The Lost Tycoon

Chapter Eleven

Somehow she’d done something to upset Bryson. That could be the only explanation for why he hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since they’d left Montana. She just couldn’t figure out what was wrong — or, more specifically, what she’d done wrong.

Maybe he was disgusted with her now. First, he’d had to listen to her testimony about Jesse and the things she’d allowed that vile man to do to her, and then she’d ogled Brad Paisley. She’d be disgusted with herself if she weren’t still starstruck. But it would explain why Bryson wasn’t speaking to her.

Up to this point he’d been so kind, so charming, so comforting, but she’d long realized that it was probably all part of his job — keep the witness happy, secure, and ready to testify.

She was too chicken to ask him what was going on, so she simply matched his silence when they landed, while she walked by his side as Bryson grabbed her carry-on bag, and when she kept pace with him as they left the airport and were transported to the parking lot. A whole lot of silence.

In just a little while, she’d be all alone back at her house, where she could break down and have a good cry if she wanted, or maybe throw on some sweats and go for a jog. She couldn’t figure out at the moment which she’d prefer.

Probably the jog, since it would burn more calories than tears would. Besides, she’d been too sedentary lately, and a jog would tucker her out. True, she might well pass out in the first five minutes because it had been so long since she’d run. For a short time during her year with Jesse she’d been on a fitness quest, and that was probably the only reason she’d been able to make it to her car and escape him.

He’d allowed her to jog only in certain locations and only while he was there to ensure that she didn’t speak to any other men, but she’d been happy with the activity. It had given her a few moments of peace. He’d liked the result of her being in such great shape — her body was able to take more of his abuse.

The thought of running outside among so many strangers was a bit daunting, but she wasn’t going to let her old fears — heck, her new fears, her constant fears — hold her back. She’d already made that decision and she was sticking to it.

If she chickened out on the very first activity she decided upon after giving her deposition, she was once again letting Jesse win. So, yes, a jog it was, she thought emphatically. Exercise saved lives.

She and Bryson arrived at her house and she didn’t even try to argue when he insisted on walking her inside. This time, though, he brought his briefcase with him, and she wondered what he had planned. With the silent treatment he’d been giving her, she figured he’d want to be in and out of there as quickly as possible.

Once he’d checked all the rooms, he moved to her kitchen table and set down the briefcase. “I know you’re tired, Misty, but I want you to look at some stills taken from surveillance footage. If you can identify any of the people with Jesse in these photos, that would help us. I know you won’t remember dates, but if you can tell us if these people were ever inside Jesse’s apartment and if you saw anything, we can strengthen the case even more.”

She didn’t really want to continue diving back into that world, but how could she say no? The more help she gave, the more chance this would all end. Maybe sooner than everyone hoped.

“Why didn’t you have me do this sooner?”

“Because we wanted your testimony first, so it was from you alone, and not from something we’d placed in front of you, planted in your brain. The prosecuting attorney will look for anything to weaken our case, and if he thinks we in any way tried to persuade you of anything, lead you to any conclusion, he can make the jury believe that. We have to do each of these steps in a certain order.”

“I understand,” she said, though she didn’t really. None of this made a lot of sense to her; at least the process behind it all didn’t. What she did fully understand is there was a possibility of Jesse’s going to prison, and if he did, he could never touch her again.

“Drink this,” he said, placing a cup of water in front of her.

Without thought, she gripped it and sipped as she began flipping through the hundreds of images. Then her world tilted, taking her back to that hellhole of an apartment. When she saw him going up the stairs with a small, dark-haired girl, the picture dated a few months after Misty had left, she felt sympathy for the woman.

“I wonder if she’s still alive,” Misty whispered, and Bryson leaned over the back of her chair to see which picture she was looking at.

“No. Sadly, she isn’t alive. Though he took up with her after you, I’m hoping that maybe you will have some information on her. Did you ever see her around?”

More fear shot through her. She could have been this woman, one of the ones whom Jesse killed when he was done with her. Every day she was thankful to have escaped.

“I don’t remember her. There were several women, as you know, that he brought in while we were still together, but her face isn’t one I remember. And I don’t think I would forget. I don’t think I’ll forget a single thing from that time in my life.”

“No, I don’t think you will, either. I only hope that over time, you will start to heal, and eventually it will all be nothing but a vague recollection, without any measurable sting.” Bryson laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She focused back on the picture. “She’s so pretty here. Why does he do this? Why does it make him feel like a man? I just can’t understand it,” she said. She’d received broken bones, been raped, violated, and chained — and she’d been one of the lucky ones. How could this man get away with so much, ruin so many lives?

“She was loved by her parents, and missed greatly. I don’t know why he does what he does, but he won’t ever touch you again, Misty. That time is over — it’s in the past. If we didn’t have to dredge up the past, making you go through this day after day, you’d be so much closer to healing. I’m so sorry.” Bryson took his other hand and clutched her other shoulder, letting her know he was right there.

Needing the contact, needing some sort of connection, Misty placed her fingers over his. She was closer to tears at this moment than she’d been while giving a detailed account of her own torture. Seeing another victim made it all so much more real.


He hadn’t stopped torturing women after Misty had gotten away. He would never stop. And he would eventually get her. She didn’t know how or when, but he would. She’d tried to think otherwise, but she knew that now. Still, she’d made the right choice in giving her deposition, and she had no regrets.

