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When the clock struck ten thirty, the phone rang almost simultaneously. Both of them leaped from their chairs and whirled to stare at it. Then sanity returned. Mallory crossed the room, made sure the speaker was on and lifted the receiver. “H-hello?”

“Mrs. Christiani? I trust you slept well?”

The voice on the other end of the line was so smug that anger flashed through Mallory. She tightened her grip on the phone. “I slept quite well, thank you.”

The silence that followed her cool reply gave her a sense of satisfaction. Mac had been right. Lucetti had delayed calling to gain an emotional advantage. For once, she was grateful to her mother. She might sweat, but Lucetti would never know it.

“Listen carefully. I have reason to believe that—”

“Excuse me,” Mallory cut in. “You're forgetting I requested that my daughter be put on the phone. First things first.”

“Have you ever visited the King County Morgue to identify a body, Mrs. Christiani?”

Mallory's legs quivered. She glanced at Mac, licked her lips and said, “Yes, as a matter of fact. I'm a retired nurse and I've worked in the hospital morgue.” Mac's eyes locked with hers and he gave her a thumbs-up signal as he walked toward her. A proud grin slanted across his mouth. She pressed a trembling hand to her throat. “I think perhaps we've reached a stalemate. Mr. Mac Phearson made our position quite clear last night. Call back when you can put my daughter on the phone.”

With that, Mallory hung up. For a moment, absolute silence resounded in the room. Then Mac let out his breath in a rush. Mallory threw him a frightened look.

“Oh, Mac—” She clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

Mac came over to stand beside her. “You did the right thing. He'll call back, honey. And when he does, he won't play mind games.”

Mallory nodded and made an odd little sound behind her palm, half sob and half hysterical laughter. She prayed he was right, that she hadn't just signed Em's death warrant. The phone rang again, making her jerk. Her eyes flew open. Mac put an arm around her and held her clasped to his side as she reached out for the phone.

“Just stay cool,” he whispered.

Mallory gulped down panic and lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Mommy?”

Joy welled within Mallory, so intense that she couldn't speak for a moment. She moved closer to the phone, as if somehow she could get closer to her child. That precious little voice ran over her like sunshine. “Em? Oh, Em! How are you, princess?”

“Fine. Mommy, why didn't you tell me I had to stay someplace new? I felt awfully angry with you at first. Is Gramps better yet? I'm tired of staying places. I wanna come home. I miss you, Mommy. And you forgot to bring me Ragsdale.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “You promised you would when we found out I forgot him, remember? I've had bad mares for two nights now.”

The scolding note in her daughter's voice brought a fresh rush of tears. “Nightmares, you mean? Not bad ones, I hope? I wanted to bring you Ragsdale, darling, but something came up and I—I couldn't. Em, are the people there treating you nice?”

“Yes, but I'm—” Emily's voice broke off “—homesick. I can't talk more, Mommy. We don't got enough quarters.”

“Em? Em!”

“Satisfied, Mrs. Christiani?”

Mallory leaned heavily against Mac, drawing strength from him. “For the moment, yes.”

“I'll call back with the instructions.”

The phone clicked and went dead. Mallory threw Mac another panicked glance. “He's afraid to stay on the line too long in case we're trying to trace him,” he explained. “It'll be a few minutes. He'll call from another phone so he can't be located.”

Mallory grabbed the back of a bar stool and swung into it. “That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. The very hardest.”

“I know, but you didn't show it. That's what counts. I thought you were the lady who couldn't act?”

Mallory leaned her head back. “That wasn't an act. It was just—” She broke off and licked her lower lip. “You'd have to know my mother. A regimental upbringing comes in handy.”

Mac lifted an eyebrow. “Regimental?”

Mallory met his gaze. “How long before he calls?”

He glanced at his watch. “Another five minutes, probably. So we wait again.” He studied her for a moment. “I'm curious. What is a regimental upbringing? Tell me about your mom.”

Mallory hesitated, but something in his expression—she had no idea what—made her start talking. When she finished, she couldn't remember exactly what she had said, but Mac's expression, which had started her talking in the first place, had subtly altered. “Do you like your mother?”

