BRIDAL JEOPARDY (18 page)

“He’s going to marry her this afternoon,” Rachel said, a note of disgust in her voice. “And Craig Branson is ready to go in there and rescue her.”

“He could get himself killed,” her husband answered.

“I know that. And I want this to come out okay for them. What can we do about it?”

“I should say—nothing,” Jake answered firmly.

She gave him an incredulous look. “You’d leave two of the children from the Solomon Clinic in terrible danger?”

“I didn’t say I’d do that, but we have to think carefully about what we’re risking.”

“I know. But maybe we’d better start making some contingency plans.”

He answered with a tight nod, and she knew he would go along with her plans—if he didn’t think they were too dangerous.

She also knew he had grown up on the streets, committed to no one but himself. Caring about no one but himself. He’d bonded with her because of the telepathic link they’d forged, but it was still difficult for him to see the importance of extending that bond to the others. Especially after the first children from the clinic that they’d met had started off by attacking them.

Chapter Eighteen

Trying to act as if his brain wasn’t going to explode from tension, Craig went to work helping unload roses and gladioli. Then he tried to look busy while he watched the woman who was putting together bouquets, hoping he could do a credible job of flower arranging. It looked like the trick to making them stay in place was anchoring the stems in some kind of rigid foam stuff.

And all the time he kept projecting the message that nobody had to check up on him at the New Orleans office. He was supposed to be at the local shop. He couldn’t be sure if it would work, and he kept thinking that if it didn’t, he might have to pull a gun and herd the two women into the refrigerator, while he stole the van and went to the wedding.

Every minute that ticked by made him feel a little closer to pulling off the delivery scheme. But that didn’t stop his mind from churning, because there was no way to know if his plan would work until after he got into the estate. More than that, he knew Stephanie had to be sick with worry about the upcoming wedding, but there was too much activity around the plantation for him to risk going until closer to the big event. The best he could do was to keep sending messages, telling her he was coming. Telling her it was all going to turn out okay, even when he was pretty sure she couldn’t hear him.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t picking up anything from her, and that had him worried, even though he kept telling himself they were simply too far apart.

* * *

S
TEPHANIE
’
S
CHEST
was so tight that she could barely breathe. While she ate breakfast, she covertly watched John. But he gave no sign that he remembered anything from the evening before.

Of course, that could all be an act. One of his main goals was to never have anyone think less of him. Even her and Claire, so he put up a good front.

After she’d done her best to pretend that she was hungry, he pushed back his chair and stood up.

“I should leave you ladies to the preparations,” he said, his voice casual, though she knew he was hiding his own tension.

“We’ll be ready for you at five,” Claire said in a chipper voice.

Right,
Stephanie thought.
Why don’t you just stand in for me, since you’re apparently enjoying sleeping with him?

“I’ll be in my office if you need anything,” he added.

Stephanie nodded.

As soon as he was out of the room, she felt marginally better.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Claire said.

“Mmm-hmm,” she answered, wanting to scream at the woman who had been betraying her all along.

“Do you know how lucky you are?” Claire asked.

“Yes,” she said. She was thinking she was so lucky to have met Craig, and he was going to get her out of this.

Or die trying? That stray thought had her insides going cold. She knew he was going to try to get in here, but she didn’t know how.

“You should start with a nice relaxing bath,” Claire said. “I’m thinking about what order we should do stuff in. First the bath. Then we can do your finger-and toenails. Then your hair and makeup. What color do you want for your nails?”

From the sideboard she brought over a box of nail-polish bottles. “I think a pale pink would look good with your coloring.”

Stephanie agreed because she had no interest in the color. Or maybe bloodred would be best. Then it wouldn’t show on her hands if she ended up in bed with John and scratched her nails down his face.

She canceled that thought as soon as it surfaced, knowing it was dangerous to give Claire even a hint of her real feelings.

Instead she said, “Yes, let’s go with pink.” At least getting herself all prettied up would give her something to do until the hateful ceremony.

And then what? She kept thinking of something she’d heard about the 1950s. Back then, the Soviet Union had been the major threat to America, and people had debated “Better dead than red or better red than dead?”

