Her voice rang with such discouragement that Mac turned to look at her—really look. Her hair hung in tangled, unruly waves around her small face. Her previously flawless ivory skin was now marred with scratches and bruises. Her smart blue suit, fresh that morning, was dirty. Bits of bark were snagged in the fabric. There were circles under her eyes, she was pale, and she looked exhausted. Alarmed, he went back upstairs to the front bathroom where he had seen a bottle of disinfectant and a package of cotton balls. Mallory was poking around inside a refrigerator container of applesauce when he returned. That was getting desperate.
“Time for first aid,” he said in a deliberately light tone.
She frowned. “I can clean myself up. I am qualified to do that much, at least.”
“You can’t see all of the cuts that well. Come on, sit down. Afterward, we’ll go check the clothes and belongings Keith has with him at the hospital.”
As she sat by the table, he strode toward her, holding the disinfectant bottle up so she could see it. “Does this stuff sting?”
“No, I keep it on hand for Em.”
Her mouth trembled slightly at the mention of her daughter, but she quickly suppressed it, controlling the emotion that was undermining her. He put the bottle and cotton on the table and leaned over her to examine the deep gouge on her collarbone.
“Tip your head back.”
She obliged and met his gaze with those beautiful brown eyes of hers. A completely irrational response swept through him. Careful. He couldn’t understand the feelings erupting within him—this almost compulsive urge to gather her into his arms. When this was over, the last guy on earth she’d want to spend time with would be him. And the feeling ought to be mutual. As he separated the edges of the wound, he tried not to notice how silken her skin felt. What was his problem, anyway? Randy, remember Randy.
“Ouch!” She pulled away and threw him an accusing glance.
Mac realized he hadn’t been paying enough attention to what he had been doing. He apologized and uncapped the bottle of disinfectant and saturated a cotton ball. Leaning over her again, he dabbed gently at the cut. She kept her head tipped back to afford him a clear view, her face only inches from his, the sweet steaminess of her breath feathering on his cheek. His guts tightened.
“Undo the blazer so we can see what else we’ve got.”
She started to do as he asked, then hesitated. Mac met her gaze head-on. He had to get those cuts cleaned. No telling what chemicals might have been on those shrubs and the bark dust. Weed killers, insecticides. He hated to think about it. She could medicate most of the abrasions herself, but he’d seen a couple of deep-looking cuts that she couldn’t get at unless she was a contortionist.
She unbuttoned the second button and her jacket fell open. He hunkered next to her and peeled back her ruined blouse. Keeping his gaze on the lacerations, he tried to ignore the fact that her small breasts were right at eye level. What was he, a Class A creep? She was numb with exhaustion and worry. What she needed was tenderness and caring from a friend. Only a heartless heel would let his eyes stray. Especially when she probably felt desperate to stay on his good side. Her daughter’s life hung in the balance. And if he allowed her to see how she was affecting him, she’d not only feel uneasy around him but also trapped, afraid to reject him because she needed him. The woman had enough problems.
Mac had to accept the fact that, like it or not, he was a Class A creep. Whenever she wasn’t watching him, his eyes were drawn to the embroidered pink rosebud on her bra. Right above it was her cleavage and a wealth of creamy skin. The cups of the bra were a tease of filmy white over nipples the same delicate pink as the rosebud. How had he gotten himself into a situation like this? His hands began to shake. He tried to think about Randy—a sure cure for what ailed him—but Randy had been dead fourteen years and Mallory Christiani was here, just inches away.
To even think about making love to her was contemptible. Subconsciously was he seeking some sort of sick revenge? Randy had been used, then thrown aside. Did he want to use Mallory? Was that why he felt this sharp yearning to hold her? It was a possibility he couldn’t ignore. He kept telling himself he just felt sorry for her, that his protective side was rearing its head, but that didn’t hold water. The ache low in his belly wasn’t in any way chivalrous.
He shoved the bottle of disinfectant into her hand and stood so fast he felt dizzy. He had done some things he wasn’t too proud of in his lifetime, but using emotional blackmail on a vulnerable woman wasn’t going to be added to the list. “You can get the others by yourself. I think I’ll clean up a bit before we go to the hospital.”
