Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (207 page)

“What’s yer hurry?”
the woman yelled after her
. “Kids!”

But she was already a landing away. First floor.

Through the glass inset door, lock broken. Down scuzzy chipped marble steps.

Out the front door and past three marijuana smoking teenage boys on the front stoop.

“Hey, baby, not so fast. I got something for you,”
one of them called after her.

She glanced over her shoulder to see the offered joint. Three sets of glazed eyes stared at her. Three mouths trembled in smirks as if they could smell her fear. One of the boys took a step off the stoop toward her.

She ran, their laughter ringing in her ears, and utilized every bit of speed she could muster.

A few minutes later, popping off the side street onto a busier one, she headed for the crazy intersection ahead. Three streets crossing one another. She was passing an old-fashioned newsstand tucked on one of the six corners, when she heard an elevated train screech to a stop. Whirling, she spotted the station. She thought to go for a train that would take her downtown. But that would only bring her back to the same dire situation she’d started in.

Then she spotted them – a couple of outdoor telephones on the angled street. She wanted to talk to her Dad. Surely he would tell her what to do. Maybe even come for her.

She begged for change for a dollar at the newsstand. Then, taking her life in her hands, she crossed against the lights, weaving her way through the traffic. Having horns blaring and curses heaped on her head for the doing.

Only one of the phones was working. She inserted coins in the slot and dialed.

C’mon, Dad, be home…forgive me…please!

Uneasy, she eyed the foot-traffic at the nearby tatoo parlor while listening to the phone ring for what seemed like an eternity. A biker couple in black leather pants and T-shirts came out, the guy admiring the tattoo on his girlfriend’s breast. Suddenly the ringing stopped.

“Hello?”

The lump in her throat was so big, she had trouble forcing out the word
“Dad!”

“Cheryl? My God, baby, where are you?”

He sounded glad to hear her voice. Inside, a dam broke. Tears flowed from her eyes and she choked out,
“I’m sorry, Dad. Honest. I’ll never do it again.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m not sure. In the city somewhere.”

“Look for a street sign. Ask someone. I’ll come get you.”

“You will? Really? You’re not angry?”

He was saying,
“I’m worried…not angry at you,”
when she felt the hand on her shoulder.

“Jeez, I’ll be off in a minute!”
she said impatiently.

And then the hand covered her mouth and she knew she was in trouble. Her head went light with renewed fear. The phone flew from her hand and the buildings around her whirled crazily as her legs folded and the pavement rushed up to meet her…

“CHERYL!” HEART POUNDING, hope soured to fear, Tyler clutched the cordless phone harder, as though he could make his daughter answer. “Cheryl, baby, what happened? Please tell me you’re all right!”

But all he got in answer was the sound of street traffic and the repeated clunk of the phone on the other end, as if it were swinging free and banging against something solid.

“Cheryl?” he tried one last time.

Then someone replaced the receiver in its cradle and the line went dead.

His joy turned to renewed grief, Tyler blindly pitched the cordless with all his strength. The bottles in a small wine rack crashed to the kitchen floor like pins scattered by a bowling ball. One bottle broke and a deep red pool seeped across the pale ceramic floor.

Like blood would ooze across his daughter’s fair skin.

The sudden tragic image drove him crazy. Without care, he retrieved the broken glass, then yelped. His hand had struck a jagged edge. He was heaving the now-bloody glass into the trash when he heard the stair squeak followed by his name.

“Tyler?” Keelin called, her voice faint and frightened, “where are you?”

The pain of the cut momentarily forgotten, he rushed out of the kitchen as she stepped off the staircase. They met in the foyer. One look at her dazed expression and he knew.

“You were sleeping. You saw something?”

“Cheryl escaped the building where she was being held. She ran.” Keelin took a big breath. “I saw busy streets. An intersection. The telephone…”

“She called me.” His chest tight, Tyler demanded, “What the hell happened?”

Keelin squeezed her eyes shut and touched her shoulder. “A hand, here.”

“She told the person to wait a minute.”

“Then his hand covered…” Her fingers moved over her lips.

