Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (216 page)

“But you did get a good look at someone,” Tyler urged.

“The girl, once. And the woman. She didn’t belong in this building.”

“Why not?” Keelin asked.

“Her clothes. Too fancy.”

“Can you describe her?”

“Pretty girl with a good figure. Blonde. That’s all I gotta say.”

“Wait a minute.” Tyler objected too late. The woman closed the door in his face. “I could use the name and number of the management.” When his raised request received no response, he said, “Come on.”

“Should we ask someone else?”

“It’s probably not necessary.”

She didn’t understand until they exited the building and he checked the side. High up, a plaque announced the building was being managed by Damen Realty.

A moment later they were on their way out of the neighborhood and heading for his office. Tyler used the cellular car phone to call the authorities. He demanded they go over the apartment with a fine tooth comb and check out the identities of whoever rented the place with the realty company, as well. Keelin could tell he didn’t like whatever response he was getting.

Dropping the cellular, Tyler confirmed her suspicion. “They need a court order to get into the place and might need the same for the realty.”

“The authorities must abide by the law.”

“If you ask me, the law is too slow.”

“That they are,” Keelin agreed. “Why did you not give them the woman’s description?”

“Maybe I should have given them her real name, as well,” Tyler said caustically. “Except that, without absolute proof, I doubt the police would believe Vivian Claiborne was mixed up with something as sordid as kidnapping.”

Frustrated that they were stopped cold after such a promising start, Keelin wondered if Skelly might be of some help in getting the information on the kidnappers
his
way.

The Jaguar was soon crawling in the heavy traffic of Lincoln Park West.

“I can’t wait for whatever the authorities come up with, Keelin. I’m going to spend my day seeing to the ransom money. My gut tells me I’m going to need it if I want her back.”

“So you won’t need me.”

He glanced her way, his expression astonished. “That’s not true. I do need you, Keelin. I told you so.”

“Then take me with you when you deliver the ransom,” she said stubbornly.

“But I won’t put you in unnecessary danger. The last note was very specific about being alone if I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Keelin didn’t continue to plague Tyler as she was tempted to do, merely waited until his vehicle was settled in the car park and they exited onto Clark Street.

“I shall leave you to your money gathering,” she said.

Tyler already seemed distracted. “What about you?”

“I’ll ring you later.”

He gave her shoulders a squeeze and brushed her temple with his lips. “I’ll miss you.”

Keelin wouldn’t let him soften her so easily. “You’ll be too busy.”

“Never too busy to think of you.”

Never
was an interminable amount of time. Knowing they didn’t have that long to be together, Keelin wriggled free of his arm. “You have currency to collect, remember?”

She waited until he’d disappeared inside the L&O Realty offices before heading for the corner and the bus stop. She counted out exact change and slipped the coins into her pocket, then fished for two more quarters to buy a newspaper from a box. She was about to drop the money into the slot, when she spotted Brock Olander on the street.

Furtively glancing over his shoulder as if afraid of being caught – by Tyler? – he then flagged down a taxi going south, and she caught a glint – a watch? – on his wrist.

He didn’t see her.

Instinct and another convenient taxi waiting for the light to change convinced Keelin to find out where Tyler’s partner might be headed. She raced across the street, waved over the yellow vehicle and hopped into the back seat.

“Follow that vehicle,” she ordered her driver, a young Hispanic whose hair was shaved in lightning patterns around his head.

“Follow that cab.” He pulled down his meter flag and gave her a gap-toothed grin.

“Pardon me?”

“In the flicks, they always say, ‘follow that cab.’“

Amused despite the intensity of the situation, Keelin said, “Very well, then. Follow that cab.”

Her vehicle lurched and shot forward. She sat back and kept an eye on Brock’s taxi now nearly a block ahead. Several cars had cut between them.

“You a spy or something?” the driver asked, skillfully maneuvering his taxi so that they’d passed two of those cars by the following intersection.

“No, of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”

“You got a accent. You’re followin’ someone.” His eyes shifted from the traffic to the rear view mirror so he could get a better look at her. He smirked. “Ah-h, I get it. Boyfriend or husband trouble?”

