by Julie Kenner
“So don’t be.”
Bryce raised an eyebrow. “My self-absorption is what pays your hourly rate.”
Leo grinned. “I think I can rustle up a few new clients if you back off a little.”
With a sigh, Bryce sat at the table. “I’ve got obligations,” he said. Even as he spoke, though, he knew he was only making excuses. He’d never been afraid of anything in his life. But he was afraid of this. Afraid of failing at love because it could blindside him. He wouldn’t see the end coming, just like he hadn’t seen his mother’s betrayal coming. And how the hell did you fight something that insidious if it came silently in the night?
“We make our own priorities,” Leo said. “Hell, you should know that better than anyone.”
“That’s my point,” Bryce said. “The company is my priority. Right now it has to be. If I don’t focus, I’ll lose out on the chance to make millions.”
Leo nodded. “That’s probably true. But you already have millions.”
“That’s not the point, and you know it. Taking the company public could make a lot of people who work for me very, very wealthy. They have mortgages to pay. Families to support. And they’ve been working hard toward this.”
“You know my position, Bryce. I think you’ll be better off taking the company public with a wife. But either way, I think you need to step back and look at the larger picture.”
Bryce scowled. “What picture is that?”
“You told me yourself—you’ve hired good people who know how to do their jobs. So why are you in this so deep? Because, I have to wonder, when you get to the point where the job becomes your life, is it really worth it?”
Bryce opened his mouth and then closed it again. What he’d told Leo was true. The company could go on without him.
“She’s good for you, Bryce,” Leo said softly. “I don’t know what happened between you two in that penthouse, but I do know that she’s crept into every one of our conversations. And when you’re not talking about her, you’re thinking about her. There’s a look in your eye, my friend. I know. It’s the same look I have when I think about Marj. Even to this day—even after twenty-eight years of marriage.”
“That long? I had no idea. Congratulations.”
Leo nodded. “Thanks.”
He wanted to ask Leo if he was afraid. Afraid that now that the relationship was comfortable that she’d pull the rug out from him and go. But Bryce didn’t ask. He didn’t ask because he knew the answer—Leo had no such fears.
And that’s when it hit him. That’s when he knew. He wasn’t afraid, either. The fear had evaporated, leaving only a bone-deep sadness that his mother had left. But nothing more. The woman had shadowed his life long enough. It was time Bryce said goodbye once and for all.
Sure, he knew that Joan might leave someday. He also knew that the moon might drop out of the sky and fall to earth. But he didn’t believe it. Because he knew in his heart—no, he knew in his soul—that Joan loved him. And that she’d never, ever do anything to hurt him.
So help him, he loved her, too. And he couldn’t wait to get back to New York to tell her in person. He hoped like hell that he still had a chance with her. That somehow, by being an idiot at the hospital, he hadn’t completely blown the most important deal of his life.
14
JOAN KICKED HER FEET up on the coffee table and clicked the power button on the television’s remote control. Ronnie’s TV sprang to life, the familiar morning show theme music filling the apartment.
Joan snuggled into the pillows. Thank God for television and coffee. Without them, she’d be a zombie for half the day instead of just half an hour.
She stared blankly at the television for a few minutes, her mind actually clicking into gear when the financial segment came on. She had to grin. Thanks to Bryce, this was no longer the part of the show she tuned out.
In fact, since Bryce had left, she’d made a habit of watching the financial news across a variety of networks. It wasn’t helping her melancholy in the least, but she was getting a good feel for how the NASDAQ worked. And, for some inexplicable reason, she couldn’t go a day anymore without hearing some bit of news about the business world. Missing it was like giving up. So long as she tuned in faithfully, she could keep alive the illusion that Bryce had come back for her.
Stupid, maybe, but there you go.
The local weather was just coming on—hot, no surprise there—when the buzzer sounded. Frowning, Joan went to the intercom. “Yes?”
“Joan, it’s Donovan. Buzz me up.”
She did, hitting the button that operated the lock on the back stairs. The back entrance circumvented the store and led straight to the two interior apartments. She waited a few minutes, then unlocked the door, opening it just as he stepped onto the fourth-floor landing.
“Morning,” she said, stepping back to let him enter. “Does this mean you guys caught the creep?”
Donovan’s shoulders moved in something resembling a shrug. “Not exactly,” he said.
Joan stopped, something in Donovan’s voice catching her attention. “What? What’s happened?”
He took a deep breath, then pulled a paper clip out of his pocket. He twisted it between his fingers as he spoke. “Angie’s doing better,” he said. “She’s starting to remember what happened the night of the escape.”
Joan waited, her whole body tense.
“He wanted to know about you, Joan.”
She squinted, Donovan’s words not making sense. “Me? I don’t understand. Why would he want—”
“We think you’re the next target, kiddo.” Donovan’s voice was flat, the unemotional tone of a professional. His eyes told a different story, however. His eyes reflected pure fear.
Donovan was afraid for her. And that scared Joan most of all.
