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Hook, Line and Shotgun Bride
Cassie Miles
About the Author
Though born and raised in L.A., CASSIE MILES has lived in colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk creek, with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Posy.
After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Ceviche, anyone? She’s discovered almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
Hook, Line and
Shotgun Bride
Cassie Miles
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u8b88eab3-6cee-52ed-8188-aea81111d74c)
About the Author (#ub5cf12d5-1b06-5280-a1c1-66350600950a)
Title Page (#u43c0907c-9c8f-5fed-8901-17710421acc4)
Chapter One (#u9083f45e-33ee-54b4-80ad-15384a9ede2e)
Chapter Two (#u73eece19-8136-5e92-be41-544484be387e)
Chapter Three (#ud9a7c806-f154-5fce-a738-a72172b67b4b)
Chapter Four (#u74ab1e05-bf24-59a8-b511-7e8081584f59)
Chapter Five (#ub0517cde-aa9e-5d31-88b9-037cc67ded3d)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
A flat tire.
Tom Hawthorne slammed the door to his Toyota SUV, slammed it hard. Why the hell had he decided to take a shortcut instead of staying on the highway? It was the middle of the night, and he was stuck on this winding gravel road in a mountain valley. No other cars. Not a cabin in sight. Only the stars bore witness to his rage. “Son of a bitch.”
Lately, things had been going wrong more often than right. He would have felt cursed if it wasn’t for Angela.
The thought of her cooled his temper. He carried her image with him always, through the hell of the battlefield and the horror of working triage as a Marine Corps medic. Angela’s sweet love made everything bearable.
As he opened the rear of the SUV, he took out his cell phone. Surprise, surprise, he actually got a signal.
She answered right away, as though she’d been waiting for his name to pop up on her caller ID. “Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Hello, Mrs. Hawthorne.” Though they’d been married eight months, he still enjoyed claiming her as his wife. “I’m going to be later than I thought. I got a flat.”
“Bummer. How was your night out with the boys?”
Boring as hell. “I’d rather be with you.”
“But it’s traditional for a Marine to blow off steam while he’s home on leave.”
One-handed, he hauled out the spare tire and the jack. If he’d still been a drinker, he might have had more fun on his night out with old buddies at a bar. The only alcohol Tom had consumed in the past year was a glass of champagne at their wedding. “The hour-and-a-half drive to the mountains was too long. And I lost twenty-seven bucks at pool. But you could make me feel a whole lot better, baby. What are you wearing?”
“Flannel pajamas.” She laughed. “Are you fixing that tire or what?”
“Give me some incentive,” he murmured. “Tell me about your sexy nightgown.”
This was a game they’d played for years, and she was good at it. Her voice lowered to a purr. “I’m standing in front of the fireplace, and I’m warm all over. I have on a black, see-through nightie. It’s short—so short that it doesn’t even cover my bum if I bend over.”
He closed his eyes, relishing a mental picture of Angela’s slender waist and round butt. “Your hair?”
“Loose and tangled all the way down my back. Oh, and I have those highlights I’ve been wanting to get to perk up the brown.”
“What kind of shoes?”
“High heels, of course. And silky black stockings. And a lacy garter belt.”
“Baby, I can’t wait to get home.”
“Can’t wait for you to be here.” Her voice returned to a normal tone. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“It’s after ten now. I’d say eleven-thirty.” He set down the jack beside the flat.
“How’s your buddy Max doing?” she asked. “Does he like being a daddy? “
“Looking at pictures of his baby was the best part of the night. I’m ready to start a family of our own.” He looked up and saw headlights approaching. “Hey, there’s somebody else on this godforsaken road.”
“Maybe they can help you,” she said.
“It’s just a flat tire. I don’t need help.”
The other vehicle—a truck—jostled around a curve at an unsafe speed. He was an accident waiting to happen. Luckily, Tom had managed to pull onto the shoulder and had left his lights on. The other driver should be able to see him.
“When you get home,” Angela said, “I’ll make you some hot chocolate with whipped cream.”
“Sounds nice.” Damn, that truck was moving fast.
“I love you, honey.”
The headlights blinded him. The truck was headed directly at him. What the hell?
The impact crushed him against the side of his SUV. His legs collapsed and he hit the gravel. The truck backed up. The engine revved. He was coming again. This was no accident.
Tom was a dead man. He knew it. He spoke his last words, “Love you, too.”
ANGELA HAWTHORNE lay on her comforter, fully dressed, staring at the digital bedside clock as it clicked to that fateful time: 10:23.
A little over five years ago, her husband had been killed by a hit-and-run driver at exactly that moment. She’d heard the crash, heard his last words and then her phone went dead.
One-zero-two-three.
Her world stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, Tom. I miss you so much. She was poised at the edge of an abyss, wishing she could leap into ultimate forgetfulness and knowing that she never would lose her memories.
The moment passed.
A gust of wind splashed rain against the windowpanes. This was one of those summer electrical storms that started in the mountains and swept down to attack Denver with a fury. The distant thunder even sounded like artillery.
When she rose from the bed, she felt light-headed. She shook herself. Her eyes took a moment to focus as though she’d had too much to drink.
She slipped her feet into a pair of well-worn loafers and shuffled down the hall to her son’s room. Benjamin Thomas Hawthorne, almost four years old, was her miracle baby.
After Tom’s first tour of duty, he’d insisted that they create a stockpile of frozen embryos in case anything happened to him. She’d objected, mostly because she didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of her husband being wounded or, God forbid, killed. He’d soothed her fears and promised to come back to her, but his work as a medic meant he came into contact with a lot of disease. He hadn’t wanted to take a chance on having his DNA damaged or becoming sterile.
Every single day, she was grateful for Tom’s foresight. Less than a year after his death, she’d undergone the in vitro fertilization process. Nine months later, she gave birth to Tom’s son.
As she opened the door to Benjy’s room, the light from the hallway slanted across the foot of the big boy bed that had replaced his crib. He’d kicked off his covers and sprawled on his back on top of his dinosaur-patterned sheets. His honey-brown hair, a bit lighter than hers, curled around his ears.
His curtains—also dinosaurs—fluttered. His window was partially open, and the rain spattered across the sill. She thought she’d closed all the windows when the rain started but she must have missed this one. As she pulled the window down and locked it, she noticed that the screen was loose. Something she’d have to repair in the morning.
After she tucked the comforter up to Benjy’s chin, she kissed his forehead. He was an amazing kid, full of energy and incredibly bright. Everyone told her that she should start looking into preschools for gifted children.
Her fiancé was especially adamant on the subject of Benjy’s education. She exhaled a sigh, wondering for the hundredth time if she was making a mistake by remarrying. No doubt, Dr. Neil Revere was a catch. At age thirty-six, he was ten years older than she was and well-established in his career as a virologist and professor at University Medical. He was wealthy, handsome, kindhearted and he loved Benjy. What more could she possibly want?
As she left Benjy’s room and stepped into the hall, another bout of dizziness sapped her strength. She leaned against the wall. These nervous jitters had to stop. It was far too late for her to be having second thoughts about Neil. The wedding was Saturday. Three days from now.
When the phone rang, she jumped. Was she imagining this call in the night? Reliving the past?
She dashed into the front room and grabbed the phone, half expecting to hear Tom’s voice. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Shane. I wanted you to know that I’m running late.”
Please don’t tell me that you have a flat tire. “That’s okay. I’m awake.”
“No need for you to stay up. I’ll get a motel room tonight and come over in the morning.”
“You’re staying here,” she said firmly. Shane Gibson was Tom’s cousin—the only family member who’d be attending her wedding. “I have the extra bedroom ready, and I made some of those macadamia nut cookies you like so much.”
“You talked me into it,” he said. “I won’t be much longer. I can already see the lights of Denver.”
