Serial Bride (15 page)

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.

He opened his car door and slid behind the wheel. Sylvie was gone. He couldn't let himself panic. He couldn't let himself contemplate the worst. He had to think. He had to find her. He sure as hell wasn't going to lose Sylvie the way he lost Ty.

How could Kane do this? Sylvie had left him less than two hours ago. How had he ordered his lackey to strike this quickly?

Bryce leaned back in the seat. The timing wasn't
the only thing that was strange. The whole situation didn't feel right.

Sylvie and Diana weren't merely blondes who looked like Kane's wife. They were his daughters, his blood. Why would Kane strike out at them for no reason? Why would he order some lackey to kidnap and kill them as if they meant nothing?

Was he that depraved? That arbitrary?

Never in a million years would Bryce believe Kane
loved
Sylvie and Diana, but even Kane did things for reasons. Twisted, sick reasons, but reasons nonetheless. And the way Kane had acted with Sylvie in the prison didn't suggest resentment, hatred, aggression. He'd wanted to charm her. He'd wanted to manipulate her. And he'd certainly wanted her to know he was her father. But beyond the emotional trauma of learning her father was a serial killer, Kane hadn't seemed to want to hurt her.

So how did it make sense for him to order her kidnapping? Her death?

It didn't.

Bryce started the car. The professor. He needed to talk to Professor Bertram. Maybe he could shed some light. He'd studied the serial killer for years. He was the expert. He knew all about Kane.

He knew all about Kane.

The thought hit Bryce with the force of a kick to the gut.

If the professor was as knowledgeable as he claimed, wouldn't he know that Kane had three-year-old twin daughters at the time that he killed his wife? And wasn't it possible he'd found out who those now-adult daughters were?

He thought of the letter addressed to Diana, the letter they'd thought was from Kane. But what if it wasn't from Kane at all? What if it was from Bertram? What if he'd wanted Diana Gale to pay for the crimes of her father?

Bryce's heart beat high in his chest. The professor's sunken eyes and rumpled appearance of the day before flashed through his mind. He'd seemed upset, desperate. Could he have been losing it? Could years of trying to learn the reason behind his daughter's death only to be toyed with by a cruel manipulator have taken their toll?

God knows in just minutes Kane had gotten to Bryce. He'd pushed him so far, he'd forgotten everything but his hatred, his need for revenge. He'd turned his back on his own happiness, his own future. He'd walked out on Sylvie when she'd needed him most.

The professor had lost his daughter at Kane's hands. Was it possible Kane had pushed him over the edge? Was it possible Bertram was so desperate, so thirsty for revenge that he'd resolved to take from Kane what Kane had stolen from him? Was it possible he'd decided to kill Kane's daughters?

Bryce jumped out of the car. Leaving the engine running, he dashed for the police line. He had to find Nikki and Perreth. He had to tell them about Bertram. He had to find Sylvie before it was too late.

And he wasn't going to let the young cop stop him this time.

 

S
YLVIE'S HEAD THROBBED
. Her mouth felt dry and gritty as sand. She lay on her back in some sort of bed. A musty pillow supported her head, but she couldn't move her hands and feet, as if she was tied to the bed by wrists and ankles.

Through her lashes she could see outlines of windows where feeble light leeched around room-darkening shades. She willed her eyes to open, to adjust to the lack of light. But in the end of the room where she was tied, blackness still surrounded her, smothered her, beat her down.

“Sylvie? Are you awake?”

The voice was weak, but familiar. A voice she had dreamed of hearing. A voice she was searching for. “Diana?”

“Sylvie. Over here.”

Slowly she turned her aching head in the direction of Diana's voice. She couldn't see her sister's face. But the white glow of her wedding gown filtered through the dark.

“Diana. Thank God.”

“Oh, Syl. I'm so sorry he got you, too. I'm so sorry.”

