The Lost Tycoon

Chapter Twelve

He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have stolen a cup with Misty’s saliva on it and had it tested for DNA. One of Damien’s cousins had gotten a sample from Damien, and they both felt like spies in some cheap B movie, but they were trying not to get Damien’s hopes up only to have him find out once again that someone he’d pinned his hopes on wasn’t his sister.

His friend had gone through that four times already since the search had begun to find the baby his mother had willingly given up. Each time, Damien felt more and more sure that he would never meet his sister.

And, man, did Bryson feel guilty about Misty. Sure, he hadn’t wanted her to suffer the same sort of disappointment as Damien had if he and Camden were wrong, and he tried to tell himself that he’d done the right thing, but he knew damn well that he hadn’t. He should have spoken to her, treated her like an adult, not acted in such an underhand manner.

Yes, FBI agents lifted people’s DNA all the time, but he’d never done so on someone he actually cared about.

The result was positive. Misty Elton was Damien Whitfield’s missing sister.

So the news was good. But did the end justify the means? Bryson hoped she wouldn’t hate him for going behind her back to find out who her family was.

When she’d mentioned the note and the name Damien, Bryson had thought the odds were firmly against his friend being her brother, and yet he knew that Damien Whitfield was searching for a lost sister… It certainly wasn’t an impossible coincidence. That’s when he looked at her eyes again, and he remembered where he’d seen similar eyes — Damien. They were identical in color and shape.

Eyes can lie, of course. But DNA is another matter. There was no doubt now that Damien and Misty were brother and sister. So he was holding a phone tightly against his ear, waiting. The ringing seemed to go on for hours, and his rug was surely going to get ruts in it because he couldn’t stop pacing.

“This is Joseph!”

Bryson couldn’t help but smile as the man’s voice boomed through the telephone. No one would ever accuse the head of the Anderson family of being a quiet man. It didn’t matter how much he aged — he would always be larger than life. And he’d most likely never die, either.


“Hello, Joseph, this is Bryson Winchester,” he began, then wondered whether he’d be able to get another word in edgewise during their “conversation.”

“Bryson, my boy! How are you? I figured you forgot how to use a phone, it’s been so long since you’ve rung me,” Joseph scolded him.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Bryson always felt like a disobedient child when Joseph spoke to him. Because he was friends with Joseph’s sons, he’d been to the man’s place a few times, and Joseph was certainly loud and a bit overbearing in his manner. But the man was also always very welcoming. It seemed incredible that he and his sweet and accommodating wife could make such a perfect couple. But they did.

“I suppose I can forgive you, Bryson. After all, you’re a busy man. Have you found someone special yet? Last I spoke to your parents, they were heartbroken — simply devastated — that they still didn’t have grandkids. They have three beautiful children, and not one of you has done the honorable thing — settling down and marrying, and giving them some nice babies to hold.”

Damn. It was worse than just scolding. Less than a minute on the phone with this man and he felt as if he’d been pulled into the principal’s office for skipping class or being caught under the bleachers with Suzy Summers.

“Work keeps me busy, sir. I see my family often, though.”

“Well, I would hope so,” Joseph said. “You’ve got good folks, Bryson, real good folks. Not everyone is as lucky as you are”

“Yes, sir. I’m well aware of that,” he said, then rushed into his next sentence before Joseph could cut him off again. “I’m calling because I have news that I think you’ll be excited about. It pertains to Damien, but I thought it would be best coming from you, since I don’t know him very well.”

“Go on then, and spit it out. I’m not getting any younger,” Joseph bellowed.

A grin spread across Bryson’s face. It wasn’t a wonder at all that Joseph was loved so much. He could sure blow a bunch of smoke, but underneath it all, family was all that truly mattered to him. Not his billions, and not all that he’d accomplished — just having a beautiful, successful, happy family.

“I’ve found his sister.”

Dead silence greeted his proclamation. Bryson was beginning to think he’d lost the connection when he heard a suspicious throat clearing.

“Are you sure, boy?” It almost didn’t sound like Joseph anymore. His voice was unusually quiet and gruff. It sounded as if the large man was fighting tears.

“I had her DNA tested. I haven’t told her about any of it yet. I didn’t want to raise her hopes and then dash them if it turned out that Damien wasn’t her brother. She’s had a…difficult life.”

“I hate to hear that,” Joseph said. “It could have been so much better for her. I’ll never understand why my uncle did what he did, why he had so much hatred in his heart.” The story filled him with sadness even after all these years.

“What do you want me to do, sir? Should I wait to tell her?” Bryson had no idea what his next move should be. Misty was a witness in a case and had a dangerous man coming after her. But this was her family. They would be able to offer her more protection than he could. She’d been without them long enough.

“What’s her name?” Joseph asked.

“Misty Elton. She’s beautiful, smart, and strong — so strong. She’s a witness in a case we’re building against a dirty cop. She’s been through hell and back, and she’s fighting not to get sucked down there again. I do not want to see her hurt any more than she already has been. I don’t know how she’ll react to this, but I have a feeling she won’t be averse to having a family. I just want to make sure it’s what Damien really wants, because I’m sure she can’t handle another rejection in her life. I won’t let that happen,” Bryson said, revealing more about himself than he should have to the meddling Joseph Anderson.

