Читать книгу His Stolen Bride - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 8

Two

“Take me back now,” Crista shouted at the stranger who seemed to be abducting her. Her mind raced to make some sense out of the situation.

“As soon as you hear me out.” His jaw was tight, his eyes straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel as they gathered speed.

“Who are you?” She struggled not to panic.

She’d always considered herself a smart, sensible, capable woman. But in this scenario she had no idea what to do.

“Jackson Rush. I’m an investigator.”

“Investigating what?” She struggled to stay calm. What was he doing? Why had he taken her?

Then she saw a red light coming up. He’d have to stop for it. When he did, she’d jump from the vehicle. She quickly glanced at the passenger door to locate the handle.

She’d open the door, jump out and run to... She scanned the businesses along the section of the street. The Greek restaurant might be closed. The apartment building doors would be locked. But the drug store. That would be open, and it would be crowded. Surely one of the clerks would lend a bride a phone.

She realized she was still holding onto her bouquet, and she let it slip from her hand to the floor. She didn’t need it slowing her down. Vern’s mother would flip. Then again, Vern’s mother, along with everyone else, was probably flipping already. Had anyone seen this man, Jackson, take her?

She surreptitiously slanted a glance his way. He was maybe thirty. He looked tough and determined, maybe a little world-weary. But there was no denying he was attractive. He was obviously fit under the tux, and very well-groomed.

The vehicle was slowing. She lifted her hand, ready to grab the handle.

But suddenly he hit the accelerator, throwing her back in her seat and sideways as he made a hard right. Another car honked as their tires squealed against the pavement.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“How well do you know Vern Gerhard?”

What a ridiculous question. “He’s my fiancé.”

“Would it surprise you to know he was cheating on you?”

Crista’s jaw dropped. “Where did that come from?”

“Would it surprise you?” Jackson repeated.

“Vern’s not cheating on me.” The idea was preposterous.

Vern was sweet and kind and loyal. He made no secret of the fact that he adored Crista. They were about to be married. And his family was extremely old-fashioned. Vern would never risk disappointing his mother by cheating.

No, scratch that. Vern wouldn’t cheat because Vern wouldn’t cheat. It had nothing to do with Delores.

“Okay,” said Jackson, the skepticism clear in his tone.

“Take me back,” she said.

“I can’t do that. Not yet.”

“There are three hundred people in that church. They’re all waiting for me to walk down the aisle.”

She could only imagine the scene as the guests grew more restless and Vern grew more confused. She wasn’t wearing a watch, and she didn’t have her cell phone. But what time was it? Exactly how late was she to her own wedding?

She scanned the dashboard for a clock. Traffic was light, and Jackson seemed able to gauge the stoplights and adjust his speed, making sure he didn’t have to come to a halt.

“Would you care if he was cheating?” asked Jackson, eyeing her quickly. “Would that be a deal breaker for you?”

“He’s not cheating.” It didn’t look like she’d have a chance to bail out anytime soon. “Do you want money? Will you call in a ransom demand? They’ll probably pay. They’ll probably pay more if you take me back there right away.”

“This isn’t about money.”

“Then what’s it about?” She struggled to keep her tone even but panic was creeping in.

He seemed to hesitate over his answer. “You deserve to be sure. About Vern.”

“You don’t even know me.” She stared at him more closely. “Do you? Have we met?”

Could he be some long-lost person from her past?

“We haven’t met,” he said.

She racked her brain for an explanation. “Then do you know Vern? Did he do something bad to you?”

She realized she ought to be frightened. She’d been kidnapped—kidnapped. This stranger was holding her hostage and wouldn’t let her go.

“I’ve never met Vern,” he said.

“Then are you crazy? Though I suppose that’s a stupid question. Crazy people never question their own sanity.” She realized she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“I’m beginning to think I am,” he said.

“A sure sign that you’re not.”

He gave a chopped laugh and seemed to drop his guard.

She tried to take advantage. “Will you let me go? Please, just pull over and drop me off. I’ll find my own way back to the church.”

It had to be at least fifteen minutes now. Vern would be frantic. Delores would be incensed. Unless someone saw Jackson grab her, they probably thought she ran away.

Now she wondered what Hadley was thinking. He might guess she’d taken his advice, changed her mind, that she didn’t want to marry Vern after all. She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. How had things gotten so mixed up?

