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Authors: Janet Dailey

BOOK: Bannon Brothers
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“I just wanted to say I'm sorry.” She paused in the open doorway, her striking curves silhouetted in the light from the hall beyond as she raised one slender arm to smooth her hair, the bracelet on her arm jingling faintly. Her white cashmere sweater clung to her body, rising up just a little over skintight designer jeans that looked anything but casual. “I started that fight, I guess.”
“It doesn't matter. It's over.” He forced his voice to stay steady.
She entered the room, looking at him, then at the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Routine paperwork. It has nothing to do with you. Not bills.”
“Oh.” A mix of relief and resentment glittered in her beautiful eyes as she tried to make out the paper under his hand. She pouted. “That looks sort of like a bill.”
“It's part of a financial report. Go ahead and read it. I don't care.” He turned the paper around and pushed it toward her.
She changed her mind when she glanced at it. “Never mind. It's all numbers and percentages. I can't make head or tail of that stuff.”
“Really? I would have thought otherwise.”
She walked into the room and flung herself down on the sofa, arranging herself as if she were modeling for
Town & Country
, a habit of hers that used to amuse him. Now it grated.
“You should teach me,” she said coaxingly. “Why do you keep all the desk drawers locked, anyway?”
He raised a steel gray eyebrow. “What an old-fashioned question. Suspicious women snoop online these days. Not in desks.”
“You didn't answer my question, Monty.” Her wheedling voice went up a notch.
He got up and took a small key from a glass dish on the mantel. “Don't tell me you didn't know where this was.”
“I didn't. Honestly.”
He beckoned to her and she rose from the sofa and sauntered to his side. One by one he unlocked the drawers, watching her face as she looked down at neat arrangements of pens and pencils and paper clips, legal pads and steel-engraved stationery.
Caroline stooped a little to take a monogrammed envelope from the drawer, her charm bracelet jingling again as she ran a fingertip over the engraved
M
on the flap. “Do you use these?”
“Not often.”
“I would. How does Caroline Montgomery sound to you?” she asked softly. “I'm ready.”
That was a sentiment he didn't share. “You'll have to wait,” he replied.
Her lips thinned with disappointment. “I've been waiting. For quite a while. Daddy says—”
“Once and for all, Caroline, I don't care what your father thinks. You're a big girl. Make up your own mind.”
She tossed the envelope back in the drawer. “I think I have.”
He got up, towering over her. To Caroline's credit, she didn't shrink back. “Are you going to leave me?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Answer me, Caro. Yes or no.” Montgomery came around the huge desk and took her in his arms. But there was nothing affectionate in the embrace. She struggled, pushing against his chest, staring up into his cold eyes.
“What's the matter with you?” she cried.
“Nothing,” he said calmly. “Nothing at all.”
She broke free and ran from the room.
Montgomery stayed standing until her footsteps clattered down the double staircase and the massive front door slammed behind her. He heard the engine of her sports car screech as she threw it into gear and backed out and away.
Then he closed the study door and slid the brass bolt through its latch, locking himself in.
He went back to his desk and took out the laptop, brushing away the papers that covered it. He opened it, mechanically going through the process of starting it up, staring unseeingly at the icons popping up on the flowing screen one by one.
A round disc appeared. Montgomery House Security. He clicked on it.
Once more Bannon and the young woman walked through the house he'd grown up in, moving in and out of rooms he could never forget. She turned and looked up at a camera she didn't know was there and Montgomery hit Pause.
Then he zoomed in on her face. Closer and closer, until she was nothing but eyes. Blue eyes. Beautiful and vulnerable. Just like Luanne's. But that was a coincidence.
Montgomery stared into those eyes. He clenched his fist, not really aware that he had done so until a savage spasm tightened his fingers to the point of pain. His nails sank into his palm and he felt the wet heat of welling blood. Opening his hand with a start, he looked at the scratch, small but deep. He pressed his hand down hard on a piece of paper and held it there to stop the bleeding.
The eyes on the screen looked at him reproachfully. He stared back. It couldn't be.
A Bible phrase, half-remembered, came to him:
Blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh
. The exact words escaped him.
Was he losing his mind? He clicked out of the screen and away from the young woman's haunting gaze.
Getting and spending had consumed him for too many years. He forced himself to return to business. Somehow, he had to repay his investors and get the hell out of this shell game. He could wangle a mega-loan, use the Montgomery stud farm and stables for collateral, and see that every damn one of them got their money, and a little extra. Maybe not at the rate of interest they'd hoped for, but they had been advised of market variability beforehand.
Numbers. Money. Move it here, hide it there. Keeping the shell game going was never easy.
