The Lost Tycoon

Chapter Three

Bryson paced restlessly through the suite as he waited for Misty to finish her shower. It seemed much easier to bring her back to the hotel, get her a room, and let her take some time to compose herself before they questioned her.

It had taken over an hour to convince her that they were really from the FBI and they were there to help her. Well, if he had to be completely honest, they were there to help their case. But, by getting Jesse behind bars, they were helping Misty.

That was important.

She had more information stored in her brain than she realized. Jesse Marcus was the true definition of a bad cop, and Bryson was going to bust his ass. The man was mixed up in drugs, prostitution, and murder. He was going down.

At first, Bryson had thought that Misty might be involved in it all, but after reviewing the surveillance tapes, checking into her tragic history, and basically learning everything he could about her, he knew she was innocent. Sometimes his radar was wrong, but he didn’t think so in this case.

She’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she was now paying a high price for crossing paths with that man. Misty Elton was lucky to be alive.

And Bryson intended to keep her that way.

“What do you want to eat?”

Bryson turned to find Axel leaning quietly against the door, a bored smirk on his face. This was a part of their job they both hated — babysitting.

“Is everything secure?” he asked, ignoring the question.

“Yep. We’re all clear outside. I had a nice stroll,” Axel said.

“Good. I want to keep the local law enforcement out of this. She doesn’t trust them, and frankly, I understand why. We’ll never get her to talk if the men in blue show up.”

“Yeah, it’s cases like these that make me appreciate my job more. I don’t know how men like Jesse ever pass the tests to become police officers.”

“We both know it happens,” Bryson said with a sigh.

“Okay, I’m starved. What should I get?” Axel asked again.

“Burgers will be fine,” Bryson said. He had no appetite at the moment.

“Nah. We had those the last few nights. Let’s do Chinese.”

“Why ask my opinion, Axel, when you’re just going to get whatever you feel like?”

“’Cause it’s always fun to annoy you.” Axel grabbed his coat and headed from the room.

The two men had been colleagues for the past five years, had been through some less than ideal cases, and they knew each other well enough to keep alive. Axel was his best friend, his confidant, his brother-in-arms.

The shower clicked off and Bryson tensed. He didn’t understand why this woman was getting under his skin. She was just another victim in a long line of them — just another case. There was no reason to take any of this personally. No reason to get worked up over it. It was a standard case, pretty much cut-and-dry. They get her testimony; they lock her slimy ex up.

A doubt nagged at him. What if she was too afraid to get up in the witness box? Well, his job was to give her confidence, make sure she knew she was protected. It wasn’t an easy task, because they didn’t know how many of the policemen Jesse was working with were corrupt.

He had no doubt that if Jesse got his hands on her again, he would kill her.

However, if she pulled out, they had quite a few other witnesses. It was just that they didn’t want this case to fall apart for any reason, and if all the witnesses got jumpy and bailed, Jesse would walk. That was unacceptable.

He was really just worried about the case. That was all. So why this immediate need to take this woman’s burdens upon himself? He’d held many women while they sobbed in his arms. And nothing. He’d never felt the slightest trace of emotion stirring inside himself.

Walking over to the patio door, frustrated, he flung it open, and a strong gust blew inside the room, flipping his tie over his shoulder and cooling the room instantly. Seattle was definitely a cold place in February. He’d rather be home in Montana, truth to tell — though the winters were harsher, rain wasn’t as constant a presence there. First choice? His place in L.A. The women wore far less clothing, which was always a plus.

Especially since those women went for him in a big way. Bryson’s deep tan never had a chance to fade, because he did a lot of work in warmer climates, and the bright gray eyes in his lean face and his solid jawline set him apart from other men. He wasn’t someone easily ignored.

Bryson could certainly turn on the charm, and he knew when to use it to his advantage. The intense, almost animal light that would enter his eyes when he was interrogating a suspect had elicited more than one confession. His smile could either inspire confidence or inflict terror, depending on the mood he wished to set.

