"The photos on the inside of the locket are of a beautiful woman who lived a long, long time ago. You can imagine my surprise when I walked into that party tonight and saw her sitting there at a table—very much alive. I had my coworker ask her to come here to talk about the coincidence, that's all." He paused and for a second Ryan sensed Donahue examining him deeply, as though he searched for answers for the strange circumstances as well.
Ryan exhaled and relaxed a little. Donahue didn't have any solid memories. He might have glimpses of understanding—flashes of emotion and perceptions from another lifetime. Maybe that was why he seemed to take an instant dislike to Ryan when Ryan's father had introduced the two of them years ago. Certainly that must have been why he was so drawn to his criminal lifestyle and the Sweet Lash . .. and Hope's locket. More than likely Donahue'd been as captured by Hope's image as Ryan had been.
The wail of sirens approaching distracted him from the unsettling thought of having anything remotely in common with Jim Donahue. A moment later an emergency medical technician rushed over to the Lexus. DiMarco and the EMT helped a grimacing Donahue to stand.
His longtime foe glared at him as they led him toward the ambulance, but Ryan turned away, all too glad to put Jim Donahue and his alternate identity in the past—where he belonged.
Hope paused in speaking to Ramiro when Ryan approached. She looked up with that solemn, big-eyed stare that always got to him. He grabbed her hand and dropped the silver locket into her palm.
"I guess Donahue's luck just ran out," he said quietly. He ran his gaze over her, looking for cuts and bruises. He saw nothing, but'' recalling some of the strange parallels between the past and the present, Ryan asked, "Were you hit in the head?"
She lightly touched her temple. "Oh. Yes, that man—Gutierrez punched me in the ladies'
lounge. How did you know?"
Ryan shook his head distractedly as he turned her head with his hand on her chin. "I don't see any mark. Do you need the EMTs to check you out?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Then come on. I'll take you over to the van. You can wait there until all this is settled. It might take a while."
"Ryan, Ramiro was telling me that those poor women that were in the van are very upset.
He's going over to try and calm them. I think I should go, too. Ramiro said it would be helpful to have a woman with him."
He just stared down at her as some strange, potent mix of emotions brewed in his gut.
Some of the color had returned to her face, but she was still alarmingly pale. She'd just been hit over the head and abducted for the second time in days and she wanted to run off and play trauma worker to other people. Even though he was usually so controlled, Ryan abruptly felt like he was going to erupt.
He flashed an annoyed look at Ramiro.
"They speak Spanish, Hope," Ramiro said, obviously trying to minimize the damage he'd done.
"I'm fluent in French, but I do speak some Spanish. You'll be able to help me, won't you, Ramiro?"
"No," Ryan said.
The sound of a woman crying behind him pierced his awareness. Hope peered around his chest, her lovely face the very image of compassion and concern. He hesitantly looked over his shoulder and saw a group of females huddled together. An EMT checked the cut and bleeding face of a girl who looked no older than sixteen or seventeen. Even Ryan had to admit the medical technician's manner was brisk and businesslike . .. hardly reassuring to the weeping girl.
"Please, Ryan?"
He shut his eyes briefly in mounting frustration. When he opened them he pinned Ramiro with his stare. "Don't let her out of your sight." He switched his gaze to Hope. "If Crenshaw or anyone on the squad tells you to get out of the way, do it. I'm serious, Hope."
She nodded soberly. She smoothed her hair out of her face and straightened her gown as though girding herself for battle. Ryan sighed and shrugged out of his CPD coat.
"Put this on."
She accepted the coat with a radiant smile.
Jesus. His mother had been right. Hope had conquered him with her fierce, vibrant spirit, her courage and her sweetness. Her attack had been so quick and all-consuming that Ryan really never did have the chance to shout for mercy.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Hope jumped in nervous tension when Ryan slammed the door shut behind them. The chandelier in the entry hall blazed with light even though it hadn't been turned on when they'd left for the Field Museum hours ago. Ryan said there was an electrical short, but Hope didn't think he really believed that. Like her, he undoubtedly recalled her father's words.
We'll leave on the entry hall chandelier until my daughter returns home.
She turned and faced Ryan hesitantly. He'd hardly said ten words to her since he'd picked her up at his mother's and drove them home.