Read Online Bannon Brothers by Janet Dailey - Free Book Online Page A

o’clock tomorrow work?”
    â€œFine.” Bannon flipped the phone shut and let his mind sift through the possibilities.
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    The glass doors of Duncan, Hobert & Giles were immaculately clean. Either they weren’t doing much business or they had a guy with a squirt bottle of glass cleaner who did nothing but run out and eradicate every fingerprint an instant after a client arrived. It fit. Bannon had done his homework on Olliver Duncan. He had started out in criminal law, but he only represented white-collar crooks who stole millions with the stroke of a pen. No riffraff for him. Duncan had made a fortune and moved on. The clients on his current roster were generally respectable. And filthy rich.
    The thought made Bannon smile grimly as he pushed one door open. He softened the smile when the young receptionist looked up.
    â€œMr. Bannon?” she said eagerly.
    â€œThat’s right. I have a one o’clock meeting with—”
    â€œMr. Duncan,” she finished for him. “You’re early. He’s not back from lunch yet.” She tapped the eraser end of a pencil on the large appointment book spread open on her desk. “I knew it was you the second I saw you open the door. I recognized you from the cold case segment on the news last night.” She gazed at him as if he was a movie star.
    â€œSorry, I haven’t seen it myself.”
    She darted a quick look over her shoulder. There was no one there. “Really? But wasn’t it taped?”
    â€œYes.” He offered no further explanation.
    â€œIf you want, I could show it to you on my monitor. I’ll keep the sound down low. It’s only a few minutes long.”
    Without waiting for his answer, she clicked away on her mouse, looking for the video clip online. Then she turned the screen around and tipped it up, beaming around the side of it at him.
    He watched himself. It was excruciating. The thoughtful answers he had given sounded wrong, mainly because the smooth-talking anchor had changed the questions to suit his on-air persona. He emphasized the outstanding reward, directing viewers to the station website for details.
    Bannon winced. The guy was putting a spin on the facts that made him want to punch something. The short segment concluded with the software-generated image of Ann Montgomery as she might be now, done by the station’s graphics department. His eyes widened when he saw it.
    They’d blown that too. The features were just too perfect and the hair color was pale blond. They’d made her look like a glamorous model, not a real young woman.
    â€œThis is . . . Ann Montgomery,” he heard the anchorman say in a deep, phony voice. “Missing for over twenty-five years in the most sensational kidnapping in Virginia. But she may be alive. Have you seen her?” The image of Ann faded away as the anchor came back on. He stared intently into the camera as if he, not Bannon, was on the case. “Contact us at . . .”
    The receptionist heard someone coming and hastily turned the monitor back around, clicking out of the website and pretending to work.
    An older woman whom Bannon took for the office manager appeared. “Put these in order for filing, please,” she said as she handed the girl a sheaf of papers, then surveyed him. “And you are . . . ?”
    â€œThis is Mr. Bannon,” the receptionist said innocently. “He has a meeting with Mr. Duncan at one o’clock.”
    â€œI see.” The older woman looked him up and down in a scornful way before going back to the inner offices. No offer of a cup of coffee or other friendly overture for the likes of him. He figured that her low opinion of him was the official one. So much for the adoring young receptionist.
    Bannon headed for a maroon leather sofa, its heavy walnut frame outlined with bronze studs. It was a huge piece of furniture designed to impress legal clients—or intimidate the