When she set the phone on the coffee table, her heart was beating too fast. The erratic thump echoed inside her rib cage like a snare drum. She sank onto the sofa and concentrated on breathing slowly, in and out. Slowly, slowly. Her skin prickled with tension. A heat wave rose from her belly to her breasts to her throat to the top of her head. God, she was burning up. Sweating.
She’d felt this way before. Always at night. Always at the same time.
When she’d told Neil, he said her symptoms sounded like she was having a panic attack. He wanted her to see a psychiatrist, but she refused. She’d gone to a shrink after Tom’s death and hated the process of talking and talking and never finding answers. As a mom and the half owner of a breakfast restaurant, she didn’t have time to wallow in the past. Instead, she’d taken the mild sedative Neil prescribed for her. The pills usually worked. But not tonight.
Gradually, her pulse returned to normal. Leaning back against the sofa, she wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. I’m fine. I’ve got to be fine. There were dozens of details she needed to handle before the wedding. Though it started as an intimate ceremony, the guest list had somehow expanded to nearly 150.
She’d be glad to have Shane here to help take care of Benjy. Shane and her husband had grown up together in a small town in Clear Creek County. Shane still lived in Silver Plume, where he was a deputy sheriff. Of all Tom’s friends, Shane had been the most understanding. His was the shoulder she cried on.
And she had a secret agenda for Shane while he was in town. Eyes still closed, Angela smiled to herself. She planned to fix him up with the French woman who provided pastries for her restaurant. They were both tall with black hair and blue eyes. Obviously, made for each other.
Happy thoughts of matchmaking filled her mind, and she breathed more easily. Everything’s going to be just fine. She dozed for a moment before a loud clap of thunder roused her. No sleeping allowed. She’d promised Shane that she’d be awake when he arrived.
Her legs were steady when she rose from the sofa, and she was pleased that her bout of nerves had passed. In the entry to the kitchen, her hand paused above the light switch. She saw a reflection in the window above the sink. A light? But that didn’t make sense. That window faced the backyard. She squinted hard and focused on the dark beyond the glass panes.
She saw two lights, side by side. As she watched, they grew larger. Like the headlights on a truck. A ghostly truck. The lights bore down on her. Closer and closer. Coming right at her. They were going to crash through the window.
Reflexively, she threw up her hands.
When she looked again, the lights were gone.
A hallucination? No, it was too real. She knew what she’d seen. Without turning on the overhead light, she crept across the tile floor, leaned over the kitchen sink and peered into the yard. A flash of lightning illuminated the shrubs, the flowers and the peach tree. No headlights. No truck.
It must have been some kind of optical illusion—a trick of the light and rain.
She filled a plastic cup with water from the sink and took a sip.
A loud crash came from the hallway.
The cup fell from her hands and splashed water on the kitchen floor. The noise came from the direction of Benjy’s bedroom. She remembered his open window with the loose screen. Someone could have climbed inside through that window.
She grabbed a butcher knife from the drawer by the sink, dashed down the hallway and flung open the door to her son’s room. With no thought for her own safety, she charged inside. He wasn’t in the bed. Frantic, she turned on the light. He was gone. Oh, God, no.
“Benjy?” Her voice quavered. “Where are you?”
Her heart thumped hard and heavy. She ran to his window. It was closed, exactly the way she’d left it.
The door to his closet was slightly ajar. Holding the knife in her right hand, she grasped the door handle with the left and pulled the door open.
With a huge grin, Benjy greeted her. “Mommy.”
She placed the knife on his dresser and gathered him into her arms. She held him tightly against her breast— relieved that he was all right and terrified of the unknown danger that might still be in her house. Something had made that crash. She couldn’t let down her guard, couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened. “Why were you in the closet?”
“I don’t know.”
He didn’t seem frightened. Wide awake and alert, but not scared. “Were you hiding?”
“I couldn’t find my stegosaurus. I want him to sleep with me.”
“Benjy, this is important. Was anyone in your room?”
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
She struggled to keep the tremor from her voice. “Everything’s fine. We’re going to be fine.”
The doorbell rang. It had to be Shane. Please let it be Shane.
Benjy wriggled free from her grasp. She tried to grab him, but he dashed from his room and down the hall. Directly into danger? What if it wasn’t Shane at the door?
She grabbed the knife and ran to the door behind her son. Loudly, she shouted, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Shane. I’m getting wet out here.”
“Shane’s here!” Benjy cried delightedly.
She flipped the lock and opened the door for the big, tall mountain man in his cowboy hat. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her entire life.
Chapter Two
After years as a deputy sheriff, Shane was accustomed to dealing with crises. He read terror in Angela’s eyes. Something had thrown her into a panic, and she wasn’t a woman who scared easily.
He ruffled Benjy’s hair and pulled Angela into a one-armed hug. “What’s the problem?”
Trembling, she whispered, “I think someone broke into the house.”
“Did you see him?”
“No.”
“Do you think he’s still here?”
Her voice cracked at the edge of a sob. “I don’t know.”
With a small child in the mix, this wasn’t the time for a showdown with an intruder. He separated from Angela. Was that a knife in her hand? What the hell was she thinking? He scooped her son off the floor and said, “Let’s go for a drive.”
“You’re wet,” Benjy said.
“Rain will do that.” He dug his cell from his jacket pocket and handed it to Angela. “Make the call to 911.”
She stared at the phone as though it might grow fangs and bite her. “I don’t want to contact the C-O-P-S. I might be imagining things. Could you just take a look around?”
He’d never been able to say no to Angela. From the first time Tom introduced her as his fiancée, she’d been able to twist Shane around her little finger. Not that she asked for much or tried to manipulate him. Angela didn’t have a devious bone in her body. She faced the world with a straightforward determination. A flame burned within her. Sometimes she was bright as a torch. Other times, like now, she was a flickering candle. He’d do anything to nurture her delicate fire.
“You said you might be imagining things,” he said. “Why?”
“I heard a crash. Down the hall.”
“Toward your bedroom?”
“Yes.” Her lips were tight. Beneath the sweep of her long brown hair, her forehead pinched. She was desperate, stressed to the breaking point.
“I’ll take care of this,” he said.
He was pretty sure they weren’t dealing with a drug-crazed psycho, mainly because they hadn’t been attacked while standing here talking. But he intended to take her supposed imagining seriously. Until he knew better, he would assume there was an intruder.
From where Shane stood, he could see that the small living room and the L-shaped dining area were clear. The kitchen was straight ahead and the lights were on. If someone was hiding in the house, he was down the hall to the left.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said as lowered the boy to the floor. “Benjy, I want you and your mom to stand here, right by the door. If I yell, you run outside as fast as you can. Understand?”
“Yes.” He held up his arms. “Can I hold your hat?”
“You can wear it.”
When he placed his hat on the boy’s head, Benjy giggled. “Look, Mommy. I’m a cowboy.”
“You sure are.” Protectively, she placed her hand on her son’s thin shoulder.
“Why do we run outside?”
“It’s a game,” she said.
Suitcase in hand, Shane went toward the hallway. As soon as he was out of Benjy’s sight, he unzipped his bag and took out his Sig Sauer. He almost hadn’t brought his weapon. Firearms generally weren’t needed at a wedding.
Moving fast, he entered the first bedroom, the guestroom that usually served as a home office for Angela. He looked into the closet and under the bed. Found nothing.
In the bathroom, he yanked aside the shower curtain. Nobody here.
As he approached Benjy’s bedroom, he could hear Angela reassuring her son, telling him that Shane would be right back and everything was okay. He hoped she was right.
Except for the messed-up covers on the bed, Benjy’s room was exceptionally neat. The closet was almost empty.
The last room to search was Angela’s—the bedroom she’d once shared with his cousin. In a glance, Shane scanned the cream-colored walls and dark wood furniture. After he checked the small adjoining bathroom and the closet, he lowered his gun and returned to her room. A lilac scent perfumed the air; it was Angela’s special fragrance. He never smelled lilacs without thinking of her.
