Читать книгу Protecting His Brother's Bride - Jan Schliesman - Страница 11

Chapter 3

“More diamond dust?” Kira yanked her arm from his grasp and fell sideways into the mud. She didn’t realize what the mud was until the beam of light fell across the stone. Joshua Kincaid Matthews, loving son and brother.

Kira immediately wanted to scream what a bastard Josh was. She recognized yet another lie to add to the long list her husband had told her. But if he hadn’t used his real name with her, had they really been married?

“Do you still think I didn’t know Josh?” She stood, wiping her mud-covered hands down her pants. There wasn’t anything physically similar about the two men.

“You aren’t acting like the mourning bride.”

“How I mourn is none of your business. What motive could I possibly have to stand here if I’m not married to that man?”

He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t. She refused to show any sadness for the man who’d abandoned her. But what made her want to sink to her knees in despair was knowing that her last hope to identify Griffin and clear her name was gone.

It was a long shot to begin with, and now she’d truly run out of options. There wasn’t anyone left to turn to for help. No family to lend support or friends to phone for advice. Now her freedom hung in the balance.

Strong fingers latched on to the soft flesh of her shoulders.

“You’re an imposter.” He gave her a slight shake.

The eternity candle from the mausoleum was doing weird things with Josh’s brother’s features. It cast a glow that made everything appear more sinister.

Cemeteries in general were creepy. And visiting one in the middle of nowhere, with an armed stranger, was more creepy than usual. The likelihood anyone would stumble upon them was minimal, but being so far out in the boondocks only magnified the otherworldly feel.

Dalton Matthews looked angry enough to kill, and Kira’s mind jumped into overdrive. A moment of sudden clarity struck. What better place to dump a body than in a private cemetery with a fresh grave? The longer she stood next to him, the more certain she was that leaving was less likely. He’d been furious when she’d mentioned Josh’s name and then he’d immediately driven her to this isolated cemetery. Brother or stranger? BCA, Inc. could stand for Brawny Commits Assault for all she knew.

Stay or run? If she could get the jump on him and sprint to the car, she could lock herself inside and drive away. Then Kira remembered he’d pocketed the keys.

She wanted to punch something, and violence had never been an option in her life. Until today. She knew it was wrong, even before her fist connected with a set of rock-hard abs. Hitting him hurt her much more than she’d expected, forcing her nails into her palm with razor sharpness.

“What was that for?” Dalton grabbed ahold of both her fists and shook her till her teeth rattled.

Hysterical laughter escaped her lips. Was he serious? As if being chased, blown up and tied to a chair wouldn’t cause the average person to become a little cranky? Kira tugged against his grip, but he held tight, startling her into throwing up a well-placed knee, barely missing its mark. Then training from her Saturday-morning self-defense class kicked in and she released a bloodcurdling scream, hoping to attract someone’s attention.

Dalton spun her away from him and quickly pinned her arms at her sides, drawing her back to his chest.

“Knock it off or I’m finding a place for you in the trunk,” he threatened, tightening his grip for emphasis.

“This is against the law,” she said, trying to fight her way out of his grasp.

“Guess it depends which side you’re on, right, Blondie?”

“Blondie?”

“I’ve got to call you something, unless you’d rather tell me your real name?”

“I’m so not amused by you, Brawny Boy.”

The afghan fell to the ground, leaving her arms bare against the coolness of the night. His forearms crossed beneath her breasts, shoving her assets even closer to overflowing from her worn and torn shirt. His breath fanned against her neck, causing a chill to run down her spine.

“Let me go.” Kira resisted the overwhelming desire to struggle, for what seemed like an eternity plus a day. In the span of fifteen or so seconds she knew exactly when her traitorous body shifted to the dark side, recognized that she would have been better off avoiding the heat he radiated and finally identified what a tactical mistake she’d made.

“You sure do love a good fight, don’t you?”

“I wasn’t fighting,” she mumbled, “just expressing a difference of opinion.”

Kira relaxed a tad, hating the fact she enjoyed the security of feeling his arms wrapped tightly around her ribs. Very bad. Or maybe she should consider the possibility that she’d suffered a concussion when she’d whacked her head. Whatever the reason, being pressed against Dalton forced her to catalog his attributes, which were many.

