Hotshot (8 page)

P
eyton was back at square one.

Now that she was in Texas again, she had time to think. She knew she would have to begin looking for another job right away, but she also would have to decide what she was going to do about Drew and Eileen. She couldn’t just go about her business and forget them. She had been lucky to get away from them and their lackey, Parsons, without any harm, but if she didn’t do something, the next person might not be so fortunate. She realized she didn’t have enough evidence to go to the police; however, she did believe she had enough to stop the Albertsons from endangering someone else.

What she needed was legal advice, but that required money. Attorneys wanted to be paid for their services, and she was flat broke. The trip to Dalton had been expensive and had eaten up all of her reserves.

She was also worried about Mimi. Her friend was in a no-win situation, trapped in a job she hated, working for a boss she abhorred. She was the only person at the company Peyton had sent the recording to, so that immediately put her in danger. Peyton knew what Drew was capable of and decided to check on her.

She was relieved when she heard Mimi’s voice on the phone.

“Are you all right?” Peyton asked. “I was worried that Drew might do something to you after he found out that you had the recording.”

“I’m fine,” Mimi assured her. “Drew didn’t say another word to me about it. I think he was afraid of what I might do with the information. In fact, Drew hasn’t talked to anyone. The day after you left, he and Eileen dragged her father off to Europe, obviously shielding him from the bad news. They talked him into taking his beloved wife’s ashes to Naples, the city she so loved because they were married there. I heard from Bridget—who, by the way, thinks it is all so touching and romantic—that they plan to take Randolph to all the places in Europe he and his wife had visited. God only knows when they’ll be back. I imagine the longer they go without hearing from the legal department, the more time Eileen will have to get on her father’s good side again, and she’ll be able to discredit you if he ever hears the recording.”

According to Mimi, the magazine was running just fine without them. It was a shame, she said, that Erik Swift wasn’t ready to take over the helm. “He’s the only normal one in the whole bunch,” she insisted. “Have you decided yet what you’re going to do with the recording?”

“Not yet,” Peyton answered. “I need some legal advice.”

“Whatever you do, be careful,” Mimi warned.

“I will,” Peyton promised.

F
inn MacBain was standing outside the entrance to Saint Michael’s Catholic Church waiting for his brothers to arrive. He walked to the side of the building so that he wouldn’t have to greet all the guests pouring into the church. More than three hundred people had been invited. The bride’s father was a four-star general; the groom was an officer in the Navy JAG Corps; and the majority of guests were military.

Time was slipping away and Tristan was going to miss his own wedding if he didn’t get moving. Finn adjusted the collar of his tux and rebuttoned his jacket to make sure his gun and badge were hidden from view. He hadn’t intended to wear his weapon to his brother’s wedding, but it wasn’t his choice. Although the general had his own security detail, Finn’s superior in the FBI, Special Agent Corben Henderson, suggested rather strongly that Finn carry his weapon. Henderson felt there should be an FBI presence just in case of trouble, which was why Finn’s new partner, Ronan Conrad, was also attending and was also armed. Henderson claimed he didn’t care how many military officers were there to protect the general, it would be up to the FBI to save the day.

Finn liked being prepared for just about anything, and he had been trained to be cautious to a fault. Though he was relaxed, he still watched every man and woman who got out of a car and walked up the brick path. He was always looking for trouble. He’d learned to be watchful when he started at the Bureau, and he’d been an agent long enough now that the habit had become second nature to him.

Ronan had volunteered to go to the MacBain house to find out what was taking so long. The family home was only five blocks from the church, and it wouldn’t take him any time at all to get there.

Finn’s cell phone rang.

“We have a little problem,” Ronan began.

“What is it?”

“He’s doing the math.” Ronan had a thick Boston accent, but Finn heard the amusement in his tone.

“He’s what?”

“Doing the math. That’s what he keeps telling Beck and me. Counting the reasons he isn’t good enough for her. He’s not being real rational,” he added in a whisper.

Finn thought that, if anyone could get through to Tristan, his twin brother could. “What’s Beck doing?”

“Eating a sub and watching Tristan pace. He looks like he’s gonna pass out. No color at all in his face.”

“Beck or Tristan?”

“Tristan,” he answered, clearly exasperated. “The groom, for God’s sake. Why would Beck pass out?”

The conversation was getting away from him. “The wedding’s supposed to start in twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ronan said. “But he’s still doing the math.”

“Nerves, huh?”

“That’s about right.”

“Put him on the phone.”

Tristan must have paced his way over to Ronan because he answered a scant second later.

“Finn, I’m just not sure I’m right for her. She deserves—”

“Tristan,” he interrupted. “Does Brooke love you?”

“Yes, she does, but—”

“Do you love her?”

“Of course I do. It’s just that—”

“Do you trust her?”

