by Julie Kenner
As soon as he was certain Joan was steady, he turned back to the officers. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”
The officers nodded, then Bryce shut the door. He looked deep in Joan’s eyes and saw fear reflected back at him. A fear he wanted to quell.
“Are you okay?” he said.
Her brow furrowed. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”
He had a feeling he knew. He’d stood her up, and she’d come to tell him off. “Later. Right now I want to make sure you’re okay.” He stroked the tip of his finger along her jawline. “Are you?”
“No,” she said, and he had to admire her honesty.
“Oh, babe.” He pulled her close again, and wrapped his arms around her. She resisted at first, but then she relaxed, taking the comfort he offered. He liked the feeling, too. Liked knowing that he was helping, even if just a little. That was a power of its own, and somehow more potent than every bit of authority he wielded in a boardroom or around a negotiating table.
He stroked her hair, breathing in the clean, soapy scent. “You heard the officer, right? We’re safe up here.”
She nodded, then pressed her palms to his chest as she pushed back and looked him in the eyes. “I know. But hostages, Bryce. What if Angie’s been taken hostage?”
“Angie?” The name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. And then he remembered—the girl who delivered his cheese and wine. She knew Joan. And suddenly he knew without even asking how Joan got into the penthouse.
Angie, however, hadn’t stayed with Joan. And that meant that she was down there somewhere in the hotel. Possibly in the kitchen.
The possibility didn’t sit well at all.
Determined to make sure Joan felt safe, he reached out, then pushed a wild lock of hair off her forehead. “Angie’s fine,” he said.
Joan smiled, a tremulous gesture. “How can you be so sure?”
He allowed himself one grin. “It’s just my nature.”
At that, she actually laughed, and the noise lifted his spirits more than he would have thought possible.
“I can see that about you,” she said. “I bet you say something is going to turn out one way and it just does.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “So you can trust me on this.”
She ran her fingers through her curls. “I wish I could believe you….”
“Come on.” He took her hand and urged her forward, steering her into the living room and urging her down into the plush armchair he’d been sitting in only minutes before.
He could feel her eyes on his as he went to the phone and picked up the handset. No dial tone. Damn. With a sigh of frustration, he grabbed his cell phone from the counter and dialed. The phone rang, and then Gordon’s voice answered, but the man himself wasn’t there. “Gordon, it’s Bryce. Give me a call on my cell when you have a moment. It’s about this hostage situation at the Monteleone. Thanks.”
He clicked off, then looked at Joan with a tiny frustrated sigh. “No luck. Sorry.”
“Who did you call?”
“Gordon Graves,” he said. “He reports directly to the chief of police. He’s a good friend, and I’m sure he’ll help, but I can’t get through to him right now.” He tried a smile, but didn’t quite succeed. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate you trying at all.” For a brief moment, she looked disappointed. And then her eyes widened. “The police. Of course! I have a friend who’s a cop.” She reached out her hand. “Pass me your phone.”
TYLER DONOVAN GROANED and pulled the pillow from off his face. Rolling to the side, he groped for his cell phone, then pounded buttons indiscriminately until he hit the one that stopped that damned infernal ringing. “Donovan,” he mumbled.
“Did I wake you?”
Donovan ran his free hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. The voice was female and familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Huh?” Not brilliant, but it would have to do.
“It’s Joan,” she said.
Donovan was awake now, everything clicking into place. “What’s up, kid? You okay? Something happen with Jack or Ronnie?” His partner had married Joan’s boss, and over the last year, he’d gotten to know the kid pretty well.
“I’m at the Monteleone,” she said. The way she spoke made him think that should mean something to him.
“The hotel?”
“Do you know what’s happened? Can you tell me anything?”
Donovan was on his feet now, his mind humming. “Sorry, kid. I don’t know a damn thing.”
“Hostages,” she said, and he reached immediately for the television remote control.
The situation was all over the news, and Donovan’s stomach twisted. “Shit, Joanie.”
“I’m stuck in the penthouse, and I think—” Her voice broke. “Oh, God, I think he may have a friend of mine.”
Donovan hit the mute button for the TV. “What’s your friend’s name?” She told him, and he scribbled it down. “I’ll call you back.”
“No. No, please. Can I just wait?”
He shrugged. “Sure. No problem.” He put the cell phone down then headed to his land line. Two minutes later, his stomach was in knots. “Joan?” he asked, coming back on the line. “He’s got somewhere in the neighborhood of five to ten hostages. He shot a guard, but the man is stable and expected to recover. We think our gunman’s working with snipers outside the building, but we don’t have confirmation. And for all we know, there may actually be two or three guys in there, not just him.”
“Angie?” Joan asked, her voice weak.
“That’s the good news. Your friend had already clocked out by the time the perp made his move. They don’t have any reason to think she’s in there.”
Joan’s sigh of relief was audible. “Thanks, Donovan. I owe you.”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” she said.
“You’ll be fine, kid. Just don’t worry.” Platitudes, but what the hell else could he say? He didn’t even have a clue as to what the full situation was.
