The Lost Tycoon (6 page)

He laughed. “Don’t tell me that you’re afraid of a little tiny dog!”

“Just because they’re little doesn’t mean their teeth aren’t sharp. They could latch on to a vein and bleed you dry.”

Bryson gazed at her for a moment as if trying to determine whether she was serious or not. When she realized how ridiculous she sounded, she smiled just a bit. Bryson had no idea that when she’d been ten, a medium-sized dog had attacked her, leaving a scar on the back of her leg. The thing had
really
latched on.

That had been her first experience with a tetanus shot. The darned needle had been so large that she was sure the people who had invented the dosage had secretly been fiendish villains, out to torture young people stupid enough to need the dang injection.

“I think we’ve all had frightening experiences with dogs. When I was about eight, I was riding my bike in our neighborhood. It was dusk, and I knew that if I didn’t get home in less than five minutes, my mom was going to whip me, so I was hauling down a hill and I wiped out. I’m lying there, trying real hard not to cry while blood was gushing from my elbow, and right then this mean-assed boxer shows up. I was an idiot and started running. He nipped me right in the behind. I think he was just herding me, though, ’cause the skin didn’t break. I just had one giant-sized bruise, making it hard to sit for the next week or so.”

She didn’t know how he could laugh about such a frightening experience, but she did know she probably would have done the same and run like crazy. Of course, in her case, with her luck, the dang dog would have jumped her, pinned her down, and eaten her for dinner.

Just when Misty found herself beginning to relax, she stiffened right back up. It wouldn’t help to not stay on guard. “Really, Bryson, what are you doing here?”

There was no need to act coy. He’d eventually have to get to the reason for his visit. She had no clue where he lived, but it most likely wasn’t close, so he
had
to have gone out of his way for this visit, even if he was in his regular clothes. That was probably just to reassure her that he was just an average Joe.

“It’s time for your testimony. There are only a few witnesses left who haven’t made their depositions, so we need to lock down the schedule.” He connected their gazes, refusing to release her from the pull of his eyes.

It felt like trying to escape from a spider’s web. She shook her head. She literally had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him he could have her. No wonder she was an easy victim. It didn’t take much to make her fall under a smooth man’s spell.

“The last time we spoke, I told you I needed more time.” It seemed the FBI didn’t like that answer.

Another smile. He shifted, as if trying to get more comfortable. At least he broke eye contact while doing it. With one ankle now resting on his knee, he smiled yet again, his perfectly straight teeth gleaming in the natural sunlight pouring in through the windows.

“Have you called the attorney yet, spoken with Camden?” he asked.

“No. Since you were the one who recommended him, I don’t see how I can trust that he won’t just tell me what you want me to hear.”

Bryson chuckled, seeming to enjoy their sparring. Her body relaxed involuntarily, and she leaned back and lifted her glass, her tongue darting out to run along the rim. She took full advantage of the coolness in her hands.

When his eyes darkened instantly, her own widened. Wow. The tension was back, and it was so thick, it could be cut with a paring knife.

“I have another card here. You have Internet access, right?”

She nodded her head. “Yes.”

“Good. Then run a search on the guy. He’s in Montana, where the case is being tried, but I know he’ll be willing to come down here and speak with you. Yes, he wants this bastard behind bars as much as I do, but he won’t lie to you, won’t falsify information to get what he wants. I won’t, either.”

“Couldn’t I just talk to him on the phone?” The thought of having another man come to her place didn’t please her. This was her haven, and she didn’t want to share it.

“We could go up there,” he suggested, as if he had read her mind.

“Wouldn’t that be unsafe?” That was where Jesse was. Going back there wouldn’t be good for her piece of mind.

“How about we meet at a neutral location down here?”

“Why do you have to be there? I can’t get honest answers if you’re there,” she said, and for just a second, so quickly that she knew she had to have imagined it, hurt flashed across his face.

Then, in a blink, his smile reappeared.

“Of course. I will set it up but stay back. I want you to feel confident after the meeting with him. His name is Camden Whitman, and he’s been a friend of mine for over fifteen years. You can trust this man with your life.”

She saw truth shining in his eyes, but how well did anyone really know anyone else? Bryson might think that he could trust this lawyer, but why did he feel that way? The more pressing question was this: Why did she feel as if she could trust Bryson? She didn’t want to, and she had her guard up, but the bottom line was that she thought he was telling her the truth. Or at least her gut told her he was speaking the truth — not that her gut had always led her in the right direction.

Maybe it would clarify things if she just met with the lawyer, got it out of the way. She’d agreed to testify, so putting off the next step was only postponing the inevitable. Besides, if she could help get Jesse off the streets, how many women would that save? How many people would sleep better at night?