“What kind of question is that? Yes, I trust her . . . with my life . . . but I—”

“Put Ronan back on the phone.”

“Yes?” Ronan said.

“You’re gonna have to knock him out and toss him in the car. Clip his jaw . . . you know how . . . but stay away from his nose. You don’t want to get blood all over his dress whites. And don’t let him see it coming. He’s got a mean right hook.”

Ronan wasn’t sure if Finn was serious or not. “You really want me to slug him?” he asked in a whisper.

“Do you know how many people are waiting in the church, including a frickin’ four-star general? Do whatever it takes to get him here, and tell Beck to put the damn sandwich down and help you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Finn ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. He began to laugh. Tristan was doing the math. How like his brother with his overly analytical mind. If left on his own, he’d figure it all out, but it would probably take him a couple of days to come around to the realization that he was good enough for his bride. The guests weren’t going to wait that long, though.

Finn was sure that Beck, with his warped sense of humor, probably helped get Tristan all worked up. The twins were so much alike and yet so different. Beck was the action guy, and Tristan was the thinker. Like his brother, Beck was in the Navy, but while Tristan had chosen to enlist in the JAG Corps after attending law school, Beck had taken the more direct route through Annapolis and was now with the SEALs. Finn knew that Beck had seen terrible things while on active duty, and he was glad that he had been able to retain his sense of humor. He hadn’t become nearly as jaded or as cynical as Finn.

Less than five minutes later, with plenty of time to spare, the groom arrived. He was rubbing his jaw and frowning at Ronan as he stepped out of the car. Then he saw Finn and, with revenge in his eyes, started toward him, but Beck grabbed his arm and pulled him into the sacristy entrance.

Ronan walked up the hill from the parking lot to where Finn waited.

“You really hit him?” Finn asked.

“Yes, I hit him. That’s what you told me to do.”

“Yeah, I did, but I didn’t think you’d do it.”

While Finn was having a good laugh, Ronan explained, “Tristan had gone beyond panic, and he wasn’t making a lot of sense. Beck kept trying to reason with him, but it wasn’t helping. He was just getting him more worked up.”

“So you coldcocked him?”

“No,” he said. “I swear I hit him hard, and he should have gone right down. Beck was behind him, and I figured he’d catch him. Tristan took the blow and just . . . flinched. Yeah, he flinched,” he said, nodding. “Then he looked at me like he thought I’d lost my mind. I know how to put someone down,” he added. “You’ve seen me do it, right?” He sounded bewildered.

Finn nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen you.” He remembered the crazed football player high on PCP. He would have ripped Finn from limb to limb if Ronan hadn’t come up behind him and knocked him out. He’d saved Finn’s ass that day. A couple of days later, Finn returned the favor.

“Maybe your heart wasn’t in it. Maybe you really didn’t want to knock Tristan out.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So how did you get him here?”

“I must have jarred something loose in his head when I hit him because all of a sudden he didn’t want to do any more math. He just wanted to get to the church to punch you. Oh, wait . . . did I mention I blamed it all on you?”

“Hey, you got him here. That’s all that counts.”

“I think I’ll go on inside,” Ronan said. “I found a great spot where I can watch both the entrance and the side door during the wedding. Some of the general’s soldiers are there now. I’ll push a couple of them out of my way and take over. I know we don’t expect trouble, but better to be prepared. I’ll see you after.”

Finn wasn’t ready to go inside yet. Beck would come and get him when it was time. It was warm today. The sun was shining, and it was at least seventy degrees, he guessed, maybe seventy-five. He and Ronan had spent a week working in Chicago where it had been around ten degrees every single day with crazy below-zero wind chills. The heat felt good on his face. He liked being outside, cold or hot, and he liked being home, too. It had been such a long time.

His cell phone rang, reminding him that he needed to turn it off before the ceremony. He saw who was calling and felt a wave of exhaustion. On-again off-again Danielle was trying to reconnect with him. He wasn’t about to get into that drama. He’d had enough, and he simply didn’t have the stamina for any more of her games. He declined the call and turned off the phone. He should go in, he decided, and was about to do just that when he saw her. The vision in blue. He watched her cross the parking lot and start up the walkway, her high heels clicking against the brick. He noticed her body first, of course. It was damn near perfect. The short, fitted dress showed off her curves and her long, gorgeous legs. Her stride was every bit as sexy as her body. The way she moved was sensual and seductive. She was absolutely beautiful. Her long dark hair, the color of midnight, fell in soft curls just below her slender shoulders.

