He demanded answers.

“Can I help you?” Sylvie’s voice carried in 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.” His voice sounded as businesslike and detached as he’d hoped. As if he was merely doing his job for a client.

The furthest thing from the truth.

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. She held a hand to her chest, spreading pink-polished fingers across cleavage exposed by a formal green gown.

“You are Diana Gale.”

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

She sounded sincere. Fortunately he was well aware of his typical male weakness for beautiful women. And he knew how to compensate.

Serial Bride
Ann Voss Peterson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Michael Voss and Christopher Voss,

the best brothers a girl could have.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ever since she was a little girl making her own books out of construction paper, Ann Voss Peterson wanted to write. So when it came time to choose a major at the University of Wisconsin, creative writing was her only choice. Of course, writing wasn’t a practical choice—one needs to earn a living. So Ann found jobs ranging from proofreading legal transcripts, to working with quarter horses, to washing windows. But no matter how she earned her paycheck, she continued to write the type of stories that captured her heart and imagination—romantic suspense. Ann lives near Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband, her two young sons, her Border collie and her quarter horse mare. Ann loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at ann@annvosspeterson.com or visit her Web site at annvosspeterson.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sylvie Hayes—A survivor of the foster care system, Sylvie had always dreamed of having a family of her own. But when her long-lost twin sister disappears from her own wedding, and Sylvie’s family turns out to be more nightmare than dream, who can she turn to? Who can she trust?

Bryce Walker—Convinced Sylvie’s sister is a handmaiden of the serial killer responsible for his brother’s death, Bryce works to win Sylvie’s trust, hoping she will lead him to the missing bride. But he doesn’t count on the need to protect Sylvie. Or the need to claim her for his own.

Diana Gale—Sylvie’s twin sister was supposed to be walking down the aisle to marry the man she loves. Instead the bride is missing and her groom is barely clinging to life. Is she the family Sylvie has always wanted or a dangerous killer?

Detective Stan Perreth—The secretive police detective has a bad attitude. Is he working to find Diana or working to blame her for his crimes?

Dryden Kane—The serial killer has been in prison for years. Now he’s anxious to settle the score.

Louis Ingersoll—Diana’s neighbor would do anything for her. But does that include murder?

Professor Vincent Bertram—The professor has spent much of his life studying the grisly crimes of Dryden Kane. How far will he go to make sure his research pays off?

Sami Yamal—The professor’s assistant, Sami believes he deserves credit for the professor’s research. But how far will he go to prove he is the real expert?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Chapter One

Sylvie Hayes dug her polished nails into the tulle wrapping the stems of her maid-of-honor nosegay and stared down the church’s long aisle. A blend of alstroemeria and autumn chrysanthemums smothered the altar. Faces peered expectantly from pews, a sea of humanity tied back with white lacy bows. The organ soared into Bach, rattling stained glass like thunder from an approaching storm—the cue to start her measured march down the aisle.

Where was Diana?

Her sister had said she needed a moment to check her makeup, to make sure everything was perfect for her wedding. But that had been over fifteen minutes ago. She should be back by now.

And where was the groom?

Sylvie squinted at the shadows to the side of the altar. Although she spotted the minister and best man, she couldn’t see Reed McCaskey anywhere.

Sylvie and Diana might not know one another as well as twins who’d grown up in the same household, but since Diana had tracked her down six months ago, they had become close. Closer than Sylvie had dared to get to another person. And even though Diana’s marriage would probably change things, she felt the connection they shared, the sense of the other she’d heard about in twins, would never go away. She’d feel an unexplained twinge of joy before Diana even had a chance to call her about good news. An insistent hum in the back of her mind when Diana was in trouble. That hum had been building to a crescendo over the past three months. Now it threatened to drown out the organ.

Sylvie turned away from the mouth of the nave and started down the long hall leading to the lounge where she and Diana had dressed for the wedding. She had to find her sister. She had to make sure Diana was okay.

Her heels clacked on the marble floor, matching the thump of her pulse. No doubt Diana was wrestling with her veil or some other detail. Or maybe she and Reed had argued. Whatever had happened, the alarm buzzing low in Sylvie’s ears was due to an overactive imagination. Nothing more.

She quickened her pace.

She pushed her way into the lounge. The room appeared just as they’d left it. Makeup cases and dress bags cluttered the tables and draped to the floor. Photos from an instant camera smiled from a pile on one of the sofas. The spice of perfume still hung in the air.

