Читать книгу Night Talk - Rebecca Daniels - Страница 8

“He said he couldn’t go that long, you know, without…er…without it.”

“Without sex?”

“He’s a man, he has needs.”

“And this was while you were in traction.”

“Right, for six weeks. He said it would just be for then, just while I…couldn’t. H-he promised it would stop after that, he wouldn’t see her anymore once I was…well, once we could…we could…”

“We get the idea. And that was okay with you?”

“He’s a man, he has—”

“Needs, yeah, you mentioned that.”

“But then, when I got home from the hospital I found it. The letter.”

“The Dear Jane.”

“Yes.”

“And he was long gone, right?”

“He went with her to Alaska. They’re going to look for gold.”

“Gold? Oh brother!”

“Gold? You mean like prospect?”

“Yeah, that’s why he said he needed my truck.”

“Your truck?”

“It’s four-wheel drive, he had to borrow it, you know, to get up into the mountain.”

“He didn’t borrow it, lady, he stole it.”

“He took your truck without checking with you first?”

“He just borrowed it. He promised to bring it back once they struck it rich.”

“I don’t call that borrowing, Sally. I call it grand theft auto.”

Jake smiled.

“But I miss him, Jane.”

“Oh jeez, lady, give me a break.”

“Sally, my dear girl, give me a break. You don’t miss this guy, you escaped him. He didn’t leave you, he did you a favor.”

Jake’s smile widened. It wasn’t the first time they’d thought alike. “You tell her, Jane.”

“Count yourself lucky all this relationship cost you was your truck.”

“But…but I love him.”

“Well, if you do, he doesn’t deserve your love, Sally. But there will be someone who does. Anybody agree? Anybody out there have advice for Sally Sad in Savannah, or a story of the love you’ve lost that you’d like to share? Let’s hear from you, 1–800–NIGHT TALK. This is ‘Lost Loves’ and I’m your host, Dear Jane—Jane Streeter—and here’s a little smooth jazz to soothe those aching hearts.”

Jake stretched back as best he could in the narrow lawn chair, listening to the sultry tones of the saxophone drift out from the speaker and up into the night sky. It was late, too late, and he needed to be up early in the morning, but he wasn’t sleepy. He’d gotten caught up in the music and the stories from callers who had phoned into the late-night radio program, caught up in the soft, velvety voice of Dear Jane.

Of course, if anyone were ever to ask, he would deny it to the death that he was part of the legion of listeners across the country who tuned in to the popular call-in program. After all, real men didn’t listen to programs called “Lost Loves.” They went for things like sports and hard-core news. But when you live alone at the top of a mountain, the nights get to be long, and the low, sultry voice of Jane Streeter helped fill the hours.

A tiny flicker of light glimmered suddenly out of the blackness from the far side of the canyon below. Jake sat up, automatically reaching for his binoculars. No flame, no fire, nothing to get excited about, but he would check it out anyway.

He focused the high-powered lens on the tiny spot of light. Just the pale beam from the headlights of a lone vehicle on the narrow mountain road. Too late for campers to be out. Besides, it was off-season. The campground wasn’t set to open for another six weeks yet. More likely one of the handful of locals who lived year-round in the tiny fishing village of Vega Flats, which was three thousand feet and fifteen very rugged miles below his mountaintop perch. It was probably Mac making his way back to his cabin on the ridge after closing up the tavern in town, or maybe Ruby from the bait shop, out looking for night crawlers or tracking down one of her stray colts from the small herd of free-roaming horses she raised.

Jake followed the headlights’ slow progression along the winding mountain pass until they became lost in the dense overgrowth and disappeared. He had planned to swing by the Flats tomorrow to pick up his mail while he was out checking a report of a mudslide along the trailhead leading up the east ridge. He would give that stretch of road a look just to make sure whoever was down there had gotten to where they were going okay. The narrow gravel pass was treacherous in broad daylight; in the dead of night it could be a killer.

“We’re back and we’ve got Miss Priss from Mississippi. What do you say to Sad Sally?”

“Jane, I’ve only got one thing to say to Sally and that’s good riddance to bad rubbish. Let’s hope she’s seen the last of him.”

