by Julie Kenner
Of course, that meant he’d gotten stuck in some hellacious traffic, and now it was already well after noon and the heat was rising off the asphalt in waves. Despite the oppressive heat, the air around the staging area was charged, buzzing with activity and thick with anticipation. Something had happened, and Donovan wanted to know what.
He found Fisk in the thick of things, as usual. “What’s the story?” Donovan asked.
Fisk held up a finger, then finished barking orders to a subordinate. When he turned to Donovan, his face was unreadable.
Donovan frowned, dread building in his gut. “What?”
“Our perp didn’t answer the last contact call.”
Donovan looked at his watch. One forty-five. Fifteen minutes until the next call. “And?”
“We’re waiting. Gonna see what happens with the two o’clock call. But if he doesn’t answer that one, we’ve got a SWAT team going in.” Fisk looked at him, his expression grave. “One way or another, in twenty minutes we’ll know one hell of a lot more than we do now.”
THE DIM BEAM from Clive’s flashlight barely cut through the pitch black of the ancient access tunnel. In the distance, he could hear the unmistakable rush of water. Closer, he could hear the scurry of living things. It didn’t matter. The dark, the creatures, none of it. Because they meant freedom. He’d been right. He’d done his research, and he’d found a way out.
“Wh—where are we?” Angie’s voice was soft, and he knew she must really be terrified if her fear of the tunnels had overcome her fear of him. She’d been so afraid when he’d lifted the mallet to smash through the wall. He’d seen the fear in her eyes and it had given him power. It had been a test, of sorts. Now Clive knew that he could pull the trigger when he met Worthington face to face.
Now, though, he didn’t have to. He had a better plan—Worthington had killed Emily. Now Clive would let Worthington see how it felt to be totally powerless to help someone.
“Old subway access tunnels,” he said, answering her question. “They’ve been closed off for years.” He’d learned about the entrance by accident when he was studying the building plans looking for the most direct way to the ground floor from the penthouse. He’d been bored, and had started digging a little deeper than he’d originally intended. The extra research had been worth it, though, when he’d found the access tunnel that connected to the sub-basement.
The access had long ago been walled over, but Clive had poked around and found the old tunnel entrance—right behind a wall of rotting drywall covered in mildewed white tile.
“What are we doing down here?” Her voice was still meek, and she held her bound wrists close to her chest in a self-protective gesture.
“I’m leaving,” Clive said. “You’re staying.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”
“Give me a reason not to.”
“I—I don’t know what you want.”
“Just information, Angie. That’s all. Just simple information.”
She licked her lips, but nodded. Clive decided to take that as assent.
“The girl you took up in the elevator. She was going to see Mr. Worthington?”
Confusion flashed in Angie’s eyes, but she answered. “Yes.”
“A date?”
“I don’t know.” Clive didn’t believe her, but it didn’t matter. Considering the sexy little outfit, there was no doubt about the purpose of the blonde’s visit.
“Who is she?”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Her name, Angie.” He made a broad gesture with the gun. “Just tell me her name. That’s easy, right?”
“J-Joan,” she said, choking the word out. “I don’t know her last name.”
“Okay,” Clive said. “We can work with that.” He patted her shoulder, ignoring the way she shrank from his touch. “You’re doing great, Angie. Now tell me how you know her.”
Angie didn’t answer. He shined the light on her face, saw the tears streaming down her dust-stained cheeks.
“Chin up, Angie. It’s almost over. Just a little bit more and then we go our separate ways. You’d like that, right?” He held up a hand. “It’s okay, you won’t hurt my feelings. Just tell me what I want to know and I’ll leave you all alone. You tell me the truth, and you’ll be fine. It’s only if you lie that bad things will happen. Okay?”
A tiny nod.
“Good. Now tell me how you know her.”
Angie’s mouth moved, but only muffled tones came out.
Clive leaned in, trying to decipher the sounds. “Black floor?”
“Bookstore.” The word was barely audible. She drew a deep breath. “She works at a bookstore in Gramercy Park. I don’t remember the name.”
That was good enough, and Clive exhaled. He had her now. “Excellent, Angie. You did great.” He shined the flashlight down the path. “Let’s go.”
“I thought you were leaving me.”
“Not in the dark with rats, Angie. I’m going to get you out in the light first.”
She hesitated, but then turned to walk in the direction he’d pointed. He knew she would. She had no other choice. And as soon as she turned, he lashed out, the butt end of the gun cracking against the back of her head.
She crumpled into a heap on the damp, filthy floor.
Clive stepped over her. “Sleep tight, Angie,” he said. He shone the beam of the flashlight into the dark. “And now, bookstore Joan, it’s your turn.”
12
JOAN WOKE UP in the circle of Bryce’s arms, feeling like she’d always been there, and wishing that she never had to leave. Eventually, though, she knew that life would return to normal. And no matter how much she might wish it weren’t so, having Bryce in bed with her definitely wasn’t the norm.
With a little sigh, she slid carefully out of his embrace, then scooted to the edge of the bed. She slipped into the robe she now considered hers and padded barefoot to the kitchen area. They’d finished off the olives that morning—calling it breakfast—and then Bryce had done a bit of work before enticing her to have “lunch” in bed. He’d neglected to mention that no food would be involved.