The man in the ski mask. The man with the broad shoulders and voice she'd heard over the phone. “Who, Diana? Who is
he?
”

“Vincent Bertram.”

“The professor?” She tried to shake her head, pain erupting behind her eyes and shooting down the back of her neck. It couldn't be Bertram. That didn't make sense. “Why? Why would he do this?”

“There's a lot I haven't told you, Syl. So much you don't know.”

“I saw Dryden Kane today.”

“Then you
do
know.”

Diana's voice trembled. With shame. With regret. Emotions Sylvie knew all too well. Emotions that clung to her skin, flowed through her blood and burrowed into the marrow of her bones. “Why didn't you tell me?”

A muffled sob rose in the darkness. The rustle of satin. “I didn't know what you'd do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were always so guarded. So aloof. Like you didn't trust me. I thought if I told you before we got to know each other, before we really felt like sisters, you wouldn't want anything to do with me. I was afraid I'd never hear from you again.”

Sylvie's heart shifted in her chest. She wanted to
tell Diana she was wrong. She wanted to believe her longing for a family was strong enough that she never would have shied away from her sister no matter how ugly reality was. But the truth was, she didn't know how she would have reacted if Diana had told her the truth when they'd first met. Maybe she would have refused to believe she was the daughter of a serial killer. Maybe she would have run away to protect her heart. Maybe she would have denied Diana was her twin, even though all the evidence she needed was in her sister's face. And in her own heart.

She took in a deep breath of musty-smelling air. She couldn't say how she would have felt six months ago, but she knew how she felt now. Now that she'd risked her life to find her sister. Now that she'd risked her heart by opening it to Bryce. She'd already ventured to the edge of the cliff and jumped. There was no going back. She might have had questions at one time, but she had none now. “He's my father, too, Diana. And as much as I want to run from that fact, I'd never run from you.”

“I'm so sorry, Syl.”

“It's okay.”

“No, it's not. I've always relied on other people to protect me. To keep me safe. And now look where I am. The same spot I've been trying to escape my whole life. And because of me, you're here, too.”

Sylvie focused on the glow of her sister's gown, the gleam of her blond hair. Diana was the strong one as a child, the healthy one. She'd been the one adopted. Raised by a wealthy family. Engaged to marry a man who loved her. Yet things weren't always as they seemed. If Sylvie had learned anything in the last few days, that was it. “We aren't going to be victims, Diana. We'll find a way out.”

“Professor Bertram has lost his mind. I've tried everything I can think of to—”

A metallic rattle cut the darkness. A door creaked open. A shadow loomed against the twilight sky, broad shoulders filling the doorway.

You have no idea of the horror I've been through. Weeks of not knowing. Months of asking why. Years of grief. My life is over. Ruined. And he will never pay. Not enough. But you will pay for him.

Sitting at the desk in Sylvie's hotel room, Bryce slid the letter back into its envelope. How could he have been so stupid as to assume the letter was written by Kane? Had he been that obsessed with the serial killer? Had he been that blind?

It seemed so obvious now.

He set the letter on the desk and started paging through the photocopied articles in Diana Gale's folder, frustration pounding in his ears. When he'd told Nikki and Perreth his reasons for believing Professor Bertram had kidnapped Sylvie and her sister, it hadn't occurred to him that he wouldn't be going with them, that he wouldn't be able to personally make sure Sylvie was safe. He knew that shouldn't
matter, that he should be content that they'd listened to him, that they were checking Bertram's apartment right now along with his office, his wife's house and a vacation home along Lake Wisconsin. That they were using all the resources at law enforcement's fingertips to find Sylvie.

But contentment was an emotion far beyond his ability to master at this moment. And knowing that he could make little difference in the search even if he was with the cops didn't slow his heart or keep his blood from hissing with each beat.

At least they'd allowed him to stay in Sylvie's hotel room. At least here he could fool himself into thinking he was doing something to help. That in case they failed to find Sylvie at any of the professor's properties, Bryce could come up with an answer. A place to look that no one had thought of.

