More yelling ensued from Shelby’s end, but Mallory couldn’t be certain of what he was saying because Mac was running interference with a number of uh-huhs and yeahs.
“She’s standing right here listening,” Mac cautioned. When his friend didn’t take the hint, he said, “Shelby, you’re yelling loud enough to be heard in Tallahassee! Do you mind?”
After a moment’s dead silence, Shelby resumed yelling. “That’s because I’m upset. I yell when I’m upset. You’re my best friend. What am I s’posed to do, keep my mouth shut? Let little Miss High ’n’ Mighty take care of her own problems. She’s got plenty of bucks. She can buy her way out of trouble.”
Mac tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling of the booth. “Shelby, I’m counting on you to come through for me. I’d go myself, but I’ve got Mallory with me and it would be too risky to take her down there after everything that’s happened.”
“Lucetti? You’re talkin’ way outa my league. And even if you weren’t, why would I risk my neck for the likes of her?”
“Yeah, but when a kid’s involved, it’s a different ball game, right? I knew you’d see it my way.”
“That’s blackmail, Mac. Don’t go puttin’ no guilt trips on me about no kid, man.”
Mac grinned. “Big brown eyes and freckles. She’s got a stuffed dog named Ragsdale.”
“That’s dirty pool. That’s not even playin’ fair.”
“It’s times like this, Shelb, that I know the true meaning of friendship.”
“Yeah! It’s a real pain in the neck.”
A loud clunk came over the receiver. As Mac hung up, he met Mallory’s startled gaze and said, “Shelby...he’s really a nice guy. You just have to get to know him.”
Mallory couldn’t help feeling alarmed. How did Shelby know her maiden name? And why did he seem to harbor such dislike for her? “Mac, what was that all about?”
“Nothing.” He flashed her a smile. “Nothing I want to get into, anyway. Don’t worry. He squawks a lot, but he comes through. I trust him with my life.”
The question was, could she and Em?
They left the booth and stood behind a bushy evergreen so no one would see them while they waited for the cab. The wailing of sirens grew increasingly loud. They could smell rubber burning. The Volvo’s tires? The thought made her sick. A police car careened around the corner and sped past. Seconds later, two fire trucks went barreling by. Mac drew her closer to the tree. She noticed he kept looking over his shoulder to scan the parking lot. A cold feeling crept up her neck. Even now, they weren’t safe. She began to sneak glances over her shoulder, too. Black smoke roiled above the hospital parking area.
The minutes crawled by. Her feet began to hurt, and the prickly fir needles made her back and legs itch. Her thoughts drifted to Mac’s conversation with his friend Shelby. Did Shelby know her? Was Mac hiding something from her? Should she question him about what she had overheard? Glancing up at him, she decided to keep her mouth shut. Mac was her only hope of saving Em. Antagonizing him would be stupid. If there was something he was holding back from her, he’d tell her when he was ready.
At last, the cab came. As Mac opened the back door for her and she slid onto the seat, she tried to read his expression.
Mac climbed in after Mallory and slammed the door. He leaned forward to give her address to the cabbie. As he sat back, he felt her watching him. He was going to scalp Shelby for mouthing off. She had enough to worry about. For an instant, he considered telling her the truth, that he was Randy’s half brother, but the words caught in his throat. The old hurts ran too deep for him to glibly tell her about them and pretend they were water under the bridge. They weren’t. Never could be.
“What’s goin’ on there at the hospital?” the cabbie asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mac said. “We heard an explosion of some kind. I wasn’t about to get close enough to see what it was.”
“Smart thinking. One thing’s good. If anyone got hurt, they chose a great place.” With a loud guffaw at his own joke, the driver merged the cab with traffic. “Lots of doctors handy,” he elaborated when neither of them laughed. When that still didn’t get a chuckle, the man settled down to drive in silence. Mallory simply didn’t have a laugh in her. All she could think of was Em.