But no Diana.

Was she preening in front of the mirror in the adjoining restroom? Sylvie crossed the lounge and opened the door. The vanity was vacant, the wide mirror catching no reflection but her own—a slip of seafoam satin, a fall of blond hair, the gleam of worry in light-blue eyes.

She ripped her gaze from the image and peered down the row of bathroom stalls. “Diana?” Her voice echoed off the white tile.

She gathered her gown in a fist. Bending low, she looked under the stalls. A wisp of white touched the floor in the large stall at the end, a dark shadow behind it. “Diana? Are you okay?”

Only the organ answered, its bass tones trembling through walls and centering deep in Sylvie’s chest. She straightened and stepped down the row of bathroom stalls. Reaching the end, she grasped the handle and pulled.

A body lay face against the wall. Wetness glistened in black hair and trailed down the back of the tux. Motionless fingers clutched Diana’s veil, the antique lace red with blood.

“Reed. Oh, my God, Reed!” She knelt beside him. Slipping her hand along the side of his throat, she felt for a pulse.

A thready beat drummed against her fingertips.

He was alive. Thank God, he was alive. But he needed help. He needed an ambulance.

And Diana. Where was Diana?

The hum in her ears roared loud as a freight train bearing down.

Chapter Two

Sylvie watched the paramedics wheel the stretcher down the long church hall and out to the waiting ambulance. Reed was still unconscious. The white sheet cupped around him as if he was a child tucked into bed. Thick black straps hugged him to the gurney.

She wrapped her arms around her own middle, trying to warm herself, trying to feel strong. Stains marred the long seafoam silk of her gown, rust-colored smudges of Reed’s blood.

“You’re the one who found him?” a cigarette-roughened voice asked from behind her.

She turned around and faced a man with hard eyes and the jowls of a bulldog. “Excuse me?”

He let out an impatient sigh. “I need you to answer some questions for me. I’m in charge of this case. Detective Stan Perreth.”

Her stomach lurched. She’d never met Perreth, not in the flesh, but she’d heard enough stories about him to inspire a bout of nausea. On one of her first visits to Madison, the detective had hauled Reed in front of a review committee for a punch Reed had delivered when Perreth’s wife, a 911 dispatcher, had come to work with a battered face and a walking-into-a-doorknob explanation. Bad blood ran deep between the two men. And Perreth was now in charge of finding out who had attacked Reed and taken Diana?

“The first officer to the scene said you found Reed McCaskey.”

Sylvie forced a deep breath. Surely Perreth could see beyond the bad blood. Surely he would do his job despite his personal feelings. “Yes. I found him when I went to check on my sister.”

“Did you touch anything? Move anything?”

She thought back, trying to reconstruct what she’d done. “I checked his pulse. I ran out into the lounge. I went through Diana’s bag to find her cell phone.” And she’d grabbed her own purse. Had she touched anything else? She couldn’t remember.

He held out a hand. “Give me the phone.”

Sylvie looked down. Sure enough, the phone was still clenched in her fingers. She handed it to Perreth.

Perreth gripped it gingerly, his hands encased in clear plastic gloves. “Did your sister voice any doubts about this wedding?”

“No. I don’t think so, anyway. She’s been looking forward to marrying Reed as long as I’ve known her.”

“Did she and McCaskey have a fight?”

“A fight?”

“I’m trying to figure out what happened here this afternoon. Answer the question, please.”

“There was no fight. They were both excited about the wedding. Anxious to get married.”

“Anxious.” He scribbled the word in his notebook.

Sylvie had an uneasy feeling about where he was heading. “You’re taking this wrong. They were happy. They loved each other. They were eager to be together, to start their new life.”

He nodded, but she got the feeling he was still concentrating on the word anxious.

Had she chosen that word subconsciously? Maybe she had. Diana had been anxious the past few months. But not about her love for Reed. Not about her marriage. At least, not that Sylvie was aware of. “I don’t think you’re understanding me.”

He glanced up at her from under bushy brows. “Oh?”

“Diana and Reed were in love. They wanted to get married.”

“Did you notice any tension between them recently?”

Back to the same track. Like a bulldog worrying over a bone. “Between them? No.”

“But you noticed tension.”

What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t lie. “Diana seemed tense about something, yes. But not about her marriage.”

