The Lost Tycoon

Chapter Six

Misty’s nerves were stretched thin as she walked into the luxurious hotel and looked around at the gleaming lobby. Men and women seemed to be gliding across the polished slate flooring on their way to the high front desk.

She felt woefully underdressed in her plain black skirt and white top, certain that she stood out like a broken finger around these men in hand-tailored suits and women in dresses that cost many times what her last car had. None of the attire could be purchased at the local mall — that was certain.

This had been a mistake — stepping into a world where she didn’t belong. This was the sort of place people with money frequented. People with serious money.

Her fingers shaking, she turned her head and looked toward the doors. It wasn’t too late to escape. Sure, Camden Whitman had flown in from Montana to meet with her, but he would probably be relieved if she didn’t show. How useful could a girl like her really be to this case? Yes, a girl. She felt like a girl, not a woman.

Misty was sure that if they did put her on the stand, she’d fail epically. Yes, she was capable of answering a few questions, but when the cross-examination started, who was to say she wouldn’t immediately fall to pieces?

“Ms. Elton?”

Misty froze, fear in her eyes. She wasn’t Ms. Elton here. That wasn’t her name. She was… What was her name again? It wasn’t used all that often, and she easily forgot. Oh, yes, Magnolia Linhart. She shouldn’t acknowledge the person addressing her.

“I’m sorry. It’s Ms. Linhart, isn’t it?”

Yeah, this person knew who she was. Turning, Misty caught sight of a dark gray suit with a splash of blue against a stark white shirt. She tilted her head, up, and up, and up.

Then she was meeting the icy blue eyes of one of the most stunning men she’d ever seen before. Were all the males on this case required to have a certain GQ look? This was absurd. His dark blond hair was cut short but styled in a way that only the rich could afford, his jaw solid, chiseled, masculine, and his mouth — wow, that mouth must have inspired many nights of fantasies for more than a few ladies.

She gulped and remained standing in front of him, stock still and utterly speechless.

“I’m Camden Whitman,” he said, and he held out his hand.

Common manners kicked in and Misty found her arm rising and then her small hand was clasped in his for a few seconds as she swallowed her natural fear of having a new man take hold of her — even in such an innocent fashion.

When she didn’t get any predatory vibes from the contact, she began to relax. Maybe it was foolish, but she was starting to realize that not all men wanted to hurt her, especially not the men she’d met lately, like the FBI agents and the U.S. marshals.

Misty blew out a breath of relief. She could do this. It was just a simple conversation, after all.

“Hi. I’m Mis…” she started to say, before correcting herself. “Magnolia Linhart.”

His eyes twinkled, since she’d just made the same mistake as he had, and she felt even better. He didn’t seem to be a monster, though, of course, Jesse hadn’t seemed to be a monster either. Was her radar for fiends completely broken? But here she was, ready to meet with this man, ready to get some questions answered.

“I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me. I’ve been working on this…project for a while now, spoken to several women, and a few men. May we go upstairs for privacy?”

Misty tensed again. He wanted to be alone with her? Why? As she looked around, noticing that several pairs of eyes were on them, she understood, but she didn’t have to like it. What if... No! She had to stop thinking like that.

She finally spoke. “That would be fine.”

He held out a hand to lead her toward the elevators.

“I hope you found the hotel easily enough,” he said as he pushed the elevator to go up.

“Yes, I took a cab.” The beautiful gold doors slid open, and she walked inside with him. When the doors shut, she found herself all alone with this stranger, but nothing in her was on red alert. She was nervous, but she didn’t feel as if she were in danger.

Her danger signals could be broken, but she didn’t think so right now. Anyway, everyone had to go at some point, right? If it was her time, then so be it.

The doors opened onto one of the higher floors, and again Camden gestured for her to precede him. She stepped out, and then he was walking beside her until he stopped at a double door and inserted his key card.

Once she was inside the luxurious suite, her eyes popped out at such extravagance. This room seemed to be larger than the house she was currently hiding in. It was certainly a lot nicer, with the mahogany trim, plush cream carpeting, and distinctive high-end furniture.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please.” She wouldn’t be able to speak unless she wet her throat.

“Have a seat over there. I’ll surprise you,” he said. She sat on the couch in the sitting area and crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, smoothed out her skirt, and crossed them again.

“Here you are.”

Misty took the glass from his fingers, noting the red liquid inside it. Wine. It really was too early for a glass of wine, but with her nerves at the breaking point, one glass didn’t sound like such a bad idea. It wasn’t as if she had to drive back home, anyway, so a slight buzz might make this meeting go just a little smoother. She lifted the glass to her mouth, then nearly sighed as the liquid glided across her tongue.

“I want you to take a moment and get your bearings before I proceed with my inquiries,” Camden said as he sat in the chair directly across from her. “Before I even start, today is informal. We aren’t taking notes or recording the conversation. I want for you and me to talk, to get to know each other, mainly to see if you can trust me enough with your story. As of now, it’s just the two of us having a conversation. Now, you can ask anything you want. There are no stupid questions.”

As she listened to Camden speak, some of the weight was lifted from her chest. No notepads were out, no little machine with a red light blinking. This felt more like a couple of people chatting. She could do this.

