The Bride’s
Bodyguard

Beth Cornelison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Copyright

Dear Reader,

I’m having so much fun writing the Bancroft Brides series! In The Bride’s Bodyguard, Paige Bancroft is ready to walk down the aisle when a disaster beyond anything she could imagine throws her life into chaos. Orderly, organized Paige doesn’t do chaos. Thank goodness she has ultra-hot, former Navy SEAL Jake McCall at her side, helping her dodge bullets! Paige is in for a wild ride and about to discover that love can bloom in the most difficult situations and with the person you’d least expect.

As I write this letter, I’m in the final stages of wrapping up book three (Zoey’s book), and I admit, leaving these three sisters is going to be tough! Having grown up as the middle of three sisters, I pulled bits and pieces of my own experience into creating Paige, Holly and Zoey. Their love for each other, their widely different personalities, the occasional sibling rivalry … even the camping in a pop-up trailer come from memories of my youth.

I hope you enjoy Paige’s story, and stay tuned for Zoey’s book.

Happy reading,

Beth Cornelison

About the Author

BETH CORNELISON started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in Public Relations from the university of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.

Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honours for her work, including the coveted Golden Heart award in romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. she is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, travelling, Peanuts’ Snoopy and spending down-time with her family.

She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171, USA or visit her website at www.bethcornelison.com.

To my sisters — Martha and Lenna. I love you guys! And in memory of Nate. I miss you

Chapter 1

“Do you, Paige Michelle Bancroft, take Brent to be your lawfully wedded husband, for better or for worse, in sickness and—”

A strange buzzing filled Paige’s ears, drowning out the minister’s voice and ramping up the panic constricting her chest. The hand holding her bouquet shook, making the imported orchids tremble. Her mother’s antique pearl choker strangled her.

No, no, no, she wanted to scream. I don’t love Brent. I don’t want to spend my life with him.

“—as long as you both shall live?” The minister raised an expectant gaze to her, cuing her to respond.

“I do,” she rasped. Her answer seemed to come from the bottom of a deep well, a hollow, disembodied voice with its own will.

Brent squeezed her free hand and gave her a smile, which she dutifully mirrored, despite the legion of butterflies battering her stomach and the doubts shouting in her head.

She cast a quick glance to the front row where her mother joyfully dabbed her eyes and her father beamed at her triumphantly. Her parents’ happiness bolstered her courage.

“I’m so proud of you,” Neil Bancroft had whispered to Paige as he escorted her down the aisle moments ago. “Brent is your perfect match.”

She’d swallowed the bitter uncertainties that rose in her throat, wanting to reply, “No, he’s your perfect match. Don’t make me do this!” Instead, she’d forced a grin and nodded.

Marrying Brent was her destiny, her obligation. Marrying the man who would soon be the CEO of Bancroft Industries meant control of the family business would stay within the family. More important, she was making her father happy. Her father doted on Brent as if he were the son he never had.

Paige had long ago come to terms with the fact that her marriage was more a business merger than a love match. As the oldest daughter in the family, she knew her father expected her to put family obligations first. When Brent had proposed to her, with her father sitting across the table from them, she’d seen how the prospect of her marriage to his protégé had thrilled her father. Her engagement had earned her unprecedented praise and acceptance from her hard-to-please father.

A tug on her hand called her attention back to her groom, who was slipping an extravagant ring on her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Her heart tap-danced as she turned to hand her bouquet to her sister Holly and receive from her Brent’s ring.

Holly gave her a curious look, whispering discreetly, “You okay?”

Another fake smile and a tiny nod. “Of course.”

Paige shoved down the twinge of envy for her sister’s loving and happy marriage to a handsome doctor. Holly and Matt’s Christmas wedding last winter had been a small affair but bursting with heartfelt affection and joy.

Paige drew a deep, steadying breath as she faced her groom with his wedding band in hand and prepared to recite her vows. She could make this marriage work if she kept the right attitude and put aside her childish dreams of a fairy-tale prince to sweep her off her feet. The kind of romantic dreams her youngest sister, Zoey, was chasing.

“I can’t pretend I’m happy to see you marrying someone you don’t love,” Zoey had declared in the same phone call in which she explained her reasons for skipping Paige’s wedding. Not having Zoey at her wedding broke Paige’s heart, but her temperamental youngest sister had always been stubborn, opinionated and unpredictable. And so Zoey was God-knows-where with her latest loser boyfriend, protesting Paige’s practical decision by boycotting the wedding ceremony.

Brent might not be her dream love match, but he had his good qualities. He was thoughtful, intelligent, generous, polite and ambitious. He tried hard to make her happy—and he tried even harder to make her father happy. He was comfortable, like her favorite old pair of slippers.

With a mental kick in the pants, Paige shook off the doubt demons plaguing her and firmed her resolve. Zoey was wrong. Marrying Brent Scofield was the right thing to do. She’d be fine, and she’d learn to love him. She’d make her marriage work.

With shaking hands, she lifted the gold band to Brent’s finger. “With this ring, I—”

Slam!

The door at the back of the sanctuary crashed open, and Paige jerked her head toward the source of the distracting noise.

A man in a long trench coat strode down the center aisle toward the altar. “Sorry I’m late. But I didn’t want to show up too soon and give the groom a chance to escape.”

Brent snatched his hand from Paige’s and stiffened as he faced the intruder. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter. And you know what we want, Scofield.”

Jake McCall surreptitiously reached for the sidearm hidden at his hip under his tuxedo coat and stepped smoothly between the intruder and the groom. He’d been so caught up in deciphering the odd reluctance and anxiety in the bride’s expression that he’d allowed his vigilance over the groom’s safety to lapse for valuable seconds. He shoved down the self-recriminations that would only serve as further distractions and shifted into battle mode.

Even as Jake drew his SIG Sauer P226 and moved into a more offensive position, Brent shifted out from behind him, addressing the man in the trench coat. “And if I refuse?”

As if on cue, several more men, all armed with rifles, appeared in the balcony and stepped through the side and back doors of the sanctuary.

A murmur of distress whispered through the congregation, and the bridesmaids huddled together behind the altar rail.

Jake’s grip on his pistol tightened. Quickly, he began recalculating his best strategy to protect his client and avoid getting anyone else shot in the process. He sent a quick glance around the sanctuary, monitoring the other gunmen, then returned his attention to the ringleader. The man’s trench coat, out of place on a rain-free summer day, bothered Jake. Not knowing what might be under that long coat bothered him more.

Trench Coat sent Brent a gloating smirk and jerked a nod toward Jake. “I see you were expecting us.” Turning, he narrowed a menacing glare on Jake. “Drop it. Or my men will drop you and anyone else in the line of fire.”

Jake hesitated only a moment before setting his pistol on the floor and kicking it toward Trench Coat. Ordinarily, he’d keep his weapon at all costs, but being outnumbered and outgunned with so many civilians at risk changed everything.

“Now…” Trench Coat faced the groom once more. “If you give us what we want, nobody has to get hurt.”

“Brent? What is he talking about?” the bride asked, her expression stunned, terrified.

Matt Randall, who’d been introduced to Jake as the bride’s brother-in-law, rose from the front pew and eased up behind Trench Coat.

Jake tensed. Clearly, Matt had some form of well-intended, but ill-advised heroics in mind. He tried to make eye contact with Matt to warn him off, but Matt’s focus was on the man threatening the wedding party.

Just before Matt reached his target, Trench Coat jerked his head around and whipped open his coat to reveal the explosives he wore on his chest. He pulled his hand from his large coat pocket, his thumb hovering over the switch of a detonator. “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you, pal.”

The bridesmaids issued a collective gasp.

Brent raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Take it easy. Your business is with me. Leave everyone else out of it. Let everyone else go, and I—I’ll cooperate.”

Trench Coat cocked his head and twisted his mouth in an eerie smirk. “Good to know. Hand over the bead, and we’ll be on our way.”

Brent cut a desperate glance to Jake. “I, uh, don’t have

it.”

Trench Coat’s face hardened. “You’re lying. You knew we were after it, and you wouldn’t leave it unprotected. It’s here somewhere, and I’m getting tired of asking nicely.” He glanced to one of his cohorts. “Scofield needs a little encouragement to cooperate.”

The gunman gave a tight nod. Raised his rifle.

And shot the man at the end of the pew closest to him.

Screams rose from the congregation. Terrified people scrambled from their seats to run for the door. More shots were fired toward the escaping crowd as the gunmen moved in to block the door.