The loud click on the line had a laugh coming from Dear Jane.

“Okay, Miss Priss, thank you for that. Rita in Rialto, what’s your advice for Sally? What’s a girl to do when her man takes off with her neighbor and her four-wheel drive?”

“Well I’m with you, Jane. Sally honey, if my man did that to me, he’d be doing some serious talking to the business end of my Colt .45.”

“Colt .45, ouch!” Jake laughed, dropping the binoculars to his lap.

“Whoa, Rita, gunplay, that’s a little harsh, isn’t it? After all, isn’t all fair in love and war?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t shoot him, honey, just put the fear of God into him. And if that didn’t work, I’ve got a friend over in San Bernardino who could turn that dude into a dudette.”

Jake laughed again and shook his head. “They grow them mean in Rialto.”

“Well okay, Rita in Rialto, thanks for the call. Let’s go to Harry, calling in from the East Coast. Harry, what’s the word?”

“I think you’re right, Jane. There are a lot of good men out there, Sally. Forget that creep. You’re better than that and don’t let yourself be disrespected like that again.”

“Sage advice, Harry, thanks for tuning in. Now here’s a sad story from the Pacific Northwest. This is Tim from Tacoma. You’re on, Tim. Talk to me.”

Jake leaned back in the chair again and listened as the story unfolded. He stretched out his long legs, hooking his knees over the edge of the deck’s railing. It had been a mild winter and spring had come early. But despite the clement days of early March, midnight on the mountaintop was always cold, and sitting on the deck, which encircled the lookout tower’s dome, it was even colder. Snow still dusted the ground in a few spots and the thermometer hanging on the post beside the sliding door read thirty-six degrees.

He pulled his Gortex jacket around him tightly and reached for the glass of wine on the small metal table beside the chair. He didn’t mind the cold, but even if he had he wouldn’t have gone inside. The midnight sky was brilliant with a million stars and worth risking cold ears and a red nose.

He drained the glass, feeling the alcohol warm a path down his throat, and listened while Dear Jane talked with the caller on the line. There wasn’t another sound on the mountain and her voice drifted out into the darkness like the wind through the redwoods. He’d been first drawn to “Lost Loves” by the jazz, an eclectic mix of new and classic pieces, but it wasn’t long before he found himself listening to the rest of the show—in particular to Dear Jane herself.

Jake wasn’t one for talk radio and normally wouldn’t have much patience for the sad stories phoned in by listeners. But there was something in the way Dear Jane responded to her callers, something so practical, so down-to-earth and rooted in common sense that he could appreciate. She seemed genuine, real, and she refrained from the usual antics of the media to stir up controversy or feign concern in an attempt to promote ratings. It was her manner, her comments, her sense of humor that had him tuning in night after night—well, that and her sexy voice.

“So that winds down another one for tonight. Don’t forget to tune in tomorrow and catch the irrepressible Sly Fox, who will be sitting in for me for the next few days while yours truly takes a little R&R away from heartache.”

“Who broke your heart, Jane?” Jake asked, gathering up the glass and binoculars and slowly rising to his feet.

“But I’ll be back on Monday night with the best in jazz and worst in love. In the meantime, you’re in good hands with Sly Fox.”

“But Sly Fox is no Dear Jane,” Jake commented. The substitute host had filled in for Jane Streeter on several occasions in the six months he’d been listening and Jake would inevitably find himself losing interest in those broadcasts. But he didn’t mind this time. With Ted’s wedding, he wasn’t going to be able to catch the program for the next few nights anyway.

The reminder that all too soon he would be heading down the mountain and returning to Los Angeles again had a mixture of emotions broiling up inside and he suddenly felt cold—the kind of cold that had nothing to do with the brisk night air. The sturdy Gortex could protect him from the elements but it didn’t stand a chance against the dread that pushed itself up from the past.

“And don’t forget, love may be a many-splendored thing, but when it’s over, we’ll be here waiting. This is Dear Jane—Jane Streeter—and you’ve been listening to ‘Lost Loves’. Until next time, dream, hope and love until it hurts. Good night.”

