Secrets and Seduction: 5 Romance Novels (51 page)

He stiffened. They had a spy in his life, in his home. Who would suspect a beautiful woman? Who but him?

“Bryce, are you all right?” Ciara touched his arm and he had difficulty not jerking away from her.

“I liked that car.” It was the safest thing he could say to throw her off the scent.

Even if she wasn’t a double agent for Steele’s adversary, if she reported to anyone but Steele she could still be a dupe. She could be reporting what she thought were innocuous things, but were in fact things that could get him killed. While keeping him locked in Steele’s trap, she left him vulnerable to hunters and other predators.

God, he hated this. He couldn’t chuck it all and walk away. His only friends were here and probably as vulnerable as he was. They could be targeted to make him come to heel. If he didn’t care, he could walk away from Steele’s trap. But he did care. He knew of only one way to keep him and his friends safe — that was to get Steele locked away for life.

But trying to do that while pretending to get Steele acquitted — without arousing Ciara’s suspicions — would be a dangerous and difficult undertaking.

“Bryce, it’s okay to be rattled by this. You could have been in the car.”

“Yeah. Well I wasn’t. Your car’s hood is dented, by the way.”

Her head snapped around and she swore.

“You probably want to move it before the fire department gets here,” Bryce added.

Ciara frowned at him, and then whirled and headed back to the house. Her concern seemed so real. It was something he wanted badly. He had to remember she was playing a part. She was his jailor. Even if she was only working for Steele and not for the people who wanted him dead, she was paid to lie to him. He couldn’t count on her for anything in the long run but deception and betrayal.

Bryce watched the fire department douse the flames. He suffered the Grosse Pointe Woods police department’s questions, and those from the bomb squad, and he sighed with resignation when FBI agents Garrison and Pollack arrived.

“Are you ready to go into protective custody now?” Pollack asked, nodding towards the burned-out shell of Bryce’s car.

Ciara still hovered by him. Bryce couldn’t talk freely while she was around. And since she was a witness, he couldn’t dismiss her.

Bryce shook his head. “They missed again.”

“Next time they might not,” Garrison warned.

Ciara said, “Bryce, maybe you should.”

So he’d be a stalking goat staked out for the hunters to pick off at their leisure? Even now, he couldn’t say for sure if Steele owned these FBI agents or not. Maybe they’d told him about the rival in order to herd him into protective custody.

He had to stay free and retain enough privacy to play his own double agent game. “I’m on a major case. I can’t do my job if I’m in protective custody.”

“You can’t get Steele off if you’re dead,” Ciara snapped.

Oh, very good
. Bryce wanted to applaud. She’d injected the right amount of outrage in her voice. Of course, if she were working for Steele alone, she’d want him to succeed.
You can’t have it both ways, Gannon. She’s either for you succeeding, or she wants you dead.
God, he wished he knew which.

“If not protective custody, at least let us assign police protection to you. That might prevent future attempts on your life,” Garrison offered.

Bryce looked at his car again. He still ran the risk of any cop being in Steele’s employ. Which was better, to worry about an unknown, unseen assassin or to be able to pinpoint someone sent to guard him who might or might not be on Steele’s payroll? If the cop was honest, Bryce would still have to keep alert for possible death threats. He was positive Steele could make sure one of his people got the assignment to protect Bryce. But Steele couldn’t assure his people’s loyalties, not while this power play was happening.

Bryce would go crazy playing these guessing games about the people around him. Better to limit the number.

“I’ll think about it,” he told the Feds.

Pollack’s face flushed with what Bryce thought was anger. Garrison looked like he wanted to argue. Bryce turned and walked back towards the house. The bomb had sapped his meager store of energy. All he wanted was to sit down and breathe, but he had to call for window repairs, a professional cleaning company, his office, his insurance company, and Mrs. McCleary.

Ciara dogged his steps. “Bryce, you’re making the wrong choice. You need to listen to the FBI.”

He whirled. He needed time to regroup in private where he felt safe. “What I need is for you to interview those witnesses. This trial isn’t going to wait while you argue with me.”

