The Stranger: The Heroes of Heyday (Harlequin Superromance No. 1266) (13 page)

“Damn it, listen to me. I'm telling you the cold, hard truth.”

He sounded angry, which surprised her. She hadn't meant to upset him. She'd merely wanted him to know that this one sin, at least, no longer needed to trouble his conscience, just in case he had one.

“All right,” she said softly. “I believe you.”

“Good.” He took her chin between his fingers. “Because I'm going to kiss you, Mallory. And you're going to let me. And I don't want it to have anything to do with gratitude. I want it to be about now. About
us.
Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. But it wasn't true. She hadn't ever been so confused in her life. She didn't understand him, and she certainly didn't understand herself.

All she knew was that she wanted this kiss so much it frightened her. And yet, somewhere deep inside, she knew that kissing Tyler Balfour was a very dangerous thing to do.

She nodded again, accepting the risk. And then, slowly, he lowered his head to hers. He brushed the
edge of his mouth against her cheek first, taking his time. Shivering, she put her hands on his chest.

And then their lips met. She made a soft sound, as an aching heat spread through her.
Tyler's kiss.
Finally, it was real. These lips, these arms…all real. No longer a dream, a memory, a half-forgotten craving in the night.

But if that long-ago kiss had been a gentle thing, a gift offered to soothe an aching heart, this one was a fiery taking. His lips were fierce, and hers fell open under the heat. With a groan, he went deeper, the probing hard and sure.

It sent a streak of lightning shivering through her spine. Immediately he slid his hands down her back, all the way to the lightning point, massaging the small aching hollows on either side of her spine, as if he knew the pain that coiled there.

“I want you, Mallory,” he said, moving his lips to the crook of her neck so that she felt the words as much as heard them. “I want to make love to you until there's nothing real in this world but you and me.”

Nothing but the two of them. Oh, she thought, it was already true. She no longer knew whether it was day or night, whether he was good or bad, whether she was wise or foolish. She knew only that his hands were searching but they couldn't find what they needed, that her dress was in the way, and his shirt, too, and the cold, thrusting parts of this confining car.

“Come,” she said, fumbling behind her for the handle of the door. “We can go upstairs.”

But when she opened the door, it met resistance. She pushed harder, and someone cried out in wounded indignation.

“Dang, Mallory,” Wally said. “Try not to kill me, okay?”

She looked up at the boy, at his red-and-green hair haloed by the bright afternoon sun. She felt oddly disoriented. Was it really still broad daylight?

His face was cast in shadows, and he looked like a total stranger. She couldn't, for one clouded moment, remember what on earth he could be doing here.

“So you
are
already back. Aurora said she saw you drive up, but the windows were so fogged I wasn't sure.” He rubbed his kneecap. “Some thanks I get. I came all the way out to the parking lot, just to let you know you've got a phone call.”

“I can't take any calls right now,” she said, half surprised that she could form a coherent sentence. Beside her, Tyler was waiting silently, obviously giving her the chance to decide how to handle this. “Unless it's Mindy. I'm not working today, Wally. I'm—”

“Yeah, well I'm just following orders. You said you always wanted to know when Darth Vader calls, remember?”

She clenched her hand around the handle. “You're saying this is—”

“Yeah. It's your buddy Darth.” Wally held out the little white cordless phone smugly. “And to tell you the truth, boss, Mr. Vader here sounds kinda pissed.”

T
YLER KNEW
that when Mallory took the roam phone from Wally and brought it into her office, she was probably just making sure the kid couldn't eavesdrop on her conversation with the blackmailer.

But Tyler was glad she did. As soon as they shut the door behind them, he held out his hand. “You answer the desk phone,” he said. “Let me listen on this one.”

Mallory clutched the telephone up against her chest instinctively, as though his suggestion were some kind of personal violation.

“No,” she said. “Why?”

“I interviewed a lot of people about this story, Mallory,” he said as patiently as he could. “I might recognize something. A tone. A phrase. Something.”

“I—” She seemed to be searching for a good reason to deny his request, but coming up blank.

“I already know Mindy's secret, remember?” He hesitated. “Unless of course you're hiding something else.”

“Of course not.” She frowned. “It's just that—”

“Mallory, give me the telephone. I don't think this guy is exactly going to appreciate being kept on hold.”

She still didn't like it, he could see that in her face. But she wasn't stupid. She handed over the telephone, gave him a minute to get ready, and then indicated that she was going to pick up her phone.

They clicked on simultaneously.

Mallory took a breath. “This is Mallory Rackham.”

Tyler had to admire her self-control. She still looked slightly unfocused from the three glasses of champagne, and significantly mussed from kissing him. Plus, she was probably scared to death to hear what the blackmailer had to say. And yet she sounded crisp and natural.

“Hello, Mallory,” the weird voice said slowly. “I guess you know what this call means. It's time.”

God, the guy really did sound like Darth Vader. Tyler pressed the phone to his ear, determined not to miss a syllable. He'd planned to get Mallory to install a recorder on her phone, but she'd assured him the blackmailer wouldn't call until next Thursday. That was the pattern. Every two weeks, on Thursday, he called to set up a Friday drop.