Jake took one last glance across the sky, but like his disturbing sense of dread, the wind had kicked up, whistling through the trees and dropping the temperature another few degrees. He reached up, switching off the small outside speaker mounted on the wall, and pushed the sliding glass door open. The blast of warm air that greeted him from inside the tower felt delicious and inviting, causing him to shiver again.

Ranger Station and Fire Watch LP6, with its solid stone walls and thirty-foot tower perched atop Mount Holloway, was known as Eagle’s Eye, and in the three years since he’d been appointed its ranger, he’d grown accustomed to the volatile weather conditions. The remote assignment in the backcountry of California’s Los Padres National Forest wasn’t usually the first choice of rangers entering the United States Forestry Service. Not many welcomed, or could tolerate, the solitude and the rugged living conditions. But solitude was exactly what Jake had wanted when he’d joined the Service three years ago. He’d wanted to be by himself, wanted to be as far away as he could get from people, from the LAPD and from the memories.

Valerie had accused him of running away—from her, from their marriage and from all the reasons that it wasn’t working. But things hadn’t been working between them for a long time, long before there had been a drug dealer under indictment and a key witness to protect.

He’d been a cop for ten years and had considered himself a damn good one. He’d worked hard to make his way up through the ranks, putting in long hours and many late nights. But while his efforts had paid off, landing him in charge of an elite task force working to bring down a major drug-smuggling operation in the Los Angeles area, the strain it put on his relationship with Valerie had put their marriage in jeopardy. He’d promised her once the assignment was over, he would take some time off and work on making things right between them—and who knows, maybe if things had worked out as they should, they could have salvaged something. But as it was, he’d never know. Fate had stepped in and changed everything.

He hung the binoculars on a hook beside the door and switched off the lights and the stereo. The tower went black and he followed the pale glow of the lights along the spiral stairwell to make his way across the tower’s dome. He didn’t like thinking about those days or about that old life, but sometimes even time and distance couldn’t block out the memories.

Ricky Sanchez. He’d been a man who had worked hard all his life, a kind, decent man with a wife and a family, a man Jake would never forget.

It had been a warm summer night in June when Ricky Sanchez had gone about his normal janitorial duties of waxing floors, emptying trash cans and cleaning the rest rooms after hours in one of L.A.’s towering glass and steel high-rise office buildings. But on that particular night it had been the wrong place to be at the wrong time. From an unseen spot in a maintenance closet, Ricky unwittingly became the eyewitness to a high-level drug deal that had turned deadly.

Ricky hadn’t known at the time that it was notorious drug lord Donnie Hollywood whom he had seen put a bullet in the head of a rival, but instinct had told him the only way to stay alive had been to find a hiding place and stay there, which is exactly what he had done. He’d still been trembling in a crawl space when the police had found him the next morning.

Jake still remembered the rush of adrenaline he’d felt when he’d listened to Ricky tell what he had seen. They had been trying for months to get something on Hollywood, something that would put him out of commission for good, but he’d managed to elude them each time. But now they had him on a murder charge and Ricky’s testimony was going to put him away for life.

It hadn’t come as a surprise when word filtered in from the streets that Hollywood had promised a hefty reward to anyone who succeeded in taking out the prosecution’s star witness. The authorities had already taken steps to protect Ricky, and Jake had been confident they had thought of everything to keep him safe. He’d been stashed in a safe house with around-the-clock security and no one outside of Jake, the D.A. and a small, select number of task force agents—all of whom he had trusted implicitly—knew how to find him.

Unfortunately, it was the one thing Jake hadn’t accounted for that did Ricky in. It had been one of their own, one of his own task force agents who had betrayed him. Hollywood had managed to do the one thing Jake had thought could never happen, turn one of his men against him, and it was a mistake he would regret for the rest of his life. It had not only cost Ricky his life, but the lives of two more task force agents as well.

Jake paused at the top of the stairs, staring down the narrow passage. The sense of betrayal had been overwhelming but the sense of failure had been even worse. Ricky had known the risk, had understood the danger, but he’d agreed to testify anyway. He had trusted Jake and the other members of the task force with his life, and they had let him down. At the funeral, Ricky’s wife had told Jake she forgave him, and her words had haunted him every day since then. How could she forgive him when he hadn’t been able to forgive himself?

