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 coc**ne who had a valid excuse for breaking the law.