GROOM UNDER FIRE (17 page)

Mr. Gregory shook his head. “She is unmarried. Your grandfather’s will stipulates that she, too, must be married before she inherits.”

“Then put it all in trust for her.” She suspected Rochelle would soon be planning her wedding—if the money was really what she wanted.

Or was it Stephen?

The lawyer tensed. “What are you saying exactly?”

“I’m saying that I don’t want my grandfather’s money,” she said, and guilt and regret overwhelmed her. “I never should have married to get it in the first place.”

“I thought that was why you were marrying that Stephen fellow,” Mr. Gregory, “just to inherit the money. But the Payne kid...”

“That’s why I’m giving it back,” she said. Although technically she’d never really had it and may not have had access to it for a while. Maybe it was a good thing that she had never received that ransom demand. Because how would she have paid it?

“You really want to give it back?” he asked. And his shoulders and back relaxed, the tension apparently leaving his body.

Why was he so relieved?

“Is that possible?” she asked. “Technically I had satisfied the stipulations of Grandfather’s will before my thirtieth birthday.” Today was her birthday.

He waved his hand, dismissing what his employer had wanted. “You can sign a paper claiming that the marriage was never consummated and get it annulled.”

Heat flushed her face. “But what if it was?”

“It won’t be a problem,” he said, and there was a tone to his voice now—an edge she had never noticed before.

To have worked with her grandfather for as many years as he had, he had to have few principles or morals. But could he be...

Was he a killer?

Maybe Cooper’s suspicious nature had rubbed off on her; maybe when they’d made love...

Because it made no sense to doubt a man she had known most of her life—especially since he had nothing to gain. But she had goose bumps rising on her skin. It wasn’t the cold that had gotten to her. It was this horrible sense of foreboding. Her instincts warned her to get out of the mausoleum before she wound up in an urn like her grandfather.

“Well, if it’s no problem, I should be going,” she said. But he stood between her and the door. And she was reluctant to walk any closer to him.

“You’ll need to sign those papers,” he said.

“I’m sure you don’t have them with you,” she said. “You can draw them up and get them to me another day.”

He patted his suitcase. “Actually, I do have them with me.”

That seemed too convenient.

She shivered as her unease turned into fright. She was alone with a killer. And her first thought wasn’t for her own safety but for Cooper’s.

He would never forgive himself if she died when he was supposed to be protecting her. He would blame himself for letting her slip out while he slept. She hoped that he had at least heard her whispered words of love. Because she doubted she would have the chance to tell him again how she felt.

She wasn’t certain if Mr. Gregory carried contracts in his briefcase or a gun.

But she wasn’t going to wait to find out. She couldn’t run for the door, so she turned and ran deeper into the shadows of the mausoleum. But even if she found a place to hide, she couldn’t stay there forever.

Eventually Mr. Gregory would find her.

Chapter Seventeen

Cooper’s head pounded with pain while his heart pounded with fear. Even though this warehouse looked more deserted and dangerous than the one the night before had, he wasn’t concerned for his safety. He was worried about Tanya’s.

Sure, Candace was a good bodyguard. But the body she was guarding was too important for Cooper to trust to anyone else. He never should have fallen asleep. But because he had, maybe she was safer with Candace.

“This place has been completely abandoned,” Logan said, his voice emanating from the cell clutched in Cooper’s hand.

He silently agreed, but Parker chimed in through the two-way, “This is it—the place where my informant saw the black car with the flats.”

“Let’s go in, then,” he said. He didn’t have the loading docks this time. Logan had taken that side of the building. He did have a service door—one that was so rusted, he doubted the hinges would hold it in the frame despite the lock. So he kicked it on that side and knocked it loose.

His gun drawn in front of him, he stepped inside the dark building. But after a few minutes his eyes adjusted to the faint light coming through holes rotted through the metal roof.

“Do you see anything?” Logan asked. Something rattled in the phone; he was obviously struggling hard with his doors.

