See Me in Your Dreams (8 page)

She could
continue to do so if she tried, Keelin assured herself. If only she weren't so
exhausted. Lack of rest had lowered her defenses, perhaps even made her imagine
untruths. She didn't have to succumb.

Not to Tyler
Leighton.

All she needed
to regain her normal control was a good, deep sleep...

AFTER
TOSSING AND TURNING IN THE LUMPY BED for hours, she gave up on falling asleep.
She was
creeped
out anyway after seeing the rat on
the back porch when she'd set the garbage out. Faint streetlight shone in
through the single window. The narrow, sparsely furnished room looked better in
the near dark, she decided. Nothing like her room at home, of course, but in
the circumstances, it would do.

Better than the
streets.

Still, she felt spooked again. Maybe she could fall asleep
on the couch watching television. She rose from the bed and crossed the room,
stopping before the door when she heard raised voices on the other side.

"How long are we going to wait?"

"Until I say."

Wait for what?

She shifted from one bare foot to the other, fingered one of
the charms on her bracelet. A sudden breeze from the open window crawled up her
bare legs, all the way up to the hem of her T-shirt. Shivering, she pressed her
ear to the door.

"You're forgetting who's in charge here."

"In charge?"

"All right. Maybe that's a little strong. But it was my
idea."

"True enough. You want a medal?"

"No, I just want to write the damn ransom note and get
it over with."

Ransom note?

She knew what that was. She'd watched enough television,
seen enough movies. But what were they talking about? They hadn't kidnapped her
or anything. She'd agreed to come with them. They’d said they would help her.

"We're not going to hurry this. I want to make him
sweat first. Let him know what it's like to have someone else on top for
once."

"You
wanna
be on top?"
The other voice changed, became low and husky. "
C'mere
.
I'll let you be on top."

Feminine laughter shot a chill up her spine and she backed away
from the door.

She'd been fooled. They weren't doing this for her like they
said. They wanted money. They were using her. They'd lied!

Did all adults
lie?

Without thinking it out, she slid into her jeans, grabbed
her hi-tops and backpack. Ignoring the grunts and whispers from the other room,
she tiptoed to the door, boldly shot a hand out, slipped her fingers around the
knob and turned.

Nothing happened.

Oh,
God...locked in.

Her pulse thrummed and her heart smashed against her ribs.
She flitted to the open window and peered out desperately, even knowing what
she would see: a three story drop to the ground. She'd kill herself if she
tried that.

Trapped! A
prisoner!

She backed into a corner. Sank to the floor. Hugged her
backpack and her hi-tops to her chest.

Never in her wildest imaginings had she considered this.
What now? What if her father was so angry he wouldn't pay to get her back? What
would they do to her then?

She couldn't panic. She had to keep her head. Hard to do
when all she wanted was to cry. That and have her father holding her in his
arms, telling her everything would be all right. He would forgive her if she
apologized, wouldn't he? If she told him she would never run away again?

Please, Dad,
please...

Brushing her fingers nervously across the charms, she knew
she had to get to him. But how? They wouldn't let her go back, not if they
wanted money for her.

The tears flowed down her cheeks. A lump stuck in her
throat. She'd never been so afraid. Not even when the guy who'd given her a
lift as far as Evanston had tried to maul her. Not even when she'd spent the
rest of the night hiding beneath some bushes on the Northwestern campus.

Suddenly it occurred to her that they didn't know she knew.

That was definitely to her advantage, she decided.

She slashed at her tears, swallowed the lump.

She would have to pretend. Not let them suspect a thing.
She'd gotten the lead in her class play last year, and everyone had agreed she
had talent. Even Dad had said she was quite a little actress. She could do it.
Pretend nothing was wrong until she figured out an escape.

She would wait for her opportunity, and then she would be
out of this dump so fast they wouldn't know what happened.

Only...what
then?

HER CRY JOLTED TYLER UP OFF THE SOFA in
a single lunge. He got to the door even as she unlocked it and threw it open.
He'd left only a single low light burning, and that across the unfamiliar room,
but he could see well enough to know her face was pale, her eyes glazed.

Spooked, he
asked, "What?"

"She's in
real trouble," Keelin choked out, fisting his shirtfront. "She heard
them...tried to get away. But the door was locked. And the window..."

"Heard
who?"

"I don't
know. A man and a woman. I didn't see." Her gaze turned inward.
"Scared. So scared. Walked right into it..."

Realizing
Keelin was speaking as if
she
were
the one in trouble rather than his daughter, he gave her a sharp shake to snap
her back. "Scared of what?" he demanded, his voice gruff. "What
did you hear them say?"

She gasped and
her eyes cleared. Her long, dark lashes fluttered over her pale cheeks. She was
breathing hard, as if she'd been running. Her gaze met his, and he realized she
was terrified. Her flesh trembled under his hands.

"What
were they talking about?" he asked again, more gently this time.

"Something
about a ransom note."

Tyler's heart
skipped a beat. A parent's worst nightmare. His child had been kidnapped.

Chapter Four

KEELIN SWAM UP OUT OF HER DREAMLIKE
STATE to find herself pressed against Tyler's chest. He was holding her fast
and she was clinging to him as if this were the most natural act in the world.
She vaguely reasoned that she should be uncomfortable, should push herself
away. Regain some distance and a perspective on the situation. This man didn't
even trust her, for heaven's sake.

