See Me in Your Dreams (9 page)

"Let's say
both the friendship and the partnership are strained. Maybe the first can be
recovered if the second is dissolved amicably."

"A friend
would put this on the back burner until we get Cheryl home."

"Which
could be never."

A thick
silence followed, and Brock would swear that Ty paled. He went stiff as a
corpse. Cold. His light blue eyes reminded Brock of shards of ice. He shifted
uncomfortably under their glare. He'd seen that particular look before, but
never aimed at him. He didn't relish being the recipient of the other man's
ill-will.

"Don't
ever intimate such a thing again," Ty warned him in a low, menacing voice.
"I'll bring my daughter home, and in one piece. You can bet your half of
the business on that."

"I'm not
betting my half of the business on anything. I just want to pack it up and
leave." Despite his growing discomfort, Brock pushed forward. "I want
half of everything. Split right down the middle. Clients, contacts, assets.
Everything."

"I
promise you, we'll talk about it. When I'm ready."

When
he
was ready. Wasn't that just like Ty.
Decisions were always his call, Brock fumed, frustration getting the best of
him. Without another word, he stormed out of the office.

Coming up the
stairs, mail in hand, Pam gave him an intense, inquiring look. Not wanting her
to guess what had gone on in there – how, once more, Ty had taken the upper
hand – he turned his face away and escaped into his own office.

The one with
the view of congested Clark Street rather than the tranquil park.

Brock's
insides felt as knotted as the traffic tie-up at the intersection, but he was
determined for once to get what he wanted. Cheryl really was Tyler Leighton's
weak spot and Brock knew it. He loved the kid, he really did, and he didn't
want to have to use her disappearance as leverage.

But if it came
to that...

For once in
his life, he wasn't going to back off because something was too tough.

"MAIL CALL." PAMELA BROUGHT
IN half an armload and set it on Tyler's desk. "Alma said you were anxious
for something or other this morning."

Tyler was
already flipping through the letter-sized envelopes when he grunted,
"Thanks."

He hadn't
thought to disbelieve Keelin about the ransom note when she'd seemed as shaken
as he. At first, he'd clung to her with trust and something more, something
that cut deeper despite his worry over his daughter...and then...suspicion had
reared its ugly head.

Now he didn't
know what to think.

How could he
be certain his feeling closer to Keelin hadn't been part of her master scheme
to take him?

She'd made
moves on him, throwing her arms around his neck, touching his face in that
gentle way that made his heart thunder in his chest. He'd wanted to touch her
and kiss her and do more than just hold her. And this while his only thought
should have been of his daughter, Tyler remembered, disgusted with himself.
Keelin making him think
he
was to
blame, that some enemy
he'd
made was
using Cheryl to get even, could have been no more than a stroke of genius on
her part. A smoke screen so that he would forget he didn't trust her. That he'd
vowed never to be fooled again.

He
automatically discarded any envelopes with a familiar return address. Two were
from people he didn't know. A third had no return address at all. His fingers
tightened on the ordinary white paper that could have been purchased at any
drug store.

"Are you
okay?"

Tyler glanced
up at his assistant, her gaze sympathetic, but he couldn't answer. No, he
wasn't okay. He wouldn't be okay until he held Cheryl in his arms. He tore open
the envelope and pulled out the missive.

This was it.

No originality
here. Block letters cut from magazines and newspapers glared out at him.

Don't involve the police further if you value your
daughter's life. I'll be in touch.

For a moment, Tyler
forgot to breathe. Pressure built inside him until he was ready to explode.

"Tyler?"

He glanced up
at Pamela, at the dark eyes reflecting his own anguish. He handed her the
warning missive. She blanched when she read it.

"Oh, God.
What are you going to do?"

"Whatever
the bastard who sent that says."

Inspecting the
envelope as if he could read the sender's true intentions from it, Tyler
suddenly realized that while it had been stamped, there was no postmark.
"This never went through the U.S. mail." He showed Pamela.

"You
think someone slipped it into the pile when it was first delivered?"

"How
else?"

"We had
at least a dozen strangers wandering around downstairs this morning," his
assistant admitted. "I suppose any one of them could have done it."

Or someone who
was not a stranger at all, Tyler mused.
Keelin?
Definitely someone who knew him. He still couldn't get over the idea of
Cheryl's going off with someone she trusted more than him...

"What
about George
Smialek
?" Pamela suggested.
"Maybe he's crazy enough to do something like this."

"He's
suing me."

"But a
suit isn't personal."

"You have
a point." Though Cheryl didn't know the man.

"So,
aren't you going to call the police?"

"No. The
sender threatened to kill Cheryl if I did."

"You
could give them what they want and they could kill her anyway."

As if he
hadn't thought of that.

"Pamela,
I don't want you telling anyone about this."

He had to find
his daughter before it came to a life or death situation, Tyler thought. Keelin
McKenna was the key. Though he prayed Keelin was on the up-and-up, she could be
part of the scam.

One way or the
other, he feared he would be forced to put his daughter's fate in Keelin
McKenna's hands.

SKELLY LIVED IN A POSH NEW BRICK AND
STONE
rowhouse
on Lincoln Avenue, one of the diagonal
streets cutting across Chicago's north side. The triangular development with
entrances at each of the three corners had been designed to emulate a London
neighborhood. All the
rowhouses
looked over inner
streets and small snatches of green. Living quarters stacked up two stories
over the street-level garages.

"Quite a
place you have here," Keelin said, wandering around the generously
apportioned living and dining areas. She wondered if Skelly was in love with
black lacquered furniture, or if the same designer who'd planned his office had
had a free hand in his home, as well.