He nodded, but she wasn’t at all sure he had heard what she said. Not all of it, anyway.

“Where does your sister live?”

“She has an apartment on Pinckney Street. In the old Mueller building.”

“Apartment number?”

“Three B.”

He jotted it down. “Good, we’ll get a warrant and take a look.”

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 confidential kind.”

“Well, Diana isn’t here.”

Was she telling the truth? Probably. She didn’t seem to be a very accomplished liar. Unlike her sister. “Where can I find Diana?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“When will she be back?”

“I don’t know that, either. But maybe if you tell me a little more about why you want to talk to her, I can help.”

“If you don’t know where she is or when she’ll be back, I can’t see how.”

Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “You asked if I was worried about her?”

Maybe now they were getting somewhere. “Yes.”

“I am. If you tell me what this is about, maybe I can make some sense out of things. For both of us.”

Okay. He’d roll the dice. Since the client in this matter was actually himself, the case’s confidentiality was as flexible as he needed. “I came across your sister’s name yesterday. It was on the sign-in sheet at the Banesbridge prison. She visited an inmate there several times in the past year. I want to know why.”

Pale-blue eyes rounded in surprise. Or fear. Or maybe both. “Diana?”

“Yes, Diana.”

Her eyebrows pinched together, causing a tiny crease at the top of her slender nose. “I don’t understand.”

“She signed in as part of a university research project under the supervision of a Vincent Bertram.”

“Bertram?”

He did his best to tamp down his frustration. He wanted answers, not to listen to her parrot his every word. “He’s a professor in the psychology department.”

She shook her head. “Diana is earning her Ph.D. in English. I can’t see her finding a lot of twelfth-century poetry in prison. Are you sure it was her?”

“I’m sure.” Her signatures on the sign-in sheets were burned on the inside of his eyelids like a brand. “Your sister is the only Diana Gale at the university. The guards recognized her picture. The only other person it could have been is you.”

The tiny crease deepened. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

None of it made sense. Especially not his kid brother’s death. “Of course, your sister might have used her affiliation at the university to gain access, and the visit was personal.”

“Personal? How?”

“I was hoping you might have some idea.”

Once again she shook her head. “I don’t.” She sounded certain, but her eyes blinked and shifted.

“I would bet a lot of money you do have ideas. Plenty of them.”

“I’m sorry.” Through the sliver of the opening, he could see her throat move under tender skin. “What prisoner was she visiting?”

He hesitated. The idea of saying the man’s name to those delicate eyes already filled with fear felt cruel. And although Ty had accused Bryce of being heartless more than a few times when he’d hesitated to take his brother’s charity cases, he was not an abusive man. “My cell phone number is on that card. Have your sister call when she gets home. I’ll be up late.” He turned away from the door.

Behind him, the door slammed shut followed by the rattle of the security chain. A second later the door flew open and Sylvie Hayes jolted into the hall. “Wait.”

He turned to face her.

He could tell she was attractive through the small space in the door, but he still wasn’t prepared for the full stunning view. The green dress flowed over smooth curves like water. Cheeks flushed pink under translucent skin. Wide eyes flashed with light-blue fire and more than a little desperation. “You have to tell me who she visited.”

“It’s confidential.”

“Confidential? I can probably pick up the phone and find out tomorrow.”

“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 collect, 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.”

Chapter Three

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.”

SAFELY 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.

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 head. “Is it signed?”

“No. But it has to be from Kane. Why would she keep it in this folder if it wasn’t?”

Maybe it did appear to be from Kane. But why would Kane threaten to make Diana pay? And who was she paying for?

He blew out a frustrated breath. This hurdle was larger than most. This hurdle threatened to destroy his entire theory of Diana Gale’s role in Ty’s death. “May I see it?”

Sylvie handed it to him.

It was just a single sheet of typing paper with the words she’d read scrawled across the white surface. He read it over again to himself. “He will never pay. Who is he?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Whoever he is, Kane hates him.”

“Kane hates a lot of people.” Including Bryce. He picked up the envelope and looked at the postmark again just to make sure. Almost exactly a month ago. After Ty’s death. After Kane had sent his message to Bryce by having his younger brother killed.