She must have felt him watching her, for she suddenly turned and looked up the hill. When she saw him, she stepped off the path and started walking toward him. He wanted to swallow, but he couldn’t seem to remember how. He had never reacted to any woman this fiercely, this quickly. What had happened to his self-control? He excused his bizarre behavior by reasoning that she was no ordinary woman. He didn’t want to stare, but the closer she came, the better she looked. Beneath her thick dark eyelashes were the most beautiful, crystalline blue eyes he had ever seen, and her rosy lips were full and inviting.

She stepped directly in front of him and gave him a heart-stopping smile. The dimple in her cheek was sexy as hell. So was her scent, which was light and feminine.

Her eyes sparkled with laughter when she stretched up, kissed him on his cheek, and said, “Hello, Hotshot.”

He was speechless. Peyton Lockhart? He couldn’t believe it. She was all grown-up. She had gone from a skinny little girl to this beautiful woman with a devastating smile. When did this happen? The transformation seemed to have taken place overnight, but then Finn realized he hadn’t been around while she was growing up. He’d gone to California to do his undergraduate work at Stanford and had stayed there for law school. During that time his parents had downsized to a smaller, more energy-efficient home about a mile from their old house in Brentwood. Whenever Finn was home on break, he never had enough time to go back to the old neighborhood.

Finn overcame his surprise enough to speak. “Don’t call me Hotshot.”

“You didn’t know who I was, did you, Finn?” she asked, saying his name to placate him.

“I didn’t have a clue,” he admitted. He was still trying to get past his initial reaction and stop acting as though he had never seen a beautiful woman before. This was Peyton, the little girl who would sit on the front steps and wait for him to come home from high school so she could tell him about her day. She was a nuisance back then, and now a temptress.

“Are your sisters here? I won’t recognize them, either, will I?”

“Yes, they’re here already. I’m running late.”

Beck whistled from the doorway to get Finn’s attention.

“Aren’t you in the wedding?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, I should go in. It’s good to see you again.”

Peyton didn’t want to miss the bride walking down the aisle. “It’s good to see you, too.”

It had suddenly become awkward, and she didn’t understand why. He wasn’t leaving. Beck whistled again, but Finn didn’t move.

“Are you going to the reception?” he asked.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Maybe I’ll see you after the wedding, then.”

Peyton continued on, but when she glanced back, she thought it strange that Finn was still standing in the same spot.

The church was packed. She was able to squeeze into the back row just in time to watch Beck and Tristan escort their mother down the aisle. Finn walked behind with his father.

The MacBains were all good-looking men, but Peyton thought there was a little something extra with Finn. Charisma, she decided. He was definitely charismatic. The camera sure loved him. The last time she’d seen him being interviewed on television, which was quite a while ago, she thought he looked so handsome and sophisticated. There was a weariness about him now, though. She didn’t know what kind of work he did for the FBI, but she had the feeling it was taking its toll.

The priest walked up to the altar, signaling for the ceremony to commence. It was a perfect wedding without a single misstep. Even Father John, who was known to ramble on and on during his sermons, kept his remarks short and interesting. He spoke of love and marriage and the blessings that would come from them. Peyton wondered if true love really did exist anymore. Was there such a thing as happily-ever-after? She hoped so. She didn’t want to become a cynic. She saw the way Tristan looked at his bride, and she wanted to believe in love, even though she had never experienced it herself.

She was one of the last to leave the church because she kept running into people she hadn’t seen in years. Most of them wanted to know what she was doing now. She answered with half-truths. While she didn’t come right out and lie, she made it sound as though she had just returned from France where she had been cooking up a storm. There wasn’t any need to go into the details of her employment fiasco.

Finn stood outside with Beck, watching the guests file out of the church. He spotted Peyton as she emerged. She was immediately surrounded by Navy men in white, all vying for her attention.

“Beck, see that woman over there?” Finn asked, nodding to the group. “Do you know who she is?”

“No, but I’m gonna find out. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Have you met her yet?”

“Yes, and so have you. That’s Peyton Lockhart.”

Beck didn’t believe him. “That scrawny little kid?
That
Peyton Lockhart?”

Finn didn’t bother to answer because Beck was already pushing his friends out of his way to get to her. He watched his brother lift her off her feet and hug her, and her smile indicated she didn’t mind.

The guests mingled outside the church, waiting to offer their good wishes to the bride and groom, and Finn was smack in the middle of them. Ronan stood off to the side, having a conversation with Father John. Finn joined him, and while they listened to the priest, they watched the crowd.

By the time Peyton congratulated the happy couple, it was getting late. She noticed what time it was and headed toward her car. The reception wouldn’t begin until seven, and she was going to miss the celebration because she had to report to work. She had taken a temporary job as a sous-chef at Harlow’s restaurant. This definitely was not her dream job, but she hated being poor, and it was a way to make ends meet while she looked for something else. The owner had given her enough time off to attend the wedding, but only after she promised to be back for the Saturday dinner crowd. She had promised to be there by six.