Bridal Reconnaissance (13 page)

She must have snuggled up to him for safety. Not because this man inexplicably drew her to him. And certainly not because she still looked at him as the woman in the album had all those years ago.

He offered protection to her, nothing more. Not love. And she was glad, relieved. Because love wasn’t something she could either return or accept.

Then she realized more than the sunlight had awakened her. Near the front door, something rattled, and any sense of safety she’d felt in Evan’s arms fled.

Someone was breaking into his fortress.

Chapter Seven

Evan jolted to full wakefulness, conscious of the sudden tension in Amanda’s body. When she had fallen asleep on him earlier, she’d been relaxed, vulnerable. Her soft hair had tickled his throat, and the scent of her peaches-and-cream shampoo had filled his senses. “What’s go—”

“He’s at the door, Evan! He’s found us!”

He shook off the last vestiges of sleep and the passion for her that had clouded his mind. “What! He couldn’t get inside the gates.”

The doorknob rattled, but before he could rush the intruder, a female voice called out, “Mr. Quade? Evan?”

Recognizing the voice, Evan pulled Amanda back against his side. “It’s fine. It’s just my secretary,” he soothed as the front door opened.

The woman gasped as she entered the great room. “Mr. Quade. I’m sorry. I should have rung the bell.”

He nodded and narrowed his eyes at her boldness. “Or waited at the office to hear from me. I would have called you later this morning.”

Color flushed her usually pale face, and she pushed
lank blond hair behind her ear with a trembling hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s early. Since you gave me the code, I didn’t think it’d be an issue if I just dropped these contracts off for you. You’ve been waiting for the lawyer to send them.”

Her gaze slid from his and settled on Amanda. “I know they’re important,” she added, her expression showing her distaste with Evan’s guest.

Irritated with his secretary’s audacity, he didn’t see fit to make introductions. He had only given her the security code for when he was gone, not for when he was home. And he had made that clear to her. She could come by the house, drop mail, water plants as part of her generous salary. But to intrude when he was home…

“Ms. Moore, we’ll discuss this another time, at the office.” With an effort, he disengaged himself from Amanda and rose from the sofa.

Rumpled from sleep and flushed with embarrassment, Amanda was adorable, something he never would have considered her six years ago. Beautiful—yes. Alluring—absolutely. But not adorable. He would never have suspected he would be so drawn to adorable, yet she attracted him more now than she ever had.

Stiffness attacked his joints and other muscles from being tangled up with his wife, sleeping on the couch. He’d wanted to do more than sleep. But he knew she didn’t need him like that. She only needed his protection.

He ran his hand along his prickly jaw and over his tousled hair as he crossed the sun-drenched great
room. He needed a shower. After sleeping platonically next to Amanda, probably a cold one.

“Let me show you out,” he said to the young woman, who stood yet at the end of the entrance hall.

She nodded. “Of course, you will be into the office later.”

“Later doesn’t necessarily mean today. Marshall can handle everything that comes up, just as he has been.” His vice president was very capable. “And if you get in a real jam, call Sarah. She still has more business sense than she’ll admit to.”

He chuckled over his former business partner’s adverseness to the company that had made them both richer, through her investment and his management.

But his humor quickly fled, replaced by the emptiness he usually felt, but for those few hours when Amanda had slept in his arms.

“That’s her.” Cynthia Moore hissed the words at him, her thin lips pursed with distaste.

His gaze narrowed and skimmed over the tall skinny blonde. Cynthia yanked an expander file from under her arm and held it out to him.

“Here are the papers from the divorce lawyer. He said you don’t need her signature, but since she’s here…”

Cynthia Moore was more than a secretary, she was an assistant. But
only
a business assistant, which she sometimes forgot. His personal life was
not
her responsibility.

He shook his head and curled his hands into fists, refusing to accept the folder. “Take it back to the office. I’m not dealing with this now. And I’m not
discussing it with you. Ask Marshall what he needs help with.”

Color flushed her face again and she chewed at her lip. “But when are you coming in?”

