Behind him, the door slammed shut followed by the rattle of the security chain. A second later the door flew open and Sylvie Hayes jolted into the hall. “Wait.”
He turned to face her.
He could tell she was attractive through the small space in the door, but he still wasn’t prepared for the full stunning view. The green dress flowed over smooth curves like water. Cheeks flushed pink under translucent skin. Wide eyes flashed with light-blue fire and more than a little desperation. “You have to tell me who she visited.”
“It’s confidential.”
“Confidential? I can probably pick up the phone and find out tomorrow.”
“Good luck with that.” At least he wouldn’t be the one to break it to her, to see fear swamp her beautiful eyes. He could keep his focus right where it belonged. On the vow he’d made at Ty’s grave. On justice.
“Who did she visit? Please.”
He should walk the hell away. He should keep things easy, clear. Yet Sylvie Hayes obviously knew more about her sister than she was letting on. Far more.
Down the hall, a neighbor’s door creaked open. A young man’s spiked red hair poked out. Narrowing his eyes, he watched them with interest.
Bryce spared him a quick glance, then stepped toward Sylvie. “Invite me in.”
“Tell me his name.”
Bryce shook his head. He didn’t need the whole building to hear the inmate’s name. Not this inmate. “Invite me in. We’ll talk.”
She backed into the apartment, pushing the door wide.
He followed her inside and closed the door behind him.
Sylvie stood her ground between the living room and a small dining area. “Okay. Tell me.”
“As long as you tell me everything you know about your sister.”
She nodded.
“Diana has been visiting Dryden Kane.”
He’d thought it impossible for her eyes to grow larger. He’d been wrong.
“The serial killer? The one who hunted women down and gutted them like deer?”
“That’s the one.”
She covered her lips with trembling fingers. “Are you sure?”
He didn’t want to tell her more, but now that she knew, it was only fair. “Your sister visited him once a month, starting seven months ago.”
“Seven months? That’s a month before I knew her.” Her eyebrow ring dipped in a frown. “She never said anything about it. About him.”
“You were worried about her. Before I came to the door tonight.”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“She was supposed to be married today. But the wedding never took place.”
That explained the fancy green dress—a dress, he now realized, marred with brown smudges. “Is that blood?”
She nodded. “Right before the ceremony, I found Reed—the groom—unconscious and bleeding. Diana was gone.”
“You called the police?”
She dropped her hand from her mouth and curled her fingers to fists at her sides. “The police think she did it.”
In light of what Bryce suspected about Diana Gale, the police were on the right trail. “Do you know for a fact that she didn’t?”
She glared at the suggestion as if considering leaving Bryce unconscious and bleeding if he didn’t zip it. “Reed is a cop. The detective in charge is out to get him. And now he’s out to get Diana, too.”
Interesting, though he doubted it was the case. But Sylvie believed it. It had been easy to see through her previous lie. She wasn’t lying now. “So why aren’t the police here? If they really suspect her, I would think they would be searching her apartment.”
“I imagine they’re on their way.” She glanced down the hall.
“And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To search her apartment before they arrive.”
She looked down. Her fingers tangled together. Busted. “If there’s something that might tell me what happened to Diana, I have to find it.”
And he’d like to find it, too. More than she knew. “Then why are we standing around wasting time?”
She stared at him a long moment, as if trying to decide whether she should trust him or not. Finally the press of time seemed to win out. “I thought I’d start in her office.”
“Lead the way.”
Sylvie marched down the hall, pushed a door open and led him inside.
The office was a neat but obviously well-used workspace. White walls and desk gave the room a clean, fresh feeling. Papers rose in orderly stacked piles. But it was the splashes of color, the artwork and figurines dedicated to female superheroes, that made Bryce’s lips twist in an ironic smile.
Too bad Diana herself was no champion of justice.
Sylvie stepped to the desk, sank into the chair and wheeled in front of the file cabinet. She scanned the stack of student papers on top before gripping the handle of the top drawer and yanking it open.
Bryce stepped close behind her, reading the files over her shoulder. Together they skimmed the contents. Student evaluations and files dedicated to her dissertation jammed the first two drawers. Sylvie had thumbed through most of the contents of the third drawer when Bryce noticed an unmarked manila folder peeking from the back. “What about that one?”
Sylvie plucked the unlabeled file folder from the drawer and flipped it open. A photo stared up at them—ice-blue eyes in a face that looked much younger than its years.
The back of Bryce’s neck prickled at the sight of his former client’s cold, hard eyes.
“Who is this?” Sylvie asked.
“Dryden Kane.”
Her shoulders tensed. “I thought he looked familiar. Except that in this picture he looks so normal. Like the boy next door.”
Bryce couldn’t argue. Dryden Kane did look more like an average suburban neighbor than the brutal killer he was. Some might even say he was good-looking. And that was exactly what made him so dangerous to the women he’d charmed into trusting him. God knew Kane’s civilized appearance had fooled him. He tried to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “What else is in the folder?”
She turned the photo face down. Piled behind it were copies of old newspaper articles. Sylvie flipped through the first few, twenty-year-old articles detailing Kane’s brutal murders of blond college coeds and his circus of a trial. Behind those were articles half that old telling the story of his prison marriage to the misguided Dixie Madsen and their notorious escape and recapture. More recent articles poked out from underneath in the original newsprint.
Bryce pointed to the photocopies on the top of the stack. “These look like they were made from microfilm.”
“Microfilm? Like from a library?”
“Yeah. See how a few of them are in negative? That happens with some machines. And the library is one of the few places she could get her hands on articles this old.”
“Why would she copy all these articles?”
Bryce didn’t know, but he had his suspicions. Of course, he wasn’t about to share them with Sylvie Hayes. “Whatever the reason, she had to be pretty dedicated. It takes a lot of time to go through microfilm.”