Sipping her tea, she glanced up, trying to be casual, hoping to gauge his expression without his noticing. Nope. His eyes were still locked on her as he sat there — quite still — not saying anything more. Just waiting on her.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him…”

“Great!”

For some odd reason, she liked that she’d pleased him. This was another bad sign.

“What happens if Jesse doesn’t go to prison?”

This was the ultimate fear. If she got on that stand, testified against him, let him know how much she really knew about him, and then somehow the justice system failed and he was released, she had no doubt that Jesse would never stop coming after her. He was the sort of man who could never allow a woman to betray him without seeking what he deemed justice in his sick mind.

“Then I will shoot him myself.” The level look in Bryson’s eyes let her know he meant what he said.

The thought was almost as frightening to her as it was of Jesse being free.

This man, sitting so nonchalantly at her kitchen table, wearing a light-colored shirt, drinking a glass of her tea, had killed before. She had no doubt about it.

“Wouldn’t that make you just as wrong as him?”

He looked at her, some of the coldness leaving his eyes before he answered. “He would leave me no choice, Misty. I wouldn’t shoot him in the back. But he would go after you, after all of the witnesses, and I would be left with no choice but to take his life.”

His words were spoken so matter-of-factly. It was just another day on the job. Misty had no idea how people could reach a point in their life where they could talk of such a thing as killing another so cavalierly, as if they were discussing nothing more meaningful than peanut butter and jelly. But Bryson had obviously reached that point.

There was no turning back.

“It’s never easy to take a life, but sometimes it has to be done for the greater good of society,” he told her.

She got that, even believed in the death penalty, but she didn’t think she could be the one to flip the switch in the execution room, didn’t think she’d be able to fire the weapon.

“You think you wouldn’t be able to do it, but you’d be surprised what you can do when the will to survive is at its greatest,” he said, shocking her. “I can’t read minds, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can just read your thoughts through your eyes.”

“I guess that’s something I need to work on.”

“Don’t change it.” His voice was passionate, and he leaned forward, his mouth mere inches from her own. She licked her lips as she glanced down, and that feeling in her stomach ratcheted up tenfold this time.

When he cleared his throat, she jerked back, realizing she’d been lusting after him.

“I really should get a few chores done before I go to sleep. I have to work tonight,” she murmured, feeling suddenly claustrophobic in her own house.

“I’ll leave for now, but I’ll be back soon,” he promised, or threatened — however she chose to look at it. At this point, she had no clue.

All she really knew was that she needed to get her wits together.

Bryson stood, and she didn’t realize that he’d walked out the front door until she heard his vehicle start. After getting shakily to her feet, she moved to the front window, and then their gazes met through the glass pane of the passenger side window, leaving her standing there frozen. He smiled, turned away, and pulled away from the curb onto the quiet street.

The fates seemed to be forever against her, so she’d bet every last dime she had to her name, which wasn’t much, that preparations for this trial were going to drag on for a long time, a very long time, leaving this man almost a fixture in her life.

Sliding to the floor with her glass clutched tightly in her fingers, Misty groaned.

Yes, a very long time, she thought again. Trials and tribulations.

Gardening time was over. Right now, she had to cool off, and then she had an attorney to speak to.

Misty’s nerves were stretched thin as she walked into the luxurious hotel and looked around at the gleaming lobby. Men and women seemed to be gliding across the polished slate flooring on their way to the high front desk.

She felt woefully underdressed in her plain black skirt and white top, certain that she stood out like a broken finger around these men in hand-tailored suits and women in dresses that cost many times what her last car had. None of the attire could be purchased at the local mall — that was certain.

This had been a mistake — stepping into a world where she didn’t belong. This was the sort of place people with money frequented. People with
serious
money.

Her fingers shaking, she turned her head and looked toward the doors. It wasn’t too late to escape. Sure, Camden Whitman had flown in from Montana to meet with her, but he would probably be relieved if she didn’t show. How useful could a girl like her really be to this case? Yes, a girl. She felt like a girl, not a woman.

Misty was sure that if they did put her on the stand, she’d fail epically. Yes, she was capable of answering a few questions, but when the cross-examination started, who was to say she wouldn’t immediately fall to pieces?

“Ms. Elton?”

Misty froze, fear in her eyes. She wasn’t Ms. Elton here. That wasn’t her name. She was… What was her name again? It wasn’t used all that often, and she easily forgot. Oh, yes, Magnolia Linhart. She shouldn’t acknowledge the person addressing her.

“I’m sorry. It’s Ms. Linhart, isn’t it?”

