Secret Weapon Spouse

“Still unconscious,” Samantha said without looking from the monitors. “The doctors aren’t sure she’s going to make it.”

“Is it possible she was a target, as well?” Isabelle asked.

Samantha recalled how the car had careened up onto the curb, just missing the limo driver and Alex Graham but hitting Caroline. “I don’t see how. Caroline didn’t even have an appointment. I had to fit her in at the last minute so no one could have known she was coming here.”

“Maybe,” Rachel said and turned to Clare Myers, who was sitting at one of the computers. “Let’s not take any chances. Find out everything you can on both. Did Sonya and Caroline know each other? I want to know if there is even the remotest connection between them.”

“I’m on it,” Clare said tapping at the keys. The small pixie-ish blond woman had a sharp mind and worked for the IRS investigating corporations trying to rip off the government before she was enlisted by Miami Confidential to work as the accountant for the wedding shop as well as use her expertise on digging up anything on anyone via the computer.

“What about Botero’s limo driver?” Rachel asked, checking her notes. “Craig Johnson?”

“He was admitted to the hospital complaining of headaches,” Isabelle said. “The police questioned him after he was admitted. Johnson said he didn’t remember anything after being struck on the head by one of the men.”

“Could be lying,” Julia said. “But it also could have happened so fast he really didn’t get a good look at his attacker.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I think one of us should go by and see how he’s doing, see what our take on Mr. Johnson is. After all, he was hired as Sonya’s bodyguard as well as her driver.”

“I’ll pay him a visit,” Samantha said. “I want to go to the hospital and check on Caroline Graham anyway.”

Rachel nodded her approval. “I’m sure the police questioned Caroline’s brother. Alex, right?”

Samantha nodded and looked to Isabelle.

“He told police he only got a glimpse of the men,” Isabelle said. “The car had no plates on the back and tinted windows.”

“Check limo rentals,” Rachel said. “It’s a long shot.”

“I saw the car,” Samantha said and felt everyone look toward her again. “I saw some of the incident from the window after I walked Caroline and Alex to the door. You’re right. It happened so fast there wasn’t anything anyone could have done. I got a good look at the limo, though. It was an older model. Definitely not a rental. You might want to check used car lots.”

Rachel gave her a smile. “Good idea.” She looked toward Clare who said, “I’m already on it.”

Samantha saw movement on the monitors. Just as she’d been expecting, a dark figure started to bang on the door, then saw the receptionist Samantha had asked to stay late. He shoved his way through the front door and into the reception area.

Samantha stood. “Excuse me, but Alex Graham is here. I need to take care of this.”

As a former agent and profiler for the FBI, Samantha was the go-to person. Not only did she make sure every wedding went off without a hitch, as an agent she assisted in investigations by noticing the little things about people and cases.

As she rose to leave, everyone’s attention turned to the monitor, the same one that had recorded Alex Graham’s entrance earlier today. Only now Alex was dressed in jeans, a Miami Fire Department T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders and running shoes. His light brown hair curled at the nape of his suntanned neck and looked as if he’d just come from a hasty shower.

“At this point, I don’t think it would be wise to assume that Caroline Graham was just an innocent victim,” Rachel said. “Find out everything you can about her. And her brother,” she said frowning at the monitor screen. “It might not be a coincidence that the two of them just happened to be here at the same time Sonya Botero was abducted.”

Samantha nodded and slipped out. She’d known Alex Graham would be back. And she knew even before she’d seen him storm in what he would want.

As she descended the stairs, she caught the scent of him before he saw her. Some kind of masculine-smelling shampoo. Fresh from a quick shower, just as she’d suspected. She noted that his hazel eyes were red rimmed and he looked as if he’d been to hell and back. As she neared him, she felt anguish coming off him as well as a raw angry energy. She braced herself.

