His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons) (6 page)

She quickly pulled back, wriggling to get away from him.

A pained expression came over his face. “Uh, Crista, don’t—”

“What?” Had she hurt him?

“The way you’re moving.”

And then she realized what he meant. They might be mostly dressed, but she could feel every nuance of his body. Raw arousal coursed through her all over again. She felt her face heat in embarrassment.

“However you have to move. Whatever you have to do. Just do it,” she demanded hoarsely.

He cupped a palm under her knee, lifting her leg from his body and lowering it to the mattress. But his hand lingered on her thigh.

She closed her eyes, steeling herself. What was the matter with her? “Please,” she whispered.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” His husky voice amped up her arousal.

“We can’t.” But she wanted to. She couldn’t remember ever wanting a man so intensely.

“We won’t,” he said and gathered her into his arms all over again.

She didn’t protest. Instead, she reveled in the security of his strength. Yesterday had been a nightmare of fear, disappointment and confusion. It had all been Jackson’s fault. But for some reason that didn’t seem to matter. He was still a comfort.

“Mac will be here in a few minutes,” said Jackson.

“Is he going to swim?” she asked.

“I docked the boat last night after you fell asleep.”

“You mean I could have escaped?”

“You’d have had to get out of my bed without waking me. But, yeah, you could have escaped.”

Crista heaved a sigh. “This isn’t normal. My reaction to these circumstances,” she said.

“It doesn’t feel normal to me, either.” He scooted to the end of the bed and stood.

“Jackson?” A man’s voice came from beyond the small hatch door.

She jerked back, quickly adjusting her jersey over her thighs.

“We’ll be right out,” Jackson called. To Crista he said, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, I did.”

He was right about one thing—she should stop lying to herself. She might love Vern, but she’d just kissed the heck out of another man. Maybe fear and stress had combined to mess with her hormones, but what she’d done was absolutely, fundamentally wrong.

Jackson slipped a T-shirt over his head. “Forget about it.”

“Are you really going to let me go?” She forced herself to think ahead.

If she could make a phone call, Vern would pick her up. She didn’t have her purse, no cash or credit cards or her phone. She’d have to change back into her ruined wedding dress before he got here. Man, was he going to be ticked off about that.

“After you look at what Mac found, yes, I’ll let you go.”

“Good.” She struggled to summon her pride as she rose from the bed.

She followed Jackson up a couple of steps and ducked through the hatch to the main cabin. There she found Mac, a tall, bulky man with broad shoulders, who had a heavy brow and a military hairstyle. Jackson looked almost urbane by comparison. The contrast to Vern would be startling.

“Mac,” said Jackson with a nod. “This is Crista Corday.”

“Miss Corday,” said Mac. His voice was as rugged as his appearance.

“I think we can skip the formality of
Miss
Corday, since you participated in my kidnapping.”

“Mac had nothing to do with it,” said Jackson.

“He does now,” said Crista. She was telling Vern and the police everything. Jackson and his gang of men should not be allowed to roam free.

“I’ve got the photos,” said Mac, stepping forward.

He held out his phone so she could see the screen. The first one was taken on a busy street. It was Vern, all right. Despite herself, she leaned in for a closer look.

He walking side by side with a woman, presumably Gracie. They seemed to be exiting a restaurant. The woman was tall, with a bouncy mane of wavy blond hair. Her makeup was dark—thick, sparkly liner and a coating of mascara emphasizing her bright blue eyes. Her lips were full, her bust fuller, and her waist was tiny beneath a white tank top. The next photo showed that she wore blue leather pants and black, spike–heeled ankle boots.

“They’re just walking,” said Crista.

She’d allow that Gracie didn’t look like your average commercial real estate client, but looks could be deceiving. One thing was for certain, she was a polar opposite of Crista.

“Wait for it,” said Mac. He scrolled to another picture.

Here they were holding hands, then cuddling, then Vern was kissing her on the cheek. It was persuasive, but Crista had played with Photoshop software. She knew that pictures could be manipulated. There were also other logical problems.

“Why would he marry me?” she asked.

Gracie was drop-dead, glamour-magazine, movie star–material stunning.

“What do you mean?” asked Jackson, looking genuinely puzzled.

Crista gestured to the photo. “If there’s really something romantic between them, why not marry her? She’s a knockout. And he seems to like her well enough.” The two were smiling and laughing in most of the pictures.

Both Mac and Jackson were frowning at her.

“What?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

“He wants you,” said Jackson.

“Which means he isn’t involved with her,” Crista said slowly, making sure he could understand each of her words.

“Look at this,” said Mac.

