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Her eyes widened. “You're saying you're one of them?”

“In a sense. I used to be.”

“What did Keith do, post your bail once? Get you off on a lesser charge? What?” The words shot out of her mouth before she could call them back, then hung there like a cloud between them. She saw something flicker in his eyes. Pain? “I—” Running a hand through her hair, she averted her face for a moment. “I'm sorry, Mac Phearson. I didn't mean that. I'm just so scared.”

He sighed and switched his weight from one foot to the other. “It's your decision. She's your child. I could be wrong. My theory makes sense, but that car chase today doesn't back it up. If Lucetti wants you to do something or give him something, he needs you alive.”

“Maybe he was just trying to scare us.”

“That's a risky way to scare someone. If I'd lost control of that car, we both could have been killed.” The torment in her expression was so pronounced, Mac could almost feel it. “Mallory, it's your daughter who's missing. It should be you who weighs the risks and makes the decisions. If you want to drive back down to Beth's and tell the police, I'll go with you.”

She thought for several seconds before she replied. “No. Keith trusted you. For now, at least, I'll do what you say.” Her eyes sought his. “You don't think Lucetti will hurt her, do you? If we don't call the police and we cooperate?”

Mac could scarcely bear to look at her. There was no gentle way to tell her the truth, so he chose to say nothing at all. Before he realized his feet were moving, he was nearly up the bank. Two more steps and he was standing over her, feeling like a cumbersome clod as he grasped her shoulders. She wasn't a very large woman. Her collarbone felt fragile under his hands. The flood of tears he was expecting didn't come. Instead of leaning against him, Mallory pulled back. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she raised her chin.

“If he touches a hair on her head, I'll kill him,” she said evenly. “Come on, let's go.”

Mac took a moment to respond. For some reason, he'd always equated small with weak. Now he realized he couldn't have been more wrong. “Where?”

“To find him.”

There was a deadly gleam in her eye. If it hadn't been such an awful situation, Mac might have laughed. “Mallory, people like Lucetti are roaches. They crawl out of the woodwork after dark. We can't just drive into Seattle and look him up in the phone book. He keeps an extremely low profile. He's renowned for it. I've never even seen him. I don't even know anyone who has.”

“Then how do we find him?”

The question took him off guard. She was serious. If he pointed her in the right direction, she would take off without hesitation. “We have two choices. We can hit the streets. Start asking questions, which could take days and might get us nowhere, or we can wait for him to find us. That would probably be a lot quicker, judging by what happened this afternoon.”

“In other words, we should stay extremely visible?” She turned decisively toward the Volvo. “Then I'm going home. I can't get much more visible than that. You don't have to stay involved in this, Mac Phearson. She's not your daughter.”

He grabbed her arm, steering her away from the driver's door. “It's my car, remember? Where it goes, I go.”

“You'd be wiser to walk back to Beth's and call a cab. They'll be watching for the Volvo. I'll leave it parked at the hospital and you can pick it up after things have calmed down.” She looked up at him. “I'm serious, Mac Phearson. Why should you risk your neck? This isn't your problem.”

“Nobody ever said I was smart.” He studied her face for a moment, then shook his head and gave a halfhearted grin. “Keith asked for my help. He's my friend so I'm making it my problem, okay? You can't do this alone.”

“And why should you care? You scarcely know me. You've never even seen Em. Keith wouldn't hold it against you if you backed out now. He isn't that kind of fellow.”

“You forget I know what kind of fellow he is, probably better than anyone does.” Mac felt a strange tightness rise in his throat. “He did me a favor once, a big one. I owe him.”

“That's ridiculous. No matter how big a favor Keith did for you, you don't owe him your life.”

“Oh, I owe him, all right. There are some things you can't put a price on. Let's just leave it at that. Besides, you and I were nearly killed together this afternoon. You don't go through something like that with someone and then just walk away.”

“If it was me, I wouldn't be
walking
, I'd be running.”

“I doubt that.” Mac was surprised to realize he really meant it. “If it was my kid, you wouldn't rest until we had her home.”

“You're crazy, Mac Phearson,” she said softly.

“So you've been telling me most of the day.” He gave her a little shove and stepped toward the car. “And
please
, stop calling me Mac Phearson?”

“Bud?”

His gaze met hers over the top of the car. “My friends call me Mac.”

She paused by the passenger door, peering at him through the gloom. His friends? All day long, she'd been getting the distinct impression that he didn't like her. She tried to read his expression, but he was standing in the shadow of a tree, which made it impossible. Perhaps it was just as well. If he was making an overture, she should accept it and leave it at that, not wonder what had happened to change his mind. “All right, Mac it is.”

Once they were inside the car, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Again he braced himself for a deluge of tears. Shoving the shift into first, he eased the car forward, casting uneasy glances her way. “You okay?”

“No.” She straightened. “I—want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For staying.”