He skimmed article after article. Kane had killed so many women. The blond coeds he'd practiced on before working up his courage to kill his wife. The brunette he'd killed to send a message to Professor Risa Madsen and his failed attempt on Risa herself. Three different locations. All remote. All wooded.

The professor's cabin was the best bet. He'd probably take them there. But if he hadn't…

He paged backward, to the deaths of the coeds, to Bertram's daughter. A picture of Dawn Bertram
smiled up at him, her face in negative, an effect of the microfilm machine.

Tearing his gaze from the girl's face, he focused on the article. Dawn's body had been discovered in a gravel quarry west of Madison. The police reported that she hadn't been killed there, that she had been moved.

He paged on. Through the story of one girl after another. Each story made him think of the family members left looking for answers. Family members like him. Family members like Bertram.

He turned the page. A headline about Kane's capture screamed across the page. He'd been caught just after the murder of his wife. Sylvie's mother.

An empty ache hollowed out under his rib cage. Kane's depravities had been like a stone thrown into a still pond, the ever-widening ripple caused by each murder ruining so many lives. Those who suffered the death of a daughter, a brother and sister. And those who weren't old enough to understand all they'd lost.

Kane might be Sylvie's father, but she was one of his victims all the same. Just like Bryce. And he could only hope that she wouldn't have to pay further for her father's sins. He could only pray she wouldn't have to pay with her life.

He focused on the grainy photo of Trent Burnell, the FBI profiler whose work had led to Kane's cap
ture. He stood near a cabin. A cabin rimmed with tall pine trees. A cabin that might be still there.

Adrenaline spiked Bryce's blood. He skimmed the article, landing on the cabin's location. It was barely dusk now. It would be night when he reached Kane's old hunting grounds. He had no time to lose. Especially since he had a stop to make on the way. A visit with an old client he'd once defended—a gun dealer with a penchant for ignoring the required two-day waiting period.

 

S
YLVIE BLINKED
as bright light flooded the cabin from the naked bulb overhead. Professor Bertram was back.

He'd been in and out of the cabin over the last few hours. Checking to see if she was awake. Testing the ropes that bound them. Cleaning and loading a rifle. This time he was dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans. He entered the room holding a pair of strange-looking goggles. A sheathed knife hung at his belt.

He'd refused to answer her questions in his prior visits. But that didn't mean she was going to quit asking. “What are you going to do?”

He turned to her, surprised, as if he'd forgotten she was there. Or maybe he'd just forgotten she and Diana were human. “It's time for the hunt.”

“The hunt?”

Bertram nodded. He turned to look at her with sunken eyes. He obviously hadn't shaved since she'd first seen him, his chin covered in silver bristle that sparkled in the naked light. “He hunted my daughter. My Dawn. He tied her in a cabin. Tortured her. Humiliated her. Then hunted her like an animal.”

Sylvie couldn't believe what she was hearing. “You're going to hunt
us?
”

He pulled a knife out of its sheath and held it in shaking hands. The light caught the edge of the blade, making it glint with cold precision. “It's what he did. And now he has to pay.”

A feeling colder than the uninsulated cabin sank into Sylvie's gut. Diana was right. Somewhere between grief and bitterness and obsession, Bertram had lost it.

He circled to Diana's bed. Lowering the knife to her chest, he slipped the blade between Diana's collarbone and the lace of her dress and pulled it upward, slitting the lace bodice.

Sylvie fought to control her panic. She couldn't let him take Diana first. She'd been tied in the cabin for three days with little food or water. She was too weak to run, too weak to escape. At times when they'd been talking, she'd seemed confused, disoriented. She'd be no match for Bertram. If he took her out of this cabin, Sylvie would never see her again. “Take me first.”

Diana thrashed her head back and forth. “Don't listen to her. I started this. Sylvie didn't even know Dryden Kane was our father. I was the one who tracked him down. She's only here because of me.”