Not that she’d minded, of course. But now she was hungry, and Joan knew one thing for certain—it was time to break open the bag of chocolate chip cookies.
Bryce wandered in as she was popping the first one into her mouth. Her heart lifted just from seeing his face, and Joan knew she was in trouble. She had it bad, all right. Somewhere over the course of the past few days she’d gone and fallen in love with Bryce Worthington.
She’d done some stupid things in her life, but this had to top the list. Because unless the gunman intended to hold the hostages for the next forty or fifty years, the odds were good that pretty soon the door to the penthouse would open and Bryce and Joan would go their separate ways.
It wasn’t a future she looked forward to.
Bryce crossed the room and came to her side. He reached into the bag and pulled out a cookie, all the while looking at her curiously. “You okay?”
She managed a smile. “Fine,” she said. “Just tired. You’ve worn me out.”
“I’ve worn you out? Somehow I don’t believe that.”
“You’re right,” she said, shaking off her melancholy. “I’ve got energy to burn.” She cocked her head toward the bedroom. “Think you can keep up with me?”
“I think I can give it a try.” He took the bag of cookies. “First one naked gets the cookies?”
Joan laughed. “It’s a bet.”
He took her hand then, tugging her forward. His hands slid down to cup her butt, and he brushed a kiss over her ear.
“Bryce, I—” She cut herself off, not sure what she intended to say. She wanted to tell him how much he’d come to mean to her, how comfortable she felt around him, and how much she didn’t want this to end. Somehow, though, she couldn’t get the words to form.
“What is it?”
“I just—”
This time, it was a pounding at the door that interrupted her.
“Joan? It’s Donovan.”
Their eyes met, and instead of the rush of relief she should have felt, a deep sadness washed over her.
“Bryce?” Another voice. Joan didn’t recognize it.
“Leo,” Bryce said. “My attorney.” He met her eyes, and for one brilliant, fabulous moment, she saw her own distress reflected on his face. She had the absurd impulse to grab his hand and run. But, of course, there was nowhere to run to.
And then Bryce headed for the foyer and the spell was broken. She tagged after him, holding her breath as he flipped the lock and opened the door to reveal Donovan and another man, each looking incredibly relieved.
Donovan rushed inside, clamping his hands on either of her shoulders. “Thank God, kid.” He looked her in the eyes. “You okay?”
She nodded, feeling oddly bewildered. Beside her, the attorney had caught Bryce in a bear hug and was clapping him forcefully on the back.
“Perfect timing,” he said. “Got a crisis in the New Jersey deal, and you need to put in some face time. This couldn’t have come at a better moment.”
A crooked grin danced across Bryce’s mouth. “Glad to see you too, Leo.”
Leo, Joan noticed, had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. But we’ve worked too hard on this deal for it to all blow up now.”
Bryce caught Joan’s eye. “The man’s a slave driver.”
She laughed, feeling absurdly pleased that he’d included her in the conversation with the attorney.
“Don’t worry, Leo,” Bryce said. “The deal’s not going to fall through.”
Joan turned to Donovan. “What happened?” she asked. “Did you catch him? Are the hostages okay?”
“The gunman escaped,” Donovan said. He licked his lips. “Most of the hostages are fine,” he said.
“Most?” She frowned. “But you said—”
“I know what I said, Joanie, and I’m sorry.” He reached out, took her hand, and fear rose in her gut. “I know you, kid, and you would have driven yourself crazy with worry.”
“So it wasn’t okay. When you said it was under control, it wasn’t.”
He shook his head. “No.” He drew in a breath, pain etched in the lines of his face. “And now one of the hostages is missing.”
“Oh, God,” Joan said, closing her eyes. The whole situation was a nightmare, but even more so for that poor person.
“Joan,” Donovan continued, squeezing her hand, “it’s Angie.”
She blinked, his words not making sense. “But…but I thought you said she’d clocked out.”
He nodded. “She had. Apparently she was working off the clock.”
Joan closed her eyes, the import of his words hitting her over the head. Angie had been working off the clock because of Joan. Shit.
Bryce’s hand closed over her arm and she took a deep breath. It was the gunman. It was his fault.
“How’s Kathy?” she asked. She knew she should be angry—hell, furious—with Donovan for keeping her in the dark, but somehow she couldn’t work up the energy. She was numb. And, deep down, she knew he’d only wanted to protect her.
“As well as can be expected,” Donovan said. “I think she’d like to see you.”
“Of course.” She turned blindly, wondering where her clothes were. She started toward the bedroom, but Bryce caught her hand. Startled, she stopped, then looked up into his eyes.
“She’ll be okay,” he said. “The other hostages are fine, and that’s a good sign. He probably just took her along to make sure he got out without incident. Once he realizes the cops aren’t tailing him, he’ll let her go.”
His words worked on her like a balm. “I hope so.”
He didn’t try to reassure her again, and she appreciated that. Instead, he just kissed her forehead. “Go see Kathy,” he said. “I’m sure she needs you. You’ve got my cell number if you need it.”