As she stood
over him, Skelly frowned. "You look tired."

"Sleep
seems a bit elusive these days."

"Another
dream?"

Keelin nodded.
"Cheryl Leighton's in trouble." She tried not to dwell on the complex
emotions she had for the girl's father, all of which troubled
her
. "She trusted the wrong people.
They're going to want money to give her back."

"I'm
sorry." He took a folder from his briefcase and indicated she should sit
on the couch opposite him. "Especially sorry that you feel responsible for
this girl. Tyler Leighton is the type of man a woman should avoid."

Skelly spread
the contents across the coffee table. Keelin sat and looked over copies of
newspaper articles. Actually, they were society columns, most of which were
accompanied by photographs of Tyler with some woman on his arm. Rather all
different women.

And one she
recognized.

"Over the
years, Leighton's been seen with a number of socialites, each for a limited
period of time," Skelly told her. "He's never been seriously involved
with any of them as far as I can tell. Never lets them get too close. The
latest of his conquests was Vivian Claiborne."

"We've
met, so to speak." Pushing away the memory of being held in Tyler's arms,
Keelin said, "Skelly, if you're afraid Tyler will turn my head–"

"I'm
afraid for your safety. He moved from Indiana when his daughter was about a
year old after his wife died, supposedly in a car accident. Only I couldn't get
a bead on the particulars. No tragic story in any Indianapolis newspaper. No
obituary. If you ask me, Helen Leighton must have died under some mysterious
circumstances..."

"You're
not saying you think he killed her and buried her in the backyard, are
you?"

"I'm saying
that it's possible."

Remembering
her caution around Tyler, having recognized his dark side, Keelin shifted
uncomfortably. Tyler a murderer? Surely not. Surely she would sense it if he
were truly dangerous.

But why should
she?

Though she
might be able to see through another's eyes, that's as far as her so-called
psychic gift went. She couldn't see into another person's soul. Couldn't read
anyone's mind. She had to rely on her natural instincts, the same instincts
that everyone possessed, to judge character.

Besides,
Keelin reminded herself, Skelly sensationalized stories for a living. Maybe he
was digging for a story where there was none.

Keelin shook
her head. "No, it's too bizarre."

"The
strange disappearance of the first Mrs. Leighton
is
bizarre," Skelly agreed, "and that's why I want you to
be careful. I don't want to chance losing my new cousin before I even get to
know what makes her tick."

"You mean
afterward would be all right?" she asked with a straight face.

Skelly seemed
startled for a moment. Then, when he realized she was joking, he grinned.
"Aileen's going to love your sense of humor. And speaking of my sister, we
ought to get a move on or she might be unavailable. I don't have a clue to her
bookings for today."

Keelin already
knew his half-sister was a massage therapist and that she'd been enthusiastic
at the prospect of meeting her cousin from Ireland.

"Then we
had best hurry," Keelin agreed. She indicated the copies. "Can I keep
these?"

"Consider
them yours."

Keelin stuffed
the papers back into the folder and took it along. She'd have the time to look
them over more carefully later in her hotel.

Taking
Skelly's car, they drove north up Lincoln Avenue to Aileen's place of work.

"
Natural Is
...is an alternate lifestyle
business owned by a local health food guru," Skelly said. "It
promotes a more natural way of life, from organic foods to homeopathic
medicines to healing hands. There's a combination shop/cafe and a health
clinic. Aileen is the massage therapist."

"How
peculiar and grand that I share a similar interest with a cousin who was born
thousands of miles from me," Keelin said with wonder.

Natural Is
...was located in a double storefront
in an area that Skelly told her was still recovering from an economic fallout.
Two major department stores had gone out of business with most of the smaller
shops following. But eventually new businesses had moved in, loft condominiums
had been created, and the neighborhood had received a face-lift in general.

Keelin especially
appreciated the old building facades that had been cleaned up and restored. And
she felt comfortable entering
Natural Is
...The
reception area of the clinic was anything but sterile. Purple walls. Oriental
carpets underfoot. An eclectic mix of second-hand furniture, some of it painted
bright colors, scattered about. A mobile of the universe glittering in one
corner. And plants peeking out from every nook and cranny. Lots and lots of
plants.

And her cousin
Aileen was equally colorful, wreathed in a brilliant fuchsia, turquoise and
jade print cocoon jacket that shimmered as she threw her arms around Keelin for
a hug.

"My
schedule is clear for the rest of the hour," Aileen said before Skelly
could make more formal introductions. "Let's go next door into the
cafe."

Half-brother
and -sister had the same blue eyes and Keelin could see a resemblance in the
cheekbones and
jawline
. But where Skelly had black
hair, Aileen was blond, her extraordinary fairness no doubt inherited from her
mother
LaVerne
.

Keelin knew
that Skelly's mother Faye – her own father's first love and the reason for the
division between James and Raymond – had died shortly after his birth. Raymond
had quickly remarried, but his union with
LaVerne
Gordon had ended in divorce. Gran once mentioned Raymond also had a child by a
woman he'd never married, but Keelin hadn't found any letters or cards from
Skelly and Aileen's natural half-brother in Moira's box of cherished memories.

The cafe took
up the front third of the other half of
Natural
Is
... Keelin barely got a glimpse of the displays of books and supplements
and more
eyecatching
treasures sold in the store
before they settled at a table overlooking the busy street. Keelin and Aileen
ordered herbal teas, while Skelly stuck to a hearty coffee.