As he walked away, Bryce could feel Ciara’s angry gaze on his back. Tough. But when he reached the kitchen, he began to shake. The last time he’d been caged — during the hazing — Paul, Roger, and Sean had come to his rescue. Paul and Roger were fighting their own cages. Could Sean rescue Bryce by himself? Or was Bryce on his own this time?

• • •

Ciara watched Bryce walk away, fuming and terrified at the same time — terrified
for him
. What was the matter with him that he wouldn’t accept police protection? Whoever wanted him dead meant business.

His face had been a cold, emotionless mask. Did it mean nothing to him that someone was gunning for him? Why did getting Steele acquitted mean more than his life? Was the mobster the key to Bryce getting a judgeship? Surely there were other ways to get elected. And, as she’d told Bryce, he wouldn’t be anything if he were dead.

The police gave her permission to drive her dented car away from the scene. She’d have to call her insurance company. But first she needed to make a very important phone call to her boss. A few miles down the road she pulled into a gas station.

Lawrence Baisden was appalled at the news. “It wasn’t my intention to send you into the line of fire, Ciara. Come back here until the situation resolves itself. If we need to, we can investigate at a later date.”

“You mean abandon Bryce to his fate?” And another thought followed quickly on the heels of the first. “By ‘resolves itself’ do you mean that if Bryce is killed the point becomes moot?” Was Baisden that cold-blooded?

“That wasn’t what I meant. It’s too dangerous for you there. I don’t want you to become collateral damage.”

“I got close to Gannon during his moment of weakness. If I leave now, he won’t let me back in. I’m sure of it.”

Baisden sighed. “I could order you home.”

“You could, but you won’t. This is the best chance we have to find out the truth about Gannon’s relationship with Steele.”

“I know. By the way, I finished the financial check on Gannon. He inherited the house in Grosse Pointe from his parents.”

Ciara tried not to name the relief she felt, but something tight in her chest eased. “He said he didn’t have any family.”

“His parents died in a car crash while he was at the University of Michigan. They were old money, Ciara. So were his grandparents. Gannon was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was sent to boarding school when he was twelve. I was surprised he didn’t attend Harvard, his father’s alma mater.

“He’s got family money, so if he’s corrupt it’s not because someone bought him. His name is good enough to run for judge, but Steele’s backing could clinch a seat on the bench.”

“So why does a rich boy defend criminals?” Ciara mused.

“That’s what I want to know. Keep digging, and watch your back.”

“I will.”

Ciara hung up feeling a strange sense of jubilation. She’d get to stay and try to figure out the enigma that was Bryce. When had she changed from thinking of him as Gannon to Bryce? And when had his safety become more important to her than her own? She felt pity for the young boy sent away from his parents. Had he learned to be coldly impassive at boarding school because he was afraid to show he missed his parents? She was losing her impartial perspective.

• • •

“Sean, someone just tried to kill me,” Bryce told his friend.

Sean made choking noises into the phone. “What? Are you all right?”

“Bruised and shaken. My car is totaled, though.” Bryce sipped hot, sweet tea to settle his nerves and watched the police through the glassless kitchen windows.

“What? Were you driving? What happened?”

Bryce told Sean about the car bomb.

“You need police protection,” Sean responded immediately.

“I can’t risk it,” Bryce admitted. “Adam Steele’s reach is everywhere, probably even to the cops.”

“You think Steele’s trying to kill you? But you’re defending him. You’re his best chance of acquittal.”

“Not Steele. Remember what the Feds said about the power struggle?”

“Then call the Feds.”

“Steele probably has contacts there too. There’s an FBI office in town. It’s probably great to have federal cops on the payroll.”

“Talk to those two FBI agents. I don’t think they would have told you about Steele’s rival if they were on his payroll.”

“But how can I be sure?” Bryce told Sean his theory about the Feds.

“Bryce, I thought you got over your trust issues.”

Anger sparked inside Bryce, burning away the icy fear. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Sean. You’re my friend, not my shrink. Somebody’s tried to kill me twice. I think I’ve got a right to be leery.”