In other words, if you succumbed to the enemy, could you bide your time and hope to free yourself?

She knew that was true for the countries that had been Soviet satellites. They’d stuck it out and come through the dark period. And many of them now had democratically elected governments.

All of that was well and good in theory. But could she stand to go to bed with John Reynard? Stand to have him kiss her, touch her? Be inside her? And what else would he want her to do to him?

When she couldn’t stop herself from shuddering, Claire touched her arm. “I know you’ve been through a terrible experience,” she murmured. “Maybe it would help to tell me about it.”

So you can report to John,
Stephanie thought, but she only shook her head. “I don’t want to dwell on it.”

“I understand.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you do,
she thought with a note of sarcasm. Aloud she said, “I’d like to take that bath now.”

If they had to have a wedding night, maybe she could get him drunk again. Or would that work twice in a row? And she couldn’t do it every night of her life. Eventually...

She cut off that thought, because she couldn’t let it come to that.

* * *

H
AROLD
G
ODDARD
WAITED
impatiently to hear from the men he was sending into the Reynard compound.

When Wayne finally called, he snatched up the phone. “What?”

“There’s a lot of activity at the estate. Delivery trucks going into the compound. Two catering trucks.”

“And anyone going in and out is getting stopped at the main gate?”

“Yeah.”

Harold thought for a moment. Were they really expecting an attack, or was Reynard just taking precautions because that was his M.O.? Finally he said, “I think he’s not really expecting trouble. I mean, who would go up against him? I’ve hacked his email. The wedding ceremony’s at five. Wait till then, then crash the gate. You’ll know where the woman is, and you can take her and run.”

“What about collateral damage?”

“Do what you have to.”

Chapter Nineteen

The flower delivery was scheduled for three-thirty in the afternoon. Craig’s tension mounted as the departure time approached. And he breathed out a sigh when he finally drove away from the loading dock in back of the flower shop. He made one more stop, at a spot where he’d left the extra equipment he was going to need, packing it into the back of the panel truck behind the flowers.

He said a silent prayer that he wasn’t going to get Stephanie killed, then headed for the main gate of Reynard’s estate and waited with his heart pounding while he sized up the operation. At the gate there were three guards. One of them asked for his credentials and checked them over carefully, as if the president of a foreign country was staying here and needed special protection.

“I’d like a look in that truck,” the man said.

“Sure,” Craig agreed as though he didn’t have a thing in the world to hide. Like, for example, that he was here to kidnap the bride. Climbing out, he walked around to the back and opened the door.

There’s nothing in here but flowers. All you see is flowers,
Craig said over and over as the guy climbed inside and poked around.

Flowers. Just flowers. And I’m just the delivery guy, doing his job.

The guard jumped out. “You’re good to go,” he said.

“Thanks.” He waited a beat.

“Yes?”

“Where should I park?”

“Around the side of the house. The ceremony is out by the pool.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He would have liked to ask more questions about the layout of the estate, but he assumed he was supposed to know. He still wasn’t sure what “around the side of the house” meant, but when he spotted a catering truck pulled up near the triple garage, he breathed out a little sigh. Before parking, he turned around so that he was facing outward, poised for a quick getaway. But he figured that would look normal because he was unloading the flowers from the back.

After climbing out, he followed one of the catering guys to the back of the house. Chairs had been set up on either side of an aisle, facing a bank of bushes. Over to the side were six round tables, with snowy-white cloths where china and cutlery had already been set out.

He tried to remember what he knew about wedding ceremonies, which wasn’t much. Probably they wanted a big bouquet of flowers on either side of the open space in front of the bushes, because presumably that was where the ceremony was being held.

Someone came hurrying out of the house. He turned, hoping against hope to see Stephanie.

Instead it was a dark-haired woman that he recognized immediately. She was Stephanie’s assistant, the one he’d met at the dress shop a lifetime ago.

He forced himself to stand in a relaxed posture with his hands at his sides as she gave him a long look. As he faced her, he furiously sent her the message.
You do not know me. You never saw me before in your life.

She tipped her head to the side. “Do I know you?”

He kept projecting the silent message as he lowered his voice an octave. “No. Are you the bride?”

