CHAPTER ONE
EIGHT O'CLOCK and all would be well if only the Public Interest Lobbying Cooperative offices would empty of the extra people that weren't supposed to be there.
While peering down the hall from the doorway of the ladies lounge for the hundredth time in the past hour, Honor heard raised voices. She drew back and watched the glass reflection via the darkened office across the way.
A man and a woman exited PILC without locking the door behind them. Someone else was still inside, then. Thank goodness. She had to work fast or she'd be out of luck – when the last person left, she'd be locked out with no way to get what she needed.
Honor's knees grew weak at the thought of her next bold move.
The couple rounded the corner and a second later she heard the grinding whir of old machinery as the elevator ascended to the fifth floor. A loud clunk and a ding signaled the car's arrival.
She drew back into the lounge which spanned the center hub, another door on the opposite side of the room leading to a second corridor. The old building was a complex maze, but as far as she'd been able to tell, the security system was simple, and a single guard was stationed at street level with a sign-out book. Unwilling to chance the guard recognizing her when she left later, Honor had brought a few items to change her appearance. Her disguise was packed in a tote bag which she now hid behind one of several padded chairs.
Then she made her move.
Pulse racheting through her, Honor slipped down the hall and approached the lobbyists' offices. Her plan had to work. She was no burglar. She didn't know how to jimmy locks and cut alarms. She'd told them that... for all the good it had done her. She'd lain awake the night before and had frazzled her brain coming up with a plan.
Pretending she was part of a messenger service, she'd called PILC earlier that afternoon to find out if someone would be working late. Supposedly, she needed to drop off a packet of materials for one of the lobbyists. She'd been told someone would be around until eight or so. She hadn't expected several someone.
Please let it be only one person left as she'd calculated, Honor prayed as she stopped near the door. One busy, overworked, too-exhausted-to-notice-anything-amiss person who wouldn't catch her coming in.
She took a good look through the windowed door. No one in the spacious outer work area with its half-dozen desks. So far, so good. A light in one of the inner offices caught her eye. A dark-haired woman was pulling a book from a shelf and seemed to be totally absorbed.
Grateful the outer door opened silently, Honor slipped inside the main room while quickly searching for a place to hide. She had a choice. She either could fold herself into a pretzel and wait under a desk, or she could try the nearest door and hope it was unlocked.
Hearing the woman moving about again, she chose the door and found herself in a supply closet. Like a contortionist, she squeezed inside and managed to prop herself awkwardly against a stack of boxes. Sequestered in the dark with only a blur of light at floor level to keep her company, she strained to listen through the solid walnut door as the woman's heels clacked closer.
Her skin went clammy and Honor thought she would be sick. What if the woman needed something from the supply closet and found her? Even if she got away, she might be recognized. The heels stopped and a chair creaked, the screech competing with the pounding of her heart. A few seconds later, the woman's voice drifted into her hiding place.
“Steffie, how are things going at your end?”
Honor drew in some fetid air – a short, sharp breath that rocked her stomach. The other woman was on the telephone. For how long? she wondered. She could hardly wait for this to be over. She was getting edgier and edgier – she'd never done anything illegal before.
“I'm going to talk to the other lobbyists about it tomorrow,” the woman assured Steffie.
She was doing this for Nora, Honor reminded herself. Whoever they were hadn't wanted her money as ransom, and she would do anything to get her daughter back safe and sound. Nothing else mattered. Not even the identities of the people who held her captive. Honor didn't want to know who they were. All she wanted was Nora.
“Helping women and their kids is going to be my top personal priority,” the lobbyist was saying.
Women and their kids.
Her and Nora.
Soon they would be reunited, Honor assured herself. Eyes closed, she could see her daughter's expression. Impish... loving... relieved that her ordeal was over. Tears dampened Honor's lashes.
She clenched her jaw and made fists, digging her nails into her palms. She had to stop this, had to stop thinking about Nora or she would be a basket case, unable to carry through with her mission. Then how would she be able to free her daughter? She had to keep her mind on her plan... her goal... her escape, she told herself.
By the time the dark-haired woman finished her conversation with Steffie, Honor was sweating.
By the time she packed up her things and left – the light illuminating the crack at the floor went black – Honor was shaking.
Yet she waited. Counted to a hundred. Eased the door open, and once assured she was alone, burst through into the dark office with a sob of relief.
Air.
She needed the little fresh air the open room provided, sucked it in greedily for all the good it did her. Never before so nervous and sick to her stomach in her life, she didn't have time to coddle herself, not with the stakes so high. She forced herself to move, to do exactly as the kidnappers had instructed.
Her hand shook as she unzipped the belt pack at her waist and found the mini mag lite she'd stored inside. She moved to the nearest office and flashed the beam over the nameplate on the door which was cracked open. Too bad it was the wrong office. She repeated the process, only finding the right name on the third try.