Though Bryson could be frightening as hell, he normally left the bad-cop routine to Axel. His colleague enjoyed it more than he did nowadays. Turning thirty-five last year had seemed to be a pivotal moment for him — he must be mellowing in his old age.

Sheesh. He wanted to kick himself. He was thinking like he already had one foot in the grave. What was the matter with him?

It had to be this city. Seattle was so damn gloomy, always messing with his mind. The sooner he could persuade Misty to hop on a plane with him, come home and give her deposition, the better off they would all be.

Yes, he could force her into testifying, subpoena her, keep her locked up, but he’d rather not put her through more trauma. She’d been abused enough. If he could get her to do this willingly, it would be so much better for them all. What was unusual in this case was that he cared.

Normally, it was very black and white, and Bryson didn’t bother with a witness’s fragile emotions. But he’d seen what Jesse had done to some of the other women, had heard their stories — when they were alive to tell them — and he just couldn’t make Misty suffer any more than she already had.

The quiet rustle in the bathroom made him aware that Misty was now slipping on the clothes Axel had bought during a run to the local Walmart. They probably weren’t the most comfortable, but they’d do for now. Because he and Axel had found Misty, that meant Jesse most likely knew where she was, too.

It was only a matter of time before the man either showed up or sent someone to silence her permanently. That bad cop had to know that his game was almost up — and he knew Misty was going to be the final nail in his coffin.

The only way Bryson could fully protect her was if she agreed to testify, and if her testimony was crucial to the case. He hated the politics, hated that they would have no choice but to leave her to sink or swim if she wasn’t useful enough.

Did that make them no better than the dirty cop they were dealing with?

When the door from the bathroom opened, Bryson took a double look. With the heavy makeup she’d sported at the fast-food joint now gone and the dull brown color contacts out, she was breathtaking. Her eyes, which were a little too large for her sunken cheekbones, were definitely her best feature, a compelling dark green with specks of silver shining in them. Her full lips were more relaxed than they’d been earlier, though pointed just a bit downward, and her hair had disappeared into a towel on top of her head.

The clothes were too big, hanging loosely on her small frame, but as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt, he could see that she preferred the larger clothes to something too tight. His colleague had no clue how to shop for women, but it looked as if Axel had done all right.

After taking his time memorizing every single feature on her slim face, he found himself gazing at that luscious mouth. He wouldn’t mind taking a taste — just one little taste.

Of course, he wouldn’t.

Shaking his head, he looked down and inhaled deeply. This was getting more bizarre by the second. It was time to rein himself in and take care of his witness — not scare her all over again. If she noticed the way he was gazing at her mouth, she was sure to run.

He was acting no better than her ex right now. And to be compared to that man was a definite insult, even if he was doing the comparing himself.

“I hope the shower helped,” he said a bit awkwardly after they’d both stood in silence for too long.

“Yes, thank you.” She moved over to a chair and sat, pulling her legs up to her chest and hugging them close. Her body language spoke volumes — the telltale signs of someone needing to protect herself.


“Do you want to sleep first, or can you talk?” They had a lot to accomplish and he hoped she’d talk. But he wasn’t sure what would be said right now. It was going to take her at least a day or two to trust him.

“What do you want from me?” This time, she looked up, right into his eyes, and he saw a measure of strength that made him oddly happy.

She might be afraid, might be out of her element, but there was a strand of steel running up her spine that was keeping her alive — the only thing, it seemed.

“We need to talk about your ex, Jesse Marcus.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly before she suppressed her emotions and took a long intake of oxygen. She paused for a moment to choose her words. She had to be careful not to reveal too much. It was a game — and she intended to be the winner.

She wouldn’t give him anything that he didn’t drag from her.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she said, lifting her hands and undoing the towel wrapped on her head. The wet strands of her hair fell down past her shoulders, hanging over the front of the knees still pressed up against her chest.

The long, dark brown strands were a perfect complement to her delicate features and green eyes. She was truly a beauty, and after a few months of security, that beauty would be like a beacon on a cold, foggy night, drawing people from near and far.

