Serial Bride (2 page)

“Good luck with that.” At least
he
wouldn't be the one to break it to her, to see fear swamp her beautiful eyes. He could keep his focus right where it belonged. On the vow he'd made at Ty's grave. On justice.

“Who did she visit? Please.”

He should walk the hell away. He should keep things easy, clear. Yet Sylvie Hayes obviously knew more about her sister than she was letting on. Far more.

Down the hall, a neighbor's door creaked open. A young man's spiked red hair poked out. Narrowing his eyes, he watched them with interest.

Bryce spared him a quick glance, then stepped toward Sylvie. “Invite me in.”

“Tell me his name.”

Bryce shook his head. He didn't need the whole building to hear the inmate's name. Not this inmate. “Invite me in. We'll talk.”

She backed into the apartment, pushing the door wide.

He followed her inside and closed the door behind him.

Sylvie stood her ground between the living room and a small dining area. “Okay. Tell me.”

“As long as you tell me everything you know about your sister.”

She nodded.

“Diana has been visiting Dryden Kane.”

He'd thought it impossible for her eyes to grow larger. He'd been wrong.

“The serial killer? The one who hunted women down and gutted them like deer?”

“That's the one.”

She covered her lips with trembling fingers. “Are you sure?”

He didn't want to tell her more, but now that she knew, it was only fair. “Your sister visited him once a month, starting seven months ago.”

“Seven months? That's a month before I knew her.” Her eyebrow ring dipped in a frown. “She never said anything about it. About him.”

“You were worried about her. Before I came to the door tonight.”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“She was supposed to be married today. But the wedding never took place.”

That explained the fancy green dress—a dress,
he now realized, marred with brown smudges. “Is that blood?”

She nodded. “Right before the ceremony, I found Reed—the groom—unconscious and bleeding. Diana was gone.”

“You called the police?”

She dropped her hand from her mouth and curled her fingers to fists at her sides. “The police think
she
did it.”

In light of what Bryce suspected about Diana Gale, the police were on the right trail. “Do you know for a fact that she didn't?”

She glared at the suggestion as if considering leaving Bryce unconscious and bleeding if he didn't zip it. “Reed is a cop. The detective in charge is out to get him. And now he's out to get Diana, too.”

Interesting, though he doubted it was the case. But Sylvie believed it. It had been easy to see through her previous lie. She wasn't lying now. “So why aren't the police here? If they really suspect her, I would think they would be searching her apartment.”

“I imagine they're on their way.” She glanced down the hall.

“And that's why you're here, isn't it? To search her apartment before they arrive.”

She looked down. Her fingers tangled together. Busted. “If there's something that might tell me what happened to Diana, I have to find it.”

And he'd like to find it, too. More than she knew. “Then why are we standing around wasting time?”

She stared at him a long moment, as if trying to decide whether she should trust him or not. Finally the press of time seemed to win out. “I thought I'd start in her office.”

“Lead the way.”

Sylvie marched down the hall, pushed a door open and led him inside.

The office was a neat but obviously well-used workspace. White walls and desk gave the room a clean, fresh feeling. Papers rose in orderly stacked piles. But it was the splashes of color, the artwork and figurines dedicated to female superheroes, that made Bryce's lips twist in an ironic smile.

Too bad Diana herself was no champion of justice.

Sylvie stepped to the desk, sank into the chair and wheeled in front of the file cabinet. She scanned the stack of student papers on top before gripping the handle of the top drawer and yanking it open.

Bryce stepped close behind her, reading the files over her shoulder. Together they skimmed the contents. Student evaluations and files dedicated to her dissertation jammed the first two drawers. Sylvie had thumbed through most of the contents of the third drawer when Bryce noticed an unmarked manila folder peeking from the back. “What about that one?”

Sylvie plucked the unlabeled file folder from the drawer and flipped it open. A photo stared up at them—ice-blue eyes in a face that looked much younger than its years.

The back of Bryce's neck prickled at the sight of his former client's cold, hard eyes.

“Who is this?” Sylvie asked.

“Dryden Kane.”

Her shoulders tensed. “I thought he looked familiar. Except that in this picture he looks so normal. Like the boy next door.”

