DANGEROUS, Collection #1 Page 3

  And yet he found himself asking, "Do we have an appointment?" He'd been so distracted since Cheryl disappeared that anything might have slipped his mind.

  "No, that we do not. I just took a chance on your seeing me." Drawing closer, she held out her hand and said, "Keelin McKenna."

  She spoke with a melodic inflection that was distinctly Irish. Her low voice stirred him for a moment and he stared, caught by some odd connection, the sensation deepening when their hands clasped. Her gaze meshed with his, and from the surprise he noted in the depths of her eyes, he would swear she noted it, also.

  Then reality set in.

  Cheryl was missing and his thinking of anything more personal was inappropriate.

  Releasing the woman's hand and taking a step back, Tyler said, "I'm sorry. Today's not a good day."

  "But I must speak to you," she insisted.

  "Ty, there you are." Coming from the stairs, Brock stalked him. "We have to talk. Now."

  Mr. Popularity. Suddenly everyone wanted his attention at the same time. Tyler was oddly relieved by his partner's demand. "All right. In my office." He started to go.

  "But Mr. Leighton–"

  Interrupting the woman, he spoke in an impersonal tone even as he kept on walking. "My administrative assistant should be back any minute. Perhaps she can take care of you."

  "But it's not her I'm here to see."

  He followed Brock inside his office, turning to say, "Then she'll give you an appointment for later in the week."

  Please, God, let Cheryl be found by then.

  The woman crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. "I am not vacating the premises until I've had a word with you about your–"

  "Sorry." With regret that went deeper than a fear of being rude, he closed the door in her face and turned to his partner, who seemed reluctant to look him in the eye. That certainly didn't bode well. "Brock, what's the problem?" He was expecting his partner to bring up a new twist in the law suit against L&O Realty.

  Planting his stocky body directly next to Tyler's massive mahogany desk, Brock muttered, "I know my timing stinks...but I want out." He followed the explosive statement with a big breath and ran a hand through his silver-shot hair.

  "What?" Tyler stopped short. Surely he misunderstood...

  "This has to be a shock, especially now with all you have on your mind. I was planning on telling you yesterday, but then Cheryl disappeared, and it didn't seem like the time."

  Tyler was stunned. He hadn't misunderstood. Brock wanted out of the business. "This isn't the time." If ever.

  "Yeah, it is. It's actually been a long time in coming." Brock's hazel eyes were steady when he explained, "We're full partners, Ty, but not so that anyone would know it. When someone mentions L&O Realty, people think of you."

  Not that their partnership had started out that way. Tyler had always had more drive than his laid-back partner. Things had evolved as they were over years. Brock had never before complained.

  "So this is about ego?" Tyler asked.

  "It's way beyond something so simple." Brock seemed almost regretful as he explained, "I'm tired of being pigeonholed. Unappreciated."

  "I appreciate the hell out of you, Brock."

  "Only because I do the work that doesn't interest you any more. You can focus on redeveloping buildings, redeveloping dreams, while I handle the boring day-to-day details of rentals and sales."

  Tyler felt as if he'd been blindsighted. How had he missed this? He couldn't conceive of a decade-long partnership ending without warning.

  "If you've been dissatisfied, why haven't you said something before?"

  "I've tried in a dozen different ways. Maybe not directly enough...Why couldn't you have been listening?"

  Not the first time he'd been accused of being so focused on his own goals and desires that he couldn't recognize someone else's needs. Guilt rocked Tyler. He regretted that he'd failed the man with whom he'd built his success. Surely it wasn't too late.

  "Look, Brock, give me some time, would you? I'm not all here right now, but I know I don't want this to happen. And I hope you don't really, either. If we put our heads together, we can work things out. I promise I'll try to give you whatever it is you need."

  Tyler moved around him, planted himself before a window overlooking Lincoln Park. Arms crossed before his chest, he stared out at the lush trees and flowerbeds near the south pond with blind eyes. Everything seemed to be caving in on him. The accident at the Wicker Park site. The lawsuit. His daughter. Feldman. Now this.