PATTI, BRYCE’S ASSISTANT, placed a stack of documents on his desk. “The ticket’s on top,” she said. “You’re on the first flight back in the morning.” She smiled broadly. “Do you want me to send flowers? Have you called to let her know you’re coming?”
Bryce laughed. He’d hired Patti eight years ago, and the woman knew him inside and out. “Thanks, Pat, but I’m going to surprise her.”
She beamed. “This is just so romantic,” she murmured. The phone rang, and she leaned over, the picture of efficiency, to answer the extension on his desk. He tuned out the conversation until she punched the hold button and passed him the handset. “It’s for you. A detective from New York.”
“Thanks,” Bryce said, taking the call. He expected Fisk’s voice telling him they’d caught the gunman. Instead, he got Detective Donovan.
“Joan doesn’t know I’m calling,” Donovan said, skipping the usual polite preliminaries.
Bryce sat up, instantly on alert. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Joan,” Donovan said. “We believe she’s our perp’s next target.”
Bryce was on his feet, not thinking, just reacting. “I’ll be there by four,” he said. He’d planned to fly commercial, but this meant a change of plans. He’d take the corporate jet.
“You may still be a target, too,” Donovan said. “I can’t recommend that you come up here. We’ve got her under police protection. I just thought that you should know.”
“I’m coming to her,” Bryce said, not mentioning that he’d planned to come anyway. “If there’s some way you have of preventing me from entering the city, tell me now. Otherwise I’m heading to the airport.” He took a breath. “And tell Joan to pack,” he added. “I’m bringing her home.”
IDIOTS.
The police had apparently figured out that Clive had his eye on Joan, and for that he gave them some credit. But their idea of police protection was sadly, sadly lacking. There was one patrol officer in a car on the street, and another walking a beat.
Not good enough. Not at all.
The apartment above Joan’s shared a fire escape with hers, and it was vacant. And at the moment, Clive was camped out in the empty livi
ng room, waiting for darkness to fall. Waiting for Joan to come upstairs from the bookstore. Waiting for her to go to sleep.
But he wouldn’t be waiting much longer. Soon, he’d be the one in control. And soon, Emily could rest in peace.
JOAN WAS NEAR the back of the store reshelving books when the little bell jingled. At first, she had to fight a wave of fear, but then she remembered the cop that Donovan had posted in the store’s armchair. Joan thought it was probably overkill, but she wasn’t about to say no to a guy whose sole purpose in life was to protect her butt.
“Give a shout if you need anything,” she finally said. “I’ll be right out.”
“Actually,” a familiar voice answered, “you do have something I need.”
Joan spun around, almost knocking over the stack of books at her feet. Her hand flew to her mouth and she fought back tears. He’d come back. Bryce had come back.
In a rush, she maneuvered the stacks, emerging behind the cop. Bryce was by the counter, and she launched herself into his arms, delighted when he returned her embrace with equal enthusiasm.
“You came back,” she said.
He held her tighter. “Of course,” he said. “I came to get you.”
Joan frowned, then leaned back to look at his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Home,” he said. “With me.”
She blinked and shook her head.
“I’m taking you with me. You’ll be safer in Texas. Let the cops do their job.”
“Safer with you? Last I heard, this nutcase was after you, too.”
“As far as we know, the nutcase is in New York,” Bryce countered. “And my house is as secure as any house can be.”
Joan glanced toward the seated cop who was watching them with interest. She considered asking him to leave, and then decided not to bother. At the moment, her emotions were a jumble of anger, confusion and relief. There simply wasn’t any room for embarrassment.
“I don’t want to go to Texas,” she said.
“Joan, don’t be stupid.”
“Stupid,” she repeated. “Stupid? I’ve already been that.” She drew in a breath, pulling out of his embrace to pace the room. “I heard your voice, and I thought you came back for me. For us.”
“I am,” he said. “I did.”
She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. You’re here because some lunatic decided you were too hard to get. I’m sloppy seconds, thank you very much, and you’re feeling guilty.”
“No.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, wanting to believe him, but not quite able to. “Prove it.”
He was at her side in two long strides. “I love you, Joan.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could block out the words. “Do you?” she whispered. She’d wanted to hear those words so badly. And now that he was finally saying them, she couldn’t believe him. “How come you love me now when you didn’t love me on Friday?”
“I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you,” he said. “I was stupid. I was scared of the risks. But you’re worth the risk, sweetheart.” He took her hands. “Be mad at me if you want, but don’t punish us both because I was an idiot.”
“I’m in danger,” she said. “And suddenly you appear.”
“Isn’t that what knights on white horses are supposed to do?”
She fought the smile that touched her lips. “I suppose it is,” she agreed. “But I don’t want you to be with me out of guilt or some misguided sense of chivalry. I want—”
“I want you,” Bryce interrupted. “I don’t know how to make it any plainer. I’ve been hollow without you, Joan. Empty. You fill me up, and that’s what I came to tell you. Our little gunman friend is just an inconvenience. That whole nightmare will be over soon, but I want the two of us to go on for the rest of our lives.”
She blinked back tears. He’d said all the right things, drawn her in. And damned if she didn’t believe him. “Did you just make that up?”
