Read Online The Stranger: The Heroes of Heyday (Harlequin Superromance No. 1266) by Kathleen O`Brien - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kathleen O`Brien
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dangerous. But once the idea presented itself, she couldnât seem to banish it. She wanted to know who was tormenting her like this. She wanted to know who would dare to threaten Mindyâs future.
She wasnât sure exactly what sheâd do with the information. But, as the blackmailer had so well illustrated, knowledge was power.
So she went through her paces. She moved toward the ramp again, pretending to leave the boat, but at the last minute she took a right turn and went through the outer walkway back toward the rows of benches.
As she wedged herself into a seat three rows back from her little package, but with a clear view of its sodden brown contours, the boat began to pull away from the dock. Too late to change her mind now. Her pulse must have been going about a hundred beats a minute. She tried to swallow, but her throat was bone-dry and wouldnât cooperate.
She glanced at the shining black raincoat of the man next to her and had the sudden, heart-stopping thought that she might have sat down right next to the blackmailer.
How on earth would she ever know?
Oh, God, she hadnât thought this through far enough. All along, for no good reason, sheâd been assuming that the blackmailer must be someone she knew. Someone from Heyday, someone sheâd actually recognize when she spotted him.
But what if he wasnât? What if he was a total stranger? Even if she saw him pick up the packet, how would that help her? She wasnât a professional spy. She didnât have a tiny camera in the pull tab of her jacket zipper. She couldnât transmit a grainy photo back to Double-O headquarters, where theyâd computer-scan for known perverts and then send the ID to her through a radio hidden in her barrette.
And besides, at some point a lot of these riders were going to get off the ferry. At each destination the crowd would thin, until she would stick out here like a sore thumb. Unless the blackmailer planned to pick up his money very soon, sheâd have to get off, too, just to keep from being spotted herself.
Another anonymous, cloaked man walked by. His path seemed headed straight for the money. Mallory held her breath until he turned left and sat down next to a woman who smiled up at him, then leaned her head gratefully against his shoulder.
False alarm. She noticed that her hands were shaking a little, so she slid them under her arms and tucked her chin toward her chest, making sure she could still see the packet of money.
No, she was definitely no James Bond. She was just a foolish bookstore owner who was suffering from sleep deprivation and stress and wasnât making good decisions. The best she could do now was get off at thevery first stop and pray that the blackmailer didnât see her before she could escape.
âWell, my heavens! Mallory? Mallory Rackham?â
Her fingers clenched, and she looked up, startled and hot-cheeked from the sudden rush of adrenaline. The rain ran down her face as she stared helplessly at the rather large man standing in front of her.
Who was he? He looked familiar, butâ¦
âItâs Phil, Phil Earnshaw!â He reached out to squeeze her arm. âItâs good to see you, Mallory, good to see you. Even if we are a pair of drowned rats out here!â
Of course. She couldnât forget that hearty voice, that overly friendly touch. It was Freddyâs father, State Senator Phillip Earnshaw. Theyâd met only once, at Mindy and Freddyâs engagement party, but for a career politician, once was apparently enough.
She managed something like a smile. But, God, of all the people to run into! And it certainly showed her the foolishness of believing a rain hood could render her completely invisible to everyone else, including the blackmailer.
âHi,â she said. âYes, the weatherâs a mess, isnât it?â She was relieved to feel the boat slowing down for its first stop at the inner harbor.
She
She wasnât sure exactly what sheâd do with the information. But, as the blackmailer had so well illustrated, knowledge was power.
So she went through her paces. She moved toward the ramp again, pretending to leave the boat, but at the last minute she took a right turn and went through the outer walkway back toward the rows of benches.
As she wedged herself into a seat three rows back from her little package, but with a clear view of its sodden brown contours, the boat began to pull away from the dock. Too late to change her mind now. Her pulse must have been going about a hundred beats a minute. She tried to swallow, but her throat was bone-dry and wouldnât cooperate.
She glanced at the shining black raincoat of the man next to her and had the sudden, heart-stopping thought that she might have sat down right next to the blackmailer.
How on earth would she ever know?
Oh, God, she hadnât thought this through far enough. All along, for no good reason, sheâd been assuming that the blackmailer must be someone she knew. Someone from Heyday, someone sheâd actually recognize when she spotted him.
But what if he wasnât? What if he was a total stranger? Even if she saw him pick up the packet, how would that help her? She wasnât a professional spy. She didnât have a tiny camera in the pull tab of her jacket zipper. She couldnât transmit a grainy photo back to Double-O headquarters, where theyâd computer-scan for known perverts and then send the ID to her through a radio hidden in her barrette.
And besides, at some point a lot of these riders were going to get off the ferry. At each destination the crowd would thin, until she would stick out here like a sore thumb. Unless the blackmailer planned to pick up his money very soon, sheâd have to get off, too, just to keep from being spotted herself.
Another anonymous, cloaked man walked by. His path seemed headed straight for the money. Mallory held her breath until he turned left and sat down next to a woman who smiled up at him, then leaned her head gratefully against his shoulder.
False alarm. She noticed that her hands were shaking a little, so she slid them under her arms and tucked her chin toward her chest, making sure she could still see the packet of money.
No, she was definitely no James Bond. She was just a foolish bookstore owner who was suffering from sleep deprivation and stress and wasnât making good decisions. The best she could do now was get off at thevery first stop and pray that the blackmailer didnât see her before she could escape.
âWell, my heavens! Mallory? Mallory Rackham?â
Her fingers clenched, and she looked up, startled and hot-cheeked from the sudden rush of adrenaline. The rain ran down her face as she stared helplessly at the rather large man standing in front of her.
Who was he? He looked familiar, butâ¦
âItâs Phil, Phil Earnshaw!â He reached out to squeeze her arm. âItâs good to see you, Mallory, good to see you. Even if we are a pair of drowned rats out here!â
Of course. She couldnât forget that hearty voice, that overly friendly touch. It was Freddyâs father, State Senator Phillip Earnshaw. Theyâd met only once, at Mindy and Freddyâs engagement party, but for a career politician, once was apparently enough.
She managed something like a smile. But, God, of all the people to run into! And it certainly showed her the foolishness of believing a rain hood could render her completely invisible to everyone else, including the blackmailer.
âHi,â she said. âYes, the weatherâs a mess, isnât it?â She was relieved to feel the boat slowing down for its first stop at the inner harbor.
She
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