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Mallory's stomach clenched. She had completely forgotten that Mac would have to forge Keith's signature to get into the box. “Oh, Mac, what if it doesn't work?”

He caught her face between his hands and pressed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Have I let you down yet?”

“No.”

“Then trust me. I'll get that package if I have to rob the place.”

He said it in a teasing tone, but when Mallory glanced over at him, there was a determined glint in his eye that made her wonder. She believed he would do it if it came to that, risk his whole future for a little girl he had never met. Her little girl. She stared straight ahead as he backed the Honda out of the parking space. Memories of last night drifted through her mind. She regretted nothing. She had fallen head over heels in love with this man. Sneaking another look at him, she decided that most women would. Big, rugged and handsome, with a heart like a marshmallow, that was Mac. One in a million.

* * *

M
AC
'
S
HANDWRITING
WAS
worse
than Keith's—if that was possible. Mallory stared at his last attempt at duplicating Keith's signature, then cast a worried frown at the bank. “Mac, I'm afraid this won't work.”

He held up his bandaged right hand. It looked as though it had been wrapped by a professional, which of course it should, since Mallory had done it. “A guy can't be expected to write too well when his hand is bunged up. Relax, Mallory. They don't know the life history of every customer. For the next ten minutes, I
am
Keith Christiani.”

“If you get someone who knows him, you're sunk.”

Mac jabbed a thumb skyward. “
He
has to take care of that part. Where's your faith? I'll be back before you know it.”

Five minutes dragged by. Mallory tried not to look at her watch, but she couldn't help it.
Ten minutes.
How long could it take to open a safe-deposit box? Panic tightened her throat. She wasn't worried about Mac getting into trouble. She not only knew the best defense attorneys in the state, but she could also afford their fees. But Em... If Mac couldn't get that package, Mallory would have to get a court order to have the box opened. To do that, she would have to tell the authorities why. And if she did that Lucetti would kill her daughter.

Just when she was about to go inside to see what on earth was taking so long, Mac rounded the corner and came striding down the sidewalk toward the car. Tucked under one arm, he carried a large manila envelope. He was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes dancing with triumphant laughter.

Chapter Fourteen

Once they were certain they hadn't been followed from the bank, they went back to the same motel they had stayed in last night. They both sat on the bed, the ledgers and several of Steven Miles's letters spread before them. Mallory, sitting cross-legged, propped her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. “This is a nightmare. Darren was murdered? It wasn't an accident?”

Her voice shook so badly that Mac put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. He knew how frightened she must feel. She'd just found out her daughter was being held by the same man who had slain her husband. “We knew Lucetti was slime. This just proves it.”

“Worse than slime, a monster.” Her eyes sought his, aching with questions. “Darren was a good person. Why kill him? And why inject him with an anticoagulant? All this time, I thought that—” She shook her head. “Why, Mac?”

“He knew too much. As for the anticoagulant, they probably wanted to be sure the wound would be fatal. It sounds like Lucetti's MO. No loose ends. He has a reputation for it.”

A sick knot settled in Mac's stomach. He was as floored by the contents of the package as Mallory. Pete Lucetti didn't really exist? The identity was a front for a prominent Seattle businessman named John Carmichael? The man was almost legend, the owner of two perfectly respectable and highly successful corporations. He had even run for mayor, and indications were that he'd win the next election. The more Mac read, the more it all made sense. Small wonder the cops could never nail Lucetti. He was a fanatic about never leaving evidence because Carmichael had too much to lose if any of his criminal activities were ever traced back to him. Mac remembered thinking that Lucetti's speech patterns were odd for a Seattle lowlife. He also remembered the lack of noise on the phone when Carmichael had called. The clues to Lucetti's true identity had been there all the time, but he had failed to see them.

“Keith was trying to make sure Darren's murderer was sent to prison. That's what got us into this whole mess, revenge?”

“You can't blame Keith, Mallory. Rather than turn the evidence over to Darren's killer, he tried to outsmart him. I'm sure he must have thought he could protect you. Things got out of hand. He had the stroke. It wasn't how he planned it.”

She sighed and looked down at the letters Steven Miles had written. “Talk about a domino effect. Two girls come into Seattle, start working Carmichael's turf without paying him a percentage, and my little girl ends up paying for it.”

“It's not quite that simple. It started with the two prostitutes, all right, but then it mushroomed, and finally involved Keith. Em is peripheral. Remember when I told you my friend, Corrine, was a decent sort, that she hated Lucetti? The reason is that he plays so dirty. Girls don't work his turf without giving him a cut—a big one. They end up with only a fraction of what they earn. If they complain, he has them roughed up. If they try to run out on him, he gets rougher. Once they go to work for him, there is no escape.”

