by Dana Marton
Anita had to make sure the smile she had forced didn’t falter when her chin hit her chest. She drew a deep breath. “We have to rush to get dressed in time for the big luncheon.” If Gina could channel some overstimulated sorority girl then so could she. “Can you believe it?” She leaned forward a little and had the man’s full attention. She didn’t think he was even aware that there were two men in the car with the women.
“You better hurry. Good luck, ladies.” He showed every tooth he had and then some as he waved them on.
Gina wasted no time.
“Well done,” Law said, and she could swear he was smirking.
She gave him a cold glare as she pulled her dress back on.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Let’s get off the main roads.” He gave Gina directions until they arrived at an abandoned furniture warehouse.
“Dock C.” He pointed to the last loading dock then looked at Anita. “Would you mind opening the door for us?”
“Got a key?”
“I don’t think it’s locked.”
She got out and ran across the gravel that crunched under the flip-flops she’d worn to the beach, glad to be out of the car. He was right. No padlock in sight. She pushed the rusty metal door in, cringing at the loud noise it made as it dragged on the concrete floor. Gina pulled in and brought the car to a halt. Brant got William out then pulled one of those plastic string cuffs from his pocket and tied the man’s hands behind his back.
“You watch him for a second.” He nodded toward Gina.
“You bet.” She pulled her gun and stepped closer to William.
“Come with me?” Brant asked Anita.
She followed without argument, glad that he was taking charge. She was still too stunned to think. Diosmio. William. It had been William all along. She didn’t seem to be able to get past the thought.
“Who the hell is he?” Brant asked when they were outside.
“William Bronter.”
An eyebrow slid up Brant’s forehead. “Related to Nigel Bronter, your brother-in-law?”
“His stepbrother.”
Brant squinted his eyes as he considered her carefully. “What does he want from you?”
“Why aren’t you asking him that?” She snapped. To Brant she was still the woman who stole a bunch of money from her family. She could see the wheels turning in his head and her shock switched over to anger. “He is not here to take revenge because I stole the family money if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s not even in the business.”
“That hadn’t been my first thought,” he said mildly. “How well do you know him?”
“And he wasn’t my partner in crime, either.” It hurt to have to defend herself again. Would anyone ever believe her?
“I didn’t say he was. And I will question him, believe me. I just want the truth from you first so I’ll have an easier time telling when he’s lying.”
The truth from her. Now he trusted her to tell him the truth?
“How well do you know him?” he asked again.
“Well.” The heat of anger transferred into the heat of embarrassment.
“That well?” He drew up an eyebrow, a wealth of meaning in his mahogany eyes.
She nodded. No way around it. “We dated. My sister, Maria, and Nigel actually met through us.”
“What happened?”
Diosmio. She hated pulling out more of her dirty laundry for the man. “We didn’t want the same things.” Please, God, let him leave it at that.
Of course, he wouldn’t. “Meaning?”
“He wanted marriage and I didn’t. I—” She paused, unsure how to explain it, not wanting to talk about it, at all. Had William done what he’d done to gain revenge? Had his pride been stung so bad that he would do anything to bring her low? Had he decided at some point during the past four years that it wasn’t enough and if he couldn’t have her nobody else should?
She hadn’t thought he’d felt that kind of passion for her. Didn’t that kind of thing only happen in South American soaps? Out of sheer boredom, she’d watched her share of them on the Hispanic channel in prison.
She needed time to think. She needed Brant to back off a little. “Who did you call from the car?”
“Friend of a friend. Didn’t think it was a good idea to take this jerk back to the hotel.”
She didn’t want to get back to the subject of William. “What language was that?”
“Creole French.” He looked slightly amused at her delay tactics. “Anything else you want to know?”
“Why do you know Creole French?”
“A couple of years ago I spent some time on assignment in Tahiti. Okay. My turn again.”
He drilled her on a past she would have just as soon not relived right then and there, but did. He was just trying to figure out what was going on. She did want that.
Then he seemed to be done for now and turned from her, stepped away. A second later he turned back to her again. “Did this not wanting to marry the guy have anything to do with something specific or was it more about Miguel?”
The question hit her hard in the middle of her chest and radiated pain. “Miguel,” she said, hating that he knew all this from some damn profile he had on her, dreading that he would want to pull all the long-buried details out of her now.
But all he said was, “Okay. Understandable.” Then added with a shake of his head, “Good decision. Obviously.”
She stared at him in surprise. The usual tough-guy mask of steel was off and he was just a man who in some way was relating to her. And it made her feel so uncomfortable she glanced away.
“Go get in the car,” he said. “I’ll send Gina out. You two get ready for your big lunch with Cavanaugh. I’ll have a chat with William.”
HE HATED TO BE WRONG. It grated on him. And he had been wrong about Anita Caballo. Brant played with his gun as he watched William Bronter squirm in the rickety wicker chair he had tied him to. “Was your brother in on this?”