Mallory straightened in the chair, clearly startled by his abrupt withdrawal. Mac ignored her and strode away, loosening his tie with a vicious jerk, tempted to strangle himself with it.
* * *
MALLORY WASN’T SURE what it was that she had done to make Mac angry with her, but there was no question that he was. Ever since... She tried to remember and decided it had begun in the kitchen when he was cleaning her cuts. Ever since then, he had been as cold as a blast of arctic air, scarcely speaking, keeping his distance, his expression unreadable. During the drive to the hospital, he had ignored her presence in the car.
Now that they were inside the hospital and approaching the ICU, the temperature still hadn’t reached thawing level. Mallory walked along beside him, aware of every brush of his sleeve against hers, every sharp rap of his heels. She grew more than a little irritated. The long strides he was taking forced her to a near run just to keep pace. In an attempt to dress as much in character as possible, so as not to upset Keith, she was wearing high heels and a brown suit. The narrow skirt and heels didn’t lend themselves well to a foot race. She didn’t mind someone becoming angry with her, but it would be nice to be told why. Fat chance of that when Mac would hardly talk to her—as if either of them needed added tension. Just being back at the hospital was enough. For all they knew, there could be a man with a gun lurking behind one of the closed doors...or stalking them.
When they reached ICU, Mac requested admittance over the intercom and was promptly denied it. Mallory would have to go in alone.
“Try to question him,” he instructed her before she went in. “I’m sure he can’t speak yet, but if he can even manage a blink upon command, you could set up a yes or no signal.”
The moment Mallory stepped inside, the attending nurse cautioned her not to upset Keith. The doctor had been keeping him sedated because he seemed agitated. Mallory hated herself for what she was about to do. She had no choice, though. Em’s life was at stake. If Keith was able to communicate in any way, she had to question him. Her only comfort was knowing that Keith would have had it no other way. Em was everything to him.
Keith’s eyes widened when he saw her and promptly filled with stark fear. This time, she knew why the sight of her upset him so badly. She took his cold hand in hers and told him, in as steady a voice as she could, that he mustn’t worry. “Mac told me everything, Dad. He’s been wonderful. He’s taking care of it.”
Keith’s eyes drifted closed. He was clearly exhausted. Mallory’s stomach twisted with guilt. “Dad, can you blink your eyes for me?” His eyelids fluttered crazily. “No, I mean just once.”
Again his eyelids fluttered. Not one blink, but a dozen.
Mallory gave his hand a squeeze and tried not to reveal how disappointed she was. She glanced at the monitor. Did she dare press him? “Dad, can you move any of your fingers?”
Keith’s body strained as he tried to comply. Mallory forced a smile. What movements he could manage were uncontrolled. In a few days, he might improve, but she didn’t have a few days. Again she checked the monitor. His heartbeat was accelerated. She was upsetting him...endangering him. And for what reason? Unless she could think of a way to communicate with him, there was little use in continuing. Because of her medical training, she knew how easily he could have a second, possibly more severe stroke.
There wa
s no point in telling him Em had been kidnapped, not if he couldn’t communicate. Better that he believe Mac had somehow taken care of everything. Not so hard to believe if you knew Mac. “I, um, can’t stay, Dad. I wish I could, but something has come up. I’ll try to come back tomorrow when I have more time.” She prayed he didn’t wonder why she wasn’t haunting the hospital, that he didn’t realize something had happened. Bending to kiss his cheek, she whispered, “I love you so much. You remember that, okay?”
A tremor ran the length of his body. Mallory left his bed and walked to his locker. Her hands shook as she lifted the latch. Hopefully he wouldn’t become alarmed when she began searching his clothes. She ran her hands into all his pockets first, praying with each thrust of her fingertips that she would find the key, fighting back disappointment when she didn’t. She felt the lining of his jacket. Again nothing.
Panic rose in her throat. It was a quarter after five. In the morning, Lucetti would call. She turned and looked at Keith, holding herself rigid to stop herself from pouring her heart out to him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she shut the locker door and leaned her back against it. He looked as though he was sleeping. She hoped he was. Hurrying by his bed, she gained the door and shoved out into the hall, one palm pressed to her waist.