First there was the heat he radiated, and not gosh-he-feels-warm heat, but the honest-to-goodness hey-it’s-hot-in-here-so-turn-the-furnace-down kind. Big difference.

And muscles. The man had muscles upon muscles. Kira flattened her palms against his thighs for balance. She should admit that she was cold and shoeless, and he might allow her to return to the car.

“Are you finished?” His rich baritone shot warm air across her ear.

Had she really allowed herself to relax against this superbly built man? He could be lying. Remember the fresh grave? What if he was another of Griffin’s assassins? She jerked against his grasp once more.

“You can’t haul someone out to a cemetery after dark and think they’ll willingly go along with their own murder. Unless you’ve done this before?”

* * *

“Murder?” Great. He’d scared her more than the assassin at his house had.

Evidently Dalton’s lack of human contact over the past few months had turned him into one of the bottom-feeders he claimed to detest. Was he really standing in a cemetery, attempting to exert some kind of control over a woman he hardly knew? He should say something reassuring, right? But her disposition made him edgy and off balance.

Before he could form a suitable explanation, he released her and she stumbled forward. One hand covered her mouth as she coughed, while the other signaled for him to give her space.

The flashlight beam silhouetted her figure and he caught himself staring at the damp T-shirt clinging to her heaving chest, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. All her struggling against him had caused the fabric to bunch below her breasts, exposing her midriff. Her pants had also shifted, revealing name-brand underwear.

Then his disbelieving gaze slid down her slim legs to her bare feet, planted in ankle-deep mud. He should have taken her to the hospital, not a cemetery.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Each word she spoke was emphasized by a cough.

“You shouldn’t have gotten out of the car without shoes.” He glared down at her, feeling like a Sunday school teacher trying to persuade an unruly child to see the light.

After one final cough, she jabbed a finger in the center of his chest. “You didn’t get my shoes, remember?”

Yeah, he remembered. The first one she’d thrown at his head, and the other fell off as he’d carried her from his house. “Get in the car.”

He shoved his hand into his pocket for the keys, clicked the remote and popped open the trunk. It was loaded with T-shirts, sweatshirts, coffee samples and water bottles. He carried several items to the passenger door.

“You sell T-shirts?” she rasped.

“No, they’re freebies.” He dropped most of the clothing into her lap, holding on to a camouflage shirt. He mopped some moisture from the roof of the car with it, then knelt down and used the shirt to clean the mud from her feet.

“I can do that,” she said.

“I’m sure you can.”

“Buckshot’s?” She eyed the purple shirt in her lap. “Like hunting supplies or something?”

“Or something.” It might have been a reasonable conclusion for somebody living on the moon, but how could anyone with a television, a smartphone or even one dollar to her name not know about Buckshot’s? They were “world famous.” Dalton had personally opened a dozen new stores in Europe before Lauren had died.

If Blondie had never heard of Buckshot’s, she probably didn’t know who he was or what he was worth. The idea that she’d shown up looking for some fast cash, from either him or Josh, was quickly losing merit. What if Dalton was wrong? After all, he’d bailed Josh out of more than one unpleasant situation. In school. In his choice of careers. His brother could weave a story and paint himself as the victim in less time than it took to microwave a bag of popcorn.

Dalton swallowed a sigh before it crossed his lips. Blood would always be thicker than water. Was he really going to let this woman disparage his brother’s memory? God forbid his mother got wind of the latest attempt to tarnish the family name. She’d been through more than enough.

“Put on a dry shirt while I get a couple more things from the trunk.” He slammed the door before he could blurt any of his thoughts aloud. It was probably safer to let her assume he dealt in hunting supplies.

How warped was it that Dalton knew his brother was capable of deception, but couldn’t bring himself to admit it to anyone else? Fat raindrops fell on the back of his neck as he returned to the trunk. The light mist segued into rain, and he was about to be soaked.

He shoved the dirty shirt into an empty box and snagged a soft-sided cooler containing drinks. After giving the trunk lid a slam, he sloshed to his door.

“So you handle marketing for this company?” Blondie had removed her wet shirt, which was now lying on the floorboard.

