Swept Away (48 page)

Which brought a certain hot, sexy FBI agent back to mind—of course.

You have to stop thinking about him. You have to banish him from your mind—now. He
was a nonentity in her life. A blip on the radar screen. Soon, the whole island affair wouldn’t even matter.

As for keeping it from Ian, she wasn’t proud of herself for that. And having wild, mind-
numbing, screaming sex with her old crush for the last three days didn’t seem like a great way
to start a marriage. But she was chalking it up to temporary insanity. And telling Ian would
serve no purpose. She was committed to him—that was what mattered. She was going to make
this work.

On Saturday afternoon, Kat stood before a mirror in a private room in the same quaint-yet-regal Port Royal church where her parents had married nearly thirty years ago. Pearls and sequins
sprinkled her pristine white gown, her dainty bouquet lay clutched in one fist, and her veil
flowed down behind her, making her feel the full measure of being “a bride.” Her hair hung in
pretty ringlets, and a glance at her hands revealed a perfect manicure that could almost leave one
not knowing she was a potter. Everything was perfect.

Except for the butterflies in her stomach.

But that’s natural—all brides get them. Don’t they?

She took a deep, cleansing breath and told herself to be happy. Because practically speaking,
this was as good as life got. Not everyone could have grand passion. Maybe she should just be
thankful she’d gotten to experience it for a few brief days, since lots of people probably never
did. But life went on, and a girl had to be practical and sensible. This was the right thing to do.
This would make everyone happy.

Across the room, the door opened and Nina appeared behind her in the mirror, looking lovely
in her pale yellow dress, a flowered wreath nestled in her curling blond locks. “You look
beautiful,” Nina said, but Kat could see that her best friend’s eyes brimmed with sadness.

“You, too,” she said, trying to smile. “I knew the yellow would be perfect for you.”
Nina stepped up beside her. “I’ve been trying to pin you down for two days.”
“Huh?”

As Kat turned toward her, Nina took her hand and led her to a small sofa nearby. “I couldn’t
get you alone during the manicures yesterday, or at the bridal luncheon, or at the rehearsal
dinner. And you haven’t been answering your phone—cell or home.”

True enough, she hadn’t. For this very reason. She loved Nina, but she’d been far too
persistent in her protests. “I’m trying to rest and recover from the whole island ordeal. And I
didn’t need anyone harassing me—still don’t. So if you’re going to make one last plea to cancel
the wedding, forget it.”

Nina spoke calmly and quietly. “What happened on the island between you and Brock?”

Kat had been staring at her hands, her bouquet, but jerked her eyes up to Nina’s. “Nothing.
Why?”

Nina pursed her lips. “Kat. Come on. I know better.”
Kat grimaced slightly. “What do you think you know?”

“That he’s hotter than hell, that you never got over him, and that you were alone with him in a
very secluded setting. It’s pretty easy to do that particular math.”

Today of all days, Kat had been trying to forget what had happened with Brock. Which made
lying about it seem natural. Only she’d never blatantly lied to Nina about anything before, and given that she felt close friendships were just about as sacred as marriage, she had no choice.
Although she kept her voice low when she replied. “Fine, yes, we did it—is that what you
want to hear?”

Nina blinked. “And you’re still going through with this?”

“Look, I’m not proud of what I did, but it was just a temporary lapse—something I needed to get out of my system. And it’s out now, so I can move on with my life.”

“You’re glowing,” Nina said.

“What?”

“You’re thinking about what you did with him and you’re glowing. You’re radiant right now.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m about to get married, ever think of that? I’m a bride. We glow. It’s a
rule.”

“No, it’s Brock. You’re just as crazy for him as you ever were.” She said it matter-of-factly, as
if there were no question.

Which pissed Kat off. She was getting married in a few minutes, for God’s sake, to an entirely
different guy than the one they were discussing. “Is there some reason you’re trying to ruin my
wedding?”

Again, Nina’s voice stayed uncharacteristically calm and sure. “Yes. Because I love you. And
this is wrong.”

A lump grew in Kat’s throat. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” She dropped her gaze
back to the bouquet in her lap.

“I’m sorry, Kat, I really am. I just couldn’t in good conscience let it happen without trying one
more time to make you see reason.”

Kat let out a sigh. She’d never felt more dejected—or confused. All she knew at the moment
was that beyond the door sat a churchful of people waiting to see her take vows, a man who
loved her, and a well-planned life waiting to begin—and nothing Nina said was going to
change it. It hurt like hell to have her best friend tell her she was wrong, even now, when it was
too late to do anything about it anyway.

She lifted her gaze to Nina’s. “Are you going to stand beside me today, be my friend, and
support me in this?”

Nina let out a breath, looking sad, and also maybe as if she felt a little guilty, which Kat thought
warranted. “If you’re sure this is what you really want, Kat.”