They were halfway home before Mac realized that he was holding Mallory’s hand. He didn’t know if he had initiated the contact or she had. It didn’t really matter. Some things just felt right, and her hand in his was one of them. He didn’t want to analyze that right now or think about the implications. Shelby’s question rang in his head. You done lost your mind? Mac was afraid maybe he had.
* * *
MAC WAS SILENT all during the drive home. Mallory knew there must be risks involved in returning to her house. At first she wondered if that was why Mac was so quiet. But by the time they stepped into the entry and closed the door behind them, she was convinced that he was just still angry at her. There was an empty look in his eyes, a grim set to his lips. He backed her into a corner and pressed a staying hand to her shoulder.
“Stay put,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
She stood there in the cool semidarkness and watched him creep up to the doorways along the hall one by one, gun in hand. Each time he exploded into a room she flinched and held her breath until he emerged unhurt. When he finished the first floor and went upstairs to check the bedrooms, she really began to sweat. She hated feeling so helpless. As much as she detested guns, right now she wished she knew how to use one, just so she could help.
If there was one thing she couldn’t stomach, it was feeling useless. If she came out of this alive, she was going to learn to shoot a handgun and take lessons in the martial arts. The next time something like this happened—heaven forbid that it should—she’d be better equipped to handle it. Better equipped to protect Em.
When Mac came back downstairs, she led the way into the kitchen and located an unopened container of Folger’s in the cupboard over the stove. She lifted her chin and swallowed down a wave of self-disgust. Her daughter was being held for ransom and her big contribution to finding her was to make coffee? After opening the can, she stepped to the sink to fill the reservoir of the coffeemaker. Menial though the chore was, she knew caffeine would do them both good. They couldn’t keep going on sheer willpower. She imagined Mac was as exhausted as she. He was sitting at the table, long legs stretched in front of him, arms folded across his broad chest. She filled the filter cup with grounds, inserted it into the coffeemaker and turned around. Something was on his mind; she sensed it.
“I know you too well. Something’s wrong. What is it?”
It seemed a silly thing to say. I know you too well. She scarcely knew him at all by normal standards. Yet somehow, inexplicably, she felt that she knew him better than she had ever known anyone. She knew all the important things, at any rate. That he was kind, that he had more courage than anyone she had ever known, that he cared about little girls he had never met, that he noticed things like freckles on noses and remembered a stuffed dog’s name was Ragsdale.
He sighed and said, “I’m just wondering, at this point, if you don’t want to cry uncle and go to the police for protection. The guys after us are getting into some pretty serious stuff.”
Fear mushroomed inside her. Had he already decided they couldn’t save Em? “Are you saying you want to give up?”
“No, I’m just giving you the option. You could be killed, you know.”
“Better me than Em!”
He smiled. “Just checking. Some people would be reevaluating things at this point. Be wondering if it was worth the risk.”
Mallory couldn’t imagine doing that. She loved her daughter so much that no risk was too great. No matter how nasty this situation grew, Mallory would keep fighting.
“You know that friend I was talking to—Shelby?” Mac asked.
“Yes, what about him?”
“I’m going to take you over to spend t
he night at his place.”
“Why would I want to go there? If I leave the house, who will be here to take Lucetti’s call?”
“I don’t want to leave you here alone. They know where you live and there are places I have to go before morning. I don’t need any extra baggage slowing me down.”
Extra baggage? That wasn’t very complimentary. Mallory caught her lip between her teeth and bit down hard. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew she was a burden to him. Had been from the start. He knew it, she knew it. She had no business letting her ego get in the way. Em’s safety was the only consideration.
“Would you stop that before you make a sore?” His gaze was fastened on her mouth. “You’re constantly gnawing that lip.”
She immediately stopped. “It’s better than grinding my teeth like you do. My lip will mend. Molar enamel won’t.”
He tightened his jaws and ground his teeth. When he realized he was doing exactly what she had just accused him of, he rolled his eyes and tried to stop. Perverse though it was, she was pleased when she saw his jaw begin to ripple again.