She laughed. “No, I’m Mr. Reynard’s assistant.”

Mr. Reynard’s assistant. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been Stephanie’s assistant. It seemed she’d come up in the world, or maybe she’d been working for Reynard all along.

“Let me give you the bride’s bouquet,” he said, leading her back to where he’d left the van. “And then you can show me where you want the flowers placed.”

“You do have the centerpieces, right?”

“Of course,” he answered quickly. Yeah, there would be flowers on the tables.

He led her to where he’d parked the van, then opened the back door and got out the box with the flowers the bride was to carry, feeling a pang as he handed them to her. A wedding bouquet for the woman he loved, only it wasn’t
their
wedding.

She gave the flowers a brief inspection. “Very nice.”

“Thank you,” he answered, thinking, from her expression and the tone of her voice, that she wished they were hers. Too bad Reynard couldn’t have picked a bride who wanted to marry him, but probably he was too obsessed with the prestige of marrying into an old New Orleans family, and with thinking Stephanie had heard him discussing murder.

As soon as she took the flowers away, he dragged in a breath and let it out. This might be the best time to contact Stephanie. She’d be alone. At least, he didn’t think Reynard would be with her.

He sent his mind out to her.
Stephanie.

He felt her jolt of recognition when she heard him.

Craig?

Yes.

Thank God. Oh, thank God.

I just saw Claire. She came down to get the flowers.

Yes, she was apparently working for John all along.

I think she’s on her way back to you—with your bouquet. But I have to tell you some stuff while we have a chance. I’m the guy delivering the flowers.

Apparently his previous words had registered.

Did you say she saw you?

Yes, but she didn’t recognize me. I have on a few shirts to bulk me up. And I’m the bald guy with the splotchy tan and the dark eyebrows.

She caught her breath.

Yeah, I look like hell, but so far the disguise is working.

What are we going to do?

You’ve been manipulating his mind, right?

Yes. Like when I got him drunk last night so he couldn’t...
Her silent voice trailed off.

We’re going to do it again. And I’ve got something else planned.

When he told her what he’d brought with him, she sucked in a sharp breath.
Claire’s back.

I’ll see you in a little while.

Light classical music had begun to play as he carried the large vases of flowers to the spot where the bride and groom would stand and fluffed up the arrangements, then began taking the smaller arrangements to the tables, setting one in the center of each. The effect was quite nice. Too bad it was going to be screwed up when the guests stampeded.

And here they were. As he worked, he saw well-dressed men and women arriving and gathering in an area at the side of the pool where a bar had been set up. One of them was Stephanie’s father, who was holding a glass of clear liquid.

Water? He remembered that the old guy drank too much. Maybe he was trying to be on his best behavior today.

Craig saw Reynard at the edge of the crowd and sent him a message.
Go get yourself a nice big drink.

He was elated when the man approached the bar and got a glass of whiskey. But instead of drinking, he looked at it for a long moment and left it on the bar.

Craig felt his stomach muscles tighten. Apparently Reynard didn’t want to repeat last night’s nonperformance.

He was focused on Reynard and his guests when he felt a tingling at the back of his neck.

Turning, he saw one of Reynard’s guards stoop to pick up the knapsack he’d left at the edge of the patio. When the man started to open it, Craig strode over.

“That’s mine,” he said aloud. Silently he added,
There’s nothing you have to worry about in there.

“What’s in it?”

“I’m from the florist. That’s extra stuff I might need.”

Nothing to worry about.

“I’ll just take a look.”

Too bad the mental push wasn’t working on this guy.

“We should step around the corner so we don’t disturb the guests,” Craig said.

The man looked toward the crowd at the bar where Reynard was chatting to a group of men and women. “Yeah.”

They rounded the corner of the house.

When the guy bent to look inside the knapsack, Craig chopped him on the back of the neck, and he went down. But now what?

He pulled the guy into the bushes and opened the knapsack, where he’d stowed some duct tape. He used it to tape the guy’s mouth and secure his hands and feet. Then he hit him on the back of the head with the butt of the SIG, hoping that would keep him quiet.

His heart was thumping inside his chest as he rushed back to the pool area.