Bryce couldn't argue. Dryden Kane
did
look more like an average suburban neighbor than the brutal killer he was. Some might even say he was good-looking. And that was exactly what made him so dangerous to the women he'd charmed into trusting him. God knew Kane's civilized appearance had fooled
him
. He tried to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “What else is in the folder?”

She turned the photo face down. Piled behind it were copies of old newspaper articles. Sylvie flipped through the first few, twenty-year-old articles detailing Kane's brutal murders of blond college coeds and his circus of a trial. Behind those were articles half that old telling the story of his prison marriage to the misguided Dixie Madsen and their notorious escape and recapture. More recent articles poked out from underneath in the original newsprint.

Bryce pointed to the photocopies on the top of the stack. “These look like they were made from microfilm.”

“Microfilm? Like from a library?”

“Yeah. See how a few of them are in negative? That happens with some machines. And the library is one of the few places she could get her hands on articles this old.”

“Why would she copy all these articles?”

Bryce didn't know, but he had his suspicions. Of course, he wasn't about to share them with Sylvie Hayes. “Whatever the reason, she had to be pretty dedicated. It takes a lot of time to go through microfilm.”

A piece of paper stuck out from behind the stack of articles: an envelope addressed to Diana Gale, complete with canceled stamp and postmarked last month.

Bryce's heart pounded so hard he could feel each beat in his throat. “Is that a letter?”

Sylvie let the copied article she was reading fall back into the folder and reached for the envelope.

A loud thump sounded from the other room. “Police,” a muffled voice shouted from the hall. “Open the door. We have a warrant to search the premises.”

Bryce met Sylvie's desperate eyes. They'd barely scratched the surface. He needed to study the folder, to find out exactly what Diana Gale saw fit to col
lect, what she knew about Kane, and when she knew it. And most of all, he needed to read that letter. If it was from Kane and he had sent it last month, it might give him everything he needed to prove that for whatever reason, Diana Gale had acted as Dryden Kane's conduit to the outside world. And that at Kane's bequest, she had arranged Ty's murder.

Sylvie stuffed the letter back into the folder, snapped the cover shut and thrust up from the chair. “I'm not giving them this folder.”

His feelings exactly. But there wasn't much they could do to keep it. Not with the police right outside. “What are you planning to do?”

“I don't know. But I can't just hand this over to Detective Perreth. He'll only use it to twist things, to blame everything on Diana, not to find out what happened to her.”

“If the police believe as you say, taking this folder amounts to removing evidence. It's a criminal action.”

“I don't care. It might be my only chance to find Diana. To find the truth.”

And Bryce's only chance to find out who helped Dryden Kane murder his brother. A chill wound down Bryce's throat and lodged in his gut.

Sylvie ran her hands over her gown. “I was going to change clothes. Why didn't I change clothes?”

There was no room in that dress to smuggle a
folder, that was for damn sure. The chill inside him grew until the walls of his stomach ached from it.

Sylvie dropped her hands to her sides and started for the door. “I'll throw it in my suitcase. I'll say I came to pack my clothes.”

“No good. If this Detective Perreth has a brain in his head, he'll ask to search your suitcase before he lets you cross the threshold.”

Another thump sounded on the door. The jangle of keys reached them.

Sylvie looked around the room like a trapped animal. “What am I going to do?”

Warmth leached from his veins, chills circulating through his body. He was an officer of the court. He couldn't interfere with a legal search warrant. He couldn't risk his livelihood, his freedom.

He couldn't.

But could he just surrender the folder? Could he give up the only lead he had to nailing his brother's killer before he even got a look?

Oh, hell. “Give it to me.”

“What?”

It was crazy. Deluded. Definitely criminal. He watched his hand extend toward her, palm up. As if it was part of someone else's body. As if someone else was taking this leap into the abyss. “Give me the folder.”

She handed it to him.

He tossed his briefcase onto the desk, popped the locks and stuffed the folder inside. “Go ahead and pack your clothes. Quickly. I'll answer the door.”