“No big deal. A few thrills every once in a while keeps life interesting.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her wiping a tear from her cheek. He pretended not to notice. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth for a moment, then dropped her fist onto her lap. “I'm going to get her back. If it's the last thing I do...”

“Correction.
We
are going to get her back. I told you earlier that I'd find her for you. That's a promise I intend to keep.” He sighed and adjusted his side mirror. “The way I figure it, Lucetti will get in touch if we make ourselves available, probably by phone.”

“To make a ransom demand?”

Mac frowned. “My gut instinct tells me it's not money he's wanting.”

“Earlier, you said you thought he needed me to do something, that he'd taken Em to use her as leverage against me. What could he need done that only I could do?”

Shaking his head, Mac threw her a puzzled glance. “I wish I knew.”

“Whatever it is, I'll do it. When it comes to my daughter's safety, the word
no
isn't in my vocabulary.”

“Then broaden your vocabulary,” he retorted softly. “
No
may be the most important word you can utter. We can't let him bully us. When he calls, you'll have to insist on speaking to Em, so we know she's all right. That's her life insurance. Unless you insist on that and keep insisting, he has nothing to gain by keeping—” He broke off and looked uncomfortable.

“No reason to keep her alive?” Mallory finished for him. Fear rushed through her, but she refused to give in to it. “Don't pull your punches, Mac Phearson. I need to know exactly what to expect.”

“If we don't talk to her, he can get rid of her without our realizing it,” he said hollowly. “There's no way we can second-guess what he wants or what he might say, but on that one point—assuring ourselves that Em is safe—we have to stand firm, no matter what he threatens. Think you can handle that? He's liable to get nasty.”

“I can handle anything if Em's life might depend on it.”

She sat quietly for a moment.

“You know,” she added thoughtfully, “I have a phone that's equipped with a speaker. We should probably turn it on when he calls so both of us can hear. If we listen closely, perhaps the background noise will give us a clue as to where he is keeping Em.”

“Good idea. We also need to find out everything else we can manage while you're talking to him. What he wants. Why he needs you. How Keith became involved with him. Any tidbit of information you can get out of him may help us find Emily.”

She murmured her agreement. In the darkness, he saw her face crumple before she turned to gaze out her window. He gripped the gear shift until his knuckles hurt. His first inclination was to stop the car and take her into his arms to comfort her, but he instinctively knew it wouldn't be wise. She wasn't the type who wept easily. Before she would break down in front of him, her pride would have to go. And right now, her pride, and fear for her child, were all that held her together.

Chapter Four

Mallory was quiet as Mac Phearson pulled his Volvo into her driveway. The windows of the house yawned black against the white siding. A shiver raised goose bumps on her skin. Without Em and Keith here, the place looked as lonely as a tomb, an impersonal mass of wood, plasterboard and brick. As they climbed out of the car, he shot uneasy glances over his shoulder to check the cul-de-sac. Her heart lifted with hope. Surely Lucetti knew where Keith lived. Coming home had to be the smartest move.

“Got a key?”

As she climbed the steps, she unzipped her bag and became so engrossed in her search she stubbed her toe. Mac snaked an arm around her waist and steadied her. Too tired to care, she leaned against him, letting him guide her up the remaining steps. “My keys aren't here.”

“What?” He released her and grabbed the purse. After rummaging a moment, he swore and dumped the contents of her handbag onto the porch. He sorted through the pile and then said, “Well, isn't that great. Did you leave them in your car?”

“No. The alarm goes off if I leave them in the ignition. I know I had them when I went into the hospital. I do have a spare set in the house for all the good it does me.” Mallory groaned and plopped down on the top step, hugging her bent knees. “I've heard of Murphy's Law, but this is too much.”

“I can get in. That's not what bugs me. Was there an opportunity for someone inside the hospital to have had a moment alone with your handbag?”

Mallory pursed her lips in thought. “I left it for a couple of seconds—right before I went into the ICU to see Keith, I stepped up the hall to a sitting area to get a
National Geographic
that I had seen earlier, lying there on a table. I wasn't gone but a second, though. And there wasn't anyone else in the hall.”

“A second is all it would take if someone was watching you, waiting for the right moment.”

“What makes you think they were stolen? I could have dropped them by your car when we left.”

“No, I would have heard them fall. Let me go check the floorboard.” He left her for a moment to search his car. As he walked back up the steps to the front yard, he called, “Nothing.”

“They could have spilled out when we were on 405. When the door was open. My purse might have gotten dumped.”

He leaned over to eye the assortment of odds and ends. “Pretty selective dumping. Besides, you had it zipped.”

“I could have zipped it while I was driving around the lake tonight. I remember looking for a tissue.”

“I still say that if the keys fell out, other things would have, too. Someone's rifled your purse. Look at all this stuff. And there's not a scrap inside the car.”

