Into the Whirlwind (15 page)

“I don't know.”

“I get what you see in her, bro. I didn't at first. Now I do.”

A ghost of a smile touched Dirk's lips. “Meg's special. No doubt about it. Doesn't mean her opinion of me has changed. Even if it has, doesn't mean it would work any better the second time than it did the first.”

“Give yourself some time, man. Just take it slow. Maybe you'll figure things out.”

But Dirk had figured things out five months ago. And aside from the fact Meg had hired him to rescue her little boy, nothing had really changed.

* * *

“I can't believe this! You're telling me you didn't get the money? All you had to do was make the call!” Jonathan leaned over the sleek teakwood desk in his study. “The deadline was only a few hours away. How could you screw things up so badly?”

“I wasn't the one who screwed up, Mr. Hollander. You never bothered to mention that your wife's very close friend was a private investigator. You never hinted that she might hire the man to help her find her son.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Jonathan sat back down in the expensive brown leather chair behind his desk, which matched the sofa in front of the fireplace. The study was large, the entire house professionally decorated with contemporary furniture and dark wood accents throughout.

The bookshelves were filled with valuable first editions, at least those he hadn't yet sold. There was a view out over manicured lawns. In the mirror, he caught a glimpse of his black hair and the hot color in his cheeks.

“I'm talking about Dirk Reynolds,” Moore said mildly. “The man is ex-military and extremely capable. He and his friend Luke Brodie were on to us almost from the start.”

After receiving a phone call from the man seated across from him, Jonathan had left the bank early and driven home to meet him. His name was Thomas Moore, or at least that was what he'd called himself the last time they had spoken.

Today, instead of having thick, dark hair and a receding hairline, his hair was white-blond and cropped very short. Instead of the expensive slacks he'd been wearing before, he was dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a yellow Ralph Lauren pullover. Casual clothes, though he still wore designer shoes: loafers today, Ferragamo perhaps.

Moore looked completely different, even carried himself in a slightly different manner. Yet every man had his foibles. Fashion seemed to be his.

“If you were worried about Reynolds, you should have shortened the time line. You should have done something!”

“Perhaps. But then, I'm not the one with the problem, am I? My employer sent me to you as a courtesy. I came to help you raise the money you needed to pay off your loan. You are the one who came up with the plan to kidnap your son.”

“It should have worked, dammit! All you had to do—”

“All
you
had to do was give us the correct information. That you did not do.”

Unease filtered through him. Moore was completely unreadable. Not a trace of emotion showed in his features. Yet an air of menace clung to him like a layer of perspiration.

“I don't know anything about this man Reynolds,” Jonathan said. “Meg never mentioned him. Neither did her father.”

“He was her bodyguard on the fashion show tour last summer. And her lover—according to the babysitter.”

Jonathan grunted. “Meg does what she pleases. She was always headstrong. I never could control her.”

“Clearly that is true.”

His nerves began to hum. Whoever he was, Moore was a dangerous man. “How much does the babysitter know?”

“Nothing that can help the police. My associate is dead, a man who also knew nothing. One of the men Pamela was working with is dead. The police can track their identities, but it won't lead them to you or to me. The other man is in the hospital in critical condition.”

Panic tore through him. “Mickey Degan. I spoke to him when all this started. He knows who I am.”

“Yes, I believe you mentioned that. I assure you, he won't be alive much longer.”

The hair rose at the back of Jonathan's neck. “You'll . . . you'll make sure of that?”

“Tying up loose ends is part of my service. Unfortunately for you, you still owe my employer a great deal of money. I spoke to him a few hours ago. He is extremely unhappy and rapidly losing patience. You know what will happen when he does.”

Jonathan felt sick to his stomach.

Sitting in a low-backed brown chair, one of the two in front of the desk, Moore examined his manicured nails. “He won't just kill you, I'm afraid. He likes to make an example of people who don't keep their word.”

Jonathan moistened his lips, which suddenly felt dry and tight. “I'll get the money. You have to tell him that. You need to convince him.”

“And how do you propose to make that happen?”

“I don't know. . . . Perhaps ... perhaps we could take the boy again, go directly to Edwin with the ransom note this time. We should have done that in the first place.”

Thomas looked at him as if he were mentally deficient. “They'll be watching the boy much closer now. Perhaps your wife's bodyguard friend will take the job himself.”

Jonathan raked an unsteady hand through his thick, black hair. He rested his elbows on the top of his desk in an attempt to look at ease. “If Reynolds hadn't stuck his nose in, everything would have gone according to plan. The boy would be home with Meg and Gertsman would have his money.”

When Thomas made no reply, Jonathan felt a chill. For the first time he wondered if Moore would have stuck to the plan, wondered if Charlie would have been safely returned. No matter how desperate he was for money, he wouldn't have allowed the men to harm his son.

“Without Reynolds's interference, Mr. Gertsman would have his money,” Moore said with maddening politeness. “Plus a few million for you as well.”