“Come here,” Bryson said, pulling her from the chair she felt glued to. Before she even thought of stopping him, he drew her against his hard chest, wrapping his strong, comforting arms around her back and holding her close.

She couldn’t help but take what he was offering. There wasn’t a price attached to this gift he was giving her. No expectations. He was just trying to make her feel as if there was another person in this huge universe who was with her, if only for this tiny moment in time. She allowed herself to feel something other than fear and sorrow, and she melted against him.

Sighing when his hands moved slowly up and down her back, soothing, gentle, letting her know he was there to help — a friend, in fact — Misty found herself sinking further and further down a path she shouldn’t take. But isn’t that what she wanted? Didn’t she need a friend? Still, how would she know? She’d never, ever had one.

There had never been anyone in her life she could lean on. No one to comfort her and make her feel better when life was at its darkest, no best friend to giggle with and tell her secrets to, no person to cry with when it felt as if the world were ending.

So, yes, she wanted a friend, but as Bryson’s hands skimmed over her shoulders and ran gently through her hair, she knew it would also be nice to have more than a friend. It would be nice to feel his touch on her naked skin, to feel his lips slide across her mouth.

A sense of guilt for harboring such thoughts assailed her, but her desire was stronger. She hadn’t thought she’d want a man again — not after what Jesse had done to her — but this was desire. It was more than desire. This emotion was unlike anything her body had felt before.

It didn’t seem possible, but her body melded completely with his, and she had no idea where she ended and he began. If she just lifted her head from his chest, would he kiss her?

As she pushed against him in her desperation to get closer, she felt the clear evidence that he wasn’t unaffected. But despite the way his arousal was pressing against her stomach, his movements remained gentle, his hands soothing. As her body heated further, her muscles tensed, and her mouth opened, he did nothing more than rub gently along her spine.

Would he ever kiss her? She was afraid to find out. Afraid that he would kiss her back — and afraid of the rejection when he didn’t. If he could hear the thoughts running through her head, he’d know for sure that she had lost it, and he’d check her into a psych house.

But then he moved his hand to her neck, sending shivers through her, and his fingers grasped her chin.

He leaned back. “Misty,” he whispered, sending instant heat to her core, a pulsing, molten heat nearly burning her from the inside.

“Yes,” she said, not knowing whether she was saying yes to a kiss, or yes to her name.

He looked into her eyes for a moment longer before he groaned, then his head leaned forward and his beautiful lips took hers, making her knees sag as passion spiked to a boiling point in her hungry body.

One arm remained around her back, pressing her tightly against him as his other hand cradled her face and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding easily inside her willing mouth.

Their moans mingled as he caressed her lips, plundered her mouth, stoked her ever-building flames of desire. She didn’t know how much time passed — seconds, minutes, hours. Time was irrelevant. As long as she was in the safety of his arms, she was unhurt. Untouchable, except by him.

When he pulled back, she grew confused and disoriented, and she felt as if her body belonged to someone else.

“I have to leave, Misty,” he said, both hands on her arms, steadying her as she tried to clear the fog from her brain, tried to focus her eyes on his flushed face.

“What?” Her thoughts were muddled.

His eyes were on fire, and she could finally focus enough to see them.

“I have to leave now, or I’m going to lift you in my arms, carry you to your bed just a few yards away, and make love to you all night.”

What was wrong with that? She didn’t get a chance to ask. He groaned and looked away.

“You’re a witness under my protection. I can’t do this.” He was speaking as if through pain.

Respect. That’s what she was feeling — utter and total respect for this man. His job was important to him. She wouldn’t be the person to interfere with that.

“Then you’d better go,” she said, and he turned relieved eyes on her. Had he thought she was going to jump his bones? Well… No. She wasn’t going to do that. Tempting, but no.

“I’ll be back when I…uh…cool off,” he said with a light chuckle.

“Better make it a while,” she warned him. She needed some cooling off herself.

“What are you doing to me, Misty?”

He ran his hand along her cheek again. She turned her head and kissed his palm, unable to resist. She had to admit that she felt tremendous power when she saw a shudder run through him.

It was euphoric to feel desire, to feel burning need, and still feel trust, still know that this man wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t push her, would continue to respect her.

The more she knew him, the more her confused emotions began to straighten out, and all she wanted was to call him back, hold him close, and take from him what he could give her. Security, respect, relief.

Without another word, he turned, seized his briefcase, and strode from her kitchen and out of the house. She heard his footsteps stop as he waited for her to lock the door, then he moved down the walk. She went to the window and watched him drive away.

She’d made that look of hunger enter his eyes. She turned that man on with nothing but a little kiss — and he’d been man enough to do the right thing and walk away. Right now, the right thing didn’t feel very right, but she found herself smiling anyway, because she felt safe and protected. And she also felt desired. In a good way.

As she wandered to the bedroom and lay down, even though it was early in the afternoon, she wondered whether she’d been too hasty. Never before had her body ached so badly, and never had she needed someone so much.

And not just someone, but something. She wanted Bryson, but not just in her bed. She wanted his company and his comfort. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her she was safe. She wanted the man in so many ways, it was impossible to describe.

If she could just learn to trust herself again, then maybe she could believe what she was seeing, believe what she was feeling.

Instead sharing a bed with her usual companion, confusion, Misty drifted to sleep with a hopeful smile on her face. The jog would certainly be needed when she awoke, more now than ever before. She had a massive overload of hormones to burn from her body.