Free Bannon Brothers by Janet Dailey Page A

admitted. “The story is news again, thanks to you. Just one year before the reward will be withdrawn.” He glanced at Bannon over the rim of his cup. “Interesting timing.”
    â€œTwenty-five is one of those milestone numbers.” Bannon was getting wise to Duncan’s game. Act friendly, catch his opponent off guard, stick in the knife.
    â€œTell me, do you really think Ann might be alive?” The lawyer’s tone was bland, almost casual. Yet somehow lethal.
    â€œI have no idea,” he replied.
    Hugh Montgomery gave Bannon a look that damn near pinned him to the paneling. But he kept his deep voice controlled and smooth. “Would you mind keeping us in the loop on your investigation?”
    â€œI don’t recall saying I was investigating anything,” he reminded them.
    â€œExactly what are you doing?” Montgomery challenged.
    â€œThat would be my business alone.” Bannon went to the door without a backward glance at Montgomery or Duncan, then opened it and went out, closing it behind him to take swift strides down the hall. He could hear the two men talking heatedly, but didn’t get the exact words.
    The receptionist looked up as she saw him go past, then turned her head when Duncan came running after him.
    Bannon was waiting for the elevator when the lawyer caught up.
    â€œLook,” he puffed, “we really are on the same side—here’s my business card. We’re going to keep a confidential record of the incoming phone calls and e-mails, both to the office and to Monty’s house. We’ll give you printouts, okay?” Duncan gave him a fake-friendly clap on the shoulder. “We’re in this together.”
    â€œIf you say so.” Bannon was thinking that the law firm’s printout could be easily manipulated to send him on wild-goose chases. But it might be interesting evidence, if it came to that. “Send it to me. I’m sure you have my home address.”
    He stepped in when the elevator doors opened and turned around, getting one last look at Duncan. The lawyer’s face was unreadable. Bannon was relieved when the doors shut.

    Bannon pushed the right side of another set of glass doors at the TV station across town. The décor was so damned trendy, it was hard to see the receptionist, just like the first time. There he was, under the exposed ductwork, in an ironic argyle sweater.
    â€œIs Kelly Johns in?” Bannon asked him.
    â€œDo you have an appointment?”
    â€œNo, but—” He stopped. She was coming toward the reception area.
    â€œHey, RJ. What are you doing here?”
    He tried not to look at how short her skirt was. “Just thought I’d stop by. I finally saw the segment.”
    â€œWhat did you think of it? We got about a million hits on the website.” She led the way to her office with long-legged strides that distracted him from answering until she pointed to a chair for him to sit in. Kelly settled herself behind her desk, glancing at her monitor, then at him.
    â€œThat many?”
    â€œThat many,” she confirmed with a smile. “The bean boys were impressed with our ratings for that one bit. Through the roof.”
    â€œGood for you.”
    â€œYou know it was.” She clicked the mouse on her desk. Behind her, a printer started spitting out paper. “We received everything from e-mails to pictures. I assume you can use some of it.”
    â€œYou never know.”
    Click. Click. Click. “I’ll forward the list for your reading pleasure and give you a hard copy as well.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œWe already had an intern screen out the lunatics and the cell phone pictures of Bigfoot, by the way.”
    â€œThanks for that too.”
    â€œWant to do another segment?” Kelly asked. “The ratings were high,” she reminded him again. “They could go higher. Our executive producer thought it might be a good idea to