  "All I can concentrate on right now is Cheryl," he said, trying to forget the rest.

  "You know how much I love your girl. She calls me Uncle Brock for Crissakes."

  Desperate, Tyler thought of something that might make Brock feel more needed while taking a worry off his shoulders. He turned to face the partner he didn't want to lose.

  "Listen, Brock, Nate Feldman's breathing down my neck about the North Michigan Avenue project. You could take over for me, there."

  "Feldman?" A pregnant pause was followed by Brock's careful, "What do you think he's up to?"

  "Probably something devious."

  "Hell!" Brock's tense expression intensified.

  "Put this split idea on hold, would you, Brock? At least until I find Cheryl."

  At the mention of his daughter's name, the door burst open and his assistant, Pamela Redmond, ran into his office so fast the chestnut top knot she wore to make her look taller threatened to topple. "The Whole Story," she gasped, clearly out of breath as if she'd run straight up the stairs. "Channel 8!"

  Tyler retrieved the remote control and turned on the television in the wall unit to see his own face staring back at him.

  "Cheryl wouldn't have run away. She had no reason. She was a happy kid. A normal kid. She wasn't involved in gangs or drugs. We had a great relationship. We never even fought."

  He lowered the sound as the anchor's voice-over continued with speculation about the case.

  "That was supposed to be hard news footage, for God's sake!" Tyler couldn't take his eyes off the screen, off the image of his missing daughter. "I'd be furious that some electronic rag is bandying around my personal life if I weren't so worried about Cheryl."

  "Right. Think of the positive," Pamela said, her dark eyes melting with concern. "Maybe this piece will alert someone who's seen her...like happens with that missing persons program."

  "I hope so. I'd be thankful for anything that'd bring her back."

  Tyler only hoped the producers of the tabloid show wouldn't continue to follow up certain nuances of the story...like an investigation into Cheryl's mother's death...

  "Listen, Ty," Brock said, his agitation clearly growing. "I'm sorry this is all hitting you at the same time, but you're going to have to deal with my wanting out. Soon."

  Realizing commercial filled the screen, Tyler shut off the television. "We'll talk about it after Cheryl is safe." The look he gave his partner pleaded with him not to object.

  Square jaw tightening, bobbing his head in agreement, Brock turned toward the door.

  "You can leave, as well, Pamela," Tyler told her, feeling the need to be alone for a while so he could brood in solitude.

  His assistant backed off, but said, "There's a woman who's been waiting to see you. A Keelin McKenna."

  Envisioning a cloud of auburn hair and clear gray eyes, Tyler muttered, "She's still here? Get rid of her. Nicely, of course."

  "You will not be rid of me just yet," came a soft lilting return from the doorway.

  Tyler started as the Irishwoman entered his office uninvited. "Now see here–"

  "You just said that you would be thankful for anything that might help bring back your daughter."

  His gut tensed. "What about Cheryl?"

  "Uh, I have some work to do," Pamela said, making her exit. "I'll just leave you two alone."

  The door closed and Tyler stared at Miss Keelin McKenna. "I'm waiting."

  "A seat?"
she murmured as if he'd offered her one. "Why, yes, thank you." Then she crossed to the couch and three upholstered chairs set around a heavy coffee table.

  "So sit already and spill." When her forehead creased as if in puzzlement, he said, "Talk. What do you know about my daughter's whereabouts?"

  She sank into one of the chairs. "I wish I could tell you where to find her."

  "So you don't know, after all." He stalked her, towered over her, hoped to intimidate her into the truth. "Then why are you wasting my time?"

  "Because I might be able to help puzzle it out."

  Tyler narrowed his gaze on the woman. His antennae went on alert and rightly so. He wasn't a man who suffered fools easily. And he was used to people coming to him with hair-brained schemes in hopes of separating him from some of his money.

  "So how much do you want? For your help?"

  She shook her head. "I have no interest in monetary payment, Mr. Leighton."

  "What, then?"

  "My reasons are personal."

