Do-Or-Die Bridesmaid

Always the bridesmaid,

never a killer’s target...until now.

Back in his hometown for a wedding, Detective Conor Wildman reunites with his ex-girlfriend’s sister, Laura Karr, once the tomboy next door. Now Laura is a beautiful woman...and someone wants her dead. Conor is the man to protect her and catch the killer, but will one heated kiss jeopardize their precious friendship? Or will it prove that he can trust her with his wounded heart?

JULIE MILLER is an award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of breathtaking romantic suspense—with a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Daphne du Maurier Award, among other prizes. She has also earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books, monthly newsletter and more, go to juliemiller.org.

Also by Julie Miller

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Military Grade Mistletoe

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APB: Baby

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Necessary Action

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Do-or-Die Bridesmaid

Julie Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09360-6

DO-OR-DIE BRIDESMAID

© 2019 Julie Miller

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Thank you to my readers who were so kind to help me

figure out Conor Wildman’s story. I needed a few

details on the fly, and you found them for me.

I appreciate you taking the time to find the answers

I needed from Protection Detail and getting back to me so quickly. You’re the best!

To Anu-Riikka Henriksson, Jeriann Fisher, Kathy

Brown, Kay Singletary, LaJuonna Sirk, Danielle

DePierre, Mary Birchwood Lawson, Lanita Idrus,

Diana Roman and April Fowler.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About the Publisher

Prologue

The honor of your presence is requested...

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Conor Wildman skimmed over the details of the wedding invitation. Embossed pink hearts and lilac ribbons adorned the paper and the little RSVP card. This had to be a joke. Only it wasn’t.

It took a lot of gall for his ex to invite him to her wedding.

It took even more gall for said ex to be marrying his former best friend.

But he wasn’t bitter. Conor snorted the hot coffee he was drinking up his nose and cursed. Yeah. That was about how good he felt at reading Joe and Lisa’s names linked together—like a hot, black brew scalding his sinuses.

He should have left yesterday’s mail sitting on the counter and come back to it after work this evening. Better yet, after a drink after work this evening. No. He should have dumped the pale pink envelope in the trash and then skipped straight to the drink after work at the Shamrock Bar where he and his new friends at KCPD often hung out after hours.

That was why there’d been no return address on the envelope—so he wouldn’t automatically trash it. If it wasn’t pre-coffee time in the morning, he might have thought to check the envelope for the Arlington, Virginia, postmark. But since he’d just come from the shower and poured himself his first cup, he’d been blindsided by the reminder of all he’d lost these past two years.

It didn’t matter that he logically understood why Lisa had dumped him—too many necessary lies, too many absent nights with his former job at WITSEC. Dumped was dumped. There was no logic that could ease the pain of being told he wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t right enough to make a good husband to her.

It wasn’t the first time he hadn’t been enough to make someone stay.

He was no longer with the US Marshals service, no longer in Virginia, no longer brooding over the life that had been denied him. But a wedding invitation?

There was no one in his life who’d be sending him a Valentine this February. Had he hoped he’d picked up a secret admirer? That his mother had arranged for someone to send him a missive before her death eight months ago? She’d known the breast cancer was winning, that it had metastasized beyond any hope of saving her. She’d spent a lot of those last few weeks getting her affairs in order, trying to get his life shipshape, too, knowing she was the last of his family. Had Marie Wildman been in collusion with his ex’s mother? The two women had been friends for as long as Conor had been alive. Had his mom asked the Karr family to keep an eye on her only child? Make sure he was happy?

If so, what was the point of inviting him to a weekend wedding extravaganza back home? A torturous weekend trapped in awkward conversations with well-meaning friends and painful memories wasn’t his idea of fun. There was a reason he’d moved halfway across the country to take an assignment in Kansas City, Missouri. A reason why he’d left the Marshals Service to become a cop with the KCPD instead of moving back to Arlington after his assignment in KC had wrapped up.

Lisa Karr had rejected his ring and said he wasn’t the kind of man a woman who wanted a normal life should marry. Hell, she’d quoted some statistic about how a man with his temperament and job skills would be divorced in a couple of years if they’d gone through with their engagement. He didn’t think either Lisa or Joe Gerhart was the rub-our-noses-in-Conor’s-pain kind of cruel. But he could see them doing a favor for his mom, feeling sorry for him. Poor Conor. We didn’t mean to hurt you. We know it’s been a tough year. We want you to know we will always care about you.