“He’s cheating on you, Crista. Why would you want to marry a man who’s cheating on you?”

“First of all, he’s not. And...” She paused, experienced a moment of clarity. “Wait a minute. If I say I don’t care if he’s cheating, will you let me go?”

“If you honestly don’t care and you want to marry him anyway, yeah, I’ll let you go.”

“Then I don’t care.” Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? “It’s fine. No problem.” She waved a dismissive hand. “He can cheat away. I still want to marry him.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She was.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’ve never met me. You don’t know a thing about me.”

He shook his head. “I can tell you have pride.”

“I have no pride. Maybe I like to share. Maybe I’m into polygamy. After this wedding, Vern might find another wife. We’ll all live happily ever after.”

“As if.”

“Let me go!”

“I’m here because somebody out there cares about you, Crista.”

“I know somebody cares about me. His name is Vern Gerhard. Do you have any idea how upset he is right now?”

Jackson’s tone went dry. “Maybe Gracie could console him.”

The name set a shiver through Crista’s chest. “What did you say?”

“Gracie,” Jackson repeated, doing a double take at Crista’s face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. No, I’m not. I’ve been kidnapped!”

“Do you know someone named Gracie?”

Crista did know Gracie Stolt. Or at least she knew of a Gracie Stolt. Vern had once used that name during a phone call. He’d said it was business. It had been business, making the name irrelevant to this conversation.

“I don’t know any Gracie,” she said to Jackson, her tone tart.

“He’s sleeping with Gracie.”

“Stop saying that.”

The vehicle bounced, and she grabbed the armrest to steady herself. She realized they’d turned off the main roads and onto a tree-lined lane.

A new and horrible thought crossed her mind, and her throat went dry. Was Jackson some sicko with a thing for brides?

“Are you going to hurt me?” she rasped.

“What?” He did another double take. “No. I told you. I’m not going to harm you at all.”

“I bet every psychopathic murderer says that.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, but then quickly disappeared. “We have a mutual acquaintance. The person who sent me is someone who cares about you.”

“Who?”

“I can’t reveal my client.”

“I bet every psychopathic murderer says that, too.”

She was vacillating between genuine fear and disbelief that any of this could be real.

“I’m sorry you’re frightened right now, but I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, I promise.”

They rounded a corner, and a lake fanned out before them, the gravel beach dotted with weathered docks. He pulled to the side of a small, deserted parking lot.

“Are we there?” she asked.

“Almost.” He nodded toward one of the docks.

A tall white cabin cruiser bobbed against its moor lines.

Crista shrank back against the seat, her voice going up an octave. “You’re going to dump my body in the lake?”

He extracted a cell phone from his inside jacket pocket. “I’m going to call my staff.”

“You have a phone?”

“Of course I have a phone.”

“You should make a ransom call. My fiancé is from a rich family. They’ll pay you.”

At least she hoped the Gerhards would pay to get her back. She was certain Vern would be willing. His father, maybe not so much.

* * *

Jackson hated that he was frightening Crista. But he was operating on the fly here. Taking her a quarter mile offshore on Lake Michigan was the best he could come up with to keep her safe but under wraps. He wasn’t about to tie her up in a basement while Mac and some of his other guys looked into Vern Gerhard’s love life.

“You’re going to jail, you know,” she said for about the twenty-fifth time.

She stood on the deck of the boat, gazing back at the mansions along the coastline, their lights coming up as the sun sank away. Her extravagant white wedding gown rustled in the breeze. The intricate lace-and bead-covered skirt was bell shaped, billowing out from a tight waist, while the strapless top accentuated her gorgeous figure.

She was right. He was taking a very stupid risk. But the alternative had been to let the wedding go ahead. Which he could have done. In fact, he should have done. He owed nothing to her father and nothing to his own father. And Crista was all but a stranger to him. She was an intelligent adult, and she’d made her choice in Vern. He should have walked away.

“I’m hoping you won’t press charges,” he said, moving to stand beside her.

“In what universe would I not press charges?”

Though he knew she was frightened, her expression was defiant. He couldn’t help but be impressed with her spirit.

“In the universe where I did you a favor.”

“You destroyed my wedding. Do you have any idea how important this was to my mother-in-law? How much she planned and spent?”

“To your mother-in-law?”

“Yes.”

“Not to you?”