A true gentleman would feign interest in the moonroof or a dashboard gadget. A true gentleman wouldn’t have hauled her out here at all. But Dalton had learned enough to make the trip worthwhile. He settled himself in the seat and watched. She didn’t seem to care, confident with her long hair dripping onto her pink bra.

“Among other things.”

“Travel a lot?” She struggled to get the clean T-shirt over her head.

“Not as much as I used to.” He allowed his gaze to follow her curves. Their conversation was quickly fogging up the windows, something he hadn’t contemplated doing in a long time. And he shouldn’t be thinking of it now, in a cemetery, with a woman who was nothing but trouble.

The dry shirt twisted below her armpit. As he reached forward and yanked on the fabric, his fingers brushed against an unusual shape. It had been forever since he’d touched a woman’s breast, but not so long that he’d forgotten what parts went where. Unless Blondie had a third nipple, she was concealing something. The unexpected jolt he felt from his knuckles skating down her rib cage took him by surprise. When their hands met near the waistband of her jeans, she turned his way. Apprehension was evident in the way she bit her bottom lip and pulled her fingers away from his.

“Did you design the logo, as well?” She was making small talk as he reached for a shred of sanity to keep his hands to himself.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether a wrong answer will make you punch me again.” The comment earned him a partial smile as she combed strands of wet hair away from her face. The cut near her eye started bleeding again and her actions smeared the blood across her forehead.

“Hold still a sec.” He grasped her chin, then reached into the glove compartment for some paper napkins. He applied pressure against the wound.

“I’m okay, really.” She pried the napkins from his fingers.

“Humor me and keep pressing.”

“I’m out of humor.”

“And yet still full of sarcasm.” He flipped on the map light for a better view and transferred the cooler to her lap. “Drink something.”

She opened the lid and eyed the contents. “How can your company stay in business if you give all this stuff away?”

“Advertising expense.”

“Yeah, but do hunters really need all these things?” She gestured to the cooler and then plucked at her T-shirt. “And since when do they wear purple?”

“People love getting something for nothing. Hunters may not need it, but it builds customer loyalty and name recognition. Usually.” Or maybe she had a valid point.

“Tell me how he died.” She removed the wad of napkins from her face before dropping them into a cup holder.

That was certainly an attempt at directness. And since she’d already asked once, he didn’t see the point in delaying the inevitable. “Josh had been missing a week before his car was found in a ravine forty miles from Denver. The highway patrol ruled it an accident, but I hired a private investigator to dig through all the reports, anyway. I’m curious why the PI didn’t find anything about your marriage.”

“He’s not very good?” she said, before swallowing half the water in her bottle.

“He’s the best.” Dalton couldn’t quite get a read on her. First demanding, then hostile, followed by defeated, compliant, accepting, and now, withholding something. He’d always been good at judging first impressions, but she was challenging everything he’d thought he knew.

She yanked a hooded sweatshirt over her head with another muffled remark.

Vagueness was not his forte. Dalton preferred getting to the point by the most direct route and with the least amount of details. “How did you meet Josh?”

“The usual way.” She shoved her knees up under the wide-as-a-tent sweatshirt before offering him the other one. It was obviously the smaller size—her size—and she knew it. He threw it into the backseat.

“Online dating?”

“I would never date someone I met online.”

“Friend of a friend, then?” Dalton was trying to come up with a few more choices that didn’t involve a drunken one-night stand.

“Nope. My wallet was stolen. Of course, they got my college identification card and bus pass.” She stared out the window. “I was six miles from my dorm room and my roommate wasn’t answering her phone.”

“No money for a taxi?”

“If I had any money, I would have used it on the bus.” Blondie’s teeth chattered, kicking him into motion.

He started the Cadillac and turned on the heat. “Keep talking.”

“I thought someone was following me, and I panicked. Ran into the first business that was still open at nine-thirty on a Sunday night.”

Dalton put the car in gear and made a U-turn. “A church?”

“An art studio. I burst through the door and ran into your brother. Literally. It took nearly a month to get all the paint out of my hair.”

“You met Josh at an art studio?” Dalton had to admit she was going the distance with her story. “An art studio in Denver?”

“Why would I be in Denver?” Her neck cracked as she shifted in the seat until she was facing him.

