The Lost Tycoon (10 page)

Somehow she’d done something to upset Bryson. That could be the only explanation for why he hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since they’d left Montana. She just couldn’t figure out what was wrong — or, more specifically, what
she’d
done wrong.

Maybe he was disgusted with her now. First, he’d had to listen to her testimony about Jesse and the things she’d allowed that vile man to do to her, and then she’d ogled Brad Paisley. She’d be disgusted with herself if she weren’t still starstruck. But it would explain why Bryson wasn’t speaking to her.

Up to this point he’d been so kind, so charming, so comforting, but she’d long realized that it was probably all part of his job — keep the witness happy, secure, and ready to testify.

She was too chicken to ask him what was going on, so she simply matched his silence when they landed, while she walked by his side as Bryson grabbed her carry-on bag, and when she kept pace with him as they left the airport and were transported to the parking lot. A whole lot of silence.

In just a little while, she’d be all alone back at her house, where she could break down and have a good cry if she wanted, or maybe throw on some sweats and go for a jog. She couldn’t figure out at the moment which she’d prefer.

Probably the jog, since it would burn more calories than tears would. Besides, she’d been too sedentary lately, and a jog would tucker her out. True, she might well pass out in the first five minutes because it had been so long since she’d run. For a short time during her year with Jesse she’d been on a fitness quest, and that was probably the only reason she’d been able to make it to her car and escape him.

He’d allowed her to jog only in certain locations and only while he was there to ensure that she didn’t speak to any other men, but she’d been happy with the activity. It had given her a few moments of peace. He’d liked the result of her being in such great shape — her body was able to take more of his abuse.

The thought of running outside among so many strangers was a bit daunting, but she wasn’t going to let her old fears — heck, her new fears, her constant fears — hold her back. She’d already made that decision and she was sticking to it.

If she chickened out on the very first activity she decided upon after giving her deposition, she was once again letting Jesse win. So, yes, a jog it was, she thought emphatically. Exercise saved lives.

She and Bryson arrived at her house and she didn’t even try to argue when he insisted on walking her inside. This time, though, he brought his briefcase with him, and she wondered what he had planned. With the silent treatment he’d been giving her, she figured he’d want to be in and out of there as quickly as possible.

Once he’d checked all the rooms, he moved to her kitchen table and set down the briefcase. “I know you’re tired, Misty, but I want you to look at some stills taken from surveillance footage. If you can identify any of the people with Jesse in these photos, that would help us. I know you won’t remember dates, but if you can tell us if these people were ever inside Jesse’s apartment and if you saw anything, we can strengthen the case even more.”

She didn’t really want to continue diving back into that world, but how could she say no? The more help she gave, the more chance this would all end. Maybe sooner than everyone hoped.

“Why didn’t you have me do this sooner?”

“Because we wanted your testimony first, so it was from you alone, and not from something we’d placed in front of you, planted in your brain. The prosecuting attorney will look for anything to weaken our case, and if he thinks we in any way tried to persuade you of anything, lead you to any conclusion, he can make the jury believe that. We have to do each of these steps in a certain order.”

“I understand,” she said, though she didn’t really. None of this made a lot of sense to her; at least the process behind it all didn’t. What she did fully understand is there was a possibility of Jesse’s going to prison, and if he did, he could never touch her again.

“Drink this,” he said, placing a cup of water in front of her.

Without thought, she gripped it and sipped as she began flipping through the hundreds of images. Then her world tilted, taking her back to that hellhole of an apartment. When she saw him going up the stairs with a small, dark-haired girl, the picture dated a few months after Misty had left, she felt sympathy for the woman.

“I wonder if she’s still alive,” Misty whispered, and Bryson leaned over the back of her chair to see which picture she was looking at.

“No. Sadly, she isn’t alive. Though he took up with her after you, I’m hoping that maybe you will have some information on her. Did you ever see her around?”

More fear shot through her. She could have been this woman, one of the ones whom Jesse killed when he was done with her. Every day she was thankful to have escaped.

“I don’t remember her. There were several women, as you know, that he brought in while we were still together, but her face isn’t one I remember. And I don’t think I would forget. I don’t think I’ll forget a single thing from that time in my life.”

