A Dangerous Game. Heather Graham
—Publishers Weekly
For my beautiful young cousin Ashley Westermark Stoyanov, and her husband, Alex Stoyanov, with love and best wishes for a lifetime of happiness.
Contents
“Kieran? Kieran Finnegan, right?” the woman asked.
She was wrapped in a black trench coat, wore a black scarf that nearly engulfed her face, and held a dark blanketed bundle against her chest as if it were the greatest treasure in the world.
Kieran wasn’t sure when the woman had come in; the offices of psychologists Fuller and Miro were closed for the day, the doctors were gone, and Kieran had just about left herself. The receptionist, Jake, usually locked the office door on his way out, but apparently tonight he had neglected to do so. Then again, Jake might have already left when Kieran’s last patient had exited a little while ago. Whether Jake had been gone or he had forgotten to lock up, the door had been left open.
And so this woman accosted Kieran in the reception area of the office just as she was on her way out.
“I am Kieran, but I’m so sorry, I’m the therapist, not one of the doctors. Actually, we are closed for the day. You’ll need to come back. Both the doctors are wonderful, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you another time.”
And this woman certainly looked like she needed help. Her eyes were huge and as dark as the clothing she was wearing as she stared at Kieran with a look of despair.
“All right, let me see what I can do. You seem distraught,” Kieran said, and winced—wow. Stating the obvious. “I can get you to a hospital. I can call for help—”
“No. No.” The woman suddenly thrust the bundle she’d held so closely into Kieran’s arms. “Here!”
Kieran instinctively accepted it. Reflex? She wasn’t sure why.
It began to cry. And writhe. Of course. The bundle was a baby.
“Ma’am, please—Hey!” Kieran protested.
The woman had turned and was fleeing out the door. “Wait! Hey!” Kieran cried. She reached immediately for the phone, hoping that she’d be in time to reach the building’s security desk.
Ralph Miller answered the phone at the lobby desk. “Hey, pretty girl. What are you still doing at work? I’ve got a few hours to go, and then I am out of here. I hear that the Danny Boys are playing at Finnegan’s tonight. Can’t believe your brother snagged them. I would have thought that you’d have gotten out early—”
“Ralph, listen, please! There’s a woman who was just up here, and she ran out. Can you stop her from leaving the building?”
The baby wailed in earnest.
“What?”
“There’s a woman in black—”
“In black, yeah. She just left.”
“Stop her—catch her! Now.”
“I can’t hear you, Kieran. I hear a baby crying. A baby! Whose baby is it?”
“Ralph! Get out in the street and get that woman!”
“What?”
“Go catch that woman!”
“Oh! Gotcha! I’m gone.”
She hung up, then quickly dialed 9-1-1.
Emergency services probably couldn’t move quickly enough to help, since no matter how quickly they arrived, the woman was already on the run.
She was running on the busy streets of New York City where rush hour was a swarm of humanity in which to get completely lost. But Kieran still explained the situation, where she was. The operator was efficient; cops would quickly be out. Child Services would arrive.
But no matter. The woman would get away.
Kieran tried to hold and rock and soothe the baby while dialing Craig Frasier.
If