Lori Wilde - There Goes The Bride (31 page)

“No,” Nick growled. “She’s spent most of her life looking for a magical solution to her problems. Rescuing is not what she needs. What I’m going to do is be there to make sure that Delaney saves herself.”

The members of the wedding party and their families gathered outside the River Oaks Methodist Church for the wedding rehearsal. Delaney had driven over with her parents, and she regretted the decision. Her mother’s constant nit-picking of every little detail had given her a headache.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.” Evan smiled and squeezed her hand. “Your mother means well.”

“I’ve got to get something for this headache,” she said. “I think there’s some ibuprofen in the glove compartment of the Caddy. Go on in, I’ll be right behind you.”

Head throbbing, Delaney headed back out to the parking lot, angling for her mother’s Cadillac. It wasn’t just her mother’s nit-picking that had given her the headache, and she knew it. Guilt was the thing pounding through her veins. She didn’t want to go through with this wedding, but she didn’t have the courage to tell Evan to his face. She had written him a long note, explaining how she felt and begging his forgiveness. She still hadn’t figured out how to handle her mother.

Delaney thought about all the people she was going to hurt and felt physically ill.

She plunked down in the front passenger seat of the Caddy. The humidity plastered her panty hose to her legs. She wouldn’t have worn them, but her mother insisted. Apparently in Honey’s book it was gauche to go bare-legged to a wedding rehearsal.

After resting a moment to let the nausea subside, she popped open the glove compartment and rummaged around until she found the ibuprofen. She pulled the bottle out, and a crumpled-up note fell out with it.

What was this?

Delaney unfolded the note, read what was written there in stark black block letters.

She let out a gasp and plastered her hand over her mouth. Her mother had been lying. At last, she knew the reason her mother had gone to meet the patch-eyed woman at the amusement park on Galveston Island.

Honey Montgomery Cartwright was being blackmailed.

What she didn’t know was why.

“Invitation, sir.” The security guard posted outside the River Oaks Methodist Church held out his palm and waited expectantly for Nick to paper it with a wedding invitation.

But he didn’t have one.

“No invite?” The guard arched an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Sorry.” The guard moved to block the door. “Without an invitation you don’t get in.”

A few people were still trickling in from the parking lot, but they were rushing as if late, flashing their invitations to the security guard, then slipping inside through the heavy wooden door. The sun beat down hot, pooling sweat under the collar of the only suit Nick owned. The suit he’d bought for his grandfather’s funeral.

“You don’t understand,” Nick said. “It’s imperative I get in. The bride is about to make a huge mistake.”

“If you ask me, anyone who gets married is making a huge mistake.” The guard shook his head. “Can’t go in.”

The sounds of the wedding march began. He had to get in there before it was too late. Louie wouldn’t be showing up to kidnap Delaney as she expected, and if Nick wasn’t there to intervene, he feared she’d just go ahead with the ceremony.

“I have to get in there.”

“You want me to call the cops?”

“I am the cops.”

“Prove it.”

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Nick fumbled in his pocket for his badge and shoved it in the guy’s face. “Now get the hell out of my way.”

“Jeez, fella, why didn’t you just say you were a cop in the first place?” the guard grumbled and stepped aside.

Nick tore into the building.

The contrast from the bright sunlight to the darkened interior of the church had him blinking. Disoriented, he stood in the entryway while his eyes adjusted.

Flowers invaded the foyer, filling his nose with their fresh summer scent. He heard the rustling of clothes, the muted coughs of the spectators, and the wedding march. The song was already half over.

The doors leading into the chapel were thrown wide. He hurried toward them and saw Delaney on the arm of a man he presumed was her father, moving toward the altar.

Instinct had him wanting to shout her name, but he would wait for the right moment. When the minister asked if there were any objections, that’s when he would say his peace.

He looked around for a place to sit, but he was out of luck. The chapel was crammed to the rafters. This shindig was costing her father a boatload of money. Boy, was he going to be upset when everything blew up in his face.

But probably not as upset as Evan Van Zandt was going to be. Nick actually felt sorry for him. He knew what it was like, getting dumped by the woman you loved.

Heart clogging his throat, Nick went to stand against the back wall, watching the proceedings with a surreal feeling of detached anxiety. It was as if he were in a dream, knowing he was dreaming but unable to wake up. What if, when the time came, he shouted out his objection but no one heard him?

Goose bumps broke out on his arms. He was too far away. He needed to move closer. Nick started creeping around the back of the church, picking his way past the other attendees who’d been too late to find a seat, all the while craning his neck to follow what was going on up at the altar.

Delaney looked absolutely, totally stunning in that white dress and wedding veil.

Nick stared at the veil. When she walked, it looked as if a hundred white butterflies were fluttering up around her. She looked like magic, pure and perfect. And he wanted her with the same seven-year-old fervency he had wanted his mother not to die. If he didn’t stop her from marrying Van Zandt, he feared his heart would never, ever recover.

Delaney’s father put her hand in Van Zandt’s and stepped back to take a seat in the front row.

Nick stopped making his way around the side of the packed pews, every muscle in his body tensed as he heard the portly minister say, “Dearly beloved . . .”

But that was as far as the man got.

A loud noise, like someone tripping over tin cans stacked high behind the exit door to the left of the altar, drew everyone’s attention in that direction.

The minister paused.

The exit door flew open and a man dressed in black jeans, a long-sleeved black button-down shirt, black boots, and a black ski mask came tumbling out. He looked as out of place as a chunk of charcoal in a basket of marshmallows.

The guests heaved a collective gasp.