Alex Graham looked up as she came down the stairs to meet him. His eyes locked with hers and she thought she glimpsed relief. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

“Mr. Graham, why don’t we step into my office?” Samantha said in her all-business voice.

He gave a sharp nod and stalked ahead of her into her office. She closed the door behind them and took her place behind the desk.

“How is your sister?” she asked, although she’d called the hospital not long before.

“Still unconscious,” he said his voice hoarse.

To think that he’d sat in that same chair with his sister beside him only hours before. Except then he’d been ill at ease, nervous.

Now Alex Graham was grieving and angry. “What the hell happened here today?” he demanded.

“You know as much as I do,” Samantha said quietly as she adjusted her glasses.

“I highly doubt that. Who was that woman in the limo?”

“One of our clients,” Samantha said. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you her name because the police have instructed us not to.”

A muscle in his jaw bunched. He was furious and looking for someone to blame for his sister’s accident, but also looking for answers. Samantha wished she had some for him.

“I’m already getting the same runaround from the police, I don’t need it from you,” he said, his voice rising. “I want to know why my sister was run down outside your business.”

She nodded and spoke in the same soothing tone she used with jittery brides-to-be. “We want to know the same thing, Mr. Graham.”

“Alex. Mr. Graham is my father.” He raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. “My sister may not make it.” His voice broke. “I can’t reach her fiancé. You know a hell of a lot more than I do. Are you going to help me or not?”

She felt a shiver as she glimpsed the raw pain in his gaze. This man was angry and hurting but he was no fool. He wasn’t going to be put off by sympathy and reassuring words. Maybe the hit-and-run had just been an unfortunate accident. But what if for some reason Caroline Graham had been a target?

“I’m going to help you.”

ALEX GRAHAM leaned back in the chair, all his anger spent. He needed to calm down, to sleep, to eat, but more importantly he needed answers. “Thank you.”

She nodded and he found himself settling down a little. She had that kind of effect on people, he thought, remembering how she was with Caroline earlier that day.

He studied her, trying to put his finger on what it was about her that bothered him. She was rail-thin, with huge brown eyes and straight brown hair that fell almost to her shoulders. She peered at him through tortoiseshell glasses. A quiet, unassuming woman, the kind who blended in with the wallpaper.

At least that’s what she wanted him to believe.

Where had that thought come from? He met her steady gaze and felt both sympathy and compassion and true concern. And yet as he looked into her eyes, he had the distinct impression that there was more to her, something she didn’t want him to see.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

He took a breath. “Let me be honest with you, Miss Peters. It is Miss, right?” Was there a slight flush under the cool porcelain of her skin? “I have never met Caroline’s fiancé and quite frankly, I don’t even know how to reach him.”

“I have a number for him,” she said taking a fabric-covered book from her desk drawer. From where he sat, he could see that the contents of the drawer were as neat as the writing in the book.

He watched her turn right to the page.

“Preston Wellington III,” she said picking up a pen and printing the number on a Post-it in the same concise handwriting. She tore off the note and handed it to him, closing the book and crossing her arms over it.

He stared at the number for a moment, then at her. “You already tried to call him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you weren’t able to reach him.”

“I’m afraid not.”

He nodded, suspecting he wasn’t going to get much help here, either. “And this is the only number you have for him, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve tried it, as well, with the same results.” He sighed. “Have you met him?”

She nodded. “He always came with Caroline for her appointments.”

“Except today?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes.”

“And your impression of him?” He saw her hesitate. “I realize I’m putting you on the spot here, but I need to know what I’m up against. I’m worried sick about my sister. Don’t you think it was more than odd that the only day her fiancé didn’t come with her she changed her wedding plans and then was struck down out front?” He saw something in her eyes that confirmed she, too, thought it odd. “Now no one seems to be able to reach him…. I need to know your impression of him.”

She nodded slowly. “I liked him. He seemed very nice, very attentive to your sister. I felt the two of them were very much in love, they seemed to be…soul mates.”