Pain hit him hard. Ty’s death was so fresh, so raw. He shook his head, trying to clear it, to concentrate.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He handed the paper back to her. Was he wrong about Diana Gale? Was she merely another victim of Kane’s charm and brutality? Or had she merely outlived her usefulness? After Ty’s death, had she ceased being a conspirator and become a target? And if so, why? “Did your sister give any indication she was being threatened?”

Sylvie frowned, her eyebrow ring dipping low. “She’s been upset the last several months. Anxious. I asked her about it, but she blamed it on problems with wedding plans. Do you think she reported Kane’s threat?”

“Maybe.”

“Perreth didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t report it to the police.”

“The university.”

He nodded.

Sylvie pushed her chair back and shot to her feet. “What was the name of that professor? The one who arranged for her to visit Kane?”

“Vincent Bertram.”

She circled the bed. Perching on the mattress edge, she pulled the telephone directory from the bedside table and started flipping pages.

“What are you looking for?”

“A residential listing for Bertram. I’m going to find out why Diana got involved with Dryden Kane in the first place. And whether or not she told him Kane was threatening her.”

Bryce tore his gaze from Sylvie and focused on the folder. If Diana Gale had conspired to kill Ty, understanding her motive might be useful. But if she hadn’t, he couldn’t afford to go off on another tangent.

Eager to see if the folder yielded any more information, he paged through the photocopies chronicling Kane’s sordid history. His murder of blond college coeds. His capture twenty years ago at the hands of the FBI. At that point, other than an article here and there, the news coverage skipped about four years to a flurry of stories about Kane’s prison marriage and subsequent escape. The stories highlighted the way Kane had focused on his new intended victim, Risa Madsen, a mentor of Vincent Bertram’s. The stories continued with the trail of death Kane had left until Professor Madsen and the FBI profiler who’d originally caught Kane had joined forces to subdue him again.

The next articles were more recent, clipped from their original newsprint. The headlines Bryce knew all too well. Headlines he’d thought he’d wanted. They blared from the clippings, stinging his eyes. He’d been so stupid, so wrong, so naive. And he’d payed with more than his life. He’d paid with his brother’s life.

He sucked in a breath, trying to control the rush of grief, of rage, as he paged through the articles. The stories outlined Kane’s lawsuit against the Supermax prison, how attorney Bryce Walker had taken the killer’s case, how he’d alleged mistreatment, how he’d won a transfer to another facility. He turned to the last article. A black-and-white picture stared from the newsprint, Ty in the black suit that made him look like an innocent milk-fed farm boy planning to hunt aliens with Tommy Lee Jones.

Bryce’s throat closed. He’d been willing to sell his soul to get good press for the law firm, for himself. He’d never guessed Ty’s life was part of the deal.

He glanced up at Sylvie. She sat with her back to him, the phone book spread open on her lap. Hunching forward, she copied something on a scrap of paper.

What if her sister didn’t have anything to do with Ty’s murder? What if she was merely a misguided woman? A woman who never would have been able to worm her way into visiting Kane if he was still housed in the ultrasecurity of the Supermax where he belonged? What if Bryce’s representation of Kane had not only led to Ty’s death, but indirectly to Diana Gale’s abduction, as well?

Weight bore down on his shoulders like a yoke of stone. If he really wanted justice, if he really wanted to set things right, maybe he shouldn’t be asking himself if he could afford to help Sylvie Hayes. Maybe he should be asking if he could afford not to.

WITH THE SLIP OF PAPER with Professor Bertram’s address stuffed in her jeans pocket, Sylvie crossed the hotel lobby with Bryce by her side and stepped through the revolving door and onto the sidewalk. Saturday night had fully fallen. The neon glow of nearby shops and restaurants and the jangle of people walking down State Street turned the city into a confusion of sights and sounds.

Stepping to the curb, Sylvie glanced at the rush of headlights flowing down the one-way street, searching for a cab. “Thanks for your help. When I find Diana, I’ll let her know you want to get in touch with her.”

Bryce looked at her as if she were speaking in tongues. “What are you talking about? I’m going with you.”

“Not necessary.” All she had to do was to flag down a cab and find the nearest car rental office. Once she had her own car, she’d be able to track down Professor Bertram and hopefully get some answers.

“You need someone to drive.”

“That’s okay. I need to rent a car anyway.”

“Rent a car? Why? I have a car right here.” He pointed to his car parked fifty feet away as if she’d forgotten what it looked like.