Though he could tell that she’d been clearing out her things in preparation for the move to her new home, there were mementos scattered around the room. A tortoiseshell hairbrush set that belonged to her grandmother. A plate with Benjy’s baby handprints. A handmade quilt Shane had bought for her at a firemen’s bazaar in the mountains. Lots of photographs decorated the walls, including a formal wedding portrait of her and Tom. He wondered if she’d take that picture when she moved in with her new husband.
Finding no intruder, he closed the open window in her bedroom. He noticed that a framed watercolor of yellow roses had fallen from the wall, probably blown down by a gust through the window. The glass in the frame was cracked.
In the guestroom, he slipped his gun under the pillow, then returned to the front door, pushed the door closed and locked it. “No problem.”
A nervous smile touched her full lips. “Thanks, Shane.”
“I think I might have found what spooked you.” He held up the eight-by-ten watercolor. “This picture fell off the wall.”
“Ha! I knew I heard a crash.”
When Benjy tilted his head to look up, Shane’s hat fell to the floor. The boy scrambled to pick it up and returned it to his head. “Did you ride your horse?”
Shane crouched down to his level. “You know I’m not really a cowboy. I’m a deputy.”
Benjy gave him a stubborn scowl. “A depitty cowboy.”
“And you’re a kid who needs to go back to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
While Angela escorted her son back to his bedroom, Shane went into the kitchen. He’d visited this house often enough to know where everything was. Usually, the countertops were covered with fancy little appliances. Not tonight. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen sparkled. Except for a plastic cup on the floor and a water spill near the sink. Using paper towels, he mopped up.
All this cleanliness must be due to the Realtor’s “For Sale” sign in the front yard. The house had to be kept spiffy for showings.
He found a plate of macadamia nut cookies on the small kitchen table and poured himself a glass of milk. This was a nice little ranch-style house in a good neighborhood. It ought to sell fast, and Shane told himself that he was glad to see Angela moving on with her life. When Tom and Angela bought this place a couple of months before their wedding, he’d helped them paint and move in the few sticks of furniture they’d owned. He remembered their high hopes for the future. After Tom finished his time in the military, he’d planned to go to med school and become a doctor.
He munched his way through three cookies while he thought of the good times and the bad. Angela was about to take another big step forward, and so was he.
She joined him. After getting Benjy back to sleep, she’d taken a moment to comb her wavy hair and pull it back in a ponytail. Though she was more composed than when she’d answered the door, he saw tension in the set of her jaw. Her cheeks were flushed. She’d lost weight.
“Thanks for checking out the house, looking for the bogeyman.” She sat opposite him at the small table. “I guess I’ve got a bad case of prewedding jitters.”
“I’m no expert,” he said, “but most brides tend to get fussy about bouquets and cakes and seating arrangements. They don’t go running around their house with a butcher knife.”
“After I heard that crash, I went to Benjy’s room. He wasn’t in the bed. I was terrified.”
“Where was he?”
“Hiding in the closet. I don’t know why.” She rested both elbows on the table and propped her chin on her fists. “I’ve been edgy, not sleeping well. You know how I can get. Not that I’m comparing a case of nerves to how I felt after Tom died.”
He remembered. She’d been overcome with grief, and he’d stayed with her nearly the whole time, except when he went back up to the mountains to follow up on the investigation into the hit-and-run accident that had killed his cousin. The detectives on the case had been competent, but they’d never apprehended the driver of the vehicle that ran him down.
He studied the woman sitting opposite him. A few days before getting married, she should have been excited and happy. “What’s making you feel this way?”
“The wedding has gotten out of hand. I didn’t think it would. Neil has a small family. Since both my parents are dead, I don’t really have anybody.”
“You’ve got me,” he said. “And I’m honored to be walking you down the aisle.”
“Tom would have wanted it that way. It’s symbolic that you’re giving me away.”
He didn’t like the way that sounded. He wanted to hold on to their friendship. “I’m not leaving your life. Or Benjy’s. Like it or not, I’m always going to be hanging around.”
“I like it.”
She had the warmest smile. When she relaxed, he saw that candle flame inside her grow steady and strong. He reached across the table and took her hand. “Your wedding shouldn’t be a burden.”
“I’ve missed you.” She gazed into his eyes. “It’s been over a month since I’ve seen you.”
“Anytime you need me, I’m just a phone call away.” He looked into her eyes. The color of her irises had always fascinated him—a greenish-gray that seemed to change with her mood and the clothes she wore. Right now, they were more green, matching the cardigan she’d thrown over her white V-neck shirt. “Tell me how your quiet little ceremony turned into a monster.”
“Everybody means well.” She gave his hand a squeeze, rose from the table and went to the sink to get a glass of water. “At first, I only wanted to invite my partner at the restaurant and the main chef. When the other employees heard, they wanted to come, and I couldn’t say no.”
Her south Denver restaurant—Waffles—was only open for breakfast and lunch. “Your staff isn’t too large.”
“Right, and I figured we’d have the reception at Waffles in the evening so catering wouldn’t be a problem. Just a casual dinner. Then Neil’s friends and coworkers wanted invitations. Doctors and nurses from the hospital. And professors from the university. Important people.” She took a sip of her water. “Not that the woman who’s working on a cure for malaria is more important than one of my busboys, but I want to put my best foot forward.”
“I understand.”
“Before I knew what was happening, I was arranging for tons of flowers and a DJ and imported champagne and a fancy cake.” Her eyes flashed. “That reminds me. I hope you’re not dating anybody special right now because I’ve got someone I want you to meet. She’s French.”
“Ooh-la-la.” He hated being fixed up but didn’t want to burst her bubble.
“On top of everything else,” she said, “I’m selling the house, and it has to look great.”
“Is that why you’re still living here instead of at Neil’s house? For showings?”
“For convenience,” she said. “My house is five minutes away from the restaurant and from Benjy’s babysitter. It’s easier to stay here while I handle the wedding preparations. Neil lives on the outskirts of Boulder. It’s a forty-five-minute drive, longer if I run into traffic.”
It seemed to him that a couple in love would want to be together no matter how problematic. If he’d been getting married to Angela, he would have turned his life upside down to be with her.
“I’m here now,” Shane said. “Tell me what you need, and you can consider it done.”
She gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re here. When I heard that crash in the bedroom, I was imagining the worst.”
“And it was nothing serious,” he said. “The wind must have knocked the painting off the wall.”
She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Your bedroom window was open.”
Her eyes widened, and she gasped. “It was closed. I’m sure it was closed. I remember the rain splattering against the panes.”
If that was true, someone had opened the window. She was right about the intruder. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, God, I don’t know.” Her hand rose to cover her mouth. “I think so. Is there a way to prove someone was inside?”
“I doubt anyone was inside. With all this rain, they would have left wet footprints, and I didn’t see anything.”
She shuddered. “What if they were standing outside and peeking in?”
He thought of his gun under the pillow in the extra bedroom. If somebody was sneaking around the house, he needed to secure his weapon. “Stay here.”
He retrieved his gun and checked the window in the guestroom. It was locked. Moving fast, he surveyed the other windows and made sure they were all fastened.
When he returned to the kitchen, she was pacing. Her moment of calm had been replaced by renewed panic.
“Angela, listen to me.”
“How could I be so careless? I know I should keep the windows locked, but I have them open during the day. When I checked on Benjy earlier tonight, his window was open and the screen was loose. Somebody could have slipped inside. Into my son’s room!”
“The window is locked now. I checked.”
“I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to rob me?”
He fastened his holster on his hip and put the gun away. Holding her by both shoulders, he stared into her eyes. “This isn’t a typical break-in. Nothing was stolen.”
“What are you saying?”
“This is personal.” Somebody wanted to hurt her, to frighten her.
“How do you know?”
“I’m not a big-city cop, but I’ve seen my share of troublemakers and stalkers.”
“A stalker? Oh, damn. What am I going to do?”