 
Two hours later, the files Montgomery was looking at on his laptop appeared on another screen fifty miles away. Someone else's eyes, nearly colorless, blinked behind round lenses that reflected the details of Montgomery's business yet again.
Far away in his ornate study, the router's tiny lights flickered, delivering stolen data to the featureless room where three men sat staring into a single screen. Distantly, new numbers were entered by Montgomery into the grid. The totals on both sides automatically adjusted.
A little bloodshot by now, the colorless eyes widened. The hacker, a slouched, scruffy-haired kid in a college sweatshirt, spoke. “This guy is bleeding money.”
Hoebel, not in uniform, growled, “Tell me something I don't know.”
Paul blinked at him. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Figure out how to siphon some off. He might run. What do you think, Cutt?”
The third man, a lanky six-five, stretched out his legs and cursed when his sneakered foot connected with a metal chair. “For sure he's gonna run. The only question is when. I got a GPS tracker on his car. I can do an intercept before he gets to the airport.”
Hoebel turned to him. “Don't bother. He's going to move the money electronically.”
“He can't do that until he has it,” the hacker reminded him. Fast fingers jabbed at his keyboard. “Right now—hello, bank bot—it's still in the trust account.” He pulled up a screen and turned the laptop around so Hoebel could view it. “Take a look.”
“Interesting. How'd you get in there?” the chief asked.
Paul pulled the laptop back in front of him. “I had a temp job at his bank my junior year. They told me it was a golden opportunity and they were right. I picked up a bunch of passwords and codes for my collection. They come in handy.”
Hoebel snorted. “When I was your age, I collected baseball caps.”
“Uh-huh.” Paul hummed to himself as he opened electronic files at top speed. “Just so you know, bank security is lame. Once you get past their firewalls, you can find out a lot. Anything else you need to know?”
Hoebel exchanged a look with Cutt before he replied to Paul's question. “Yeah, kid. Do you keep your money in a bank?”
“No. Dude, my clients pay cash. Unmarked bills, low denominations—works for me. The side gig with Montgomery's accountant makes me look legit. He takes out taxes and all that.”
Hoebel scowled. “C'mon, get out of there before the bank bot or whatever you called it sets off a warning. I don't want this hack session traced back.”
Paul smirked. “It won't be. I know what I'm doing.” He took off his glasses after he keyed up Montgomery's screen again, polishing them before he peered at the spreadsheet. “No change. He must be having a beer.”
Hoebel grunted. “Hugh Montgomery? A shot of sixty-year-old single malt would be more like it.”
The hacker didn't seem impressed. “Whatever. Want a screen grab of this?”
“Yeah. Get everything. And print it out.”
“Okay, boss.” In a few minutes a new grid appeared and Paul studied it as the two older men looked on, doing a screen grab before it vanished. A form replaced it. “Got a pdf now. Looks like a bank document.”
“I told you to get out of the bank's computers.”
“Duh. I did,” Paul answered. He scanned the form. “It's a trust kind of thing.” He read aloud. “‘Designated beneficiary: Ann Montgomery. ' Hey, he's changing that line. Now it's blank.”
Hoebel leaned over his shoulder. “His daughter. That must be the reward he had out for her. It was held in a revocable trust. He can change it whenever he wants to.”
“Hold on. He clicked Undo.” The hacker zoomed in on the upper part of the form on his screen. “She's the beneficiary again. What's up with that? Isn't she dead or something?”
“She'd better be,” Hoebel said in a low voice.
CHAPTER 7
B
annon settled himself into the sofa with his morning coffee. The cat was curled up in the corner of it—Babaloo hadn't moved a muscle since late last night.
He wished he'd slept that easy. He hadn't wanted to leave Erin last night, though she didn't seem to be in immediate danger. On his way to his car, after she'd gone back inside, he'd taken a quick but thorough look around the outside of her house, out of habit. He didn't know what he was looking for. She'd been nice enough to call him a half hour ago, just to check in. He hadn't wanted to scare her and she hadn't seemed scared.
That kiss they'd shared had been mind-melting. He would have to get that aspect of their budding relationship under strict control until he could ensure her safety.
He'd run through everything that happened yesterday, putting it through a reality filter. They might have been followed from the restaurant. He'd been too busy looking at her to remember much about that part of their afternoon. What had happened later—that was clear in his mind. He had seen something.
The Montgomery case had been complicated to begin with, and he'd only begun to work with what little he knew so far. He'd left a couple of messages for Doris, but he knew she wasn't likely to call him back from work and she was probably on her way there now.
First things first. Erin lived alone and she needed protection. A solution to that problem had occurred to him. His brother Linc could probably help him out.
