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“Which makes no sense.”

“No, none at all. Which convinces me we were right all along, that they're Lucetti's men, acting on their own.”

“They don't want me giving him that package.” Mallory leaned back against the headboard. “And what's the best way to make sure I don't?” She snapped her fingers. “Waste me. It makes sense. Unless he finds that key on his own, which is unlikely, Lucetti doesn't have a prayer of getting into that deposit box without me.”

Mac nearly smiled at how quickly she had picked up on the lingo she had heard downtown. He was willing to bet that until the night before last, the only “waste” Mallory had known about was the kind that went down her garbage disposal. “It's something in that package that they don't want Lucetti to see. But what?”

“Ledgers equal embezzlement,” she said with certainty. “What else could it be? Embezzlement or proof somehow that they had cheated him.”

Mac dropped into the red chair, his mind racing. After a moment, he shook his head. “To embezzle, they'd have to be bookkeepers. No way. Bookkeepers aren't that friendly with guns and explosives.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe they aren't bookkeepers. What if they're collectors? Like Chapin said?”

“Collectors?”

“Yeah, the money boys.” Mac's eyes began to gleam with excitement. “Mallory, you're a genius. They've been skimming! Miles's ledgers must implicate them somehow.” Leaping up, he began to pace. “If Lucetti sees the books and discovers his collectors have betrayed him, they're as good as dead. Perfect motivation! No wonder they're trying to rub you out. It's you or them.”

“What a comforting thought,” she said in a faint voice.

He flashed her a grin. “Hey, so far, we've outsmarted them.”

“Correction.
You
have.”

“Well, I'd say luck has bailed us out more times than not. And it's your luck as much as mine. Those guys are good at what they do, damned good.” He settled back in the chair.

She managed a wry smile. “You can't say it's all been luck, Mac. Your driving skills saved us the first time, your quick thinking, the second. If not for you, I'd be wearing a toe tag by now.”

That grim thought brought silence swooping over them for a moment.

“So...” He lifted his hands. “What next, Einstein? Any ideas?” He leaned forward and draped his arms on his knees. “So far, I haven't got any leads on Lucetti unless I want to wait till the weekend and go to the racetrack to find Andrews. But we don't have time for that. We don't have an ID as yet on the three thugs, just the one possible name Shelby's checking out. And no clue what friend it was that Keith gave the key to. I'm fresh out of ideas.”

“You know what's weird?” Mallory said. “Lucetti doesn't
know
what friend Keith gave it to. He wanted those ledgers so badly, he admitted he'd had Keith followed—to be sure he mailed the package. And he was having
me
followed, too, after all, or he wouldn't have known where Em was. You'd think he'd know everywhere Keith went, everyone he came in contact with.”

Mac shook his head. “You're forgetting the mail.”

“True. I don't suppose Lucetti could have monitored all the mail that left the law firm, even if he tried.” Mallory stared at Mac, the germ of an idea taking root. The mail? She remembered a plot twist in a mystery novel she had read some time ago.
Evidence found on a typewriter ribbon.
“Mac?” she squeaked. “Oh, good grief! Why didn't we think of it?”

She leaped from the bed and fumbled for her nightgown. Mac stared at her. “Come again?”

“The typewriter. Don't you see? If Keith sent the key to someone, he would have typed an accompanying letter. If he was being secretive, he wouldn't have had Trudy do it. We can get the name off his ribbon. He uses a film cartridge on the typewriter. And a film ribbon is one-strike. You simply reverse your ribbon, find the section of film you want and transcribe the letters in the proper order to see what was written.”

“Why would he bother to type a letter? It would be quicker to do it longhand.”

“Keith's handwriting is awful, he never writes by hand.”

Mac rose slowly from the chair. His mind whirled as he tried to remember whether or not the typewriter, like everything else in Keith's office, had been torn apart. “Don't get too excited. That ribbon could have been tossed when Trudy cleaned up the mess in his office.”

She threw him a glare as she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her robe. “Don't even
think
that way.”