“When I come in.”

As she passed through the door he held open for her, she opened her mouth, but he shook his head. If she pushed him any further with her nosiness…

She closed her mouth just as he closed the door behind her. He wouldn’t risk saying anything more, anything that might hurt her. She had been a hardworking loyal employee for many years. Although she’d overstepped the boundaries, he didn’t want to make a scene.

When he did go into the office, however, he’d remind her of those boundaries and that he needed her respect.

Evan found Amanda in the kitchen brewing more coffee. Her trembling hands scattered grounds across the granite counter. “Relax, Amanda, it wasn’t him.”

“Not this time.”

“He can’t get past the gates, Amanda,” he assured her. “There’s one at the street and another down at the beach entrance. This is a very safe place.”

When she remained silent, he continued, “I increased security when a friend was staying here this past spring. Someone tried to kidnap her son from this house.”

She shuddered. “But they didn’t?”

“Yes, but not then.” Seeing Amanda’s expression, he added, “He’s fine. He and his mother are both fine. And it was a lesson to me.”

She studied him for a while before she asked,
“You care about this friend who stayed here? Care enough to increase security for her?”

“For the remainder of her stay, yes.”

“Do you miss her?”

His mind must not have been fully awake yet because he couldn’t understand the line of her questioning. “I didn’t stay here with her. I stayed at an apartment in Traverse City. She is just a friend. She’s Royce Graham’s wife.”

She sighed, a sigh of relief or pity, he had no idea which. “And you keep the security to keep other people from getting in?”

Now he understood. And apparently, so did she. They weren’t talking about the house anymore. She’d surmised what other people had accused him of—locking himself and his feelings away. Maybe it was only fair to warn her. “Yes, I do.”

“Your secretary who’s just a secretary. She needs to know that.”

E
VEN AS SHE RODE
next to Evan in his sports car an hour later, Amanda couldn’t believe she’d said what she said.
She needs to know that.
Like a jealous wife.

She had no reason to be jealous of a husband she couldn’t remember and didn’t want. She
needed
him now…for protection. Only. No other reason.

She dragged in a deep breath, not sure if her thoughts had made her nervous or riding in his sports car again had. Memories of the night before washed over her. The high beams bearing down on them as Evan increased speed and maneuvered around hairpin curves.

If not for his skillful driving, surely they would
have crashed and tumbled into the lake, might still be in the frigid water. Dead.

“This morning you checked on the people from last night’s accident?” She could still hear their screams from the wreckage, still see Evan’s coat covered with blood from Weering’s innocent victims.

He nodded, his gaze locked on the road. “The hospital said they’re in stable condition.”

“So that’s good.” But she wondered who else would get hurt because of her. Because a madman was after her. She prayed not her son, and not Evan.

“We’re almost to Royce and Sarah’s,” he said, probably sensing her impatience to see her little boy.

“We’ve never been apart, Christopher and I, not this long. Last night was hard for me, in more ways than one.”

He groaned, and she barely caught his mumbled words. “Me, too.”

What had been hard for him? Showing her photo albums and getting no reaction? What had he expected?

The memory of the kiss he’d given her in River City flashed through her mind, and heat flashed through her body. Had he expected her to act like a wife?

But she barely resembled that poised and perfectly groomed woman he had married. Surely he didn’t feel anything for her but pity and a sense of responsibility?

She didn’t want his pity, but in just a couple of days, she had come to rely on his overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Last night it had surely saved
her life and undoubtedly the lives of those people from the wreck.

“It’s so early we’ll probably get there before he wakes up,” Evan said.

She nodded and turned to the window to fight her tears without falling under the scrutiny of his dark gaze. All she could do was pray that Evan was right and Weering had no plans to hurt her child.

If Christopher were in danger because of her, she would have to entrust his care to others, to people who could keep him safe. Instead of endangering him.

“We’re here.” The sports car slowed as Evan downshifted near a wrought-iron fence. Brick pillars separated a gate from the fence. He opened his window, leaning out to press numbers on a security pad.