“It was just seed money, a way for me to get things rolling again and get back on my feet.”

As Moore stood up from his chair, Jonathan stared into his inscrutable features and felt a wave of fear.

“Ask Mr. Gertsman what I can do to repay him,” Jonathan said, also rising. “Anything he wants. I'll do anything.”

One of Moore's bleached eyebrows went up. “Anything?”

Jonathan nodded, hoping his chin didn't tremble. “I'm in banking. I have powerful connections. Surely there's something he wants. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us.”

“I'll relay the message,” Moore said. Turning, he walked out of the study. Jonathan's heart was still racing when the door closed with an ominous click behind him.

Chapter Eighteen

Meg sat propped up in her hospital bed in a private room in the Bellevue Medical Center. Charlie slept curled beside her. Ever since Dirk had lifted him out of the fishing boat and carried him to a waiting ambulance, he had been clinging to her like a monkey.

EMTs had treated them both for hypothermia, though the cold lake water had actually helped save their lives by slowing down the drowning process. They'd been given warmed oxygen to help clear their lungs, been checked and rechecked, pronounced on the road to recovery. With any luck, they would be released in the morning. Meg couldn't wait to get home.

Special circumstances—the kidnapping little Charlie had suffered—had convinced the doctors to allow them to stay together overnight for observation.

Meg tugged down the hospital gown she was wearing instead of her wet clothes. It was evening. She wasn't alone, hadn't been since a few minutes after her arrival at the hospital. She felt her mother's hand against her cheek, looked up, and smiled at the woman with the silver-blond hair and, at fifty-five, a still-lovely face. Meg glanced from her mother's worried features across the room to where her dad slept in a chair.

Her parents had been there all evening. Though visiting hours were over, her dad had managed to sweet-talk the nurse into letting them stay.

“I'm okay, Mom. Really.”

“You should have told me what was going on, dear heart. You and your father both think of me as this fragile little flower and I'm just not that person anymore.”

Meg took hold of her mother's fine-boned hand. “I know that, Mom. But you know how Dad worries about you. Besides, there wasn't anything you could do.” She smiled. “At least, not until now. Now I have you to keep me and Charlie company while we recover.”

“Your father said your friend Dirk Reynolds saved Charlie's life. He said those men would have killed him. Dirk saved your life, too, of course, when you were foolish enough to go along with him to the kidnappers' house.”

“I had to go, Mom. But you're right. He saved us both.”

“He hasn't been by to see you.”

Her heart squeezed. “He had to talk to the police.”

Her mother gave her a pitying glance. He would have been finished hours ago.

“He said he'd stop by,” Meg said. “Dirk always keeps his word.”

“Well, then, I hope I get a chance to meet him.”

Meg just nodded. In the past few days, her father had come to respect Dirk. Her mother saw him as some kind of hero—which was exactly the way Meg thought of him.

She never would have believed her parents might approve of him. It was one of the reasons she had ended their relationship. If only she could go back in time, handle things differently.

But that wasn't the way things worked.

“You and Daddy need to go home,” she said, releasing her mother's hand. “Charlie and I will be fine. I'll call you in the morning. If the doctor says we can leave, we'll need a ride home.”

Her mother leaned down and kissed her forehead, pressed a soft kiss on Charlie's cheek. He didn't even stir. Meg planned to call a good child psychologist, a doctor who could help her baby get through the trauma of the kidnapping.

Aside from clinging to her more than he usually did, so far he seemed okay. The doctors said he hadn't been physically injured, and being as young as he was, it wouldn't take him long to forget the incident.

Meg hoped they were right. But she didn't think he would forget nearly drowning anytime soon.

A soft knock sounded at the door, then it slowly eased open. Dirk stood in the doorway. He was wearing clean jeans and a dark green Henley. His shoulders looked amazingly wide, and she could see the outline of the lean, powerful muscles beneath his snug-fitting, long-sleeve shirt. His horseshoe mustache was trimmed very short, his slightly too-long hair neatly combed. It still curled softly at the nape of his neck.

A little tug of awareness warred with her emotions and tightened her chest. “Mom, I'd like you to meet Dirk Reynolds.”

Dirk stepped in and quietly closed the door. His hazel eyes went straight to Charlie and a look of relief washed over his features.

He turned his attention to her mother. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. O'Brien.”

“You as well, Dirk. I want to thank you for what you did for my daughter and my grandson.”

He just shrugged. “Meg asked for my help. Helping people is what I do for a living.”

“Perhaps,” her mother said, which was her mom's way of saying she understood how much more it was than just a job.

“I asked you to save my son,” Meg said, tears filling her eyes, “and that's exactly what you did.”

“Luke gave him CPR.”

“You saved him. I knew you would.” She blinked and the tears in her eyes began to roll down her cheeks.

Dirk looked uncomfortable. “Please don't cry. I didn't come here to make you cry.”