“Of course I do. I love her.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

“I admire her.”

“But do you like her?”

Mallory frowned. “That's a terrible thing to ask.”

“Only when you can't say yes.” He caught her by the chin, his eyes searching hers. Then the phone rang and interrupted them. Mallory turned on the bar stool, her heart slamming.

“Wait for the third ring so we don't appear too anxious.”

Her hand shook as she reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

“Listen carefully,” the now-familiar voice hissed. “As I mentioned last night, I have reason to believe your father-in-law put the package in his safe-deposit box. You find that box key and get the package. Once you have it, return with it to your home. I'll phone you there to arrange a meeting place for the exchange.”

“How will you know when I've gotten the box opened?”

“I have you under constant surveillance, so I'll know.”

“And what if I can't find the key?”

“For your child's sake, find it. You have twenty-four hours. Countdown begins now.”

The moment the phone went dead, Mallory dropped the receiver and made a fist in her hair. “Twenty-four hours! He can't expect—what kind of miracle worker does he think I am?”

“That's not what has me worried. Are you on the safe-deposit contract at the bank?”

“The what?”

“The contract. It just occurred to me that if you aren't authorized to open that box, key or no key, they won't let you touch it. Did you ever go in to the bank and sign a release?”

Pressing her hand to her forehead, Mallory tried to remember. “I—I don't know. I've signed so many things. After Darren died, there was so much red tape, so many contracts and releases and affidavits. Keith, being a lawyer, was relentless about having everything done to the letter.”

“Let's hope he didn't forget any minor details, like giving you access to his deposit box. If you aren't on that contract, it would take a court order to get the box opened even with a key.”

Mallory's hopes lifted. “But, Mac, if I
am
on the contract, couldn't I have the box drilled myself?”

“Sure. But it might take too much time. One locksmith is authorized by the bank chain to drill their boxes, and it'd be our luck he'd be in Spokane or someplace. Let's see about the contract first.”

Mac leafed through the phone book, ran his finger down a page, then punched out a phone number. A woman's voice came over the speaker, “Good morning, Ann speaking.”

“Yes, Ann, this is Keith Christiani. I'd like to do some checking on my safe-deposit box contract. I need to find out if my daughter-in-law, Mallory Christiani, is down as an authorized user?”

“One moment, please.” When the woman came back on the line, she said, “No, Mrs. Christiani's signature isn't on file. If you'd like for her to be, it's a simple matter of signatures.”

Mac closed his eyes for a moment in disappointment, then angled a meaningful look at Mallory. “I might do that. Well, um, thank you.” Dropping the receiver into its cradle, Mac turned and leaned a hip against the counter. “That's not good news.”

Mallory could feel her blood pounding in her temples, hear the pulse beats going
swish-swish
in her ears. “But we
have
to open it. What are we going to do? Does that mean that even if we manage to find the key, we can't get the package?”

A distant, thoughtful look crept into his eyes. “No, it just means we can't get it legally.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that once we find the key, I'll have to forge Keith's signature and pray I'm good enough they don't suspect.”

“Couldn't you get in trouble? What if they caught you? Someone there might know Keith on sight. He isn't exactly a nobody in town, you know! If they're that strict about who can open those boxes, you could be arrested or something.”

“It wouldn't be the first time.” He chucked her under the chin. “Don't look so horrified. It isn't a hanging offense.”

“You mean it, don't you? You'd actually risk jail.”

“Don't pin wings on my shoulders. You can't pass for Keith, so I'm elected, simple as that. So where do we start? His car or the office? We have to start searching. Like you said, a key could be almost anywhere.”

A key. A cold prickle began at Mallory's nape and crept up to her scalp. Keith's face flashed before her. She remembered how his hand had clawed the air when she had mentioned that her father had lost the motor-home key. Now she realized what he had been trying to tell her. “Mac!”

He glanced over at her. “What?”

In a rush, she told him what had occurred yesterday. “Do you suppose we could set up some kind of signal to question him?”

