The Stranger: The Heroes of Heyday (Harlequin Superromance No. 1266) by Kathleen O`Brien

inspection. And now he wanted her to sneak into that hotel and let herself be hustled out in the dawn like dirty linen.
    Thank God she had enough self-respect to draw the line at that.
    Still, though the relationship wasn’t as solid as Mallory had been led to believe, it was apparently crucial to Mindy’s happiness. It was such a tricky balance. How was she going to make Mindy look at this situation squarely without sending her back into an emotional tailspin?
    â€œI know I have to tell him,” Mindy said miserably. “But I can’t do it now. Not here. I have to choose the perfect time. We’ve both been so stressed-out, with the wedding preparations and every—”
    Mallory touched her arm.
    â€œMindy, think a minute. We have to face reality. Freddy obviously is very concerned with his reputation, with what the world thinks of him. How can you be sure that, once he knows about your involvement with the Heyday Eight, there will even still be a wedding?”
    Mindy recoiled. Her eyes widened, as if Mallory had slapped her.
    At first she didn’t answer. Resisting the effort to jump in and take the words back, Mallory let the silence go on. This was a very dangerous situation, especially now that the blackmailer had sent the flowers, a bold in-your-face reminder that he knew incriminating details, like Dorian Swigert’s name, and he was ready to use them if necessary.
    â€œI know,” Mindy said finally. “I’ve thought of that. That’s one of the reasons it’s so difficult. But I have faith in him, Mal. He loves me, I know he does. I just have to find the right time to tell him.”
    Her cell phone began to ring again, and Mindy leaped up to retrieve it.
    â€œIt’s Freddy.” She hugged the phone briefly. “He’s probably calling to say he’s sorry,” she said, giving Mallory a teary smile over her shoulder. “See? He’s really a sweetheart. He never stays mad for long.”
    She must have seen the skepticism on Mallory’s face, because she paused, the phone still singing in her hand.
    â€œPlease trust me, Mal. I’m not as brave as you are, but I’m trying. I just need a little more time.”
    Â 
    T YLER ATE DINNER that night with Dilday Merle, to discuss details and plans for trying to identify the blackmailer. There wasn’t much to go on, just Dilday’s instinct that it must be a local, someone who knew him and understood his vulnerability and his finances.
    It was frustrating. Blackmail was an odd crime. Often it was clumsy and heavy-handed, easy to thwart. But now and then it was brilliantly simple, like this one. When you were up against that kind of blackmailer, you had to hope the luck fell your way.
    Tyler got back to his apartment about eleven, early for someone accustomed to D.C. hours, but apparently way past the official Heyday bedtime. Everything was dark and quiet on Mallory’s side of the building, so he fixed a drink and decided to sit a while on his balcony, which overlooked Hippodrome Circle.
    Not much to see, but he appreciated the crisp spring breeze, the pointy crescent moon and the peace of thepark laid out beside him, where now and then a bird would abruptly coo, just once, as if talking in its sleep.
    Beneath him, as the street stretched out on either side, the stores were all closed, their pretty bay windows glowing softly under muted night lights. Heyday looked less silly at night, he thought. He almost understood why people might live in a place like this, where the rhythms were so regular and in tune with the natural world.
    Not that he could stand it for long. A week or two, maybe. Like a vacation. After that, he’d be itching for the unpredictable excitement of D.C.
    Out of the corner of his eyes, something caught his attention, a subtle movement that didn’t seem to fit the swaying tree shadows and rippling moonlight. He stared into the park across the street, where