Conscious of other people’s privacy, Amanda glanced away. In the woods across the street from them, she spied some movement. A shadow separated from the tree trunks. Sunlight funneled through the barren branches and reflected off a head of pale blond hair.

“Evan!”

The gates started to slide open and she clutched at his arm. “No! He’s right over there.”

Evan whipped around in his seat. “Where?”

“In the woods.”

He propelled the car through the half-open gates, jerking to a halt just inside the grounds. “Run up to the house, Amanda.”

She tightened her grip on the sleeve of his leather jacket, but he opened the door and slipped free. “Where are you going?”

“After him.” And he dashed through the gates just
as they closed, shutting her safely inside and him outside with a killer.

She threw open the passenger door and vaulted out of the car, running to the gate. “Evan! Come back!”

Through the wrought-iron spires, she watched him charge across the street and wade into the scraggly undergrowth of the woods. Wrapping her fingers around the iron, she held on and held out hope that he would return, screaming, “Evan!”

If he could hear her, he ignored her urgency and slipped deeper into the woods and out of her sight. She whirled around, her gaze encountering the house, a massive structure of fieldstone and cedar. Shoes pounding on the cement drive, she ran for the front door. Then she alternated jabbing at the bell and hammering at the solid oak.

A shadow shifted behind the stained-glass side window, and the door opened. “Amanda?” Royce Graham blinked sleep from his bleary eyes.

“Mr. Graham, Royce! You have to find him, stop him!”

“What? Who? Weering’s here?”

She nodded, fear choking her voice.

The ex-FBI agent pulled her into the house and behind him, putting himself between her and outside. “And Evan?”

“He went after him. They’re in the woods across the street.”

Royce slammed the exterior door, then disappeared through an archway off the hall.

“Royce! You have to help him!”

From somewhere deeper inside the house, a child’s voice rang out, “Mommy!”

Little feet pounded on the hardwood, thundering down the hall. “Mommy!”

She caught up her boy in trembling arms. “Baby. Oh, baby, thank God you’re safe.”

Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back just in time to see The Tracker return, tucking a gun into the waistband of his jeans.

“I’m not a baby,” her little boy protested as he burrowed his sleepy face into her neck.

Over his dark curly head, she caught the approach of a red-haired woman and gangly teenager from the direction from which Christopher had catapulted. The woman, tall and slim, wore silk pajamas, and although her hair was tousled, she still looked elegant, poised. Everything Amanda was not, especially as fear for Evan’s safety had her knees knocking.

“Call Dylan,” Royce told the woman. “Evan went after the bas—” With a glance at Christopher, he cut off the word. “In the woods across the street.”

Then one hand on the butt of the gun at his waist, he pulled open the door.

“Dad!” the teenager protested.

The woman’s fingers, tapered with long polished nails, wrapped around the boy’s arm. “This is what he does, Jeremy. He’ll come back. He always comes back.”

Over his shoulder Royce shot the woman a look so full of love that he needed no words to express what was in his heart. Everyone could see it. And the look included his son. Then he closed the door behind his back, rushing off to face the danger with Evan.

Maybe Royce always returned, but Amanda had no guarantees about Evan. He wasn’t an ex-FBI agent.
All she knew about this man she was married to was that he ran a business. And like everything he did—driving a car, gaining her trust—Amanda imagined he did it well.

But he didn’t face down deranged killers. Except for the fire escape. And the road incident the night before. Since finding her, he had been in danger, had willingly put himself between it and her.

From the archway the woman’s voice drifted, “Dylan, Evan and Royce are tracking the killer across the street from our house. Hurry!”

“Uncle Dylan is the sheriff,” the teenage boy told her. “He’ll get here fast. He’ll help them. They’ll be fine.” Despite his words of encouragement, his voice shook.

Christopher lifted his head from her shoulder and smiled at the teenager, his dark eyes warm with affection. “Jeremy…”

“Thank you,” she said, grateful for his sincere assurance to her and kindness to her son.