“Really, I’m used to doing things on my own.” It had been disconcerting enough to be forced to rely on Bryce to get out of Diana’s apartment with the folder, to drive her to a hotel. Having him in her hotel room, bouncing ideas off him, had only made her feel more jangled.

“How are you planning to find a car rental office? There aren’t too many of them around here.”

“I’ll take a cab.”

He arched his brows. “And how are you going to find a cab?”

What, was he playing games with her? “I’ll hail one. It’s not hard.”

“You might find it hard in Madison.”

She scanned the street. Not one cab spotted in the flood of personal vehicles. He might have a point. “Okay, I’ll ask the hotel to call me one.”

“What are you trying to prove, Sylvie? It’s been a tough day for you already. You’re dead tired and worried about your sister. Driving you around is the least I can do. Besides, you need to find your sister, and I need to talk to her. We have shared goals here.”

Of course, he was right about that, too. But even though she could get to Professor Bertram’s house faster if she didn’t first have to call for a cab and then rent a car, she’d rather have her own wheels. She didn’t want to have to rely on Bryce only to have him leave her the moment she needed him most. It would be far easier to rent her own car from the outset than to struggle to pull things together once he cut out on her. “Listen, it’s not that I’m not grateful. But I like to do things on my own.”

“What, you don’t like me?”

“I like you fine.” Maybe too much. She doubted she’d ever been around a man this attractive before in her life. A man whose every expression she noticed. A man who made her feel out of control just by looking in her direction.

“You don’t trust me?”

He wasn’t too far off there. “I don’t want to be left in the lurch.”

“Why would I do that?”

“In my experience, a more realistic question would be why you wouldn’t.”

“Listen, you might have had bad luck with people in the past, but when I give my word, I keep it. No matter what.” He gestured to the BMW. “Now are you going to get in, or do you want me to throw you in?”

She shot him a look she hoped conveyed all the annoyance she felt. He wouldn’t dare throw her in the car. If he did, he’d get far more than he bargained for, starting with two black eyes.

“Listen, Sylvie, we made a deal. You help me with my case, I help you find your sister.”

They had made a deal. A deal she wasn’t comfortable with. Not in the least.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s already pushing eight. Do you really want to stand around here and argue about this, or do you want to find your sister? It’s up to you.”

Her heart clutched. Diana had been missing for four hours. Four hours and the clock was ticking. “Okay. For now.”

He nodded, as if it was all settled. “Get in the car.”

SYLVIE GRIPPED the leather armrest and scanned the beautiful homes scrolling by, trying to spot the house numbers. When she’d first visited Diana in Madison, she remembered thinking the way the downtown funneled into an isthmus between two large lakes was charming. But after more than half an hour with Bryce negotiating hilly, winding one-way streets in the dark, the charm had worn off. “There it is.” She pointed to the beautiful stone Tudor lit with artfully arranged spotlights and covered in ivy.

Bryce piloted the car into the home’s narrow drive. “Ready?”

As if he had to ask. She was itching to talk to Professor Bertram. To find out what in the world he’d been thinking when he’d arranged for Diana to talk to Kane. And if he’d known about the threats, why hadn’t he reported it to the police? Why he hadn’t sounded the alarms? But most importantly, she needed to know if he knew anything that could help find her sister.

Sylvie swung her door open and climbed out just as Bryce circled the car. They walked up the cobblestone sidewalk to a front door half shrouded with wide, red-edged leaves of ivy. Bryce stabbed the doorbell button.

Chimes echoed through the house. A moment later footsteps tapped across a wood floor inside and an eye peered through the peephole. “Yes?” A woman’s voice.

“My name is Sylvie Hayes and this is Bryce Walker.” She projected her voice, hoping the woman could hear her through the door. “We’d like a word with Professor Bertram. Is he home?”

“No.”

“Do you know when he will be home?” Bryce asked.

“No.”

“Is this Mrs. Bertram?”

Silence.

Strange. Wisconsin Heights was not a neighborhood that seemed to call for a lot of security. Mostly home to university professors and well-to-do business leaders in Madison, it was a safe neighborhood in an area overflowing with safe neighborhoods. Except for the nighttime visit, which would make anyone wary, there didn’t seem to be a reason for Mrs. Bertram’s apparent paranoia.

