Serial Bride. Ann Voss Peterson

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      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.

      Chapter Four

      Bryce pulled an extra chair up to the tiny desk in Sylvie’s hotel room and set his briefcase on the dark cherrywood surface. Since he’d made his vow of justice at his brother’s grave, every small thing he’d discovered about Ty’s death had brought nothing but more questions, more hurdles between him and proving Kane was responsible. Now, for the first time, he had something tangible at his fingertips. Now, he was finally getting somewhere.

      He lowered himself into the chair next to Sylvie. Her scent teased at him, flowers with some sort of spicy edge that made him want to inhale more deeply. The jeans and sweater she’d changed into did nothing to diminish her attractiveness. She might look like the photo he had of her sister, yet Sylvie had a freshness in the pink of her cheeks and the light sweep of her lashes that he’d never noticed in another woman. Even her pierced eyebrow suggested the spunky rebellion of a teenager. Yet at the same time she seemed so guarded and distrustful, he couldn’t help but wonder why. He couldn’t help but want to know more.

      Shaking his head, he unlocked the briefcase. He couldn’t afford to notice the way she smelled, the way she looked. He couldn’t let her contradictions conjure questions in his mind. The last thing he needed was another hurdle between him and winning justice for Ty. He couldn’t risk her becoming even a minor distraction. Forcing his attention where it belonged, he dropped the folder on the desk and flipped open the cover.

      Dryden Kane stared at them from the five-by-seven photograph.

      Sylvie shivered. “Those eyes are so inhuman, so cold. I don’t know how Diana could have stood being in the same room with him.” She flipped Kane face down on the desk.

      As someone who had been in Kane’s presence, Bryce couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. But there were women who were drawn to serial killers. Titillated by danger, infamy. Why not Diana Gale? Kane had certainly attracted more than his share of female fascination in the past. Hell, years ago he’d convinced a woman to marry him in prison.

      Sylvie plucked the envelope from the pile of photocopies and clippings. “It’s addressed to Diana. But there’s no return address.” She slipped the letter out and unfolded it. Reaching to the lamp, she canted the shade to shed more light.

      The lamplight slanted toward him, glared off the white paper, making it impossible to decipher the handwriting. But from the abrupt shape of the letters, it appeared to be written by a male hand. He waited for her to read it out loud.

      “‘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.’” Sylvie looked up from the page, eyes stricken. “Oh, my God, Dryden Kane threatened her.”

      A din of questions swirled in Bryce’s СКАЧАТЬ