He made his way down the stairs and along the corridor to his small apartment. It had been over three years since the funeral, three years since Valerie had left him and he’d decided to resign from the force. He’d failed—both in his personal life and at work. He’d dropped the ball. His wife had suffered and an innocent man had paid with his life. How could he ever forget that?

He’d hoped being alone would help him work through his guilt, would help him put the past behind him and allow him to get on with his life. But he was beginning to think that was never going to happen. Ted had told him he needed time to heal, but in three years the wounds still felt fresh.

He reached inside the door and flipped on the kitchen light. The station had originally been designed to house two rangers, with living quarters for each—one built into the stone base of the tower and another one above a detached garage about thirty yards across a small compound—but lean budget times allowed for only one ranger to be assigned. Jake had chosen to live in the apartment within the tower. While the actual living area was no larger than the quarters above the garage, the tower housed the main kitchen, laundry facility and a fireplace. Besides, it had just made sense that he be close to the station’s elaborate communications systems, located in the tower, in the event of an emergency.

Setting the glass in the sink, he headed for the bedroom, feeling as though he could sleep for twelve hours straight. But despite his fatigue, sleep eluded him.

Maybe it was a good thing he would be leaving the mountain. Maybe he needed to test the waters a bit, see what it was like to be back in civilization again, to be among friends, eat a little junk food and maybe even drink a little too much—at least for a little while. While leaving wasn’t exactly something he was looking forward to, he should try to make the best of it. Besides, he hadn’t been able to say no to Ted.

Los Angeles police detective Lieutenant Ted Reed was like a brother to him and if it hadn’t been for Ted, Jake wasn’t sure he would have made it through those terrible months after Ricky’s death and the divorce from Valerie. The two of them had grown up in a neighborhood in Los Angeles where it paid to know who your friends were and who you could trust to watch your back—and Ted had protected his on more than one occasion. Somehow the two of them had managed to survive the poverty and the violence, the dysfunction and the disadvantages, even though it hadn’t been easy. They’d made the decision to enter the police academy together and had supported each other throughout the ten years they’d served on the force. The hard times had forged a permanent bond between them. It made them survivors.

It had been almost awkward when Ted asked him to serve as best man at his wedding. But he understood. As men and as cops they had learned to play their cards close to the vest and keep emotions to themselves. Ted hadn’t told him much about the woman he was marrying but Jake could hear the emotion in his friend’s voice. The feelings were there—powerful and deep—and it wasn’t necessary for them to go through the uncomfortable ritual of talking about them.

The wedding was in a couple of days and Jake planned on heading down the mountain in the morning after he got back from checking the trailhead. While Eagle’s Eye was remote, he was never really alone. The area wasn’t without inhabitants. There was Claybe Fowler, his nearest neighbor in the Forest Service, who manned the Cedar Canyon Ranger Station located eight thousand feet below at the base of the mountain. And during Jake’s regular trips to Vega Flats, its motley crew of residents had all become his friends. Of course, during the summer months there were hikers and mountain bikers, campers and even a handful of hunters and fishermen about, and with the help of the tower’s state-of-the-art communications and computer system, he also managed to keep in touch with the outside world. He talked to Ted, his co-workers, his mom and his sister on a regular basis via his ham radio and his cell phone, when he could catch a signal. The satellite dish gave him more television channels than he could count and, of course, there was the radio and Jane—Dear Jane.

So, while isolated, he hadn’t exactly been alone the last three years. And while he didn’t relish the thought of going back to L.A., he owed it to Ted.

“Go to sleep,” he ordered himself, rolling onto his side and pulling the comforter around him close.

He let his mind drift, thinking back over the stories he’d listened to tonight on the radio. He wondered just how many of them were real and how many were made up just to get on the air.

He thought of Dear Jane’s soft purring voice. Would he make up something just to get on the air with her? Or would he need to? If he were to tell her about Valerie, about Ricky and how responsible he felt for his death, what would her advice to him be?