Anger shook him. Dammit. Trudie must have forgotten to cancel her nephew, Louie. Either that or she hadn’t trusted Nick to get Delaney out of this mess of her own making. That was a fine state of affairs. Now what was he going to do?

Before Nick had time to formulate a plan, Louie was at the altar waving a gun around. He hoped like hell it was a prop gun, because if it wasn’t, whenever he got his hands on Louie he was going to make him sorry he ever agreed to this fake kidnapping.

Poor Van Zandt looked scared out of his wits. He was trembling and blinking and just standing there impotently letting it all play out. If Nick had been up there, he would have charged the guy.

So charge him anyway. Put a stop to this nonsense.

Nick ran.

But some woman had her purse in the aisle and he tripped over it. His knee crumbled. He cursed but immediately got back up.

Louie was already dragging Delaney out the exit. The crowd was on their feet, everyone following after them.

The mob bottlenecked at the exit door, and Nick knew it was time for another plan. Ignoring the pain shooting through his knee, he did an about-face and headed back in the direction he’d come, dodging the guests surging forward.

Somehow, he made it out to his pickup just in time to spy a white delivery van careening out of the parking lot with Louie at the wheel.

Nick started his engine, popped the clutch into gear, and sped off after them.

The nondescript white delivery van roared from the church parking lot. Jim Bob Cartwright stared after it, his mind numb. “Someone call 911. My daughter’s been kidnapped!” he intended to shout to the clump of tuxedoed crowd gawking at him, but his throat squeezed so tight he could not speak.

Honey wrapped her hand around his wrist. “We’ve got to get out of here, James Robert. Right now.”

“No, no,” he gasped and clung to her arm. “Must call police. FBI. Delaney’s been kidnapped.”

Honey lowered her voice. “Listen to me. We can’t call in the authorities.”

Jim Bob stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?”

“We can’t call the police.”

Was his wife afraid of public embarrassment? The vein at his forehead throbbed suddenly, violently. He let go of her, stepped back, and fisted his hands. Was Honey actually worried about how this was going to reflect on her? Was she more concerned about appearances than her daughter’s safety?

Disgust sickened his stomach. “Why in the hell not?”

“Please, James Robert.” Her eyes beseeched him. It had been a very long time since he’d seen her this vulnerable, and it scared him. “Just take me home.”

“No, no. We have to call the authorities. Someone just kidnapped our daughter.”

“We
can’t.
” Fear drew her mouth tight, creased the fine wrinkles around her eyes. She looked haunted, hunted.

“What is it, Honey? What’s wrong?”

“I know who took Delaney.”

He watched her—confused, nervous, heart pounding. Beneath his tuxedo, sweat plastered his shirt to his back.

Honey hitched in a fragile breath that sounded strangely like the frantic beat of hummingbird wings. “And I know why she took her. She took her because of me. ”

“She? It was a man who kidnapped Delaney.”

“Hired thug.”

“What?”

Honey swayed and Jim Bob was afraid she would collapse. Instinctively, he circled his arm around her waist. “Are you all right?”

“This heat. Get me out of here.”

“We have to call the cops,” he said. “I’m going to call the cops.”

“No.” Her voice was soft, yet shrill.

He ignored her protest, turned to the crowd around them. The longer they waited, the farther Delaney got from them. “Does anyone have a cell phone I can use?”

A half dozen people thrust cell phones at him, but before Jim Bob could grab one, Honey tugged him in the direction of their car, her fingernails digging into his skin.

He balked, digging his heels into the pavement.

“James Robert,” she said through gritted teeth, “don’t buck me on this.”

He studied her face, regal, proud, well preserved yet suddenly looking every bit of her fifty-three years. This was the first time in years he’d seen her looking so unguarded, so full of pain and hunger and desperation. She was a mystery to him. Always had been and he feared she always would be.

“I’m tired of tiptoeing around you, Honey,” he growled. “Tired of pretending we don’t have a big problem with our marriage. Tired of kowtowing and trying to please you. It’s impossible. Nothing pleases you.”

“Stop,” she hissed, shifting her gaze to the gawking crowd gathered behind them.

“Why? Afraid of a little public embarrassment? Is that it? You’d rather save face than save your daughter?”

Honey’s cheeks blanched so pale Jim Bob thought she might faint. He felt like an utter shit and rushed to slide his arm around her once more.

His wife rested her head against his shoulder, pressed her lips against his ear, and whispered hoarsely, “We can’t call the cops because I’m being blackmailed.”

“You’re not Trudie’s nephew,” Delaney exclaimed to the man who’d snatched her from the chapel.

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Where’s Louie?”

“I dunno. Who’s Louie?”

“You’re not working for Trudie?”

“No.”

“I think you’ve abducted the wrong bride.”

“No, I haven’t.” He pulled a piece of paper from his front pocket. “Delaney Lynn Cartwright. That’s you, right?”

“Pull this van over right now and let me out of here,” she commanded in her best imitation of her mother.

“Sorry.” He shook his head, thick with dark, shaggy hair. “No can do.”

“You’re kidnapping me for real? This isn’t some prank?”

He eyed her in the rearview mirror. “What do you think?”

How had this happened? What was going on?
“Who in the hell are you?”

“There’s no need for you to know my name.”

“So what am I supposed to call you? Here, kidnapper, kidnapper, kidnapper?”

He laughed. “Cute, but it’s not going to work. You ain’t getting my name.”

“Maybe I’ll just call you Little Dick,” she said, feeling a million miles away from her old self. In spite of being kidnapped, she was feeling spunky and relieved. This guy didn’t know her. She could say anything. Be anyone. It was a surprisingly freeing thought.