“You and Benjy need to move out of this house as soon as possible. Tonight. Maybe you can stay at Neil’s house.”
“I can’t. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy. Or helpless.”
“He’s going to be your husband. If you can’t share your fears with someone you love, who can you tell?”
“Not tonight.” In spite of her raging fear, her voice was determined. “I won’t wake Benjy again. I’m putting him through too many changes. A new house. A new daddy. A new babysitter. I can’t tell him that mommy has a stalker. I don’t want to scare him.”
“I understand.” And he figured he could handle just about any threat. “We’ll stay here. I’ll make sure we’re safe.”
“Thank you, Shane.” She flung her arms around his neck and held on tight. Her slender body pressed against him, and he tried to ignore his natural response to having a beautiful woman in his arms. This was Angela, after all. She’d been Tom’s wife, then his widow. Now she was engaged to another man. Shane had no right to feel anything more than friendship.
But she was so warm. He closed his eyes for a moment as he embraced her. Quietly, he said, “I won’t let anybody hurt you.”
He heard the front door open. Still holding her, he drew his gun.
Dr. Neil Revere strode into the kitchen. “What the hell is going on?”
Chapter Three
Shane considered himself to be an honorable man. As such, he’d never seduce a woman who was about to get married to another man. Unfortunately, Neil didn’t know him well enough to understand that finding Angela in his embrace was purely innocent, and there wasn’t a real good way to explain what he thought he saw.
Angela left his arms and went toward her fiancé. She kissed his cheek. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
“I told you I’d be stopping by after my meeting. You must have forgotten.” He peeled off his wet trenchcoat and tossed it over one of the chairs by the kitchen table. As he tugged at his necktie to loosen the knot, he said, “You’re forgetting a lot of things lately.”
Though Shane didn’t like the way Neil snapped at her, he cut the doctor some slack. Finding his bride-to-be in the arms of another man was damn awkward.
Ignoring her fiancé’s rebuke, Angela forced a smile. “Neil, you remember Shane Gibson.”
“Of course.” He glared at Shane as though he were a virus that needed to be stamped out. “You’ll be giving Angela away at the wedding.”
Shane holstered his gun and shook hands. “I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you. You’re a lucky man to be marrying Angela.”
Warily, the two men sized each other up. Physically, Shane had the edge. At six foot two, he was a couple of inches taller. He was probably five years younger and certainly in better shape, since being a deputy in a mountain community meant he sometimes had to go on rescue missions and sometimes had to break up bar fights.
Neil managed to smile without showing a bit of friendliness, which was okay with Shane. He didn’t have to like this well-dressed doctor with the dark, serious eyes. The only thing that mattered was for Neil to be a good husband to Angela.
“Tell me, Shane. Is there a reason why you had your gun drawn?”
“Angela had an intruder. Somebody creeping around the house.”
“My God.” To his credit, Neil’s hostility shifted to concern. He stroked Angela’s cheek. “Are you all right? And Benjy? Is he okay?”
“Yes and yes,” she said. “I didn’t actually see the intruder, but the window in my bedroom was opened. And in Benjy’s room, too.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just leave the windows open by mistake?” His voice was skeptical. “Absolutely sure?”
“What are you insinuating?” she asked. “I’m not making this up.”
“It’s okay, honey. I know you’ve been upset, having trouble sleeping.” He seemed to be examining her as though she were a patient. What was wrong with this guy? He ought to be comforting her.
Neil continued, “Getting married can be very stressful, and I know change is difficult for you. If you’re having panic attacks, there’s nothing wrong with that. I’d like for you to get help with—”
“I’m fine.” Angela’s voice was strong. “If you don’t believe me about the intruder, talk to Shane. He’s in law enforcement, and he believes me. When you came in, we were discussing what to do next.”
“Is that so?” Neil wheeled around to face him. “It didn’t look like you were talking.”
Shane replied in a cool, professional tone. “In my opinion, there was an intruder, possibly preparing to enter. It’s unlikely that the motive was robbery. Burglars don’t break into a house when the owner is awake and walking around.”
“What was he after?”
“Being apprehended wasn’t the intruder’s primary concern. He wanted to frighten Angela. He might be a stalker. Or somebody who has a personal grudge.” He turned to Angela. “Have you received threats?”
She shook her head. “Not that I recall.”
“Maybe from a disgruntled employee,” he suggested. “Or someone associated with the restaurant. A supplier. Even an angry customer. Take your time. Think about it.”
She sank into a chair beside the table. Her shoulders slumped. A moment ago, he’d been critical of Neil for treating her like a patient. Now, he was interrogating her like a victim.
As her friend, he knew what she needed. He’d seen Angela through the worst time in her life—after her husband was killed. She needed his support. Even though her fiancé was standing right there, Shane sat in the chair next to her and gave her a hug. “If you don’t want to deal with this now, it’s okay. We can wait until—”
“I want to get it over with,” she said. “I’m thinking. But I can’t come up with anybody who wants to hurt me. A couple of months ago, I fired a waitress, but she got another job.”
Gently, he said, “Have you noticed anything unusual? Maybe had the feeling you were being watched?”
“I’ve been kind of spooked. Nervous, you know. Especially at night.”
He considered the possibility of a peeper. Not usually a violent criminal. But this guy had opened windows. He seemed to be planning something more than just watching. “Earlier, we talked about moving you and Benjy to Neil’s house.”
“It’s the obvious solution,” Neil said. “I suggest that we get everything packed up and make that move right now.”
She stood and confronted them both. “I don’t want to frighten Benjy. We’re staying here tonight, and that’s final.”
A muscle in Neil’s jaw twitched, but he conceded. “All right, Angela. We’ll do this your way. Have you at least called the police?”
“I don’t want to,” she said stubbornly. “There’s nothing the police can do.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
Shane wouldn’t have been so blunt, but he agreed with Neil on this point. “The police can dust for fingerprints, look for trace evidence and talk to your neighbors.”
“I don’t want any more investigating. Not now. Not ever again.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “The police did plenty of investigating when Tom died. To what end? They still didn’t find his killer. All their poking around was a waste of time. If you gentlemen will please excuse me, I’m going to bed.”
She turned on her heel and left the room.
Shane’s natural instinct was to follow her, to soothe her worries and offer comfort. But that wasn’t his job. He looked toward Neil, expecting him to follow his fiancé and make sure she was all right.
Instead, Neil checked his wristwatch. “This is a waste of time. I have a lot going on with work, especially since I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks on honeymoon. Coming here tonight was incredibly inconvenient.” He glared at Shane. “And I didn’t expect to find you.”
Shane offered no excuses for his presence. Though he’d been planning to stay at a motel, he’d responded to the urgency in Angela’s voice when she invited him.
“I suppose,” Neil said, “that you’ll be staying the night.”
“I’m not going to leave her and Benjy unprotected.”
“Fine. I’d stay myself but I’m in the midst of some very important meetings.”
What could be more important than the safety of his bride and her son? Shane kept that opinion to himself.
“Tomorrow, we’ll get them moved,” Neil said. “I have plenty of room at my house. You’re welcome to stay there until the wedding.”
Considering what had happened tonight, it was generous for him to offer. “I appreciate your hospitality.”
“It’s no trouble. My housekeeper hired people to help out until after the wedding, and I have other houseguests. I believe you know one of them—Dr. Edgar Prentice from Aspen.”
“We’ve met.”
“He’s a fertility specialist and an ob-gyn. Your cousin Tom sought my uncle out when he decided that he and Angela should go through the process of creating frozen embryos.”
“I know.”
“In a way, Uncle Edgar was Angela’s midwife, even though he didn’t deliver Benjy. Ironic. Now, I’ll be Benjy’s father.”
“Stepfather,” Shane corrected. Nobody but Tom should be recognized as the father of Angela’s child.
“I’ll see to Angela now.”