“Sit down!” Trench Coat roared.

A terrified hush fell over the church, and Trench Coat turned so everyone could see the bomb strapped to him. “I have enough C4 taped to me to blow this church to hell and back.”

A prickle of intuition chased up Jake’s spine. He’d worked with C4 during his navy SEAL training. The claylike material Trench Coat wore wasn’t C4.

And these men weren’t religious or political extremists on suicide duty. They were mercenaries after something Scofield had. Blowing themselves up would serve no purpose. The bomb was likely a fake, a scare tactic to win cooperation from the congregation and deter would-be heroes like Matt.

But the rounds in the goons’ rifles were real enough, as they’d demonstrated.

With the hand not holding the fake detonator, Trench Coat pulled a.38 revolver from a coat pocket and leveled the gun at Brent. “The bead, Scofield. Now!”

Jake rocked to the balls of his feet, prepared to launch himself in front of a bullet or knock Trench Coat to the floor in an instant. “Brent, give him what he wants,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

How could Scofield play his game of chicken with these terrorists when so many lives were at risk?

Brent sent him a stunned glance. “No!”

Trench Coat’s aim shifted twenty degrees. Toward the bride. The. 38 clicked as he cocked the hammer.

“No!” Brent threw himself on his bride, knocking her down just as Trench Coat fired.

In one rapid move, Jake dived for his pistol, rolled to his back and dropped Trench Coat with one shot to the head.

Bedlam erupted as the congregation ducked for cover or ran for the door. The other terrorists fired at will, trying to regain control of the frightened crowd.

Jake scrambled forward and seized the. 38. The fake detonator lay beside the dead terrorist, forgotten.

Over the gunfire and screams, Jake heard the bride shout, “Brent! Someone help me!”

As he rushed toward the bridal couple, lying together on the floor, Jake spotted the blood spreading at Scofield’s tuxedo collar.

He reached his client at the same time as Matt. The other man muscled him out of the way. “I’m a doctor! Let me help him!”

Jake yielded to the doctor but assisted in ripping open Brent’s ascot and tux collar. He balled his own cravat to stanch the flow of blood from the wound at Brent’s jugular vein.

The bride huddled beside Brent, crying and clutching her groom’s hand. “Hang on, Brent. Stay with us. Matt will help you.”

Brent’s fading gaze found his bride’s, then shifted to Jake’s as he rasped, “McCall…”

Guilt kicked Jake hard in the gut. He gritted his teeth in frustration and self-reproach. “I know. You hired me to protect you, and I didn’t.”

“Listen to me!” Scofield grabbed Jake’s wrist with a grip that was surprisingly strong considering how much blood he’d lost.

Jake hesitated when he met the determined fire in his client’s eyes.

“New…assignment. Paige has…what they want. Get her… out of here. Hide her.” Brent struggled for a breath, the life light in his eyes dimming. “Keep…the bead safe…at all costs. National security.. ”

Jake frowned, straining to hear over the continued tumult in the sanctuary. “What bead?”

“Homeland compromised. No police—”

“What bead?” Jake demanded. “Where is it?”

“In…her.” Scofield paused, gasped, gurgled on the blood in his throat. Brent’s gaze darted to something behind Jake. “Go!”

Jake whipped a glance over his shoulder in time to see one of the riflemen approach the altar, then pause to take aim on them.

Hooking an arm around the bride’s waist, he hauled her to her feet and shoved her behind the pulpit. He took cover with her, shielding her with his body as the bullets whizzed past, missing them by inches. Peering around the side of the pulpit, Jake fired back at the rifleman. Hit him in the chest. The man slumped to the floor.

Burying his mouth in the bride’s hair, he shouted directly into her ear. “We’re going out that side door to the limo. Move fast and keep your head down.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide with terror. “But Brent—”

“Just do as I say! We run on three. One, two, three!”

Numb with shock and fear, Paige stumbled as Brent’s hulking best man tugged her arm, propelling them toward the sanctuary’s side exit. Her foot caught the hem of her Vera Wang gown, and she immediately tumbled to her knees. She bit her tongue as she landed with a jarring thud.

Jake sent her a dark scowl of impatience, as if she’d tripped on purpose, as if running in high heels with yards of satin and lace draped around her legs should have been easy.

Shaking from head to toe, she fumbled to untangle herself, fighting the billows of her skirt out of her way. In a daze of disbelief, she watched Jake knock away the muzzle of the rifle that a thug by the side door had swung toward them. Lobbing a fist to the thug’s chin, Jake sent the guy sprawling on the floor, then turned to her. His square jaw was taut, and a lethal intensity blazed in his dark eyes.

Without warning, Jake planted his shoulder in her stomach. Wrapping his arm around her legs, he tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. The air whooshed from her lungs, and her world turned upside down. Dangling over his shoulder, she scrabbled for something to hold as he charged out the door. Paige fisted his tuxedo coat, but as Jake raced down the steps and across the churchyard, the heavy stomping of his feet bounced her like a rag doll. She groped frantically for a more secure hold, wrapping her arms around the expanse of his wide back.

Jake’s shoulder gouged her belly. His fingers dug into her thighs. His feet and the ground filled her line of sight with a dizzying blur of motion. The bright sunshine and thick humidity of the Louisiana summer day beat down on them as he ran toward the front driveway.

A beautiful day for my wedding, she’d thought that morning when she arrived at the church. The perfect day for my perfect wedding.

Now bile and adrenaline soured her stomach and threatened to come up as she clung to Jake for dear life. The surreal screams from her friends and family, under assault in the sanctuary she’d been dragged away from, faded as they made their escape.

But the deafening gunfire followed them. A series of blasts thundered through the air. Paige winced as bits of concrete flew up at her when bullets peppered the ground. Bullets aimed at her and at Jake.

“Start the engine! Go, go, go!” Jake shouted to someone. He staggered to a stop, but before she could catch her breath or regain her bearings, he dumped her, unceremoniously, onto the backseat of the bridal limo.

“Let’s move!” Jake yelled.

She battled away the curtain of ivory satin that had her tangled in an awkward knot, obscuring her vision. As she scooted across the seat, righting herself and restoring air to her jostled lungs, Jake lunged onto the seat beside her. He swung a handgun out the open car door and fired a couple of earsplitting shots. The limo driver hit the gas, and they rocketed down the church driveway, even before Jake had closed the limo door.

As the limo hurtled down the streets of Lagniappe, weaving through traffic and taking turns at a high speed, Paige was tossed about like a sock in the dryer. Her mind spun as well, reeling from the macabre turn of events. Her wedding had become a bloodbath. Brent had been shot. And her groom’s high school friend, a man she’d met only four days ago, had bodily carried her out of harm’s way like some tuxedoed superhero.

Dear God, was her sister hurt? Her parents? Her friends? And poor Mr. Diggle had been murdered in cold blood!

She must be dreaming. If this is some anxiety-induced nightmare, please let me wake up now!

For the first time, Paige said a prayer of thanks that her youngest sister hadn’t been at the wedding after all. At least Paige knew Zoey was safe.

The limo’s back window shattered. Startled by the loud crash and rain of broken glass, Paige screamed.

“Get down!” Jake palmed her head and shoved her to the floor, covering her with his massive body. His weight pressed her back into the plush carpeting and biting shards of the window while his rock-hard chest and wide shoulders ground against the galloping beat of her heart. The heat of his exertion and the faint scent of sandalwood surrounded her. Despite the hell breaking loose around her, the solid wall of his body created a warm cocoon where, for a few moments, she felt marginally protected, fractionally less frightened.

She squeezed her eyes closed, only to see haunting images of Brent’s blood, spraying bullets and crushed flowers. Chaos, death and destruction. At her wedding.

She shuddered.

You know what we want, Scofield.

Keep the bead safe at all costs.

Why had Jake brought a gun to the wedding? Had he expected trouble?

Who were those armed men, and what was Brent’s link to them?

None of it made sense.

“Hit the highway out of town and don’t stop until you’re sure you’ve lost them!” Jake shouted to the driver.

Time kaleidoscoped, and Paige couldn’t be sure if she’d huddled beneath Jake’s protective cover for one minute or twenty. When the assault of gunfire stopped, he rolled off of her and sat back to take off his tux jacket and rip open the shirt at his throat. Her gaze gravitated to the pulse throbbing on his thick neck. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he gritted his teeth and eased forward to peer over the backseat.

She rubbed the spot at her temple where her head pounded.