He produced a picture where the two were embracing. It was nighttime, and they were dressed differently. It had been taken in front of a hotel.

“April of this year,” said Mac. “It’s date stamped.”

Crista would admit it looked damning.
If
she believed it hadn’t been altered, and
if
she believed the date stamp was valid. She was about to mount another argument in Vern’s defense when she realized this was her ticket home. If Jackson thought he’d won, he’d let her go.

She gave herself a moment. She had to deliver this just right.

She took the phone from Mac’s hand. She stared at the photo for a long time, pretending she was having an emotional reaction. Then she gripped the back of the bench seat that curved around the table. She lowered herself down.

“It looks bad,” she said in a hushed voice.

“It is what it seems,” said Mac. “I also have some emails.”

Crista gave what she hoped was a shaky nod, still playacting. As if emails weren’t even easier to fake than photos.

She made a show of swallowing, then she set the phone down on the table. She tried to put a catch into her voice. “I guess you were right.”

“I wish I could say I was sorry.”

“Don’t you start lying.”

To her surprise, Jackson put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He doesn’t deserve you, Crista.”

“I never would have believed it,” she said. “He cheated on me. He’s been cheating on me the entire time. I’m such an idiot.” For good measure, she pulled off her engagement ring and squeezed it in her palm.

“It’s not your fault,” said Jackson.

She didn’t answer. If she had Jackson convinced that she’d bought his story, it was time to shut up and let it lay. It was also time to get herself out of here and back to Vern. He had to be frantic. She’d reassure him she was safe, and then she’d tell him everything. Jackson and Mac deserved whatever they got.

“Will you let me go now?” she asked.

She could feel their hesitation, but she was afraid to look up and gauge their expressions. Had she seemed too easy to convince? She hoped she hadn’t overplayed her hand.

It was Jackson who spoke. “I’ll drive you home.”

CHAPTER FOUR

C
rista had asked to be taken directly to the Gerhard mansion. Fine by Jackson. He looked forward to seeing the expression on Gerhard’s face when she dumped him.

Once she’d broken it off, he’d report the success to Colin and Trent and go back to his regular life. At least, he ought to go directly back to his regular life. But he wasn’t sure how quickly he wanted to walk away from her.

He found himself strongly attracted to her. But more than that, he was intrigued by her. She couldn’t have had an easy life. Her father was a criminal like Jackson’s. Yet, here she was, running a business, hobnobbing with Chicago’s elite, almost marrying into one of the city’s wealthy families.

She was obviously a survivor, and from what he’d seen of her, she was tough. She’d jumped into the bay, for goodness’ sake, planning to swim for it to save herself. Okay, so maybe she was more reckless than clever. But the same could be said of him.

“Their driveway is the next right,” she said.

She’d redressed in her damp wedding gown, which was now stark against the black leather seat of the Rush Investigations SUV. Jackson appreciated the drama of the visual—breaking your engagement in a ruined wedding gown—but he doubted she was thinking about that. She likely just wanted to get it over with. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

He swung the vehicle into the driveway, passing a pair of brick pillars. They had lions on them. Who did that? Then he steered around the curves of a smooth, oak-lined driveway.

A quarter mile in, the mansion came into view. It was a rambling stone building, three stories high, sprawling in the center of manicured lawns and colorful flower beds. The driveway circled around a cherub fountain. Water spurted from three statues, foaming into a concrete pond.

“I should tell you,” said Crista, her tone flat as he pulled to the curb and stopped in front of the grand staircase. “Just so you understand what’s coming next.” She angled her body to look at him. “I didn’t buy it, not for a second.”

He shifted to Park, his brain sorting through her words for some kind of logic. “Buy what?”

“The fake pictures of Vern. I’m sure the fake emails were just as creative.”

Jackson saw where she was going, and it was nowhere good.

“I’m turning you in,” she continued. Then she made a show of shoving her engagement ring back on her finger. “I’m telling them everything, and I’m not sorry.” She swung open the door.

He lunged for her, but the shoulder belt brought him up short.

“Don’t do that.” He tore off his seat belt and leaped out of the car.

She moved fast considering her spiky shoes and the awkward dress. He rushed to catch up with her.

“They weren’t fake,” he said, kicking himself for having been taken in like a chump. He’d let his mind get ahead of events instead of properly focusing on the moment. He’d let himself project forward, debating whether to offer her comfort right away or wait a decent period of time before asking her out on a date. Distracted by his attraction to her, he’d missed the signs that she was lying.

At the top of the stairs, she rounded on him. “You think I don’t know my own fiancé.”

“Crista—”

“No.”

“Crista?” A man spoke from the doorway behind her.

“Vern,” she gasped in obvious relief, a smile coming over her face.