“What’s wrong with Denver?” Evidently something, by the way she was preparing to pounce.

“I’ve never been there,” she insisted. “I went to the University of Missouri.”

“Okay, you’ve never been to Denver.” Dalton kept his eyes on the muddy road leading from the cemetery. Her reaction to the city’s name was far from normal and he should probably push harder to find out why. But something in his gut was telling him to wait. Never mind the fact that he couldn’t come up with a plausible reason for Josh to be in Missouri.

The click of her seat belt buckle announced that she was no longer focusing all her attention on him. As rain splattered against the windows, he swallowed the remaining questions and waited for her to make the next move. She was quiet so long that it was killing him not to look at her.

After five full minutes of driving in silence, he heard the tires finally connect with the highway asphalt. His passenger chose the same moment to speak.

“What will it take to convince you that Josh was my husband?”

During their brief drive Dalton had replayed the hours connecting them in this day, apparently, without end. The arguments in his mind centered around one simple fact. His brother was a liar. Had always been a liar. Which meant the logical thing for Dalton to do was give his sister-in-law the benefit of the doubt. And he wanted to make the decision without looking too closely for a motive.

“You want to convince me? Then tell me what you planned to do once you tracked down my brother.”

* * *

Kira wanted to know the answer, too. “After all this time, maybe I haven’t given up on him. I hoped Josh would have a reasonable explanation for everything and save the day.”

She felt pathetic admitting she secretly wanted her miserable almost ex-husband to save the day. Now his brother knew.

Why didn’t she have a better plan from the start? She’d had plenty of time to herself lately. Enough sleepless nights since her arrest that skipping bail to track down Josh had seemed like a good idea. The FBI refused to listen to any of her theories, and wishing the money in that Denver account was Josh’s way of apologizing for all he’d put her through was a total waste of time. Instead, he was somehow connected to everything. The missing money and fraudulent documents kept looping back to Geoff Griffin. Except for that damn bank account.

Or bank accounts. The Feds produced sworn statements from the banking officials in the Cayman Islands, stating she’d opened an account with them. Kira had never realized there were so many liars in the world. At the arraignment, she’d been ordered to surrender her passport. After searching her apartment, she’d finally found it in a box of Brandon’s baby clothes.

Clothes he’d never worn and a baby she’d never held. The death of a dream. That’s what angered her most about Josh’s abandonment. They should have weathered the storm together. And now, he’d left her not only once, but twice.

Josh was a first-rate liar and she’d loved him without conditions. In return, he’d ignored their marriage vows and caused her the worst pain of her life. Sympathy for him was out of the question.

She looked at Dalton and tried finding any resemblance between him and Josh. Wrong eye color, darker hair and she’d guess a good thirty pounds heavier than Josh, who had more of a runner’s body.

“So you and he were always close?” The word always had a way of tripping people up. At least it did during an insurance investigation. It took tenacity to get to the bottom of a story and expose the scammers who earned a living by being dishonest. One bogus claim could cost Midwest Mutual tens of thousands of dollars and raise premiums for every client. If Dalton Matthews really was Josh’s brother, then maybe he’d help her clear her name.

“We kept in touch. But getting the bachelor boy to the altar would’ve been monumental news in our family. Unlikely it would’ve slipped under the radar when he came to Christmas dinner last year.”

Another lie. Kira noticed Dalton used unlikely instead of impossible. “So your family’s into marriage?”

“Most of us.” His eyes darkened and sadness etched his features. She knew the look very well, having loved and lost someone. She faced the mirror every morning wishing she’d find it gone. She also knew they were no longer speaking of Josh.

Dalton’s emotions were barely concealed, much like hers. She could eventually give him a pass for the stunt he’d pulled at the cemetery. But if his outward appearance was the opposite of Josh’s, did it automatically mean his motives were anything but selfish?

But a selfish man would have left her lying in that damn shed full of lumber. He would have immediately called the authorities and had her arrested for trespassing. Dalton hadn’t. He could have let the thug kill her instead of trading punches with the man. And once he found the other man’s phone, he should have called the police and reported everything. But he didn’t do that, either.

He kept doing the opposite of what she expected. Or maybe the opposite of what she’d been trained to expect. And if for no other reason than to prove her dead husband wrong, she was going to expect more from his brother.

