Читать книгу Fugitive Bride - Пола Грейвс - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Owen tucked Tara more fully behind him, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to look larger than he was. What he wouldn’t give to have the pecs and deltoids of Mike Strong, who’d instructed him in hand-to-hand combat during his first grueling weeks of probationary training at Campbell Cove Security Services. Strong had insisted that Owen’s lean, wiry build didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own in a fight, but until today, he’d never had a reason to test that theory.

And given how badly his attempt to save Tara outside the church had gone, he wasn’t confident that Strong would be proven right this time, either.

He could hear his father’s voice, a mean whisper in his ear. “You’re weak, Owen. Life ain’t kind to the weak.”

Grimly shutting out that voice, he searched the shadowy interior of the cabin for something he could use as a weapon, but the place had been stripped mostly bare a long time ago, from the looks of it. There was a rickety camp bed left in one corner, and the mattress of another lying on the floor nearby, but that was all. What he wouldn’t give for one of those cheap little bow and arrow sets he and the other Scouts had learned to use that summer twenty years ago.

Not that he’d remember how to use it.

The footsteps on the porch moved closer, the steps careful. Deliberate. There was an oddly light touch to the sounds that didn’t remind him much of the hulking men who’d shoved him into the side of the van earlier that day. These footfalls sounded almost—

A face peered around the edge of the door. Small, pale, freckled and terrified.

A kid, no more than ten or eleven. He froze there, his face framed by the bright red hood of his rain slicker. A second later, a second face appeared next to the boy’s, smaller. More feminine. She had big, dark eyes and frizzy curls framing her face beneath her pink rain hood.

Owen took a step toward them. “Hello—”

The boy opened his mouth and screamed, triggering an answering shriek in the girl. They sped off into the rainy woods, their terrified wails turning to hysterical giggles of pure adrenaline rush before they faded from earshot.

Owen felt Tara’s forehead press hard against his back. “Kids?”

“That could have been us twenty years ago.” Owen turned to look at her. “Sneaking around Old Man Ridley’s cabin, trying to catch him red-handed at murder.”

Tension seeped slowly out of her expression, a faint smile taking its place. “Remember that summer he almost caught us?”

“One of the top ten most terrifying moments of my life.” He laughed softly.

“Do you think those kids will come back with grown-ups next time?”

He shook his head. “Are you kidding? They’d probably be grounded for life just for sneaking around this old cabin.” He pulled out the lighter and relit the candle he’d extinguished. “Come on, let’s see what kind of shelter we can make of this place.”

The place was grimy and drafty, but the tin roof seemed to have weathered the years without springing leaks, which had kept the interior dry and mostly free of mildew. The cot mattresses were a disaster, but Owen uncovered an old military footlocker half hidden by the remains of one of the cots. Inside, he found a couple of camp blankets kept well preserved within the airtight trunk. They smelled of the cedar blocks someone had placed inside the trunk to ward off moths.

“Here, wrap up in this.” He unfolded the top blanket and wrapped it around Tara’s shoulders, not missing the shivers rattling through her. “I wish we could risk starting a fire in that fireplace,” he said with a nod toward the river stone fireplace against the near wall. “But the chimney’s probably blocked by now, and besides, we don’t want to risk smoke alerting anyone to where we are. Not yet.”

She stepped closer to him, curling into him like a kitten seeking heat. “Just hold me for a minute, okay? They say body heat is the best heat.”

Owen quelled the instant reaction of his body to hers, a talent he’d honed since their early teens, when Tara’s femininity blossomed in time for his hormones to rev up to high gear. She’d put deliberate boundaries between them, first unspoken ones and then, later, when he’d wanted to push those barriers out of the way, spoken ones.

“I’ve never had a friend like you, Owen,” she’d told him that night after the high school football game when he tried to kiss her in the car after he’d driven her home. “I need you to be Owen. My best friend. We can’t risk changing that. Do you understand? Boyfriends are complicated. Relationships are volatile. I have enough of that in my life.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Motherless since just before they’d met, Tara had struggled to connect with her rough-edged, emotionally conservative father, who’d had to give up the military life he’d loved to take care of his daughter. Tara had felt as if he resented her for the end of his Marine Corps career, which had added to the existing friction between them right up until his death.

Owen had swallowed his desire and given Tara what she needed, as much as it had cost him to do so. But the desire had never gone away, married as it was to his enduring love for his best friend.

And at times like these, with her slender body pressed so intimately to his, what was left of her clothing clinging to her body and leaving little to his imagination, tamping down that desire was a Herculean task.

“Maybe the rain will stop soon,” she mumbled against his collarbone, her breath hot against his neck.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Those children must live nearby, which is promising, because when this was a Boy Scout camp years ago, there were no houses in easy walking distance at all.”

She burrowed deeper in his embrace. “I wonder how I’m going to explain walking around in the woods wearing a slip, half a wedding dress and my ruined silk pumps.”