It didn’t matter that Lisa had officially broken up with him before she’d started dating Joe. It still felt like his friend had stolen his girl. Knowing the two had kept the relationship quiet while he’d been dealing with his mom—seeing them together for the first time at Marie’s funeral—felt like Lisa had cheated on him.

It made no sense, but that was what he felt. He’d been one raw emotion, keeping it together for so long that he wasn’t sure he knew what he felt anymore. Except pissed that Lisa and Joe had invited him to their wedding. In one week. Like he was a problem they needed to fix.

Conor considered taking another hit on the hot liquid caffeine he lived on. But he wasn’t that much of a masochist. He carefully set the mug down on the kitchen counter and stepped away to finish dressing.

Striding into the bedroom, he dropped the towel cinched around his lean hips and pulled on his shorts and slacks. The white shirt with the button-down collar came next. He crossed to the mirror over the dresser and combed his short, wheat-blond hair into place before looping a tie around his neck. He stopped mid-Windsor knot and eyed the brown-and-navy stripes before pulling it off and tossing it onto the bed.

Lisa had given him that tie.

He’d settle for the solid blue tie with the tiny food stain on it. That would have driven her nuts. She’d fuss over his incompetence when it came to dressing himself before catching on that it was just a ploy to get her to put her hands on him. Then they’d laugh. And there would undoubtedly be a kiss.

Conor tugged that tie off, too. Nope. Better opt for the completely neutral, no-history-involved tie he’d picked up at a Christmas party.

He’d once been amused by Lisa’s tendencies to have the details of her life arranged so that there were no surprises. His inability to guarantee her that home-for-dinner-every-night predictability was one of the reasons she’d broken off their engagement. The possibility that he might not come home at all one day because of the inherent dangers of working in law enforcement had sealed the coffin on their future together.

But he couldn’t give up his job—couldn’t surrender the gun and the badge and the crazy hours he’d once worked as a US marshal, tracking down fugitives and protecting witnesses. He wouldn’t give up the man he chose to become after the father who hadn’t wanted him or his mother had abandoned them. He couldn’t give up who he was. Not even for the girl he’d loved since college. His promise that she would always come first in his heart hadn’t been good enough for her. She needed a sense of security that his gun and badge couldn’t provide.

Ironically, now that she was no longer a part of his life, he’d resigned from the Marshal Service. His last case guarding a witness relocated to Kansas City had made him question too many of his supervisor’s decisions. If his boss didn’t have his back, and wouldn’t put the woman he’d been protecting first, then the oath he’d taken—Justice, Integrity, Service—meant nothing. Conor had lost too much for his work and his life not to mean anything.

He thought Lisa had understood that. That she accepted his job was a big part of who he was as a man. But maybe she’d been in love with a version of him he just couldn’t be.

He understood Joe and Lisa’s need to mend fences and make the past right, so they could move on with their future—to their new life. But why was their happiness his problem? He slipped his holster and badge onto his belt, grabbed his suit jacket and headed back to the kitchen.

Conor finished off his tepid coffee in one long draft. He shrugged into his jacket and picked up the wedding invitation to toss it into the trash.

That was when the note that had been tucked inside fell out and drifted to the tile floor. Conor’s shoulders lifted with a wary sigh before he stooped down to retrieve it.

He unfolded the handwritten note—with messages from both Joe and Lisa.

Con—If I was marrying anyone else but Lisa, you’d be standing by my side as best man. I let this go because I know you’ve been dealing with your mom this year. But it’s killing me that you aren’t a part of our lives anymore. Hell, Lisa talks about how much she misses the three of us hanging out the way we did in college so much that I’m getting a complex. I finally told her to send you an invitation. Bail me out, bro. Lisa needs to see you’re okay with her own eyes. Come to the wedding. Do it for yourself, too, and show everyone here that you’re okay.

—Joe.

He flipped over the paper to Lisa’s flowery handwriting. What was this? An intervention to help him get over how sucky they thought his life had become?