As he watched Neil stride toward Angela’s bedroom, Shane wanted to stop him. Neil wasn’t the right man for her. He was cold and arrogant and sure as hell didn’t put Angela first. None of my business. Shane didn’t have the right to tell her who to marry or what to do with her life.
He sat at the kitchen table, took the last macadamia nut cookie from the plate and bit into it.
When Angela lashed out against law enforcement, he hadn’t been surprised. Shane had listened to hours of her complaints about how the Park County Sheriff’s Department had failed to bring her husband’s murderer to justice. She’d gotten to the point where she refused to even talk to them.
That had been his job.
The investigators had compiled quite a bit of evidence. The flat tire was caused by three nails that could have been picked up from any number of construction sites in the mountains. The indentations in Tom’s SUV indicated that he’d been hit by a truck, and the crime scene investigators found bits of black paint. From the tire tracks, they could tell that after Tom was hit, the truck backed up and hit him again.
The police theory was that the driver of the truck was drunk or otherwise incapacitated. After he hit Tom, he backed up to see if he could help and accidentally ran into Tom a second time. The driver had gotten out of his car and had left a fingerprint in Tom’s blood on the Toyota.
The print matched nothing in the database, and the cops had other factors working against them: It had taken over two hours to locate Tom’s body. There were no witnesses. They’d never been able to locate the black truck.
The final conclusion from the Park County Sheriff’s Department was vehicular homicide. The driver of the black truck was never found.
Shane understood Angela’s pain and frustration, but he knew the investigators had done their best to solve the case. A hit-and-run accident was cold-blooded—the kind of case that would haunt the investigative team almost as much as it troubled Shane.
His instincts told him that Tom’s death wasn’t an accident. He was targeted, mowed down on purpose. Shane believed that Tom’s death was premeditated murder.
THE NEXT MORNING, Angela felt like a new woman. Her usual schedule meant jumping out of bed at four in the morning and dashing like mad to have Waffles ready for business at six-thirty. Not this week. While planning the last details of the wedding, she had enough on her plate, so to speak. Though she might stop by the restaurant and help out, they weren’t expecting her.
With no need to rush, she took a long, luxurious shower. When she meandered into kitchen after eight o’clock, Shane had already made coffee and fed Benjy. He greeted her with a grin and a joke about sleeping late. What an amazing friend! He made her laugh, always made her feel comfortable.
And he wasn’t bad to look at in his jeans and cowboy boots. His black hair was in need of a trim before the wedding. Not that any of the women in attendance would notice. They’d be too busy swooning over his sky-blue eyes and rugged masculine features. It was hard to believe Shane was still single. There had been a couple of live-in girl-friends over the years, but he’d never once walked down the aisle.
After they dropped off Benjy at the babysitter, she slipped behind the steering wheel of her van and turned to Shane. “Before I stop by Waffles, I have to pop into the dress shop for a final fitting on the wedding gown. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Bring on the ruffles and lace,” he said. “I told you I’d do anything to help, and I meant it.”
“Oh, good.” The very idea of super-macho Shane in a dress shop amused her. “After the gown, we can go to the florist, then stop by the lingerie store.”
He groaned. “As long as I don’t have to have my toenails painted pink. Isn’t the maid of honor supposed to do this stuff?”
“Yvonne’s busy running Waffles. But don’t worry. I’m sure I can come up with some manly, testosterone-driven tasks for you, too.”
“Like moving you and Benjy to Neil’s house?”
She hadn’t planned on making that move until she and Neil got back from their two-week honeymoon in Baja. Even then, it would be difficult. His house was far from her work, her favorite market and everything she was familiar with. “It’s so inconvenient.”
“But safe,” he said.
It hadn’t escaped her notice that he was wearing his holster under a lightweight summer blazer. Shane definitely took her intruder seriously.
Not like Neil. She didn’t like the way he’d reacted last night. In his opinion, she was having panic attacks, and he wasn’t going to change his mind. Though she admired her fiancé for his decisiveness, she wished that he’d listen to her side of the story.
“After you’re married,” he said, “how are you planning to run Waffles? You’re at the south end of the metro area in Littleton and Neil’s almost in Boulder.”
“Neil wants me to quit.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“I don’t know.” She’d given the issue so much thought that her head ached. “It’s a bridge I’ll cross when I come to it.”
She turned off the main road into the four-block area known as Old South Clarkson Street. With several boutiques and restaurants, it was a pleasant, neighborhood place for specialty shopping. On weekends, traffic closed down in the morning for a farmers’ market.
She drove past Waffles, pleased to see that the tables they set up on the sidewalk for summer were all filled. Around back in the alley, she pulled into her parking space.
“Why are we stopping here?” Shane asked. “I thought we were going to look at a dress.”
“It’s only four stores down.”
She hopped out of the car and started down the alley. Though Shane’s legs were a mile longer than hers, they walked at the same relaxed pace. When they were together, life seemed to take on a more natural tempo, almost as though he carried the easygoing mountain lifestyle with him.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. “You’re not the only one who’s making changes.”
He was always steady and predictable, someone she could count on. “What are you up to?”
“I’m moving to Denver.”
“Leaving the mountains? You?”
“I’m turning thirty this year, and I looked around and saw that I was doing the same thing every day. Arresting the same drunks on the weekend. Driving the same roads. Living in the same house I was born in.”
“Is this because your parents aren’t in Silver Plume anymore?”
“Maybe so.” He shrugged. “Mom and Dad moved to Phoenix two years ago. And my sister’s in New York City. But this really isn’t about family. It’s about me.”
“And you want to try something different.”
“I’m taking a job with a Denver-based security firm. At first, I’ll be doing bodyguard work, but there’s training available. I want to get into computers. And I’ve been learning to fly a helicopter. Man, there is nothing like being up in the sky.”
When she looked up at him, she saw a spark of excitement in his blue eyes. “I’m happy for you, Shane.”
“Time goes fast. I didn’t want to turn around and find myself turning into a sixty-year-old man who never left Silver Plume.”
She opened the rear door to Linda’s Dress Shoppe and went inside. There was nobody in the storeroom, which was typical. She called out, “Anybody home?”
Linda, the proprietor, stuck her head into the back room. “Hi, Angela. I’m busy out here. You go ahead and put on the gown. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
There was an informal sewing area in the corner with tables for cutting fabric, a couple of armless dress forms and a rack of clothes zipped into black garment bags with Linda’s logo emblazoned on the front. A hot pink label stuck to one of the bags had Angela’s name.
Since she hadn’t wanted a fancy gown for her second marriage, she’d picked out a strapless dress with a bit of lace and a matching jacket to cover her shoulders when it got colder at night.
Shane stood beside a sewing table. “This is strange.”
“What?”
“Right here, next to the scissors and spools, there’s a kitchen knife.”
When she took a closer look, anxiety shot through her. “It’s a boning knife. And it’s mine.”
“How do you know?”
“The red dot on the handle.” No one was allowed to touch her chef knives. When she wasn’t using them, she kept them tucked away in a locker in the restaurant office.
She unzipped the garment bag, pushed the plastic aside and stared in shock. Her wedding gown had been slashed to ribbons.
Chapter Four
Unable to believe what she was seeing, Angela tugged the ragged edge of the ripped white fabric. The skirt had been sliced multiple times. Bits of lace hung like entrails around the bodice. The gown was ruined beyond repair.
Scared and confused, she turned away. On the table was the boning knife—her knife! Was it possible that she had done this? She couldn’t remember. Had she suffered a blackout?
The thought terrified her. True, she hadn’t been in her right mind lately. The lack of sleep and stress had taken their toll. Last night, she’d imagined headlights crashing through her kitchen window. But she hadn’t gone completely insane. Not yet, anyway.
Shane touched her shoulder. In a low voice, he asked, “What do you want to do?”
For one thing, she didn’t want Linda to see this disaster. The owner of the dress shop would have too many questions, and Angela didn’t have answers. “Get me out of here.”
“Done.”