Tyler would kill the bastard if he ever got hold of him. Suddenly he stilled. “You said
his
. You saw him?”

Keelin’s features pulled together in a frown. “I’m sorry. His grip was so strong I assumed it was that of a man, but then before I could turn, everything went spinning…”

Suddenly he realized that Keelin was speaking in the first person, as if the incident had actually happened to her. She was white as a ghost, no doubt nearly as traumatized by the incident as his daughter.

Without thinking, Tyler spread his arms and stepped forward to comfort her. She accepted the shelter he offered, flying into his embrace and clutching him like a lifeline. She was trembling, her breathing ragged. He gathered her close to him, careful not to touch her with his bloody hand. He imagined that he could feel the uneven flutter of her heart through the wall of his chest.

Before, when she’d told him about the dream-visions, he’d only half-believed her. How could he deny her gift any longer when he’d been part-witness to what she’d experienced? He’d been on the line with Cheryl when Keelin had tuned in. Her explanation of what she’d seen fit exactly with his own perception of what had happened to his daughter.

Against all reason, he had to believe in a phenomena that had no logical explanation.

“It’s going to be all right.” As if in a trance, he ran his good hand soothingly through Keelin’s loose lush hair and down her supple spine. Touching her so intimately had a very real and immediate effect on him, one he didn’t want to acknowledge. “We’re going to make sure it’s all right. We’ll find Cheryl. Together.”

When Keelin gazed up at him, her eyes were shiny. “Truly?” she asked.

“I promise.”

A smile trembled on her lips even as she blinked and a few tears freed themselves of her thick dark lashes. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed the trail from her cheek. His lips instantly salty, he ran a tongue over them, vaguely wondering what he was doing.

How was it that he was getting caught up in the very woman he’d vowed to entice in return for his daughter’s safety?

As if she could read his mind, Keelin vowed, “I would do anything to bring Cheryl home to you.”

Her warm breath fluttered against Tyler’s face. He couldn’t help but believe her.

Suddenly Keelin noticed the blood dripping from his hand. Eyes wide, she demanded, “What happened?”

“I just nicked myself on some broken glass.”

“That’s more than a nick. Let me.”

She took his wrist and raised his hand so she could see the wound. Over his murmured objections, she pulled him into the kitchen and to the sink where, keeping pressure below the cut, she washed it out with an antiseptic liquid soap and checked it for any stray pieces of broken glass.

Then she placed his free hand at a pressure point below the cut and ordered, “Keep your hand up, the wound above your heart, and hold that pressure steady. I’ll get my first aid kit.”

Keelin raced upstairs, pulled the soft-sided kit from her leather bag and ran back to the kitchen. She set it on the counter and removed a few items.

“What’s that?” Tyler asked suspiciously.

“Wicked remedies that will render you powerless.”

Keelin delivered the answer with a straight face and would have been amused at Tyler’s uneasy reaction if he weren’t hurt. Soaking a swab in witch hazel, she cleaned the cut. Minus the still-oozing blood, it didn’t look so bad.

“Witch hazel helps stop the bleeding,” she said, “but keep the hand upright.” She opened a small jar. “And pot marigold cream is an antiseptic.”

Smoothing the cream over his wound shouldn’t have been a sensual experience. But touching Tyler made Keelin’s heart beat a bit faster anyway. She felt his gaze on her and she looked straight into his eyes. Something inside her responded.

Confused, she turned away and put her potions back in their nest, taking longer than necessary to regain her balance.

“A small bandage and we’re done,” she pronounced.

This time Keelin was careful as to how she touched Tyler when she applied the strip. She avoided anything but the most impersonal of contact.

“Good as new,” Tyler said. “It doesn’t even hurt. Much.”

“Remind me to apply more pot marigold cream later.”

“You made these wicked potions yourself?”

She nodded. “As I did the rest of my herbal first aids.”

“And you carry these everywhere?”

Thinking he sounded a tad too amused, she raised her eyebrows. “Would a doctor travel without his bag?”

“Probably not.” Seeming embarrassed Tyler moved away and quickly unrolled some paper towels straight into the mess he’d made. “Do you think you can recognize the place in the dream?”