“I think we lost them.” Jake expelled a deep breath of relief as he pushed up to the seat at the back of the limo. He raked a hand through his short, inky-black hair and lifted a penetrating gaze to her. “Are you all right?”

Paige could only stare back at him, too stunned, too shaken, too confused by the violent attack at her wedding to know what to do or say. This kind of thing was only supposed to happen in the movies, not in real life. Not in her staid, well-planned, organized, boring life.

Jake extended a large hand to her. She studied the crimson smears on his fingers, and her stomach roiled. “You have blood on your hand. Brent’s blood,” she said stupidly, still too shell-shocked to edit her thoughts for statements of the obvious.

But Jake didn’t laugh off or dismiss her banal comment. Instead, his expression darkened, and his jaw tightened. “I did what I thought was best, considering I was outnumbered, outgunned and had the lives of three hundred of your friends and relatives to factor in to my response to those thugs,” he said bitterly. He massaged his knee and winced. “I know I screwed up. I know your fiancé is likely dead because of my screw up.”

Paige’s breath hitched, and a sharp ache sliced through her. Brent could be dead.

Jake jerked his gaze to the side window and huffed. His nostrils flared, and pain flooded his face for a moment before he schooled his expression and turned back to her. “I’m sorry.”

She blinked, saying nothing for long seconds, realizing he’d taken her comment as condemnation and accusation. His tortured expression, his guilty confession twisted in her chest.

“I—I only meant…you have blood—” She pointed to his hands, then stopped when she saw the blood on her own fingers. She gaped at the red stains, her stomach seesawing as she discovered the smears on her dress, as well—the garish reminder of the violence she’d witnessed, of her futile attempts to help Brent when he’d been shot, of the unknown carnage she’d left at the church. It was her wedding. Didn’t that make it her responsibility to see to the safety of her guests? How could she flee like a coward and leave everyone else to die?

And what choice in the matter had Jake given her, hauling her away like a duffel bag over his shoulder?

“Are you hurt? ” Jake repeated, his tone demanding.

Paige drew a slow breath, forcing air into lungs paralyzed by shock, terror and grief. “I—I don’t know.” She looked up at Jake, needing answers. “What just happened? How…Why…?”

He leaned forward and put a hand under her elbow, helping her off the limo floor and onto the long seat ninety degrees from where he sat. “Good question. The sooner we get those answers, the better I’ll be able to protect you and the bead.”

“Protect me?”

Jake gave her a tight nod. “Those are my orders. That’s what Brent asked just before we made our big exit.”

“Your orders?” She hated sounding like some parrot, repeating everything Jake said, but her brain was still struggling to comprehend the horror of the past half hour and make sense of the insanity. “Who the hell are you really? And why did you think you had to bring a gun to my wedding? ”

Jake flexed and balled his hand restlessly. “I really am an old friend of Brent’s. But not his best friend—just the one with the most military training. He hired me a couple weeks ago to protect him until after the wedding. My being his best man was my cover. So you wouldn’t ask questions.”

Paige shook her head, more confused than ever. “Then. why are you here instead of protecting him?”

“Didn’t you hear what he said before we made our exit? He told me to hide you and keep the bead safe at all costs.” He narrowed a sharp gaze on her and extended his hand. “In fact, you should give me the bead for safekeeping.”

Her head throbbed, and she swallowed the urge to scream her frustration with the endless riddles. “What bead?”

Jake’s jaw tightened, and his dark eyes reflected his own frustration and impatience with the situation. “The one the terrorists who crashed your party were after, of course! The one you’re protecting for Brent. Give it to me.” He wiggled his fingers, urging her compliance. “Come on, Paige. Brent asked me to guard it. He said something about national security.”

Paige barked a humorless laugh. “What does some bead have to do with national security? And what makes you think I have this…this bead? ”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jake massaged his right knee again and exhaled an irritated huff.

“Brent said you have what those guys who shot him were after,” he said quietly, clearly struggling to keep his tone calm, though tension vibrated from him in palpable waves. “That’s why I got you out of the church so fast. According to Brent, you have what the terrorists want, and it is my job to keep this bead—whatever it is—safe.”

His wording smacked her between the eyes, and she flopped back on the seat, her chest aching, as if from a physical blow. “That’s what he said? Keep the bead safe? That’s why you hustled me out of there so fast? Why you risked your life to save me?”

Protect the bead. Not her. She was merely a pawn in Brent’s dangerous secret agenda.

Jake rolled his eyes and groaned. “Isn’t that what I just said? This conversation is getting old, Paige. Just give me the bead, okay?”

Something inside her snapped. Her patience, her composure, her illusions of her safe, orderly world shattered, and she grabbed her head, fisting her hands in her hair, further destroying the salon styling she’d received that morning. “I don’t have any bead! I don’t know what Brent thinks I have or why he told you I have it!” She hated her shrill tone, her loss of control. But getting shot at, learning the safety of some bead was more important to your fiancé than your safety, having your entire world thrown into chaos did that to a girl. “I don’t know why armed men attacked my wedding! And I don’t know why my fiancé thinks he has something to do with national security! None of this makes sense to me!”

Jake’s head snapped up, his attention drawn to something out the back window.

“What—”

Before she could finish her question, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back toward the floor. Paige gritted her teeth. She was getting tired of his manhandling.

“Stay down!” he shouted as he lowered the side window and leveled his handgun at some threat outside.

She heard the roar of an engine, too loud and high-pitched to be a car. It sounded more like a motorcycle. Then a hail of bullets hammered the limo, shattering more windows and pocking the far wall of the back compartment.

“I thought you said we’d lost them!”

Jake spared her only a brief glance. “Clearly, they found us again.”

He pitched backward as the limo veered suddenly and bumped along the shoulder. His eyes widened, and he bit out a curse. Lunging forward, he climbed over her and shouted, “Hold on to something! Our driver’s been hit.”

Jake turned on the seat and rocked backward. With a hard kick, he knocked out the Plexiglas window partition between them and the front seat.

Paige scrambled across the floor, groping for a handhold as the vehicle swerved and bumped. She grabbed the pit of a wet-bar cup holder over her head and braced her feet on the long side seat on the opposite side of the compartment. Jake slid headfirst through the opening he’d created, dragging the driver— oh, God, was he dead?—off the steering wheel and into the passenger seat.

Paige bit down hard on her bottom lip, praying for a miracle, praying she and Jake weren’t about to be shot or killed in a car crash. Praying she’d wake up from this far-too-realistic nightmare.

Bile rose in her throat, and tears burned her eyes as two truths clarified in her mind.

Brent was involved in something terrible and clandestine.

And her fiancé's dangerous secret might cost her her life.

Chapter 2

Jake fought the limo back under control and steered onto the highway. Checking the mirrors for any more surprise assailants, he took the first exit and headed in the opposite direction from the way the motorcyclist departed.

At his earliest opportunity, Jake pulled the limo off the road and stopped long enough to check the driver for signs of life. He pressed his fingers to the man’s carotid artery, despite the glaring hole in his head that screamed proof that the driver was dead.

Paige appeared at the windowless gap between the front and back seats. “Why’d we stop? Is the driver—?”

“Don’t look,” he barked, harsher than he needed to, but tension had him wound tight. Tact was not at the top of his priorities at the moment. “Get down and stay there. You don’t need this image in your head, and I don’t know when we may get attacked again.”

The rustle of satin and lace told him she’d complied.

“So what do we do now? Where are we going?” The tremble of fear in her voice sucker punched his gut.

“This is a work in progress, darlin'. I’ll tell you when I know. First thing we have to do is get rid of this limo. It’s conspicuous as hell.” He whipped a quick glance over his shoulder to the backseat. Paige’s wide green eyes made her look vulnerable, yet he also saw keen intelligence and stubborn determination in her expression that told him she was no frail flower that would wilt at any moment. Good. If this situation was half as dangerous as the past thirty minutes purported, she’d need a little starch in her to survive the coming days.

“First thing you need to do is lose the dress.”

“Excuse me?” she said, her tone rife with offense.

He dismissed her misunderstanding with a twist of his mouth and a short sigh. “You do have other clothes, don’t you? Like in a suitcase in the trunk? Packed for your honeymoon?”

“Oh…right.”