Mac stood with his shoulder propped against the opposite wall. He straightened and took a step forward when she came out. Their eyes met, and his mouth tightened. “Nothing?”
She shook her head and blinked frantically, dashing a hand across her cheek. “I’m going to have to get his wallet from the hospital safe. I figure you might need his ID later when you go to the bank to try to get into his deposit box.”
“Good thinking.” He took hold of her elbow and guided her gently along the hall. His strides were shorter now to accommodate hers. She knew he must feel her trembling. He let go of her elbow and encircled her shoulders with an arm, pulling her snugly to his side. “Hey...it was a long shot, right?”
“Yes, but what are we going to do now?”
“Keep looking. We’ll ask for more time.” He hit the elevator control. “Don’t panic. Lucetti wants that package. He has nothing to gain by being unreasonable.”
The walk through the hospital and the ordeal of retrieving Keith’s wallet passed in a blur. Once inside the car, Mallory handed the wallet to Mac. He quickly removed the pieces of identification from it that he thought he might need and transferred them to his own billfold. Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his hands braced against the steering wheel. She knew he was trying to think of someplace else they might search. At least he could still think. Mallory’s mind felt like congealed gelatin. She closed her eyes, too. How could she feel tired? Or think of sleeping? There wasn’t time to rest, to eat, to do anything.
“She loves Pop-Tarts,” Mallory blurted out. “On Saturday mornings we cuddle under her Pooh bag and watch cartoons. Sometimes, Keith even joins us.”
A lump rose in Mac’s throat. “Maybe she’ll be home by Saturday.”
He heard Mallory make a strange noise, but when he glanced over at her, she looked composed, her head back, eyes still closed. “You like Pop-Tarts? There’s room for three under the Pooh bag. It’s kind of fun, actually. Some of the cartoons aren’t bad.”
“Now that sounds like a date I wouldn’t want to miss. Not often I get to cuddle with two beautiful women under a Pooh bag. What is a Pooh bag, by the way?”
“A Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag. You’ve seen them.”
Mac hadn’t. He had no nieces or nephews, so he wasn’t familiar with things like Pooh bags. “I like Pop-Tarts.”
He heard the strange little noise again and tensed, not sure what to say. If only she didn’t fight showing her emotions. He wanted to throttle her mother. He sighed and reached to start the car. He no sooner turned the key in the ignition than she sat bolt upright, eyes wide with excitement.
“His shoes! I didn’t check his shoes.”
At this point, Mac’s mental clock was ticking like a time bomb. He was willing to look anywhere. If they didn’t find the key soon, Lucetti might make good on his threat and kill Em. When Mallory leaped from the car, he wasn’t far behind her. She broke into a run, crossing the parking lot at dangerous speed for a woman wearing heels. He loped along in her wake.
Just as she reached the automatic doors, a deafening explosion rocked the parking lot. The ensuing blast of air knocked Mallory off her feet and she staggered against the building. Mac whirled. Orange flame shot into the air above his Volvo. The doors hung at crazy angles. The glass was all blown out. A bomb. Reaction set in immediately. His legs felt as limp as hot rubber and his stomach heaved. If they had remained in the car a few seconds longer, they would both be dead. Someone had wired the doors or starter with a timer.
No one had been injured, but the fire was bound to set off a chain reaction of explosions in nearby cars, and their luck wouldn’t hold forever. Spinning on his heel, he grabbed Mallory’s hand and together they dashed into the lobby. “Call the police and the fire department!” he roared at the woman behind the information desk. “There’s been an explosion. Hurry! Other cars are gonna blow!”
Chapter Nine
Mac’s hand was gripping hers firmly as he dashed through the lobby, hauling her in his wake. Veering down an intersecting hall, they raced by doorways so swiftly that everything seemed a blur. Up ahead, Mallory saw a sign with arrows pointing to the Emergency Room. Mac turned the opposite way, toward an exit.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they paused outside.