“I guess it’s not a good time for either of us to swear off a bad habit,” he admitted. “It just worries me, that’s all, the way you go after that lip. It’s going to be hamburger by the time this is over.”
Her mouth was the least of her worries, Mallory thought. The gurgle of the coffeemaker was the only sound in the room for several seconds. At last he ended the silence with another heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. “I’ve been doing some thinking, Mallory. We only have a few hours left. The key would have been found if it was in Keith’s shoe, and whoever undressed him would have put it with the other valuables. I’m fresh out of ideas where else to look for the key. There’s not much point in my sitting here doing nothing when I could be working the streets. We may not be able to deliver that package to Lucetti, after all. And if we can’t, there’s only one other way to rescue Em.”
“What’s that?”
“I have to find her. To do that, I have to find Lucetti.”
“But you said he’d give us more time. You said you couldn’t find him, that no one could, that—”
“I know what I said. But what if he won’t give us more time? It wouldn’t be a smart move on his part to refuse, but neither was kidnapping Em before he knew we had the things he wanted. Getting information on him won’t be easy. But if I hit the streets and grease enough palms, I should be able to get some leads. Between Shelby and me, we should come up with something. I have a few—” he paused and cleared his throat again “—a few friends, old connections. One of them, a gal named Corrine, could probably give me something on Lucetti if I can find her.”
“But—” she lifted her hands “—why can’t I help?”
“It’s not your kind of neighborhood. Look... I’ve done it a hundred times. I don’t need you along.”
“Maybe I need to go. Did you think of that? It’s my daughter we’re talking about. I can’t just sit someplace—in some stranger’s house—doing nothing.” It was on the tip of her tongue to add that she didn’t feel welcome at Shelby’s, but she swallowed the words back; how she felt about that wasn’t important. She’d do it in a minute if she thought it would help Em. “How would you feel? I’d go crazy. I want to help, Mac. Even if I can’t do much, I’ll feel better trying.”
“No!” An angry glitter crept into his gaze. “Mallory Christiani combing the streets? It’d be like parking a Rolls-Royce in a junkyard and expecting no one to notice. And don’t forget, someone’s trying to kill you. You shouldn’t be going anyplace where you stand out.”
“I’ve got slacks and stuff to wear.”
“Slacks? You think that’ll make you—” He broke off. “I’ll be questioning prostitutes. You just don’t have the look.”
“Meaning?” Mallory glanced down at herself. “I don’t have the right equipment or what?”
Mac certainly hadn’t meant to infer that she was sexless. Far from it. If she stood on Aurora Avenue to advertise her wares, she’d draw passing cars like a tollbooth on an expressway. Twice today, she had nearly been killed. To knowingly put her at risk again would be insane.
He clenched his teeth. He was having trouble dealing with this fierce feeling of protectiveness she brought out in him. Talk about acting like a jerk; he deserved an award. How could he have been so cruel? Was it necessary to hurt her? Yes.
Ordinarily, taking her into downtown Seattle wouldn’t have been a concern. It was rough, but not that rough. But with killers after them? That was a different story. He understood her need to be actively involved in trying to save her daughter. He knew how miserable she would be sitting at Shelby’s. But miserable or not, at least she wouldn’t get hurt there.
“You aren’t going,” he said in a reasonable tone.
“How do you know we won’t be followed to Shelby’s? The minute you leave, I could find myself facing three men with guns. Mac, please, I won’t get in the way. I could stay in the car.”
“Won’t be any car. Yours is still at the hospital, remember? And mine no longer exists. I’ll be taking a cab, then walking.”
“But that would leave you stranded. We can take Keith’s BMW. The one in the garage.”
He studied her pale face with a sinking feeling in his guts. She was right about a lot of things. He didn’t want to be stuck downtown without a car. And someone might follow them to Shelby’s. It was so obvious a possibility that it scared him to think he had overlooked it. Was he so exhausted that his brain was no longer functioning? If he left her, he might return to find her dead. At least he could watch out for her if she was with him. Or make arrangements for someone else to. It would make his job much more difficult, worrying about her every second while he was dealing for information, but the more he thought about it the better it seemed than the possible alternatives.
