,” she added lightly, “we have you on our side. I’d say that stacks the odds in our favor.”

  With that unsettling vote of confidence, she turned and struck off down the walkway toward the corner of the building.

  Spying a pay phone, he asked her to wait.

  She slowed her pace and fell in beside him to walk to the booth. Mac quickly scanned the area, then left her outside, digging in his pocket for a quarter. Dropping the coin into the slot, he punched out Shelby’s number. No answer. With a sigh, he hung up and left the booth, shrugging one shoulder.

  “It figures. Good ol’ Shelb. Never home when I need him.”

  He trailed her to the back parking lot, his gaze shifting constantly, alert for movements between the cars, in the shrubbery. He didn’t want to remind Mallory of the men who had tried to kill them yesterday, especially not right now when she seemed to be rallying, but it was something he couldn’t afford to forget. Someone else searching for the key might prove to be the least of their problems. She led the way to a silver Lincoln, then stopped to stare at it in dismay.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Keys! My set was on the ring that was stolen yesterday.”

  “I carry a master key in my car. Be right back.”

  She watched him take off at a lope toward the client parking area on the other side of the building. A master key? Until now, she hadn’t known such a thing existed. Moments later, he returned with two long pieces of flat, flexible metal with yellow handles at one end an
d cutout hooks at the other. “Slim Jims.”

  “I thought those were illegal unless you worked for a company that had uses for them.”

  “I’m a company, and I definitely have a use for them.” A flush crept up his neck as he worked the pieces of metal through the crack of the car window and fished with the hooks for a hold on the lock switch. “Mallory, there are two things you need to learn. Turn your head and don’t look if I ask you to, and don’t say the word illegal loud enough for a cop to hear. Even when I’m completely legitimate, it makes me nervous.”

  A grin curved her mouth. “Then they are illegal.”

  Teasing laughter lit up his eyes. “Only if I get caught or someone yells illegal at the top of her lungs in a public parking lot.” He stepped back and opened the car door. “The end justifies the means. Scout’s honor, I don’t steal stereos.”

  He muttered something else under his breath as he leaned inside the car. “Pardon me?” she queried. He muttered it again and she moved closer. “Sorry...what?”

  He threw her a glare. “I said I don’t, anymore.” He was fanning his arm under the driver’s seat, so the words came up from the floorboard muffled.

  “You don’t what anymore?”

  “Steal stereos.”

  Mallory’s grin disappeared. “Oh, come on, you’ve never robbed people’s cars with those.”

  “It’s called thugging, not robbing. And no, not with these. My old set had black handles. Yellow would show up after dark like a beacon. These are legally in my possession and I only use them for legitimate purposes. In my line of work, getting into cars is often a necessity. I’ve cracked a lot of cases from clues I found in locked automobiles.” When he straightened, he hit his head on the steering wheel and cursed under his breath, rubbing his temple as he fell back against the seat. He hesitated when he saw her staring at him, and his scowl deepened. “What’s the matter? Did I just lose my angel wings?”

  Was that hostility she saw flaring in his eyes? She avoided looking directly at him. “Not at all. I’m simply curious. You’re saying you were a thugger of automobiles?”

  “A thugger? Mallory, thugging is something you do, not what you are. And I really don’t want to get into my history.”

  Her eyes flew back to his. “That isn’t fair. Why say something like that if you don’t want to elaborate?”

  “Because I didn’t want to give you a false—” He broke off, his jaw muscle knotting as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. “Elaborate? You spew big words like a walking dictionary.”

  She hadn’t imagined the hostility. It glowed like banked embers in his eyes. What had she said or done to set him off?

  “You know what bugs me the worst about people like you?” he snapped. “You’re relieved I got the car open, glad I had the Slim Jims, but you’ll still stand there and look superior because my having them may be on the shady side of legal.” He pressed the panel button to unlock all the Lincoln’s doors, his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry if I offend your refined sensibilities. Don’t worry. I’m not breaking the law, okay?”

  The contempt in his expression was unmistakable. Since sensibilities wasn’t exactly monosyllabic, she wondered what his problem was. “What do you mean, people like me? Just what kind of a person am I?”

  “Let’s just drop it.” He slid out of the car and loomed over her, the Slim Jims dangling from his right hand. In slacks and a sport coat, he looked too respectable to have ever engaged in street theft. “We’ve got a key to find, remember? No time to discuss your character faults.” He slanted her a look that spoke volumes. “Or mine. Don’t worry. I won’t rub off on you. Hopefully the same will hold true in reverse.”

  She felt as if she had been slapped. He was already back inside the car, running his hands along the underside of the dash. She went around to the passenger side. As she rifled the glove box, she said, “You think I’m a snob, don’t you?”

  He jerked down the visor. “You said it.”

  She slammed the box closed and nearly stood on her head to check the underside of the seat. “Well, I’m not. You shouldn’t judge people before you know them.”

  “If that isn’t the pot calling the— Oh, never mind. I don’t want to argue with you, Mallory, okay? We have enough trouble.”

  “When have I behaved like a snob to you? Name one time.”