“I see,” Joseph replied, all traces of tears now erased from his voice.

“I will let you digest this and then wait for your call,” Bryson said.

“You won’t be kept waiting long, Bryson. What you’ve done for our family shows what a great man you are. I’ll happily welcome you into the fold.”

What? Welcome him into the fold? Bryson wasn’t calling about himself; he was calling about Misty. He had nothing to do with her family other than as a friend to the boys.

When he hung up the phone, he had no idea that his future was already mapped out in Joseph’s head. The old man was shrewd and he’d just found another match.

And there was nothing that made Joseph Anderson happier than matching up his family members and seeing future generations brought into the world for him to rightfully spoil.

Although Bryson wasn’t ready to tell Misty yet what he’d found out, he had to hear her voice, had to assure himself that she was hanging in there. It had been a few days since their return from Montana, and walking away from her had just about killed him.

He knew he’d made the right decision, but he still regretted leaving her that day. She’d wanted him as desperately as he’d wanted her, and he was beginning to think it wouldn’t be so bad if the two of them spent some…uh…intimate time together. Yes, she was a witness, and, yes, he was responsible for her, but keeping each other warm on a cold night — what was so wrong with that?

Because it was against the rules.

Hell, the rules were meant to be broken.

He dialed her, and then he waited what felt like another eternity for her to pick up her phone.

Her hello came out breathless, and Bryson’s groin instantly tightened. Criminy! First he felt like a disobedient child while speaking with Joseph, and now he felt like a creeper, getting a hard-on like a damn teenager from just the sound of her voice over the phone. What was his problem? He was in his mid-thirties!

“Hi, Misty,” he said, his voice coming out deep and lustful. Yeah, that shouldn’t frighten her. Why not cut straight to the heavy breathing?

She took a breath. “Hi, Bryson. What are you doing?”

“I just needed to speak to you,” he said somewhat lamely.

“Is everything okay?” The instant fear in her voice sucked some of the magic of the moment right out of him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live the way she did — always afraid, always worried the next knock on her door or the next phone call was going to throw her into a life-and-death situation. And she had no one to turn to. No. That wasn’t true — she had him now.

“Everything is fine. I just…I don’t know. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Oh,” she sighed, and he didn’t think she was unhappy to hear what he’d said.

“What are your plans tonight?” Why should he even ask? It wasn’t as if he could just go over there, lift her in his arms and drag her into bed. Could he? No. No, he couldn’t. He needed to stage an intervention, force his thoughts to permanently renounce the gutters they’d taken up residence in.

“Well, since I have the night off work, I have a smorgasbord of thrilling activities planned. While watching old romantic comedies, I’m going to attempt to make progress on that cross-stitch I bought, and then, if I feel real ambitious, I’m going to draw myself a nice warm bath and read the newest Dean Koontz book — because my life isn’t scary enough on its own.”

“Mmm, do you use bubbles or just clear water?” Now why in the hell had he focused on that one part of her sentence? Was he trying to cause himself more pain?

He was pleased and incredulous when she played along.

“I like lots of bubbles,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “I stay in there so long, though, that they all begin popping and I don’t have to rinse them away.”

Hot damn! He found himself digging in his pockets for his keys and stepping toward his front door before he managed to stop himself. This was a very dangerous game they were playing, but he was too competitive to call a foul.

“I know a few places on a woman’s back that are hard to reach. Need some help?” He didn’t know how he wanted her to answer that question. But he knew how he needed her to answer it — needed her to answer so he could stay professional, that is. Because he was so close to saying to hell with ethics and to head right on over to wash her beautiful and surely silky back.

“I think I have it covered. I have one of those long-handled brushes,” she said, but her breathing had deepened. Their little wordplay was affecting her as much as it was him.

“One word is all it will take, and I’ll be at your door in less than ten minutes.” Bryson wanted to kick himself for his weakness, but he was unable to take his offer back.

As he heard her breath whoosh in loudly on the other end of the line, his heart thundered. What would she decide? If he went there, he had no doubt they’d end up in her bed.

He’d worked long enough — early retirement was good, wasn’t it? That’s how badly he wanted her. Badly enough to risk the career he’d been building. Badly enough to throw it all away for one night with her.


Bryson somehow knew it wouldn’t only be one night, though — he knew that once he sank inside her hot folds, he wouldn’t be the same ever again. Even if he was thinking with his hormones, even though his brain was trying to put the brakes on, none of that mattered.

Logic wasn’t possible in this situation.

He didn’t know how long the silence stretched out, but he eventually heard a sigh, and his groin jumped.

“It wouldn’t be wise, Bryson. There’s just…too much in the way,” she said, but he heard clear regret in her voice.

His body was going to be aching for another night, at least. Sure, he could talk her out of this — could change her mind. If he showed up, he knew she’d let him in. But then she might hate him the next day and assign him to the same miserable category as Jesse. A night of pleasure wasn’t worth that.

“Goodnight, Misty,” he whispered, thinking it was time for a ten-mile jog. Maybe he’d just extend that to a marathon.

“Goodnight, Bryson.”

He held the phone for several moments after she hung up, his fingers clasped so tightly around the device, it was a wonder it didn’t break.

Finally he set it down, then went to his bedroom and changed. He was just going to run until he passed out. That seemed the only logical solution.