Yeah, this person knew who she was. Turning, Misty caught sight of a dark gray suit with a splash of blue against a stark white shirt. She tilted her head, up, and up, and up.

Then she was meeting the icy blue eyes of one of the most stunning men she’d ever seen before. Were all the males on this case required to have a certain
GQ
look? This was absurd. His dark blond hair was cut short but styled in a way that only the rich could afford, his jaw solid, chiseled, masculine, and his mouth — wow, that mouth must have inspired many nights of fantasies for more than a few ladies.

She gulped and remained standing in front of him, stock still and utterly speechless.

“I’m Camden Whitman,” he said, and he held out his hand.

Common manners kicked in and Misty found her arm rising and then her small hand was clasped in his for a few seconds as she swallowed her natural fear of having a new man take hold of her — even in such an innocent fashion.

When she didn’t get any predatory vibes from the contact, she began to relax. Maybe it was foolish, but she was starting to realize that not all men wanted to hurt her, especially not the men she’d met lately, like the FBI agents and the U.S. marshals.

Misty blew out a breath of relief. She could do this. It was just a simple conversation, after all.

“Hi. I’m Mis…” she started to say, before correcting herself. “Magnolia Linhart.”

His eyes twinkled, since she’d just made the same mistake as he had, and she felt even better. He didn’t seem to be a monster, though, of course, Jesse hadn’t seemed to be a monster either. Was her radar for fiends completely broken? But here she was, ready to meet with this man, ready to get some questions answered.

“I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me. I’ve been working on this…project for a while now, spoken to several women, and a few men. May we go upstairs for privacy?”

Misty tensed again. He wanted to be alone with her? Why? As she looked around, noticing that several pairs of eyes were on them, she understood, but she didn’t have to like it.
What if
... No! She
had
to stop thinking like that.

She finally spoke. “That would be fine.”

He held out a hand to lead her toward the elevators.

“I hope you found the hotel easily enough,” he said as he pushed the elevator to go up.

“Yes, I took a cab.” The beautiful gold doors slid open, and she walked inside with him. When the doors shut, she found herself all alone with this stranger, but nothing in her was on red alert. She was nervous, but she didn’t feel as if she were in danger.

Her danger signals could be broken, but she didn’t think so right now. Anyway, everyone had to go at some point, right? If it was her time, then so be it.

The doors opened onto one of the higher floors, and again Camden gestured for her to precede him. She stepped out, and then he was walking beside her until he stopped at a double door and inserted his key card.

Once she was inside the luxurious suite, her eyes popped out at such extravagance. This room seemed to be larger than the house she was currently hiding in. It was certainly a lot nicer, with the mahogany trim, plush cream carpeting, and distinctive high-end furniture.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please.” She wouldn’t be able to speak unless she wet her throat.

“Have a seat over there. I’ll surprise you,” he said. She sat on the couch in the sitting area and crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, smoothed out her skirt, and crossed them again.

“Here you are.”

Misty took the glass from his fingers, noting the red liquid inside it. Wine. It really was too early for a glass of wine, but with her nerves at the breaking point, one glass didn’t sound like such a bad idea. It wasn’t as if she had to drive back home, anyway, so a slight buzz might make this meeting go just a little smoother. She lifted the glass to her mouth, then nearly sighed as the liquid glided across her tongue.

“I want you to take a moment and get your bearings before I proceed with my inquiries,” Camden said as he sat in the chair directly across from her. “Before I even start, today is informal. We aren’t taking notes or recording the conversation. I want for you and me to talk, to get to know each other, mainly to see if you can trust me enough with your story. As of now, it’s just the two of us having a conversation. Now, you can ask anything you want. There are no stupid questions.”

As she listened to Camden speak, some of the weight was lifted from her chest. No notepads were out, no little machine with a red light blinking. This felt more like a couple of people chatting. She could do this.

“Have I been a suspect?” Misty didn’t know why that was the first question to pop out, but she wanted to know.

He paused for a moment, seeming to consider what he was going to say. “We had Jesse under surveillance for several months before you left town, and we’d pretty much eliminated you as a suspect,” he began, then paused. “And then you disappeared. At first we thought there might be foul play, but once we got witness testimony of the fight you had, and once we spoke with several people who had seen that you left without Jesse pursuing you, we suspected you’d gone underground. So, yes, anyone dealing with Jesse is a suspect, but you were quickly eliminated from that unhappy group.”

“You spoke to my neighbors?” That somehow felt like a violation.

“Yes. You are almost a ghost, Misty.” He paused briefly. “Is it okay if I call you Misty?”