He tossed the knife into the garment bag with the dress and zipped it up just as Linda bustled into the back room with her long, silk scarf flowing behind her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “I had a mixup with the register. Thought I’d lost a hundred and fifty bucks. Then I remembered that I went to the bank last night.”
Linda was a lovable scatterbrain. But not crazy. Not like me. She thought of Neil’s diagnosis that she needed to see a psychologist. He might be right.
While Shane introduced himself, she gathered her wits, hoping to appear normal. Not that she needed to worry. When she was with Shane, other women hardly noticed her existence. Even without his hat, he was one hundred percent sexy cowboy.
He beamed a slow smile at Linda and said, “Angela is having second thoughts about the dress. She wants to take it home and decide if this is actually what she wants to wear.”
“Brides are all the same.” Linda grinned up at him. “Always fussing about the details. When I got married, I was as nervous as a squirrel on a highway, jumping from one median to another.”
When Angela forced herself to speak, her voice seemed to be detached from her body. “Remember that white suit I tried on before?”
“Indeed, I do. To tell the truth, I liked you better in that outfit than in the gown. The suit seemed more.” Linda flipped the end of her scarf and chuckled. “More suitable.”
“We’ll take both of them with us,” Shane said. “Then, Angela can make her decision later.”
“Fine with me,” Linda said. “But you still need alterations on the gown, Angela. You’ve been losing weight, and a strapless bodice needs to fit like a second skin.”
While Shane went to the front of the store with Linda to make arrangements, Angela let down her guard. She sank onto a stool beside the cutting table and stared, unfocused. What was wrong with her? The inside of her head whirled like a blender. The shelves and boxes in the storeroom seemed to be closing in on her. She was suffocating.
She didn’t remember taking the knife from the restaurant, and she sure as hell didn’t recall attacking her dress. Was she sleepwalking? Had she done this in a blackout? It didn’t happen. Dammit, I’m not crazy.
But if she hadn’t done this, that meant someone else had. Everybody who worked in this area knew that Linda often neglected to lock the back door, and Angela’s dress had been sitting here for several days, unguarded.
She stared at the garment bag. Who could have done this? Why did they want to sabotage her wedding?
SHANE ESCORTED HER through the alley. Though his hands were occupied with holding both dress bags, he was prepared to toss them aside if he saw an approaching threat. Last night, Angela had an intruder. This morning, her gown was attacked. Clearly, someone wanted to hurt her—or at the very least, terrorize her.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins, making him hypervigilant. Ironically, he realized that he was acting as her bodyguard. In a few weeks, that would be his regular job at PRESS—Premier Executive Security Systems. No longer a small-town deputy sheriff, he was already stepping into the world of big-city dangers.
When she clicked the lock to open her van, he placed the garment bags in the back and turned to her. “We can’t ignore what happened.”
“We can try.” Avoiding eye contact, she opened the driver’s-side door. “I still need to check with the florist and make sure the bouquets are—”
“The daisies will wait.” He caught hold of her arm, stopping her before she shot off in a different direction. “We need to figure out who did this.”
“How did you know about the daisies?”
“They’re your favorite flower. White daisies.” When she married Tom, it was winter and she settled for white roses. Now daisies were in season.
“I got my daisies,” she said, “even though Neil wanted orchids.”
That made sense. Orchids were hothouse flowers, expensive and delicate. Angela was a daisy person—cheerful and bright.
“You got me off the subject,” he said. “We need to investigate, starting here at Waffles.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not going to go marching into the restaurant and accuse my friends. These are people I work with, people I trust and care about.”
“They’re also the most likely suspects. They have access to your knives. They know—as you do—that it’s easy to slip in and out of the dress shop through the back entrance.”
She shook her head. “Nobody I know would be so mean.”
“Let’s think this through.” He gently took the car keys from her hand. “When was the last time you used your knives?”
When she shook her head, her high ponytail bounced. Sunlight picked out strands of gold in her soft brown hair. “I don’t remember.”
“Think about it. Were you at Waffles yesterday?”
“I came in early to help with the breakfast rush, but I didn’t unpack my knives. One of the waitresses was sick, and I filled in for her.”
“And the day before?”
He could see her calming down as she considered the facts. “I put in almost a full day, and I was in the kitchen. So I must have used my knives. Believe me, I would have noticed if one was missing. I’ve had that set for seven years.”
Seven years ago was before they met, before she’d married his cousin. He’d never really thought about that time in her life. Her youth. Her childhood. “How old were you?”
“Eighteen. I’d just graduated from the Cordon Bleu culinary school in London, and the knives were a present to myself—symbolic of my new career as a chef.”
Shane wasn’t a gourmet, but he’d heard of Cordon Bleu. “How come I didn’t know you had such a fancy background? And how did you wind up in London?”
“When I was growing up, I spent a lot of time overseas. My dad was stationed in Germany.”
He’d known that. “And your father passed away when you were just a kid.”
“Not much older than Benjy,” she said. “I barely remember him. My mom struggled for a couple of years before she remarried, and she worked in restaurants. That’s where I got my love of flavor and texture.” A tiny, nostalgic smile touched her mouth, and he was glad to see her calming down. “She died when I was a senior in high school. I had the choice of college or Cordon Bleu, and I wanted to cook.”
“You were looking for something,” he said.
“A taste.” Her finger traced her lower lip. “You know what it’s like when you bite into something really good? It’s pure joy. I love seeing other people experience that sensation when they’re eating something I created. Their eyes close. And they hum. Mmm.”
He liked seeing her with a smile on her face, but he couldn’t ignore the threats. “We’re way off track.”
“I know. And I’d rather not think about any of this. All I want is to get through the next couple of days.”
“Whoever slashed your wedding gown is sending you a message, and it’s not a love note. I hate to say this, Angela, but you’re in danger.”
She turned away from him, stared across the alley at a six-foot-tall redwood fence. Her slender arms wrapped protectively around her midsection as though she were physically holding herself together. “What if it was me?”
He didn’t understand what she was saying. “Explain.”
“I might have imagined the intruder last night. There’s really no proof that anyone was outside the house.”
Earlier this morning, he’d inspected the ground outside the windows and found no footprints. The only possible bit of evidence was that the screen on Benjy’s window was missing a couple of screws.
“What about the dress?” he said. “I’d call that proof.”
“Not if I did it myself.” Though the morning was warm, she shivered. “I’ve been an emotional basket case lately, and don’t ask me why because I don’t know.”
“Something to do with getting married,” he said.
When she looked at him, he saw a painful vulnerability in her eyes. Her mouth quivered. “I’m scared, Shane.”
“It’s okay.” He pulled her close, offering his shoulder to cry on. “Talk to me.”
“Being married to Tom was the best thing that ever happened to me, but it was a bumpy road. Right from the start.”
Shane knew his cousin’s flaws better than anyone. After his first tour of duty, Tom had a pretty serious case of posttraumatic stress disorder. And he was a recovering alcoholic. Before he and Angela got married, he quit drinking. She’d been good for him, helped him straighten out. “Tom wasn’t perfect. Nobody is.”
“This isn’t about Tom. It’s about me.” Her body tensed. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be married.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re a warm, loving woman. Look at what a great job you’ve done with Benjy.”
Without thinking, he dipped his head and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. Her hair smelled of lilacs. When she smiled up at him, the gray-green of her eyes seemed as deep as a mountain glen. Holding her felt so damn good; he didn’t want to let her go. But Angela wasn’t his woman. She was about to be married to another man.
“Thanks, Shane. You always know what to say.”
He stepped away from her. “Let me do my job as an almost former deputy and investigate. I want to figure out who messed up your dress, and I’m starting here. At Waffles. Take me inside, and show me where you keep your knives.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you promise not to interrogate anybody?”
“Not unless they come at me with a loaded gun.”