“No, Diana.” Sylvie injected as much urgency into her voice as she could. Diana thought she was helping, but she was signing her own death warrant. “I just saw Kane today.”

“I'm the one he knows best.”

“Damn it, Diana. Don't do this.”

“It's only right.”

Bertram ignored them both, having already made up his mind. He sliced through the rest of Diana's dress and undergarments. He spread open the fabric, unveiling bare skin to the harsh overhead glare.

His throat worked as if he was trying to swallow but couldn't. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down one gray temple. He averted his eyes, as if he couldn't stand to acknowledge what he was about to do.

Sylvie watched him, recognizing the battle going on in his mind. The man wasn't a murderer. The guilt stemming from what he was about to do seemed to be wearing him down. And if that was the case, maybe Sylvie and Diana could appeal to him yet. Maybe they could both walk away. “You don't have to do this. There has to be another way.”

He cocked his head to one side, as if really listen
ing for the first time since he'd walked through the door. “Another way?”

“Yes.” She scrambled for something to say, an idea he'd buy into. “You can talk to Kane. Make him see what he's done.”

“Don't you think I've tried that? I've tried for twenty years. But except for that first time he wouldn't face me.”

“What if I asked him to see you? Diana and I can both ask.”

“He'll listen,” Diana added. “I know he will.”

He paused, then he shook his head. “It's no use.”

“Why give up before we even try?”

“I know Kane. If he realized you were asking on my behalf, he'd only figure out a way to string me out, give me hope so he could dash it. He'd just want to see me suffer more.”

Sylvie chewed the inside of her lip. He was probably right, but she couldn't admit it. That would be giving up, consigning both herself and Diana to death.

She focused on the professor. All he could think about was himself. All he could feel was his own pain. On some level, he'd become everything he hated. And if he murdered Diana and her in cold blood, he'd cross the line for good. He'd become Dryden Kane.

“I feel for you, Professor. I really do. But you
can't do this. You're not like Kane. You're not a murderer.”

“But I am.”

His confession hit her between the eyes. “The officer in the parking garage?”

Bertram shook his head. “He's not dead. I heard a report on the radio on the drive up.”

Thank God. “Bryce's brother? Did you kill Ty Walker?”

He looked at her as if he thought the suggestion preposterous. “Of course not.”

“Then who?”

He looked down at the floor. “You should know. You found his body.”

Sylvie didn't have to try very hard to remember the smell of death, the sight of blood. “Sami.”

Diana gasped. “You killed Sami Yamal?”

“He was going to the police. I couldn't let him do that.” He touched his fingers to his forehead as if trying to quell a headache.

“So he didn't commit suicide.”

“I needed to buy some time.”

Time so he could kidnap her. Time so he could kill her and Diana.

“I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do any of this.” A dry sob broke from his lips. He slid his hand over his mouth.

Sylvie was getting close. All she needed to do was
to keep talking. “See? You're not a murderer. Sami's death is eating you up.”

“Dryden Kane stole my Dawn. My brilliant little girl. He doesn't deserve daughters. Not when he took mine.”

It all went back to Dryden Kane. To events they had nothing to do with. A man they had no control over. “I don't even know my father. Neither does Diana. We were three years old when we were taken away. We don't even remember him.”

“If I could make him pay without hurting you, I would. If I could make him sorry for what he did. But he's not sorry. He's never going to be sorry.”

Sylvie couldn't argue with that, either. She had no doubt that he was right about Kane's lack of remorse. Her father might not even be capable of remorse.

But Bertram was.

“I know you have your reasons. But by killing us, you prove that you're just as bad as Dryden Kane. You're just as evil. How are you planning to live with yourself?”

He stared at her with dead eyes. “I'm not.”

Setting his lips in a determined line, he slit the ropes tying Diana's arms and legs to the bedframe. Pulling off the sliced dress, he secured her wrists and pulled her up out of the bed.