“My name’s Kira.” She offered her hand before she could change her mind.

His surprise was evident as they shook hands. “Dalton. I see you’re a fellow member of the unusual-name club.”

“The answer to the age-old question of Kimberly or Rachel equals Kira.”

“Nice.”

“And you?”

“My mom was a Dalton.”

“Gotta love creative mothers.” His touch was warm, much like the eyes working their magic on the rational part of her brain. She could tell he sensed the attraction between them and also wished it was absent. It would complicate matters, especially if he was her brother-in-law.

He released her hand, but not the hold he had on her common sense. She liked to think she could distinguish between lying eyes and simple infatuation. Josh had had lying eyes that sparkled mischievously. Dalton’s eyes held a mixture of wisdom and determination.

“You really don’t look anything like your brother.” She couldn’t hide the skepticism lacing her tone.

“Different as night and day since we were kids.”

“A possible reason why you didn’t know about me?”

“I said different, not estranged. I assure you, we have the same mother.”

“You’re very precise for someone who’s been hiding out in the woods.”

Dalton Matthews drove the car and didn’t offer an explanation. Yeah, she could definitely extend him a bit more trust. As for Josh, how many lies had he told her? The entire time she’d been searching the internet for any sign of him, she’d been using Joshua Kincaid, when it appeared he’d been just as comfortable as a Matthews.

A twinge of guilt scurried up her spine.

Seeing proof of Josh’s death didn’t hurt as much as it should have, as it might have if she’d been a real wife grieving for a real husband. A real wife wouldn’t have wished her husband dead and then tried to erase him from her memory.

Then again, a real husband wouldn’t have hidden his wife from his family or purposely deceived her from the moment they’d met. A real husband wouldn’t have blamed her for losing their baby and then disappeared before she could recover from the shock.

Tears filled Kira’s eyes and she quickly swiped at them before they trickled down her cheeks. A real kick-ass heroine wouldn’t shed a tear over a man who’d done her wrong. She’d work twice as hard to settle the score, regardless of the cost.

“Look, I can understand why you don’t trust me.” Her voice wobbled, but she quickly recovered. “I have proof at my apartment that Josh is my husband.”

“I’m guessing your apartment isn’t in Denver.”

She picked up on his sarcasm and nailed her monotone response. “I live in Kansas City.”

“Of course you do.” His head bobbed up and down. “Why would anything be easy today?”

“You don’t have to help me,” she insisted. “Drop me off at the bus stop and I’ll take care of myself.”

“Yeah, you’ve done a stellar job so far,” he muttered.

“Stellar?” She hadn’t heard that word in forever. Stellar Studio was the place where she and Josh had met. The place he’d considered his second home. Had Dalton used the word as a test?

He glanced her way. “Yesterday’s crossword puzzle. The clue was: exceptionally good. The answer, of course, is stellar.”

“Right.” Her mind latched on to the coincidence, but the turmoil in her belly insisted it was more. Then again, a scoop of granola for breakfast hadn’t fueled her all day.

“We need gas and food.” The way he switched topics confirmed she’d read too much into the word. “There’s a convenience store down the road. We’ll both think more clearly after a snack.”

“Right.” She shifted in her seat.

“Proof of your marriage would help, but I think it’s more important to tell me who’s trying to kill you and how that involves my family.”

“I can tell you what I know. I need a few minutes to process everything that’s happened.” Kira leaned against the headrest and inhaled the scent of leather.

“Fair enough. You’ve got about fifteen minutes to process.” Dalton tapped a knob on the dash and music flooded the car. He adjusted the volume. “And bashing my brother’s memory isn’t an option. I want to hear about your proof.”

“After we get some food. I’m starving.” That was the truth. Forming a sentence without saying anything negative about Josh would test her lying skills. Especially when she was beginning to suspect his connection to Griffin wasn’t as innocent as she’d initially presumed. Not that it mattered, now that he was dead. He wouldn’t be clearing anyone’s name. She shifted the flash drive to a more comfortable position. She had some of the answers, just not all the right questions.

Brother or not, she wouldn’t stop until she’d proved Josh’s deliberate deception and confirmed that Geoff Griffin was behind framing her.