Her expression faltered. “Well, me, too, of course. It was my wedding.”

“It was an odd way to put it, worrying about your mother-in-law first.”

“What I meant was, from my own perspective, I can get married any old time, in the courthouse, in Vegas, whatever. But she has certain expectations, a certain standing in the community. She wants to impress her friends and the rest of the family.”

“She sounds charming.”

“It comes with the Gerhard territory.” There was a resignation to her tone.

“What about Vern? How did he feel about the opulent wedding?”

“He was all for it. He’s close to his family. He wants them to be happy.”

“Does he want you to be happy?”

Crista glanced sharply up at Jackson. “Yes, he wants me to be happy. But he knows I don’t sweat the small stuff.”

Jackson lifted a brow. “The small stuff being your own wedding?”

She shrugged her bare shoulders, and he was suddenly seized by an urge to run his palms over them, to test the smoothness of her skin. Was she cold out here on the lake?

“It’ll work just as well with three hundred people in the room as it would with two witnesses and a judge.”

Jackson stifled a chuckle. “You sure don’t sound like the average bride.”

Her tone turned dry. “The average bride doesn’t have a five-hundred-dollar wedding bouquet.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I think that’s in the ballpark.”

Jackson drew back to take in the length of her. “And the dress?”

She spread her arms. “Custom-made in Paris.”

“You flew to Paris for a wedding dress.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The designer flew to Chicago.”

This time Jackson did laugh. “You have got to be kidding.”

“And that was only the start. I’m wearing antique diamonds.” She tilted her head to show him her ears.

He wanted to kiss her neck. It was ridiculous, given the circumstances, but there was something incredibly sensual about the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw, the lush red of her lips.

“And you should see my underwear,” she said.

Their gazes met. She took in his stare and obviously saw a flare of desire. Those gorgeous green eyes widened in surprise, and she took a step back.

He wanted to tell her he’d give pretty much anything to see her underwear. But he kept his mouth firmly shut.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, worry in her tone.

“I wouldn’t,” he affirmed. “I won’t. I’m not going to try anything out of line.” He turned his attention to the shoreline.

“Will you take me back?” she asked.

“I doubt there’s anybody left at the church.”

“They’ll be crazy with worry,” she said. “They’ll have called the police by now.”

“The police won’t take a missing-person report for twenty-four hours.”

“You don’t know my future in-laws.”

“I know the Chicago Police Department.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I was hired to look into Vern Gerhard’s integrity.”

“By who?”

Jackson shook his head. “I have a strict policy of client confidentiality.”

Given their understandably fractured relationship, bringing Trent’s name into it would be the fastest way to completely lose her trust. Not that he’d blame her. He felt the same about anything his own father touched.

“But you don’t have a strict policy against kidnapping innocent people?” she asked.

“To be honest, this is the first time it’s come up.”

“I am going to press charges.” It was clear she was serious.

There was no denying that the situation had spiraled out of control. But there was also nothing to do but keep moving forward. If he took her back now, the Gerhards would definitely have him arrested. His only hope was to find proof of Vern’s infidelity and turn Crista against her fiancé.

His phone rang. He kept eye contact with her as he reached for it.

It was Mac, his right-hand man.

“Hey,” Jackson answered.

“Everything okay so far?” asked Mac.

“Yeah.” Jackson turned away from Crista and moved along the deck toward the bridge. “You come up with anything?”

“Rumors, yes. But nothing that gives us proof. Norway’s looking into Gracie.”

“Pictures would be good.”

“Videotape better.”

“I’d take videotape,” said Jackson. “Is somebody on the family?”

“I am.”

“And?”

“They’ve contacted the police, but they’re being waved off until morning. I guess runaway brides aren’t that unusual.”

“If Vern Gerhard is a typical example of our gender, I don’t blame them.”

Mac coughed out a laugh.

“I guess we’ve got till morning,” said Jackson.

It was less time than he would have liked. But that’s what happened when you threw a plan together at the last minute.

“And then?” asked Mac. “Have you thought through what happens in the morning?”

He had, and most of the options were not good. “We better have something concrete by then.”

“Otherwise she’s a liability,” said Mac.

Jackson had to agree. “At that point, she’s going to be a huge liability.”

Crista was predictably angry at having her posh wedding ruined. If they didn’t find something to incriminate Vern, Jackson’s career if not his freedom would be at stake.