“Let’s make a deal not to lie to each other, Misty. Why don’t you make yourself more comfortable by asking me some questions?” He gave her a smooth smile that was supposed to instill trust.

“Where did you come from?” she finally asked.

“I’m based in Montana, but I travel all over the U.S.”

“Doing what exactly?”

“I mainly look for major drug dealers, the men and women who are killing people with their product and their ‘cutthroat’ business practices. I’m not interested in the small-timers, and not in the people who are hurting only themselves or trying to take care of their cancer. The locals can handle them. I like to make sure the big players are all set up in their new homes for the next twenty-five to life.”

“You’re good at your job, aren’t you?”

“Very good.” This was an area he was sure of — there weren’t any blurred lines. The people were either guilty or not. He’d never found a criminal dealing tons of cocaine who had a valid excuse for breaking the law.

“Obviously, then, you enjoy your job,” she said, her shoulders loosening up just a bit as she let go of her hold on her knees. She crossed her legs and began to run her fingers through her hair; fiddling with it seemed to calm her.

“I love my job. It doesn’t get much better than stopping the bad guys.”

“I can see you’re also rather humble,” she said, her first hint at a joke. This was progress!

“Yeah, in my line of work, humility is a must,” he said, his lips turning up in a blinding grin.

“I remember when I was so impressed with anyone who worked on the so-called right side of the law,” she told him with a bitter sigh. “That was before I learned how the world really works.”

That knocked him down a peg or two, and his smile faltered. “And how is that, Misty?”

“It isn’t the good guys and the bad. There are only those with power — some with too much power. The more they get, the more they want. The more they need. I used to think that when you put on a uniform, strapped on that gun belt and held that badge, it meant you were someone people should look up to. Now I know that’s not always the case. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of men and women who know the sanctity of that uniform, but there are also a lot who use it to get whatever they think they deserve.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Misty. There are a lot of rotten men and women out there. That’s why I need your help to keep one of them off the streets. If we lock Jesse up, he can’t hurt you, and he can’t hurt anyone else either, ever again.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“With my entire being.”

“How did you find me?”

Ah. Her question revealed that he was getting somewhere. She wasn’t denying that she was Misty. Finally.

“It wasn’t easy. Took me a long time, but persistence pays off.”

“That wasn’t an answer. I mean, how did you find me? How did you know who I was?”

“I shouldn’t divulge my secrets…” he began, but as the shutters began closing over her eyes, he decided to give her this one. “Another agent came in and had lunch at the place you were employed. You were working the counter. Though your disguise is good, we’re trained to see past the mask of makeup, the makeshift disguises, and see who is behind it all. He had a good feeling it was you. When he snuck a picture and sent it to me, I knew.”

“It was that simple?” Her shoulders slipped, and she stopped combing her hair.

“Hey. It’s been almost a year since you disappeared off the face of the planet. I wouldn’t exactly call that simple. I’ve had your picture on my wall that entire time, so I would hope that I could recognize you.”

She waited. He hadn’t asked her another question. Those green eyes looked somewhere over his shoulder, and he knew she’d rather be any other place than sitting in this room with him. It was time to drop the “good cop” role.

“Are you seeing anyone, Ms. Elton?” Where in the hell had that question come from? It hadn’t been what he’d been expecting to say. Her personal life was none of his business, and it certainly had no impact on the case in any way.

“I… What does that matter?” she asked, but he just looked back at her, his expression impassive as he waited for her answer. “No,” she finally murmured.

Good. He didn’t know why that pleased him — she was a witness, dammit. It would be breaking every sort of ethical rule he knew even to consider asking her out. He’d known the moment he’d asked that question that he was crossing a line. He should have retracted it. But he’d be showing her a chink in his armor, and that wasn’t a wise move at this point in the questioning.

“How long did you date Jesse Marcus?” There. That was a legitimate question. At least he was reining himself in.