“I know you’re there Jane, I can hear you breathing. Oh Jane, dear Jane, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything—you got plenty said on the radio tonight. It’s my turn now. You can listen to me for a change.

“Did you get my letter? If you read it you will know it won’t be long now. I’ll find you. I’ll find you and the—”

Her hand shook as she flipped the call button, cutting off the caller. The ringing in her ears was almost deafening and her heart beat so fast in her chest it was almost painful.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Hmm…wh-what?” She looked up into Dale’s kind, round face. “Y-yes, I’m fine. Why?”

“I don’t know, you look a little pale.” Her producer regarded her for a moment, his gaze narrowing. “That was him, wasn’t it? It was that psycho again. He used the call-in line, the son of a—”

“He just wanted to let me know he’d been listening.”

Dale reached for the telephone receiver.

“No, please,” she said, stopping him with a hand on his.

“We need to report this.”

“It was just more of the same stuff as before, just him getting his jollies—nothing new.”

“But the cops are going to want to know.”

“And I’ll tell them, I promise. Just not tonight. I’m exhausted and they’ll keep me here answering questions until dawn.”

He picked up the phone, offering it to her. “Call them.”

“He’s on tape, they can listen in the morning.”

“They told you to report every time he called.”

“I will, I promise,” she insisted, taking the phone and lowering it onto the cradle. “First thing tomorrow.”

Dale drew in a deep breath and gave her a skeptical look. “If you don’t, I will.”

“I will,” she vowed with mock seriousness, raising a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

Dale made a face, and pushed away from the desk. “I got a bottle in my desk drawer. Feel like a drink?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ve got a long drive home.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Dale said, heading for the door, “give me a shout.”

“I’ll do that.”

At the door Dale stopped and turned back to her. “And let me know when you’re ready to leave. I don’t want you walking out to your car by yourself.”

She nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

Dale snorted and shook his head. “You amaze me, sitting there so cool and calm. Doesn’t it bother you knowing that nut’s out there somewhere?”

“Sure it bothers me. But you said it yourself, he’s a nut and more than likely he’s probably harmless,” she said, feeling her throat grow tight. “Although I admit, I’ll feel a lot better when the police have him behind bars.”

Dale smiled. “Believe me, we all will.”

She laughed, but as Dale pulled the studio door closed behind him she let the smile fade from her lips. She glanced down at her hands, balling them into tight fists to stop them from shaking. She felt sick—shaky and sick—and it would take more than one drink for her to forget that horrible voice over the line.

“Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it,” she mumbled aloud.

She closed her eyes, pressure throbbing painfully at her temples, and squeezed her fists even tighter. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palms but she didn’t care—anything to stop the shaking.

Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t be able to get down enough alcohol to get that raspy, mocking voice out of her head. Besides, she had a client coming in early tomorrow. It was hard enough balancing a private counselling practice with a nightly radio program without throwing a hangover into the mix. Still, it might be worth a try. She could call her partner to cover for her and lose herself in a couple of bottles of wine.

She rubbed her fists against her temples, slowly massaging. If only Dale knew how terrified she really was—if only everyone did. But she was determined no one ever would. She was not going to allow herself to give in to the fear—she didn’t dare. Keeping up a front was the only way she could cope. Besides, maybe if she pretended long enough the awful fear really would go away… only that hadn’t happened yet.

When the letters first started showing up in the mailbag eight months ago, she hadn’t been too concerned. After all, she received so much mail at the station it was only natural there would be a few crackpots in the bunch. But after several weeks, when the letters turned to phone calls, and the phone calls turned threatening, she’d gotten very concerned—and so had everyone else.

How foolish she had been in the beginning—and how naive. But he’d seemed so harmless at first, she’d honestly thought she might be able to talk some sense into the guy. She had taken those early calls, listening as he rambled on and on in that mechanical-sounding voice about why he believed they were meant to be together and why she should accept it. She never should have taken those calls, never should have listened. The calls had grown increasingly hostile and she was never going to forget those words or the images they left in her brain.

“I’m not going to think about it. I’m not going to think about it,” she insisted, her hands starting to shake again.

