Spellbound (Otherworld 12)

"Of course there is. Lucas wouldn't investigate me without a reason. At least give me the chance to prepare my defense, and to find the guilty party. Whoever did this will feel the full wrath of the Nast Cabal on their heads. Bad enough if strangers steal from us. Worse if it's one of our own."

I hadn't said we suspected someone inside the Cabal. No one had said that. When I looked at Bryce's face, tight with worry, eyes fixed a half-inch to the right of mine, I saw guilt.

He did it.

No, not Bryce.

Why not Bryce? Because you don't want it to be him?

I remembered Davis saying the job had clearly been the work of an amateur. Someone young, with a high position at the Cabal, who could get the access to pull off the job, but didn't have the experience to do it right. Someone who might know Sean's password with the Dahls.

I thought of all the times Sean had confided in me about Bryce. He's so angry, Savannah. Not just at you. At everything and everyone. With me, he just hides it better. But there's so much anger and resentment. He's not cut out for legal work and he hates it. He tries so hard to find his place at the Cabal, and then he looks over and sees me breezing through and he loves me, but in a way, he hates me, too.

If Giles and his group wanted a high-level Cabal recruit, one with plenty of frustrated ambition, they wouldn't have to look any further than Bryce.

"Savannah?"

"I don't know what Lucas has, if anything. He just asked me to come here and check out your bodyguard's apartment."

"You didn't ask what he had?"

"I'm a junior investigator. Hell, two weeks ago I was just the receptionist. No one tells me anything--"

"But they could."

Don't ask me, Bryce. Please don't ask me.

"You could find out what he's got, right?" He smiled, struggling to make nice, as painful as it was. "Give your brother a chance to defend himself."

That was the first time he'd ever acknowledged any relationship. He was playing me. And it hurt. It hurt so much because I wanted it so bad.

"He won't tell me," I said. "But whatever it is, we're still in the early stages of an investigation, and we're a lot more interested in getting Larsen back than punishing his kidnapper. If he was just, you know, returned, that would be the end of it. Lucas would stop investigating and we'd turn our attention back to this group and forget all about the kidnapping."

Any doubts about his involvement vanished when I saw the look in his eyes. It wasn't the look of a guy who'd inherited our grandfather's merciless brutality or even our father's ruthlessness. It was the look of a kid who'd gotten in way over his head, trying to be something he wasn't, something he thought others expected. It was a look of terror and regret and a desperate plea for help. And it vanished in a blink.

"Are you suggesting I did have something to do with this?"

"Of course not," I said. "I'm just saying . . . you know . . . if anyone else here knows who did it, even if he wasn't involved, maybe he could pass along a message."

I shot a not-so-discreet look at Salas. Bryce studied me, and in that unexpectedly piercing look, I saw a flash of our father.

"It's not too late," I said. "This can be fixed."

Hope flickered in his face, but it didn't last. He'd made a mistake and he wanted an exit strategy, but he didn't trust me to provide one. He didn't believe it was that easy to fix this. He could tell I didn't believe it either.

"I'm not going to complain to the Cabal about this breakin," he said. "But I'd ask you to pass along a message to Lucas. Now that he's working for his father, he can't do things like this and claim impartiality. He should think very, very hard before he decides to investigate a member of another Cabal family." He looked at Salas. "Let's go. I'm sure Savannah will lock up when she leaves."

He was going to run. I could tell by the way his hands trembled as he fussed with his jacket. He was going to run, and he was testing to see if I'd let him leave.

If I thought he was guilty and I thought he was going to bolt, then I should stop him. Had it been anyone else, I would have. I wanted to. But I just stood there, dumbly, watching him.

He made it as far as the door, then looked back. "Savannah . . ."

"I can fix it," I said. "I really can."

A wistful smile. A lost little boy smile. Then he hitched up his jacket and said, "There's nothing to fix," and opened the door.

He took one step and bumped