He shrugged. “I thought a little on the plane. I like to be prepared.” His grin zinged down to her toes. “Please, Joan. Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” she said without hesitation.
“Then come with me.”
She hesitated only briefly, but then nodded. Not only did she love Bryce, but she trusted him implicitly. And if he said he loved her and wanted her with him, she had to believe him.
She smiled to herself, thinking about his various stock tips.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just thinking that, in the end, I’m following your advice—going with something relatively low risk that should pay out dividends in the coming years.”
“A lot of dividends,” Bryce confirmed. He kissed the tip of his finger and pressed it to her nose, then winked at the cop in the armchair. “I promise you’re making an investment you definitely won’t regret.”
BRYCE HAD COME IN a private jet, and Joan had to admit that the idea of flying down to Texas in the thing intrigued her. She considered changing clothes for the occasion, but decided that was stupid. Instead, she rummaged in her bedroom closet, pulling out a few outfits to take. She didn’t expect to be down there for more than a week, and Bryce had already told her it was hot. So, for the most part, she was filling her suitcase with shorts and tank tops.
Bryce was in the kitchen pouring them each a glass of wine. A toast. They were going to toast their life together. She couldn’t wait. In fact, she was so gloriously, giddily happy that she almost forgot the cause of their whirlwind trip to Austin—a maniacal gunman out to get her and Bryce.
She shook her head, banishing the thoughts. They’d be fine. Donovan had told her the cops had some leads, and he’d assigned a whole cadre of officers to watch her. Even now, one was outside her front door and another was on the street below. The cops would tail her and Bryce to the airport, and once in Austin she and Bryce would head to his house. The way he described it, they’d be quite safe there.
She took one last glance around the room, trying to figure out if she’d left anything. She was a lousy packer, even worse when she had to do it on the spur of the moment.
It was when her gaze was drifting over the room that she noticed the window. Frowning, she stared at it, trying to figure out what was bugging her. And then she realized. Night had fallen, and the window was reflecting back the room’s interior. Everywhere except for one small round section near the latch.
In a split second, she realized that someone had cut the glass away. In that same instant, she spun, ready to run from the room.
That’s when she saw him.
He was standing in the bathroom, a stocking covering his face and a gun trained on her. “I’d stay quiet if I were you, Ms. Benetti.” She nodded, and he gestured her toward the door. “Convenient of you to bring Mr. Worthington to your apartment. And so very considerate from my perspective.”
He moved to her side, pressing the gun to her back. “You’ll behave, I hope. I’d hate to have to kill you.”
A shiver racked her body, and she nodded. “Whatever you want,” she whispered. Her entire body felt cold. Numb. And she idly wondered if a person could get frostbite from fear.
“Good. Just so we understand each other.” He poked her in the back. “Move.”
He was urging her forward toward the bedroom door. Joan moved on shaky legs. They were almost to the door, and for some reason that made Joan feel better. Bryce was on the other side of that door. And even though there was nothing he could do—even though he couldn’t make the gun at her temple disappear—just knowing he was there made her feel better. She couldn’t die now. Not when she’d just found Bryce. Not when they’d proclaimed their love.
Somehow, someway, she knew it would all work out.
It had to.
BRYCE POURED a glass of merlot for himself, and was just about to set it down and pour a glass for Joan when her voice, barely a whisper, drifted in from behind him. “Bryce…”
He turned
—his eyes widening with disbelief. The glass tumbled from his fingers to shatter on the hardwood floor. In the doorway to the bedroom, the gunman held Joan around the waist, a pistol to her head.
Bryce felt a wave of nausea. Please, God, don’t let this madman hurt her.
“Mr. Worthington,” the man said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve got an academic question for you.”
Fear flowed through Bryce as thick as blood. “Yes?” He had to try twice to get the word out past his bone-dry lips and tongue.
“How much will you pay? How much will you pay to keep the bitch alive?”
“Whatever you want,” Bryce said, his voice barely audible. “Just put the gun down.”
“You’ll pay?”
“Yes,” Bryce said.
“Whatever I want?”
“Yes.” His eyes met Joan’s and the fear he saw there reflected his own. “Just don’t hurt her.”
“You’ll pay?”
Bryce swallowed, his mind going a thousand miles a minute. Something in the man’s voice had changed. A slight alteration. Shifting somehow from greedy to nefarious. From unbalanced to evil.
He clenched his fist, forcing himself not to do anything foolish. Where the hell were the cops?
“You know what?” the man asked, his voice rising. “I don’t give a fuck about the money. It’s not about the money.” His speech was speeding up. The man was stumbling over his words. Losing control.
Bryce’s eyes darted around the room. He needed to do something, but there wasn’t anything to do, not without risking Joan’s life.
“It’s all about money to you, though, isn’t it? That’s all that matters to you.” He’d stepped slightly away from Joan, loosened his grip on her just as he’d lost his grip on reality. “How much would you have paid to save Emily?”
Bryce blinked. “Emily?”
“You son of a bitch,” the man said, pure hatred lacing his voice. “You never cared about her. You didn’t give a flip about her.”