This was only Saturday. That piqued Tyler's curiosity. Any break from the pattern meant something. What it meant, and how important it might be, Tyler couldn't tell yet.

“It's
not
time. It's early,” Mallory said calmly, without aggression, just stating a fact. “I can't afford this every week. It's difficult enough getting it every two weeks.”

“But you always manage, don't you? And now
you'll be a good girl and manage one more. I want it tomorrow. Same time, same place.”

Staring at Mallory, Tyler shook his head firmly. Her eyes widened, but amazingly she didn't balk.

“I can't,” she said without a hitch. “I don't have it. I can't get it.”

In the pause that followed, Tyler thought he heard people talking in the background, from the blackmailer's end. Lots of people, like a party.

Maybe it was just the television?

Still…he wondered. Was it possible he had misjudged Dan Platt? Dan was at a party right now. Tyler had seen the look Dan gave Mallory when he'd seen the two of them holding hands at the wedding. Dan Platt might not love Mallory anymore, but he obviously still hated the idea of anyone else touching her. Could he be making this call from his own wedding reception?

It seemed far-fetched. But Tyler had seen people do weirder things.

“All right,” the voice said. “You can have until Monday. The Green Diamond. Monday at eleven.”

Mallory glanced at Tyler, who shook his head again. He needed more time, more words. Maybe if they riled the guy up a little, he'd say something impulsive. Something peculiar to his own speech patterns.

She frowned hard this time. But Tyler didn't back down. Squaring her shoulders as if preparing to take a blow, she inhaled another deep breath.

“Monday is still too soon. The banks are closed tomorrow. I can't get the money.”

The electronic voice exploded in high-pitched whine and static, as if the man had cursed so loudly the equipment couldn't handle it.

“What the goddamn hell is the matter with you people? Do you think I'm somebody you can play with? You'll put the goddamn money on that goddamn boat at eleven o'clock Monday—or someone else will. Freddy the Fiancé is a rich boy. I bet he'd be glad to pay.”

“No.” Mallory's voice trembled. “Please.”

The man chuckled, and the eerie electronic sound sent a disagreeable crawling sensation down Tyler's backbone. This guy loved knowing he had frightened her. Tyler had to tighten his jaw to keep from telling the bastard to take his threats and go straight to hell.

“Or I might decide to sell it to the newspapers,” the voice went on slyly. “Not your buddy Balfour, of course. The only thing he's investigating these days is how to get inside your pretty panties. Do you still have Mindy's whip? I'll bet that would turn him on big-time.”

Mallory flushed, and her hand tightened around the phone. Tyler held her eyes steadily and shook his head again.
Don't let him get to you,
he telegraphed.
Let him rant. He might let something slip.

She swallowed hard, but she nodded.

Tyler gave her a smile. He was proud of her. This was hard, but it was helping. He'd already learned a couple of interesting things about their blackmailer.

One—though his schemes seemed fairly well
planned, he wasn't as intelligent and self-controlled as Tyler had originally thought. Ranting was stupid, and this guy couldn't stop himself. People like that usually lived in the lower social branches, unable to discipline themselves to achieve anything higher.

Therefore, goofy Roddy Hartland, who liked to wear a skirt, could probably be eliminated. Hartland was eccentric, but his eccentricities were completely under his control.
Too bad.
Ever since Tyler had seen Roddy kiss Mallory at the country club, he'd sort of liked the idea of exposing the offbeat millionaire as a blackmailer.

The second thing Tyler had learned was that this wasn't just about money, and it wasn't even really about Mindy. This blackmailer had a chip on his shoulder about Mallory personally. That might mean he was local. Tyler would have to ask her if she'd had any persistent, unwelcome suitors in the past few years.

With her looks, the list would probably be a mile long. But at least this personal element meant that Tyler probably could cross Dorian Swigert, Mindy's one client, off the list. Dorian lived in Seattle. He'd been in Heyday only three days, three years ago. He'd never met Mallory at all.

Best of all, something in the blackmailer's phrasing sounded familiar. “What the goddamn hell” wasn't exactly a unique phrase, but it rang a bell deep in Tyler's subconscious. Someone connected with the Heyday Eight had used it. He'd have to go through all his taped interviews again.

Suddenly, though, the man on the phone seemed to realize he was talking too much. The electronic voice grew clipped and final.

“No more crap,” he said. “Just be on that ferry, you frigid bitch. Or I guarantee you'll regret it.”

Mallory looked at Tyler. He nodded. The blackmailer had pulled himself together again, and stalling wouldn't help. He was ready to hang up.

“I'll try,” she said quietly. And sure enough, the phone immediately went dead.

Tyler clicked off his phone. Mallory lowered hers more carefully, as if she moved in a trance. He could imagine how bruised she felt. This had been almost as brutal as a physical attack.

Tyler's hands made involuntary fists. God, how he was going to enjoy putting this guy behind bars where he belonged.

“Okay,” he said, making sure he sounded calm and matter-of-fact. “At least we have a time and place. Let's get him, Mallory. Let's bring in the police and catch this sick bastard.”