“It was a while ago, and I’d rather not discuss him.” She lifted her hands to fiddle with her hair again. The way she tugged at the strands was a good gauge of her feelings, Bryson found. The faster she pulled, the more distressed she was. When she slowed down, she was relaxing.

He was already learning her moves — learning what made her tick, or at least a part of it —and he’d been with her only a few hours.

She had slender hands. They were also the hands of a woman not afraid to work, not afraid to get her nails dirty or broken, but still, her fingers were slim and pretty, and they looked as if they should be adorned with gold and jewels, not rough from scrubbing pots and pans and using industrial cleaners.

This was now past irrational and into the Twilight Zone. He’d never before had such a difficult time focusing on a witness and on keeping an interrogation going in the right direction. Pull yourself together.

“Did you participate in any criminal activities with Mr. Marcus?”

Her head snapped up and fire lit up her eyes. That had certainly pushed a few of her buttons. Good. He didn’t want her to be guilty.

“Do I need a lawyer, Mr. Winchester?” Her tone was strong as she once again met his gaze.

Though it was foolish of him, he felt pride for her strength, pride for her ability to stand strong in the midst of all this terror. This woman would fight — fight to put Jesse behind bars where he belonged. Bryson just had to convince her that the fight wouldn’t kill her, that she could be kept safe.

“You are certainly entitled to one,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He saw that the movement made her tense up. Did she honestly think he’d be reaching for his gun? Maybe. That was the only kind of law she was familiar with right now. He’d have to show her that not all men who carried a gun liked to terrorize others.

He pulled out a business card and walked over to her slowly, holding it out, and waiting for her to accept it. “He’s good — very good.” Bryson stepped back and waited.

She held the card, running her fingers along the edge, across the face, feeling the way the expensive lettering rose from the surface. The lawyer was a personal friend of his, and the man hadn’t lost a case in…well…ever, at least that Bryson knew of.

“He’s one of the attorneys who have been secured for the witnesses on this case, to answer questions, address concerns, and to take statements when you’re ready. He’s not on the prosecution’s team; he’s just offered his services for witness questions. If you don’t trust him after you meet, you can get a referral for another attorney, but I’m telling you, he’s good, one of the best I know, and I don’t trust a lot of lawyers. You don’t have to take just the word of our team on this, Misty, but please give him a chance and speak with him.”

“I did see some…stuff…”


“That’s good, Misty. Tell me what you know,” he said, keeping his tone smooth, polite, trustworthy.

“I just don’t know if I can do this.” Her fingers began to tremble.

“You can, Misty. This is the right thing to do. I’ll keep you safe and then that man will never hurt another person again — will never hurt you again.” It was a vow he hoped to keep. If his agency said she wasn’t needed, his hands would be tied. After only a few hours, he felt a need to keep her protected, and the only way would be if she talked.

She looked up, paused a couple of heartbeats before barely whispering: “Not everything is so black and white. There is very much a gray area when it comes to the law.”

Bryson knew this. He hated it, but he was well aware.

“We need to stay on track, Ms. Elton. I think that is wisest.” He’d reverted to her last name when he felt a flash of desire to pull her into his arms — to comfort her. Focus on the freaking job.

“I agree, Mr. Winchester,” she said rigidly. “I’m very tired now, though. Would you mind if we continued tomorrow?”

He wasn’t going to get anything else from her tonight. She was finished with talking, and to push it now would probably be pointless.

“Axel will be back at any time with dinner.”

“I’m not hungry, but thank you.”

She stood up and moved toward the door to her room.

“Ms. Elton,” he called out, and though her back stiffened, she turned her head and looked back at him. “I’ll be right next door, in the morning.”

His last remark was meant to reassure her that she wouldn’t be alone, but it was also a warning so she wouldn’t try to run.

He was a good guy — he took pride in that. But it would be a mistake to think that made him weak. Bryson had an edge of pure danger running through his veins. He thrived on it. And that’s probably what made him one hell of an agent.