She sniffed, accepted the Kleenex her mother handed her, and blotted her eyes. “You're right. I'm sorry. Thank you for coming.”

Was it only last night he had been in bed with her, his hard body pressing her into the mattress? Only last night, and already they were back to polite conversation. Her heart broke all over again.

Across the room, her father stirred to life and sat up in the chair, spotted Dirk, and came to his feet. “Reynolds. About time you showed up.”

“Yes, sir. I went for a ride first on my Harley. I needed to clear my head.”

“I imagine you did.” Her father walked over and shook Dirk's hand. “You have my eternal gratitude, son, as I'm sure you know. I've spoken to the police. I know all the details. Whatever fee you charge—you earned every dollar.”

Dirk shook his head. “No fee. Not this time. You can pay Luke. I did this for Meg.”

Her heart stumbled, squeezed hard inside her chest. She needed to talk to him, and not in a room full of people.

“I think we've stayed long enough,” her mother said, gently steering her father toward the door. “Meg and Charlie need to rest.” She turned to Meg. “We'll be back to get you in the morning.” Her mother looked at Dirk. “You're welcome in our home anytime, Dirk. Thank you again for saving our family.”

Her dad squeezed Dirk's shoulder as he walked out of the hospital room. Charlie shifted against her in the bed and she realized he was awake and staring at Dirk.

“Charlie, this is a friend,” Meg said. “His name is Dirk.”

“Hey, Charlie.”

The little boy started trembling. He turned his head into Meg's shoulder and started crying softly.

Meg tightened her arms around him. “It's okay, sweetheart. You don't have to be afraid. Dirk's our friend.”

“Make him go away! He's a bad man!” Charlie let out a shriek and started crying louder, kicking his feet and trying to burrow into her.

“I'm scaring him,” Dirk said. “He remembers me from the lake.”

Meg spoke to the little boy gently. “It's all right, sweetie. Dirk is the man who pulled you out of the water. He saved us, sweetheart.”

Charlie just kept crying.

“I better go. Seeing me is making him remember what happened. I don't think that's a good idea right now.”

A lump rose in Meg's throat. It was like déjà vu, the replay of a nightmare. Sending Dirk away because of Charlie.

She smoothed the silky red hair on her little boy's head and he began to quiet. He still wouldn't look at Dirk. “I'll be home tomorrow,” she said. “I'd really like for us to talk. Could you . . . do you think you could come over?”

Dirk glanced away. “I've got a lot of follow-up to do. I may not have time.”

He was leaving, just like before. She couldn't let it happen. “We . . . umm . . . still need to find the man who got away. My father mentioned hiring you to look for him. We need to talk about it.” Her dad had suggested it. But at the moment it was just an excuse for her to see Dirk.

“The police can handle it.” He looked at Charlie, who was sniffling, his head buried in her lap. “Might be better if you worked with someone else.”

“I don't want someone else!” When Charlie jerked, she forced herself to calm down, bent, and kissed the top of his head. “If I had gone to someone else, there's a good chance my son would not be . . . wouldn't be here with me now.” She swallowed. “Please come over tomorrow, Dirk. I really need to see you.”

Something moved across his features. She might have called it yearning. Or maybe she'd just imagined it.

“I'll stop by late in the afternoon. Your folks are taking you home tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, as soon as the doctor releases us.”

“All right, I'll see you then.” Pulling open the door, he stepped out into the hall. The door whooshed closed behind him.

Her eyes burned. She stroked her son's head and he looked up at her.

“He's a bad man,” Charlie said.

“No, sweetheart, he isn't. Dirk is one of the good men. He's like a policeman. You know what policemen do? They save people. When the bad man took us in the boat, Dirk came after him. When the bad man threw us in the water, Dirk dove in and pulled us out. He's mama's friend, Charlie. He saved us.”

Charlie sniffed. “I wanna go home.”

“I know you do. So do I. We're going home in the morning. Grandma and Grandpa are coming to pick us up.” She rubbed gently between his small shoulders. “Right now, we need to sleep. Mama's really tired. How about you?”

Charlie yawned. “Me too.”

She clicked the button and turned off the light, snuggled down next to her son. In the last three days, she had only slept a few hours, only been able to sleep at all because Dirk had been in her bed.

She closed her eyes. As tired as she was, there were so many images in her mind, she wasn't sure she could fall asleep. She remembered the barrel of the gun pressed against the window of the Bronco, then the feel of cold metal against the side of her head. She remembered the awful moment she had heard Charlie's small body hit the water and knew he was going to drown.

As if the nurse knew her thoughts, a wide-hipped woman named Emma walked in. She handed Meg a paper cup with a pill in the bottom, then a small cup of water.

Emma waited until Meg swallowed it. “It's only a light sedative,” she said. “The doctor gave your son something earlier. He'll go back to sleep as soon as you do. You need to rest and so does he.”

She nodded. The nurse tidied up and left the room. Charlie settled down, then drifted back to sleep.

Meg closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was morning.