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Again she nodded.

He ran a hand over his eyes. His weary sigh was the only indication he gave of how unutterably tired he was. “When we get near there, we'll have to leave the car a few blocks away and strike out on foot. That expensive BMW would be a red flag to anyone who saw it. And since it's registered in Keith's name, I don't dare leave you sitting in it for fear those three guys might recognize it.” He settled his cloudy-gray eyes on her. “There'll be times when I'll have to leave you. Some of my contacts are reluctant enough about talking to me when I'm alone. I'll be leaving you with those friends I called earlier. They'll meet us downtown.” He hesitated and gave her a long study. “They aren't exactly the kind of kids you're accustomed to. They may even seem a little intimidating to you. But I trust them. Because you're a friend of mine, you can, too. When you're with them, you listen to Danno, the oldest boy, just like you do to me. If something should go wrong, Danno knows his way around.”

Mallory forgot all about Randy's picture. “A boy?”

“He's nineteen. A very old nineteen when it comes to that neighborhood.”

“Mac, I'm thirty-four years old. Born and raised in the Seattle area. I
am
capable of taking care of myself. I have been in rough areas before, you know.”

“Oh, I'm sure you have. But have you ever gone down there looking for trouble? There's a big difference.” His eyes searched hers. “Put your pride in the back seat a second. Somebody's trying to kill you. We've already decided that it's somebody connected to Lucetti. We're going down into the roughest part of town to ask questions. About Lucetti. About Miles. And about the three guys who have been after us. At the best of times, hanging around in those places isn't the wisest way to spend an evening. Tonight, it could be downright deadly if the wrong people see us or get wind of why we're there.”

Put like that, Mallory was beginning to see his point.

“Shelby's apartment is still an option for you if you'd rather not go. If you are going, though, then Danno gives the orders and you stick to him like he's covered with superglue.”

Mallory could see that Mac meant it. And he had her over a barrel. The realization rankled.

Stepping closer to her, he touched her hair, his expression softening. “I know it's hard on you, being kept out of the thick of things when you want to be helping. But you have to remember there's a very important third party involved in this. If something happens to you, she's sunk. Danno knows how to blend in down there, who he can trust, who's trouble and who isn't. This way if anyone comes looking for us, I won't have to worry about your being seen.”

Mallory suspected that he would be protective of her no matter what, that he was using Em as a smoke screen, but regardless, he had a point. She couldn't afford to risk herself until Em was safe. “All right, Mac,” she at last conceded. “You win. Danno's the boss.”

He lowered his hand and hooked his thumb in his hip pocket. “I just don't want anything to happen to you.”

“If something happens to me, it'll be my own fault for having insisted on going, not yours.” A flutter of panic blocked her throat. This conversation was dangerous. It could flow so easily into a discussion of blame about Randy's death and they didn't have time for that. She tucked the bag of mail under her arm and turned toward the door. “Besides, it's not my welfare I'm worried about. Finding Em and getting her home safely is the important thing...the only important thing.”

Chapter Ten

Mallory had never ventured into this part of Seattle after dark. Respectable people avoided the area once dusk fell. Even driving through here with the car doors unlocked could be risky. The sidewalks weren't as crowded as she had expected, but because the people seemed intimidating to her, she felt as though she was walking through a solid wall of humanity, bums, drug pushers, runaways, streetwalkers. There was no light in their faces, no hope. Life was a struggle to survive and if you got in their way, they would walk over you.

When Mac stepped into a grimy tavern to buy a pack of cigarettes, his hissed order “stick tight” was one she hastened to obey. Some of the men standing under the flashing neon sign outside of the establishment were staring at her as though she was an all-you-can-eat special. She didn't know if it was her appearance that appealed—she found that hard to believe—or if she looked as though she might have money.

“Hey, bro,” Mac said to the barkeep. “I'm lookin' for Corrine. She been around?”

“I ain't seen nothin',” the man snarled, his brown eyes gleaming with hostility as they fastened on Mallory.

Mac tossed his quarter of change into the air, palmed it and slapped it on the bar. “Tell her I'm lookin' for her.”

“I'll tell her if I see her, Mac.” The bartender, who seemed to know Mac well, took the quarter and tossed it into a jar of coins, muttering something under his breath that cast serious doubts upon both Mac's generosity and his legitimacy.

“Guilty on both counts,” Mac called over his shoulder.

The bartender guffawed and rubbed his sizable paunch. Walking past the occupied bar stools, Mallory noticed that the men and women patronizing the establishment looked at her as if she was a cockroach in the center of a banquet table. Were these the kind of people that Emily was being held by? People who whiled away their lives staring at rows of bottles?

Mallory doubled her hands into fists and dug her nails into her palms, picturing her daughter's guileless brown eyes.

“I didn't think you smoked,” she said to Mac as they emerged from the bar.
I can't think about Em. I have to keep my perspective, stay calm.
Tears burned in her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to keep them from falling.