“Thanks, Donovan. You’re the best. Go back to sleep.”
She clicked off, and he eyed his couch. Tempting. He was still exhausted, and he wasn’t on the hostage team. But, no. Instead he grabbed his keys and headed to the door. He might not be on the team, but he damn sure intended to find out what was going on.
“SHE’S NOT THERE.” Joan smiled, her relief so obvious that Bryce’s heart just about melted.
“I’m glad,” he said.
The phone rang, and they both looked at it.
“I thought it wasn’t working,” Joan said.
“It wasn’t.” He moved toward her and answered the phone. She didn’t move away, and her proximity fired his senses, making him want to reach out. To touch her. Instead, though, he answered the phone. “Worthington.”
It was a sergeant with the hostage rescue team, and Bryce listened as the officer ran down the situation in more detail than the two uniforms at the door had done. He nodded, said, “Thank you,” then hung up and turned to Joan.
“They’ve shut down phone service to the building.”
She raised an eyebrow. “They called to tell us that?”
“Service with a smile,” he said.
“Why?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t ask. Presumably, they want to make sure no one in here leaks information to the media. And that the gunman can’t talk to anyone but them.”
“What about cell phones?” she asked. “Couldn’t someone talk to the media on their cell?”
Bryce just shrugged. Personally, he had no desire to talk to the media about this or anything else. Inevitably they would connect the situation with his presence in the hotel. He knew what the questions would be: Did his high-profile takeover of Carpenter Shipping somehow spark the gunman’s actions? Was the gunman seeking retribution? Was he some former employee injured in a takeover? Anything to find a headline. And, once again, Bryce would have to explain ho
w he worked his tail off trying to make businesses run better, and in situations where folks did get laid off, he did his damnedest to make sure they found other jobs and kept their benefits for as long as possible. The whole situation was out of control and he fought the urge to lash out, worried about the hostages and hating the madman who’d put them there.
“Bryce?” She squinted up at him. “The media?”
He flashed a smile. “Sorry. Woolgathering. I really don’t know what the police are thinking.”
She made a face. “I feel so awful for those hostages. And, well, I’m scared.”
At her words, he felt an overpowering need to keep her safe. To make sure she felt protected and secure in the circle of his arms.
He nuzzled her hair. “Everything will be fine,” he said. “We’re a long way away from the kitchen, and the officer said that the building has been evacuated.”
At that, her eyes went wide. “They’ve got a strange definition of evacuate since we’re still in here.”
He grinned. The woman didn’t miss a trick. “The penthouse is on a different elevator. Apparently they think there’s a risk in evacuating us, but that we’re perfectly safe staying right here.”
“A risk?”
“They didn’t explain,” he said. Though he could guess. If he was the target, they’d want him up high with guards at every entrance point, and far away from what was happening below. “Right now, though, we’re safe. We are, however, stuck.” He headed to the coffee table, then poured a glass of wine, holding it out to her as an offering. She looked at him warily, then took it.
He poured a glass for himself, sipped it, and then watched as she took a gulp of the wine, then another. Then one more after that. When the glass was empty, she stared down at the crystal before finally lifting her gaze. She wasn’t quite able to meet his eyes, however. Her cheeks colored pink, creating a striking contrast against her pale skin and golden-blond hair.
She took a deep breath. “We’re really stuck, huh?”
“It looks that way. The priority is the hostages, not inconveniencing us.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He frowned. “This will be all over the media. I need to make a few calls, let people know I’m okay. How about you?” he asked. “Do you need to use my cell phone?”
She shook her head. “No one knows I’m here except Kathy, and I don’t remember her number. But she’s Angie’s sister, so she’ll know to ask the cops.” She ran her teeth over her lower lip. “If we’re still stuck in the morning, I’ll call my parents. But I’m not going to worry them at midnight.”
He nodded, then picked up the phone to call Leo. No answer. He left a quick message that he was fine, and clicked off. There were others he could call, but Leo could handle damage control in the morning.
As he deposited the phone back on the counter, Joan glanced over her shoulder toward the door. “So how long do you think we’ll be here?”
Bryce shook his head. “I don’t know.” He suspected a long time. Over the years, he’d become friends with a great many cops, and he was familiar with the procedures. Unless they suspected a bomb, they were going to keep everyone in place while they assessed the situation. Their goal was to solve the problem without loss of life. If it took an hour, great. If it took four days, well, so be it.
Bryce’s body tightened at the thought of four days alone with Joan. He wanted her, no doubt about that. At the store, he’d been attracted to both her looks and her sass. He’d wanted to touch her, to make her laugh. And now, knowing her fear, he wanted all that and more. He wanted to take her someplace where she wouldn’t be afraid. But since they couldn’t leave, the only place to take her was right here. To stroke and kiss and caress her until she forgot everything but being in his arms.
Joan, though, might have other plans. She’d spurned the idea of an actual date with him, despite his efforts to entice. He had no idea why she’d held back—the idea that she simply wasn’t attracted to him was too depressing to even consider—and he didn’t know if she’d changed her mind. He hoped so. Lord, how he hoped so.
