by Julie Kenner
Bryce met Leo’s eyes. Here it comes. “We’re listening.”
“We’ve confirmed our suspicion that Mr. Worthington was the target.”
“Confirmed how?” Leo asked.
“Interviews with the hostages,” the detective said. “Apparently our gunman had slightly loose lips. He didn’t name anyone specifically, but there was enough information to make it almost a certainty that he was after Mr. Worthington.”
“Any idea who the guy is?” Bryce asked. “Or if he really did have partners?”
“At this point, we believe he was working alone, but we haven’t been able to confirm that. There was no other gunman with the hostages, that we know for sure.” He paused, and Bryce heard him sifting through some papers.
“As for who he is,” the detective continued, “we’re looking into that, as well. Mr. Tucker allowed us access to the file he keeps regarding harassment, and we’ve crossed that with some individuals at Carpenter Shipping. Right now that seems a likely possibility. We’ve also pulled a few other letters—one fellow in California’s wife died after a layoff. Cancer, and she didn’t have insurance. The ironic thing is that the guy was on the company’s list to get fired, anyway. So the takeover didn’t have anything to do with his problems. But we’re trying to track his whereabouts, since his letters suggest he’s placed the blame anywhere but on himself.” He paused. “Bits and pieces, but no solid leads yet. As I said, Carpenter Shipping seems the most likely. It’s timely, and the shareholders are none too happy.”
Bryce nodded. “All right,” he said. “Keep me posted.”
“Of course.” The detective cleared his throat. “At the present, we think it would be advisable for you to leave New York. Do you think you could arrange that?”
Bryce met Leo’s eyes. For a second, he said nothing. Then he took a deep breath. “Yes,” he finally said. “I think that can be arranged.”
They finished up with the detective in short order, and Bryce walked with Leo back to his office. “I’ll have Lilly book you on the next flight out,” Leo said.
Bryce rubbed his temples. “If it’s all the same to you,” he said, “I’d like to pack.” He also needed to say goodbye to Joan.
Leo had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Sorry. I just want to get you the hell out of here.”
“I’m going,” Bryce said. “But I’m going to the hotel first, and then I’m going to take Joan to lunch.” Since he was going to miss dinner, it was, he figured, the least he could do. They needed to talk, too.
Bryce knew that leaving for Texas was the right thing. The woman was too tempting, and Bryce wasn’t in a position to succumb to temptation. Of course, none of that would make his departure any easier.
Leo’s face hardened.
“What?” Bryce demanded.
“You need to go now.”
“Leo…”
Leo held up both hands, as if warding off his client’s wrath. “I just don’t want you to do something stupid. You’ve got more than just yourself to think of, you know. You get nailed by some psychopath, and it’s not just you that’s dead, it’s Worthington Industries.”
“I think the company can keep chugging on without me,” Bryce said dryly. “I’d like to believe my employees were hired for their competence.”
“Oh, the company will survive, but what about the public offering? It won’t happen, and a lot of your shareholders will end up losing one hell of a lot of money.”
With that, Bryce couldn’t argue. If Bryce weren’t in the picture, the offering wouldn’t go forward. Maybe in a few years, after the company had time to regroup. But not right then. “I have no intention of putting the company at risk,” he said. “Tell Lilly she can book me on the four-fifty flight.”
“Will do,” Leo said.
Bryce’s cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Joan. “Hey,” he said, “I was just going to call you.”
“B-Bryce.” Her voice broke, and he could hear her fighting back tears.
Fear crashed over him, his body tensing. “Joan? What is it?”
“Angie. They found her.”
“Oh, God.” He closed his eyes, fearing the worst.
“No, no.” She spoke hastily, then drew in a breath. “She’s alive. But she’s unconscious. Oh, Bryce. They found her in the subway tunnels. In the dark.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the hospital. With Kathy.”
He made a note as she gave him the details. “I’ll meet you there.”
JOAN SAT on a bench in the hallway outside of Intensive Care. Angie had some cranial bleeding, and she was under observation, but the prognosis was good. With any luck, she’d be transferred to another floor within the day.
None of which made Joan feel any better. And so she sat on the bench while Kathy sat with Angie, waiting for the only person who might possibly lift her spirits.
The elevator dinged, and Joan looked up, her pulse quickening as the doors slid open. A nurse in flowered scrubs stepped off, and Joan sighed, fighting a rush of disappointment. Another ding, and the doors to the second elevator slid open and, this time, there he was. Joan released a breath in a whoosh, so relieved she feared her knees wouldn’t hold her if she stood up.
His gaze scanned the hallway, finding her. And then he smiled. A smile of apology and encouragement and hope.
Joan ran to him, tears streaming down her face as she buried her head in his shoulder.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.” He made soft soothing sounds, his hand stroking her back, his lips pressing kisses to the top of her head. “I talked to the duty nurse,” he murmured. “Angie is doing great.”
Joan nodded. “I know.” They expected her to regain consciousness within the next twenty-four hours. Right then, the painkillers alone were probably keeping her knocked out more than her injuries. “It’s not that. I mean, it is, but—”
He tilted her chin up, looking into her eyes. “This is not your fault.”