“Chameleon, remember? I don't inhale.” He dipped his head toward his cupped palms to light the cigarette. As he straightened, a purple-haired youth dressed in skintight black leather veered in Mallory's direction. Mallory's face flamed when he directed an insolent look at her breasts. Mac draped one arm over her shoulders, his face settling in harsh lines. Snuffing the match with his fingers, he met the kid's gaze. It was an unspoken challenge. The younger man turned sharply away.

Glancing down at her, Mac said, “I'll say this for him, he's got good taste.”

Mallory tried to smile and failed. The vision of Em's face still floated in the back of her mind. “Do you think she's down here? With men like these?”

Mac placed his hand on her hair and threaded his fingers to her scalp, his touch warm and soothing as he traced circles above her ear. “I don't know, Mallory. We just have to pray that whoever has her is a decent person. There
are
some down here, you know. A lot of them.”

“I've never told her about the really ugly things that can happen to little girls. The closest I ever came was warning her not to talk to strangers. I didn't prepare her for anything like this.”

“She'll be okay, Mallory. Think positive, hmm?” His eyes met hers and, imagination or no, it seemed to her that some of his strength flowed into her. He placed the cigarette in his mouth to free his other hand, then smoothed the wetness from her eyelashes. His eyes narrowed against the trailing smoke, and the lines that bracketed his mouth deepened as his lips tightened on the filter. Dropping his arm back to her shoulders, he drew her close. Glancing around them, he said, “Not getting fresh, just don't want anyone deciding you look lonesome.”

When they first began to walk, her hip bumped against his thigh, but they quickly fell into a rhythm. She slipped an arm around his waist. “Not getting fresh,” she said. “Just don't want to
look
lonesome.”

He chuckled.

A drunk staggered toward them. Mac swerved to avoid a collision, but not in time. The man bumped her shoulder and would have sent her reeling if not for Mac's steadying arm. She swallowed, her throat parchment dry. She looped her shaky fingers under Mac's wide belt and moved even closer to him. Being an unattached female down here was clearly not wise. Mac struck off down the sidewalk again. His hand curled warmly around her upper arm, his fingers making light circles on her sleeve. That absentminded caress was the only sign he gave that he was even aware of her. When she looked up at him, she noticed that his face had assumed the harsh and unreadable expression she had seen before, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as if it were a permanent fixture.

A young girl sidled up to them. She jutted out a hip, her denim-clad leg brushing Mac's as she flashed him a smile. “Hey, honey, ditch Goldilocks and I'll show you a good time.”

Mac's arm tightened around Mallory as he sidestepped the girl and continued walking.

Shock coursed through Mallory. “She's not that much older than Emily. Thirteen, fourteen, maybe?”

“They grow up fast down here. And as much as you might want to, as hard as you might try, you can't rescue all of them.”

From his tone, Mallory knew he had learned that lesson the hard way. The longer she knew this man, the more she liked him.
Liked?
She pressed closer to the lean hardness of his body. No, what she felt for Mac had already gone far beyond mere liking. The feeling had sort of snuck up on her. She wasn't quite ready to pin a name on it. Her practical side, which was and always had been dominant, told her she hadn't known him long enough to feel anything for him. Was it gratitude? Desperation? Those were possibilities she couldn't ignore. Mac was her one and only hope when it came to saving Emily. Mallory sighed. What did it matter? The feeling was there, nonetheless, waiting to be faced, a one-way street to heartache. Even if Mac could forgive the fact that she had been Bettina's friend, he was never likely to forget it. Randy
had
been his brother, after all.

His gaze shifted back and forth, taking in every person, checking every dark doorway. “The boys should be down this way someplace. As soon as we meet them, I need to find Corrine.”

“Who is she?”

“An old school chum. She's worked the streets for over twenty years. Started at about the same age as the girl back there. Has her own stable now. I hope she still runs a string down here. From what I've heard, the big money is made out by the airport.”

“A stable?” The question no sooner left her lips than she knew what he meant. Em was so much in her thoughts that Mallory's brain seemed to be functioning at half capacity.

Mac took a drag on the cigarette and squinted as smoke drifted from the corner of his mouth uninhaled and got into his eyes. “Corrine's got more connections than the governor. If anyone knows who works for Lucetti, it's her. The problem will be finding her. She doesn't work herself anymore, just manages her girls. And she doesn't go for rough stuff. If someone wants to quit or move on to greener pastures, she doesn't get nasty. Lucetti, unfortunately, doesn't deal that way. She hates his guts, which is why I figure we can count on her for information.”

Mallory bit her lip. They were going to comb the streets looking for a woman who supported herself managing prostitutes? For a moment, she felt appalled. Then she shoved the feeling aside. She didn't care who Corrine was or what she did for a living, not if she could help them find Emily.

“Hey, Coach!” someone yelled.

Mac stopped walking and pivoted on his heel. His change of direction was so sudden that Mallory lost her hold on his belt and fell out of step, dislodging his arm from around her. Four teenage boys converged on them. Mallory, who was following closely on Mac's heels, took one glance at the youths and faltered. They looked as rough as dirt roads after a torrential winter rain. Mac greeted them with a ritualistic bumping of elbows and clapping of palms. Then, as if he missed the weight of her hand at his waist, he turned to look for her.