There was a pause before Sean spoke again, and then he seemed to choose his words carefully. “Then call another FBI office. Call Washington DC or Quantico. Tell them what you’re afraid of.”

Would another office pass the buck right back to Detroit? And what if Agents Garrison and Pollack were actually good cops? Then questioning their honesty might ruin them.

When Bryce didn’t respond, Sean spoke again. “Bryce, there’s another choice.”

“What?”

“If you want to hide, I can get you into the sanitarium where I have privileges, anonymously of course. Some famous people have gone there to dry out in the rehab wing.”

It was tempting to lose himself among the rich Detroiters whose vices had gotten out of control. But it would be difficult to work there and there’d be no privacy from the other inmates. Still.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Do you need anything?”

Bryce needed a friend, someone he could trust implicitly. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

“Um, I have a date.”

Disappointment swamped Bryce. “Some other time then.”

“No, you want to talk. I want to help. It’s just … I cancelled on her the first night you were in the hospital.”

Oh. Bryce couldn’t ask his friend to cancel twice on a woman on his account.

Sean blurted, “I’ll reschedule some patients and come over this afternoon. Let me work on it.”

“No, your patients need you.”

“So do you.”

“It’s okay, Sean. I’ll call Paul or Roger.”

Yet when Bryce hung up, he hesitated to call the others. They had problems enough of their own. But they should hear about the bombing from him before they heard it on the news.

His conversations with Paul and Roger, and Christian and Gabrielle too, reassured him. People cared about him and his welfare. Gabrielle offered to come touch the remains of his car to see if she could psychically identify the bomber.

That hadn’t occurred to him. He knew what she could do but he’d been an evidence man so long he didn’t consider other avenues.

Unfortunately, his car had been removed to the CSI crime lab and was off-limits to Gabrielle. Bryce didn’t know what he’d do if she got a description anyway, unless the major crimes unit could identify the person that way. And then what? Without evidence, they couldn’t convict. He knew all about getting the bad guys off on lack of evidence.

Crap. He never thought he’d be on this side of the fence wanting to convict on circumstantial evidence. Guilt ate at him like acid in his gut. How helpless those victims must have felt when big bad Bryce Gannon used the law against them. Hell, he’d loved the law until now, loved its logic, its purity, its structure. Now he saw how it was used to perpetrate injustice. He’d become the bad guy. He felt sick. It hadn’t been his intention to harm innocent people.

They said payback was hell.

Bryce found security in the familiar. He’d never stopped to consider it before, but ensconced in his office for the first time in more than a week, he felt safe. Even though the ricin attack had occurred here, this was where his armor was strongest. His employees knew only the persistent winner without weakness or vulnerability. He’d built a firm foundation here, and thick walls. His staff had welcomed him back with inquiries after his health and he’d assured them of his recovery without inviting further personal conversation.

His home was nearly back to normal and Mrs. McCleary was overseeing the work’s completion. He was amazed once more how fast money got work done. He’d spent the evening with Paul and Roger, so he was feeling his usual self once more.

Bryce suffered his first moment of disorientation that everything in his office was out of place, but he firmed his will and got to work.

The second moment came when Ciara entered his office. She didn’t belong here in her red blouse and red and black flame-patterned skirt. He’d worked with her in the hospital and in his home office, both informal situations where he’d allowed her liberties he wouldn’t dream of granting his employees. Now that he was operating from his usual position of strength and power, he needed to have the same detached relationship with her that he had with everyone else in his office.

She scrutinized him without trying to appear to do so. “How did you get here today?”

“The same way you did.”

“I doubt that.” Her dark brows pinched. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because this is my office. I don’t engage in idle chatter with my employees.”

Ciara smiled. “Ah. You’re the king and this is your kingdom.”

Bryce fought an answering smile but one corner of his mouth quirked up a little. “Something like that. I take it you have the interviews from yesterday?”

She handed him her typed notes. “The second one, Harold Andryzak, recently underwent quadruple bypass. I had to track him down in the hospital.”