“No, I don’t think you will, either. I only hope that over time, you will start to heal, and eventually it will all be nothing but a vague recollection, without any measurable sting.” Bryson laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She focused back on the picture. “She’s so pretty here. Why does he do this? Why does it make him feel like a man? I just can’t understand it,” she said. She’d received broken bones, been raped, violated, and chained — and she’d been one of the lucky ones. How could this man get away with so much, ruin so many lives?

“She was loved by her parents, and missed greatly. I don’t know why he does what he does, but he won’t ever touch you again, Misty. That time is over — it’s in the past. If we didn’t have to dredge up the past, making you go through this day after day, you’d be so much closer to healing. I’m so sorry.” Bryson took his other hand and clutched her other shoulder, letting her know he was right there.

Needing the contact, needing some sort of connection, Misty placed her fingers over his. She was closer to tears at this moment than she’d been while giving a detailed account of her own torture. Seeing another victim made it all so much more real.

He hadn’t stopped torturing women after Misty had gotten away. He would never stop. And he
would
eventually get her. She didn’t know how or when, but he would. She’d tried to think otherwise, but she knew that now. Still, she’d made the right choice in giving her deposition, and she had no regrets.

“Come here,” Bryson said, pulling her from the chair she felt glued to. Before she even thought of stopping him, he drew her against his hard chest, wrapping his strong, comforting arms around her back and holding her close.

She couldn’t help but take what he was offering. There wasn’t a price attached to this gift he was giving her. No expectations. He was just trying to make her feel as if there was another person in this huge universe who was with her, if only for this tiny moment in time. She allowed herself to feel something other than fear and sorrow, and she melted against him.

Sighing when his hands moved slowly up and down her back, soothing, gentle, letting her know he was there to help — a friend, in fact — Misty found herself sinking further and further down a path she shouldn’t take. But isn’t that what she wanted? Didn’t she need a friend? Still, how would she know? She’d never, ever had one.

There had never been anyone in her life she could lean on. No one to comfort her and make her feel better when life was at its darkest, no best friend to giggle with and tell her secrets to, no person to cry with when it felt as if the world were ending.

So, yes, she wanted a friend, but as Bryson’s hands skimmed over her shoulders and ran gently through her hair, she knew it would also be nice to have more than a friend. It would be nice to feel his touch on her naked skin, to feel his lips slide across her mouth.

A sense of guilt for harboring such thoughts assailed her, but her desire was stronger. She hadn’t thought she’d want a man again — not after what Jesse had done to her — but this was desire. It was more than desire. This emotion was unlike anything her body had felt before.

It didn’t seem possible, but her body melded completely with his, and she had no idea where she ended and he began. If she just lifted her head from his chest, would he kiss her?

As she pushed against him in her desperation to get closer, she felt the clear evidence that he wasn’t unaffected. But despite the way his arousal was pressing against her stomach, his movements remained gentle, his hands soothing. As her body heated further, her muscles tensed, and her mouth opened, he did nothing more than rub gently along her spine.

Would he ever kiss her? She was afraid to find out. Afraid that he would kiss her back — and afraid of the rejection when he didn’t. If he could hear the thoughts running through her head, he’d know for sure that she had lost it, and he’d check her into a psych house.

But then he moved his hand to her neck, sending shivers through her, and his fingers grasped her chin.

He leaned back. “Misty,” he whispered, sending instant heat to her core, a pulsing, molten heat nearly burning her from the inside.

“Yes,” she said, not knowing whether she was saying yes to a kiss, or yes to her name.

He looked into her eyes for a moment longer before he groaned, then his head leaned forward and his beautiful lips took hers, making her knees sag as passion spiked to a boiling point in her hungry body.

One arm remained around her back, pressing her tightly against him as his other hand cradled her face and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding easily inside her willing mouth.

Their moans mingled as he caressed her lips, plundered her mouth, stoked her ever-building flames of desire. She didn’t know how much time passed — seconds, minutes, hours. Time was irrelevant. As long as she was in the safety of his arms, she was unhurt. Untouchable, except by him.

When he pulled back, she grew confused and disoriented, and she felt as if her body belonged to someone else.

“I have to leave, Misty,” he said, both hands on her arms, steadying her as she tried to clear the fog from her brain, tried to focus her eyes on his flushed face.

“What?” Her thoughts were muddled.

His eyes were on fire, and she could finally focus enough to see them.