William didn’t respond. He hadn’t, as a matter of fact, said a single word so far other than the occasional “Go to hell.”
“How did you find out where she was?” He asked the next question although he had a fair idea of the answer. Anita had been investigating to find out who had set her up and had likely left a trail without knowing it.
And she had been set up, just as she’d claimed, he was becoming more and more certain about that. Facts were: four million dollars were missing from the family business, Anita was investigating who had taken it and a family member had suddenly decided to take her out. Could be William Bronter didn’t want her to find the truth.
And could be he wasn’t working alone, Brant thought, hating to be here with the man and leaving Anita and the others unprotected. He would have to leave eventually, but he had to deal with William first. The man knew too much—where Anita was, that she was involved in something. If he talked, if the talk got to the wrong people…William Bronter was putting the whole mission in jeopardy.
“So let me understand you. You have the money. What’s it to you that she’s out? Why come after her now?” he asked although he could guess the answer. Anita was smart and William knew that sooner or later she would figure out who had set her up.
Bronter sneered at him.
Brant kept the cold rage that was gathering inside him under control. The bastard had set Anita up and let her serve time. Had it been revenge because she wouldn’t marry him? Or had the whole courtship been bogus? Had he pretended it all just to get to her, to information that made the Pellegrino’s money accessible to him? “Start talking.”
“Go to hell.”
Brant got up and went over until they were nose to nose, dropped his voice an octave. “I’ve been there so many times I have a frequent-flier card, Mr. Bronter. Want to join me on a trip?”
ANITA STIFFENED at the knock on her door.
Gina stood, taking her gun from the table with her. “I’ll get it.”
“It’s Brant,” came a voice from
the hallway.
Gina didn’t tuck the gun away. She observed all caution as she opened the door and let him in, then locked up behind him.
“Where is he?” Anita asked.
“I sent him back to the States.” Law sat, looking tired and frustrated. “He isn’t talking.”
“And you didn’t want to push too hard.” Gina went for her purse.
“Why not?” Anita snapped. William had set her up, had let her spend four years in prison, had split up her family. “I want answers.”
“And you will get them. But I thought you might want him to stand trial for what he’d done. I didn’t want to give any ammunition to his trial lawyers about how he’d been tortured in captivity.” He looked at her.
The “tortured in captivity” part didn’t sound all that bad, actually, but she did thrill at the thought of William standing trial. So Brant had held himself back on her account?
“I’ll get going, if you don’t mind,” Gina said from the door.
Anita stood to lock it behind her. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”
“No problem. Take it easy.”
“You, too,” she said, and went back to the kitchen table and Brant.
“How did the pageant go?”
“Sam took second place, Carly third.” And weren’t they both surprised to death. She grinned. “I’m sorry, I was too distracted to be all there. I think Gina threw her chance on purpose so she could come home with me and stick close.”
“So Sam and Carly are with Cavanaugh?”
She nodded. “They stayed for the party to rub elbows with him. Gina thought we should come back and hang here until you figured out what was going on.”
“Good thinking.” He rubbed his hand over his face, looked up, held her gaze. “I owe you an apology.” He was dead serious, unflinching.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. You were innocent. I should have heard you out.”
The acknowledgment felt so good it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She had waited four endless years to hear someone say this. She blinked, not wanting to seem utterly ridiculous by crying. She took a slow breath and forced a smile. “Thanks.”
A moment of silence stretched between them.
“I’m glad I signed on to this mission,” she said. “This way, I had you and the others watching my back. If I’d gone straight home, he would have probably gotten me before I knew what happened.”
His voice was brusque when he spoke. “He didn’t.”
She nodded, unsure what to say.
“So I put a tail on Nigel.” He leaned back in his chair.
She thought of her brother-in-law, a soft-spoken gentleman who put stars in her sister’s eyes. “Did William say anything about—”
“No. Just as a precaution. And Nigel seems to be acting normal so far, going about his business.”
“It wouldn’t make any sense for him to be involved. He is part of the company. It would be like stealing from his kids.” And it would break Maria’s heart.
“They don’t have kids yet.”
“They’re trying.” Maria was among those in her family who had believed her without reservation and had kept in touch, so she knew what was going on with them. “He could have just borrowed the money if he needed it in a hurry. And he has money of his own.”
“We’ll see,” he said, and cast a glance toward the pizza box on the counter.
She had insisted that Gina eat before leaving and had ordered it, not having the emotional energy, for once, to cook. The revelation about William had shook her to the core.
She watched Brant. He probably hadn’t eaten since breakfast, either. Maybe, despite the formidable man that he was, he needed someone to look out for him, too, once in a while. “Would you like a slice of pizza? Zesty Caribbean.”
He tried to hide his flinch. She tried to hide her smile.
“Don’t tell me that’s not your favorite.”
“Pepperoni and onions,” he said. “I’m a simple man.”