He heard a sudden splash behind him.

He spun to find the deck empty, Crista gone. His gaze moved frantically from corner to corner as he rushed to the stern and spotted her in the water. “You gotta be kidding me!”

“What?” asked Mac.

“Call you back.” Jackson dropped his phone.

She was flailing in the choppy waves, obviously hampered by the voluminous white dress. She gasped and went under.

He immediately tossed two life jackets overboard, as close to her as he could.

“Grab one!” he shouted. Then he stripped off his jacket, kicked off his shoes and dived in.

The water closed icy cold around him. He surfaced and gasped in a big breath. She was twenty feet away, and he kicked hard. He dug in with his arms, propelling himself toward her.

When he looked up again, she was gone. He twisted his head, peering in all directions, spotting a wisp of white below the surface. He dived under, groping in the dark until he caught hold of her arm. He clamped his hand tight and hauled her upward, breaking the surface and wrapping his arm firmly around her chest.

She coughed and sputtered.

“Relax,” he told her. “Just relax and let me do the work.”

She coughed again.

He grabbed one of the life jackets and tucked it beneath her. The boat was close, but the water was frigid. He wasn’t going to be able to swim for long. Her teeth were already chattering.

He found another life jacket and looped it around the arm that supported her. He used his legs and free arm to move them through the water.

“You okay?” he asked her. “You breathing?”

She nodded against his chest.

“Don’t fight me,” he cautioned.

“I won’t,” she rasped.

The side of the boat loomed closer. He aimed for the stern where there was a small swimming platform. It was a relief to grasp on to something solid. His muscles throbbed from the effects of the cold water, and his limbs were starting to shake.

He unceremoniously cupped her rear end and shoved her onto the platform. She scrambled up, her dress catching and tearing. He kept her braced until she was stable. Then he looped both forearms over the platform and hoisted himself up, sitting on the edge, dragging in deep breaths.

“What the heck?” he demanded.

She was breathing hard. “I thought I could make it.”

“To the beach?”

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s a quarter mile. And you’re dressed in an anchor.”

“The fabric is light.”

“Maybe when it’s bone-dry.” He reached up and pulled himself to his feet. His legs trembled, and his knees felt weak, but he put an arm around her waist and lifted her up beside him.

With near-numb fingers, he released the catch on the deck gate and swung it open.

“Careful,” he cautioned as he propelled her back onto the deck.

She held on and stepped shakily forward. “It tangled around my legs.”

“You could have killed us both.” He followed her.

“It’d serve you right.”

“To be dead? You’d be dead, too.”

“I’m going to be dead anyway.”

“What?” He was baffled now.

She was shivering. “I heard you on the phone. You said tomorrow morning I’d be a liability. We both know what that means.”

“One of us obviously doesn’t.”

“Don’t bother to deny it.”

“Nobody’s killing anyone.” He gazed out at the dark water. “Despite your best attempt.”

“You can’t let me live. I’ll turn you in. You’ll go to jail.”

“You might not turn me in.”

“Would you actually believe me if I said I wouldn’t?”

“At the moment, no.”

Right now, she was having a perfectly normal reaction to the circumstances. Proof of the truth might mitigate her anger eventually, but they didn’t have that yet.

“Then that was a really stupid statement,” she said.

“What I am going to prove is that I mean you no harm.”

It was the best he could come up with for the moment. The breeze was chilling, and he ushered her past the bridge, opening the door to the cabin.

“How are you going to do that?”

“For starters by not harming you. Let’s find you something dry.”

She glared at him. “I’m not taking off my dress.”

He pointed inside. “You can change in the head—the bathroom. I’ve got some T-shirts on board and maybe some sweatpants, though they’d probably drop right off you.”

“This is your boat?”

“Of course it’s my boat. Whose boat did you think it was?”

She passed through the door and stopped between the sofa and the kitchenette. “I thought maybe you stole it.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“You’re a kidnapper.”

He realized she’d made a fair point. “Yeah, well, that’s the sum total of my criminal activity to date.” He started working on his soggy tie. “If you let me get past you, I’ll see what I can find.”

She shrank out of his way against the counter.

He turned sideways to pass her, and their thighs brushed together. She arched her back to keep her breasts from touching his chest. It made things worse, because her wet cleavage swelled above the snug, stiff fabric.