He strode to the rear door of the restaurant and pulled it open. Inside, the warmth of the kitchen flowed around him in a wave of breakfast aromas—bacon, coffee and freshly baked muffins. The back door opened into a hallway between the walk-in refrigeration unit and the office, which was their first stop. The office space had two small desks— one for Angela and one for Yvonne Brighton, her partner. Two tall, metal file cabinets stood beside two lockers.
Angela opened the locker nearest the door.
“You don’t keep anything locked,” he said.
“Sometimes I do. At the end of the day.”
She removed a black cutlery bag from the lower shelf. When she opened it on the desk, he could see the empty slot where the boning knife should have fit with the rest of the set. Angela touched the space and looked up at him. “Now we know for sure. It’s my knife.”
It would have been simple for someone to slip inside the office and steal her knife. The friendly atmosphere of Old South Clarkson Street made for lousy investigating. “I might be able to get fingerprints off the handle.”
“Most people aren’t that dumb,” she said. “We keep a stock of throwaway gloves in the kitchen.”
Though he nodded in agreement, he figured he could stop by the PRESS offices later if he wanted to check for fingerprints. They had a forensics department and computer access that rivaled that of the Denver PD.
Angela’s partner popped into the office. Yvonne Brighton was a tall, big-boned woman who did a killer Julia Child impersonation. A lopsided navy-blue chef hat covered most of her curly brown hair. She gave them a toothy grin. “I thought I heard someone back here.”
She charged at Shane and enveloped him in a giant bear hug which he happily reciprocated. He liked Yvonne. She was funny and smart—too smart to put anything over on. Before she stepped away from him, she patted his shoulder holster and said, “Expecting trouble?”
“Shane has a new job.” Angela rushed to explain. “He’s working for a bodyguard company.”
His new employer was far more complex, but he didn’t correct her. “I’m moving to Denver.”
“Terrific!” Yvonne wiggled her eyebrows. “Or should I say très magnifique! Angela and I have somebody you really need to meet.”
“The French woman.” He gritted his teeth. What was it about a single man that turned women into matchmakers?
“Marie Devereaux. Very pretty. And an excellent baker. She’s doing the wedding cake, which means it’ll be beautiful and taste good, too. You’ll like her.”
“If you say so.”
“I most certainly do.”
Yvonne wasn’t shy about giving orders. When it came to managing the restaurant, she and Angela complemented each other perfectly. Angela provided the empathetic voice of reason, and Yvonne made sure things got done.
She sat in the swivel chair behind her desk. To Angela, she said, “I’m glad you’re here. I need a break. Could you take care of the kitchen for a couple of minutes while I chat with the mountain man?”
“No problem.” Angela grabbed her knives and went toward the office door. “I feel guilty about not being here more often this week.”
When she left the office, Shane positioned himself in the doorway so he could keep an eye on her. Despite the cozy atmosphere of Waffles, he hadn’t forgotten the danger.
“We need to talk.” When Yvonne pulled off her chef’s hat and ruffled her hair, he noticed a few more strands of gray. He didn’t know Yvonne’s age, but she had two grown daughters. She exhaled a sigh. “I’m worried about Angela.”
“I’m listening.”
“She’s been dragging in here like she’s half-dead. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair hanging limp. I’ve seen her hands trembling. And she must have lost ten pounds in the last two weeks.” Yvonne scowled. “It reminds me of how she fell apart after Tom’s death.”
“I remember.” Though Angela and Yvonne weren’t in business together five years ago, they’d been friends. “You and your husband helped her through that tragedy.”
“And you. In spite of the grief you were carrying, you were one hundred percent there for our girl.”
In the kitchen, he saw Angela step up to the grill. Her hands moved nimbly as she poured batter and flipped pancakes. She sprinkled powdered sugar on one order, dropped a dollop of sour cream topped with three blueberries on another. Graceful and fast, never missing a beat, her food preparation was a virtuoso performance.
Shane turned his attention toward Yvonne. Her concern was obvious and sincere, and she knew Angela better than almost anyone else. “Why do you think she’s upset?”
“It’s almost like she’s haunted.”
“Nervous about getting married again,” he suggested.
“Oh, I don’t think marriage bothers her.”
“Then what?”
“It’s Neil,” she said. “He thinks running Waffles is beneath her. His wife should stay at home and tend to his needs. Can you see Angela doing that? Within a month, she’d be climbing the walls.”
“If Neil gets his way and Angela quits, what happens to Waffles?”
“I’d sell the place,” she said without hesitation. “We’ve had offers.”
Yvonne’s theory didn’t tell him much about possible intruders or the person who slashed the wedding gown. Instead, it pointed back to Angela herself. Her fear of getting married—to Neil or anyone else—was eating at her, making it hard for her to sleep.
Still, he found it hard to believe that she’d destroyed her wedding dress in the throes of a blackout. Whether awake or asleep, Angela wasn’t the type of person who committed outright vandalism.
He turned to Yvonne. “You seem pretty sure about Neil.”
“I am.” For emphasis, she slammed the flat of her hand on the desktop. “She shouldn’t marry him, and I’ll do just about anything to stop her.”
Chapter Five
From his car seat in the back of the van, Benjy chanted in a singsong voice, “George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson.”
Angela asked, “And who is president number thirteen?”
“Easy,” Benjy said. “Millard Fillmore. And twenty-three is Benjy Harrison. He’s the best. He’s got my name.”
Her son had an uncanny gift for memorization. He could repeat an entire book back to her after she read it aloud just once. He rattled off the multisyllable names of dinosaurs without a glitch. And he loved lists, like the presidents.
From the driver’s seat, Shane said, “What number is Teddy Roosevelt?”
“You mean Theodore Roosevelt,” Benjy said. “Twenty-six.”
“Theodore used to visit Colorado a lot,” Shane said. “The next time I take you up to the mountains, I’ll show you a hunting lodge where he stayed.”
“Mommy, I want to go to the mountains. Now.”
“Soon,” Angela promised. To Shane she said, “Turn left at the next stop sign.”
Nervously, she checked her wristwatch. They were running late.
After Shane convinced her that it wasn’t smart to stay at her house, she’d packed up a few essentials and some of Benjy’s toys. Neil’s house was safer. Not that it was a fortress, but he had a top-notch security system.
When she’d called Neil and told him their plan, he sounded pleased, which didn’t surprise her a bit. Neil liked to have things under control—his control.
They’d made arrangements to meet at his house at one o’clock sharp for lunch. It was past that time now. Angela fidgeted in the passenger seat, knowing that Neil’s housekeeper, Wilma, would be annoyed. Her thin mouth would pull down in a disapproving frown, and her eyes would fill with judgment.
At the stop sign before they entered Neil’s cul-de-sac, a black truck crossed in front of them. Thousands of similar vehicles cruised the streets of Denver, but every time she saw one, she was reminded of the hit-and-run driver who killed Tom. The black truck was a bad omen.
“Straight ahead.” She pointed. “Pull into the driveway.”
Shane gave a low whistle. “Wow. That’s a whole lot of house.”
Three stories in English Tudor style, Neil’s seven-bedroom house took up the end of a cul-de-sac that bordered on forested land. His perfectly manicured lawn stretched like a green carpet to the double-wide oak doors beneath the porch. Summer flowers and cultivated rosebushes, which were tended twice a week by gardeners, made brilliant splashes of crimson, yellow and purple.
Every time she beheld this magnificent house, Angela wondered how she’d handle the responsibility of caring for the property. Being mistress of the manor didn’t come naturally to her. With the gardeners and the housekeeper and the people who came to clean, she felt as if she was moving into a hotel instead of a home that was truly her own.
As soon as they parked, Benjy threw off his seat belt and scrambled free from the car seat. “Open the door, Mommy.”
To Shane, she said, “We can leave the suitcases here for now. We’re already eight minutes late for lunch.”
“Is that a problem?”
She didn’t want to admit that she was worried about the housekeeper’s opinion and trying her best to live up to everybody’s expectations. “I like to be on time.”
