See Me in Your Dreams (4 page)

Hopeful, he
was on his way to check when he noticed a woman rising from a chair in the
waiting area. "Mr. Leighton?"

The soft voice
stopped him cold. He gave her a quick once-over – a cloud of shoulder-length
dark auburn hair, clear gray eyes, delicate if ordinary features – all
unfamiliar to him. All appealing. Something about her spelled fresh. Innocent.
Maybe the loose flower-print dress that skimmed her slim body, topping ankle
boots and bright green cuffed socks. Definitely not professional apparel.

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.