Ann Voss Peterson - Serial Bride

“Vincent Bertram.”

She circled the bed. Perching on the mattress edge, she pulled the telephone directory from the bedside table and started flipping pages.

“What are you looking for?”

“A residential listing for Bertram. I’m going to find out why Diana got involved with Dryden Kane in the first place. And whether or not she told him Kane was threatening her.”

Bryce tore his gaze from Sylvie and focused on the folder. If Diana Gale had conspired to kill Ty, understanding her motive might be useful. But if she hadn’t, he couldn’t afford to go off on another tangent.

Eager to see if the folder yielded any more information, he paged through the photocopies chronicling Kane’s sordid history. His murder of blond college coeds. His capture twenty years ago at the hands of the FBI. At that point, other than an article here and there, the news coverage skipped about four years to a flurry of stories about Kane’s prison marriage and subsequent escape. The stories highlighted the way Kane had focused on his new intended victim, Risa Madsen, a mentor of Vincent Bertram’s. The stories continued with the trail of death Kane had left until Professor Madsen and the FBI profiler who’d originally caught Kane had joined forces to subdue him again.

The next articles were more recent, clipped from their original newsprint. The headlines Bryce knew all too well. Headlines he’d thought he’d wanted. They blared from the clippings, stinging his eyes. He’d been so stupid, so wrong, so naive. And he’d payed with more than his life. He’d paid with his brother’s life.

He sucked in a breath, trying to control the rush of grief, of rage, as he paged through the articles. The stories outlined Kane’s lawsuit against the Supermax prison, how attorney Bryce Walker had taken the killer’s case, how he’d alleged mistreatment, how he’d won a transfer to another facility. He turned to the last article. A black-and-white picture stared from the newsprint, Ty in the black suit that made him look like an innocent milk-fed farm boy planning to hunt aliens with Tommy Lee Jones.

Bryce’s throat closed. He’d been willing to sell his soul to get good press for the law firm, for himself. He’d never guessed Ty’s life was part of the deal.

He glanced up at Sylvie. She sat with her back to him, the phone book spread open on her lap. Hunching forward, she copied something on a scrap of paper.

What if her sister didn’t have anything to do with Ty’s murder? What if she was merely a misguided woman? A woman who never would have been able to worm her way into visiting Kane if he was still housed in the ultrasecurity of the Supermax where he belonged? What if Bryce’s representation of Kane had not only led to Ty’s death, but indirectly to Diana Gale’s abduction, as well?

Weight bore down on his shoulders like a yoke of stone. If he really wanted justice, if he really wanted to set things right, maybe he shouldn’t be asking himself if he could afford to help Sylvie Hayes. Maybe he should be asking if he could afford not to.

WITH THE SLIP OF PAPER with Professor Bertram’s address stuffed in her jeans pocket, Sylvie crossed the hotel lobby with Bryce by her side and stepped through the revolving door and onto the sidewalk. Saturday night had fully fallen. The neon glow of nearby shops and restaurants and the jangle of people walking down State Street turned the city into a confusion of sights and sounds.

Stepping to the curb, Sylvie glanced at the rush of headlights flowing down the one-way street, searching for a cab. “Thanks for your help. When I find Diana, I’ll let her know you want to get in touch with her.”

Bryce looked at her as if she were speaking in tongues. “What are you talking about? I’m going with you.”

“Not necessary.” All she had to do was to flag down a cab and find the nearest car rental office. Once she had her own car, she’d be able to track down Professor Bertram and hopefully get some answers.

“You need someone to drive.”

“That’s okay. I need to rent a car anyway.”

“Rent a car? Why? I have a car right here.” He pointed to his car parked fifty feet away as if she’d forgotten what it looked like.

“Really, I’m used to doing things on my own.” It had been disconcerting enough to be forced to rely on Bryce to get out of Diana’s apartment with the folder, to drive her to a hotel. Having him in her hotel room, bouncing ideas off him, had only made her feel more jangled.

“How are you planning to find a car rental office? There aren’t too many of them around here.”

“I’ll take a cab.”

He arched his brows. “And how are you going to find a cab?”

What, was he playing games with her? “I’ll hail one. It’s not hard.”

“You might find it hard in Madison.”

She scanned the street. Not one cab spotted in the flood of personal vehicles. He might have a point. “Okay, I’ll ask the hotel to call me one.”

“What are you trying to prove, Sylvie? It’s been a tough day for you already. You’re dead tired and worried about your sister. Driving you around is the least I can do. Besides, you need to find your sister, and I need to talk to her. We have shared goals here.”

Of course, he was right about that, too. But even though she could get to Professor Bertram’s house faster if she didn’t first have to call for a cab and then rent a car, she’d rather have her own wheels. She didn’t want to have to rely on Bryce only to have him leave her the moment she needed him most. It would be far easier to rent her own car from the outset than to struggle to pull things together once he cut out on her. “Listen, it’s not that I’m not grateful. But I like to do things on my own.”

“What, you don’t like me?”

“I like you fine.” Maybe too much. She doubted she’d ever been around a man this attractive before in her life. A man whose every expression she noticed. A man who made her feel out of control just by looking in her direction.

“You don’t trust me?”

He wasn’t too far off there. “I don’t want to be left in the lurch.”

“Why would I do that?”

“In my experience, a more realistic question would be why you wouldn’t.”

“Listen, you might have had bad luck with people in the past, but when I give my word, I keep it. No matter what.” He gestured to the BMW. “Now are you going to get in, or do you want me to throw you in?”

She shot him a look she hoped conveyed all the annoyance she felt. He wouldn’t dare throw her in the car. If he did, he’d get far more than he bargained for, starting with two black eyes.

“Listen, Sylvie, we made a deal. You help me with my case, I help you find your sister.”

They had made a deal. A deal she wasn’t comfortable with. Not in the least.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s already pushing eight. Do you really want to stand around here and argue about this, or do you want to find your sister? It’s up to you.”

Her heart clutched. Diana had been missing for four hours. Four hours and the clock was ticking. “Okay. For now.”

He nodded, as if it was all settled. “Get in the car.”

SYLVIE GRIPPED the leather armrest and scanned the beautiful homes scrolling by, trying to spot the house numbers. When she’d first visited Diana in Madison, she remembered thinking the way the downtown funneled into an isthmus between two large lakes was charming. But after more than half an hour with Bryce negotiating hilly, winding one-way streets in the dark, the charm had worn off. “There it is.” She pointed to the beautiful stone Tudor lit with artfully arranged spotlights and covered in ivy.

Bryce piloted the car into the home’s narrow drive. “Ready?”