Serial Bride. Ann Voss Peterson

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      Unease niggled at the back of her neck with the force of a toothy bite. “If looking in Diana’s apartment will help find her, I can let you in.”

      “Do you live with her?”

      “No. I’m just visiting for the wedding.” She’d been considering moving to Madison. To live near her sister. She could just as easily wait tables up here. Or maybe get a more fulfilling job. But she hadn’t yet taken the plunge. “Diana gave me a key, though.”

      “No good. You don’t have legal standing.”

      “Legal standing?”

      “We need permission from someone with legal standing.”

      “Why?” The buzz in Sylvie’s ears grew, making it hard to think. The only time she’d heard the term legal standing was on an episode of Law & Order. And then it had been used to argue the admissibility of evidence—evidence used against someone charged with murder. “You think Diana did this? You think she hurt Reed?”

      He held up a hand as if to shield himself from her hysteria. “I don’t draw conclusions until I finish looking at the evidence.”

      “It sounds like you’re drawing a conclusion to me. A wrong conclusion.”

      “I assure you that’s not the case.” He looked down at his notes. “But there was a history of abuse in your sister’s adopted family, isn’t that correct?”

      “What are you getting at?”

      “They say women who are abused as children often choose men who—”

      “Hold on right there. You think Reed hit Diana?”

      The detective stared at her, a smug look in his deep-set eyes. “Like I said, I’m still looking at the evidence. But there’s a good chance your sister isn’t to blame, no matter what happened. There’s a chance she was merely defending herself.”

      She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “That’s your story, not Reed’s and Diana’s.”

      Bushy brows lowered over hard eyes.

      She shouldn’t have said anything. And now that the words had left her lips, she couldn’t bite them back.

      Footsteps approached from down the hall. A uniformed officer stopped behind Perreth. “Detective?”

      “Can it wait?”

      “I think you’re going to want to see this.”

      Detective Perreth’s mouth twisted into something close to a snarl. “Stick around. I’ll want to talk to you further.” He spun away and followed the officer.

      Sylvie groaned. She had really screwed up, throwing what she knew about Perreth into his face. But she couldn’t help it. His accusation was ridiculous. How could he possibly think Reed had abused Diana? That Diana had struck back? It would be laughable, even pitiful, if he wasn’t in charge of the case. If he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be figuring out what really happened. The one who was supposed to be finding Diana.

      Hot tears stung Sylvie’s eyes. She obviously couldn’t rely on Perreth. Which meant she couldn’t rely on the police.

      Down the hall, Perreth followed the officer into the lounge. As soon as he rounded the corner, Sylvie started for the church’s front door. She needed to find Diana herself. Starting with getting to Diana’s apartment before Perreth.

      BRYCE WALKER had spent so much of the past week tracking down Diana Gale that when her apartment door opened and an ice-blue eye peered over the security chain, it took all he had to keep from kicking the door in, pinning her to the wall and demanding answers.

      “Can I help you?” Her voice carried soft and low tones better suited to a seductress than a murderess. Of course there was no reason she couldn’t be both.

      “Bryce Walker. I’m an attorney. I need to ask you some questions regarding a case I’m working on.” His voice sounded as businesslike and detached as he’d hoped. As if this really was any case. As if he was merely doing his job for a client.

      The furthest thing from the truth.

      He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card and slipped it through the narrow opening.

      She accepted the card with manicured fingers. “I don’t think you want me.”

      “You are Diana Gale.”

      “Diana is my sister.”

      He peered through the small crack, trying to get a better look at her. Blond hair, large blue eyes, a heart-shaped face any man would enjoy seeing on the pillow beside him. A silver eyebrow ring pierced through the elegant arch of one brow, bringing a touch of rebellion to the picture. She held a hand to her chest, spreading pink-polished fingers across cleavage exposed by a formal green gown.

      It was Diana Gale, all right. “I’ve seen your picture. And I know you’re an only child.”

      “I’m Diana’s twin. We were separated as toddlers.”

      She sounded sincere. But then, whatever she said in that musical voice would probably sound sincere. Fortunately he was well aware of his typical male weakness for beautiful women. And he knew how to compensate. “What is your name?”

      “Sylvie Hayes.”

      “And you live in this area?”

      “I live in Chicago.”

      “Where in Chicago?”

      “Why do you want to see Diana?”

      Normally he might think her abrupt duck of his question evasive. But there was something in her voice. Worry, fear, he didn’t know what—but he got the distinct impression she was concerned. About what? His questions? Her sister? Was she really who she claimed? “Are you worried about Diana for some reason?”

      “I want to know why you want to see her, that’s all. So I can pass along the message.”

      A lie if he’d ever heard one. And in all the years he’d spent in the courtroom, he’d heard plenty. Not only was he sure she was worried, the prospect that she was telling the truth earlier seemed likely, as well. Maybe she was Diana Gale’s twin.

      Just the kind of woman his brother Ty would have insisted on helping.

      A hollow twinge vibrated in his gut like a plucked guitar string. Bryce cultivated an immunity to beautiful women, but his brother had been another story. Ty would commit the resources of their law firm the moment a tear welled in a feminine litigant’s eye.

      But then, Ty had been the better man.

      “I have a case to discuss with your sister.” He peered over Sylvie Hayes’s blond head, trying to see into the apartment through the small space in the door. “Will you tell her I’m here?”

      “What kind of case?”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