He heard the small catch in her throat, not sure what surprised him more—her obvious emotional reaction to witnessing what she’d thought was true love or that his sister and this Wellington III might really share something real.

Was it possible he was wrong about the guy? “Would you mind trying the number again for me?” Maybe they would get lucky.

“Certainly.” She picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory, then handed him the phone.

With each ring, his uneasiness grew. He got Preston’s voice mail again but didn’t leave another message. He handed the phone back to her. “He hasn’t returned any of my calls or contacted the hospital. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

She didn’t comment.

He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. What was he doing here? What had made him think this wedding planner could help him? Maybe she really didn’t know any more than he did.

But she had met Preston Wellington III, she’d thought the man was in love with Caroline. Then again, maybe she thought all her clients were in love. Maybe the woman was a hopeless romantic.

He looked into her brown eyes, eyes the color of Cognac. But behind all that rich, warmth was something steely. This woman was no hopeless romantic. There was intelligence there and something else—a wariness that made him wonder if she knew a whole lot more that she wasn’t telling him.

“I found another number for Wellington in Caroline’s purse and called it,” he said, watching for her reaction. “It was his office supposedly. I was told he was out of the country and couldn’t be reached. Apparently they don’t know when he’ll be back.” He saw surprise and something else register in her expression: doubt. Finally.

He felt relieved, needing someone else to confirm that his fears might be justified. He recalled the feel of her hand on his shoulder earlier today when he’d been kneeling over his sister’s body.

“Thanks, Miss… Could I possibly call you something besides, Miss Peters?”

She seemed to hesitate. “Samantha.”

“Thank you.” One barrier down, he thought studying her. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something from him. If it had anything to do with his sister’s hit-and-run, he would find out what it was. One way or another. “Samantha, if you’re serious about helping me, then you will come with me now.”

“COME WITH YOU?” Samantha hadn’t been able to hide her surprise. He’d caught her off guard. She’d known he would come back tonight. He was the kind of man who would demand answers and not give up until he got them.

But she worked behind the scenes at Weddings Your Way as an agent. And that’s the way she liked it.

“Go where?” she asked.

“I have the keys to my sister’s condo and I found what I believe is her new address,” he said, sounding almost embarrassed. Obviously he hadn’t known where his sister now lived.

He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t go over there by myself.”

Samantha swallowed, hearing again the raw pain in his voice, and had she been closer she would have placed a hand on his arm and tried to reassure him. But this wasn’t some groom having second thoughts. This was a man whose sister was lying unconscious in a hospital room, possibly dying, a man who was more than a little suspicious not only of Weddings Your Way and why his sister’s accident had happened out front—but of Samantha Peters as well.

Samantha had shielded herself from this kind of pain, this kind of intimacy. It was why, after completing her training with the FBI she’d taken the job Rachel had offered her. Samantha wanted to work behind the scene. She didn’t want to get close to the victims—let alone the killers.

“I know what I’m asking is an imposition,” Alex said not looking at her. “But I can’t face it alone. I think Preston has been living with her,” he continued before she could say anything. “There might be some clue as to where he is at Caroline’s place. Or a number or address that would give me an idea how to reach his family. Something.”

“Caroline’s friends don’t know?” The moment she asked, she realized how foolish the question had been.

He raised his head and met her gaze. “Frankly, I don’t know any of her friends. Before yesterday, I hadn’t seen Caroline in months.”

“And the rest of your family couldn’t help?”

His smile held no humor. “My father thinks my concern is premature. He insists that he has left a message for Preston and expects to hear from him soon. He’s convinced there is no problem.”

“Maybe that’s the case.”

But clearly Alex didn’t believe it. Samantha had to admit she was starting to have doubts, as well. It had been hours since the accident. Preston should have checked his messages and called by now.

“You think something has happened to him?” she asked. She’d feared Sonya’s abduction was much bigger in scope than any of them suspected.