Joan nodded, feeling slightly dazed as she headed back into the bedroom to get dressed.
“And Joan,” Bryce called. “If I don’t see you before, we’re still on for dinner on Friday, right?”
She nodded, unable to help the smile that crossed her face. “Right.”
As she closed the louvered doors behind her, she hugged herself. They were back in the real world now, and still he’d remembered dinner at her parents’ the next day. And to Joan, that was worth more than every touch and whisper they’d shared over the past three days.
Maybe fairy tales came true after all.
LEO PAUSED in the doorway of the conference room, looked at Bryce and shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”
For the tenth time since eight that morning, Bryce looked up from the pile of papers spread across the conference room table. He’d commandeered the large room the night before, needing a quiet place to work while he tried to get through the backlog of paperwork that had built up. He’d worked through the night, leaving the room only to use the gym and shower facilities the firm had installed on the thirty-eighth floor.
“I’m not going to finish this if you keep interrupting me,” Bryce said. The truth was he was having a hell of a time concentrating even during those brief periods when Leo left him alone. Instead of work, his mind was filled with Joan. He wondered what she was doing—how she was doing. And he wondered if she was thinking of him.
They’d known each other for such a short period of time on a temporal scale, and yet in a lot of respects he felt closer to her than anyone.
Leo was still staring at him from the doorway, and Bryce sighed, then pulled his reading glasses off and tossed them on the table. “Talk,” he said. “Get it out of your system.”
Leo came in, then parked himself in one of the plush chairs that encircled the conference table. He leaned back, his hands steepled in his lap. After a moment, he released a world-weary sigh. Bryce just stared at him, the theatrics of Leo’s performance starting to get under his skin.
“I think you should leave New York,” Leo finally said. “We can finalize the deal in Texas.”
Bryce regarded Leo for a moment. “You’re serious.”
“Hell yes,” Leo said.
“Why?” In truth, Bryce had been thinking along the same lines himself, but he was curious about his attorney’s reasoning. “Did you get used to not having me around?”
Leo ignored the joke, his expression not changing in the slightest.
Bryce sighed, then leaned back in his chair. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s on your mind?”
“What’s on my mind? Bryce, the cops have determined that you were this nut’s target. It’s only a matter of time before that maniac tries something again.”
“He can try something in Texas, too.” Bryce hadn’t been surprised when the cops had given him their conclusion. They didn’t know for sure, of course, but the hostages had been initially rounded up in the service hallway, right in front of the penthouse elevator. As the cops saw it, the odds were good that Bryce was the target, and that something had gone wrong.
It was a conclusion Bryce happened to agree with. He just didn’t know what he should do about it. He hated the thought of turning his life upside down. Especially since he might be turning it upside down forever. The news reports had indicated that the gunman was at large, managing to evade police. Who knew how long he could stay on the lam, perpetually stalking Bryce.
Leo frowned. “I think the odds of this nutcase going all the way to Texas are slim. At the very least, you’ve already got alarms and dogs and all that shit in Austin. If you’re there, it’ll give the cops a chance to catch this guy.”
Bryce had to admit that Leo’s plan made sense. They’d managed to move the New Jersey deal forward, and now all that was left to tie up were the final stages of due diligence and some paperwork. The Carpenter deal was stalled in litigation. But other deals were bubbling, and the ones that were percolating the loudest were in Houston
and Dallas. Life was moving forward again, but, for some inexplicable reason, Bryce was anchored in Manhattan while the current rushed past him.
No, not inexplicable. He knew the reason; he just didn’t want to face it—Joan. In less than a week, she’d wriggled her way into his life. And, more than that, it felt right. It was a feeling that scared him, because he didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust the knot in his gut that said it was right, that what he had with Joan was good. He couldn’t quite see past the wall he’d built up, a wall plastered with his mother’s face, his father’s crushing disappointment when his wife left him, and the sear of betrayal that had ripped through Bryce those many years ago.
He shook his head. He had every reason in the world to go back to Texas, to focus on his work and get on with his life. He wasn’t looking for a commitment, didn’t need a commitment, and he’d be damned if he’d confuse the passion borne of forced intimacy for that foolish fantasy known as true, lasting love.
Bryce played for keeps, and he knew well enough that love wasn’t that kind of game. No, in business he knew the rules, knew how to play, and knew how to win. But love? Even with a woman like Joan, in the end, it was a losing battle. And Bryce never bet against the house.
Leo had been watching him in silence, but now he spoke. “You know I’m right.”
Bryce shook away his thoughts, then looked at his friend. “I know a lot of things. That doesn’t mean I always do them.”
“You’ve never done a stupid thing in your life,” Leo said. “Don’t start now. Not when it could get you killed.”
The intercom buzzed before Bryce could answer, and the thirtieth-floor receptionist announced a call for Bryce. He picked up the handset, recognizing the thick, gravelly voice of the detective who’d been assigned to track down the gunman. He put the call on speaker.
“Leo’s here,” Bryce said. “I’ve got you on speaker.”
“Mr. Worthington, Mr. Tucker,” the detective said, “I’ve got some disturbing news.”