Reaction slammed through his body, and he faltered, unable to stop himself from staring. She was soaked to the skin, her auburn hair plastered to her head, her makeup smeared. And yet she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Jackson,” she said, her voice coming out a whisper.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. It was all he could do to keep his hands by his sides. He wanted to smooth her hair, brush the droplets from her cheeks and run his thumb across her lips.

“Thank you,” she said.

The words took him by surprise. “You’re welcome,” he automatically answered.

For a minute, it seemed that neither of them could break eye contact. Longing roiled inside him. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do so much more. And he wanted it very, very badly.

Finally, she looked away. “You better, uh...”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d better.” He moved, but the touch of her thighs made him feel like he’d been branded.

* * *

Crista reached and twisted. She stretched her arms in every direction, but no matter how she contorted, she couldn’t push the tiny buttons through the loops on the back of her dress.

“Come on,” she muttered. Then she whacked her elbow against a small cabinet. “Ouch!”

“You okay?” came Jackson’s deep voice.

He was obviously only inches from the other side of the small door, and the sound made her jerk back. Her hip caught the corner of the vanity, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fine,” she called back.

“I’m getting changed out here.”

“Thanks for the warning.” An unwelcome picture bloomed in her mind of Jackson peeling off his dress shirt, revealing what had to be washboard abs and muscular shoulders. She’d clung to him in the ocean and again climbing onto the boat. She’d felt what was under his dress shirt, and her brain easily filled in the picture.

She shook away the vision and redoubled her efforts with the buttons. But it wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t get out of the dress alone. She had two choices—stay in the soaking-wet garment or ask him for help. Both were equally disagreeable.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror. The wedding gown was stained and torn. She crouched a little, cringing at the mess of her hair. It was stringy and lopsided. If she didn’t undo the braids and rinse out the mess from the lake water she’d probably have to shave it off in the morning.

“Are you decent?” she called through the door.

“Sure,” he answered.

She opened the small door, stepped over the sill, and Jackson filled her vision. The cabin was softly lit around him. His hair was damp, and his chest was bare. A pair of worn gray sweatpants hung on his hips. As she’d expected, his abs were washboard hard.

“What happened?” he asked, taking in her dress.

“I can’t reach the buttons.”

He gave an eye roll and pulled a faded green T-shirt over his head. “I’ll give you a hand.”

She turned her back and steeled herself for his touch. The only reason she was letting him near her was that it was foolish to stay cold and uncomfortable in a ruined dress. She told herself that if he was going to kill her, he would have just let her go under. Instead, he’d saved her life.

His footfalls were muffled against the teak floor as he came up behind her. The sound stopped, and he drew in an audible breath. Then his fingertips grazed her skin above the top button, sending streaks of sensation up her spine. Her muscles contracted in reaction.

What was the matter with her? She wasn’t attracted to him. She was appalled by him. She wanted to get away from him, to never see him again.

But as his deft fingers released each button, there was no denying her growing arousal. It had to be some pathetic version of Stockholm syndrome. If she’d paid more attention in her psychology elective, she might know how to combat it.

The dress came loose, and she clasped her forearms against her chest to keep it in place.

“That should do it,” he said.

There was a husky timbre to his voice—a sexy rasp that played havoc with her emotions.

“Thanks,” she said before she could stop herself. “I mean...” She turned to take the sentiment back, and her gaze caught with his. “That is...”

They stared at each other.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said.

She didn’t know what he meant. He didn’t usually kidnap women, or he didn’t unbutton their wedding gowns?

She knew she should ask. No, she shouldn’t ask. She should move now, lock herself in the bathroom until her emotions came under control.

But he slowly lifted his hand. His fingertips grazed her shoulder. Then his palm cradled her neck, slipping up to her hairline. The touch was smooth and warm, his obvious strength couched by tenderness.

She couldn’t bring herself to pull away. In fact, it was a fight to keep from leaning into his caress.

He dipped his head.

She knew what came next. Anybody would know what came next.

His lips touched hers, kissing her gently, testing her texture and then her taste. Arousal instantly flooded her body. He stepped forward, his free arm going around her waist, settling at the small of her back, strong and hot against her exposed skin.

He pressed harder, kissed her deeper. She met his tongue, opening, drowning in the sweet sensations that enveloped her.

Good thing she didn’t marry Vern today.

The thought brought her up short.

She let out a small cry and jerked away.