He heard her embarrassment in her voice, and though he kept his eyes on the road, he imagined her ivory cheeks, flushed red as they had been the night before at the rehearsal dinner when she was the butt of her friends’ and family’s good-natured ribbing. Her modesty and discomfiture had struck him as unusual for a woman with so much going for her—beauty, brains, wealth, ambition and family and friends who clearly adored her. Most women he knew with so much going for them seemed to feel they were entitled to their privileged lives.

For someone who’d scraped and fought for everything he had, such arrogance was a huge turnoff to Jake.

He cleared his throat. “Not only is the dress conspicuous when we need to blend, it’s hardly made for speed if we have to make a break for it on foot again.” He searched the side of the road for a place where he could hide the limo.

“Do you think we will…have to flee on foot, I mean?”

He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I don’t know what we may be up against. But we need to be ready for anything, and we can’t call attention to ourselves. They’ll be looking for us. So we’ve got to go to ground until we either figure out what they want,” he said thinking aloud, “or know for certain they’re not hot on our asses anymore.”

“We should just call the police and let them handle it.”

“Can’t. Scofield said Homeland was compromised. I assume he means Homeland Security, which is exactly who the police will call if they think national security is at stake.” He shook his head. “For now, at least, we do this alone.”

Jake spotted a vacant gas station and parked the limo behind it, out of sight of the road. Hauling himself out of the front seat, he clenched his teeth in pain as his bum knee, the reason the navy had kicked him out of the SEALs, throbbed a protest. Sprinting for the limo with an extra hundred or so pounds over his shoulder hadn’t been kind to his old injury. Refusing to let his pain get in the way of his duty, he tried not to limp as he retrieved a floral-print suitcase from the trunk.

When he yanked open the back door of the limo, she gasped.

“I assume this one’s yours.”

Paige pressed a hand to her chest and sucked in several deep, restorative breaths that drew attention to the low neckline of her dress and the gentle swell of cleavage the dress had clearly been designed to maximize.

A hot stab of lust jabbed him in the gills, and he gritted his teeth. Now was hardly the time to get distracted by Paige’s assets.

“Yeah, that’s mine.” She reached for the luggage, and he batted her hand away before setting the suitcase flat on the seat.

“Pick something practical that you don’t mind getting dirty. Something you can run in, even sleep in if necessary. That includes shoes. No high heels.”

“What about you? Your tux doesn’t say blend in or ready for action to me.”

“Well, a tux isn’t my first choice of attire for this debacle either. But since I’m a good six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Scofield, I doubt anything he had packed will fit me, so I’ll have to make do for now.”

She glanced away and worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

“I…need to call someone—my dad or my sister Holly—to see how Brent is. To see what happened after we left, to make sure everyone else is all right, to—” Her words caught on a sob, and her face crumpled. “Oh, God. Mr. Diggle was murdered! At my wedding! I—I can’t even stand to think of anyone else being hurt…or worse. And B-Brent—”

She dissolved into tears, and Jake’s gut pitched. He could handle blood and bullets. But tears left him floundering like a plebe on his first day of training.

Not that he couldn’t understand her concern. She had every right to be upset about her family’s safety, about her fiancé's condition. He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on his tux pants and slid onto the seat beside her. Taking her by the arm, he pulled her onto his lap and gave her back an awkward pat.

There, there, sprang to mind, and he clenched his teeth, refusing to mutter any such asinine mumbo jumbo.

But somehow shake it off or suck it up, soldier didn’t seem appropriate, either. Comforting Damsels In Distress 101 hadn’t been part of his SEALs training. And while he was as compassionate as the next guy, expressing his feelings and dealing with other people’s softer emotions were as foreign to him as some of the locales where he’d served before a wellplaced bullet left him with a career-ending knee injury.

Paige’s fingers curled into his tux shirt, and she nestled her head in the curve of his throat, collapsing against him and indulging her crying jag. He plucked a few shards of the broken window from her hair, noticing the tiny cuts the shattered glass had caused on her neck and hands. His hands, too, for that matter.

They were damn lucky broken glass was all that hit them. The driver hadn’t been as fortunate.

The fragrant white flowers woven into her hair tickled his nose, and he turned his head so that his cheek rested against the top of her head. Tightening his hold on her, he savored the crush of her curves and soft skin against him. He stroked her back, her bare arms, the soft tumble of hair that escaped carefully placed bobby pins.

When she trembled, he absorbed the tremor, feeling an answering quake reverberate at his core. Jake closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, clearing his mind, focusing on the problem at hand. What the hell was he supposed to do with Paige? Where would they go? Considering he’d been lusting after her since Scofield had introduced his bride earlier that week, how could he survive the next few days with his sanity intact?

Adrenaline had his nerves jumping. But the press of her body against his spiked his blood pressure and had heat flashing over his skin. He’d barely had a chance to catch his breath since Trench Coat and his merry band of thugs had opened fire, and comforting Paige wasn’t helping him focus.

As he fought down the desire that wound him tight, his thoughts jumped back to the scene at the church, and a shudder racked him. Jake had been part of a convoy in Iraq that was ambushed. The gun-and mortar fire had been deafening, the casualties high and the resulting chaos devastating to morale. But today’s attack, with so many civilian lives at stake, had shaken Jake far worse. Against such lopsided odds, Jake had felt overwhelmed…and useless. An unsettling sensation for a man trained by the navy to be among the most deadly, the most effective, the most skilled.

When Paige’s tears subsided to sniffles, she backed from his embrace and sent him a chagrined glance. “I’m sorry. I just…it’s all so—”

He shook his head and twitched his lips in an dismissive grin. “Forget it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and blew a deep breath from puffed cheeks. “I’ll…give you a minute to change and pull yourself together. Then we need to make tracks.”

She nodded, and he climbed out of the backseat, scanning the surrounding area for anything suspicious, anything helpful. A moment later, she opened the back door and stepped out, wearing a pair of formfitting blue jeans and a New Orleans Saints T-shirt. Sports-team apparel had never looked so good. Paige had taken the rest of the bobby pins from her hair, and raven ringlets hung around her shoulders. Finger-combing her hair back from her face, she gave him a quick nod. “I’m ready.”

Before they left, Jake searched the dead driver, found the man’s cell phone and dialed 911. He told the operator where to find the body, and when asked for his name, Jake set the phone on the front seat, line still open, and signaled for Paige to follow him.

She hoisted her suitcase, which he immediately took from her, and as they started toward the road, she gave the bullet-riddled, ribbon-and-paint-decorated honeymoon getaway car one last sad look before falling in step next to him.

For an instant, sympathy plucked at him. No one deserved to have their wedding day ruined, and Paige’s disappointment was palpable.

Then the bigger picture reared its head, and he shook off the silly sentimental lapse.

National security. Well-armed terrorists. His client shot and bleeding.

What was a spoiled wedding compared to the life-and-death stakes they faced? He had no business letting emotion interfere with his duty to his job.

Keep the bead safe at all cost.

Jake hesitated.

Paige has what they want.

“Wait.” He turned back to the limo. “Get the dress. Bring it with us.”

Paige tipped her head, her gaze querying. “Don’t you think it’s a bit cumbersome to carry? Not to mention still as conspicuous in our arms as on me.”

He frowned. “I’m not looking forward to dragging it with us, but Brent said protect the bead. Your dress is covered in beading.” He scowled. “I don’t see how the beads on the dress could be what he wants protected, but after getting shot at because of this bead already, I’m not willing to take the chance that it’s not one of the embellishments on your gown. How about you?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I see your point.”

He grabbed the dress and slung it over his arm, bunching up the yards of flowing satin to keep from tripping over it as they headed toward the street.

She sent him a side glance that asked, “Now what?”

Good question. When he’d signed on to be Scofield’s bodyguard, he’d imagined the job would be a cushy assignment, indulging an old friend’s belief that he was being followed, that he needed protection. All Brent had told him was that a business deal had gone sour, and he suspected the other party might try to hurt him. Jake hadn’t asked questions, dismissing Scofield’s concern as paranoia. His first mistake.

And he’d never bargained for extended duty, guarding his client’s bride, a woman whose guileless green eyes and body built for sin were distractions he didn’t need if he wanted to keep them alive.

“We’ll thumb a ride back to town,” he said, answering her unspoken question and trying not to grimace when pain from his knee shot fiery bolts through his leg. “From there, we’ll rent a car to get…wherever.”

“Look, I…I have two tickets to Jamaica in my purse. The plane leaves in three hours. Why don’t we use the tickets to get out of the country and—”

“No.” Jake imagined Paige in a bikini on a white-sand beach with a fruity island drink in her hand, and another blast of heat slammed him in the gut. “Do you think those thugs don’t know where you were headed on your honeymoon?”