“Yes,” she murmured. She didn’t like her alias name — it was uncomfortable for her to use or to hear others using. It wasn’t as if she were particularly attached to her real name; it was just that she was used to it. During the last year, she’d had a difficult time using her first fake name, and now she was doing it all over again with a completely new one.

“Great. As I was saying, you are almost a ghost. There’s very little information on you. No credit, no family, no trails. It wasn’t easy to find you.”

What shocked Misty was the tone of his voice. He sounded…impressed. That didn’t seem possible. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything spectacular. She just had no one who cared where she was.

If that were something to brag about, she’d receive the Olympic metal for her efforts. The good thing with having no ties had been that it was easier to leave at a moment’s notice. The bad thing was that she had no one to turn to when the chips were stacked against her.

“I was raised in the foster-care system. I don’t know anyone, really — don’t have any deep connections.”

Something in his eyes softened. Sympathy. She was used to that, and couldn’t stand it. What would a person like him know about it, anyway? He had no right to be sympathetic toward her.

“I was in the foster-care system, too, Misty, until I was nine. Then I was lucky enough to meet my father.”

Wow. Misty stared at this professional man before her, with his custom suit, a sparkle in his eyes, and confidence screaming from every pore. He’d been a foster kid? It didn’t seem possible.

“You can’t just accept your fate, Misty. I had given up, as so many others do. But you can be whoever and whatever you want. That’s why it’s so important that you stand up against this villain who took advantage of you, used you, and made you run. Jesse Marcus took something from you, and now it’s time for you to take it back. I can tell you that when you testify, you will start to put the pieces of your life back together, or better yet, make a whole new life that is even better than it was before. The fear will dwindle, and you can pull yourself out of this prison you’ve been forced into.”

Misty listened to him speak, his words like molasses warming on top of a hot gas stove, coating her, comforting her, offering her a place to go in a safer world. Oh, this man was clearly a pretty great attorney. She’d bet he didn’t ever lose a case. Okay, maybe that was statistically almost impossible, but she’d still bet he hadn’t lost in a very long time. He didn’t seem capable of it.

“What will I have to do? Will Agent Winchester be involved?”

“Yes, he will be involved all the way through, which is in your favor. I’ve known Bryson for many years, and he’s a solid and a good man. You want him to be on your side. He keeps his word. The only thing that would stop him from protecting you would be death, and I’m telling you, I think he’s superhuman, because he’s been in a few situations from which no man should have come out alive, and yet he’s still here,” Camden said with a chuckle.

“So what do you need from me?” she asked again, since he’d either ignored the question or gotten distracted.

“Do you know what a deposition is?”

“No.” She didn’t know any of this lawyer speak.

“I will meet with you and Agent Winchester and the lead attorney on the case against Jesse in my offices in Montana with a court-appointed recorder taking notes. You will make a legally binding statement, explaining everything you know about Jesse and his criminal dealings. We have a lot of witnesses, Misty. We just want this case to be open-and-shut. Not all the witnesses will be called to the stand, and not all of the statements will be used in the trial unless we think we are losing.”

“That’s it? I just make a statement?” That wasn’t so bad, not at all the way she thought it would be. No Jesse in the room; nobody staring daggers at her.

“I don’t want to mislead you, Misty,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows propped up on his knees, his eyes intense. “There is a very
real
chance that we
will
call you to the stand, that we
will
ask you to repeat your story in front of a jury. From the evidence we’ve found, you seem to know a lot. There are a couple of other women who saw even worse crimes committed by Jesse, but you’re a valuable witness. What is going down is a very big prosecution with some even bigger players than Jesse involved, and all testimony is valuable to the case.”

Misty gazed back at Camden — this man whom she normally would never have a conversation with, someone she’d pass on the street and not feel worthy enough to nod to, and it gave her a measure of pride that
he
needed
her
. Yes, what he needed her for was her testimony, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was that she was needed.

Her entire attitude changed. Not only could she do this, but she
wanted
to do this.

“When will it begin?” she asked. She couldn’t get out of this anyway, so she might as well accept it. The sooner it was over, the better.

“Soon. Probably a week or two. But for right now I’d like for you to tell me your story.” He leaned back.

“Just start talking?”

“Yes. No pressure, no one recording anything. Remember, this is informal today. We’re getting to know each other. You tell me your story, and then I’ll advise you of what comes next.”

“Okay,” Misty said, and she began. She would tell this stranger everything she knew about Jesse, everything she’d been an unwilling witness to during the year she’d been with him. A relatively short period of her life had shaped her more than she cared to admit, and telling this man about it was oddly freeing.