“That’s just it, I don’t know what to think,” Alex said. “You saw my sister earlier today. She seem upset to you?” He nodded as if he already knew the answer.

“Something was wrong,” he continued. “And I haven’t the slightest idea what it was. All I know is that my sister asked me to meet her here today. So where was her fiancé? My sister is fighting for her life and needs him and yet no one can reach him. Don’t tell me that doesn’t make you wonder. I have to find this Preston Wellington III and satisfy myself that this guy is on the up-and-up.” He rose to his feet.

She had no choice but to go with him even though every instinct told her to watch herself closely. She’d seen the way Alex had been studying her. He was suspicious. Which was only natural under the circumstances.

But she had reason to be suspicious of him as well. All she had was his word that Caroline had told him to meet her here today.

Even if Alex Graham was telling the truth, he unnerved her, threw her off balance and made her feel exposed. And that made him dangerous. She would have to be very careful around him.

She pushed out of her chair and reached for her purse, remembering that her gun wasn’t in it. “Just give me a minute.”

Chapter Three

Samantha was seldom surprised by a man. But Alex, she realized, could turn out to be the exception. He led her to an older model pickup parked at the curb. That didn’t surprise her as much as the music that came on when he started the truck.

Country western. He grinned and turned it down. “I’m a big Willie Nelson fan,” he said almost apologetically.

There was something so refreshing about Alex—and at the same time, she didn’t dare relax around him. Her instincts told her he was trying to get her to lower her guard around him. And she had to wonder why.

The cab of the pickup felt too confined, too intimate. And she was too acutely aware of the man behind the wheel.

Alex, though, seemed relaxed as if relieved to have her with him. Because he thought she was doing this out of the kindness of her heart? Or like her, did he have his own agenda?

She hadn’t been paying much attention to where he was driving. He had large hands and he held the wheel like a man who enjoyed driving and drove well.

It wasn’t until he pulled to the curb and let out an oath that she looked around.

He had stopped in front of an old five-story building on the edge of an area of the city that had gone to seed long ago. “This can’t be right,” he said handing the address to Samantha.

“It’s the address you have written here,” she said, equally surprised. The neighborhood had a deserted feel to it and had for blocks. “It looks like some sort of renewal project.”

“My sister can’t possibly live here.”

A set of headlights flashed behind them, followed by the single whoop of a siren and the flash of blue from a light bar. Samantha looked in her rearview mirror as a patrol car pulled up behind them. Not a cop car but a private security company.

“I’ll handle this,” Alex said and climbed out to walk back as a uniformed man exited the patrol car.

“Wait—” But her words were lost as the door closed. She picked up her purse from the floorboard, slipping her hand in to close her fingers around the grip of the gun she’d brought as she watched the two in the side mirror.

She waited, reading their body language, one hand on the gun, the other on the door handle. She didn’t like the looks of the neighborhood and she knew some of the types who filled security cop openings. This one was late middle age, Hispanic and looked harmless enough.

She saw the security guard point in the direction of the building with the address Alex had found for Caroline.

A moment later, Alex started toward her. The guard climbed back into his patrol car, but didn’t leave.

She released her hold on the gun and put her purse back down as Alex opened his door and leaned in.

“You’re right about this being a renewal project,” he said. “It seems my sister owns it and is its first resident. She lives on the top floor of this building.”

He looked as skeptical as Samantha felt. Why would Caroline Graham live here when she could afford to live anywhere? There had to be a mistake.

Alex shut the car door and came around to open hers. As she got out, she looked back at the security guard still sitting in his car behind them. She could see his face under the streetlight and she knew he could see hers, as well.

She gave him a small smile and a nod. The guard would remember her if she needed to come back here.

Alex used one of the keys on the ring he said he’d found in his sister’s purse at the hospital and braved the elevator although it appeared to be new and in good condition. It hummed up to the fifth floor and opened.

“What the hell?” Alex said beside her.