Her steps quickened, and her arms went out, obviously expecting to rush into his embrace.

But Gerhard was frowning.

“Wait until I tell—” she began.

“What were you
thinking
?” he demanded on a roar. “And who is this guy?”

She stopped short. Jackson’s instincts told him to leave. His duty was done. He was risking arrest and imprisonment by staying.

“Your dress is absolutely ruined.” Gerhard gestured to the soiled and torn gown.

And your fiancée is safe
, Jackson wanted to shout out.

Crista drew back, obviously shocked by the reaction. “I—”

“Do you have any idea what Mother has been through?” asked Gerhard.

Jackson waited for Crista to say that she’d been through something, too. He took a reflexive step away, telling himself to make good his escape before she could tell the story of how she’d been kidnapped and held against her will.

“Mother was
mortified
,” said Vern. “She nearly collapsed right there in the church. She hasn’t come out of her room all morning. The doctor’s with her now.”

“It wasn’t my—”

“Three hundred people,” Gerhard interjected. “The mayor was there, for God’s sake. And who is this?” Vern’s beady black eyes peered in Jackson’s direction.

Jackson stepped forward, his sense of justice winning over his instinct for self-preservation. “Do you even want to know what happened?”

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what
happened
.” Gerhard’s attention turned back to Crista. “She got scared. Well, sweetheart, we all get scared. But you don’t get scared two minutes before the wedding. You do it the day before, and we talk about it. Or do you do it the day after, and we get a divorce.”

Crista’s posture sagged. “A divorce?”

Jackson took her elbow, afraid she might go down.

“You’d want a divorce?” she asked Gerhard in a tone of amazement.

“There are ways to do this,” he answered. “And this wasn’t one of them.”

“That’s not what happened,” said Jackson.

She grasped the hand on her elbow. “Don’t.”

“Crista didn’t get scared,” he said. “I’m the one who stopped your wedding.”

“Let it go,” she whispered. “Don’t do it.”

He glanced down at her expression. It looked like she’d changed her mind and didn’t want him to confess. Well, that worked fine for him.

“Just who are you?” Gerhard demanded again.

“I’m an old boyfriend,” he said, crafting a story on the fly. “I showed up at the church. I begged her for another chance. I told her she couldn’t marry you until we’d talked.”

Vern’s jaw went tight. There was anger in his expression, but it didn’t exactly look like jealousy. “You ran off with another man?”

“I insisted,” said Jackson, bracing for Vern to come at him. If the tables had been turned and Crista had been his bride, Jackson would have taken the man’s head off.

Gerhard didn’t move. His attention swung back to Crista. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t care what you do,” she said, determination returning to her tone.

Gerhard took a step forward, and Jackson stepped between them. “Don’t touch her.”

“Crista, get in the house.”

Jackson countered. “Crista, get in the car.”

“Mother and Father are owed an explanation,” said Gerhard.

“You weren’t even interested in her explanation,” said Jackson.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.” Jackson had no intention of leaving Crista behind.

“This is none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business.”

Gerhard took another step.

Jackson braced his feet apart, willing the guy to take a swing. All he needed was an excuse, and he’d wipe the cocky confidence right off Gerhard’s face.

“Please don’t hurt him,” said Crista.

“Okay,” said Jackson.

“She’s talking to me,” said Gerhard.

Jackson couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Please,” Crista repeated.

“Get in the car,” said Jackson.

“You won’t?” she asked.

“I won’t,” he promised.

“We are not done talking,” Gerhard called to Crista.

“Oh, yes, you are.” Jackson listened to her footfalls until she slammed the passenger door.

“Make any move, and I’ll defend myself,” he told Gerhard.

Gerhard didn’t look like he was going to try.

Still, Jackson kept an eye over his shoulder as he returned to the vehicle. Half of him hoped Gerhard would come at him. But the smarter half just wanted to get Crista away from this family.

He planted himself behind the wheel.

“Just take me home,” she said, yanking her dress into place around her legs.

He started the engine and put the vehicle into gear. “You got it.”

They drove away in silence.

It was five minutes before she spoke up. “You know where you’re going?”

“I know where you live.” He checked his rearview mirror again, making a mental note of vehicles in the block behind them.

“How do you know that?”

“Mac gave me the address.”

“Mac, who was investigating Vern.”

“Yes.”

Both a blue sedan and a silver sports car stayed with them at the left turn.

“This is creepy, you know that?”

“I don’t imagine it’s any fun,” said Jackson.

“You’ve destroyed my life.”

He gave her a quick glance. “You’re blaming me?”

“Of course I’m blaming you.”