She melted against him, her body sagging in relief simply because he’d said it out loud. She knew that, really she did. She just didn’t know it. “If I hadn’t used her to get to you…”
“By that logic, it’s my fault because I didn’t show up for our dinner date. Do you believe that?”
She shook her head. “No. I know you’re right. It’s just…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
“You feel like there’s nothing you can do, and you hate it.”
Again, he’d nailed it. “Yeah.” She took a deep breath and put her hands on his shoulders, lifting up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks.”
He stroked her face, his eyes reflecting a sadness that seemed out of place. “Anytime,” he whispered.
“Bryce?”
The sadness disappeared, and his eyes turned serious. “Joan,” he said, “we need to talk.”
She frowned, not certain what he wanted to talk about, but knowing it couldn’t be good. She nodded. “All right.”
They ended up in the hospital cafeteria, each nursing a cup of bitter coffee. He’d been silent on the trip down, and Joan hadn’t pushed. Now, though, she wanted to know what was going on. “Bryce, what is it?”
“I’m leaving for Texas at five,” he said.
“Oh.” She blinked, struggling for comprehension. “My mom really wanted to meet you.”
“I’m sorry about that. I wanted to meet your parents, too. But it turns out I was the target. The police think it’s best if I go.”
He spoke so matter-of-factly that it took a few moments for his words to register. “You?” she finally said. “I don’t understand.”
“In my business, I anger a lot of people. Layoffs, any number of things, can trigger someone unstable.”
“You’re talking like it’s no big deal,” she said, trying to keep the frantic tone out of her voice. “It’s a huge deal.”
His expression took on a hard edge. “Believe me, babe, I know that. T
hat’s why I’m leaving.”
She wanted to stay cool, to discuss this like a reasonable person, but all she could do was think that she really was losing him. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she angrily brushed it away, cursing herself for believing even a little in fairy tales.
He reached out, brushing the pad of his thumb under her eye. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I…I’m going to miss you. I don’t want you to go away.” She blurted the words out without thinking. “Oh, God. I didn’t mean that. I want you to be safe.”
A thin smile touched his lips. “I appreciate that.”
“I just…” She pressed her lips together, gathering courage. “I was hoping that we could see each other some more.” She shrugged. “See if maybe this thing between us can go somewhere in the real world.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He took both her hands in his, then pressed a kiss to her thumbs. “I don’t know how to say this without hurting you, and I really don’t want to hurt you.”
Joan felt cold, and she pulled back, clutching her coffee cup between her hands. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have said anything. I should know better than to think there could be anything real between us. You’re fantasy material, Bryce Worthington. And even though I have an ego, I’m smart enough to know that I’m not the kind of girl a guy like you ends up with.”
A flash of anger crossed his face. “You’ve never talked about yourself like that,” he said. “Don’t start now.”
“I’m not being self-deprecating, Bryce. I’m just stating facts. If I’m wrong, then tell me.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, lighting a spark of hope in her. “I care about you, Joan. More deeply than I would have imagined or, frankly, thought possible.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“But in the end it doesn’t change anything.” His words held a note of sadness, as if they cut up his insides as much as they destroyed hers.
“I don’t understand.”
“I can’t be in a relationship, Joan.”
“Why not?”
“My business. My life. It’s a twenty-four-hour gig. You know that. You saw just the tiniest slice of how it is. And I’m not looking to get tied down. Not now, maybe not ever.”
She opened her mouth, planning to say all sorts of things about how she’d wait until he was ready and in the meantime she’d be there for him. But she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want to be the woman he slept with when he came to New York. She wanted all of him, or she didn’t want him at all.
The trouble was she did want him. She just couldn’t have him.
“So that’s it?” she said, struggling to keep the anger out of her voice. “The great CEO has spoken and issued his edict. No relationship. End of story. That’s the way this plays out?”
“It’s not the kind of decision we can make together, Joan. I can either be with you or I can’t. Nothing you can do can change that.”
She drew in a breath. “So you’re just going to leave. You tell me that you care about me and then you’re just going to walk away?”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She flinched. “That’s not good enough.”
He met her eyes. “I know. For that, I’m sorry, too.”
13
EVEN HER MOM’S meat loaf wasn’t helping.
Joan sighed, picking at the food on her plate. Her mom got up to pull a pie out of the oven, and on her way back to the table, she gave Joan a quick hug.
“He’s an idiot,” her father said. “I don’t care how much money he has, the man’s an idiot.”
Joan rolled her eyes. “He’s not, Daddy.”
She’d told them everything—well, not everything—but enough that her parents knew she’d fallen hard for the likes of Bryce Worthington. It had helped, actually, talking through it with them. Her parents had such a strong relationship, and part of that, she knew, came from the fact that they were so grounded in the real world. They had an honesty and a moral code that she valued. That she didn’t want to lose. How on earth would she have been able to keep that code if she was with Bryce, with millions of dollars suddenly at her disposal?
