The Stranger. Kathleen O'Brien

one, the brother who couldn’t bear the thought of hurting anybody, the one who would be a bad liar and would do the right thing if it killed him. He was probably buying this lot just to be nice.

      Bryce was only about half as cynical as he pretended to be, but that was plenty. He prided himself on being a dark, sardonic devil with attitude to spare.

      So yeah, Tyler understood them. He even liked them. It wasn’t their fault he felt no real sense of connection, no call of blood to blood. How could he? He wasn’t a McClintock, whatever the DNA might say. He was a Balfour. And he had no interest in being anything else.

      Bryce, who clearly wasn’t the patient type, cut through the stretching silence. “So what’s the answer, Tyler? Do you intend to cut and run?”

      “Not run, exactly,” Tyler said with one his most neutral smiles. “I told you about the Heyday Eight book. I’ve got a lot of interviews to do before I can leave. But I don’t have any plans to stay longterm, if that’s what you’re asking.”

      Kieran looked somber, almost disappointed, but Bryce just laughed. He had been casually tossing a small football-shaped paperweight from one hand to the other. Suddenly, without warning, he lobbed it over to Kieran, who caught it as easily as if the whole thing had been scripted.

      “No one ever plans to stay in Heyday, my friend.” Bryce stood and, loosening his tie, moved toward the door. He paused by Tyler’s chair long enough to give him a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

      “But somehow, in the end, you just do.”

      WHEN MALLORY APPROACHED the ferry at Fell’s Point Harbor that stormy Friday morning, dressed in dark jeans, black T-shirt and hooded gray raincoat, she felt strangely excited. Almost happy, in spite of the fact that it was a dreary day, and she’d hadn’t slept all night.

      She looked at the choppy water, which was the unappealing color of tarnished silver. Little frothy white-caps promised the ferry customers a bumpy ride.

      But yes, in spite of all that, she felt happy.

      Because the blackmailer didn’t know it, but the rules of this game were about to change.

      Last night, when she had wrapped up Roddy’s money in plain brown paper according to the blackmailer’s ridiculous specifications, she had included a little something extra.

      She had included a note saying that he’d simply have to ease up, that she wouldn’t be able to make payments every two weeks like this. She couldn’t afford it. Period.

      She had no idea how he’d react. Yesterday, on the phone, it had required very little to antagonize him. But she had to take the chance. Her note was nothing but the simple truth. She could not afford this.

      Besides, she had hopes that this might be the last payment she’d ever have to make. Mindy was coming for a weekend visit, and they’d finally have time alone to talk. Somehow, she’d make Mindy see that honesty and courage were their only real protection. They couldn’t rewrite the past. And obviously they weren’t going to be able to bury it.

      When Tyler had shown up, Mallory had considered telling Mindy to stay away. But then she realized that Tyler’s arrival made Mindy’s decision that much more urgent. At any moment, the blackmailer might decide Tyler had deeper pockets and was the better customer for this information.

      She gripped her package, which was starting to get soggy from the rain, and stepped onto the ferry, her stride much more confident, in spite of the rocking water, than the last time she made this miserable trip.

      Funny how strong it made you feel to assert yourself a little.

      She’d thought the ferry might be deserted, given the weather. But to her surprise it was crowded with row upon row of gray figures with ducked heads, anonymous bodies hunkered down inside hoods, under umbrellas, beneath the dripping rims of Gore-Tex rain hats.

      She went to the front of the ferry and bent down to slide the package under the bench seat, following her instructions to the letter even though the seat was full. No one seemed to notice her. Even the person whose feet her package nearly touched didn’t look up.

      And that’s when she got the idea.

      A crazy idea. It made her heartbeat zigzag oddly with excitement, and she inhaled softly, tasting rain.

      Maybe, in this kind of weather, she could blend into the crowd herself. Maybe she could pretend to exit the ferry, as instructed, but turn at the last minute and remain on board. Maybe she could watch the package quietly from the protection of her own hood…and eventually discover the identity of the blackmailer.

      It was risky. It might even be downright dangerous. But once the idea presented itself, she couldn’t seem to banish it. She wanted to know who was tormenting her like this. She wanted to know who would dare to threaten Mindy’s future.

      She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d 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 wouldn’t 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 hadn’t thought this through far enough. All along, for no good reason, she’d been assuming that the blackmailer must be someone she knew. Someone from Heyday, someone she’d actually recognize when she spotted him.

      But what if he wasn’t? What if he was a total stranger? Even if she saw him pick up the packet, how would that help her? She wasn’t a professional spy. She didn’t have a tiny camera in the pull tab of her jacket zipper. She couldn’t transmit a grainy photo back to Double-O headquarters, where they’d 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, she’d 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.