“Because your fiancé’s a jerk?”

“Because you ruined my wedding.” She paused for a moment. “It’s not your fault my fiancé’s a jerk.”

Jackson almost smiled as he checked the side mirror.

“I don’t know what that was all about,” she said.

“Maybe he’s not the man you thought he was.”

“He’s never done that before. He’s very even tempered, patient, trusting.”

“Is this the first time you’ve seen him under stress?” Jackson was no expert, but he couldn’t help but think it was a bad idea to marry someone before you’d had a few knock-down, drag-out fights. A person needed to know who fought dirty and who fought clean.

“Vern’s family is important to him,” she said.

“You’re defending that behavior?”

“He didn’t cheat on me.”

“He did. But that’s not the point. He didn’t trust you. He didn’t ask you what happened to you. All he cared about was Mommy and Daddy.”

Crista didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“We’re being tailed,” said Jackson.

“What?”

“Tailed. There’s a car following us. What does Gerhard drive?”

She twisted her head to look behind them.

“Three back,” said Jackson. “The blue Lexus.”

“It could be.”

“You’re not sure?” Who didn’t recognize her own boyfriend’s car?

“The Gerhards own a lot of cars. I think they have one like that.”

“The tribulations of the rich and famous,” Jackson drawled.

“Ha-ha.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I sure don’t want to talk to him again.”

“Good.” Jackson was even more concerned than before.

Trent had claimed Gerhard’s real interest was a diamond mine. And Gerhard sure hadn’t acted like a man afraid for his fiancée’s safety. He’d acted like a man with something to lose—maybe money to lose. And now, instead of stewing in his own self-righteousness or giving her a chance to cool down, he was having her followed. This did not strike Jackson as a typical lovers’ quarrel.

“Want me to lose the tail?” he asked Crista.

“Can you?”

He smiled to himself. “I can.”

“Yes. Do it.”

“Seat belt tight?”

“Yes.”

“Hang on.”

Seeing an intersection coming up, Jackson barged his way across two lanes, moving hard to the left, cutting the yellow way too close and turning onto Crestlake. From there, he took a quick right, drove until they were behind a high-rise and pulled into an underground parking lot.

Crista held on as they bounced over the speed bumps.

He knew the lot had six exits. He took Ray Street, covered three blocks to the park and pulled onto the scenic drive. It would take them over the bridge to the interstate. After that, they could get as far away as she wanted.

“Did we lose him?” she asked, stretching to look out the rear window.

“We lost him.”

They’d probably lost him at the underground, but Jackson had wanted to be certain.

She tugged at the stiff neckline of her dress in obvious frustration, pulling it away from her cleavage. “I need some time to think.”

She looked tired and uncomfortable.

“Is there somewhere you want to go?”

“Not to my place, that’s for sure.”

“You could probably use a change of clothes.”

She tugged at the fabric again. “I’m getting a rash.”

“We’ll take the next exit, find someplace to buy you a pair of blue jeans.”

“That would be a relief. I’d also like to throw this thing in a Dumpster.”

Jackson liked that idea very much. “I can make that happen.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I mean, really. Thanks, Jackson. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He shrugged. “I fix problems. You have a problem.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He felt like he did know her, at least a little bit. And what he knew he admired. “I don’t have to know you to help you.”

“Most people don’t think like that.”

“Lucky for you, you ran into me.”

Her brows rose in skepticism. “Ran into you?”

“I see an exit.” He didn’t want to get into any of the details of his investigation. He sure didn’t want her asking again about who’d sent him.

She watched out the side window. “Looks like a shopping mall down there.”

“That’ll do. You want to go in and try things on or just tell me your size?”

She looked down at the billow of her skirt. “I’ll wait in the car, if you don’t mind.”

“Worried you might attract attention?”

“The last thing I need is for someone to snap a picture and post it to social media.”

He nodded in approval. He was relieved she understood she was being chased by the Gerhards. “Good call. I can see you going viral in that outfit.”

She heaved a deep sigh, her cleavage catching his attention so that he nearly swerved off the exit ramp.

“I was supposed to be on a yacht today,” she said. “Bobbing around the Mediterranean, sipping chardonnay, reading a celebrity magazine and working on my tan.”

Mentally, Jackson added that she would have been under Gerhard’s control, at the mercy of his family. His suspicions were pinging in earnest. Gerhard wasn’t a worried groom. He was a thwarted con artist.

If everything Trent said was true, the Gerhards were organized and ruthless, and they sure wouldn’t want to lose track of Crista. She’d been gone for twenty-four hours. There was every chance Daddy Gerhard had people on her apartment by now. They might even be watching her credit cards and bank account.