“Oh, all right. But no slacks. Don’t you have some jeans?”
“Um...some designer types. Would those do?”
Mac hated to think what Mallory’s idea of designer jeans were. “Go get them on. And go heavy on the makeup. You don’t want to stand out any more than you have to.”
He rose from the chair and stepped over to the bar.
“Who are you phoning? I thought the lines might be bugged?”
“If I take you along, I won’t be able to stay with you every second. I’m calling in some recruits. I’ll watch what I say.”
* * *
AN HOUR AND a half later, Mallory stepped across the threshold into Mac’s downtown Seattle apartment, where they had stopped so he could change into what he called street clothes. As he shoved the door open for her it pushed aside the heap of mail that his landlord had been sticking through his mail slot this past week. She sidestepped the scattered envelopes and cast a curious glance around. The mail-littered entranceway stretched into an equally untidy living room. She remembered all the junk in his Volvo and realized neatness was not one of Mac’s strong suits. Neither was interior decorating. She had never seen such a hodgepodge. Nothing matched, not even the two end tables.
He scooped a pair of running shoes off the floor, grabbed some sweatpants and several newspapers off the brown recliner, then smiled. “Excuse the mess.” He dumped everything on the sofa, looking a little embarrassed. “Have a seat.”
Mallory eased herself into the recliner and watched him disappear through a doorway. Drawers thunked. She could hear him stripping off his clothes. His change jangled as he tossed his slacks—probably onto the bed or a chair. Her gaze trailed around the living room. Lived in, but not really dirty. The furniture didn’t reside under layers of dust, so he apparently cleaned, or had it done, on a regular basis.
Restless, she rose from the chair and wandered around the room. Along one wall, he had a bookcase. Law books, a dated preparation course for a general equivalency diploma, several blockbuster novels—the lusty variety—a book that promised perfect spelling with an investment of ten minutes a day, a dog-ear
ed Bible and books on investigation. A pile of gun manuals rested on the bottom shelf with three large and very expensive volumes on the works of great painters. She trailed her fingertips down the spine of the GED preparation book. You spew big words like a walking dictionary. The accusation came back to haunt her. Had Mac been deprived of a high-school education?
She wandered over to the component stereo system and portable television, which were housed in an entertainment center along the opposite wall. As she scanned the albums and tapes to see what kind of music he enjoyed—mostly outdated rock and roll—her attention was snagged by a flash of metal. Midway up on a right-hand shelf, a photo of a lovely, gray-haired woman smiled down at Mallory from a gold filigree frame. Moving closer, Mallory wondered if this was a likeness of Mac’s mother. Looking into the woman’s clear gray eyes, she guessed it must be and found herself envying Mac for having been raised by someone so plump and huggable looking. A real “mom” type who probably still wore an apron when she made pies, the kind who would probably say “I love you” at least once daily. Mallory’s gaze shifted to another photo, a candid shot of a much younger Mac standing with his arm around a slightly built boy with platinum-blond hair and blue eyes.
Randy.
Mallory’s heart felt as though it stopped beating. Randy Watts? Her late husband’s best friend in college? She stared at the picture, at the two youthful faces, one startlingly similar to the other when you saw them so close together. Mac’s face, even in his early years, had been rugged and masculine, but his mouth and chin resembled Randy’s. Their noses had even been alike before Mac’s had been broken so many times. Brothers. The truth hit her hard, right between the eyes.
She remembered now that Randy had told Darren he had an older half brother, an ex-Marine. Whirling away from the irrefutable evidence, Mallory clamped a hand over her mouth. All the snide remarks Mac had made to her since yesterday came back to taunt her. No wonder. She had once been Bettina Rawlins’s best friend. Bettina had killed Randy Watts as surely as if she had held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Mallory and Darren had seen it coming, but they had been helpless to stop it.
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