“And meanwhile he gets rich?”

“Exactly. And if they defy him like these two girls did?” He made a slashing motion across his throat. “Angela and Vicki and several other girls were skimming. Carmichael chose Vicki to take the fall.”

“And Angela decided to avenge her by putting Carmichael in prison? She must have realized he would suspect she was gathering evidence against him and have her killed.”

“Without a doubt. Carmichael runs a tight organization. He wouldn't have someone killed, then fail to monitor the movements of the victim's best friend. Angela knew that. He
did
overlook one thing, though. The dead girl and his accountant, Miles, had been having an affair.”

“And Miles was in love with her?”

“He risked everything to avenge her murder.”

Mallory closed her eyes for a moment, her head swimming. It was like reading a disjointed, convoluted mystery novel. She desperately needed to put it all in order. Right now, only one thing seemed clear, that Em was being held by a killer. The rest seemed like a nightmare of craziness.

Aloud, she went through it one more time. “So...two prostitutes named Vicki and Angela came into Seattle and were coerced into working for Lucetti—whom we now know is actually John Carmichael. Vicki became disillusioned and despite warnings from Angela and her lover, Steven Miles, she began holding out on Carmichael. Carmichael discovered she was cheating him and had her killed. Angela couldn't bear for Vicki's murder to go unpunished, even though she knew she could end up dead herself, and began compiling evidence to put Carmichael away.”

“Right. And after about a year, when she had enough to send Carmichael up, she confided her plan to Steven Miles, gave him duplicates of the evidence, just in case something happened to her, and called your husband, the do-gooder lawyer, to see if he would help her. She would have been afraid of going to the police, remember, because she'd found out two men on the force had been bought.”

Tears gathered in Mallory's eyes. “And of course, Darren agreed to take the evidence to the right people.”

“So Angela arranged to bring it to him the next day.”

“Only she was murdered before she could?”

“Probably within hours. I'm sure Darren didn't realize his own life was in danger.”

“After Angela's call, Carmichael knew Darren might know who Pete Lucetti really was, so Darren had to be silenced. Within forty-eight hours, Darren was dead, his death made to look like an accident.” Mallory sighed shakily. “So Miles was left holding the bag.”

Mac nodded. “And plenty scared. Three people were dead. He assessed the situation and decided to wait to make his move until Carmichael's guard was down. Miles was an accountant—a man who spent most of his waking moments recording stuff. For years, he had been the head accountant for Carmichael, laundering his ill-gotten gains, so to speak, by making it all look legal on paper. After Vicki and Angela were killed, he decided to start a second set of records, a truthful set, documenting every criminal activity Carmichael's organization was involved in.”

“An exposé.”

“Exactly. The stuff Angela had dug up on Carmichael was probably child's play by comparison. If Miles was going to blow the whistle, he decided to go foghorn-style, tattling on everybody involved, the cops on the take, the pimps, the working girls, the bookies, everybody. When he got done, there would be no organization left.”

“What a boon for Seattle that would have been.”

Mac nodded. “While he waited, building up his evidence, he formed an alliance with—” Mac tapped a finger on one of the ledgers “—Paisley, Fields and Godbey, the murderous trio who've been chasing us—they skimmed the money, he doctored the books so Carmichael couldn't tell. The profits were divided four ways.”

“And Miles slowly transferred his share to foreign banks?” Mallory asked.

“With enough money, a man can begin a new life anywhere. While Carmichael rotted in prison, Miles wanted to be lounging on a sunny beach someplace.”

“But he needed someone he could trust to deliver the package to the DA.”

“And who better than Keith Christiani?” Mac looked resigned. “Keith was knowledgeable about the law, knew which authorities to contact, and he would be well motivated to want Carmichael behind bars once he received evidence Darren had been murdered.”

“So Miles sent Keith a copy of the exposé accompanied by lengthy letters of explanation, asking him to help get the package to the DA's office.”

“My guess is that Miles called Keith to be certain he had received the evidence in the mail.”

Mallory licked her lips. “Which was probably his mistake. Carmichael, typically paranoid, must have become suspicious of Miles for some reason and had his phone tapped.”

“And Miles was killed. Then, of course, the threats against Keith started. He was told to return the package to Carmichael, or else.”

“But instead Keith tried to trick him?”

“Carmichael said Keith mailed him a dummy package and must have put the real one in his safe-deposit box. He probably planned to get you and Em out of town before Carmichael received the package, and have me deliver the key to the district attorney after you were safe. Then something went haywire. He called me and was leaving me a message when he collapsed. The rest, we know.”