  "And obviously you aren't going to share."

  If he thought he could goad her into slipping, he was wrong. Her gaze steady, she waited. For his permission to continue? He sat and gestured for her to go on.

  Keelin took a deep breath. "I have rather unusual dreams. Not dreams, really. More like visions that come to me while I sleep." Her tongue darted to wet her lips as if she were having trouble getting the words out. "I see through other people's eyes...know their thoughts...like I'm inside their heads."

  Great. A kook. Any hope he might have had dashed, Tyler indicated the door. "You're wasting my time."

  She didn't budge. "I've seen through your daughter's eyes twice, Mr. Leighton. First when she ran away and–"

  "Cheryl didn't have any reason to run away!"

  She continued, "And the second time when someone found her."

  The skin at the back of Tyler's neck crawled. What was wrong with him. He didn't believe in E.S.P. or whatever this was supposed to be. He didn't believe her and a story that was too preposterous for words.

  "Look, you've got the wrong man. Give up on it."

  "You live in a huge home on the lake and opposite a ravine," she went on calmly, as if he hadn't spoken.

  "Which you undoubtedly saw in a news clip."

  "Your daughter's bedroom overlooks the water." Her expression turned inward as if she were remembering. When she said, "One of the steps in the front staircase creaks," Tyler felt a chill shoot down his spine.

  Still, he said, "That step has needed fixing for years. Anyone familiar with the house could have told you that."

  "A pedestal in the foyer supports an unusual sculpture that reminds Cheryl of an angel about to take flight."

  Tyler's pulse surged. The sculpture was new. Not many people had seen it yet. And Cheryl had told him it reminded her of an angel...

  "I almost forgot. You keep emergency money in your study. Tens and twenties. She took them all."

  That did it. Tyler plunged to his feet again. "How the hell could you have known what I didn't tell anyone but the police?" he demanded, wondering if his daughter taking the emergency cash fund had somehow become common knowledge, more fodder for people bored with their own lives.

  Her steady gray gaze turned up to him. "I saw."

  "You saw Cheryl take the money."

  "Not in the same way as if I were watching a movie, no. I saw the bills...her hands...the leather wallet. It's like I was inside her." She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. "Like I was her for a few minutes."

  Tyler dropped back to the couch and stared as her lids drifted back open. He didn't know what to make of Keelin McKenna. She couldn't be telling the truth. Her story played out like best-selling fiction. Fact: his fourteen-year old daughter was missing. He was dealing with reality here.

  What to do?

  Tyler was torn. This woman either really did know something about Cheryl's disappearance or she had an in with one of the policemen who gave her details no one else had privilege to. Maybe he'd better check that out. And while he was at it, he could get the police to check her out. Maybe she was in on a kidnapping. Maybe that's why he hadn't gotten a ransom note, because she was going to work him somehow.

  "I need some time to think," Tyler said.

  "I fear time is running out."

  He ignored the renewed prickling at his nape. "Why don't you give me your address and phone number so I can get in touch with you."

  Looking crestfallen, she didn't continue arguing. "I'm staying at the Hotel Clareton."

  "The hotel?"

  "I just flew in from Cork early this morning."

  Tyler started. "Then you weren't even here when Cheryl disappeared."

  "No." Her smooth brow furrowed. "I don't understand it, either. A stranger in a strange land. No connection between us. I knew the others."

  Despite the cynicism that long ago had become part of him, Tyler felt himself wanting to believe her. At the same time, her sucking him in made him uneasy. He was a rational man, one not given to being conned. What was it about this woman that got to him where he lived? He was vulnerable because of Cheryl, Tyler reminded himself. Because the only person who really meant anything to him was missing. If anything happened to her, it would kill him. And Keelin McKenna could use his powerful emotions against him.

  As if reading his thoughts, she pressed her case. "You say you would do anything to find your daughter."

  "I would."

  He'd done questionable things to protect Cheryl over the years, but his efforts hadn't been sharp enough. They'd been too focused. Danger had come from some unexpected direction.