She raised her chin, blinked, then frowned her consternation. “But that’s—”

“I guarantee they also know where you live, what you drive, where you eat lunch with your girlfriends, where you buy your four-dollar coffee and what route you use to get to the office.”

Her troubled look grew stormier, an edge of panic creeping into her gaze. Slowing her pace, Paige pressed a hand to her chest and wheezed, her breathing shallow.

“Hey, don’t do that. You’ll hyperventilate.” Jake seized her arms and drilled her with a hard look. “I need you to keep it together for me, all right? ”

She closed her eyes and nodded. Sucking in a few deep breaths, she flexed and balled her hands at her sides, and when she met his gaze again, she seemed in better control.

“I won’t. I’m not going to fall apart on you. I promise. This is just all so overwhelming, so out of the blue. I don’t understand any of it, and—” She cut herself off with another deep inhalation. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

The rumble of a car engine called his attention to the road, where a late-model sedan rolled past. He stepped toward the traffic lane and waved the car down.

“Are you sure hitching’s the best idea? How do we know we can trust them?” she asked.

Jake nodded toward the elderly occupants of the car. “Look at them. What’s not to trust? Besides, if grandma and grandpa do give us trouble, I can take them both down before they know what hit ‘em.”

The elderly driver slowed to a stop and rolled down his window. “You kids all right?”

“We could use a ride into town. We had a bit of car trouble a little ways back.” He hitched his thumb down the road, and when the older man’s gaze drifted to the wedding dress, the blood on Jake’s shirt and the tear tracks on Paige’s cheeks, Jake added, “Our honeymoon’s not off to a very good start. I got a nosebleed and ruined my shirt, then the car broke down.” He glanced at Paige, sending her a silent signal with his eyes, asking for her cooperation. “And my wife is convinced we’re going to miss our flight to Jamaica.”

The older man turned to Paige. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. We’ll take you back to town, and if you call the airline, I bet they could reschedule you for a later flight.”

Paige forced a smile. “I hope so. Everything else has gone wrong today. I’d hate to think we’ll miss our plane.”

Jake opened the back door for Paige, and she climbed into the car. Once they were settled in the sedan, Paige and Jake listened to the older couple regale them with stories of the mishaps from their wedding fifty-two years ago and many of the disagreements since.

As they approached town, their elderly driver turned from the main road onto a side street that led into a residential area.

“Henry, where are you going? This isn’t the right way!” the woman fussed.

“It’s a shortcut.”

Henry’s wife harrumphed. “Shortcut, my fanny. Shortcut is your term for lost. Turn around and go back to the highway.”

Paige sent Jake a worried side glance, and he lifted a corner of his mouth in amusement before returning his attention to the middle-class houses they passed.

“I’m not lost. Stop worrying,” Henry returned.

“That’s what you always say. I’m telling you—”

“Wait a minute,” Jake interrupted, spotting a for-sale sign in one of the front yards. “Stop here.”

Henry stomped the brakes, and the sedan stopped with a lurch. “Something wrong?”

Paige gave Jake a curious look.

“I just remembered that a friend of mine lives on this street.” He opened the car door and tugged on Paige’s hand. “We’ll go to his house, use his phone to call the airline, arrange for a tow truck and so forth.” He tugged harder on his “bride’s” hand, encouraging her compliance. “We appreciate the ride, folks.”

“I can—” their driver started, then fumbled, as Jake hauled Paige’s suitcase from the backseat. “Well, all right. Good luck, kids.”

Jake gave the couple a friendly wave as they drove away, then faced Paige’s confused scowl. “You don’t have a friend in this neighborhood at all. Do you?”

“No.”

“Then why did we get out?”

“Because I found a place for us to lay low until we can regroup and plan our next move.” Jake lifted her suitcase and headed across the street to the small Acadian-style house with the Realtor’s sign in the front yard.

Paige grabbed his arm. “Hang on a minute. Where are—?” Her gaze darted to the for-sale sign then back to him. He could see the wheels turning in her mind. “Whoa! You are not thinking about breaking into this house, are you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. There are newspapers in the driveway, the grass hasn’t been mowed. It’s obvious the house is vacant.”

He jogged to the backyard, and Paige stumbled to keep up. “I don’t care if it’s vacant! It’s still breaking and entering. I won’t do it!”

Pulling a small army knife from his pocket, Jake got to work jimmying the lock on the back door. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be picky about your accommodations, princess.”

She grabbed his wrist as he worked, and he met her fiery glare. “Who died and made you boss of me?”

His jaw clenched. “Scofield.”

Paige drew back with a gasp as if slapped. The wounded look in her eyes burrowed to his marrow.

“I’m sorry.” He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “That was uncalled for.” Jake squeezed her shoulder and drilled her with a stare that brooked no resistance. “I don’t like the idea of breaking the law any more than you do, but this house is the safest cover we have right now. We’re not here to rob it or deface it. In fact, we’ll leave it better than we found it. We’ll clean up the yard before we go, so it doesn’t scream ‘vacant’ anymore.”

With a last wiggle of his blade, the lock popped, and the door swung open. “After you.”

Paige hesitated, glaring at him with righteous indignation. “This isn’t right. We could go to a hotel.”

Jake struggled to keep his cool. “Nothing about this situation is right. But we can’t fix anything if we’re dead and, for now, this house is our best chance to stay alive. By now, those thugs have every hotel within a hundred miles under surveillance or on their radar in some way. I’m not willing to risk being spotted at a hotel.” He planted a hand at the small of her back and nudged her inside. “Now get in before the neighbors see us and call the cops.”

Pressing her lips in a tight line of discontent, Paige stamped into the house. When she reached for the light switch, he caught her hand.

“A vacant house wouldn’t have lights on. We can’t give any indication we’re here.”

Beneath his fingers, her pulse fluttered at her wrist. Her gaze clashed with his, and he felt an answering kick of adrenaline in his veins. The anger sparking in her eyes and flushing her cheeks made her even more beautiful. He suppressed the urge to plow his fingers through the thick tresses of raven hair swirling around her shoulders.

“So we’re just supposed to sit here in the dark?” She turned her attention to the empty room, then back to him. “There isn’t even any furniture.”

“Sorry, princess. Five-star accommodations aren’t always possible when you’re on the run.”

“Stop calling me princess like that,” she said through gritted teeth.

He arched an eyebrow, more amused by her temper than put off by it. “Like what?”

“Like you think I’m some pampered diva.”

“Aren’t you?”

She growled and snatched her wrist from his grip. “Can I at least use my cell phone to call my family and make sure they’re safe? Let them know I’m all right?”

Jake rolled the tension from his shoulders, knowing how his answer wouldn’t be received. “No. Cell phones can be tracked. In fact…give me your phone. We have to get rid of it.”

Paige sputtered, her eyes wide. “Get rid—But all my contacts are on—”

He seized her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Listen to me, and listen good. You saw what those men were capable of. This is no game. I can keep you alive and help you figure out what is going on, what you have that they want, but you have to trust me. You have to do what I tell you without question. All right? ”

She opened her mouth, but immediately snapped it shut again. Fear and defeat crossed her face, and her muscles slackened beneath his hands. When she nodded her understanding, instead of feeling he’d won her cooperation, he felt a sense of loss.

“Where’s your phone?”

She pointed to the floral suitcase. “In my purse. I packed it for safekeeping during the ceremony and reception.”

He lay the suitcase flat on the floor and opened it. He handed her the handbag that had been tucked in one corner, and Paige fished her cell phone out. With an irritated huff, she handed the phone to him. He tucked the phone in his pocket and strode to the empty living room. After glancing out the front window, he lowered the blinds. “I’m going back out to get us a few things for tonight. Clothes for me. Food. Cash for later. I’ll pick up a prepaid phone while I’m out, and you can use it to call your family. Okay?”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll be seen?”

He scoffed. “Give me some credit. I’m a SEAL. I know how to avoid being spotted.”

Paige wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her bare elbows, despite the stuffy heat inside the house. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Stay out of sight. And try to think what you have, what Scofield might have given you or hidden in your suitcase that terrorists would want. Make a list of everything he’s given you in the last few months. We have to figure out what the hell this bead is.”

Paige stared at him, looking dazed, overwhelmed.

He crossed the room to her and cradled her chin in his palm. “Hey. You all right?”

“Guess I have to be. Don’t have much choice.” Ducking her head, she muttered, “As usual.”

