See Me in Your Dreams (23 page)

"Don't
wanna
get involved," the neighbor muttered, though she
appeared torn.

"Please."

The woman
looked them both up and down as if judging the veracity of their story before
making up her mind. "Don't know any names. They were only there maybe two
weeks. In and out a lot. Never got a good look at
him
, though."

"But you
did get a good look at someone," Tyler urged.

"The
girl, once. And the woman. She didn't belong in this building."

"Why
not?" Keelin asked.

"Her
clothes. Too fancy."

"Can you
describe her?"

"Pretty
girl with a good figure. Blonde. That's all I gotta say."

"Wait a
minute." Tyler objected too late. The woman closed the door in his face.
"I could use the name and number of the management." When his raised
request received no response, he said, "Come on."

"Should
we ask someone else?"

"It's
probably not necessary."

She didn't
understand until they exited the building and he checked the side. High up, a
plaque announced the building was being managed by
Damen
Realty.

A moment later
they were on their way out of the neighborhood and heading for his office.
Tyler used the cellular car phone to call the authorities. He demanded they go
over the apartment with a fine tooth comb and check out the identities of
whoever rented the place with the realty company, as well. Keelin could tell he
didn't like whatever response he was getting.

Dropping the
cellular, Tyler confirmed her suspicion. "They need a court order to get
into the place and might need the same for the realty."

"The
authorities must abide by the law."

"If you
ask me, the law is too slow."

"That they
are," Keelin agreed. "Why did you not give them the woman's
description?"

"Maybe I
should have given them her real name, as well," Tyler said caustically.
"Except that, without absolute proof, I doubt the police would believe
Vivian Claiborne was mixed up with something as sordid as kidnapping."

Frustrated
that they were stopped cold after such a promising start, Keelin wondered if
Skelly might be of some help in getting the information on the kidnappers
his
way.

The Jaguar was
soon crawling in the heavy traffic of Lincoln Park West.

"I can't
wait for whatever the authorities come up with, Keelin. I'm going to spend my
day seeing to the ransom money. My gut tells me I'm going to need it if I want
her back."

"So you
won't need me."

He glanced her
way, his expression astonished. "That's not true. I do need you, Keelin. I
told you so."

"Then
take me with you when you deliver the ransom," she said stubbornly.

"But I
won't put you in unnecessary danger. The last note was very specific about being
alone if I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

Keelin didn't
continue to plague Tyler as she was tempted to do, merely waited until his
vehicle was settled in the car park and they exited onto Clark Street.

"I shall
leave you to your money gathering," she said.

Tyler already
seemed distracted. "What about you?"

"I'll
ring you later."

He gave her
shoulders a squeeze and brushed her temple with his lips. "I'll miss
you."

Keelin
wouldn't let him soften her so easily. "You'll be too busy."

"Never
too busy to think of you."

Never
was an interminable amount of time. Knowing they didn't
have that long to be together, Keelin wriggled free of his arm. "You have
currency to collect, remember?"

She waited
until he'd disappeared inside the L&O Realty offices before heading for the
corner and the bus stop. She counted out exact change and slipped the coins
into her pocket, then fished for two more quarters to buy a newspaper from a
box. She was about to drop the money into the slot, when she spotted Brock
Olander on the street.

Furtively
glancing over his shoulder as if afraid of being caught – by Tyler? – he then
flagged down a taxi going south, and she caught a glint – a watch? – on his
wrist.

He didn't see
her.

Instinct and
another convenient taxi waiting for the light to change convinced Keelin to
find out where Tyler's partner might be headed. She raced across the street,
waved over the yellow vehicle and hopped into the back seat.

"Follow
that vehicle," she ordered her driver, a young Hispanic whose hair was
shaved in lightning patterns around his head.

"Follow
that cab." He pulled down his meter flag and gave her a gap-toothed grin.

"Pardon
me?"

"In the
flicks, they always say, 'follow that cab.'"

Amused despite
the intensity of the situation, Keelin said, "Very well, then. Follow that
cab."

Her vehicle
lurched and shot forward. She sat back and kept an eye on Brock's taxi now
nearly a block ahead. Several cars had cut between them.

"You a
spy or something?" the driver asked, skillfully maneuvering his taxi so
that they'd passed two of those cars by the following intersection.

"No, of
course not. Why would you think such a thing?"

"You got
a accent. You're
followin
' someone." His eyes
shifted from the traffic to the rear view mirror so he could get a better look
at her. He smirked. "Ah-h, I get it. Boyfriend or husband trouble?"

"Both,"
Keelin impulsively lied. Her cheeks warmed.

"Don't
worry. A pretty lady like you deserves a break," the driver said, gaining
on another passenger car.

Fortunately,
Brock didn't go very far and Keelin's driver stayed with him. A few blocks from
her hotel in the Gold Coast, he alighted from his taxi and disappeared into an
elegant old building. Her taxi slid to the curb, the driver keeping the vehicle
a discreet distance back.

Handing him
more money than the meter required, Keelin said, "Wait for me," and
slipped out of the back seat.

"I'll
keep the motor running," the driver promised with another grin.

Keelin
approached the building cautiously lest Brock spot her. But when she peered through
the front door's glass insets, he was nowhere in sight. She entered the
brass-trimmed wood and marble vestibule, thinking to look for a directory that
might give her a clue as to whom he'd come to see. But the offices beyond held
only a single tenant.