Chapter Thirteen

It was over two hours before Mac and Mallory could get to Keith's firm. First, they had to be decently attired. When they drove by Mallory's to get clothes, they saw that the doors and windows of the house had been sealed with tape, the yard cordoned off. Evidently the police had been called by neighbors who reported the shooting, and the electrocuted body of the intruder had been discovered. Mac and Mallory didn't dare enter the house. As it was, they needed to ditch the stolen Cadillac as quickly as they could before the police made a connection between the missing car and the shooting incident.

They were left with no choice but to stop someplace and buy Mallory clothing. After going to Mac's apartment so he could dress, they drove to Bellevue Square. Mac took a list of Mallory's sizes and went inside to buy her a new set of clothes and shoes. She had to dress in the rest room of an Exxon station across the street.

“Not bad,” Mac commented when she emerged from the ladies room and climbed back into the Cadillac. “Jeans and sneakers do something for you. Or maybe it's the other way around, you do something for jeans and sneakers.”

She brushed her hair with her fingers, flashing him a smile. “It's just your great taste.”

Giving her another once-over, Mac had to agree. The pale blue knit top he had chosen hugged her sleek lines like a second skin.
Choice
, as Danno would say. The question was, could Mac afford her? She didn't seem to mind blue jeans and tennies, but he wasn't offering them to her as a steady diet, either. Not that he wouldn't buy her nice clothing if dressing her ever became his responsibility. He simply couldn't compete with her father. Never would be able to, for that matter.

“Well, this is where we leave the Cadillac.” Mac pulled out his wallet and cast a gloomy glance at his quickly dwindling money supply. “I wish we could leave them something to compensate for all the trouble we've caused them.”

Mallory took off her diamond solitaire earrings and stuck them in an old registration envelope she found in the glove box. Laying the offering on the seat, she threw Mac a smile. “No great sentimental value. A gift from my father.”

“Mallory, diamonds from your father? If they didn't mean a lot, you wouldn't be wearing them.”

She threw open her door. “The only reason I wear them is that he has a fit if I don't.”

He climbed out on his side and shut his door, eyeing her over the shiny black roof. “Fifteen hundred dollars of ice?”

“Ice—exactly—not love or a hug.”

The fleeting sadness that touched her face made Mac's heart catch. She skirted the car, walking with a new jauntiness in the comfortable sneakers. His gaze dropped to the swing of her hips. She definitely added new dimensions to denim. Dropping an arm around her shoulders, he gave her that hug her father had failed to give her as he fell into step with her. As they crossed the parking lot, he was achingly aware that he wanted to do a whole lot more than just hug her. And he wanted a whole lot longer than a day in which to do it.

They walked to the law firm, which was several blocks away. Mallory looked so different in her new outfit that Mac didn't think anyone was likely to recognize her. Trudy proved him right when they entered the firm's lobby. She cast a vague glance at Mallory, zeroed in on Mac, and then did a double take.

“Mallory?”

“It's my new look. Uh, Trudy, can we slip into Keith's office for a moment? There's something I need to check on.”

“Certainly, help yourself. I know Keith wouldn't mind.”

Mallory spun toward the office. Mac, much to his consternation, found that he couldn't take his eyes off her jeans as he fell in behind her. Though he lectured himself that this was no time to be thinking about making love to her, another part of him kept arguing that it might very well be the
only
time he ever could.

Mallory whooped with delight when she found the IBM still had a ribbon cartridge inside it. She flipped the lock lever and pulled the cartridge free from its base. After carrying it to Keith's desk, she bent over it and began turning the right-hand knob counterclockwise until a fair amount of black ribbon was unwound. She gave a section of it a close study and smiled.

“We're in luck, Mac. Grab a pad and pen. I'll call off the letters.”

He hovered beside her, pen at the ready. The first string of letters she called off were part of a dated memo. No luck there. She skipped a section of tape. “
O—N
—an apostrophe, I think—
T—C—A—L—L—T—H—E—P—O—L
...” She heaved a disgusted sigh. “Is it making any sense at all yet?”