“Both,” Keelin impulsively lied. Her cheeks warmed.

“Don’t worry. A pretty lady like you deserves a break,” the driver said, gaining on another passenger car.

Fortunately, Brock didn’t go very far and Keelin’s driver stayed with him. A few blocks from her hotel in the Gold Coast, he alighted from his taxi and disappeared into an elegant old building. Her taxi slid to the curb, the driver keeping the vehicle a discreet distance back.

Handing him more money than the meter required, Keelin said, “Wait for me,” and slipped out of the back seat.

“I’ll keep the motor running,” the driver promised with another grin.

Keelin approached the building cautiously lest Brock spot her. But when she peered through the front door’s glass insets, he was nowhere in sight. She entered the brass-trimmed wood and marble vestibule, thinking to look for a directory that might give her a clue as to whom he’d come to see. But the offices beyond held only a single tenant.

Nathan Feldman Associates.

NATE FELDMAN SPRAWLED BACK in his leather chair, tempted to put his feet up on his marble desk and shout
Hallelujah!
But he held himself in check – wouldn’t do to show how much this deal had meant to him – and lit a fresh cigar instead.

“Help yourself,” he told Brock between puffs, indicating the fancy hand-carved cigar box that he’d picked up in Rio.

“Thanks.”

Brock didn’t look so good. His skin was pasty. And his hand trembled slightly as he took the cigar. He didn’t even light it, rather stared down at the rolled tobacco as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Congratulations. I wasn’t convinced you were up to the task. You even got the Uptown project. Good show!”

Brock’s expression spelled guilt. “Tyler’s had everything his way almost from the beginning.”

Was that justification or regret he heard in the other man’s voice? Nate wondered. Too late for him to back up now. Regret wouldn’t fix things. Wouldn’t bring that Smialek kid back to life, either.

“I expect you’ll be out of L&O Realty first thing next week.”

“So soon,” Brock muttered, now sounding uncertain.

Nate figured he’d better boost the man’s ego before he had a change of heart. “I understand a man has professional needs, Brock,” he said heartily. “Our partnership will give you exactly what you deserve.

Brock nodded. “Your believing in me the way Tyler never did means a lot.”

What a patsy! Nate thought.

More to the point, their
temporary
partnership would give
him
the satisfaction of getting even. Of gaining clients that Leighton would hate to lose. Hopefully Smialek’s law suit would drive the nail in Leighton’s coffin, put him out of business completely and for good.

“Listen,” Brock said, stuffing the cigar into the breast pocket of his jacket. “I’d better get back before Tyler suspects something.”

“He’s too preoccupied thinking about the kid.”

“Still…”

Nate nodded. He lifted the briefcase and placed it on his desk. Then he slid a contract toward Brock.

“Sign on the dotted line and it’s all yours.”

Hesitating only a moment, Brock signed and took the briefcase. “Here’s to success.”

Nate wouldn’t argue with that. The moment the door closed behind the chump, he put his feet up on his desk.

“Hallelujah!”

Success in ruining Tyler Leighton had been his goal all along.

BROCK SET THE BRIEFCASE on Tyler’s desk and opened it. Neat stacks of bills filled half the interior.

“A quarter of a million in cash like you asked for. Now, about that agreement…”

Tyler handed Brock a written guarantee that he would cooperate in dissolving the partnership. It also listed the assets that each would take with him, including the Uptown renovation that had been Tyler’s baby.

“I wish you’d rethink things,” he said, even though he needed the money for Cheryl. “I meant it when I said we could work this partnership out. You could consider this money a loan.”

Having done some soul-searching, he guessed Brock had been right to be dissatisfied. He only wished he’d come to his senses sooner, or that Brock had insisted on having a serious discussion about the situation,
before
things had come to a head.

“I’ve done enough thinking. I just want to get this over with.” His face pasty, Brock skimmed the signed agreement and nodded. “I expect we’ll get the ball rolling first thing next week.”

Tyler couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even have his daughter back. What had happened to Brock? When had he become so hard-hearted?

“Next week,” he promised.