“Have I been a suspect?” Misty didn’t know why that was the first question to pop out, but she wanted to know.

He paused for a moment, seeming to consider what he was going to say. “We had Jesse under surveillance for several months before you left town, and we’d pretty much eliminated you as a suspect,” he began, then paused. “And then you disappeared. At first we thought there might be foul play, but once we got witness testimony of the fight you had, and once we spoke with several people who had seen that you left without Jesse pursuing you, we suspected you’d gone underground. So, yes, anyone dealing with Jesse is a suspect, but you were quickly eliminated from that unhappy group.”

“You spoke to my neighbors?” That somehow felt like a violation.

“Yes. You are almost a ghost, Misty.” He paused briefly. “Is it okay if I call you Misty?”

“Yes,” she murmured. She didn’t like her alias name — it was uncomfortable for her to use or to hear others using. It wasn’t as if she were particularly attached to her real name; it was just that she was used to it. During the last year, she’d had a difficult time using her first fake name, and now she was doing it all over again with a completely new one.

“Great. As I was saying, you are almost a ghost. There’s very little information on you. No credit, no family, no trails. It wasn’t easy to find you.”

What shocked Misty was the tone of his voice. He sounded…impressed. That didn’t seem possible. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything spectacular. She just had no one who cared where she was.

If that were something to brag about, she’d receive the Olympic metal for her efforts. The good thing with having no ties had been that it was easier to leave at a moment’s notice. The bad thing was that she had no one to turn to when the chips were stacked against her.

“I was raised in the foster-care system. I don’t know anyone, really — don’t have any deep connections.”

Something in his eyes softened. Sympathy. She was used to that, and couldn’t stand it. What would a person like him know about it, anyway? He had no right to be sympathetic toward her.

“I was in the foster-care system, too, Misty, until I was nine. Then I was lucky enough to meet my father.”

Wow. Misty stared at this professional man before her, with his custom suit, a sparkle in his eyes, and confidence screaming from every pore. He’d been a foster kid? It didn’t seem possible.

“You can’t just accept your fate, Misty. I had given up, as so many others do. But you can be whoever and whatever you want. That’s why it’s so important that you stand up against this villain who took advantage of you, used you, and made you run. Jesse Marcus took something from you, and now it’s time for you to take it back. I can tell you that when you testify, you will start to put the pieces of your life back together, or better yet, make a whole new life that is even better than it was before. The fear will dwindle, and you can pull yourself out of this prison you’ve been forced into.”

Misty listened to him speak, his words like molasses warming on top of a hot gas stove, coating her, comforting her, offering her a place to go in a safer world. Oh, this man was clearly a pretty great attorney. She’d bet he didn’t ever lose a case. Okay, maybe that was statistically almost impossible, but she’d still bet he hadn’t lost in a very long time. He didn’t seem capable of it.

“What will I have to do? Will Agent Winchester be involved?”

“Yes, he will be involved all the way through, which is in your favor. I’ve known Bryson for many years, and he’s a solid and a good man. You want him to be on your side. He keeps his word. The only thing that would stop him from protecting you would be death, and I’m telling you, I think he’s superhuman, because he’s been in a few situations from which no man should have come out alive, and yet he’s still here,” Camden said with a chuckle.

“So what do you need from me?” she asked again, since he’d either ignored the question or gotten distracted.

“Do you know what a deposition is?”

“No.” She didn’t know any of this lawyer speak.

“I will meet with you and Agent Winchester and the lead attorney on the case against Jesse in my offices in Montana with a court-appointed recorder taking notes. You will make a legally binding statement, explaining everything you know about Jesse and his criminal dealings. We have a lot of witnesses, Misty. We just want this case to be open-and-shut. Not all the witnesses will be called to the stand, and not all of the statements will be used in the trial unless we think we are losing.”

“That’s it? I just make a statement?” That wasn’t so bad, not at all the way she thought it would be. No Jesse in the room; nobody staring daggers at her.

“I don’t want to mislead you, Misty,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows propped up on his knees, his eyes intense. “There is a very real chance that we will call you to the stand, that we will ask you to repeat your story in front of a jury. From the evidence we’ve found, you seem to know a lot. There are a couple of other women who saw even worse crimes committed by Jesse, but you’re a valuable witness. What is going down is a very big prosecution with some even bigger players than Jesse involved, and all testimony is valuable to the case.”

Misty gazed back at Camden — this man whom she normally would never have a conversation with, someone she’d pass on the street and not feel worthy enough to nod to, and it gave her a measure of pride that he needed her. Yes, what he needed her for was her testimony, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was that she was needed.


Her entire attitude changed. Not only could she do this, but she wanted to do this.

“When will it begin?” she asked. She couldn’t get out of this anyway, so she might as well accept it. The sooner it was over, the better.

“Soon. Probably a week or two. But for right now I’d like for you to tell me your story.” He leaned back.

“Just start talking?”

“Yes. No pressure, no one recording anything. Remember, this is informal today. We’re getting to know each other. You tell me your story, and then I’ll advise you of what comes next.”

“Okay,” Misty said, and she began. She would tell this stranger everything she knew about Jesse, everything she’d been an unwilling witness to during the year she’d been with him. A relatively short period of her life had shaped her more than she cared to admit, and telling this man about it was oddly freeing.