Feeling intimidated, just as he had predicted she might, Mallory was hesitant to join them. Mac held out a hand to her. When she walked over to him, he put his arm around her. She groped for a hold on his belt, acutely aware that she was being looked over by four pairs of impenetrable eyes, two sets of blue, one of green and one as black as obsidian.

The boy with the black eyes appeared to be the oldest, a tall young man of Indian or Spanish descent with shoulder-length ebony hair. He regarded her with an almost contemptuous curiosity, his youthful and extremely handsome face cast in light, and then in shadow by the bar's neon sign that flashed on and off above him. A thin scar angled across his right cheek. From a knife fight, possibly? A length of chain dangled from the hip pocket of his tattered blue jeans, and the handle of what she guessed was a switchblade protruded from his waistband. Unlike Mac's, his wristbands were adorned with sharp little spikes.

With a snort of anger, Mac plucked the boy's knife from his waistband and hefted it in his hand. “What's this, Danno? You know what will happen if you guys are caught packing blades. You don't run the streets anymore.”

“You said it might be dangerous. We came prepared.”

Mac held out his hand. “No way. Hand them over.” He snapped his fingers at the other boys.

“Coach!” Danno cried. “Do you know how much those switchblades cost me? We walked ten blocks one way to get them.”

“Next time, you won't buy them, then, will you? When I said it might get dangerous, I didn't mean it as a call to arms. I just thought I should level with you. Besides, the danger will most likely be to me. You can't violate your probation. You know better. Come on.”

With sullen glowers, all four boys handed over their knives. Mac tossed them into a nearby trash receptacle. When he returned, he inclined his head toward her.

“Danno, I'd like you to meet Mallory Christiani.”

Danno shifted his unreadable black eyes to her. After a tension-laden moment, he extended his hand. Just as hesitantly, she placed uncertain fingers across his palm. His grasp was loose and noncommittal but warm. She tried to smile with stiff lips, then forced herself to meet his gaze. With a shock, she realized he was afraid, afraid of being rejected. The realization made her heart catch. He was too young to be so bitter and suspicious. Mallory's smile relaxed and spread across her mouth. “I'm pleased to meet you, Danno.”

The obsidian glassiness left his eyes, revealing a vulnerability that disarmed her. His mouth tipped into a crooked grin. Glancing at Mac he said, “Hey, Coach, she's
choice
.”

The next boy, Mark, was a scruffy redhead with freckles, which made him seem a tad less ominous. Mallory shook hands with him and suffered through being referred to as
sweet
, another term she knew was popular with teenagers. Then she was introduced to Eric and Toby, blue-eyed with shaggy brown hair, on the shy side of fifteen. Toby pumped her arm up and down with so much enthusiasm that her shoulder felt as if it might become dislocated.

“Mark and Danno are college boys this year,” Mac informed her. The pride in his voice made the boys stand taller.

Danno smiled and arched his bushy black eyebrows. “So what's up, Coach?”

“I've got to do a little street work tonight. When I have to leave Mallory, I need you guys to watch over her.”

Danno threw Mallory a curious look. “She in trouble?”

Mac quickly briefed him. “I want you out from under the lights, staying low. Think you can handle it? I don't want her getting hurt, and you're the only friends I can completely trust to watch out for her. I won't color it. These creeps on our tails mean business. My Volvo got blown to smithereens this afternoon. We've been shot at. Just being in the same vicinity with us could be bad for the health.”

“If there's anything we're good at, it's gotta be blending in.” Danno grinned and slid his dark gaze toward Mallory again. She was beginning to suspect he had practiced that crooked smile for hours, perfecting the lazy, careless twist of his lips so it had just the right effect. The way he stood somehow reminded her of Mac, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders slouched, one hip angled outward. “I'm real sorry about your little girl. All of us are.”

Not trusting herself to speak, Mallory merely nodded. She fell into step beside Mac as he struck off down the sidewalk, the four boys flanking them. She noticed that oncoming pedestrians, rather than walk through their number, preferred to spill into the street and brave the traffic, which was considerable. The first time it happened, she wondered why. Then she remembered who she was walking with. If she had met these four boys on a sidewalk, she would have taken her chances in the street, too. And now that she came to think of it, Mac didn't exactly look like the kid next door.

Within the safe circle of his arm, Mallory absorbed the sights and sounds around her. Though it was night, the city seemed bright and glaring to her. She found herself searching every face and wondering if that person knew where Em was. Pain swelled within her. A few hours, that was all they had left. Every step they took measured off a second, the seconds accumulated into minutes, minutes into hours, taking them closer and closer to deadline.

“Try not to think about it,” Mac whispered.

Taken off guard, Mallory threw her head up and stared at him, wondering how he had known. “It's hard not to.”

“Think about the welcome-home party we'll throw for her. I have a friend who's a clown.”