“Is she?”
“I don’t know anything about these women you speak of, but I can assure you that I have no reason to hurt your sister.”
Except that Diana looked like the wife he murdered.
“You don’t look convinced.”
“I’ve seen pictures of the women you killed. Pictures of your wife. Diana looks just like her.”
“Yes, Adrianna.” A gleam lit his eyes that made Sylvie want to bolt for the door. “Diana does look like her. Of course, you do, too.”
She swallowed and forced herself to meet those cold eyes. “These other three women are blond, too.”
“Oh?” Another raise of the eyebrows in feigned surprise.
Maybe Bryce was right. Maybe she’d been stupid to think she’d get any answers from Dryden Kane. Maybe the smart thing would be for her to walk out that door and forget she’d ever laid eyes on the serial killer. But she couldn’t do that. She had to give it one last try. “Help me find Diana. Please, Mr. Kane.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. That’s not right.”
“Not right? What isn’t right?”
“You calling me Mr. Kane. I don’t like it.”
She’d call him babycakes if that was what it took to win his cooperation. “Would you like me to call you Dryden?”
He shook his head. “That’s not right, either.”
Frustration knotted in her gut, replacing the edgy feeling of nausea. She knew Kane was a manipulator, that he would play with her emotions every chance he got. She wished she could be cool, detached, beat him at his own game, but she couldn’t. She needed him. “Please, where is Diana?”
“I told you, I don’t know where she is. I wish I did. Believe me, I’m as worried about her as you are.”
She ground her teeth together. She was getting mighty tired of his false charm. She felt like spitting in his face. “I can tell you’re eaten up with worry.”
“Sylvie, Sylvie, there’s no reason for sarcasm.” He shook his head as if he was disappointed. “I can tell you what I know about your sister. Maybe that will help you see that I mean what I say.”
She knew better than to expect him to tell her anything of value. He was just playing her again. But she found herself leaning forward in her chair nonetheless. “What do you know?”
“I know she’s beautiful, like you. She’s smart, like you. But that isn’t surprising, is it? Not with identical twins.” He leaned back in his chair and looked past her at the wall, as if lost in private thoughts.
Sylvie clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. She dug at the edges of her fingernails, picking at her cuticles. What was he thinking about? Times during Diana’s interviews with him when he manipulated her like he was trying to manipulate Sylvie? Or was he fantasizing about the hell Diana was going through now?
“Diana had this puppet she liked to play with. A Mexican clown. She loved that thing. She never let it out of her sight. It was her favorite, along with the music box. You both loved the music box.”
Sylvie narrowed her eyes on Kane. What was he talking about? Had he lost his mind? Slipped into some kind of delusional fantasy world? The articles she’d read about Kane stated that he wasn’t insane, but if this rambling wasn’t insanity, what was it? “Excuse me?”
“You, of course, were too sick for puppets.” He shifted his stare back to her. “I was worried about you. I’m glad to see you so strong. You turned out as beautiful and strong as your sister.”
Her mind stuttered. She struggled to grasp what he was saying. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. You were too young. Young but sweet. You used to look up to me like I was a god. You made me feel like a god. That’s when I realized things were all wrong. That I had to change my life. I had to take control.”
Her throat constricted, making it hard to swallow, hard to speak. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kane. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you calling me Mr. Kane?”
“I’m sorry.”
He shifted in his chair, chains rattling. His eyes glinted like glittering ice. “Do you know what I want you to call me, Sylvie? Have you figured it out yet?”
“What?” Her voice was only a whisper, but suddenly she wished she could take the word back. She wished she could jump from her chair and race out of the room. She wished she’d never set foot in this prison, never heard of Dryden Kane.
But as much as she wanted to change the past, she couldn’t. Nor could she alter what would happen next. She waited for him to tell her the name, feeling as powerless to stop him as a three-year-old.
His thin lips spread into a slow smile. “Daddy. I want you to call me Daddy.”
Chapter Sixteen
Bryce threw the door open and pushed into the prison’s interview room. He had to get Sylvie out of here. Away from this monster. Kane had gone too far. Much too far. “This meeting is over.”
Nikki Valducci and a balding county detective named Mylinski stepped into the room behind him along with two guards.
Sylvie didn’t look up. She didn’t move. She just stared at her hands, as if she didn’t hear him, as if she didn’t know any of them were there. She dug compulsively at the edges of her fingernails, as if as long as she could control the offending cuticles, she could control the situation.
“Hello, counselor.”
Bryce clenched his jaw until it ached. He kept his eyes on Sylvie. He didn’t dare look in Kane’s direction. One look at that smirk and Bryce wasn’t sure he could prevent himself from choking the life out of him.
“All right, Kane,” one of the guards said in a bored voice. “Your fun is done for the day. Time to go back to your cell.”
“Sylvie?” Bryce said in a gentle voice.
Sylvie didn’t look up.
He knelt beside her and grasped her hands, stopping the frantic movement of her fingers. “Sylvie?”
She moved her gaze to his face, but he couldn’t sense any kind of a connection looking into her eyes. She seemed to be staring through him at another world. A world very far away.