A faint pounding echoed the rattling. Parker must have been struggling, too.

Cooper moved through the maze of stuff left in the building. “Just crates.”

And twisted hunks of metal and other debris.

But the light illuminated a strange patch of concrete where the dust had been cleared away. He stepped closer to the crate and the pounding grew louder.

It emanated from the box. The nails on the end of it were fresh, not rusted like the others. What the hell was in the box?

He’d seen too many IEDs in Afghanistan to haphazardly bust open the crate. It could have been a trick—a setup like the forklift. If he opened that newly nailed shut side, it might explode—like so many other explosions he’d seen.

He hesitated and leaned his head against the splintered wood. The pounding in the box echoed the pounding in his head. But then he heard something else—a weak voice calling out, “Help...”

“What did you find?” Parker asked as he joined him beside the box.

Cooper holstered his gun and concentrated on the crate. “Find a crowbar—a screwdriver, something. We’ve gotta get this open.” He clawed at the wood with his hands, driving slivers of that wood into his fingers.

“I got a crowbar,” Logan said. He must have had to use one to open the loading dock doors. “What do you need it for?”

Cooper grabbed the bar and wedged it between the wood, pulling up those newly hammered nails until the side cracked open. His brothers grabbed it and tore it off.

A man was curled up in that crate—his face crusted with blood like his matted hair. It had once been blond but now it was dark with blood. So much blood...

He peered up at Cooper through swollen eyes. “Coop?”

“Call an ambulance,” he yelled at his brothers.

Parker already had his cell pressed to his ear. “It could be a while before they make it to this side of town. Should we drive him in?”

Cooper wasn’t sure he should move him. But the man moved himself and crawled out of the box onto the concrete floor.

He dropped to his knees beside his old friend. “Stephen, take it easy. Don’t move.”

But Stephen clutched at Cooper’s hand. And guilt clutched at Cooper’s heart. How had he thought his friend at all responsible for the attempts on his life and Tanya’s? How had he married the man’s fiancé while Stephen had been locked up in this crate?

Because believing the worst of Stephen had made it easier for Cooper to act on his feelings for Tanya.

“Do you have some water in the car?” he asked Logan.

His oldest brother nodded. “I’ll get it and the first-aid kit.”

“And I’ll wave down the ambulance,” Parker said, before following his twin out of the warehouse—leaving Cooper alone with his old best friend.

“You’re going to be okay,” he assured him. The wound on Stephen’s head still oozed blood. He must have been hit hard—hard enough to spray his blood across the wall of the groom’s quarters. “Did you see who hit you?”

It wasn’t Tanya, as his brothers had suspected. He was done doubting his friends.

“No...” Stephen moaned as if the sound of his own voice reverberated inside his injured head. How had he handled the sound of his own pounding echoing inside the crate?

“You don’t know who did this to you?”

“I know...”

Hope quickened Cooper’s pulse. “You know? But you said you didn’t see him...” Nobody could press charges on suspicions and doubts; the police and prosecutors needed evidence, like eyewitness testimony.

Stephen tried to speak again, but his voice cracked. His throat was probably as dry as his peeling lips. Cooper’s heart wrenched with emotion over how badly Stephen had been hurt. And then he’d been nailed up in a box and left to die.

Footsteps pounded on the concrete as someone hurriedly approached. Cooper glanced up, hoping it was the medics. But it was Logan, carrying a bottle of water. “They’re only a few minutes out.”

He hoped Stephen had those minutes left...after days of his wound being untreated and being dehydrated. Cooper took the water bottle from Logan, uncapped it and held it to Stephen’s lips. He trickled only a little bit into his mouth.

Stephen coughed and sputtered.

Cooper cursed and hoped he hadn’t done more damage to his battered friend. What if he aspirated?

But Stephen caught his breath and his voice was clearer when he spoke, “More...”

Cooper trickled more water into his open mouth.

He coughed again but not as violently.