  “You need me right now, though. Naturally you’ll treat me nice. Let’s see how thick we are when this is over, shall we?”

  “Are you implying that I’m using you? That I’m only being civil because I need you?”

  He made no reply. His silence was all the answer she needed. He opened the rear door on his side of the car. She did likewise and watched him pull on the back seat. When she realized he was trying to remove it from the car, she grabbed handholds to help him. “One question, Mr. Mac Phearson. If you dislike people like me so much, why are you doing all this?”

  Stony silence was his only response.

  “Are you going to answer me? Why put yourself out for a Bellevue snob that spews words like a walking encyclopedia?”

  “Dictionary.” He tipped the seat at an angle so it would fit through the door opening. Seconds later, he pulled it free. “I told you, I owe Keith. Isn’t that good enough? Or don’t you people repay favors?”

  He made it sound as if she came from another planet. “Someone did try to kill us yesterday. I suppose that’s an everyday occurrence to you people.” It gave her a perverse satisfaction to see him flinch. Served him right. There was such a thing as reversed snobbery, and he had a bad case of it.

  She marched around the rear bumper, her heels snapping smartly on the asphalt to emphasize her anger. Unfortunately Mac was too busy looking the seat over to notice. That infuriated her all the more. In the back of her mind, she knew she was overreacting and tried to calm down. Grabbing an end, she helped him turn it upside down. “Hold your side up higher,” he ordered.

  She obliged, watching as he poked and prodded the springs and frame. “It must have been a big favor Keith did for you.”

  “Big enough.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I like being a payback. Especially when you so clearly dislike me.”

  His eyes lifted to hers. “Have I said I don’t like you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have not.”

  “Yes you di—” A hissing pop filled the air, and a twang resounded as something hit the metal framing inside the seat. Bits of leather and cotton batting pelted her face. She stared at the gaping hole in the upholstery where an instant ago there had been gray leather. There wasn’t time to wonder what had made the hole. Before her brain could register what her eyes and ears took in, Mac sacked her in a football tackle, his arms locked around her waist as they fell. Mallory landed on her back, Mac sprawled on top of her, the force of his weight flattening her. Lights flashed before her eyes, then black spots. She couldn’t breathe. When her vision cleared, she saw Mac above her, his upper body supported by his elbows, his eyes scanning the parking lot. He focused on something and went pale.

  “Son of a—” He sprang to his feet, back hunched, knees bent, and jerked her up beside him. Mallory’s rubbery legs failed her and she slid along behind him on one knee, ripping her panty hose, scraping herself from shin to ankle. The sheer force of his forward momentum finally hauled her to her feet. He shielded her with his body as they ran the length of the car. “Stay down! When we reach those shrubs, make a dive for them and roll until you’re covered by branches.”

  Another muffled pop. Air whooshed from one of the Lincoln’s tires and the car rocked. A gun? In her terror, even with a silencer, it sounded more like a cannon. Oh, please, God... “Someone’s shooting!” Another bullet splattered asphalt right in front of them. “Dive!” he cried. She saw the shrubs looming ahead of her. Safety. She dived, landing chest first on the lawn two feet short of her mark, and did a third-base skid on her stomach into the bark chips and juniper needles. Pain washed through her. Clawing for
purchase, she slithered farther into the foliage, unaware of Mac beside her until she felt his arm across her back.

  Mallory inched her head up. At the end of an adjacent building, she glimpsed a man as he eased out from around the corner to point something long and dark brown in their direction. Sunlight glinted off something shiny. Before she could react, Mac pushed her down hard.

  “Keep down,” he whispered.

  “You don’t have to be so rough.”

  “You’ll know what rough is if half your head gets blown off. That’s a high-powered rifle he’s taking potshots with.” Two more muffled shots rang out. He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “Do a Marine crawl to the corner of the building.”

  “A what?”

  He threw her a look that plainly said any idiot should know what a Marine crawl was. “A belly crawl. Dig your elbows into the dirt to pull yourself. Use your knees and toes to push.” With a nod of his head, he indicated that she should go first. Mallory pushed off. The next instant he smacked his palm on her bottom. “Keep your butt down!”

  She threw him an incredulous glance over her shoulder. Nobody had dared to slap her on the behind in over a quarter of a century, but this wasn’t the right time to argue with his methods. Burying her elbows in the bark dust, she pushed forward with her toes. Just as she did, there was another explosion of noise and the ground ahead of her geysered in her face. She stared at the crater left in the dirt. Suddenly it hit her that the noises exploding around them were real bullets being fired, the kind that blew holes in you, and one had just missed her by mere inches. Fear held her rooted.

  “Move!” Mac snarled behind her. “Now!”

  His snarl prodded her forward. She could feel him crawling next to her, keeping his body between her and the sniper. She kept hearing a strange noise—a panting, whining sound. After several feet, she realized it was her. She clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to give their position away, but the noises came out through her nostrils. Her blouse had either ripped or come unfastened, and every time she dragged herself forward, bark scraped and poked her bare skin. A sheared off branch jabbed her collarbone.