She must be in shock. Why the hell wouldn’t she be? He sure was. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel, what to believe. Astonishment, denial, and anger tangled inside him like a writhing snake. But he couldn’t sort it out now. He had to focus, to keep himself together until after he got Sylvie far away from Dryden Kane.
“Let’s get out of here, Sylvie. Come on.” Gently he pulled her up out of her chair.
“Think twice before trusting a lawyer, Sylvie. Especially this one.” Kane’s voice prodded him like a blunt stick poking at a wounded animal. “He’s the type that will use you to further his own agenda. A truly manipulative and selfish breed.”
Bryce ground his teeth until his jaw hurt. “If I were you, Kane, I’d shut the hell up. You’re an awfully stationary target.”
“What kind of a daddy would I be if I didn’t offer my little girl some fatherly advice?”
Rage rang in Bryce’s ears, pushing him closer to the edge. Kane couldn’t be Sylvie’s father. He wouldn’t believe it. And if that bastard didn’t shut up he’d put his hands on either side of his head and snap his neck like a twig. Avenge Ty’s death. Make him pay for all he’d done. The justice of it tasted so sweet on his tongue, it was all he could do to force his feet to step toward the door. “Come on, Sylvie. Don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to hurt you.”
“I would never hurt Sylvie. She’s my daughter, Walker. My little girl.”
No. No. No.
Sylvie stopped, she turned to face Kane. “My mother. She was your wife?”
“Adrianna.” He shook his head. “We could have been the perfect little family. But unlike you and your sister, she didn’t understand me. She never did.”
Bryce angled his body between Kane and Sylvie. He pulled her toward the door.
She hesitated.
“Come on, Sylvie.”
“Ma
ybe she doesn’t want to go with you, Walker. Maybe she wants to stay and talk. She hasn’t seen her daddy in twenty years.”
“Go to hell, Kane.”
“Eventually. And when I get there, I’ll be sure to say hello to Ty for you.”
Bryce let go of Sylvie’s hand. Dodging around the cops, he launched himself at Kane and slammed a fist into the bastard’s nose.
Cartilage gave under his knuckles. Kane’s head snapped back. A spray of blood misted the air, hot and sticky.
Hands clawed at Bryce, grabbing him, pinning his arms behind his back. Nikki Valducci and the balding cop dragged him away from Kane.
“I wish I could let you at him,” the balding detective said, dipping his lips close to Bryce’s ear. “You’d be doing the world a favor.”
Once he’d dragged Bryce clear of the room, the detective released his arms. “Go on, take her out of here.” He stepped back into the interview room, closing the door behind him.
Sylvie stared up at Bryce, questions brimming in her eyes.
Bryce clenched his hands into fists. His head throbbed. His mouth tasted of blood. How could Dryden Kane be Sylvie’s father? How did any of this make sense?
She needed his help. He could see it in her eyes. In their desperate shine behind squinting lashes. She needed his help to sort through the shock, to understand what had just happened, to figure out what it meant.
Pressure built in his head. He groped inside himself. For something to give her, a word, a touch. But all that was there was the empty echo of Ty’s laugh. The scent of blood. And the smug look in Dryden Kane’s eyes.
He had to get out of here. Away from Kane. Away from the bitter burn in his heart. And, God forgive him, even away from Sylvie.
Dryden Kane’s daughter.
“I’m sorry, Sylvie.” He strode for the sally port and the hall beyond.
SYLVIE LEANED BACK in the passenger seat of the police cruiser and struggled to catch her breath. She’d thought that once she emerged from behind the prison walls, behind the tall fences topped with curls of razor wire, she would be able to breathe. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
They’d been driving for more than a hour, the officer assigned to take her back to her hotel relating one story after another. Normal stories of dogs giving birth and children mispronouncing words, stories to cling to like a concrete mooring. But still her chest ached. Still her lungs refused to fill with air. And no matter how many short gasps she took, she couldn’t get the oxygen she needed.
She might have left Kane back at the prison, but she could never escape him. She didn’t know why, but she knew he was telling the truth, if only about being her father. He was part of her past. Part of her DNA. Every time she looked in the mirror, she’d see his eyes. Every time she saw a father laughing with his daughter, she’d hear his voice.
Daddy. I want you to call me Daddy.
She shuddered. She hadn’t picked her cuticles bloody since she was five years old, when her foster mother had wrapped each finger with a bandage to force Sylvie to break the habit. But they were raw now. Bloody. Drops stained her skin and soaked into her jeans.
When Dryden Kane had told her he was her father, she thought she’d hit bottom. She was wrong about that, too. She hadn’t known what bottom was until she’d seen the look in Bryce’s eyes.
She wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her sweater’s chunky knit with both hands. Her fingertips stung like a bright light. Pain she welcomed. Pain she could hold on to. Pain that blotted the images of Bryce and Kane and the ugly secret Diana had kept from her mind.
The officer wound the car through Madison streets, negotiating one after another until the hotel peeked over neighboring buildings.
She didn’t want to go back there. Didn’t want to step into that room. The room where she’d given herself to Bryce. The room where she’d thought she was in love.