“I do,” she whispered.

And the next time she said those words, it would seal her fate.

Brock’s Porsche 911 Turbo Cabriolet purred from Second Street onto Galleon in Port Royal,
where large, stately homes lined the coves and inlets, and every crisp blade of grass stood
polished and in place. He eased down the quietly elegant street until the car prowled slowly
past the Trinity-by-the-Cove Church, where millionaires came to pray. “I’m Not in Love,” an
old song by 10cc, played low on the radio—on that same seventies channel they’d listened to
on the island.

Judging from the parking situation, the place was packed, and he wasn’t surprised. Kat’s
wedding was probably the social event of the season in Naples.

He wasn’t sure why he was here. If he had any sense, he’d be at home, with the blinds pulled,
getting some sleep. On Thursday night, he and various law enforcement officers had returned
to the island and retrieved the artifacts, using Brock’s key after easily picking the lock on the front door, and now the island remained under surveillance to see if anyone showed up looking
for them. That night, he’d traveled home across the Everglades to Miami, where he’d promptly
been debriefed. He’d recounted everything that had happened on the island—other than
copious amounts of sex with Kat, because that was none of the FBI’s business—and shared
his suspicions about Clark Spencer’s involvement in the smuggling. Given that Carlos and
Francisco were dead, Spencer was vital because he was now all they had to go on. And Brock wanted like hell to be the guy to bring Spencer down, but as he’d suspected, his boss had
immediately ordered him to take some downtime, then put someone new on the case. Brock
had gone through a mandatory counseling session the following afternoon before being sent
home to take a month off, whether he liked it or not.

When he’d found himself packing a small bag, getting in his car a few hours ago, and making
the trek back across south Florida’s Alligator Alley, he’d told himself it was about his grandpa and old times. He’d decided he needed to go back to the swamp house—for the first time since
he left ten years ago. He needed to figure out if he wanted to fix it up and sell it, have it leveled
and sell the property—he needed to see if there was anything left there he might want. He
should have done this a long time ago, but he hadn’t quite been ready to face it—until now.
Somehow, talking with Kat, telling her everything that had happened with his family—which
he’d never told anyone before—had finally given him the guts to do this. Coming clean with
her had helped him begin to make peace with his past and maybe start forgiving himself for
taking Clark Spencer’s bribe.

Yet when he’d gotten off the expressway, then glanced at the clock on the dashboard, he’d
found himself headed here first. Before parting ways, Nina had mentioned to him the time and
place of Kat’s wedding, and maybe arriving in Naples just before the two o’clock nuptials hadn’t been purely coincidental. God knew the girl had been on his mind ever since he’d left
her at the marina with that other guy.

He wasn’t sure why he’d come, though. Was he planning to stop the wedding? Nah, not his style. And not his business if this was what she really wanted to do.

Maybe he just wanted to see if she’d truly go through with it. Damn, he hated to think of her
becoming some Naples version of a Stepford wife. As he slid the convertible into a parking spot, he could only sigh. Why are you doing this, kitten?

The classic white church was at once quaint but opulent, the architecture sporting just the tiniest
hint of Caribbean flair. The immaculate grounds, dotted with tall palms, increased the grandeur. Or maybe it was all the guests’ cars, most just as expensive as his. No one lingered outside the
building, and for the first time it occurred to him he might be late.

He’d wanted to time it close—he didn’t need to have anyone who might recognize him see him
slinking in—but shit, what if he was too late? What if he’d missed it? Didn’t matter, really—yet
he’d wanted to get here before she actually said I do. Maybe he needed to see it to believe it.

Jogging up the steps in jeans and a button-down shirt way too casual for the occasion, he eased
the door open just a couple of inches. The foyer appeared empty, so he stepped inside. A guest-
book rested there unattended, and it gave him a jolt of wry amusement imagining if he just
wrote his name down and slipped back out. Just to let her know he’d been there.

But no, that wasn’t why he’d come. It was growing clearer with each passing moment. He
needed to see Kat do this—because if she made a mistake this huge, well, maybe she wasn’t
the strong, independent woman he thought her.

When the rustling of fancy dresses filled the air, he automatically went into low-profile mode and stepped back into an alcove. A procession of bridesmaids in gowns that matched in color but not style paraded to the door leading into the sanctuary. He recognized Nina at the rear of
the pack. She either hadn’t tried to stop the wedding or, more likely, had failed.

The gentle, regal notes of a harp echoed around him, and the bridesmaids began their walk, one
by one. As each girl started her journey, it drew Kat’s trip up the aisle closer and made his
heart beat faster.

When finally Nina clutched her bouquet tight in both fists and took that first step, he shut his
eyes and tried to swallow back the pain. Why the hell did this hurt so damn bad? It was Kat’s
mistake, not his. Her lifetime of unhappiness, not his. He didn’t think it was his anyway.