“Very carefully,” he answered, making her chuckle. The sound rippled through him, sparking a shudder of pure male need.

“I don’t think the rain is supposed to end before morning,” she said with a soft sigh that heated his throat again. “We’re going to need to find somewhere to sleep tonight. And I have to say, I’m not thrilled about sharing a cot where a possum was probably nesting.”

“The blankets from that chest are pretty clean. We could cover the mattresses with those.”

“Mattress,” she corrected.

“Mattress?”

She looked up at him, her expression serious. “It’s too cold in here for us to sleep apart. Right?”

He stared at her, his heart rattling in his chest like a snare drum. He swallowed hard and forced the words from his lips. “Right. Body heat is the best heat.”

He was in so much trouble.

* * *

BAGLEY COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT investigator Archer Trask walked slowly around the small groom’s room, taking in all the details of the crime scene. There was less blood than one might expect, to begin with. The victim had taken two bullets to the base of his skull—double tap, the big-city cops would call it. A sign of a professional hit.

But who the hell would target a groom on his wedding day?

“Vic’s name is Robert Mallory. The third.” The responding deputy flipped a page in his notepad. “Mallory Senior works in the Lexington DA’s office, and he’s already screaming for us to turn this over to the Kentucky State Police.”

“Any witnesses?”

“No, but the bride is missing. So’s her man of honor.”

Trask slanted a look at the deputy. “You’re kidding.”

“Nobody’s seen either of them since about an hour before the wedding.”

“Bride’s name?”

“Tara Bentley.”

Didn’t sound familiar. Neither did the groom’s name. “Have you talked to the bride’s parents?”

“She’s an orphan, it seems.” The deputy grimaced. “Her side of the aisle is a little sparse.”

Trask rubbed his forehead, where a headache was starting to form. Why didn’t he ever get a cut-and-dried case these days? “I want the groom’s parents kept apart so I can question them separately. And any of the wedding party who might have seen anything. Do we have an estimated time of death yet?”

“Last time anyone saw him was around three, about an hour before the ceremony was supposed to start. Last time anyone saw the bride was round the same time.”

Trask frowned. Missing bride, dead groom, professional-looking hit—nothing seemed to fit. “You said man of honor.”

The deputy flipped back a page or two in his notepad. “Owen Stiles. Apparently the bride’s best friend from childhood.”

Stiles. The name sounded familiar. “What do we know about Stiles?”

“Not much. His mother is here for the wedding. She’s the one who told us she couldn’t find him. By the way, according to the man of honor’s mother, their cars are still in the church parking lot.”

Trask looked up at the deputy’s words. “You’re telling me the bride and her best friend took a flyer and left their cars behind?”

“Looks like. We’ve already checked the tags and they’re registered to our missing persons.”

Well, now, Archer thought. That was a surprising twist. “Let’s get an APB out on both of them. Persons of interest in a murder for now. We need to check if either of them have another vehicle, too.”

“I’ll call it in.” The deputy finished jotting notes and headed out of the room.

Trask looked down at the dead man lying facedown on the floor. Poor bastard, he thought. All dressed up and nowhere to go.

* * *

“DO YOU, TARA, take Robert as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others...” The pastor’s intonation rang in Tara’s head, making it throb. She wanted to run, but her feet were stuck to the floor as if her shoes were nailed to it. She tried to tug her feet from the shoes, but they wouldn’t budge.

Breathing became difficult behind the veil that had seemed to mold itself around her head and neck, tightening at her throat. She attempted to claw it away, but the more she pulled at the veil, the more it constricted her.

“Owen!” she cried, the sound muffled and puny. She knew he was here somewhere. Owen would never let anything bad happen to her.

“I’m here.” His voice was a warm rumble in her ear, but she couldn’t see him.

“Owen, please.”

Arms wrapped around her from behind. Owen’s arms, strong and bracing. The veil fell away and she could breathe again. Her feet pulled loose from the floor and she turned to face her rescuer.

Owen gazed at her, his face so familiar, so right, even in the shadows.

“You awake now?”

The shadows cleared, and she realized where she was. It was the old Boy Scouts camp cabin in the woods. Night had passed, and with it the rain. Misty sunlight was peeking through the trees outside and slanting into the cabin through the dusty windows.

And she was wrapped up tightly in Owen’s arms on the mattress they shared.

“Yes,” she answered.

“You were dreaming. Must have been a bad one.”

She forced a smile, the frightening remnants of her nightmare lingering. “Just a stress dream. You know, late for class.”

“You called out to me.”

She eased away from his embrace and sat up. “Probably wanted you to do my algebra homework for me.”

He sat up, too. The blanket spilled down to his waist, revealing his lean torso. She rarely saw him shirtless, and it came as a revelation. Owen might not be bulked up like a bodybuilder, but his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat and his chest well-toned. He’d talked often about Campbell Cove Security’s training facilities, which were apparently part of the company’s connected training academy, but she’d been so wrapped up in her wedding plans she hadn’t listened as closely as she should have.