But the last
thing she desired was to put any distance between them, Keelin realized.

His body heat
was comforting...distracting...Her pulse surged and unexpected emotions warred
through her. Forgetting his distrust, she concentrated on him. On the man in
pain. She wished she could will the misery from him, absorb it into herself –
unreasonably, perhaps, given his antipathy toward her – or at the very least
render the anguish he was suffering impotent.

She couldn't
help herself. Following her natural instincts, she slid her arms up around his
neck and comforted him as best she could. He shuddered against her.

"It'll be
all right," she whispered, only hoping she was uttering the truth.

"Keelin,
I have to get her back."

"I know.
I know."

"Whatever
I have to do." His mouth pressed into her hair. "Anything."
Whispered against her temple. "I'll do anything to get my daughter
back." Trailed across her cheek. "Give them anything they want!"

Eyes stinging,
heart churning with things she didn't understand, Keelin turned her face up to
Tyler's, felt his breath brush her skin. "I believe you."

Threading her
fingers through the thickness of his dark hair, she was startled by her own
boldness. For a moment, their gazes caught and she responded to the torment she
read in his eyes. Torment that came at least partly from guilt, she thought,
even as her body quickened to his.

How could this
be? How could her blood rush with such longing now? At such a desperate time
when personal want should be as nothing?

"I knew
Cheryl didn't really mean to run away from me," he whispered, sounding as
if he were trying to deny the guilt she sensed in him. Smoothing her hair so
that she pressed a cheek into his hand. "Not seriously. She would have
come home by now if she weren't being held prisoner."

Keelin shook
her head. "Cheryl
did
run,
Tyler. And she trusted whoever is now holding her prisoner to protect her.
From you
. Don't waste time fooling
yourself, please." Though his expression darkened and he put her from him,
gripping her shoulders hard, she didn't stop. "You need to concentrate on
whoever might have pretended they wanted to help Cheryl. Maybe if you can
figure out who has a motive–"

"A
motive? The bastards want money, plain and simple." His gaze changed, as
if he remembered suspecting that's what
she
wanted of him. He suddenly let her go altogether and took a step back.
"The greedy people in this world are willing to do anything to get
money."

Realizing he
included her in the sweeping condemnation, Keelin took a deep breath and tried
to will away the yearning to feel his arms around her again. To harden herself
against Tyler so that he couldn't hurt her more. She couldn't do it. God help
her, she felt something for the man.

And him a near-stranger.

Trying to
derail her emotions, she choked out, "Greed is only a part of it. There's
more." She concentrated, tried to remember exactly what she'd heard.
"One of them said something about wanting you to sweat, to know what it's
like for someone else to be on top."

He pulled a
face. "You're saying someone is using my daughter – a child – to punish
me?"

Keelin
swallowed hard. "I believe so."

"Dear
God, what have I done that's so terrible that He would let my child suffer for
it?"

Making an
uneasy Keelin wonder the same thing.

HALFWAY THROUGH THE MORNING, Brock
Olander was pacing Tyler's office. This waiting put his nerves on edge and
twisted his gut into a fancy knot. Pam had told him the moment Ty called in.
Supposedly he was on his way and would arrive any minute. Brock checked his
Rolex. Eighteen minutes ago now. It was out of character, Ty's being so late.

But the past
few days had been a crap shoot in general, with nothing going like it was
supposed to.

Brock stared
out the window at Lincoln Park. So many people with no worries. Going about
their pleasure like it was any other day. Well, it wasn't any day. In Brock's
mind, today was D-Day.

Ty had better
agree to his proposal.

"Any
mail?" came the deep voice from the outer office.

Brock whipped
around and stared at the half-open door. He'd thought he was psyched, but Ty
had somehow sneaked up on him, made him feel as if he was at the disadvantage.
Sweat gathered on his forehead, along his neck, under his suit. He wasn't good
at confrontation, especially not with someone as tough as his business partner.
Brock knew that very quality had spelled their success...but had also caused
his own discontent.

"I think
the mailman was here a few minutes ago," Alma was saying. "Sara is
probably still sorting. Should be up any time now."

"Let me
know as soon as you get it, then." Ty's voice drew closer.

"Waiting
for something in particular, Mr. Leighton?" the motherly receptionist Ty
had hired after her husband left her called after him.

"Just let
me know."

In command, as
usual, Ty took ownership of the office the moment he walked in the door. He
didn't look like a man who was suffering, Brock mused from his position at the
window. Not at all like a father who feared he might have lost his only child
for good.

Then Ty
noticed him and frowned. "Brock. What are you doing in here?" He set
his briefcase on his desk.

"Waiting
to continue the discussion that got interrupted yesterday."

"I asked
you to give me time."

"Time
isn't going to fix things." Though guilt sneaked along his nerves, Brock
wasn't going to back down now.

Ty sat, stared
at him pensively. "I thought we were friends."

"We were.
Hell, we are. I feel for you. You know I do. But this is business."

Brock wanted
more than a partnership in which he faded into the woodwork. An opportunity had
come up, one too good to let slip through his fingers or he wouldn't be so
fixed on leaving now. If Ty got a whiff of his plans...

"Right at
this moment, I'm having trouble believing you consider us friends."