What was the matter with her?

“What are you doing?” she demanded, tearing from his hold.

Her dress slipped, and she struggled to catch the bodice. She was a second too late, and she flashed him her bare breasts.

His eyes glowed, and his nostrils flared.

“Back off,” she ordered, quickly covering up.

“You kissed me too,” he pointed out.

“You took me by surprise.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

“We do not,” she snapped, taking a step away.

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m engaged.”

“So I’ve heard,” he drawled. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She couldn’t seem to frame an answer.

If not for Jackson, she’d already be married to Vern. They’d be at the reception, cutting the enormous cake and dancing to Strauss’s Snowdrops, Delores’s favorite waltz. Crista’s knees suddenly felt weak, and she sat down on the padded bench beside her.

“The thought of being married makes you feel faint?” Jackson asked.

“I’m worried about my mother-in-law. I can’t even imagine how she reacted. All those guests. All that planning. What did they do when I didn’t show up? Did they all just go home?”

“You’re not worried about Vern?”

“Yes, I’m worried about Vern. Quit putting words in my mouth.”

“You never said his name.”

“Vern, Vern, Vern. I’m worried sick about Vern. He’s going through hell.” Then a thought struck her. “You should call him. I should call him. I can at least let him know I’m all right.”

“I can’t let you use my phone.”

“Because then they’d discover it was you. And they’d arrest you. And you’d go to jail. You know, sooner than you’re already going to jail after I tell the police everything you did.” Crista paused. Maybe she wouldn’t tell them everything. Better to keep certain missteps off the public record.

“I’ve got five guys working on this.” Jackson lowered himself to the bench opposite, the compact table between them.

“Five guys working on what?” Her curiosity was piqued.

“Vern’s infidelity.”

“Vern wasn’t unfaithful.”

Jackson smirked. “Right. And you never kissed me too.”

Crista wasn’t about to lie again. “Just tell me what you want. Whatever is going on here, let’s please get this over with so I can go home.”

“I want you to wait here with me while I find out exactly what your husband-to-be has been up to with Gracie.”

“Gracie’s a business acquaintance.” Crista immediately realized her slipup.

Jackson caught it, too. “So, you do know her.”

Crista wasn’t about to renew the debate. She knew what she knew, and she trusted Vern.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked Jackson again.

“So you can decide whether or not you want to marry him.”

“I do want to marry him.”

His gaze slipped downward, and she realized her grip on her dress had relaxed. She was showing cleavage—a lot of cleavage. She quickly adjusted.

“Maybe,” he said softly.

“There’s no maybe about it.”

“What’s the harm in waiting?” he asked, sounding sincere. “The wedding’s already ruined.”

“Thanks to you.”

“My point is there’s no harm in waiting a few more hours.”

“Except for my frantic fiancé.”

Jackson seemed to think for a moment. “I can have someone call him, tell him you’re okay.”

“From a pay phone?” she mocked.

“Who uses pay phones? We’ve got plenty of burner phones.”

“Of course you do.”

“You want me to call?”

“Yes!” But then she thought about it. “No. Hang on. What are you going to tell him?”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“The truth.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“Then tell him I’m okay. Tell him something unexpected came up. I’m...uh...” She bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t know. Other than the truth, what can I possibly say that doesn’t sound terrible?”

“You got me.”

“He’ll think I got cold feet.”

“He might.”

“No, he won’t.” She shook her head firmly. Vern knew her better than that. He knew she was committed to their marriage.

But Jackson would never send a message that incriminated himself. And anything else could make it sound like it had been her decision to run off. Maybe it was better to keep silent.

“How long do you think this will take?” she asked. “To clear Vern’s name?”

Jackson gave a shrug. “It could go pretty fast. My guys are good.”

Crista rose to her feet. “Then don’t call him. I’m going to change.”

“Good idea.”

“It doesn’t mean I’ve capitulated.”

“I took it to mean you wanted to be dry.”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily.

She turned away from his smug expression, gripping the front of her ruined wedding dress, struggling to hold on to some dignity as she made her way into the bathroom. She could feel his gaze on her back, taking in the expanse of bare skin. He knew she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he could probably see the white lace at the top of her panties.

A rush of heat coursed through her. She told herself it was anger. She didn’t care where he looked, or what he thought. It was the last he’d see of her that was remotely intimate.