Mac shook his head. “It's no use. I tried that yesterday before you arrived. He hasn't got enough control over his body. If he could open and close his eyes upon command—anything like that—we could set up a signal, but he can't. Trying just frustrates him. Unless he improves dramatically, we're on our own.” He sighed. “Well? Where do you want to look first?”

“My vote is his office. He was there when he collapsed, so it seems the most logical starting point. And if the key isn't there, maybe we'll find a clue to lead us to it.”

Chapter Seven

The moment Mac and Mallory stepped into the lobby of the law firm, they froze. The elegant room looked as if a quake had hit: furniture upside down, plants dumped on the rug, paintings hanging askew. Trudy, the secretary, sat at her rifled desk speaking on the telephone with the insurance adjuster, one hand buried in her graying blond hair. Her tortoiseshell eyeglasses were perched on the end of her nose so she could see over the rims to assess the damage.

“Nothing valuable was stolen, and nothing seems to be missing from our files.” She rolled her eyes. “And how long will that take? I can't leave things like
this
, you know.”

“What on earth happened?” Mallory asked, the moment Trudy hung up.

“Vandals,” she replied with a groan. “This is how I found it this morning. Awful, isn't it? All three offices. Keith's got it the worst.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I wasn't going to tell you. I figured you had enough on your plate.”

Mac stepped over a pile of potting soil and the wilted remains of a fern. “How many offices in the building were hit?”

“Only ours. I guess we were the most convenient.”

Mac's gray eyes met Mallory's in silent communication. Turning simultaneously, they headed for Keith's office. The mess in the lobby didn't prepare Mallory for the destruction that greeted them. Nothing of Keith's had been left unmolested. Even his law books lay scattered on the floor. His files had been dumped, his desk gutted, the phones disassembled. The top had even been pried off the IBM Selectric. His sofa and chair had been slit open, the stuffing strewn everywhere on the rug. With a grim scowl, Mac planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the wreckage.

“Well, I wonder if they found it.”

Mallory could only stare. The photos of her and Em had been taken apart. Keith's snow globe was shattered. Clearly the intruders had been searching for something small, like a key. “What if they did? Why is he doing this? I don't understand.”

“Doesn't make sense, does it?” He sighed and gave the room another once-over. “From the looks of things, they didn't miss anything. That's a good indication.”

“It must be Lucetti. It has to be. Who else could it be?”

“That's a question I can't even start to answer. And, given the time schedule, I don't have time to find out. Tunnel vision, Mallory. We have to stay focused on one thing, finding that damned key.” He scattered a pile of papers with the toe of his loafer. “Why is he undermining you like this?”

She walked to a file. “Looking now will be twice as hard. He must realize that. Maybe it wasn't even Lucetti who did it.”

“And if not, then who?” He shook his head. “No point in even bothering to look here.”

She knew he was right, but desperation made her refuse to admit it. “They might have missed it. A key is so small.”

“Mallory.” Mac's voice was low pitched and persuasive. “Come on. It's hopeless. They put everything through a sifter.”

“Let's check his car, then.”

“Where is it? We've got to get ahead of them.”

“Out back.”

Trudy was on the phone rescheduling appointments when they returned to the lobby. She excused herself and said, “Awful, isn't it?”

“Sure is,” Mac agreed. “Did you call the police?”

“First thing.”

He gave a brisk nod. “We'll be in touch, okay?”

“Tell Keith I'm thinking of him. I hoped to go see him today if they moved him from the ICU, but this—” she waved her hand at the mess “—has changed my plans.” Her green eyes rested on Mallory's pale face and clouded with sympathy. “Keep your chin up, honey. He'll pull through.”

Guilt washed over Mallory. She hadn't given poor Keith much thought since yesterday. Not trusting herself to speak, she slipped out the door ahead of Mac. Leading the way down the hall to the front exit, she blinked back tears. Tears wouldn't help Em. Like Mac said, she had to get tough. If only it were her in danger instead of her child. She felt so helpless. All her maternal instincts were screaming at her to do something. As she drew near the door, it seemed to her that the tapping of her heels sang,
The key, the key, you have to find the key.
If someone else had found it, how could she ransom her daughter? How much of their twenty-four hours had been wasted by coming here? Time was slipping away, each second taking them closer to deadline. Her mind stumbled on the first half of that word.
Dead.
Oh, Em, I love you. I couldn't bear losing you.