Agreement in hand, Brock left, not looking nearly as happy as Tyler might have expected. He wasted no time in opening his office safe and securing the briefcase. He would personally pick up the rest of the money the next day. He’d no sooner locked the safe when Alma buzzed him. Fearing that she would tell him that Helen was insisting on speaking to him
again
– she’d interrupted him twice so far – he was relieved to learn that Jack Weaver was in the reception area.

“Send him right in, Alma.”

When the private investigator stepped foot through the door, he was wearing a satisfied smile. “I’m pretty sure I found the building where your daughter’s being held.”

Not having expected such luck, Tyler started. “Where?”

Weaver’s “It’s a six-flat about a block off North Avenue” tempered his excitement, and when the investigator gave the address, he was totally deflated.

“We already knew that, but she’s been moved. The police have someone watching the place.” Tyler checked his watch. “By now, they should have the court order to get inside and search. Not that I think it’ll do any good.”

“So the cops beat me to it. Sorry. But if I’d been on the case in the first place…” Looking chagrined, Weaver shrugged and turned to leave. “I’ll send you my bill.”

“Wait. What are you doing tomorrow?”

Stopped in the doorway, the investigator said, “Nothing I can’t change.”

“Good.” Tyler wouldn’t put Keelin in jeopardy, but Weaver was a professional. “Close the door a minute.”

After ascertaining that the investigator had access to a handgun, he told Weaver what he had in mind.

KEELIN BARELY GAVE JACK WEAVER a second glance as he left Tyler’s office. Rather than waiting to be announced, she rushed right in and closed the door, bursting to tell him what she’d learned. To her frustration, Tyler was on the telephone.

“Hang up,” she demanded, not trying to hide her urgency. “I must speak with you.”

A quick apology to the person on the other end and he dropped the receiver back into its cradle. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“Has Brock been here yet?”

“A little while ago. He brought the money.”

Keelin took a deep breath. She’d known it! “Did he tell you where the money came from?”

“I didn’t ask. Why?”

“I followed him.”

“You what?” Tyler launched himself out of his seat.

“After you returned to the office earlier, he was on the street, looking over his shoulder…as if he didn’t want to be watched…and he flagged a taxi. So I went with my instincts.”

“And him. Where?”

“The Gold Coast.” She lowered her voice. “Nathan Feldman Associates.”

“You’re saying he got the money from Feldman?”

“He entered the offices empty-handed and came out carrying a briefcase. Black leather.”

With the vilest curse she’d heard pass his lips to date, Tyler yelled, “He’s got some explaining to do!” and made to rush by her.

Keelin practically threw herself in front of the door to stop him. “You cannot face him with this now.”

“Why not? I’ll break his damn neck!”

“If Vivian Claiborne was the woman in the apartment, chances are she was in on the scheme with Feldman. And if Brock is working with Feldman…”

Tyler stared. “You don’t think Brock
knew
? Christ, he could put Cheryl’s life in jeopardy with a phone call!”

“Exactly.”

He backed off and paced the length of the office. “Wait a minute. This doesn’t make sense. If Feldman has my daughter, why would he give part of the ransom money to Brock to give to me? So he can get his own money back?”

“Think. What is it Feldman wants of you more than money?”

“My class,” Tyler joked, his voice bitter.

Keelin didn’t feel like laughing. “Perhaps you have a point.”

“Afraid I can’t give him that, not even in exchange for my daughter.”

“But Brock is an extension of you.”

Tyler’s brow furrowed, but he quickly followed her lead. “And if Brock went over to Feldman, he’d be bringing half our clients with him. And the Uptown theater renovation that Feldman so desperately wanted. That added to Smialek’s lawsuit…” He fell silent for a moment, then said, “Looks like they’ve been conspiring to ruin me, doesn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Tyler sank into a sofa, for the moment appearing utterly defeated. Keelin quickly crossed the short space and tried to comfort him, even knowing that the only thing to truly salve his wounds was to have his daughter returned to him unharmed.

Believing with all her heart that she would not be seeing through Cheryl Leighton’s eyes unless she had the means to save the girl, Keelin knew she would have be present at the ransom drop, no matter Tyler’s objections.