Nathan Feldman
Associates.

NATE FELDMAN SPRAWLED BACK in his
leather chair, tempted to put his feet up on his marble desk and shout
Hallelujah!
But he held himself in check
– wouldn't do to show how much this deal had meant to him – and lit a fresh cigar
instead.

"Help
yourself," he told Brock between puffs, indicating the fancy hand-carved
cigar box that he'd picked up in Rio.

"Thanks."

Brock didn't
look so good. His skin was pasty. And his hand trembled slightly as he took the
cigar. He didn't even light it, rather stared down at the rolled tobacco as if
he didn't know what to do with it.

"Congratulations.
I wasn't convinced you were up to the task. You even got the Uptown project.
Good show!"

Brock's
expression spelled guilt. "Tyler's had everything his way almost from the
beginning."

Was that
justification or regret he heard in the other man's voice?
Nate
wondered. Too late for him to back up now. Regret wouldn't fix things. Wouldn't
bring that
Smialek
kid back to life, either.

"I expect
you'll be out of L&O Realty first thing next week."

"So
soon," Brock muttered, now sounding uncertain.

Nate
figured he'd
better boost the man's ego before he had a change of heart. "I understand
a man has professional needs, Brock," he said heartily. "Our
partnership will give you exactly what you deserve.

Brock nodded.
"Your believing in me the way Tyler never did means a lot."

What a patsy!
Nate
thought.

More to the
point, their
temporary
partnership
would give
him
the satisfaction of
getting even. Of gaining clients that Leighton would hate to lose. Hopefully
Smialek's
law suit would drive the nail in Leighton's
coffin, put him out of business completely and for good.

"Listen,"
Brock said, stuffing the cigar into the breast pocket of his jacket. "I'd
better get back before Tyler suspects something."

"He's too
preoccupied thinking about the kid."

"Still..."

Nate
nodded. He
lifted the briefcase and placed it on his desk. Then he slid a contract toward
Brock.

"Sign on
the dotted line and it's all yours."

Hesitating only
a moment, Brock signed and took the briefcase. "Here's to success."

Nate
wouldn't
argue with that. The moment the door closed behind the chump, he put his feet
up on his desk.

"Hallelujah!"

Success in
ruining Tyler Leighton had been his goal all along.

BROCK SET THE BRIEFCASE on Tyler's desk
and opened it. Neat stacks of bills filled half the interior.

"A
quarter of a million in cash like you asked for. Now, about that
agreement..."

Tyler handed Brock
a written guarantee that he would cooperate in dissolving the partnership. It
also listed the assets that each would take with him, including the Uptown
renovation that had been Tyler's baby.

"I wish
you'd rethink things," he said, even though he needed the money for
Cheryl. "I meant it when I said we could work this partnership out. You
could consider this money a loan."

Having done
some soul-searching, he guessed Brock had been right to be dissatisfied. He
only wished he'd come to his senses sooner, or that Brock had insisted on
having a serious discussion about the situation,
before
things had come to a head.

"I've
done enough thinking. I just want to get this over with." His face pasty,
Brock skimmed the signed agreement and nodded. "I expect we'll get the
ball rolling first thing next week."

Tyler couldn't
believe it. He didn't even have his daughter back. What had happened to Brock?
When had he become so hard-hearted?

"Next
week," he promised.

Agreement in
hand, Brock left, not looking nearly as happy as Tyler might have expected. He
wasted no time in opening his office safe and securing the briefcase. He would
personally pick up the rest of the money the next day. He'd no sooner locked
the safe when Alma buzzed him. Fearing that she would tell him that Helen was
insisting on speaking to him
again
–
she'd interrupted him twice so far – he was relieved to learn that Jack Weaver
was in the reception area.

"Send him
right in, Alma."

When the
private investigator stepped foot through the door, he was wearing a satisfied
smile. "I'm pretty sure I found the building where your daughter's being
held."

Not having
expected such luck, Tyler started. "Where?"

Weaver's
"It's a six-flat about a block off North Avenue" tempered his
excitement, and when the investigator gave the address, he was totally
deflated.

"We
already knew that, but she's been moved. The police have someone watching the
place." Tyler checked his watch. "By now, they should have the court
order to get inside and search. Not that I think it'll do any good."

"So the
cops beat me to it. Sorry. But if I'd been on the case in the first
place..." Looking chagrined, Weaver shrugged and turned to leave.
"I'll send you my bill."

"Wait.
What are you doing tomorrow?"

Stopped in the
doorway, the investigator said, "Nothing I can't change."

"Good."
Tyler wouldn't put Keelin in jeopardy, but Weaver was a professional.
"Close the door a minute."

After
ascertaining that the investigator had access to a handgun, he told Weaver what
he had in mind.

KEELIN BARELY GAVE JACK WEAVER a second
glance as he left Tyler's office. Rather than waiting to be announced, she
rushed right in and closed the door, bursting to tell him what she'd learned.
To her frustration, Tyler was on the telephone.

"Hang
up," she demanded, not trying to hide her urgency. "I must speak with
you."

A quick
apology to the person on the other end and he dropped the receiver back into
its cradle. "What's going on? Are you all right?"

"Has
Brock been here yet?"