“The ambulance will be here soon,” Cooper assured him. “The docs will make you well again.”

“Safe...” Stephen murmured.

“You’re safe,” he promised. “Nobody’s going to get to you again.” If Cooper would have agreed to be his best man, nobody would have gotten to Stephen the first time. Guilt gnawed at him more than the pain in his ribs and back.

Logan, ever the detective, asked, “Do you know who did this to you?”

Wanting Stephen to save his strength, Cooper answered for him, “He didn’t see him.”

“At the church,” Stephen murmured. “I didn’t see him at the church...”

Logan cursed in frustration.

“But I saw him,” Stephen said, “when he opened the trunk. I saw him...”

“Who?” Cooper asked. “Who did this to you?”

“Arthur Gregory...”

“Tanya’s grandfather’s lawyer?” Cooper asked.

Logan cursed again.

“What?” Cooper asked his brother. “I thought you barely knew the guy.”

“That’s not it.” A muscle twitched along Logan’s tightly clenched jaw.

And Cooper’s heart lurched in his chest as the horrible realization dawned on him. “Tanya’s with him?”

“Candace just reported in that the lawyer showed up at the mausoleum.”

“Did she stop him from going inside with Tanya?”

Logan shook her head. “I—I advised her not to.”

Cooper cursed him.

“I didn’t think the man was a threat,” Logan said. “What’s his motive?”

“Money,” Stephen murmured. “I think he took the money...”

And his embezzlement would have gone undetected if neither Chesterfield heir married before she turned thirty. “Tell Candace to get inside—to protect Tanya!”

His cell already in his hand, Logan nodded. But the phone rang and rang. “She’s not picking up...”

“Go,” Stephen told him. “You go...to her.”

Parker wove through the crates, shoving some aside to make room for the stretcher the EMTs carried. “They’re here!”

“Go,” Stephen urged him again. “Go to Tanya...”

His heart was already pulling him away—toward the door, toward Tanya. But he told his brothers, “Make sure they take care of him.”

“I’m going with you,” Logan said. “Parker will ride along to the hospital with Stephen.”

Cooper didn’t care who did what as long as Mr. Gregory wasn’t hurting Tanya. But the mausoleum was on the other side of town. His odds of getting there in time to protect her were pretty damn slim.

He’d been a fool to let her out of his sight—because he might never see her again. Alive.

* * *

D
UST
FILLED
HER
lungs, making it hard to draw air into them. Her nose tickled and throat burned, but she couldn’t sneeze. She couldn’t cough. She couldn’t even breathe hard for fear that he might find where she was hiding.

She had crawled into a tall cabinet in the butler’s pantry. With her knees pressed against her chest and the back of her head pressed against the top of the cabinet, the hard wood was unrelenting against her skull.

The cabinet’s door wasn’t that thick, so she could hear through it. A door creaked open—maybe the kitchen door—since it was loud enough to reach her ears. And a female voice—maybe Candace—called out her name. “Tanya?”

Something hard and metallic dropped, and it clanged against the kitchen tiles. Then something heavier struck the ground, too, with a dull thump.

She wanted to call back. But she doubted Candace could hear her now. Had Mr. Gregory killed her?

Tears stung her eyes and burned the back of her throat. But she struggled to contain them. She couldn’t give away her hiding place.

“It’s useless to try to hide from me,” he yelled, his voice alarmingly close.

She sucked in her breath and held it—until her lungs ached.

“I will find you.”

He knew she had figured it out because she’d run. She shouldn’t have run from him. But she’d only ever been able to hide her feelings from one person—Cooper. Everyone else was able to tell what she was thinking; they could see through her lies.

But what was the point of killing her? Then Cooper, as her husband, would gain her inheritance. Unless he intended to kill Cooper, too.

If only she could get to a weapon...

Maybe the metallic thing that had fallen was Candace’s gun. If she could sneak past Mr. Gregory...