He lifted a wad of tissue and several other pieces of paper as if to use them to prove his point. One of them was a small photograph. He stared at it a moment and then dropped it onto the pile, but not before Mallory glimpsed her daughter's face. Her hand flew toward the photo. A small cry escaped her before she could bite it back.
Emily.
Mallory could almost hear her giggle, smell her hair and the curve of her neck where silken curls escaped her braids. Was she alive? Hungry, cold? Not knowing was awful. Funny how clearly she could remember her first smile, her first tooth, her first step. And, oh, how the memories hurt. Like a knife twisting in her guts. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she rocked forward until her chest nearly touched her knees.

Mac sighed and crouched next to Mallory, placing his hand on her hair at the back of her neck. The warmth of his touch was nearly her undoing. Tears burned in her throat, forming a huge lump that suffocated her. Closing her eyes, Mallory clung to what little self-control she had left and conjured a vision of her mother to put some starch back into her spine. Crying in front of a stranger would be the unforgivable sin in Norma Steele's books.
Ladies
didn't make spectacles of themselves,
not ever
. And her mother was right. How could she help Emily if she was falling apart.

Keeping her head bowed, she straightened her shoulders. “I'm handling this badly. Just, um, give me a second. I'll—”

“You'll what? Pretend everything's fine for another hour? I think you're handling this better than most people could.”

“No, I'm not.”

Her voice floated up to Mac no louder than a whisper. He studied her bent head and wished he knew what to say to her. There was no shame in tears, after all. But she seemed to think so. Who had done this to her? Beneath his hand, he could feel her shaking, feel the brittle tension in the column of her neck.

“I'm not real good at comforting people, but I've got a great shoulder to lend you. Absorbent, anyway.” Mac watched her, feeling inept. Why couldn't he just say what he meant, that he wouldn't mind holding her? The words caught at the base of his throat. “I—Mallory, come here.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Crying never solved anything. In my family...” Her voice trailed off.

With a heavy sigh, he cupped her chin and lifted her face. His touch felt sandpapery and warm against Mallory's skin, so strong and solid that she wanted to lean into it. In the moonlight, his eyes shimmered silver, delving so deeply into hers she felt as if he knew her every thought.

“Crying may not solve anything, but it sure can make you feel better sometimes.”

“How would you know?”

“Experience. When my little brother—” He broke off and shrugged one shoulder. “There have been a few times. Over in Nam. Here. We all have to let go sometimes.” He tightened his grip on her chin. “The point is, you don't have to pretend with me, okay? There's no sin in having feelings.”

Drawing away from him, Mallory dragged in a deep breath of air, acutely conscious of his other hand where it still rested against her hair. “It's just that I feel so helpless, so alone. When something happens to your kids, you expect to have the other parent to share it with. You can lean on each other, you know? I'm so
scared
. I wish it was me instead of her. If only it was.”

He slid his hand to her shoulder, draping his other arm across his bent knee. He studied the brick pattern of the porch for a long while. “I know I'm a poor substitute for your husband or Keith, but you're not alone. And if you need that shoulder I offered, I won't think any less of you for it.”

“I'm afraid that's not saying a lot.”

He looked up at her. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That you don't think much of me anyway.”

She felt his thumb rasp along the arm seam of her jacket, saw the corners of his mouth quiver with a repressed smile. “It's a bad habit, I guess, judging people by their addresses.”

A peculiar awareness electrified the air between them. Not sensual, but powerful just the same, a drawing together, a feeling of having known one another always. It frightened her. They had been thrown together by crazy circumstances, then shaken up for most of the day like the dried seeds in a maraca. There hadn't been time for the usual proprieties, and now it seemed too late for them. Her emotions were roller coastering out of control. She wanted him to set her world right again, to put his arms around her, to hold her, to stroke her hair, to make everything better. It was stupid, ridiculous, childish, but she wanted it with such an intensity she ached. The fact that he was a complete stranger made that realization pretty scary.

He seemed as uneasy as she with the feelings erupting between them. She was relieved when he broke the building tension by giving her shoulder a pat and standing.

He gazed down the street, his expression thoughtful. “It's scary to realize how close you came to trouble today. Before I ever got to the hospital, one of Lucetti's men got near enough to you to go through your purse.”

Until this moment, Mallory hadn't thought of it that way. She had been in danger and hadn't even known it. She threw an incredulous glance at the pile of junk from her purse. “I wonder why they wanted my keys? To strip the house? Steal my car?”

“Lucetti isn't into small-time theft. My guess is, he wanted to get into the house to search for something. Or he thought you might have the key to something he needs opened.”

“Like what?”

“Beats me.” He turned and patted all his pockets. Pausing next to her, he said, “I need my lock picks. Be right back.”