“Anyplace. If the guys who put that bomb in my car aren’t still around, the cops soon will be.” As if on cue, sirens wailed in the distance. “The minute they find out that’s my Volvo, they’re going to want to question me.”
Before Mallory could catch her breath, he struck off again at a dead run, this time dodging through the emergency parking area to an adjoining business lot. He didn’t stop until he spied a public phone booth that was not easily visible from the street. Throwing the door open, he stuffed Mallory inside and wedged his way in behind her. The space was so confined that his elbow poked her as he dug in his pocket for change. Through the thick glass, she could barely hear the sirens.
He dropped a coin into the slot and grabbed the phone book to find a cab company number. He was breathing as hard as she was. He had to gulp and swallow before he could speak to the dispatcher and arrange for a taxi.
After hanging up, he shoved his hand back into his pocket and then fed a second quarter into the slot. “Keep an eye out for me,” he ordered as he dialed another number. “I’m going to try that friend of mine again.”
As she checked the area around them, tremors shook her legs. This wasn’t a bad dream she was having. She wasn’t going to wake up and make it all go away by telling Keith about it over breakfast. It felt as if a balloon were being inflated to bursting point inside her chest. Panic. Even though she recognized it for what it was, she still had difficulty staving it off. My baby. Terrible men who blow up cars have my baby. The words echoed in her mind, a funereal litany. Men like that wouldn’t hesitate to kill a child.
Steady. Don’t think. Not about Em, not about anything. She scanned the parking area again, craning her neck to see around a stand of shrubs that blocked her view. A woman with a toddler on her hip came out of an insurance office. A man pulled his car up near the phone booth and studied a street map.
Mac listened intently as the call he’d made went through. No one seemed to be answering. Then he gave her a thumbs-up signal and started talking. “Hey, Shelb, you’re finally home. Can we talk?” He shot one quick look at the parking lot, then glanced at Mallory to make certain she was still standing guard for them. She heard the sound of male laughter coming over the wire.
“Shelby, this is no social call. I’m sorry I didn’t call before this, but I was afraid our lines were tapped and every time I’ve tried to reach you from a phone booth I couldn’t get you.” Mac lis
tened a moment. “Shelb, I don’t—you took it off the hook?—no, I don’t—” He held up a hand. “Shelb, really—this is serious—would you quit clowning?” He cocked his head, listening again, and began to look mollified. “First off, how long’s it been since you saw Corrine?” He sighed. “Yeah—no, me neither. Okay, forget that idea, I guess. I need you to do a little street work for me. Find out what you can on a guy named Steven Miles. An accountant, connected somehow to Pete Lucetti.”
Mallory heard snatches of the other man’s voice coming over the line, the most pronounced word being Lucetti. Mac nodded his head every few seconds. When at last he got another opportunity to speak, he explained their predicament, leaving nothing out. The intermittent voice on the other end of the line grew louder.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that, Shelby. But sometimes trouble comes knocking, you know? While you’re at it, dig up anything you can on a newer model cream-colored sedan. A Buick, Washington plates. If I remember right, the first letters were LUD. I had it written down, but my car just got blown up. We want to know who the guys are that use it. There are three of them, businessmen types, wear suits. Slick operators.”
Shelby’s voice had risen to such a level now that even Mallory could make out what he was saying. “You did say Mallory Christiani? Maiden name Steele? You done lost your mind?”
“No, not yet, and I don’t intend to if I can keep from getting my brains blown out. You be sure to watch your back, okay?” Mac’s scowl deepened even more as he listened to his friend’s reply. “No lectures, Shelb, just check around for me. Did you write that info down? I’ll call you late tonight to see what you’ve got, okay?”
He snapped his fingers with sudden inspiration. “Say, you might try Teddy down at the gun shop. Have him call around to his competitors. At least one of them packs a modified Uzi with a clip. And today one of them took some shots at us with a seven mag—my guess is a Winchester—mounted with a scope. They have to visit an indoor practice range on a regular basis unless they go outside the city. There can’t be many guys packing that kind of weaponry and driving around in a cream-colored Buick. Tell Teddy I need anything he can dig up on them.”
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