Jake frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. You go do what you have to.”

He lingered another moment, debating whether he should press the issue, deciding whether he should insist she go with him. In the end, he decided he could move faster and more discreetly without her in tow. She’d be safer here, stashed in the vacant house until he got back. But, just in case, he pulled his pistol out from under his shirt at the small of his back and wrapped her hand around it. “Keep this with you. Only put your finger on the trigger if you intend to fire.”

The color drained from her face. “I can’t… I’ve never—”

“Just aim, two hands, and squeeze the trigger.” He tweaked her chin and lifted a corner of his mouth in a grin intended to calm her. “Just be sure before you fire that it’s not me coming back from my supply run. Got it?”

She gaped at the pistol as if it were a venomous snake and hurriedly set it on the kitchen counter.

He headed out the back door they’d come in through, brushing aside the small curtain on a side window to look out first and check for neighbors who might see him leaving.

“Jake?” she called, stopping him.

He faced her. “Yeah?”

She hesitated, her expression puzzled and her gaze fixed on the ring on her left hand. “Never mind. It will keep.”

“What is it, Paige? Tell me.”

She sighed. “Well, I was just wondering… Am I married… or not?”

Chapter 3

Paige thumbed the elaborate ring Brent had insisted she have, and nausea swirled in her belly. “I mean, we said our vows, but I never finished giving Brent his ring, and the minister never declared us man and wife.”

She glanced up at Jake, who frowned, rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight. He’d been undaunted when they’d been under fire, running for their lives. So why did her simple question make him uncomfortable?

Then another, more ominous thought occurred to her. “I don’t even know if Brent survived the attack. How do I know I’m not a widow?”

Jake jutted out his chin. “Don’t borrow trouble or get hung up on worst-case scenarios. Until we know otherwise we’re going to assume Brent is alive and will be fine. Got it?”

He jammed his restless hands in his pockets and narrowed his eyes. “Did you sign the marriage license?”

Her pulse tripped. A weight seemed to lift from her chest, and the tension screwing her muscles in knots loosened. “No. We were supposed to do that after the ceremony, before the reception.”

“Then I’d say, in the eyes of the law, you’re not married.”

He had a point. She nodded her agreement and exhaled silently, determined not to show him her relief.

“Why?”

She jerked her head up to meet his querying gaze. “What do you mean, why? Wouldn’t you want to know if you were married or not?”

He shrugged. “Depends on if I really wanted to be married in the first place. Otherwise, the technical question of whether I’m married or not is moot.” His incisive dark eyes scrutinized her. “Even without the legalities in place, your intentions to wed are still valid, your love for your fiancé is unchanged, the commitment you’ve made to each other is unbroken. Signing the license is a mere formality, in my view.” He lifted an eyebrow and angled his head. “Right?”

Paige grabbed the edge of the counter behind her as her knees wobbled. “O-of course.”

“But…” Jake stepped toward her as his knowing gaze homed in on her. “If, by some chance, you were having second thoughts about getting married, if you weren’t as committed to your intended as you let everyone believe…”

Paige squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Just what are you implying?”

He lifted a dismissive hand. “I’m not implying anything. I’m saying I saw your expression before Trench Coat busted in. I saw the doubt in your face. I saw your reluctance.”

Nervous energy shot through Paige, and she suppressed a tremble. “Don’t be ridiculous.” When she heard the lack of conviction in her tone, she cleared her throat and added, “You saw nothing more than typical jitters over being in front of a crowd. Or a…a moment of…reflection as I considered the… importance of the day and—”

“Bull.”

She gasped and shot him an affronted look.

“You can tell yourself that if you want, but I know what I saw.” His steady, keen gaze rattled her. “The SEALs trained me to read people, read body language, read subtle clues in facial expressions.”

Paige swallowed hard and pressed a hand over the riot of acid in her gut. “You’re wrong. I had every intention of marrying Brent before.” She flicked her hand, knowing he could fill in the blank.

He held her gaze for several unnerving seconds. The heat in his mahogany eyes turned her bones to dust and stirred a flutter in her belly. Just his proximity had her acutely aware of his height, his unflinching power and his ex-navy SEAL brawn. When they’d fled the church, he’d carried her to safety and still had the strength to run for the waiting limo. Even now, without him touching her, her skin flashed hot and tingled when she thought of his large hands in intimate places as he lifted her, shielded her, saved her life.

“I…I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet…for what you did. Without you, I don’t know if I’d have gotten out of the church alive.”

The muscles in his square jaw twitched. “I did what I was trained to do. What I was hired to do. Besides…your fiancé is the one who knocked you out of the way when Trench Coat would have shot you. The one who took a bullet for you.”

Paige’s breath snagged in her lungs. She blinked back the sting of tears and choked down the bile that his reminder of Brent’s sacrifice brought to her throat. Brent was dying, might even be dead, because he’d saved her from an assassin’s gun.

“On the other hand,” Jake continued, “your life would have never been at risk if not for the infamous bead Scofield had that Trench Coat wanted. We wouldn’t be in danger now if not for him giving you the bead to protect. If he knew something about a threat to national security, how could he knowingly draw the woman he claims to love into the crosshairs of such dangerous men?”

Paige’s leg wobbled, and she sank to the floor. The truth behind Jake’s assessment crushed her with a suffocating weight. “M-maybe Brent didn’t realize the danger—”

“He knew. That’s why he hired me to be his bodyguard.”

She raised her bleary gaze to Jake. “Why didn’t he want me to know? If he was in danger…”

How could Brent have hidden something so vital from her? She shook her head, unable to make sense of the bizarre twists the day had taken.

Jake squatted beside her and brushed her hair back from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “I don’t know why he didn’t tell you what was going on. I know for damn sure, though, if I were in love with a woman like you, I’d move heaven and earth to keep her safe. I’d never put her life in jeopardy the way Scofield did yours. It’s not right.”

A jab of loyalty to Brent compelled her to defend him, despite her misgivings about the strange situation. “I’m sure he had a good reason why—”

“No! There’s never a good reason to put someone you love at risk.” Jake’s fingers curled into fists, and he clenched his jaw. Shoving to his feet, he stalked back to the door. “I have to go now. Keep this door locked and the gun within reach. I’ll be back before dark.”

“But what am I—?”

Before she could finish her question, Jake was gone. The silence in the vacant house was deafening. The stillness filled her with a terrifying sense of isolation.

Alone with her thoughts, Paige replayed the horrifying events of the afternoon, searching for some explanation for her frightening and senseless circumstances.

Her fiancé valued a bead over her life.

Brent was involved in something with national security repercussions.

She’d never signed the marriage license.

Paige bent her legs and, propping her arms on her knees, buried her face in her folded arms. Not knowing if Brent survived the attack or if her family was safe was maddening, terrifying. Fatigue, fear and confusion pounded inside her skull, but she refused to give in to the tears that threatened. She’d cried enough today.

We’re going to assume Brent is alive.

The time had come to take back the control she’d lost over her life that afternoon. While Jake was gone, she had to figure out what Brent had given her that the terrorists wanted. She had to make a plan of action for getting out of this predicament, and she had to start rebuilding her shattered life—a life without Brent Scofield.

A mix of trepidation, guilt and relief for her decision spiraled through her, tangling around her heart. She didn’t love Brent. Never really had. And today proved she didn’t know him as well as she thought she had. Reason enough to reconsider her engagement. But as Jake pointed out, Brent had willingly put her in danger, set her up to be the target of terrorists. Terrorists, for crying out loud! Bitter anger blasted through her.

Until she thought of the way Brent had leaped in front of a bullet for her.

A leaden grief weighted her heart, made it hard to breathe. How could she ever sort this mess out?

An image of Jake wavered behind her closed eyes, and an odd reassurance settled over her like a warm blanket. When all hell had broken loose at the church, he’d saved her. When she’d been paralyzed by fear, he’d taken action. When she’d had her emotional meltdown in the limo, he’d been there with a warm embrace—and spared her empty platitudes.

Jake didn’t waste time indulging her wishful thinking or misleading her with what she wanted to hear. He respected her enough to give her the hard-boiled truth. He gave orders and expected results. And he’d proven himself more than capable of protecting her from the threat Trench Coat—as Jake had called the lead terrorist—posed her.

Lifting her head to look around the empty house, Paige took a deep, centering breath. She owed Jake so much already. The least she could do before he returned was come up with something concrete they could work from. Organizing, analyzing and reasoning were what she did best. She’d been useless to Jake earlier because the unexpected, unexplainable chaos of this afternoon had left her completely out of her element.