Lock picks? Mallory watched him lope to his car. After rummaging in his trunk for a moment, he returned, carrying a key ring with a number of small tools attached to it. She watched him select and try three picks before he found the right one. Seconds later, she heard the door latch assembly click.

“Do you have any idea how much money we invested in that lock?” she asked.

He smiled and pocketed the key ring. “If it's any consolation, the average burglar probably couldn't pick it. It's a high-quality lock.”

“Which you just opened in a matter of seconds.”

“Dead bolts are a better investment. For night security, I recommend the type that locks from the inside and doesn't have an outside keyhole.”

She scooped everything back into her purse and stood, not at all sure she was pleased that he was so adept at breaking and entering, or that he knew so much about locks. What kind of man was he? As she walked toward the open door, she realized that it didn't really matter to her what kind of person he was, not as long as he would help her find Emily. “I don't suppose I should ask where you learned to do that.”

He stepped back so she could enter. “Probably not.” Pausing behind her, he glanced around the large entry. She sensed a sudden wariness in him. “Come back out to the car a sec. I want to take another look for your keys. I need you to hold the light.” He motioned toward the porch. Once they were outside with the door closed, he whispered, “Another reason just hit me why he might have wanted your keys. To plant bugs. With your keys, they could get right in without alarming any of your neighbors by picking the lock or breaking the door.”

“Listening devices? In my house?”

“I should have thought of it immediately. If he's going to hold Em for ransom, he'll want to be sure you don't call the cops. The best way to do that would be to listen to everything you say. Which puts us in a spot. We can't let him know who I am.”

“Why?”

“I'm a professional. He won't like me being in on this.”

“Then maybe you'd better leave.”

“No way. We'll just have to be careful.”

“But if he learns who you are, it could endanger Em.”

“And if you do the wrong thing, it could endanger her even more. You need my help, Mallory. There has to be a way.”

“Like what?”

He thought for a moment. “We'll be lovers.”

“We'll be
what?
”

He clamped his hand over her mouth, then slowly lowered it. “Lovers. Say we've been seeing each other for six months. Things have gotten cozy. It'd seem natural for me to be here. Keith's in the hospital, your kid's been snatched. I'd hang around, stick close, give you moral support. All it'll take is a little playacting.”

“How
much
playacting?”

“Enough to be convincing.” He caught her shocked expression and rolled his eyes. “Not
that
much, for heaven's sake.”

“It's not that. It's just that I'm afraid I can't do it.”

He pressed his fist against her chin jokingly. “Hey, it'll be easy. Just don't call me Mac Phearson. He might recognize the name. Mac or Hey-You, but not Mac Phearson. I'll do the rest.”

The front door swung open beneath his hand with a loud creak. He preceded her into the entry, the soles of his sneakers grabbing the tile.

For some reason, the thought that there might be monitors in her house was the final blow to her self-control. She began to shake and couldn't stop. All evening, she had fought off tears and hysteria, telling herself there would be time for that later. Now she realized there wasn't going to be. Her only sanctuary had been invaded.

Mac must have seen her trembling. He paused and curled his arm around her to draw her against him. Being closer to him helped somehow. The tremors running through her body subsided. She pressed her face into the hollow of his shoulder. Soap, cologne, leather and the faint aroma of hot dogs—a nice smell, ordinary and comforting. The steady beat of his heart lulled her fears. His arms were hard and warm. He ran a hand over her hair and she felt his callous palm catch on the strands. He was wonderfully sturdy when nothing else was, and she dreaded the moment when he would move away from her.

“You okay?”

She found the strength to nod. He gave her back a pat and left her again, disappearing into the shadows. Sudden light blinded her. She blinked and tried to focus. With detached curiosity, she watched him move about the hall, running his hands along the door frames. When she realized he was searching for hidden microphones, she began to help, sliding her fingertips under the edge of the table, behind the painting of the Puget Sound, through the dried flowers. They found nothing, but that still didn't mean there weren't bugs in a nearby room.

“I really appreciate your staying over,” she said, praying she didn't sound too stiff and formal. “Good friends make times like this bearable. Are you sure it's not too much trouble?”

She saw a gleam of approval flicker in his eyes. “I wouldn't have it any other way, sweetheart.”

They walked the length of the entry into the kitchen, which adjoined a breakfast nook to the left, a formal dining room to the right. Mac hit the light switch as they passed through the doorway. Mallory turned to stare at the rose-and-cream tiles on the counters, at the oak cupboards and trim. Day before yesterday, she had made breakfast in here. Em had stood chattering at her elbow. Now it seemed like a lifetime ago.

Mac motioned toward a chair in the breakfast nook. Then, shrugging out of his jacket, he draped it across the bar. He took quick stock of his surroundings and began to check the kitchen for hidden listening devices. Taking her cue from him, Mallory ignored his signal to sit down and searched the two adjoining rooms. This
was
her house, after all. She would notice if anything was out of place when he might not.