She sank into her desk chair slowly. She was still staring at the telephone. “No,” she said. “I followed your orders while he was on the phone. But I'm not taking orders anymore. I'm going to pay, assuming I can find the money.”

He could hardly believe his ears. “We can put an undercover policeman on the ferry. They can get this guy and lock him up.”

She transferred her focus to him. She looked a lit
tle glazed but determined. “Even if you do, he still can talk. Mindy needs more time. She is going to tell Freddy, very soon. She just has to find the right moment.”

He couldn't help it. He laughed. “The right moment? You mean when hell freezes over?”

She turned her face away without answering, hurt, and perhaps angry, too. Damn it. He should have been more diplomatic, but this was so willfully stupid he could hardly believe it.

Frustrated, he moved closer to the desk.

“Mallory, look, be realistic. Mindy may be deluding herself that Freddy can somehow get past the fact that his fiancée used to be a prostitute, but you know better than that.”

She snapped back, glaring. “She wasn't a prostitute. Don't call her that.”

“Call it whatever you want. It's going to be fatal. You've met Freddy. You've met his family. They'll drop her like a stick of dynamite.”

Her face was tense and completely closed in. She didn't even look like the same woman he'd held in his arms just fifteen minutes ago.

“You don't know that,” she said. “Don't judge everyone by your own standards, Tyler. Freddy loves Mindy.”

“I'm sure he does. But he loves power more. I've lived in Washington my whole life. I know politicians. She's dreaming, and she's going to wake up with a crash. Every day you wait just makes it harder.”

“I don't really believe this is yours to decide, Tyler.” She seemed to be finding her focus. She put her hands on the desk, palms down, and speared him with a tough glance. “I've promised Mindy time, and I'm going to give it to her. I'll pay this guy once more, and then we'll see what happens.”

“You'll go broke, that's what will happen. And a criminal will go free.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You're not in charge of ridding the world of criminals, Tyler. You're a journalist, not a policeman.”

He shook his head. This was beyond dumb. “You know, I could just go to the police without your permission.”

She blanched, but she remained stiff and erect in her chair. “You promised you wouldn't do that unless you absolutely had to. Was that just another of your bald-faced lies?”

He cursed. Of course it hadn't been a lie, but—

What the hell could he say that would persuade her? He had obviously overestimated the progress he'd made over the past week. He'd thought he could override her objections whenever he decided the time was right. But her determination to protect Mindy was stronger than anything he had in his arsenal.

“Damn it, Mallory. I thought we were past all this. I thought we were—” He stopped himself. He'd been about to say “friends.” He remembered how she had reacted the last time he used that word. “Just a few minutes ago we were—”

“Yes. We were. Probably it was the champagne. Believe me, I regret it already.” She narrowed her eyes. “But what does that have to do with this? Did you think a few kisses would give you the right to boss me around? Was it your way of guaranteeing I'd be putty in your hands?”

“You know it wasn't any—” he began harshly. But her face was so blank, so unyielding, that suddenly he was angry, too.

“Oh, to hell with it,” he said. He'd been a fool to think they could ever overcome the past. She might briefly forget. She might be seduced by champagne and wedding bells and a soft spring sky. But the past was always lurking just beneath it all, ready to rise up and create an insurmountable wall between them.

He moved toward the door, but at the last minute he turned back. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Before you do anything, think about this. How do you know this guy won't turn violent? How do you know he won't be waiting there when you get on the ferry? How do you know he won't hurt you?”

She gave him the coldest smile he'd ever seen. “I guess I don't. But that, too, is my problem, not yours.” Her voice was utterly flat. “Besides, would that really be so terrible? Think what an exciting chapter it would make for your book.”

 

“O
H
,
MY
L
ORD
,” Bryce McClintock said that Monday afternoon, as he strolled into Dilday Merle's office on the Moresville College campus and saw Tyler sitting
there. “Don't tell me the old fox has snagged you, too.”

Tyler looked up. “Snagged me for what?”

Dilday, sitting on the other side of the desk, cleared his throat, a distinctly grumpy sound. “No, I have not
snagged
him, and I didn't snag you, either, Bryce. You took this teaching position of your own volition.”

“The hell I did.” Bryce grinned at Tyler. “I'm warning you. This is how it starts. He looks innocent, but he's diabolical. When you leave this room, you'll be on his payroll, and you won't have a clue how it happened.”

Dilday tapped his zebra letter opener on the desk. “McClintock, did you want something? I have to assume your classroom is on fire, considering how you burst in here without even the slightest hint of warning.”

Bryce sighed. “No. So far I've managed to refrain from setting anything on fire. Tomorrow, of course, is another day.”

Dilday growled.
“McClintock.”

Tyler loved to hear the old man take that tone. It was pure power.

Even Bryce snapped to attention. “Yes, sir! I'm sorry I didn't knock. Angie isn't out there, and I didn't realize you were in conference. Lara told me yesterday to ask you to dinner tonight, and I forgot. She'll kill me if you don't come.”

“Oh, I'm sure.” Dilday rolled his eyes. “That delightful woman worships every follicle on your arro
gant McClintock head.” He turned to Tyler. “It's clearly a form of mental illness. She could have married a king.”