She wished she could cry, let the tears wash away the memories, the betrayals, the feelings she’d conjured out of loneliness and longing, but her eyes remained dry. She didn’t have enough tears left. She would never have enough tears.
The officer pulled the car into the mouth of the hotel’s underground garage. After stopping for the attendant, he continued into the cavernous structure. Fluorescent light cast a green pall over the few vehicles inside. Pulling the car into a parking spot near the elevator, the officer switched off the engine and scanned the surrounding vehicles. “Let’s get you up to that room.”
It sounded like a prison sentence. Like torture. But Sylvie had no choice. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t hide. Not from who she was. Not from the secrets Diana kept. Not from what she’d wanted to believe she’d found with Bryce, what the look in his eyes told her she’d never found at all.
She and the officer opened their doors and climbed from the car. Something moved in front of them, shifting in the shadows of the garage. Sylvie jolted and turned. Trying to spot it. Trying to see what it was.
A red jacket. A ski mask.
Before she could react, a shot split the air.
The officer slumped against the car. Clawing at his holster with frantic fingers, he slipped down the driver’s door and landed on the floor.
Sylvie screamed. She tried to run. But he was on top of her. An arm crashed down on her shoulder. Her legs buckled, sending her sprawling on the concrete.
A strong arm clamped her wrist and pulled her arm behind her back. Pain knifed through her shoulder. The prick of a needle sank into her flesh.
She twisted and kicked. Fighting for her life. Trying to get away before the fog closed around her like thick cotton batting. Before the world faded away.
Chapter Seventeen
Bryce had done a lot of stupid things in his life, but walking out on Sylvie at the prison topped the list. Hours of driving along curving highways and over rolling hills might not have done a damn thing to clear his mind or to sort through the emotions raging inside him, but it had given him the chance to cool off, to shake the shock out of his system and recognize what a dumb ass he’d been.
Dryden Kane might have destroyed the rest of Bryce’s life, but even Kane couldn’t destroy the love Bryce had found with Sylvie. Of course, he hadn’t needed to. By walking out on her just when she needed him most, Bryce had accomplished that all on his own.
He turned down a one-way street and wound his way toward the hotel. He doubted she’d want to see him. All he knew was that he had to see her. Talk to her. Hold her. Maybe then he could sort through the jumble in his mind. Maybe then he’d know how to make things right.
He swung the BMW around the last turn. The hotel loomed in front of him, its slick stone exterior and glass entrance awash in the flashing red and blue lights of half a dozen police cars.
Sylvie.
He swung the BMW to the curb in front of a fire hydrant and climbed out. He launched into a run, racing for the hotel. He made it as far as the sidewalk in front of the parking garage entrance before a young uniformed cop stopped him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! This is a crime scene. No one’s allowed beyond this point.”
“A crime scene?” That was why the police were here. That was why lights throbbed from police cruisers and yellow tape cordoned off the garage. Somehow he knew all this, yet the words crime scene still sent a shock wave through him. They still made him feel weak in the knees.
Visions of Sylvie bloodied and dead flashed in his mind. He shut the images out. He wouldn’t think that way. He couldn’t. He focused on the officer barring his way. “I need to talk to someone in charge.”
“Did you see something?”
“No.”
“Then I’m sorry, sir. The detectives are very busy. Leave your contact information with me, and I’ll make sure they get it.”
“I have information that might help.”
The officer looked at him sideways, as if he sensed a lie. “If you leave your phone number—”
“Is Nikki Valducci here? Stan Perreth?”
“
Like I said, the detectives are busy.”
“You have to let me through. I have to talk to them.”
The cop shook his head.
Bryce knew the officer was only doing his job securing the crime scene, but that didn’t keep him from wanting to punch the guy right in his fresh, rule-reciting mouth. “Listen, I’m an attorney. The woman under police protection, she’s my client.” His client. Funny, but Sylvie was never his client, not officially. But she was so much more.
“I still can’t let you through, sir. Only the detectives and technicians working the case can go beyond this point.”
Bryce looked past the young cop, searching the garage’s yawning mouth for Nikki or Perreth. But though he saw movement inside, he couldn’t find anyone he recognized. He focused on the young cop. “What’s going on? What happened?”
The cop shifted his feet.
Great. The kid probably aced Keeping Your Mouth Shut 101 at the police academy. “My client wasn’t hurt, was she?”
“No.” He dragged out the word.
So Sylvie wasn’t hurt, but there was more. More the officer didn’t want to share. “Is she missing? Was she kidnapped?”
He pressed his lips together, as if trying to prevent himself from blurting out an answer.
Oh, God, she was. He could tell by the officer’s body language. “How? How did he get her?” And more importantly, Where had he taken her?
“I’m sorry. If you want to leave your contact information, the detectives can—”
“Yeah, yeah, here.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card and shoved it at the cop. “Tell Nikki Valducci to call me. Tell her it’s urgent.”
The cop nodded.
Bryce marched back to his car, his mind racing. Calling Perreth would be a waste of time. Every time he’d dialed the number, he’d had to make do with the detective’s voice mail. Not that Perreth would be a font of information. No doubt he was the young cop’s mentor when it came to tight lips.
Serial Bride Page 14
