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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.

* * *

M
ALLORY
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 was 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 listened 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.”

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.

* * *

M
AC
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 the 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.