  "Then trust me," Keelin pleaded, her tone heartfelt. "I do not know your city, therefore I cannot find her alone."

  What would it hurt? Tyler decided agreeing was a win-win situation. He'd get Pamela to contact both the police and his private detective, to see what they'd come up with on Keelin McKenna. In the meantime, he'd become her shadow.

  "All right," he said. "I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. For Cheryl's sake."

  "Good."

  Her relieved smile mesmerized him. It trembled on her lips, lent a sheen to her eyes, brushed a glow across her cheeks. Like a quiet little bud blooming into a full-blown flower, Keelin suddenly appeared unspeakably beautiful. Again, he felt the connection...and purposely stood and turned his back on her to break it. He couldn't let her affect him in any way. He needed his wits about him. Needed to concentrate on what was important here.

  "You can tell me more about these powers of yours over dinner," he said. "And you'll detail the dreams concerning my daughter. Maybe I can pick up on something you couldn't."

  "That was my thought."

  Or he'd trick her into revealing her hand, Tyler added to himself.

  Suddenly, the appetite that had eluded him at lunch kicked in. He felt not only a powerful hunger, but a renewed strength that had eluded him for the past two days. A man who was energized by doing, his sitting back and letting others handle things had festered inside him.

  If the woman had the power to make some otherworldly connection with his daughter, Tyler thought, she'd make a believer of him. And if she had had anything to do with the girl's disappearance...she would be damn sorry.

  If Keelin McKenna were part of some con to wring money out of him at the expense of his daughter, he would personally turn her life into a living hell.

  NEARLY AN HOUR LATER, STILL WAITING FOR TYLER LEIGHTON to finish up business, Keelin wondered if she'd made a pact with the devil. A dark-haired, pale-eyed, too-handsome devil. She knew he didn't trust her, and she could hardly blame him.

  But he had agreed, and that's all that counted.

  This time, the story would end well, she assured herself. They'd find Cheryl Leighton and from that day forward, her father would keep her safe. Keelin had no doubts as to his love and devotion to his daughter. She didn't know what had driven Cheryl to run, though she gathered the girl blamed him
for some terrible lie.

  A misunderstanding, perhaps?

  Keelin rested her head against the chair back, her energy suddenly at a low. The dreams had interfered with her sleep the last two nights. Added to jet lag...

  "I'm ready."

  She started. "And just as I was getting comfortable." She forced herself from the chair and into close proximity of Tyler Leighton. Too close. His warmth reached out to her, curled along her tired body.

  "I wouldn't get too comfortable around me, if I were you," he murmured.

  "A warning?"

  "Call it what you will."

  Keelin stared up at his enigmatic expression. Though she was of average height and size, she felt dwarfed by the man. He wasn't so very tall. She judged him to be just short of six feet. And he wasn't so very large. His shoulders were of medium breadth beneath the tailored suit jacket. But she recognized strength in his visage and power in his gaze when he stared at her with lids half-lowered as if he were trying to sear her brain.

  Keelin suspected she should be a bit afraid of the man, but at the moment, she was too weary even to be intimidated. "Then I'll consider it a challenge," she finally returned. "But don't underestimate me, Mr. Leighton. I'm as motivated as you are to find your daughter." In some ways more so. She had a lot to make up for.

  "Then let's get started. And my name is Tyler."

  Keelin found Mr. Leighton safer. Not that she would admit it. As he held the office door open for her, she nodded agreeably and adapted a positive attitude.

  Seeing to Cheryl Leighton's safety wouldn't bring back Galvin Daley, but it might assuage a bit of her guilt, Keelin thought hopefully as they descended to the first floor. Besides which, she certainly didn't need another soul on her conscience.

  Downstairs, she waited in the sheltered entryway while Tyler left her to fetch his vehicle from the car park across the street. A movement to her right caught her eye. Her attention refocused, she watched a stocky man slide out from the protection of a nearby doorway. Nearing middle age, he had a jowly face and salt and pepper hair. He glanced around furtively, then crossed the street at a trot, entering the same door that Tyler had taken.