Now, with a determination to put some order back in her life, Paige began dissecting the events of the past several days, searching for some clue to what the bead could be. As she fell into her familiar patterns of problem solving and rational thinking, a soothing balm flowed through her. She’d be fine—as soon as she solved the riddles she’d been presented by this afternoon’s events.

After two hours alone, frantically searching her memories for answers, Paige was no closer to a solution when Jake returned with a few supplies and a rental car.

He set the new cell phones, a bag of fast food and other miscellany on the floor beside her and returned his gun to the waist of the new jeans he wore. His tux was nowhere in sight. “Any trouble while I was gone?”

“No. Nothing.” Eager to hear from her family, Paige snatched up one of the phones. “Are these working? Have they been activated?”

“Yeah. But keep your call brief.” He drilled her with a hard look that echoed the gravity in his tone. “And don’t tell anyone anything about where we are. Someone could be listening on the other end.”

Paige shivered, despite the stuffy house, and dialed her father’s phone. After several rings, the call went to voice mail, and her stomach sank with disappointment and concern. What if her father had been hurt?

“Hi, Dad. It’s Paige,” she told his voice mail. “I’m safe. Shaken by what happened today but unhurt. I love you, and—” her voice cracked, and she paused to clear the emotion from her throat “—I’ll call again when I can. Bye.” She disconnected and immediately dialed her sister Holly’s cell phone.

Holly answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

The stress and worry in her sister’s voice sent fresh waves of panic and anxiety rippling through Paige. “It’s me, Hol.”

“Paige! Are you okay? Where are you? Oh, God, we’ve been so worried about you!”

“I’m fine. I’m with Jake McCall. How…how is Brent? Is he—?”

“He’s alive, but he’s critical.”

Paige received the news with mixed feelings. Relief that he was alive, and grief for the severity of his condition. She clutched the phone like a lifeline to her family, and tears blossomed in her eyes.

“He lost a lot of blood, Paige. He’s unresponsive, and I’m afraid it’s still touch and go whether he’ll make it through the night. We’re at St. Mary’s with him. How soon can you get here?”

“I—I don’t think I can come.” She glanced up at Jake for confirmation.

He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

She pulled the phone away from her mouth. “He’s dying. I need to be there!”

“So you can die, too? Those men were willing to kill to get the bead. They saw me hustle you out of there, so I guarantee they know you have whatever it is they’re looking for. You’re their new target.”

“Paige? Paige, are you sure you’re all right? What do you mean you’re not coming? Brent is your husband. He may not make it through the night.”

“Technically, I don’t think he is my husband. We never signed the marriage license.” Paige frowned, hearing herself. Brent was dying, and she was arguing with Holly about the legality of her marriage? What was wrong with her?

Holly was conspicuously quiet, and guilt rolled through Paige. But Holly had a storybook marriage with her husband, Matt, and her stepchildren. How could she understand Paige’s complicated feelings toward Brent? She didn’t even understand her mixed emotions.

Paige raked the hair back from her face with her fingers and sighed. “What about everybody else? Are Mom and Dad all right? Matt and the kids?”

“We’re all shaken but not physically hurt. I think Mr. Garcia was shot in the leg, and I heard something about Fran Coulter being taken to the hospital. Lots of folks were treated at the scene for minor injuries and shock.” Holly paused. “Mr. Diggle is dead, though.”

“I know. I—”

Jake circled his finger in the air, signaling her to wrap up her call.

“Holly, I have to go. Tell everyone I love them. I’ll try to call again when I can.”

“Wait! Where are you? When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be home. Soon, I hope.” She rubbed her eyes when moisture blurred her vision. “Jake thinks I’m still in danger. He thinks those men are still after me. Brent said I have something they want. He told Jake to hide me, protect me until—”

Jake yanked the phone from her. “She’ll call later. Don’t try to find us. Don’t call the police. I’ll keep her safe, but it’s important that we lay low for a while. Goodbye.”

With that, he snapped the phone closed and handed it back to her.

Paige glared at him. “What are you d—?”

“I said keep it short, and don’t tell them too much. Her phone was probably bugged.”

A tremor crawled up Paige’s spine. “Bugged? I—” A new possibility occurred to her, and her breath snagged. “Do you think they’d go after my family to get to me? That they’d hurt them to bring me out of hiding? ”

Jake gave her a blank, unreadable look. “It’s possible. You should keep your contact with them to a minimum. Just in case.”

Paige hugged herself, bending at the waist as fear for her family’s safety knotted in her chest.

Jake placed a warm hand at the nape of her neck and gently rubbed her tense muscles. “The sooner we figure out what those men want and what we’re supposed to do with it, the better—for everyone.” He nudged the greasy sack of fast food toward her. “Eat something.”

He toed off the tennis shoes that had replaced his wing tips since his trip out, and he settled beside her with his long legs stretched in front of him. “Did you make a list of the things that Brent has given you in the last several weeks?”

“Yes. But I’m no closer to figuring out what those men wanted.” Twisting her mouth in frustration, she peered into the sack of burgers and fries he’d brought back with him, and her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten all day, having been too nervous for breakfast or lunch and worried about getting her dress to zip. But with the interrupted wedding behind her, what did it matter if she ate fried potatoes and red meat? Tonight she wanted comfort food.

“You can’t think of anything he’s given you, anything you packed for the honeymoon that might not be what it seemed?”

She pulled out a burger and handed it to him, then plucked a French fry from the sack and munched as she shook her head. “Nothing. At Christmas, he gave me tickets to the ballet in Chicago, and we flew up there for a weekend. The trip and a set of Waterford red-wine goblets were my Christmas presents.” She ate another fry, then unwrapped a burger. “For Valentine’s, he sent me two dozen roses—now dead and tossed out.” She accounted for the items with her fingers as she listed them for Jake. “We bought an antique desk together that is at a dealer’s being refurbished. He gave me a folder with life, car and home owner’s insurance information to file a couple of weeks ago.”

Jake’s head came up. “Did you read the file? Are you sure that’s what was in it?”

She nodded. “Read it and added the information to the spreadsheet I’d started for our finances. There was nothing unusual there.”

Jake grunted, then, waving the hand with his burger, motioned for her to continue. “What else did he give you?”

She held up her hand, fingering the elaborate wedding band. “Well, my ring, obviously.”

He arched an eyebrow as he glanced at the ring, then held out his hand. “Can I have a closer look?”

She slid the ring off and passed it to him.

He narrowed his gaze on the setting and whistled. “Wow. This is.” His expression said he was searching for a tactful term.

Paige sighed. “Gaudy? I know. I tried to tell him it was over-the-top, that all I wanted was a simple band to match my engagement ring, but he wouldn’t hear of getting me something as mundane as a plain gold band.” She felt a twinge of disloyalty for her complaint, but something compelled her to rationalize the showy ring to Jake. “I think he felt he needed to give me an expensive ring to prove he was worthy of me.”

Jake raised an eyebrow as he tossed an amused side glance at her. “Think pretty highly of yourself, do you?”

She scowled and grunted. “That’s not what I mean. Brent’s the one who was intimidated by our family’s money. He came from a family that had nothing. Through a lot of sacrifice and ambition, he worked his way up the ladder in Bancroft Industries in record time and was making good money. But I think he always felt like, with me, he was marrying up and had to prove to someone that he could compete with my family’s wealth. He didn’t need to, of course. But buying me an expensive wedding ring seemed so important to him, I didn’t argue.”

Jake turned the domed and jewel-encrusted band over, examining it from every angle. “Your wedding ring is a rather personal and significant item to compromise on. Do you make a habit of letting Brent bully you to get his way?”

Paige hiked her chin up and squared her shoulders defiantly. But her gut swirled, and her heart tapped an anxious rhythm. She refused to let Jake, a man who’d likely never compromised his wishes in his life, see how close to the truth he was. “My ring is just a thing. When you grow up surrounded by things, you learn how little real value and significance they have. Preserving Brent’s pride was more important to me than what kind of ring I had.” She snatched the ring back and jammed it on her finger. “If I can make someone happy by compromising on something trivial like a ring, then…so be it!”

She swallowed hard, hoping she hadn’t overreacted and given herself away with her vehemence.

Jake only stared at her with his enigmatic dark eyes. She felt naked under his knowing scrutiny.