Men in uniform moved through the crowd, apparently telling the guests to take their seats because they began to find chairs.

When everyone was seated, a rotund gray-haired man clad in black walked to the front area and stood between the tall vases Craig had placed there.

Then the music switched to the traditional wedding march.

As all eyes turned to the patio door, Craig’s breath caught. Stephanie was standing just inside the entrance in a long white dress, gripping her father’s arm. She looked achingly beautiful, and also pale and breathless. Her father looked like a cat that had finished a saucer of cream.

From the corner of his eye, Craig saw Reynard take his place at the front of the assembly and look back toward his bride, his expression a mixture of relief and satisfaction.

Stephanie and her father were about halfway down the aisle when one of Reynard’s guards came running toward his boss. He shouted, “Intruder alert. Intruder alert.”

Reynard looked up as the man scanned the crowd, then pointed to Craig. Oh, Lord, maybe they’d caught the incident with the other guy and the knapsack on a security camera.

It wasn’t time for the diversion he’d planned, but he had no choice now.

Reaching into his knapsack, he pulled out some of the fireworks he’d bought in town, touched a lighter to the fuse of one and tossed it beside the pool. He did the same with several more.

They began shooting off sparks and smoke, sending panicked screams through the crowd as they mowed down chairs in their haste to get to safety.

Craig could hear chairs crashing to the ground. One of the fleeing guests bumped into a table and tipped it over. And at least one splashed into the pool.

As he’d planned, people were creating chaos as they tried to get away before they got burned.

Over here. I’m over here,
Craig shouted in his mind. There was as much smoke as sparks now, and it was hard to see, but he also knew that he could bring Stephanie toward him by using their mind-to-mind contact.

He drew his gun, hoping he didn’t have to start shooting, because innocent bystanders would get hurt.

To his relief, Stephanie came stumbling out of the smoke, and she was also holding a pistol.

Where did you get that?

I asked one of the guards, and he gave it to me—to protect myself.

Stupid of him, given the circumstances. But then, Reynard still thinks I’m dead.

As he spoke, he was leading her around the pool toward the side of the house where he’d left the van.

He ached to pull her into his arms, but there was no time for that.

This way.

He directed her toward the waiting delivery van, praying that they could get out before Reynard realized where they’d gone.

Stephanie jumped into the passenger seat, and he saw her clawing at the white dress. She tore a rip down the front and wiggled out, throwing the dress into the back of the van. Underneath she was wearing a pair of shorts and a halter top.

He had started the engine and was headed for the gate when a group of men came running out of the woods, shooting at the van.

Lord, who were they? Not Reynard’s security men.

Stephanie gasped.

I see one of the men who kidnapped us,
Stephanie shouted in his mind.
They’re here, and there are more guys with them.

He tried to cope with that, tried to reason how they had gotten here. They must still be after Stephanie, and they must have seen him lead her toward the van.

The invasion force ran toward the van shooting, and behind the vehicle, Reynard’s men were also charging forward and also shooting, and Reynard was with them, firing along with the rest.

“Duck down,” Craig shouted as he plowed forward, turning left and driving in a zigzag pattern, hoping he could keep himself and Stephanie alive long enough to escape.

Intruder alert. Intruder alert,
Stephanie shouted beside him.
Shoot at the invaders. Shoot at the invaders, not the van.

He took up the chant, adding his voice to hers. Some of Reynard’s men got the message and began firing at the men who had poured onto the property. The newcomers returned fire. But others kept aiming at the van.

And then another voice, louder and stronger, added force to the order.

Shoot at each other, not the van.

Who’s that?
Stephanie asked.

No idea. Could it be the woman who put us in communication?

Maybe.

For a heart-stopping moment, nothing seemed to change. Then Reynard’s men began blasting in earnest at the others, and the invaders blasted back.

Craig looked behind them and saw Reynard still coming, determined not to let his bride escape.

He knew Stephanie caught the thought because she gasped as she followed his line of sight.

Craig kept aiming for the gate. And for long moments he thought they would get away. Then, to his horror, the van began to sputter, and he knew the engine had been hit. Finally it coughed and stopped.