Dearest Con—I know things ended badly between us. Deep down in your heart, you know I couldn’t make you happy in the long run, nor you me. But we were friends long before we were something more. We were practically family. Marie and Mom were like sisters. Your mom would want you to be happy, not stewing in anger or grief or whatever it is that is keeping you away from home.

If you don’t care about me or Joe, then think of your mother. We all miss her. Mom most of all. Seeing you here, representing Marie, would make her so happy.

You may think there’s no one in your life who worries about your well-being. But we do.

I hope we can be friends again. I’d love to have a big brother like you in my life. Please come. We miss you.

Yours truly,

Lisa.

Big brother? He hadn’t felt brotherly toward Lisa since she’d sprouted breasts in middle school.

Brotherly was what he felt toward Lisa’s tomboy little sister, Laura. The squirt always seemed to be around when he’d come over to hang out with Lisa, and she’d even tagged along on a couple of dates in college. He’d taught her to swing a softball bat and spit watermelon seeds from the tree house that hovered over both their backyards. Laura had freckles and braces and snorted through her nose when she laughed. Lisa was feminine right down to her painted pinkie toes. Not in any universe could he equate brotherly with his feelings for Lisa.

But his heart hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t been enough.

He wasn’t sure he could handle the friendship she wanted. The pain of her rejection compounded by his mother’s death, the guilt of not seeing how unhappy she’d been with him, wouldn’t allow friendship to flourish again. But maybe he could give Lisa one day.

Show everyone here that you’re okay.

“You played me like a fine violin, Joseph.” Shaking his head, Conor scooped the invitation up and stuffed it into his pocket. His decision was made.

Time for a road trip to Virginia.

Chapter One

The Methodist church was packed with enough guests that Conor could easily slide into the last pew without drawing attention to his arrival.

He’d convinced himself that taking a few vacation days and driving to Arlington for Joe and Lisa’s wedding was a necessary thing. It was a matter of pride to show them that he wasn’t so grief-stricken about his mother’s death or wounded by Lisa that he was too weak or vulnerable to wish them well.

So, here he was, in the flesh, back at the church where services for his mother had been held, the same church the Wildmans and the Karrs had attended growing up. Detective Conor Wildman was doing just fine on his own, thank you very much.

But he wasn’t going to make a spectacle of himself. He might be proving that he was a gracious loser, that he had made the right choice to move on, but those emotional scars were still fresh.

One of the hazards of standing six foot three, though, was that blending in wasn’t always an option. When Joe walked in from the waiting room beside the altar with his best man and a groomsman—one a fraternity brother he recognized from college, the other probably an accountant friend from work—he adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses on his nose and looked again, letting Conor know he’d been spotted. Joe beamed at seeing Conor in the back row near the exit. Conor offered his former college roomie a thumbs-up and a wry grin.

But when Joe took a couple of steps to come down the aisle toward him, Conor shook his head and pointed to the back of the church, reminding Joe of his priorities as the organ music finished with a dramatic flourish. The best man pulled Joe back into place, rubbing Joe’s shoulders and teasing him about putting the kiss-the-bride stuff ahead of the “I dos,” which sent laughter through the pews like a wave.

Conor didn’t laugh. The organist began playing the overture to the traditional processional. But he wasn’t ignoring the joke or appreciating the music so much as he was distracted by the sudden shuffle of commotion in the narthex just outside the sanctuary’s open doors. From his vantage point he could turn and see what the fuss was about while the congregation buzzed with chatter, waiting for the grand entrance of the bridal party.

“Put down your cell phone.” That terse whisper would be Lisa. Something wasn’t going according to her no-doubt meticulous plan for the day. Conor’s chest expanded with a steadying breath at hearing her voice again. He knew all her tones and what they represented. That one was her nervous-that-everything-is-about-to-fall-apart-but-I’ll-cover-my-fear-by-sniping-at-someone-else tone. “If she chooses not to be here to oversee the guest book, then...why isn’t Chloe here?”

“I don’t know. She isn’t answering. And no one’s seen her here at the church, either.” Since Conor didn’t immediately recognize the second woman’s voice, he tilted his head to get a glimpse of pink tulle curving over a generous flare of hips. Tulle and satin gave way to pink lace clinging to some very nice breasts that rose and fell with a huffy sigh. But bangs of short brown hair with caramel highlights and a netted glittery pink feathered headpiece pinned above her ear obscured the woman’s face. “I’d like to know where my friend is, too. Do you think Isaac knows?”