She felt Mac come up behind her, felt his sleeve brush the back of hers.

“You okay?”

Mallory sighed and glanced over her shoulder at him. How many times had he asked her that since last night? Concern lined his face. Well, that was all about to change. A person could only become so scared. Then numbness set in. After that came resignation. Lucetti had Em, and there was nothing she could do to change that. But that didn't mean she couldn't fight back.

When she stepped outside, the morning breeze touched her cheeks and whispered softly through her hair. Above her in a gnarled elm, a pair of birds twittered and hopped from branch to branch, celebrating the sunshine. Tipping her face skyward, Mallory absorbed the warmth and parted her lips to take a bracing draught of fresh air. The expanse of blue overhead was the color of robin eggs, the clouds fluffy wisps of white. “Do you believe in God, Mac?”

He studied the branches silhouetted above them, the azure sky, as if the answer to her question lay there. “Not the way you probably do. I don't attend church and go to pancake breakfasts, that kind of stuff.”

Her gaze rested on his upturned profile, on the crooked bridge of his nose, the tiny scar above his eyebrow, the rock-hard line of his jaw. He was incredibly handsome, but not in a refined way, more rugged and rough, like one might expect an ex-boxer to look. She tried to imagine him at a stuffy church brunch and found herself smiling the first real smile in days. Did he really think the sum total of her life revolved around linen napkins and place settings? “But you do believe?”

His gray eyes fell to hers, eyes so clear, so transparent that a reply wasn't necessary. “He watches out for fools and children, you know. She's going to come through this okay.”

Taking another deep breath, she stuffed her hands deep into her blazer pockets. “Yes, I think she is, too. I
know
it. I've already lost my husband. It wouldn't be fair if I lost Em.”

“Nope, sure wouldn't.”

“Besides,” she added lightly, “we have you on our side. I'd say that stacks the odds in our favor.”

With that unsettling vote of confidence, she turned and struck off down the walkway toward the corner of the building.

Spying a pay phone, he asked her to wait.

She slowed her pace and fell in beside him to walk to the booth. Mac quickly scanned the area, then left her outside, digging in his pocket for a quarter. Dropping the coin into the slot, he punched out Shelby's number.
No answer.
With a sigh, he hung up and left the booth, shrugging one shoulder.

“It figures. Good ol' Shelb. Never home when I need him.”

He trailed her to the back parking lot, his gaze shifting constantly, alert for movements between the cars, in the shrubbery. He didn't want to remind Mallory of the men who had tried to kill them yesterday, especially not right now when she seemed to be rallying, but it was something he couldn't afford to forget. Someone else searching for the key might prove to be the least of their problems. She led the way to a silver Lincoln, then stopped to stare at it in dismay.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Keys! My set was on the ring that was stolen yesterday.”

“I carry a master key in my car. Be right back.”

She watched him take off at a lope toward the client parking area on the other side of the building. A master key? Until now, she hadn't known such a thing existed. Moments later, he returned with two long pieces of flat, flexible metal with yellow handles at one end and cutout hooks at the other. “Slim Jims.”

“I thought those were illegal unless you worked for a company that had uses for them.”

“I'm a company, and I definitely have a use for them.” A flush crept up his neck as he worked the pieces of metal through the crack of the car window and fished with the hooks for a hold on the lock switch. “Mallory, there are two things you need to learn. Turn your head and don't look if I ask you to, and don't say the word
illegal
loud enough for a cop to hear. Even when I'm completely legitimate, it makes me nervous.”

A grin curved her mouth. “Then they
are
illegal.”

Teasing laughter lit up his eyes. “Only if I get caught or someone yells
illegal
at the top of her lungs in a public parking lot.” He stepped back and opened the car door. “The end justifies the means. Scout's honor, I don't steal stereos.”