Maybe when it came to food, but in every other respect, he was nothing if not complicated. She pushed away her chair and put the remaining four slices on an oven-safe plate to warm them up. She considered his job; his dedication to the mission; the way he’d handled the attack at the restaurant, saving her; how, despite the super-strong alpha type he was, he had humbled himself enough to admit that he’d been wrong about her and apologized for it. Brant Law was definitely not in the same zip code with simple.
He got up to wash his hands at the sink, brushing by her. And she was aware all of a sudden that they were alone in her apartment. A man who apologized when he was wrong and washed his hands before eating. He was almost too good to be true. She tried not to think of his eyes and his voice and that body he had on him. But she did notice the limp again. Maybe it became more pronounced when he was tired.
“So what’s the story with your leg? Got injured in the line of duty? Did somebody shoot you?” she guessed. If he got to know every little detail about her personal life, then she should be entitled to a couple of questions, too.
He dried his hands on a paper towel, turned slowly, looked at her and paused. “Had to jump from a helicopter that couldn’t set down. Hip injury.”
“Recent?”
He shook his head grimly.
So the injury wasn’t something that would get better with time. For someone in his occupation that had to be hard to deal with.
She put plates on the table then went to the fridge. “All I have is mineral water.”
“That’s fine.”
She brought him a bottle then checked on the pizza. It had been warm so the few minutes in the oven had been enough to bring it back to hot.
“Dare I ask what’s on it?” he asked when she slid the first slice onto the plate in front of him.
“Bite in. Live dangerously,” she teased, deciding the mood in the kitchen could use some lightening.
He drew up a dark eyebrow, but said, “Not bad,” after the first bite. “Spicy.” Then he went ahead and polished off all four slices.
“I guess this means you find zesty Caribbean palatable.” She looked pointedly at the empty pizza box.
“It’s a complicated flavor.”
“Meaning?”
He licked the corner of his mouth as he looked at her. “At the same time, more and less what I expected. In a good way. Makes you pay attention.”
For a moment she could have sworn there was some kind of awareness between them, some unseen communication that had nothing to do with the food.
Then he looked away. When his gaze returned to hers again, whatever she’d thought she’d seen in it earlier was gone. “Thanks. I needed this.”
She gave him an I-told-you-so look.
His cell phone rang just as he picked up his empty plate and took it to the sink. “Go ahead,” he told the caller, his face turning grimmer by the second as he listened.
“How did it happen?”
“Who was in charge?” He rubbed his hand over his face as he swore under his breath.
“Okay.”
“Yeah. At this stage, I guess that’s the best we can do.”
Whatever the man on the other end of the line was telling him was making him very unhappy, that came through clear in his voice and body language as he paced the room.
Anita’s stomach clenched as she waited for him to finish.
“Any other development in the case, you call me,” he said, then clicked off the phone and turned to her.
“What happened?” she asked and when he didn’t respond immediately she wondered if he would/ could tell her. “Was it about my case or Tsernyakov? I have the right to know at least that much.”
He came back, pulled his chair to face hers and sat down, leaned forward.
It was bad news. She fisted her hands and braced herself, stood up suddenly. “What is it?”
He looked up at her and when he spoke, he said the words softly. “While he was being t
aken back to the States, William Bronter hung himself in the airplane bathroom. He’s dead.”
Chapter Five
Brant saw the strength go out of her, even though she held her back ramrod straight, locking her knees so they wouldn’t buckle.
“Take it easy,” he said. “Are you okay?”
She nodded slowly, looking stunned.
No wonder. She’d had a few surprises lately.
The compulsion came, swift and strong, to comfort her, to offer her his strength, but it wasn’t his place. In the end, he put an awkward hand on her shoulder, got frustrated at how unsatisfactory that was, then pulled it away.
“You barely had time to process that someone you once knew very well wanted to kill you. This is all just too much at once.” He paced some then stopped.
She nodded without looking at him. “William is gone. We are not going to get any answers now, are we?”
“We’ll get some answers. You have my word on that.”
She attempted a feeble smile that turned his protective instincts up another notch. He hated seeing her miserable.
“You need a glass of water?” He stepped toward the sink.
She shook her head.
“Want to talk about him?”
“No.”
Of course she didn’t, certainly not with him. He’d spent most of his time since they’d met treating her like a criminal, discrediting every word she’d said.
“I could call someone over. Carly or Gina—”
“Not right now. Thanks. I just need a little time to deal with this.”
Okay. Want me to go? That was probably the one question she would say yes to, but that was one question he wasn’t going to ask, because no way was he going to leave her alone in the night.
“It’s late.” He glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. “You should go to bed.”
“I don’t think I could sleep.” Her voice sounded hollow.
He knew how that was. You couldn’t go from high action and trauma straight to slumber. There’d been plenty of heavy-duty days on the job when he’d been glad to be able to pass out by dawn.
“I can’t stop thinking about him.” She looked up at him again, moisture gathering in her cinnamon eyes. “Why would he do this to me?”