“Don’t go out there and ask him,” Lisa chided. “He’s already at the altar with Joe.” All he could glimpse of her was the hem of her lacy white gown as she paced beyond his line of sight. “I don’t care if she’s leaving me in the lurch. I care about you being the first one down the aisle.”

“Relax, dear. Aunt Sandra handled the guest book just fine.” Conor smiled as a familiar face joined the woman in the pink bridesmaid dress. Lisa’s petite mother and his own mom’s best friend, Leslie Karr. “Please, sweetie. It’s time. We can’t start the ceremony without you.”

Sweetie meant one of Lisa’s sisters. And since her older sister was as tall as Lisa, that meant the frilly pink bombshell was her younger sister, Laura. Um, bombshell? Conor remembered braces and blue jeans and tennis shoes. He never would have ogled Laura the way he’d been assessing her figure a few seconds earlier, and, in fact, would have gone all big brother on any guy who did let his eyes linger on her curves for that long. She was just a kid. Well, the Laura he knew had been like a kid sister to him.

But the attitude was familiar.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Laura protested. “You told me to find Chloe, and now I’m concerned because I can’t.”

A pregnant belly draped with more pink satin and tulle moved into the picture, blocking his view of Laura and her mother. Linda Karr-Colfax moaned and rubbed at the small of her back. A similar clip of feathers dangled from her upswept hair. “Mom? Ty was playing with my hair. Is this thing still in okay?”

“I thought we checked everything before leaving the dressing room,” Lisa scolded, while her mother secured the gaudy thing in Linda’s hair. “And do not have your baby today.”

Linda chuckled at her middle sister’s worry. “Take a deep breath, Lisa. They’re Braxton Hicks contractions. I’ve had them with all three babies. And neither of the boys came early.” She muttered something slightly less reassuring when a little boy in a black tuxedo somersaulted into the picture. Linda’s attorney husband followed with a sleeping toddler on his shoulder and pulled the boy to his feet. Linda brushed the dust off the tiny tux’s shoulders. “You only have to wear this for a little while, Timmy. Just until we take the pictures after the wedding. Where is your pillow with the rings tied to it?”

“Has he lost it?” Lisa’s long dress swirled into the tableau, but again his anticipation at seeing the beauty he’d loved was thwarted by the angle of the doorway.

Laura knelt in front of her nephew to hand him the embroidered white pillow. “Not lost. Here.” The little boy chortled with delight. Now that he had a clear view of that part of the lobby, Conor saw that there was a toy truck tied to the pillow, too. “You hold tight to that, and you won’t lose that pillow again, will you.”

Appeasing the youngster in the face of all the tension happening out there made Conor smile, too. “Nice move, Squirt,” he murmured under his breath, automatically thinking of Laura by the nickname he’d given her growing up.

But her smile faded a split second before she looked down at her phone and pushed to her feet.

More than noticing that she’d snipped off her long pigtails for a short, angular cut that hugged her jawline and played up the waves in her highlighted hair, and had traded her braces for a sweet, mischievous smile, he registered the frown lines that deepened beside her green-gold eyes. Baby Sister was really worried about something.

She texted something in response to the message she’d received.

“Laura! Phone!” Lisa pleaded.

“Sorry.” Laura turned it off and slid it beneath the lace of her gown to tuck it inside the sweetheart neckline.

“Seriously? You’ll ruin the look of the dress with that thing sticking out of your cleavage.”

“Like I don’t look like a piece of cotton candy, anyway.”

“Mother!”

Leslie Karr had handled bigger spats than this with her patient tone and knowing smile. “Laura, sweetie, let me put your phone in my purse.” With another lift of her bare shoulders, Laura did as her mother asked. After tucking the phone into her clutch purse, Leslie cupped her youngest daughter’s cheek. “You look beautiful today.”

Then Leslie turned, gently touching Linda’s belly as she smiled up at her oldest daughter. “You look beautiful.”

When she reached for Lisa, stepping out of Conor’s line of sight to hug her middle daughter, his breath hitched with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety at the thought of glimpsing Lisa again. But unless he leaned out into the aisle, making his presence more than obvious, he’d have to wait like every other guest to put eyes on the bride.