“You say something?”

“Huh? What?” She jumped violently, startled by the sudden appearance of the station’s young intern at the door. “N-no.”

The young man shrugged, looking confused. “Uh, Dale said I should walk you out to your car. You ready to go?”

“Oh, right, y-yes.” Her throat was tight and she cleared it with a small cough. “I’m…I’m ready.”

She felt foolish following the young man down the corridor and into the elevator, but if the truth be known, she was grateful not to be alone. Of course, there was just the rest of the night to think about—the drive home, the empty house, the long hours until dawn. She would hear every noise, jump at every bump, wonder about every shadow—just as she had every night for the last eight months. It wasn’t much better once she finally did drift off to sleep. Dreams filled with shadows and danger and dark, looming figures were even worse.

The elevator doors slid open, the sound echoing through the nearly deserted parking garage. And the hollow sound of their footsteps along the concrete made it feel even emptier.

“I like your car,” the intern said as the automatic door locks opened with a chirp.

“Thanks,” she said, eyeing the interior of the SUV carefully. When she was sufficiently sure no one was hiding inside, she slid onto the seat. “And thanks for walking me down. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. Take care,” he said, raising his hand in a wave as he started back for the elevator. “Hasta.”

“Yeah, hasta,” she mumbled, slamming the door and quickly triggering the doors to lock again.

She hated living like this. It wasn’t fair, her life was not her own anymore—and all because of that…that creep. He was out there somewhere, doing what he wanted, going where he wanted to go, no restrictions, no fears. She was the one living in a prison, constantly looking over her shoulder, afraid of what might be around the corner, and she resented it.

“And that’s exactly what he wants,” she concluded aloud into the silence of the car—which only added to the insult. He wanted to terrify her and he’d managed to do that very effectively.

Frustrated, she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, punching at the radio and turning up the volume to full blast. Maybe he was out there. Maybe he was watching right now—and she almost wished he was. If he wanted to see her cower and hide, he would be disappointed. She may be frightened, her nerves may be frayed and on edge, but he wasn’t going to get the best of her—no way in hell.

“Finally! The mountain man has arrived” Ted made his way through the small cluster of people milling about in the church foyer, waiting for the rehearsal to begin. With arms outstretched, he grabbed Jake in a bear hug. “Am I glad you’re here!”

“I’m late, I’m sorry,” Jake apologized, returning Ted’s hug. “The 405 was like a parking lot. I didn’t think traffic would be so bad this time of day.”

“Now I know you’ve been up on that mountain too long,” Ted said, pulling back. “This is L.A., have you forgotten? Traffic is bad here—period! It doesn’t matter what time it is.” He rested a hand on Jake’s shoulder and took a deep breath. “You’ve got to help me.” He ran a hand over his stomach. “Honest to God, I think there are butterflies in there. I’m not cut out for this.”

Jake couldn’t resist the urge to smile. Ted’s tall, lanky build and sun-bleached hair may have had him looking more like a California surfer than a seasoned cop, but that only proved just how deceiving looks could be. Typically restrained and self-controlled, not much ever ruffled his feathers, and even if it did, you would never know. But he definitely looked worse for wear now.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous. A tough cop like you?”

“Felons I can handle. What I need is protection from the wedding planner.”

Jake frowned. “What’s a wedding planner?”

“Not what—who,” Ted clarified, turning slowly and gesturing to a small, well-dressed woman chatting with a group of people in the church. “Although, if you ask me, she’s more like the wedding Nazi.”

Jake turned to look at the woman. “That tiny little lady? You’re afraid of her?”

“Don’t let her size fool you,” Ted warned. “I’ve known prison guards who could take lessons from her.”

“Want me to go over there and rough her up?”

Ted made a face. “Funny, very funny.”

Jake laughed. “Well, calm down, the cavalry has arrived. I’ll protect you if…” He glanced at the petite woman and laughed again. “If Minnie Mouse over there decides to get mean.”

Ted laughed then too. He gave Jake’s shoulder a good-natured pat and his smile faded just a little. “But I admit, I do feel a whole lot better now that you’re here. I miss having you around.”