“I have to leave now, or I’m going to lift you in my arms, carry you to your bed just a few yards away, and make love to you all night.”

What was wrong with that? She didn’t get a chance to ask. He groaned and looked away.

“You’re a witness under my protection. I can’t do this.” He was speaking as if through pain.

Respect. That’s what she was feeling — utter and total respect for this man. His job was important to him. She wouldn’t be the person to interfere with that.

“Then you’d better go,” she said, and he turned relieved eyes on her. Had he thought she was going to jump his bones? Well… No. She wasn’t going to do that. Tempting, but no.

“I’ll be back when I…uh…cool off,” he said with a light chuckle.

“Better make it a while,” she warned him. She needed some cooling off herself.

“What are you doing to me, Misty?”

He ran his hand along her cheek again. She turned her head and kissed his palm, unable to resist. She had to admit that she felt tremendous power when she saw a shudder run through him.

It was euphoric to feel desire, to feel burning need, and still feel trust, still know that this man wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t push her, would continue to respect her.

The more she knew him, the more her confused emotions began to straighten out, and all she wanted was to call him back, hold him close, and take from him what he could give her. Security, respect, relief.

Without another word, he turned, seized his briefcase, and strode from her kitchen and out of the house. She heard his footsteps stop as he waited for her to lock the door, then he moved down the walk. She went to the window and watched him drive away.

She’d made that look of hunger enter his eyes. She turned that man on with nothing but a little kiss — and he’d been man enough to do the right thing and walk away. Right now, the right thing didn’t feel very right, but she found herself smiling anyway, because she felt safe and protected. And she also felt desired. In a good way.

As she wandered to the bedroom and lay down, even though it was early in the afternoon, she wondered whether she’d been too hasty. Never before had her body ached so badly, and never had she needed someone so much.

And not just someone, but something. She wanted Bryson, but not just in her bed. She wanted his company and his comfort. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her she was safe. She wanted the man in so many ways, it was impossible to describe.

If she could just learn to trust herself again, then maybe she could believe what she was seeing, believe what she was feeling.

Instead sharing a bed with her usual companion, confusion, Misty drifted to sleep with a hopeful smile on her face. The jog would certainly be needed when she awoke, more now than ever before. She had a massive overload of hormones to burn from her body.

He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have stolen a cup with Misty’s saliva on it and had it tested for DNA. One of Damien’s cousins had gotten a sample from Damien, and they both felt like spies in some cheap B movie, but they were trying not to get Damien’s hopes up only to have him find out once again that someone he’d pinned his hopes on wasn’t his sister.

His friend had gone through that four times already since the search had begun to find the baby his mother had willingly given up. Each time, Damien felt more and more sure that he would never meet his sister.

And, man, did Bryson feel guilty about Misty. Sure, he hadn’t wanted her to suffer the same sort of disappointment as Damien had if he and Camden were wrong, and he tried to tell himself that he’d done the right thing, but he knew damn well that he hadn’t. He should have spoken to her, treated her like an adult, not acted in such an underhand manner.

Yes, FBI agents lifted people’s DNA all the time, but he’d never done so on someone he actually cared about.

The result was positive. Misty Elton was Damien Whitfield’s missing sister.

So the news was good. But did the end justify the means? Bryson hoped she wouldn’t hate him for going behind her back to find out who her family was.

When she’d mentioned the note and the name Damien, Bryson had thought the odds were firmly against his friend being her brother, and yet he knew that Damien Whitfield was searching for a lost sister… It certainly wasn’t an impossible coincidence. That’s when he looked at her eyes again, and he remembered where he’d seen similar eyes — Damien. They were identical in color and shape.

Eyes can lie, of course. But DNA is another matter. There was no doubt now that Damien and Misty were brother and sister. So he was holding a phone tightly against his ear, waiting. The ringing seemed to go on for hours, and his rug was surely going to get ruts in it because he couldn’t stop pacing.

“This is Joseph!”

Bryson couldn’t help but smile as the man’s voice boomed through the telephone. No one would ever accuse the head of the Anderson family of being a quiet man. It didn’t matter how much he aged — he would always be larger than life. And he’d most likely never die, either.

“Hello, Joseph, this is Bryson Winchester,” he began, then wondered whether he’d be able to get another word in edgewise during their “conversation.”