Sylvie couldn’t help thinking about the night before when Bryce had knocked on the door of Diana’s apartment. She had answered, yet had been careful to keep the door chain secured. She’d known at the time that if Bryce had wanted, he could have easily kicked in the door and broken the chain. But even though the chain offered little real protection, after the shock she’d suffered at the church finding Reed injured and Diana gone, she hadn’t wanted to expose herself to a stranger.

Judging by Mrs. Bertram’s reluctance to open the door, or even to answer, she was even more frightened. Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder what or who had spooked her.

Bryce raised his eyebrows at Sylvie. Apparently he had a few questions about Mrs. Bertram, too. “We need to talk to Professor Bertram about a graduate student who is working with him on one of his research projects.”

“My sister, Diana Gale,” Sylvie added.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. He doesn’t live here anymore. He hasn’t for many years.”

But he’d been listed in the phone book. “You’re divorced?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Disappointment seeped into Sylvie’s bones like the chill of approaching winter. “Do you have his address?”

“Of course I have it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give it to you.”

“We really need to talk to him. My sister has disappeared.”

“And you think Vincent can help you?”

“We hope so,” Bryce answered.

“What project was your sister working on for Vincent?”

Sylvie hesitated. Not only did she hate saying the name out loud, she doubted dropping Kane’s name would do anything to make this obviously frightened woman more open or responsive. But then, not telling her the name wasn’t going to get them anywhere, either. “Diana interviewed Dryden Kane.”

She could hear Mrs. Bertram’s sharp intake of breath even through the door. Silence followed that was so complete Sylvie thought the woman might have walked away.

Suddenly the clack of two dead bolts sliding open cut the quiet. The door inched open and Mrs. Bertram peered out. Skin nearly as white as her hair, she blinked even in the darkness, like a mouse venturing out of a safe, dark hole. “Stop by Vincent’s office. He’ll be happy to help all he can.”

Sylvie let out a heavy breath. “I was really hoping to talk to him before Monday.”

The woman glanced at her watch. “He’s probably there now.”

“On a Saturday night?”

“He usually stops back after dinner, says it’s quieter then, better for concentrating on his book. But if your sister’s disappearance has something to do with that monster, he won’t mind the interruption. He’ll do everything he can to help.”

Sylvie wished she could shake the woman’s hand, something to let her know her appreciation. But despite the way the woman had opened the door to talk to them, Sylvie still got the feeling that a touch from a stranger wouldn’t be welcomed. She settled on a smile. “Thank you so much.”

The woman gave her a nod and retreated, closing the door behind her.

Sylvie glanced up at Bryce, eager to get his impression of what had happened.

He was looking past her, in the direction of the street.

She followed his line of sight. The one-way street was quiet. Except for an older man walking a dog and a blue service van pulling into a side street, it looked as though the entire neighborhood was spending Saturday night snuggled in their living rooms. “What do you see?”

Cupping her elbow, he steered her down the walk and driveway, toward his BMW. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

As he circled the car, she jumped into the passenger seat. She had just enough time to secure her seat belt before Bryce pulled away from the curb. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on?”

Eyes flitting to the rearview mirror, he slowly wound through the quiet neighborhood and headed west on University Avenue. “Did you notice the van?”

“The blue one?”

He nodded.

“Are you thinking it’s strange for a service van to be driving around on a Saturday night?”

“Yes, but that’s not all.”

“I hate playing guessing games. Will you just tell me?”

“It belongs to a food service. The type of business that provides produce, meat and canned goods to institutional settings like nursing homes.”

That was about as straightforward as another riddle. “Okay, I’ll bite. You’re wondering what it was doing in that neighborhood?”

He nodded. “On a Saturday night.”

Okay, so that did seem odd. But there could be a perfectly innocent explanation. “Maybe the owner of the company lives there. Or an executive.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No.”

“Remember the redheaded guy who was listening in on our conversation in the hallway of your sister’s building? Diana’s neighbor?”

She hadn’t paid much attention to him, not enough to pick him out in a crowd. “He’s driving the van?”

“It’s dark, but yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

“Why would he be in this neighborhood?”

“The real question is, why is he following us? Look out the back window.”

Sylvie twisted sideways in her seat as if she was talking to Bryce. Covertly she glanced out the back window. Sure enough. Several car lengths back, she saw the hulking shape of a panel van. “You’re right. Why on earth would Diana’s neighbor be following us?”

Bryce veered right on an exit lane that crossed under the street. “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”

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