Dakota Raferty.
How she hated to do this, especially to him. But it wasn't a question of fairness. She had no choice. She jiggled the handle, but his door, of course, was locked.
“Damn,” she whispered in frustration. “I knew this would happen. I just knew it.”
She'd come prepared with her sad little kit – the best she could do considering she was a rank amateur. In addition to the light, she'd stored various other objects that she'd thought might be of use in the belt pack. The screwdriver did her no good in trying to jimmy the lock. She'd brought a tool that would etch glass and make it easier to break, but this door had no window... except for the one in the transom.
She stared up at the rectangular piece of glass approximately one-and-a-half by three feet. Big enough to slide through.
Knowing there was no helping it, she flashed her small light around. The desks and filing cabinets were all old, solid wood and very heavy. Thank goodness she'd never been a woman who relied on a man to do everything for her. Thank goodness she lifted weights as part of her exercise program. She stepped to the nearest desk and found that she could cajole it forth a few inches at a time without making too much noise in case anyone was around to hear, which was unlikely.
She hoped.
Five minutes later, the desk barricaded the office door. She climbed to the raised surface quickly, thankful she'd dressed sensibly in spandex tights, a thigh-length, loose top and flat shoes. She could easily get at the transom now, but pulling herself up and through without cutting herself on broken glass could be another problem altogether.
Luckily, she might not have to break the glass at all, Honor realized.
The transom was open a crack.
Placing the flashlight in her teeth and aiming it so she could see what she was doing, Honor used the screwdriver to get at the catch on the other side of the door. No leverage. Climbing down, she found a sturdy four-legged chair and placed it in the middle of the desk. That gave her too much height so that she worked, hunched over, until she was able to open the transom several inches and reveal the hinges.
The screws didn't want to budge, but Honor was determined. Finally, they wo
rked free and, sticking the flashlight in the open belt pack, she dismantled the window. She was trying to balance the heavy wood and glass when she heard the elevator clunk to a stop.
Her head whipped to the front door and she froze, window suspended in mid-air. A moment later, the guard peered in. He was obviously making his rounds. Honor's heart leapt to her throat as he gave the room a cursory pass with his flashlight. Either the man was near blind or he wasn't looking, because the beam illuminated her legs as it swept past.
Her burden was getting heavier by the second, and the guard couldn't go on too soon for her peace of mind or muscle. Her arms were shaking, her wrists were ready to give way and her fingers were burning. When she thought she couldn't hold the weight any longer, he moved away. Hesitating only a second, she pulled the window toward her.
Wood clunked against wood as frame met door jamb. Honor felt instant relief as the stress left her arms. She readjusted the weight but paused a moment to make sure the guard hadn't heard. He was probably deaf as well as blind, she thought wryly, because he didn't come back. She guessed he was circling the entire floor and, if she were lucky, he would approach the elevators from the other direction.
Please let her be lucky, for Nora's sake, if not her own.
Carefully pulling the frame in through the opening, Honor set the window on the desk so it was leaning against the wall. She poked her head through to the inner office and used the flashlight to make sure her descent would be clear. Nothing in the way.
With an adrenaline rush, she slipped through the opening and sat long enough to get her balance. Then she turned over so she was waist to the jamb, got a good grip with both hands and let herself down easily, front sliding against the door. She dropped the final couple of feet to the floor with ease, then sagged with relief, forehead pressed into the wood.
She'd done it. Thank God. Everything would be all right now.
Nora would be all right.
If she found the correct information, Honor reminded herself, wondering why the kidnappers had chosen her for such a task. They were the professionals.
Thinking she could use more than the flashlight and still be safe, she turned on a desk lamp and aimed it at the file cabinets. She opened the drawer marked R-V and was somewhat amazed when the correct hanging file seemed to jump out at her: Salmon Fishing Industry.
After all she'd been through to get this far, finding the file in its proper place seemed laughingly easy. Not about to question her luck, however, Honor grabbed the documents and slid the drawer closed. A responding sound seemed to come from the next room. Honor quickly switched off the light and listened intently in case the guard had returned.
Silence.
Her imagination? Or an echo of her own activity bouncing through acoustically poor rooms?
Neither option threatening, she moved to the door, her mind on escape. First return things the way she found them. Replacing the window would be a piece of cake, and hopefully, the door would automatically lock behind her. Then all she had to do was move the desk back into place to be practically home free. Rather Nora would be, Honor thought, visualizing her reunion with her daughter.
One step closer to that goal, she opened the door only to freeze yet again.
There, on the other side of the desk, illuminated by the beam of her flashlight, stood a tall, broad-shouldered blond hunk of a man wearing a pin-striped suit... and a very dangerous expression.