As if she were a succulent edible carefully wrapped in silk and lace.
And so much more tasty for it—
He dragged his mind off his dirty thoughts when he saw how Hope solemnly regarded him with her huge, dark eyes. He loved all of her moods, but when she turned all somber on him, she was downright irresistible.
"Let's go to your bedroom first. I need to look at the mirror."
He saw the convulsive movement at her elegant throat as she swallowed. "You . . . you're going to leave now, aren't you?"
"Yes. I have to." So do you, he thought privately.
"Would you not like to meet my father first?" she asked hopefully.
Ryan glanced down bemusedly at his bare chest. Addie Sampson had asked one of the men who worked for her to give him his coat, but it was too small for him and he couldn't button it. "I'm hardly dressed for a social call, Hope. And it'd be awkward explaining my presence here. He's likely to believe I had something to do with your kidnapping."
She scowled. "I'd tell him that you saved me, of course! Do you think he wouldn't believe his own daughter? My father and I are very close. We share one mind on most topics."
Ryan ran his hands along her back and side, soothing her pique. "I just don't think it's the ideal time, beauty."
Hope dropped her chin to her chest so that all he could see of her for a moment was the pale part of her hair and the mass of soft, coiling curls pinned to her head. The scent of gardenias wafted up to his appreciative nose.
"No. I don't suppose it is the ideal time. All right, we'll go to the mirror," she whispered weakly.
They extinguished the lights and moved down the darkened
hallway hand in hand, Ryan in the lead. Before they reached the brightly lit entry hall, however, the sounds of men talking reached Ryan's ears.
He pulled Hope back into the shadows.
"You will contact me immediately when you discover anything, won't you, Mr.
O'Rourke? I won't rest until my daughter is returned to me safely."
Ryan's brows crinkled in puzzlement. The man who had just spoken possessed a rich, resonant voice that sounded strangely familiar. He could easily imagine him holding a crowd enthralled with his speeches. The Reverend Stillwater must not only be a fine political orator, but popular among his parishioners for his sermons at his church.
"Indeed, Mr. Stillwater. But as we've told you, missing persons investigations are difficult in the city. Every day people go missing in Chicago and are lost without a trace,"
a man who must have been Detective Connor J. O'Rourke replied, his voice flavored with only a trace of an Irish brogue.
"But my daughter—such a singularly lovely young woman— surely someone must have noticed her when she entered that train station."
"Detective McMannis and I will scout the area first thing in the morning, Mr. Stillwater.
You're right—chances are somebody noticed something. I recommend you place an advertisement with a copy of her likeness in the major newspapers. In the meantime, do me a favor and keep thinking about who might profit from your daughter's abduction. I'm sure you've made some significant enemies with your political agendas."
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Ryan wondered from O'Rourke's steely tone of voice if the detective already harbored suspicions toward Diamond Jack Fletcher even if Jacob Stillwater hadn't yet pointed his finger in that direction.
"I will think on it. I can't imagine who would want to harm such a warmhearted, generous young woman."
Ryan felt Hope startle, as though she reacted instinctively to a need to soothe her father's obvious distress. He squeezed her hand in reassurance, however, and she stilled.
"I'm thinking it's just as likely that it's you they want to harm," O'Rourke said before he and the other detective left the house.
"Shall I turn out the lights?" a quiet voice asked a moment later.
"No, Mrs. Abernathy. We'll leave on the entry hall chandelier until my daughter returns home."