“Bryson, my boy! How are you? I figured you forgot how to use a phone, it’s been so long since you’ve rung me,” Joseph scolded him.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Bryson always felt like a disobedient child when Joseph spoke to him. Because he was friends with Joseph’s sons, he’d been to the man’s place a few times, and Joseph was certainly loud and a bit overbearing in his manner. But the man was also always very welcoming. It seemed incredible that he and his sweet and accommodating wife could make such a perfect couple. But they did.

“I suppose I can forgive you, Bryson. After all, you’re a busy man. Have you found someone special yet? Last I spoke to your parents, they were heartbroken — simply devastated — that they still didn’t have grandkids. They have three beautiful children, and not one of you has done the honorable thing — settling down and marrying, and giving them some nice babies to hold.”

Damn. It was worse than just scolding. Less than a minute on the phone with this man and he felt as if he’d been pulled into the principal’s office for skipping class or being caught under the bleachers with Suzy Summers.

“Work keeps me busy, sir. I see my family often, though.”

“Well, I would hope so,” Joseph said. “You’ve got good folks, Bryson, real good folks. Not everyone is as lucky as you are”

“Yes, sir. I’m well aware of that,” he said, then rushed into his next sentence before Joseph could cut him off again. “I’m calling because I have news that I think you’ll be excited about. It pertains to Damien, but I thought it would be best coming from you, since I don’t know him very well.”

“Go on then, and spit it out. I’m not getting any younger,” Joseph bellowed.

A grin spread across Bryson’s face. It wasn’t a wonder at all that Joseph was loved so much. He could sure blow a bunch of smoke, but underneath it all, family was all that truly mattered to him. Not his billions, and not all that he’d accomplished — just having a beautiful, successful, happy family.

“I’ve found his sister.”

Dead silence greeted his proclamation. Bryson was beginning to think he’d lost the connection when he heard a suspicious throat clearing.

“Are you sure, boy?” It almost didn’t sound like Joseph anymore. His voice was unusually quiet and gruff. It sounded as if the large man was fighting tears.

“I had her DNA tested. I haven’t told her about any of it yet. I didn’t want to raise her hopes and then dash them if it turned out that Damien wasn’t her brother. She’s had a…difficult life.”

“I hate to hear that,” Joseph said. “It could have been so much better for her. I’ll never understand why my uncle did what he did, why he had so much hatred in his heart.” The story filled him with sadness even after all these years.

“What do you want me to do, sir? Should I wait to tell her?” Bryson had no idea what his next move should be. Misty was a witness in a case and had a dangerous man coming after her. But this was her family. They would be able to offer her more protection than he could. She’d been without them long enough.

“What’s her name?” Joseph asked.

“Misty Elton. She’s beautiful, smart, and strong — so strong. She’s a witness in a case we’re building against a dirty cop. She’s been through hell and back, and she’s fighting not to get sucked down there again. I
do not
want to see her hurt any more than she already has been. I don’t know how she’ll react to this, but I have a feeling she won’t be averse to having a family. I just want to make sure it’s what Damien really wants, because I’m sure she can’t handle another rejection in her life. I won’t let that happen,” Bryson said, revealing more about himself than he should have to the meddling Joseph Anderson.

“I see,” Joseph replied, all traces of tears now erased from his voice.

“I will let you digest this and then wait for your call,” Bryson said.

“You won’t be kept waiting long, Bryson. What you’ve done for our family shows what a great man you are. I’ll happily welcome you into the fold.”

What? Welcome him into the fold? Bryson wasn’t calling about himself; he was calling about Misty. He had nothing to do with her family other than as a friend to the boys.

When he hung up the phone, he had no idea that his future was already mapped out in Joseph’s head. The old man was shrewd and he’d just found another match.

And there was nothing that made Joseph Anderson happier than matching up his family members and seeing future generations brought into the world for him to rightfully spoil.

Although Bryson wasn’t ready to tell Misty yet what he’d found out, he had to hear her voice, had to assure himself that she was hanging in there. It had been a few days since their return from Montana, and walking away from her had just about killed him.

He knew he’d made the right decision, but he still regretted leaving her that day. She’d wanted him as desperately as he’d wanted her, and he was beginning to think it wouldn’t be so bad if the two of them spent some…uh…intimate time together. Yes, she was a witness, and, yes, he was responsible for her, but keeping each other warm on a cold night — what was so wrong with that?