To reach him, he punched in a set of numbers he knew by heart and put a call through systems that weren't public.
“Bannon?” his brother asked when he heard his voice.
“Yeah. It's me.”
“Aww, you remembered my code. I'm so touched.”
“I bet.”
Linc didn't bother with small talk. He never had. “What's up?”
“Linc, I need a dog for a while. You know some K-9 handlers for the feds, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” His brother chuckled. “But that cat of yours can beat up any dog on earth. I should know, I gave him to you.”
“It's not for me. It's for a girl.”
There was a pause. “Oh. Then you want something fluffy and yappy. You know, a Handbagese. Go to a pet store. The people I know train big dogs.”
Bannon blew out an exasperated breath. “Linc, for cryin' out loud, knock it off. I'm looking for a big dog that's trained. A loaner. There's a situation developing and she's right in the middle of it—I kind of put her there. I have an obligation to protect her.”
“Does she have a name? Is she pretty?”
“Erin. She's beautiful. Can we stick to the subject?”
His brother pretended to think that over. “Okay. But why do you need a dog? Can't you just follow her around with a gun like a real man? Or hide her in your bed?”
“I thought about both,” he said wryly. “I don't know her that well.”
“Tell me more,” Linc said with a resigned sigh.
“It has to do with the Montgomery kidnapping. Erin is an artist who did some paintings of the house where it happened and she contacted me on Facebook when she saw the interview on TV. She took me there to see the inside and now I think she's being followed. I'm sure I am.”
“Why? Isn't it a cold case?”
“Not that cold. There's money at stake.”
“How much?”
“A couple mil. A reward, held in a trust that's about to be dissolved.”
“And you think someone suspects she saw something or found something while she was in the old house. Am I making myself clear?”
“No.”
“Okay, your turn.”
Bannon kept his reply to the point. “I got famous for fifteen minutes and Montgomery and his lawyer warned me to stay the hell out of the case, but not in so many words. Anyway, she lives way out near the Blue Ridge, no other house for miles. I went to her house on a second date and I got the feeling we were being watched. From a distance, but watched. I hated the idea of leaving her alone, but what could I do?”
“Huh.”
That was Linc's signal word for being deep in thought. Bannon heard the clicking of a laptop keyboard.
“So you want to give her a dog to make some noise in case someone comes skulking around. I got it. Is she okay with that?”
“I think I can persuade her.”
Linc laughed. “Don't tell me how. Okay. I just sent some e-mails and I'll make some calls. Let me see what I can do. You at home?”
“Yeah.”
 
Two hours later, his doorbell gave three short rings. Linc had said that it would. Bannon got up and put the cat out the back door, then walked through the condo to open the front door.
A petite brunette smiled up at him, a leash looped around her hand. Beside her sat a big, mixed-breed dog with pricked shepherd ears and a black Lab coat.
“Hi,” she said. “This is Charlie. And you can call me, uh, Karen Michaels.”
He nodded. That wasn't her name and she wasn't supposed to be there and neither was the dog. Bannon pegged her for career army, special forces, division unknown. She looked strong for her size, wearing a T-shirt and jeans that hinted at sleek, feminine muscle beneath. Good going, Linc.
“I'm Bannon. Want to come in?”
She shook her head. “I gotta get back.” She handed him her end of the leash. Charlie rose from his sitting position and trotted in. “You don't need an instruction manual for this guy. He knows what to do. Should work out fine. He was raised by a woman handler, by the way.”
“You?”
She smiled. “No.”
“When do you need him back?”
“There's no set time. You can stay in touch with me through Linc.”
Bannon looked down at Charlie, whose nose was twitching in the direction of the sofa where Babaloo had been sleeping. “How does he feel about cats?”
She bent down to give the dog a farewell pat. “Like I said, he's trained. There won't be any problem. But he's not staying with you, right?”
“Ah—no.”
The brunette straightened and turned to go. “Bye, Charlie. Be good.”
“I really appreciate this. Thanks, Karen.”
She remembered her name just in time, and gave him a very fetching wink. “No problem. Take care.”
He watched her walk quickly down the hall, thinking of a few good questions to ask his brother next time they spoke. Then he closed the door and went back inside his condo with Charlie.
Bannon observed him sniffing around, and put him through a few commands. True to his training, the dog obeyed perfectly.
“You've got all four feet on the ground, pal.” Bannon stroked the dog's strong neck. Add power and speed to that. He could feel both under the soft fur.
He would cook up some story about Charlie belonging to his brother—make that his deployed brother, while he was lying through his teeth—and throw in condo rules against dogs. Would Erin mind . . . ? Just for a few weeks. His instincts told him she was going to say yes.