But that was a stupid argument and she knew it. Bryce had started out as working-class and his integrity was intact. Sure, he dated a lot of women—Joan had gone on a Bryce Worthington reading binge that afternoon—but the articles all made clear what a down-to-earth guy he was. Some of the articles even talked about his charitable work, which was far more extensive than he’d let on when he described the work he did for Habitat for Humanity.
No, Joan couldn’t even say that Bryce walking away was all for the best. It wasn’t for the best. It sucked. And what really sucked was that she didn’t know how to get him back. Because unless he was lying to her, this wasn’t even about her. It was about him and his drive and how much he was able to give to a relationship.
Joan couldn’t change him. Hell, she couldn’t even try.
“Well,” her mother said brightly, “I made apple pie.”
“Great,” Joan said. “That should fix everything.”
Her parents laughed, and Joan joined in. For every crisis in her life, from bad grades to bad boyfriends, her mom had always been there with pie. It had become almost a tradition. It never helped, of course, but it certainly never hurt, either.
She looked up at her mom. “I’ll take a slice now, please.”
At the moment, she could use all the pie she could get.
HORNS BLARED and tires squealed as the early morning traffic wended its way through Gramercy Park.
From the café across the street, Clive watched the bookstore, unable to help the smile that spread across his face. Angie had told him the truth, and for two days now, he’d been watching. Biding his time and planning.
The storefront was a wall of windows, revealing a display of books in the window. A counter with a cash register was set up past that, and right then Joan was chatting with a customer. Even from across the street he could see her, her blond hair shining in the overhead lights.
Bitch.
Soon. Very, very soon.
He’d worked it all out in his head, and he knew he needed to act quickly. He had wanted to move even faster, but the girl had disappeared. So he’d taken a chance, going into the bookstore and overhearing Angie’s sister on the phone. Angie was recovering, but didn’t remember anything of the night Clive had clubbed her. Good. Joan had left for New Jersey to spend the weekend with her parents until the store opened again on Tuesday. Bad.
At least, though, Clive knew she was coming back.
He used the extra time to his advantage. He’d learned that Joan lived in the apartment above the bookstore. And he’d learned, as well, that the building had a fire escape in the back that Joan used as a balcony. Most likely, she kept her windows locked, stopping anyone from getting in by the fire escape. But Clive knew he could buy glass cutters at any hardware store.
No, Joan’s windows weren’t a problem. Worthington, however, was. And it was that problem that Clive now pondered as he watched Joan through the window. The man had left New York. Clive hadn’t expected that, though he had to admit he should have seen it coming.
Which raised the million-dollar question—how much did Worthington care about Joan Benetti?
Clive drummed his fingers on his thigh. He didn’t know. But he did know that Worthington would protect his reputation. If it got out that he alone could prevent the death of an innocent woman…
Clive smiled. He’d take Joan. And once he had her, he’d tell Worthington just how much it would cost to get her back.
Yes. Yes, that would work. That would get Worthington’s attention. He’d demand ransom first, and then he’d kill her.
BRYCE HOISTED the ax and brought it down, burying the blade deep in the upturned log. The wood split along the grain, the two sections each falling to the side. With the back of his left hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow. Over ninety-five degrees in Austin, and he’d been at this for
more than an hour.
Across the yard, Leo eyed him from the comfort of the porch. The attorney had flown into Austin the day before, and they’d been up for over twenty-four hours working on two new deals.
Leo raised his beer, his eyes tired. “You realize you’ve got a few months until you’ll be needing firewood,” his friend shouted, then popped the top on a fresh beer. “Or is there something else you’re working through? I know it’s not these deals. We got all the kinks worked out this morning.”
With a scowl, Bryce tossed the ax into the grass, his shoulders and back aching. He reached down and grabbed his beer from where he’d left it on the ground. He took a long swallow, downing the rest of the cool liquid, then left the empty can on the tree stump.
“Well?” Leo prodded.
“Not something,” Bryce admitted, walking the length of the manicured yard to join his friend on the porch. “Someone.”
For days now, his thoughts had been filled with little more than work and Joan. And lately, instead of lessening, the thoughts of Joan were increasing, pushing aside work until Bryce was actually having trouble focusing on his pending deals.
“Joan,” Leo said. He shook his head, the gesture almost fatherly. “I wanted you to find a woman. I didn’t think you’d do it so damn fast. I hear wedding bells, my friend. Marj is going to be thrilled.”
Bryce shook his head. “Come on, Leo. You know me. I’m not interested in getting married—in even having a serious relationship—unless I can give it my all. It’s not fair to her and it’s not fair to me.”
“As your attorney and your friend, I have only one response to that—bullshit.”
Bryce glared at his friend, but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached down for a rock, eyed the can on the stump, took aim, and threw. Smack! Bull’s-eye. The can went tumbling.
“No married person on the planet gives marriage their all,” Leo said, sticking to the topic at hand. “Everybody always has something else in their life. Or they should. That’s what’s called well-rounded.”
Bryce rolled his eyes at the note of sarcasm in Leo’s voice. “It’s one thing to have other interests. It’s another to be completely absorbed by your work to the detriment of your relationship.”