Because it was against the rules.

Hell, the rules were meant to be broken.

He dialed her, and then he waited what felt like another eternity for her to pick up her phone.

Her
hello
came out breathless, and Bryson’s groin instantly tightened. Criminy! First he felt like a disobedient child while speaking with Joseph, and now he felt like a creeper, getting a hard-on like a damn teenager from just the sound of her voice over the phone. What was his problem? He was in his mid-thirties!

“Hi, Misty,” he said, his voice coming out deep and lustful. Yeah, that shouldn’t frighten her. Why not cut straight to the heavy breathing?

She took a breath. “Hi, Bryson. What are you doing?”

“I just needed to speak to you,” he said somewhat lamely.

“Is everything okay?” The instant fear in her voice sucked some of the magic of the moment right out of him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live the way she did — always afraid, always worried the next knock on her door or the next phone call was going to throw her into a life-and-death situation. And she had no one to turn to. No. That wasn’t true — she had him now.

“Everything is fine. I just…I don’t know. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Oh,” she sighed, and he didn’t think she was unhappy to hear what he’d said.

“What are your plans tonight?” Why should he even ask? It wasn’t as if he could just go over there, lift her in his arms and drag her into bed. Could he? No. No, he couldn’t. He needed to stage an intervention, force his thoughts to permanently renounce the gutters they’d taken up residence in.

“Well, since I have the night off work, I have a smorgasbord of thrilling activities planned. While watching old romantic comedies, I’m going to attempt to make progress on that cross-stitch I bought, and then, if I feel real ambitious, I’m going to draw myself a nice warm bath and read the newest Dean Koontz book — because my life isn’t scary enough on its own.”

“Mmm, do you use bubbles or just clear water?” Now why in the hell had he focused on that
one
part of her sentence? Was he trying to cause himself more pain?

He was pleased and incredulous when she played along.

“I like lots of bubbles,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “I stay in there so long, though, that they all begin popping and I don’t have to rinse them away.”

Hot damn! He found himself digging in his pockets for his keys and stepping toward his front door before he managed to stop himself. This was a very dangerous game they were playing, but he was too competitive to call a foul.

“I know a few places on a woman’s back that are hard to reach. Need some help?” He didn’t know how he wanted her to answer that question. But he knew how he needed her to answer it — needed her to answer so he could stay professional, that is. Because he was so close to saying to hell with ethics and to head right on over to wash her beautiful and surely silky back.

“I think I have it covered. I have one of those long-handled brushes,” she said, but her breathing had deepened. Their little wordplay was affecting her as much as it was him.

“One word is all it will take, and I’ll be at your door in less than ten minutes.” Bryson wanted to kick himself for his weakness, but he was unable to take his offer back.

As he heard her breath whoosh in loudly on the other end of the line, his heart thundered. What would she decide? If he went there, he had no doubt they’d end up in her bed.

He’d worked long enough — early retirement was good, wasn’t it? That’s how badly he wanted her. Badly enough to risk the career he’d been building. Badly enough to throw it all away for one night with her.

Bryson somehow knew it wouldn’t only be one night, though — he knew that once he sank inside her hot folds, he wouldn’t be the same ever again. Even if he was thinking with his hormones, even though his brain was trying to put the brakes on, none of that mattered.

Logic wasn’t possible in this situation.

He didn’t know how long the silence stretched out, but he eventually heard a sigh, and his groin jumped.

“It wouldn’t be wise, Bryson. There’s just…too much in the way,” she said, but he heard clear regret in her voice.

His body was going to be aching for another night, at least. Sure, he could talk her out of this — could change her mind. If he showed up, he knew she’d let him in. But then she might hate him the next day and assign him to the same miserable category as Jesse. A night of pleasure wasn’t worth that.

“Goodnight, Misty,” he whispered, thinking it was time for a ten-mile jog. Maybe he’d just extend that to a marathon.

“Goodnight, Bryson.”

He held the phone for several moments after she hung up, his fingers clasped so tightly around the device, it was a wonder it didn’t break.

Finally he set it down, then went to his bedroom and changed. He was just going to run until he passed out. That seemed the only logical solution.