The color in her cheeks deepened. “I guess I owe you an explanation,” she said. “I mean, it looks like we may be stuck together for a while.”
“Stuck,” he said. “You make it sound like torture.”
She rolled a shoulder. “Maybe you’ll end up thinking it is. I mean, I did break in.” She took a deep breath. “The truth is, I was pissed off,” she added, as cool anger flickered in her eyes.
He frowned. “I can see being annoyed that I broke our date, but why would you be angry? These things happen.”
Her eyes widened. “These things happen?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Come on, Bryce. Even if you couldn’t be honest with me this afternoon, at least be honest now. I mean, we’re stuck here together. It’ll be a lot more bearable without the lies.” She crossed her arms and waited.
She’d completely lost him. He had no idea what she expected him to say. “I’d love to help you out here, but you’re going to have to give me a clue.”
She tossed her head back in exasperation, then stared at him intently over the purple rims of her glasses. “A clue,” she repeated. “You want a clue. Okay. Fine. How’s Manhattan Today for a clue? The opening of the Quentin Barker Gallery. Supermodel. Any of that ring a bell?”
Bryce fought a smile. “As a matter of fact, it rings a lot of bells.” He dropped down into a chair, propping his right foot on his left knee as he leaned back against the cushion and looked at her.
“And…” she prompted, her hand making a little twirling motion as she urged him along.
“And Suki’s a very nice lady.”
She shook her head. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I suppose it isn’t any of my business anyway except that you said you were going to buy first editions from me. You dangled this huge carrot and then you went and scheduled the date with me on a night when you already had a date with her. So, yeah. I was pissed.”
He nodded. “I can see why you would be.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“Absolutely. And I think there are a few things I need to clear up. First, I got the distinct impression from you that we were having a business dinner, not a date. Not my preference, I admit, but I was willing to accommodate.” She opened her mouth, but he held up a finger and went on. “Second, I did not have a date with Suki. I had one, but it was cancelled about two weeks ago.”
She squinted. “Really?”
“Absolutely. The opening’s been postponed a week. I begged off since I don’t intend to stay in Manhattan that long. I believe George Clooney will be Suki’s new escort.”
“Oh.” Joan licked her lips, and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “And she doesn’t mind?”
“Not in the least.”
“Oh,” she said again. She sank down into the plush sofa cushions, then slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. She didn’t say anything, but kept her eyes on him as she grabbed a silk throw pillow and hugged it to her chest. After a moment, her brow furrowed. “So when you asked me to dinner, you didn’t already have plans?”
“None at all,” he said. He nodded toward the Louis XIV desk on the far side of the room. “Nothing except to sit at that desk, read over some documents, and have a glass of wine. If I was feeling wild and crazy, who knows? I might even have had two glasses.”
“Shit,” she whispered.
“No, it’s okay,” he said with a grin. “I’m used to my rather dull existence.”
That drew a smile. “Yeah, I bet you are.”
“You can’t believe everything you read in the press,” he said.
A wry grin touched her lips. “I’m learning that one the hard way.” This time she did meet his eyes, and though he could sense genuine embarrassment, he also saw an undercurrent of strength. “Like I said, I’m sorry. But if there was no opening, then why—”
“Did I du
mp you?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, if you wanted to break a da—” She licked her lips. “A business dinner with me, then why—”
“I can’t imagine any man actually wanting to break a date with you,” he said, cutting her off.
“Really?” Her mouth quirked into a lopsided grin. “You’re only saying that because I’ve behaved like a total spazz and you’re trying to make me feel better.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, “I’m not that much of a gentleman.” That actually drew a laugh, and he gave himself a couple of points on his imaginary scoreboard. “Besides,” he added, “I have proof.”
“Proof?”
“Checked your cell phone recently?”
Her brow creased. “Well, no, actually. Not since I left the restaurant. And I turned it off once Kathy and I set out to find Angie.”
“Do you have it? Check it now.”
She got up and went back into the foyer to rummage in the totebag she’d dropped there. After a second, she emerged with a phone, and she carried it and the bag back toward the table. She pressed a button, then turned away from him with the phone pressed to her ear. When she turned back, her expression was contrite.
“That was a really sweet message,” she said. “Depositions, huh?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“I’m really sorry I didn’t get your message,” she said. “I would have much preferred coming over here by invitation rather than…um…”
“By stealth?” he offered.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Joan admitted.
Bryce hid a smile. He’d seen the sparks that could light up those deep blue eyes. He could just imagine the fire that smoldered just below Joan’s surface, ready to burst forth when she got angry or excited…or, for that matter, turned on. Now that, Bryce thought, was a fire he’d like to stoke.
“We can still do it that way, you know,” he said.
“That way?”
“Sure.” He nodded to the door. “You can come over, we can have a glass of wine, sit down to look at the books and discuss my soon-to-be erotica collection. We can’t do dinner, I’m afraid, but we can have a lovely evening, just like we’d originally planned.”