Sylvie jammed jeans, sweaters and toiletries into her suitcase. Her fingers were shaking so badly, she could barely grip the zipper and force it closed. In the other room she could hear the hum of voices. Perreth's blunt rasp followed by Bryce's level baritone. When Bryce had hidden the folder in his briefcase, she'd been shocked. Sure, she'd asked for his help, for an answer to her dilemma, but she hadn't been expecting him to give her either. She certainly hadn't expected him to stick out his neck for her. No one had ever stuck their neck out for her before.

So why had he done it?

He had to have his reasons. But she didn't have time to discover them now. The only thing that mattered right this second was that she and Bryce leave Diana's apartment with that folder. She needed to get a look at the letter, the clippings. She needed some
sort of break if she hoped to find her sister. And she needed that break
now.

She finished closing the zipper, set the suitcase on its wheels and extended the handle. It was time to get out of here and get back to finding Diana.

Before it was too late.

She marched out of the office and down the hall. A small handful of police officers had already fanned out in the living room. Near the center of the room, Detective Perreth glowered at Bryce from under his bushy brows. Sylvie could smell his cologne of stale cigarettes as soon as she entered the room.

“Nice to see you again, Ms. Hayes.” He glanced at a uniformed officer who had begun sorting through the drawers in the coffee table. “Thomas?”

“Detective?”

“Take a look through Ms. Hayes's suitcase, will you? We wouldn't want her removing anything other than her personal clothing from the suspect's apartment.” He grinned, showing nicotine-yellowed teeth. “It's all right if he takes a look, isn't it?”

“Of course.” Giving him an equally phony smile, Sylvie left her suitcase at the mercy of the officer and stepped toward Perreth. “I want to see the warrant.”

“I already showed it to your boyfriend here. And the super. It's legal.”

Towering next to Perreth's squatty frame, Bryce gave her a confirming nod.

“I asked you to stay at the church,” the detective said. “Care to explain why that didn't happen?”

“I had things to do.”

“Like what? Rushing to your sister's apartment to remove evidence of premeditation?”

Hot pressure built in her head until it made her ears ring. This whole situation was so stupid. A figment of Perreth's imagination. An attempt to smear Reed and Diana. To get revenge for Reed's reaction to Perreth hitting his wife. And all the while he was wasting his time suspecting Diana, she was in danger. He should be
finding
her, not blaming her.

She gripped the stained satin of her gown in her fists and choked down the words she wanted to spit at him. Making Perreth angry would get her nowhere. She needed to get out of here and find Diana. “I came back to change out of this dress and move my things to a hotel. That's all.”

He eyed her gown. “What stopped you?”

“I did.” Bryce's voice rippled like waves in water. “We had some things to discuss.”

Things to discuss? Sylvie bit the inside of her cheek. Bryce wasn't going to tell Detective Perreth about their conversation, was he? No. That didn't make sense. But why would he want to draw Perreth's attention with a vague claim like that? Surely the detective would want to know more. Maybe enough to detain him for questioning. Or to search his briefcase.

Next to her, the officer finished turning over her clothes and makeup.

Sylvie gestured in his direction. “See, Detective? Nothing. Can we go now?”

“Not so fast.” Perreth focused his glare fully on Bryce. Now that Bryce had given him a bone, he obviously didn't intend to give it up so easily. “What was so urgent?”

Bryce shrugged. “Doesn't that go without saying? Sylvie's sister disappeared.”

Perreth frowned. He focused on the briefcase in Bryce's hand. “And what do you have in the briefcase?”

Sylvie sucked in a breath and held it.

Bryce offered the detective a bland smile. “Papers.”

“Maybe we should take a look at those papers.”

The uniformed officer stepped toward Bryce.

Bryce held up a hand. “I'm sorry. I can't let you do that.”

Perreth raised bushy brows. “Oh?”

“My briefcase is not listed in your warrant, for one thing.”

“Maybe not. But if I suspect you of removing evidence from the scene…”

Bryce shook his head. “As an officer of the court, I can assure you that's not the case.”

“You're a lawyer?” The detective pronounced the word as if it were composed of four letters.

Bryce gave him a cool nod. Turning to Sylvie, he cocked his head in the direction of the door.

Letting out the breath she was holding, Sylvie grabbed the handle of her suitcase and took a step toward escape.

“Not so fast,” Perreth barked.