“Okay. Don't get used to my place,” he told the dog. “You're going to be a country dog for a few weeks. Maybe longer.”
He picked up the leash and scooped up his car keys, then heard his cat yowling faintly at the back door. Bannon sighed, slid the leash handle over the doorkob, and went back to let Babaloo in. Nonchalant as usual, the cat strolled in, then spotted Charlie. His golden eyes narrowed, communicating feline contempt, and the tip of his tail twitched ever so slightly, something he generally did before launching a claws-out attack.
“Chill,” Bannon said to the cat. “He isn't staying.” He left with the dog, who trotted obediently and silently at his side on his enormous paws.
They made one stop on the drive out to Erin's, for dog food. Bannon surveyed the bulging bags on the shelves and selected a five-pound one. It might look a little too calculated if he showed up with the jumbo size.
Not that she couldn't figure out what he was up to. He could bring a big bag over later, once she'd said yes.
Fifteen minutes later, he was walking through the parking lot of the supermarket with a sack of dog food in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He punched in a single number with his thumb. He'd had her on speed dial from the second she'd given him her number. Why fool around?
After three rings, Erin picked up.
“Hello?”
Bannon felt a surge of warm energy at the sound of her low, sweet voice. “Hey, Erin,” he said casually, “it's me.”
“I recognized your voice,” she said with laughter in hers. “What's up?”
She didn't seem at all annoyed that they were talking for the second time in the same day. In fact, she seemed happy.
“I was wondering—I was kind of out and around—would it be okay if I stopped by? Are you busy?”
“Sure, that's fine. And the answer to your second question is no.”
The dog was looking out of the car window, then back at him when he replied. “That's great. Need anything from the store? I'm here already—I just stopped in to get a few things.”
“Oh.” Erin thought for a minute. “A quart of milk, I guess. Two percent, if they have it.”
Wow. What a domestic moment. He felt ridiculously exultant. He wanted to be the guy who brought home milk and eggs and every other damn thing in the world she might need. He grinned at the dog, who seemed to sense that good things were going on.
“Two percent,” he repeated. “No problem. See you in about half an hour.”
“That's great. Thanks.”
He opened the trunk and slung the sack of dog food in it, then went back to the store for the milk. If they didn't have two percent, he would hit every supermarket and gas station quick shop in a twenty-five-mile radius until he found it.
He slid open the door to the dairy case and checked the rows of square plastic jugs. Yup, they had it. After completing that transaction—the bored clerk didn't seem to remember him from two minutes ago—Bannon went back to the car and drove off.
Charlie seemed content to survey the scenery as the road became more rural, and Bannon cracked the window so the dog could get his whiffs in too. It wasn't long before he spotted the sign for the turnoff to Erin's house.
The narrow road had no oncoming vehicles and there was no one behind him. He drove with one hand on the wheel, ruffling Charlie's fur with the other. “You're gonna like her. I hope she likes you.”
They went another couple of miles and he saw the small white house.
Erin had heard him coming, evidently, because she was waiting on the porch. Her dress, made of some light material, floated around her and showed her figure, even though she wore a sweater over it. Her arms were folded around her middle—it wasn't all that warm out, although the sun was shining. Bannon took in the fine sight of her waiting for him as he slowed and pulled up to the side of the house.
Charlie stayed in the car when he opened the driver's side door and got out with the plastic bag containing the quart of milk. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She noticed the big black dog. “You've got company.”
Bannon half turned. “Yeah, that's Charlie.”
“I thought you said you had a cat.”
“I do.” He walked the short distance from his car to her porch. “Charlie is on loan.” He mumbled something about his brother, intentionally not making that point clear.
“Oh.” She rubbed her arms. “It's fine with me if he comes along.”
“All right.” Bannon called the dog and Charlie bounded out, sniffing the ground before he looked alertly around. “He won't knock over your easel or anything, I promise. He has better manners than I do.”
Erin smiled at both of them. “Bring him inside.”
Bannon snapped his fingers. “Let's go, boy.”
She reached out to take the plastic bag with the jug of milk in it and their hands touched. The simple action seemed like something they'd done every day, but the friendliness of it touched a flash of deeper feeling in him.
“Thanks. You saved me a trip. Come on, Charlie.”
The dog looked at Bannon, got a silent okay, and went to Erin's side, accepting the gentle hand that patted him briefly as he walked beside her into the house.
Way to go
, Bannon thought with delight. He entered two steps behind both of them and stopped before he got to the kitchen, looking at the art on the easel. She'd done more work on it, without finishing it. “This is looking good,” he called.

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