He muttered something else under his breath as he leaned inside the car. “Pardon me?” she queried. He muttered it again and she moved closer. “Sorry...what?”

He threw her a glare. “I said I don't, anymore.” He was fanning his arm under the driver's seat, so the words came up from the floorboard muffled.

“You don't what anymore?”

“Steal stereos.”

Mallory's grin disappeared. “Oh, come on, you've never robbed people's cars with those.”

“It's called thugging, not robbing. And no, not with these. My old set had black handles. Yellow would show up after dark like a beacon.
These
are legally in my possession and I only use them for legitimate purposes. In my line of work, getting into cars is often a necessity. I've cracked a lot of cases from clues I found in locked automobiles.” When he straightened, he hit his head on the steering wheel and cursed under his breath, rubbing his temple as he fell back against the seat. He hesitated when he saw her staring at him, and his scowl deepened. “What's the matter? Did I just lose my angel wings?”

Was that hostility she saw flaring in his eyes? She avoided looking directly at him. “Not at all. I'm simply curious. You're saying you were a thugger of automobiles?”

“A
thugger
? Mallory, thugging is something you do, not what you are. And I really don't want to get into my history.”

Her eyes flew back to his. “That isn't fair. Why say something like that if you don't want to elaborate?”

“Because I didn't want to give you a false—” He broke off, his jaw muscle knotting as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. “Elaborate? You spew big words like a walking dictionary.”

She hadn't imagined the hostility. It glowed like banked embers in his eyes. What had she said or done to set him off?

“You know what bugs me the worst about people like you?” he snapped. “You're
relieved
I got the car open,
glad
I had the Slim Jims, but you'll still stand there and look superior because my having them may be on the shady side of legal.” He pressed the panel button to unlock all the Lincoln's doors, his eyes narrowed. “I'm sorry if I offend your refined sensibilities. Don't worry. I'm not breaking the law, okay?”

The contempt in his expression was unmistakable. Since
sensibilities
wasn't exactly monosyllabic, she wondered what his problem was. “What do you mean, people like me? Just what kind of a person am I?”

“Let's just drop it.” He slid out of the car and loomed over her, the Slim Jims dangling from his right hand. In slacks and a sport coat, he looked too respectable to have ever engaged in street theft. “We've got a key to find, remember? No time to discuss your character faults.” He slanted her a look that spoke volumes. “Or
mine
. Don't worry. I won't rub off on you. Hopefully the same will hold true in reverse.”

She felt as if she had been slapped. He was already back inside the car, running his hands along the underside of the dash. She went around to the passenger side. As she rifled the glove box, she said, “You think I'm a snob, don't you?”

He jerked down the visor. “You said it.”

She slammed the box closed and nearly stood on her head to check the underside of the seat. “Well, I'm not. You shouldn't judge people before you know them.”

“If that isn't the pot calling the— Oh, never mind. I don't want to argue with you, Mallory, okay? We have enough trouble.”

“When have I behaved like a snob to you? Name one time.”

“You need me right now, though. Naturally you'll treat me nice. Let's see how thick we are when this is over, shall we?”

“Are you implying that I'm
using
you? That I'm only being civil because I need you?”

He made no reply. His silence was all the answer she needed. He opened the rear door on his side of the car. She did likewise and watched him pull on the back seat. When she realized he was trying to remove it from the car, she grabbed handholds to help him. “One question, Mr. Mac Phearson. If you dislike people like me so much, why are you doing all this?”

Stony silence was his only response.

“Are you going to answer me? Why put yourself out for a Bellevue
snob
that spews words like a walking encyclopedia?”

“Dictionary.”
He tipped the seat at an angle so it would fit through the door opening. Seconds later, he pulled it free. “I told you, I owe Keith. Isn't that good enough? Or don't you people repay favors?”

He made it sound as if she came from another planet. “Someone
did
try to kill us yesterday. I suppose that's an everyday occurrence to
you
people.” It gave her a perverse satisfaction to see him flinch. Served him right. There was such a thing as reversed snobbery, and he had a bad case of it.