She halted. Her pulse pounded so hard it made her feel as if she was wobbling on her feet. Now what?

“Ms. Hayes still hasn't answered my questions. She's coming to the station with me.”

No. The hum echoed through Sylvie's head, drowning out the beat of her pulse. She couldn't waste time sitting around the police station answering Perreth's pointless questions. Didn't they say that the first few hours were crucial to locating a missing person? She had to get out of here. She had to find Diana.

Bryce reached into the outside pocket of his briefcase and pulled out a business card. He held it out to Perreth. “Like I said. I'm a lawyer. Sylvie's lawyer. And my client will be happy to talk to you. If you give my secretary a call, she'll set something up.”

 

S
AFELY OUTSIDE
Diana's building, Sylvie lowered herself into the plush passenger seat of Bryce's BMW. The scent of leather interior with a hint of cologne enveloped her, an atmosphere of luxury and male presence that made her feel as though she'd just stepped into a foreign world.

She'd rather walk.

She wasn't used to people taking care of her, doing her favors, making her indebted to them. She didn't like it. It reminded her too much of the way she'd felt as a child, begging her foster family to take her into their home, wanting so badly to be able to trust them to care about her, and being let down every time.

She strapped on her seat belt and held her satin clutch in both hands. She didn't want to be here, but she didn't have a lot of options, either. Not with Diana's folder still locked in Bryce's briefcase. And although she was grateful to him for helping her get the folder out of Diana's apartment, she didn't intend to take his kindness at face value. She'd learned that lesson before she hit puberty.

After loading her suitcase in the trunk, Bryce circled the car, opened the driver's door and slid behind the wheel. “Comfortable?”

She forced herself not to fidget. “Too comfortable. I'm not exactly used to riding around in BMWs.”

A pained smile spread over strong lips. “It's for sale if you want it.” He slipped his key into the ignition and the car purred to life. Turning his attention to traffic, he shifted into gear and merged with the flow.

Sylvie eyed his profile in the dimming light. In
all that had happened back at Diana's apartment, she hadn't been very aware of how attractive he was. From short golden-brown hair that held a slight wave to sharp hazel eyes to broad shoulders that looked good in a suit, Bryce Walker was what most women considered a hunk. Add ringless hands that gripped the steering wheel and he became a favorite for most eligible bachelor.

And somehow, that status only made Sylvie more uncomfortable. “Should I give you a retainer or something?”

He kept his focus on the traffic ahead. “Not necessary.”

“But you told Perreth you were my lawyer. What if he finds out you're not?”

“You can tell him you fired me.”

“Why did you say it in the first place?”

He glanced her way. Puzzlement shrouded his eyes and kicked one side of his mouth into a grin. “He was about to haul you downtown, if you hadn't noticed.”

“Of course I noticed. What I can't figure out is why you would care. You don't know me. And you sure don't owe me anything.”

He turned his gaze back to the road. “We have the same goal.”

“Which is?”

“Finding your sister.”

Ah, yes. His case. “Do you lie to the police and smuggle evidence to find witnesses in all your cases?”

“Not hardly.”

“So what makes this one so unique?”

A shadow crossed over his face. Evening had crept in while she'd been in Diana's apartment. The car was full of shadows. But from Sylvie's angle, it looked more like a shadow of dark emotion rather than a simple trick of the light.

He flicked on his blinker and took a left turn. “I'm not going to discuss my case with you. But I am willing to help you find your sister.”

“And what do you want in return?”

He glanced at her again. “You don't trust easily, do you?”

“I try not to.” The truth was, she
had
trusted easily as a child. Too easily. And it had devastated her. Since becoming an adult, she'd learned not to rely on anything or anyone. And she sure wasn't going to forget a lifetime of learning just to trust Bryce Walker—no matter how good-looking and resourceful he was in a pinch. “So what are you after?”

“I want you to share what you know about your sister with me, and I'll help you find her.”

She folded her arms over her breasts. “That's it?”

“That's it.”

Staring straight ahead through the windshield,
she watched the glare of oncoming headlights. She knew there was more behind his willingness to risk his career and freedom than just to help her. There had to be. Yet somehow that wasn't what concerned her most.

What concerned her most was that she couldn't afford to refuse.