As soon as she opened the van door for Benjy, he jumped out. With his backpack tucked under his arm, he bounced along the sidewalk to the porch.
Neil opened the door and stood there, framed by his grand and beautiful home. In his white shirt with the open collar and his gray linen slacks, he looked elegant. Lean and healthy, he had a summer tan from playing golf and tennis. His sandy-blond hair curled above his forehead. His best features, as far as she was concerned, were his dark eyes. There was a fierceness in those eyes, an indication of passions that ran deeper than his sophisticated outer veneer.
When he lifted Benjy in his arms and gave the boy a hug, her tension eased a bit. She could see that Neil cared about her son. Marrying him wasn’t a mistake.
As she and Shane approached the porch, Neil said, “I have a surprise. My dad just arrived from Virginia.”
She stiffened her spine. Only once before had she met Roger Revere, retired general and former JAG lawyer. He’d made it very clear that she needed to shape up if she truly wanted to be a member of their family. He would certainly disapprove of her disheveled hair, the smear of cooking grease on her chinos and her well-worn sneakers.
“You boys go ahead to lunch,” she said. “Start without me. I need to freshen up.”
“Take your time,” Neil said as he carried Benjy through the foyer to the dining room.
Shane hung back. He touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
Not okay. I’m a wreck. She felt like a big, fat mess— confused and borderline nuts. “I’ll make it.”
“Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”
His offer of unconditional support touched her. Everybody else in her life made demands and passed judgment. Not Shane. He’d seen her at her worst, and he was still her friend.
Forcing a grin, she turned away from him. “Start without me. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”
She darted up the stairs to the second-floor master bedroom she would be sharing with Neil, probably from this day forward. The black-and-white décor felt sterile and cold. The only pictures on the walls were black-and-white photographs of landscapes—places she’d never been. In the adjoining bathroom, she closed the door and leaned against it.
The tension she’d been holding at bay coiled tightly around her, squeezing her lungs and making her heart beat too fast. No matter how fiercely she denied the threat, she felt danger all around. Either she was going insane or someone was after her. I’ve got to calm down.
She dug into her purse and took out the amber vial of the prescription sedatives Neil had given her. She was only supposed to take one at night before bed, but she needed to quell her rising fears. Even if she fell asleep this afternoon, that was better than running through the house screaming.
Popping off the cap, she tapped a light blue pill into her hand and swallowed it dry. Soon, she’d be more relaxed.
In the mirror over the sink, she confronted her reflection and groaned. Making herself presentable was going to take more than a fresh coat of lipstick. This would require a major repair job.
FOLLOWING NEIL, SHANE entered the spacious living room with a fireplace at the south end. When they were outside the house, he’d noticed two chimneys rising above the gables. As he’d said to Angela, this was a whole lot of house—big and classy with Persian rugs, heavy furniture and framed oil paintings. Two older gentlemen sat opposite each other in oxblood leather chairs.
One of them he recognized as Dr. Edgar Prentice. Prentice was the doctor Tom had used for the frozen embryo procedure, and Shane vaguely recalled some kind of recent scandal involving Prentice’s fertility clinic in Aspen.
Slowly, Prentice unfolded himself from the chair. He moved with hesitation as though he suffered from arthritis. Even stooped, he was nearly as tall as Shane—taller if Shane counted the thatch of thick white hair.
“We’ve met before,” he said.
“Tom Hawthorne was my cousin. I came to your office with him.”
“And you’ve remained in contact with his wife for all these years. An admirable display of loyalty.”
His comment made Shane’s relationship with Angela sound like an obligation. Nothing could be further from the truth. “I’m privileged to call Angela my friend.”
The old man’s eyes lit up behind his glasses as he focused on Benjy. “This must be the young man I’ve heard so much about.”
“I’m not a man,” Benjy said. “I’m a kid.”
“Of course. And what’s in your backpack?”
“Stegosaurus, T-Rex, Triceratops. Want to see?”
The boy plopped down on the carpet. With much straining, Prentice bent lower, listening intently as Benjy unpacked his plastic dinosaurs and talked about the Mesozoic era.
Neil introduced him. “Shane Gibson, I’d like you to meet my father, Roger Revere.”
In contrast to Prentice, the stocky, red-faced man sprang from his chair with impressive vigor. Shane braced himself for a power handshake; he wasn’t surprised when Roger glared into his eyes and squeezed hard.
Though Shane wasn’t a fan of macho games, he matched the older man’s grip. It went without saying that Shane was stronger; he was probably thirty years younger than Neil’s father. If he’d been feeling gracious, he would have let Roger win this little battle. But he sensed the importance of establishing dominance.
Smiling through gritted teeth, Roger continued to apply pressure. “I hear you’re a sheriff in the mountains.”
“I was,” Shane drawled. “A deputy sheriff in Clear Creek County. But I’ll be moving to Denver soon.”
Neil arrowed a sharp glance at him. “Angela never mentioned anything about your move.”
“Because I just told her this morning.” With a flick of his wrist, Shane broke free from the prolonged handshake. “I’m taking a job with Premiere Executive Security Systems.”
“Impressive,” Neil said. “They’re one of the best in town.”
“I met the owner last year during a mountain rescue situation.” The search for a missing client had been a harrowing few days, fortunately with a happy ending. “We have a lot in common.”
Roger stuck out his square jaw. “I suppose that means you’ll be seeing more of Angela.”
“And Benjy,” Shane said. “I sure hope so.”
“Maybe you can convince her to cut down on her hours at the pancake house,” Roger said gruffly. “The only person she needs to be cooking for is my son.”
Though he didn’t agree that Angela should quit her job and become a full-time wife unless that was what she wanted, Shane sidestepped the issue. “She works hard.”
“Nothing wrong with dedication,” Roger said, “as long as you’ve dedicated yourself to a worthy goal. As you know, my son has an acclaimed reputation as a virologist. He cures illness. He’s saving the world, dammit. His wife should be something more than a cook.”
Shane couldn’t let Roger’s idiotic statement go unchallenged. “She’s a chef. Not a cook.”
“What’s the difference?”
Roger had stuffed his right hand into his jacket pocket, and Shane hoped that his muscular handshake had cracked a couple of bones. “It’s hard to explain unless you’ve tasted her food. There’s a damn good reason why her restaurant always has a line. She’s an artist.” He remembered a description Yvonne had once given. “A culinary artist.”
“It’s true,” Prentice said as he straightened his posture. “Angela concocts recipes with the skill of a chemist. She trained at Cordon Bleu in London.”
A tall woman with thinning black hair stepped into the room. Her long, skinny fingers twisted in a knot. “Gentlemen, it’s time for lunch. Please come to the table before the soup gets cold.”
Shane was hungry but didn’t really want to sit down to a meal with these guys. He reconsidered his plan to stay in one of the guestrooms at Neil’s house. Though he wanted to be close to Angela in case she needed protecting, he didn’t like the Revere family—father or son.
“Before I sit down,” Shane said, “I should see what’s keeping Angela.”
“You go ahead and relax,” said Dr. Prentice. “I’ll check on her.”
As Prentice left the room and crossed the entry way to the staircase, Shane noticed that his arthritic shuffle changed into a confident stride. He was much stronger than he had appeared when he rose hesitantly from his chair.
Why had Prentice tried to create the impression of being a tired, elderly man? As a lawman, Shane knew that a man who lied about one thing will lie about another. He needed to check out Dr. Edgar Prentice and find out what else he was hiding.
SINCE SHE’D ALREADY moved many of her clothes to Neil’s house, Angela had a lot of options. She’d chosen a cotton dress in conservative navy blue with white trim because it seemed least likely to provoke a response from Neil’s father. As she finished brushing her hair, she heard a knock on the bedroom door.
Her first instinct was to lock the door until the little blue pill worked its magic and numbed her nerves, but she wasn’t a coward. Slipping into a pair of navy flats, she marched to the door and opened it. “Dr. Prentice?”
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