“Keep reading,” he ordered in a tense voice.

“I—C—E—U—N—T—I—L—”
She leaned over to see what he had written thus far and her eyes widened. “Don't call the police? Oh, Mac! This is it—part of the letter he sent with the key.” Her hands began to shake as she bent back over the tape. “I
knew
it!”

“Calm down! You'll tear the film.”

She closed her eyes for an instant and took a deep breath. “Right. I have to stay calm. Okay. Ready?”

He grunted, hardly able to contain himself as he jotted letters down and tried to make sense of them.

“
D—O—N
—another apostrophe, maybe a comma—
T—T—R—U—S—T—A—N—Y—O—N—E
—another itsy mark, an apostrophe or period—a period, I think—
I—A—M—C—O—U—N—T—I—N—G—O—N—Y—O—U
—a period—
K—E—I—T—H
.”

“Stop a sec.” Mac frowned and went back over the last string of letters. “Don't trust anyone! I'm counting—yeah—I'm counting on you. Then he signed off. The rest, Mallory. The address should be coming up. Hurry, sweetheart.”

“Um...” She squinted at the film and slowly began calling off letters again, unable to make words from them because she was too intent on deciphering the indistinct type.
“B—U—D—M—A—C—P—H—”

Mac threw the pen down and grabbed her by the arm, nearly jerking her off her feet. As he hauled her with him across the room, he cried, “How could I be so stupid! He mailed it! That's why he looked at me that way!”

“What did it say?”

“He mailed it to
me
! Trudy was right. If he was in a jam, I'd be the one he'd call! I wasn't in town, so he mailed it to me.
I've
got the key, Mallory. I've had it the whole damned time and just didn't know it.”

Trudy's eyes widened when they burst into the lobby. Mac dropped Mallory's arm and ran to the older woman's desk. “Trudy, I need to borrow your car.”

“My car?” She leaned sideways to grab her purse off the shelf and get her keys. As she handed them to Mac, she said, “Why do you need my car?”

“Mine was blown up.” Mac snagged the keys, blew her a kiss and grabbed Mallory's arm again. “Thanks, Trudy. You're an angel. Take a cab if I don't bring it back before you get off work. I'll pick up your tab later.”

“But—blown up? Oh, my, what on earth is—”

They never heard the rest of what Trudy was going to say. Mac slammed the door behind them and took off down the hall at a run, hauling Mallory in his wake. When they reached the parking lot, he staggered to a stop. “Which car does she drive, anyway?”

“That Honda.” The words were no sooner out than Mac was off and running again, towing her along. “If he mailed it to y—”

“He did. Trust me.” He parted company with her at the fender of the car, ran around to the driver's side, unlocked the door and leaped in. For a moment, Mallory thought he might drive off without her, but he remembered her and unlocked her side. She climbed in and threw him a worried look. He didn't even notice, just kept talking nonstop. “We drive to my place, get my mail. Go to the bank, get the package. Spend the night at a motel. Wait for Lucetti's call in the morning at your place. It'll be a little risky getting inside your house. Might have to go before daylight so no one sees us and calls the cops, but—”

“Mac!”

He at last focused on her. “What?”

“The mail.
Your
mail?”

“What about it?”

“I gathered it up in that sack. It's
inside
my house. At least I hope it is. What if the police took it?”

For a moment, he stared at her. Then he swore—not under his breath this time—and began to pound his fists on the steering wheel. Mallory watched anxiously. At last, he leaned his head against the rest and closed his eyes, his teeth clenched.

“I—” She licked her lips. “I guess I really messed up. Oh, Mac, why didn't I
look
at the mail when I was gathering it.”

“You were upset. It's not your fault. I didn't take time to
read
it. I can't believe I was so dense.”

“Mac, we've scarcely had time to eat.”

“But I've had it all this time! We've been running around like a couple of fools—” He broke off and groaned. “I hope the cops didn't take that sack as evidence. If they did, how will we ever get that key?”

