to tell them who I am.” Her voice was a quiet monotone. He got the feeling she had said those words many times, maybe just not out loud.
“You said you didn’t commit those murders.” Bryce kept his voice low, sensing she was close to a breaking point.
She pushed her curls back from her face with a hand that shook. “I didn’t, but you have no idea what I’m up against.”
“Tell me.” He risked glancing away from the road again and was shocked at the raw fear he saw on her face.
“Can we get off the highway first?”
“Steffi, that guy isn’t going to be moving anytime soon. There’s no way he’s following us.”
“He won’t be alone.” Those haunting eyes were wide with fear. “Please?”
Bryce gave it some thought. His house was on the opposite side of town, and he was seriously concerned about Steffi’s well-being if she stayed in the car much longer. She was walking a knife-edge between stability and hysteria, swaying precariously back and forth from one to the other. He had no idea what was going on, but it was clear she was scared half to death. He also had the issue of a shredded tire and an increasingly damaged rim to take into account.
They were driving along Lakeside Drive. On their left was Stillwater Lake, the huge body of water that bordered the city. His brother Cameron had a house here, a beautiful designer property that was tucked away in the trees above its own private lakefront view. Since his recent marriage, Cameron had moved into a sprawling ranch on the road out toward Park County. He and Laurie were restoring the old property and were planning to sell the lake house. It was so private, it should reassure Steffi that no one could find them. Once they were there, maybe she would be able to calm down and tell him what the hell was going on. His ribs gave a twinge. And maybe he could take a look at his injuries at the same time. That guy back at Steffi’s cabin had used his fists the way other people took a mallet to a fence post.
He turned the car off the highway and down a narrow, winding track that led between tall pine trees. Steffi eyed him suspiciously. “Where are we going?”
“My brother’s house.” Correctly interpreting her look of horror, he quickly attempted to reassure her. “Don’t worry, no one else will be there.”
Although she didn’t seem convinced, Steffi remained silent as he pulled up to the wrought iron gates, waiting while the sensor on his windshield opened them automatically. She glanced around her nervously, but seemed relieved when the gates closed behind them. The same sensor opened the double garage. As Bryce pulled into the gloomy interior, the fluorescent lighting kicked in. From there, they could mount an internal staircase into the house itself. Bryce had a key, and he also knew the code to the alarm system. He was convinced they hadn’t been followed, but he was keen to calm Steffi’s nerves by showing her he was taking her apprehension seriously. Pocketing the gun he had returned to the Range Rover’s glove box after shooting Steffi’s abductor, he led the way into the house.
The lake house was stunning, but its story was tragic and Bryce no longer felt comfortable in the beautiful glass-and-wood dwelling. It had been designed by Cameron’s former girlfriend, Carla, who had died on the lake. At the time it was believed it had been a boating accident. It was only recently it had emerged that she was one of the victims of the serial murderer known as the Red Rose Killer. The city, and the Delaney family in particular, were still reeling from the impact of that investigation. It was the reason Bryce drove around with a loaded gun in his glove box.
Steffi appeared not to notice her surroundings. As Bryce made coffee—adding several heaped spoons of sugar to her cup—she hugged her arms around her waist and gazed out of the full-length window. He took the drinks through to the large family room and set them on the glass-topped driftwood table. Although the weather was cool, he opened the glass doors that led out onto the deck, allowing the breeze to filter through from the lake. Sitting on one of the large, squishy sofas, he gestured for Steffi to join him. She perched stiffly on the edge, apparently poised for flight.
“I think it’s time you told me.” This situation was totally out of the scope of his experience, but he did his best to keep his voice gentle. He could only help her if he knew the truth.
Steffi was gnawing her lip so hard he thought she might bite right through it. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Just talk and let’s see where it takes us.”
She nodded decisively. “Greg Spence wasn’t my boyfriend. Everyone thought he was because we were so close. The press even speculated that we were about to get engaged. It made us laugh.” She took a deep breath, lifting her eyes to his face. “His real name was Gregori Anton, and he was my brother.”
“When I was born, my name was Stefanya Anton.” Bryce was right. Once she started talking, it became easier to keep going. Until now, Steffi hadn’t figured Bryce for someone who might be easy to confide in, but he surprised her. Her story wasn’t an easy one to tell, but it felt like he was really listening, rather than judging her.
“Our parents died when I was five and Greg was eight. We were placed with separate adoptive families and we lost touch. Although I became famous, he hadn’t recognized me from my movies. It was sheer coincidence that we met again. He had a minor part in one of my films. There was something about him—” she smiled reminiscently “—I couldn’t place what it was. Then, one day, I got something in my eye while we were shooting a scene together. He came to my assistance, saw my eyes and knew right away I was his sister. He remembered my cat’s eyes from when we were children.”
“But you let people believe you were an item?”
She bit her lip. This was the hard part. “There were reasons why we couldn’t tell anyone our true identity.”
Although he wasn’t judging her, it was clear Bryce wasn’t going to let that go. “You’re going to have to tell me all of it, Steffi. Two people are dead and I shot a man today to help you escape. If I’m going to help you, I need to know why.”
He was right, of course. It was just so hard to talk about something she’d kept locked up inside herself for so long. “Although we lived in America when our parents died, Greg and I were born in Russia.” She drew in a long breath. “Our father was involved in organized crime. More than involved. He was the leader of one of the largest gangs in Russia, and he brought his criminal activities with him to this country.”
There. She had said those words aloud. Words that had, until now, only been spoken between her and Greg. It was only recently, since their reunion, that they had pieced their story together, realizing with dawning horror who they were and what they had witnessed all those years ago.
Steffi watched Bryce’s face, waiting for his reaction. She was unsure what to expect. Disgust? Rage? Contempt? Any combination of those would be natural, she supposed. She was the daughter of one of the most notorious Russian mob bosses of all time. She herself was a wanted alleged killer who had tricked her way into Bryce’s employment. He was hardly likely to pat her arm and say it was all going to be okay. She bit back the sob that tried to rise in her throat. It was never going to be okay.
His expression remained carefully neutral. “Go on.”
“I was too young to remember much of my life before his death. Greg told me we moved to America when I was about three. My father was very wealthy, as you can imagine, and he had connections in high places.”
She thought back to that night. To the shouts and running footsteps. To her mother dragging Steffi and Greg from their beds and pushing them up the stairs to the attic, her whispered voice urging them to stay there.
“No matter what you see or hear.” Steffi could still hear the terror in her mother’s tone as she said those words.
They had huddled together, lifting the trapdoor that led from