Mallory shoved the papers away as if the sight of them sickened her. Dropping her forehead to rest against her palm, she whispered, “One thing doesn't make sense. Those three men, how did they know that Miles had exposed their skimming activities?”

A grim smile curved his mouth. “Remember when I was questioning Chapin down in Seattle the other night? He said Carmichael had sicced three goons on Miles, one named Fields?”

Mallory leafed quickly through the papers. “Fields! One of the men who had skimmed with Miles!”

“Exactly. This is only conjecture, but my guess is that after hearing that telltale phone conversation between Keith and Miles, Carmichael sent his not-so-trustworthy employees to eliminate Miles and get the ledgers. They probably caught Miles by surprise, and saw his copy of the exposé. When they realized exactly what was in it, they knew they would wind up dead if Carmichael ever saw it.”

“So they destroyed the set Miles had and started trying to get their hands on the set Carmichael had told them Miles had sent to Keith?”

“And so began the frantic search for the safe-deposit box key. When they couldn't find it, they had one other option.”

“To take me out of the picture? So the entire time Carmichael has been trying to make me cough up the evidence, those three have been trying to keep me from it?”

“Exactly. They're probably terrified. Carmichael doesn't slap hands. They were racing against time. They needed you out of the way. I'm sure Keith would have been next. Eventually someone would have been awarded the contents of the safe-deposit box. Once that person had the package, they would have stolen it.”

“And killed anyone who got in their way.”

“Their lives are on the line, Mallory. These fellows have killed for less.”

Mallory groaned. “Poor Keith. It must have been awful for him when he realized he wasn't going to be able to pull things off.” Her voice rang hollow. “His only hope was to reach you. He must have thought you were due back that day.”

“I
was
due back that day. Something came up, and I came home a day late, which was why I went directly to the baseball field after I landed at Sea-Tac.” Mac sighed. “No wonder poor Keith had the stroke. He was under incredible pressure.”

“Not to mention the shock it must have been to learn Darren had been murdered. I wish he had confided in me. But I guess he thought the less I knew, the safer I was.” Mallory lifted her head. Her mouth trembled. “I still can't believe Darren was murdered. He was a gun collector, you know, antique weapons.” She made a feeble little gesture with her hands. “It looked as if he had been cleaning one of the weapons and it had accidentally discharged. It—under the chin—and he was bleeding everywhere. I had taken Em shopping. When we came home, we found him in the den.”

“Oh, Mallory, I never knew you were the one who found him.”

Her eyes widened. “Why did you think I quit nursing?”

“I figured you got bored with it. With your money, you don't have to work.”

She leaped off the bed, pacing back and forth as the full implication of what he had just said sank in. “Bored with it? Nursing was the most important thing in my life except for my husband and child.” She whirled and held out her hands, her eyes flashing with anger. “Oh, Mac, why can't you look beyond my father's money to the person I am? Do you think it's fun being raised in a wealthy family? Do you think I wasn't aware of the Third World? Of all the sick and homeless?”

“I guess I never thought about it.”

“Yes, you did. You just assumed I didn't care.”

It was an undeniable truth, so Mac made no reply.

“When I was young I wanted to join the Peace Corps. Did you know that?”

“Why didn't you?”

“My folks came unglued. They wanted me to fulfill
their
dream, which was to marry into the
right
family and drive around in one of those fifty-thousand-dollar cars you hate so much. I was young—easily intimidated—my father is a master at intimidation. I finally compromised and went into nursing. They weren't thrilled, but it was better than my being a missionary.”

She shoved her hands into her back pockets and smiled wistfully. “I met Darren in college. Miracle of miracles, he was from an
acceptable
family. We were going to make a difference, he and I, he with his law practice and me with my nursing. He and Randy planned to open a law office in Seattle, a place that would volunteer legal services to the poor. They both planned to work there in addition to jobs at a regular law firm. I worked for nothing at a low-income clinic.” A bitter twist replaced the smile on her lips. “Like you said, I didn't
need
the money.”

The mention of Randy made Mac glance away.

“Oh, yes, I know who you are,” she blurted out. “I've known since I saw Randy's photograph at your apartment.”

“Why didn't you say something?”

She hesitated before answering. “I was afraid you might walk out on me.”

“Mallory...” He lifted an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I know you never would, no matter how badly you might hate me. You'd stay for Em. And for Keith. I didn't have enough faith in you. I apologize for that. But I was scared.”

“Mallory, I don't hate you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “At least not anymore.”

“But you did. For years. Admit it, Mac. The very least we owe each other is the truth.”