“The building they’re keeping her in?” Keelin thought a moment, but realized Cheryl hadn’t focused on anything but the teenagers leering after her. “No.”

Tyler threw the used towels in a waste container and fetched some loose bottles, setting them on the counter. “What about the area she called from?”

“Perhaps.” Images replayed in her mind’s eye. “Yes, I think so.”

“Describe it to me.”

“A very busy place. Streets crowded with cars and lorries. And a commuter train on tracks raised above the street.”

“An el. She was near an elevated train! That eliminates most of the city,” he said, excitement nearly bursting from him as he recovered the cordless phone and checked it, then threw it on the counter. “What else?”

“Shops. Places to eat.”

“A commercial district.”

“And the telephones – they were outside, on the sidewalk.”

“I figured. The sound of traffic was pretty clear.” Tyler frowned. “Can you remember the name of any particular restaurant or store?”

Some vague memory nagged at her, but she shook her head. “Cheryl was so panicked, I don’t think she noticed many details.”

“At least we have a start in our search for Cheryl,” Tyler said, sounding encouraged. “We can drive around checking out neighborhoods near each of the elevated lines until you recognize some landmark. We don’t have much time, a couple of hours until dark–”

They were racing for the door when the sound of a car engine being cut directly outside the house made Tyler curse to himself.

“Now who can that be?”

“The authorities?” Keelin suggested as he crossed the foyer ahead of her. “Perhaps they found Cheryl!”

When he opened the door, however, a woman stood on the other side. All Keelin saw was long, sleek light brown hair haloed with lighter streaks so dramatic they looked as if an artist had brushed them into a painting.

“Tyler. You’re certainly not looking worse for the wear,” the stranger said, her voice low and throaty.

“Helen!” He spat the name as if he hated it. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Damn you–”

“Then I’ll invite myself.”

The woman pushed past Tyler and Keelin saw that she was fashionably dressed in a gray silk short suit, the jacket topping a halter the same brilliant red as her slim belt, chunky heels and bag. She stopped when they came face-to-face. They were of an age, yet this woman was everything she was not, Keelin realized. Stunningly beautiful. The kind of body that tempted a man beyond endurance. Stylish. Most of all, confident.

Painted red lips quivered into a smile as the woman gave her a once-over in return. “You must be Tyler’s newest playmate,” she purred, holding out her hand. “I’m his wife, Helen Dunn Leighton.”

HELEN GOT GREAT SATISFACTION at the expression of disbelief mingled with horror that she’d inspired in the mouse of a woman who didn’t seem to notice the offered hand. Helen let it drop. Really. She’d thought Tyler had better taste, cultivating the creme de la creme of society babes. This one didn’t even know how to dress, for heaven’s sake. She looked like a throwback to the seventies with that shapeless rag she was wearing. What a pity if this was the best Tyler could attract these days.

“Helen is no longer my wife,” Tyler assured the other woman in a low voice before grabbing
her
arm and spinning her around. “And she’s just leaving.”

Fury filling her, Helen ripped her arm free. “You’re not getting rid of me so easy this time!”

Tyler stuck his face in hers. “You’re not staying.”

He enunciated each word like she couldn’t understand English. Her pulse might be thundering, but she wasn’t really afraid of him. Not any more. Not when she was holding the winning hand for once.

Sweetly, she countered, “Cheryl’s home?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.” She waltzed into the living room, calculated the worth of the classic furnishings. And the artwork. “Not when my daughter is missing.”

Tyler dogged her. “You care more about your nails than you do about Cheryl.”

She whirled on him. “Don’t tell
me
what I care about!” The resentment over his using Cheryl against her was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. “I’ve had enough of your righteousness to last me a lifetime!”

She could see he was holding onto his restraint by a bare thread when he said, “We’ll go into it at another time, Helen. We were just about to leave.”

“A date? How sweet. And with Cheryl somewhere out there on the streets.”

“We’re going to try to find her.”

This from the woman. The mouse had an accent. Irish?

Helen raised her eyebrows questioningly. “And how do you plan to find
my daughter
?”

“Our business is none of yours,” Tyler stated.