“Where the hell are you?” the man shouted, but his voice was fainter as he moved farther away from her. Then she heard footsteps pounding across that marble foyer and then up the marble stairs. Those footsteps moved overhead.

She drew in a breath and pushed open that cupboard door. Her leg muscles twinged as she unfolded them and crawled out of the small space. They nearly gave as she dropped onto the counter and then the floor below that.

She moved on tiptoe across the butler’s pantry toward the kitchen, not wanting her own footsteps echoing throughout the empty mansion. Candace had crumpled onto the kitchen floor, a wound on her head oozing blood onto the dingy white tiles. Tanya pressed her fingers to the woman’s neck, feeling for a pulse. When she felt the telltale flutter, she breathed a sigh of relief.

But then she glanced around her. If Candace had had a gun, it was gone. Mr. Gregory must have taken it.

Candace was too statuesque for Tanya to move her; she couldn’t carry the woman outside and she couldn’t leave her here—at Mr. Gregory’s mercy.

“Candace?” she whispered. “Wake up...”

The woman shifted, but she didn’t regain consciousness. She had moved enough that her pant leg slid up. Metal glinted off a gun strapped to her ankle.

Her fingers trembling, Tanya reached for it but fumbled with the holster clasp.

Footsteps echoed off the marble again. He was coming.

She grabbed at the gun and whirled around with it clutched in her hands.

“At least this time you have the safety on,” Cooper remarked. “So you won’t blow my head off.”

“She won’t, but I will,” Mr. Gregory said.

Cooper turned toward the man who’d sneaked up behind him. His back was to Tanya now, but for that split second before he’d turned, she’d seen his face. He hadn’t seemed very surprised that Mr. Gregory had just threatened to kill him.

He’d figured out what she had.

“Nobody needs to get shot here,” he said. He glanced down at the floor. “You didn’t shoot Candace?”

“He must have hit her over the head,” Tanya said. If only she had warned Candace...

“Like he did Stephen.”

“You found Stephen?” she asked. “Is he...?”

“He’s still alive,” Cooper replied, but he spoke to Mr. Gregory now. “And soon he’ll be well enough to testify against you.”

The lawyer shrugged. “I will be long gone before I’ll be arrested.”

“Then just leave,” Cooper suggested. “Just walk away right now.”

“You’d like that,” Mr. Gregory said. “You’ve been messing up my plans since you got back in the country.”

“Your plan was to kill Tanya?”

“That only became necessary when you decided to become her white knight,” Mr. Gregory said.

Cooper was acting as her white knight now because he had positioned his body between her and the deranged lawyer and his gun. The barrel was pointed at Cooper’s chest now.

“All I wanted to do was stop her from marrying,” Mr. Gregory explained, “Stephen Wochholz or anyone else.”

Tanya shuddered.

“You didn’t want her to inherit the money,” Cooper said.

“What money?” Mr. Gregory asked with a chuckle. “The money’s gone.”

Tanya gasped in surprise. He had embezzled all of it.

“Then it’s over,” Cooper said. “Just leave. Take whatever you’ve got left and leave the country.”

“I will leave,” Mr. Gregory assured them, “as soon as I get rid of you.”

Fear overwhelming her, she gasped again. “No!”

“Why are you acting like you care now?” Mr. Gregory taunted her. “You were so desperate a little while ago to get your annulment that you were willing to give up your inheritance to end your marriage.”

Cooper tensed. Was he offended? Hurt?

“You hurt Stephen and you kept trying to hurt Cooper,” she said, trying to explain why she’d done what she had. To keep him safe...

“Kept trying?” the lawyer scoffed. “I tried to push a car on him.”

“But all the gunshots,” she said, “at Stephen’s condo and at his brother, who you must have mistaken for Cooper...”

“I fired into your apartment but that was to hit you—after he stopped me from running you over.” The lawyer snarled. “He kept stopping me...when he saved you from the asthma attack and the peanut allergy. Your sister helped with that. Maybe I should take care of her, too, before I leave the country.