The SEALs trained me to read people, read body language, read subtle clues in facial expressions, Jake’s words echoed in her mind.

She plucked another French fry from the bag and angled her body away from him. Nibbling on the cold fry, she forced her breathing to stay even, despite the flutter of nerves his scrutiny caused.

She heard the fast-food bag rattle as he dug into it. “Well, we can’t rule out the ring, but keep thinking. What about computer files? Something he asked you to pack in your suitcase or hold in your purse?”

She fidgeted with her earring, then gasped and spun back toward Jake.

“His grandmother’s earrings! He wanted me to wear them for the wedding—”

Jake’s face lit up. “The ones you’re wearing?”

Nodding, she put a hand behind her right earlobe and tipped her head to show him.

Leaning closer, Jake brushed her hair out of the way for a better view. When his fingertips skimmed her cheek, a tingle raced over her skin. She tensed, hyperalert to his nearness as he examined the simple gold dangling earrings. She held her breath, all too aware of the fact that in her entire relationship with Brent, her fiancé's caresses had never elicited half the electricity in her that Jake’s accidental touch had. Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive when his mahogany eyes met hers at close range. “May I take it off?”

The deep, husky timbre of his voice stroked her, and she had to swallow hard before she could speak. “Sure.”

She scrunched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, certain she’d come out of her skin as he fumbled to remove the jewelry from her lobe, his warm fingers teasing the erogenous zone behind her ear. When he leaned back, his attention narrowed on the delicate earring, she drew a shaky breath, puzzled by her schoolgirl reaction to him.

He saved your life today. This giddy, blood-pumping response to him must be some form of emotional transference or hero worship. An adrenaline-based response to your brush with danger.

Appeased by her explanation, Paige turned her attention back to her hamburger but found she no longer had an appetite. She lifted her gaze to Jake, whose brows were furrowed in concentration.

“There are no gems on them,” she offered, taking off the other earring to hand to him. “Nothing that could be called a bead. They’re just hammered gold and a wire hook. They’re not even all that pretty. But they’re family heirlooms, and he asked me to wear them for the wedding.” When he held out his hand for the second earring, she dropped it into his hand, careful not to touch him.

Chicken.

He shook his head and curled his fingers around the jewelry. “Damn. I thought we had something, but you’re right. There’s nothing to these things, nothing I see as suspicious. Nothing that’d make terrorists want ‘em or threaten national security.” He puffed out a frustrated breath and took another large bite of his sandwich. “What else?” he asked as he chewed.

She fingered the hem of her shirt and shrugged. “He had me keep the plane tickets for Jamaica in my purse. And…well, he gave me a corsage to wear at the rehearsal dinner last night. He gave—”

“Where’s the corsage?” His eyes were bright with interest again.

“At my house, in the refrigerator. I was hoping it would stay fresh until I got back from the honeymoon.” She sat straighter. “I don’t remember anything beadlike added as embellishment. But I suppose—”

“It’s not the corsage.” Jake’s jaw tightened. “The bead is important. Something he wanted protected, guarded. He wouldn’t have put it in something you’d leave in your refrigerator while the two of you jetted off to the islands.” He pressed his mouth in a thin line of consternation. “There has to be something else. Think!”

“I’m trying!” Her inability to decipher this puzzle grated on her logical, analytical nature. Jake’s dissatisfaction with her help challenged her innate need to please, to prove herself, to excel. “We’re assuming the term bead is literal. We don’t know that what he gave me is beadlike at all. What if bead is an acronym or a code name? ”

“You’re right. We shouldn’t think so narrowly.”

He shoved to his feet and grabbed her wedding dress from floor. “Have you gone over this to see if he hid something in the beading? ”

“I didn’t see anything unusual. Besides, Brent didn’t give me the dress. He hadn’t even seen it until today.”

He continued probing the decorated folds of satin with a wrinkle in his brow. “Maybe he hid something in your suitcase without telling you. Have you searched it?”

“Yes. I didn’t find anything I hadn’t packed myself.”

The house was rapidly growing dark as the sun set outside. Without the use of lights, which would call attention to their presence in the vacant house, they’d soon be left in an all-encompassing darkness. Paige shuddered at the thought, remembering the terrifying blast of gunfire and Trench Coat’s menacing smirk.

She had something terrorists wanted. Something they’d happily kill her to retrieve.

The pressure to come up with an answer bore down on her. She curled her fingers into her hair, pressing her temples with the heels of her hands. “I don’t know! I have no idea what those men were after or why Brent thinks I have it!” Her voice cracked, thick with defeat and fear. “I’ve gone over the last few weeks again and again, and I just can’t—”

Jake captured her head between his hands, startling her. She hadn’t noticed his approach, and his calmly commanding grasp stole her breath.

“It’s all right, Paige.” As soon as he had her attention, his hands gentled to a soothing stroke that settled at the base of her skull. His fingers tangled in her hair, and his gaze held hers. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure this out another way.”

In the wake of all he’d sacrificed this afternoon to save her, her failure gnawed at her belly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

“Shh.” His thumbs caressed her jaw, and she saw a warmth and understanding that she’d never seen before in his chiseled face and military-hardened attitude. Her pulse stumbled, and heat flooded her cheeks where his thumbs grazed her skin. “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong. Maybe a better plan would be to get a fix on what this bead is and why it is a national security risk.”

With Jake’s hands in her hair, his muscled body so close, her voice fled, but she managed a small nod.

His touch made her dizzy, and a heady thrill tripped through her veins. She indulged in a leisurely study of his full lips, his slightly crooked nose and his angular cheeks, where the first hints of evening stubble had grown.

Jake McCall, with his navy SEAL body, military bearing and ruggedly handsome face, exuded a masculinity that shook Paige to the core. He was nothing like the soft-in-the-middle, somewhat geeky, scientist-type men she’d dated. Nothing like the man she’d almost married.

Guilt bit hard on her conscience when she thought of Brent. How could she swoon like this over Jake’s tantalizing touch and bedroom eyes while her fiancé was in the hospital dying?

No. Not her fiancé. She couldn’t marry Brent now, not after he’d lied to her, put her in danger, proven how little she knew about him. Her chest tightened as she thought about how disappointed her father would be. He’d introduced her to Brent, encouraged the marriage, been so proud of her.

But she’d never had more than friendly affection for the man her father wanted her to marry. She’d believed the love would grow over the years, had believed passion was a fleeting thing only the fortunate few ever really had. Because marrying Brent made her father happy, because she knew how important Brent’s role in Bancroft Industries was, Paige had been willing to enter a marriage based on platonic feelings and good business. She’d thought it would be enough for her.

Now, the extent of her relief that she’d not legally married Brent today told her just how wrong the marriage was. But how could she let her father down? How could she jeopardize her family’s position at Bancroft Industries?

“Paige?” Jake’s deep voice called her from her troubled thoughts and refocused her attention on their more immediate problem.

“H-how…” she croaked, then paused to clear her throat and lick her dry lips. “How are we supposed to find out what the bead is?”

Jake’s gaze darted to her mouth, his pupils dilating, and she felt his grip tighten subtly.

“My sister said Brent’s unresponsive, so we can’t ask him about it.”

When she mentioned Brent, Jake’s expression shifted, hardened, and he withdrew his hands from her face. His movements stiff, he rose to his feet again and stalked across the floor.

“What about your father? Maybe he’d know something.”

Paige blinked and shook her head, unsure she’d heard him correctly. “My father? Why would he know anything?”

“He’s the head of the company, about to pass over the reins to Scofield. If this has anything to do with Bancroft Industries, there’s a good chance he knows something.”

“Who said Bancroft Industries was involved?”

“Brent said a business deal had gone sour. As a medical research and development company, Bancroft Industries has the means to engineer something that could pose a national security risk.” He shrugged. “Can you think of any other way Brent could have gotten involved with terrorists? He have any questionable hobbies, travel to exotic places?”

Paige’s shoulders slumped. “No. The company is his life.”

The idea that her father’s business, a company her grandfather had built from the ground up, could have been infiltrated by terrorists made Paige nauseated.

Jake faced her, his body taut and poised for action. “In that case, our focus should be on Scofield’s role at Bancroft Industries. Can you get me inside? I need to search Scofield’s office, take a look at his computer.”

“I…guess so. In the morning, I can—”

“No. Tonight.” Jake stepped over to her and, with a hand under her elbow, hoisted her to her feet. “If national security is at risk, then the clock is ticking. We have to move on this. Now.”

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