* * *

T
HERE
WAS
NO
sack of mail in the breakfast nook. Mac searched the kitchen, the dayroom, then the entire downstairs, dreading the moment when he'd have to tell Mallory. Either the killers had taken it, or the police had. Either way, they were in big trouble. He crept upstairs to grab Mallory's purse in case she needed it later, then left the house and snuck through the backyard, cutting across an adjoining property to reach Mallory where she waited in the Honda over on the next block. They hadn't been able to park nearby, for fear someone would spot them.

“Well?” she demanded when he climbed into the car. “Did you get it?”

He shook his head. “Don't panic, though. If the cops took it, we might still be in business.”

“How so?”

“Remember that first night up at Lake Tuck? I told you one of my best buddies worked for the department? Well, I think he'll get me the key if I level with him.”

“But the grapevine. You said we didn't dare tell any police.”

“Not to have them do an investigation. Several policemen would have known about it then, and one of them could have leaked it to the wrong fellow. This is different. Scotty won't tell anyone.”

“You're sure?”

He locked gazes with her. “Mallory, let's put it this way. We don't have any other options. I have to call him.”

* * *

F
IFTEEN
MINUTES
LATER
, Mac was on hold, waiting to be put through to his friend, Scotty Herman, a King County detective. The moment Scotty heard Mac's voice, he began yelling so loudly that the sound reverberated inside the phone booth.

“What in hell are you up to, Mac? Do you know how disconcerting it is to be investigating a case and suddenly find out a friend is somehow involved? First the Volvo. Then a fried goon. Then a stolen car? We found your prints, you know.”

Mac waited for Scotty to wind down, then explained the situation. “I'm counting on you to keep your lip zipped on this. You don't dare tell anyone. The kid could end up dead.”

“Mac, you ever heard the cardinal rule? Call your local police? Who do you think you are, Superman? And now you want me to—” He broke off, cleared his throat and continued in a whisper. “You want me to steal evidence gathered from a homicide scene? Have you lost your mind? They itemize that stuff. I could lose my job.”

“Just one little envelope, the one from Keith. Come on, Scotty. You can fix it so no one realizes anything's missing.”

“You're asking me to put my career on the line.”

“It's a kid's
life
on the line. Will you do it?”

Long silence. “Yeah, yeah, I'll do it. I'll meet you in two hours at the Denny's on 116th. We're even after this one, though. Consider me paid up in full.”

“Scotty, I've never kept score. Two hours? I still have to get some fake ID made so I can get into Christiani's safe-deposit box sometime today.”

“I didn't hear that.” Scotty groaned. “Mac, breaking the law is one thing, but do you have to outline your itinerary to me before you go do it?”

“So throw me in jail. What should I do, let him kill her? What would
you
do, Scotty. I wanna hear this.”

“Oh, shut up. Two hours, take it or leave it. I gotta go through channels, you know.”

* * *

S
COTTY
WAS
A
TALL
, dark-haired man in a gray suit and a perfectly awful blue-gray tie with turquoise polka dots. Mac met him at the entrance of Denny's. Scotty seemed none too thrilled about standing around with Mac, so he passed the envelope with all speed, lifted a hand to acknowledge Mallory, who had stayed in the car, and left as quickly as he had come.

Mac hurried back to the car, ripped open the envelope, and whooped triumphantly when the key fell out in his hand. Mallory felt tears welling in her eyes and had to look away for a moment. Mac would have none of that. He placed a hand behind her head and pulled her toward him. “Home free, Mallory. We've got it.”

She clung to him.

“Tomorrow, honey, and she'll be home. I'll set up the exchange with Lucetti when he calls in the morning.” Bending his head, he kissed the tears from her cheeks. “What do you say we call the hospital and have the nurse tell Keith the good news, hmm? We'll have to watch what we say, but we should be able to get the message across. Then we'll run over to Seattle.”

“Why do we need to go to Seattle?”

“I'll need authentic looking ID when I go to the bank. I know a guy downtown who can take Keith's identification, put my picture on it, alter the dates with transfer lettering, laminate it, and no one will ever know it isn't mine.”