Bannon Brothers by Janet Dailey Page B

face, sitting up all the way, feeling stiff and creaky. Christ, he was tired. He needed coffee, bad.
    â€œYou talked to him?”
    â€œLet’s say I was summoned to his lawyer’s office after they saw me on the news. I didn’t say much to them. But then I really don’t know much. Just starting. You know how it is.”
    â€œI hope the TV hounds in your viewing area give you some leads. How many responses did you get, about ten million?”
    â€œNot that many. And they don’t come to me, they go to the station website.”
    â€œYeah? Wish I could pull a stunt like that.”
    Bannon looked around on the floor for his sweatpants and slid them on, keeping the phone receiver cradled against his shoulder. “I’m not going to ask why.”
    â€œGo right ahead, bro,” Deke said. “What I’m doing isn’t classified—not all of it, anyway. Oughta hit the news tonight. Someone threw a billionaire arms dealer out of his private plane over open ocean. No jurisdiction. The government called us in.”
    Bannon wasn’t going to ask which government, either. “You calling from a safe line?” he inquired, standing up and stretching. “Or are you looking to get whacked?”
    â€œMy uncle says it’s safe. But he doesn’t know about you.”
    â€œYour uncle—” Bannon got it. “Oh. Good ol’ Sam.”
    â€œWhile I’m on that subject, you might want to update your firewalls. Have you looked at your Facebook page?”
    â€œNot for a year and a half. Why?”
    Deke laughed. “You have a lot of new friend requests. Check it out. You are one popular dude after that segment.”
    Bannon swore. That should have occurred to him. It hadn’t. Still, he didn’t have to accept a single one. But he felt invaded.
    â€œOne or two of the requesters might be smart enough to trace your ISP address. It’s not that hard, you know. Just keep peeling the onion. Layer after layer.”
    â€œI’m taking the page down. Today.” He could hear Deke grinning.
    â€œLook at it first. You never know.”
    â€œYeah. Will do.”
    The brothers exchanged a few more ribbing remarks and Bannon hung up, mad at himself. He made some double-strength, super-hot coffee and took a sip before flipping open his laptop and staring into the screen as it came to life.
    He checked the national headlines, then the local news, putting off the inevitable for a little while. Then he went to the site and looked to see who was trying to friend him. A long list of Anns with a bunch of different last names met his bleary gaze.
    Before he got started on that, he answered a rude comment from his brother Deke, and another from Linc, with zings of his own. Then Bannon scrolled on through the list of wannabes, not really registering them. Fakers. Some people needed to get a life and not waste other people’s time with tabloid-type fantasies.
    Still, he had only himself to blame for not taking his Facebook page down in advance. He really had forgotten about it.
    No matter what he and Doris might find, or what leads panned out, he still would bet a lot of money that Ann Montgomery had died long ago. Swilling the unpleasant brew, he jabbed at the down-arrow button, wondering how long it would take. A single name stopped him short.
    Erin.
    Wow. His Erin?
    Bannon shook his head to clear it. Then he looked up at the painting of wild horses on the mantel. The artist wasn’t his by any stretch of the imagination, and this might not even be the same Erin. But . . . he hadn’t called anyone at the Art Walk committee, after all. What if it was her?
    He accepted her request. Then got busy. He wasn’t going to glue his eyes to the laptop waiting for an instant message like he had nothing better to do.
    An hour later he got one.

    Hello. Erin here. I saw you on the news.

    Bannon winced, wondering what she’d thought of the segment.