“Did you hear it, too?” he asked in a half whisper, and she realized he’d been talking to her while she was ogling his body.

She lowered her voice to match his. “Hear what?”

“Voices. I think I’m hearing voices outside. Listen.”

Tara listened. He was right. The voices were faint, but they were there. “A woman and a man,” she whispered. “Can’t make out what they’re saying.”

“Maybe one of those kids did tell their parents about seeing us last night.” Owen rose, grabbing his shirt from where it lay on the floor nearby and slipping it on as he crossed to the cabin’s front window. Tara noticed that grime had smudged the snowy-white fabric.

“Can you see anyone?” she whispered.

He nodded. “They look normal.”

“By normal, I assume you mean nonhomicidal.”

He turned to flash her a quick grin. “Exactly.”

“Maybe we should go out and meet them. It’ll look less suspicious.”

“Good idea.” He glanced her way. “Wrap the blanket around your bottom half. It’ll be hard to explain half a wedding dress.”

Smart, she thought, and grabbed the blanket that had been covering them to wrap around her. She joined him at the door. “Ready?”

He took her hand. “Let’s not tell them what really happened. Too hard to explain. I’m just going to say we’re newlyweds whose car broke down in the storm.”

“Okay.” She twined her fingers with him and followed him onto the porch, surprising the couple approaching the cabin through the underbrush.

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed as they came to a quick halt. “I reckon y’all are real after all.”

“You must be the parents of one of the kids we scared last night,” Owen said with an engaging smile. “Sorry about that.”

The woman, a plump brunette with a friendly smile, waved off his apology. “Don’t you worry about that. Those young ’uns had no business bein’ out here in the middle of a rainstorm. But we figured we should at least come out here and make sure you weren’t in some kind of trouble.”

The man grimaced at the cabin. “Y’all had to sleep here last night?”

“Sadly, yes,” Owen said. “Our car broke down late yesterday afternoon, and then the rain hit, so we had to settle for what shelter we could find. And then, to our complete horror, we discovered we’d both left our cell phones at the church. So we couldn’t even call for a tow.”

The woman took in their appearances—the beaded bodice of Tara’s torn dress, Owen’s grimy white tuxedo shirt and black pants—and jumped to the obvious conclusion. “You’re newlyweds, aren’t you? Bless your hearts—this is where you spent your wedding night?”

Owen laughed, pulling Tara closer. “It’ll be quite the story to tell on our golden anniversary, won’t it? I don’t suppose we could borrow a phone to call for help?”

“Of course you could.” The woman dug in the pocket of her jeans and provided a cell phone. “Here you go.”

“Thank you so much.” Owen took the phone and went back inside the cabin to make the call, leaving Tara to talk to the friendly couple.

“Do you live close?” Tara asked.

“Half a mile. Kind of hard to see the place through all the trees. If it was winter, you’d probably have seen us and not had to spend the night here,” the husband said. “I’m Frank Tyler, by the way. This is my wife, Elaine.”

“Tara B—Stiles. Tara Stiles, and my husband’s name is Owen.” Tara smiled, even though her stomach was starting to ache from the tension of lying to this nice couple. But Owen was right. As crazy as the “newlyweds with car trouble” story was, the truth was so much more problematic.

Owen came back out to the porch, a smile pasted on his face. But Tara knew him well enough to know that his smile was covering deep anxiety. It glittered in his eyes, tense and jittery. He handed the phone back to Elaine Tyler. “Thank you so much. I’ve called someone for a tow, so we’re set.”

“Glad we could help. You know, we could drive you to where your car is parked.”

“Not necessary. I’ve arranged for someone to meet us on Old Camp Road. Easy walk from here to there. You should get back to your family.” Owen shook Frank Tyler’s hand, then Elaine’s. “Thank you again.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” Tara added, smiling brightly to hide her growing worry. Who had Owen called and what had he heard?

When the Tylers were out of earshot, Tara moved closer to Owen. “What’s wrong?”

He caught her hand, his expression pained. “Tara, I don’t know how to break this to you. Robert’s dead.”

She stared at Owen, not comprehending. “What?”

“He’s dead. Shot, from what my boss told me.”

She covered her mouth with one shaky hand, not certain what she was feeling. Her fiancé was dead. The man she’d been close to marrying. Even if she had become convinced he wasn’t the man for her, it didn’t mean she hadn’t cared deeply for him.

And now he was gone? Just like that?

It was crazy. It had to be wrong.

“This has to be a mistake,” she said, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly.

Owen led her to the steps and eased her into a sitting position on the top step. Ignoring the uncomfortable dampness of the wood, she turned to look at Owen as he settled down beside her and wrapped one strong arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

He leaned his head against hers. “Yes.”

She sighed. “Just get it over with.”

“Robert was murdered at the church around the time you and I were taken by the kidnappers. Nobody knew where we went, so—”

“So now we’re the prime suspects,” she finished for him.