Samantha was equally surprised to find the hallway under construction. The location was questionable although she suspected it would have a great view of the Atlantic and was on the edge of an area that was obviously seeing some positive changes. But this place didn’t appear to be finished.

“I don’t believe this.” Alex shook his head and didn’t step out of the elevator for a moment as if only more convinced he had the wrong place. “Caroline can’t be living here.”

Apparently she was. At least according to the address Alex had found. And what the security guard had told him.

“Seems to be undergoing a renovation,” Samantha said following him as he finally stepped off the elevator into the unfinished hallway.

He shot her a disbelieving look. “The Caroline I know—or knew anyway—wouldn’t be caught dead living under these kinds of conditions.” He realized what he’d said and grimaced. “It’s just that she’s always demanded the best that money could buy and had enough money that she never had to compromise.”

“I’m sure there is an explanation,” Samantha said as she watched Alex try several keys before the knob turned and the door swung open.

From what she could see, most of the condo was walled off behind large sheets of plastic with work being done behind them. “Maybe she saw it as a good investment. Investing does run in your family, right?”

Alex shot her a smile. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s working.”

She pushed aside a corner of the plastic into what was the living room and adjoining kitchen. There was new Sheetrock on the walls and new tile on the counters and backsplash in the kitchen. But the cupboards were still missing and there was Sheetrock dust everywhere.

In fact, Samantha could see tracks in the thick white dust on the floor. Alex might be feeling better about all this, but she wasn’t.

Something was wrong here. She just didn’t know what yet.

She followed Alex as he pushed aside another plastic area and opened a door on the right. The master suite and bath—and obviously the first rooms completed because it appeared someone had been living in there. There was carpet on the floor, the rooms were furnished and several items of discarded clothing lay across the foot of the crumpled sheets and duvet on the large unmade bed.

Samantha spotted two champagne glasses and an empty bottle on one of the nightstands. She itched to collect both for prints but couldn’t in front of Alex without making him suspicious. Wedding planners usually didn’t run fingerprints as a sideline.

She would have to come back for them.

ALEX HAD HOPED he’d find something in his sister’s condo that would convince him he had nothing to worry about when it came to his sister’s fiancé. But coming here had done just the opposite.

What the hell was going on with Caroline?

“Well, this was a mistake,” he said and noticed the way Samantha moved to the closet but was careful not to touch anything as if this was a crime scene.

Is that what she suspected? he wondered with a jolt. That Caroline’s hit-and-run wasn’t an accident?

She seemed to scan the clothing inside as if looking for something in particular.

“I’m telling you my sister can’t be staying here,” he said. “Look, when I asked my father, he said that she was in the process of moving and had most of her stuff stored at the house.”

“Isn’t this her clothing?”

He glanced into the closet. While the walk-in closet wasn’t overflowing with clothing so it couldn’t be Caroline’s—at least not yet—there were enough items to make it clear that someone had been staying here.

That’s when he noticed a purse on the top shelf with an odd-print scarf tied to the strap.

“That’s hers,” he said. “I saw her with it one day uptown.” He didn’t mention that he’d ducked in a store to avoid talking to her. It had to be hers. He remembered the unusual scarf.

“I smell her perfume on some of the clothing,” Samantha said from inside the closet. “I also recognize one of the dresses she wore at an appointment I had with her.”

Her movements were slow, purposeful. He found himself watching her rather than looking for evidence of Preston Wellington III in the condo.

At first glance, Samantha Peters wasn’t the type of woman a man would even notice. Hell, he wouldn’t have given her a second glance under other circum-stances. It was the way she dressed, he realized with a jolt.

Not that he knew anything about women’s clothing, but even he could see that the suit she wore was too large for her slim, small frame, the cut all wrong. She wore it like armor, as if protecting herself, he thought with surprise.

And her hair. It was colored too dark for her pale skin and cut shoulder length, long enough that it often covered part of her face.