Jake’s face grew sober. Ted knew better than anyone this trip to L.A. wasn’t going to be easy for him. “Maybe I’ve got a few butterflies too.”

“No reason to,” Ted assured him. “We’re all friends here and everyone is really anxious to see you. They all miss you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake said with a shrug. “There’s no way I was going to miss your wedding.”

“I was banking on that. I don’t think I could get through all this without you,” Ted confessed. He looked at the activity happening around them and shook his head. “Just look—all this fancy, foofy wedding stuff—it isn’t me. What am I doing here?”

Jake’s gaze narrowed. “You’re not having any…second thoughts, are you?”

“About marrying Cindy?” Ted shook his head. “No way. She’s…well, she’s…perfect! You’re going to love her.”

“As long as you do, that’s all that’s important.”

“Oh, I do,” Ted assured him, gesturing to the activity around them again. “Enough to put up with all this.”

Jake looked around then too and nodded. “Must be true love.”

Ted started to smile, but spotting the diminutive wedding planner headed their way, suddenly bolted to attention.

“We’re starting in five minutes, boys,” she declared as she breezed by. “Find a seat inside.”

Ted’s gaze followed as she passed, then slid to Jake. “You heard her, we better get moving.”

Jake chuckled as they turned and started into the church. “But aren’t we missing the bride? When do I get to meet this woman who has enticed you to endure all of this?”

“I don’t know, she should have been here by now….” Ted’s words trailed off when he spotted the car pulling up to the curb outside. “There she is. Come on, I want you to meet her.”

Jake followed Ted back outside and across the walk to where two women stepped out of the parked car—one brunette, one blond. In one smooth motion, Ted swept the brunette up in his arms and into his embrace.

“I take it this is the bride,” Jake said when he’d reached the tall blonde standing by the car.

“Either that, or Ted has some explaining to do,” she commented dryly.

A sudden chill had the hair on the back of his neck standing up straight. Something registered in his brain, something so…so peculiar it left him feeling a little unsettled. Turning to the woman beside him, he studied her as he extended a hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jake Hayes.”

“Kristin Carey,” she mumbled, ignoring his hand and slipping a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. “So when is this thing supposed to start?”

He’d admit to having been rebuffed by a woman a time or two in his life, but never quite as resoundingly as that. “According to Minnie Mouse over there,” he said, nodding to the wedding planner, “in five minutes.”

“Minnie Mouse?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Just a joke.” But from the look on her face, she obviously didn’t think it a very funny one.

“Cin,” she said, pushing past him and calling to the woman in Ted’s arms. “I think the wedding planner is trying to get your attention.”

But Ted was already pulling his bride-to-be in their direction.

“Here she is, Jake,” he announced. “This is Cindy.”

“Cindy,” Jake said in a low, formal voice.

Reeling a bit from the rather rude encounter with the icy blonde, he wasn’t sure what kind of reception to expect from Cindy. Should he try to shake her hand, bow or just stand there like a dope? But Cindy didn’t seem to have any doubts. She completely surprised him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Jake, at last!” she gasped, her blue eyes bright and sparkling. “I can’t believe I’m actually talking to Jake! Ted talks about you so much I feel like we’re already friends.”

“Just promise to give me a chance to defend myself,” he said, liking her immediately. “There’s no telling what this guy’s been saying.”

“Oh, it’s all been very complimentary,” Cindy assured him. She slipped an arm through his, shooting Ted a wink. “But I’m depending on you to fill me in on all the secrets.”

“I keep telling her there are no secrets,” Ted insisted. “I’m really a dull guy.”

Jake turned to Cindy. “Well, he is right about that. He is dull—really dull. Which makes me wonder, what do you see in him anyway?”

Cindy laughed. “Anyone who knows me knows I love a challenge. Right, Kristin?”

“The bigger the better.”

There it was again, that curious tickle in the back of his brain. Did he know this woman? Is that why she’d given him the cold shoulder? Only he couldn’t imagine forgetting someone who looked like her. Ms. Kristin Carey may be a bit frosty around the edges, but the fact remained that the tall, slender blonde was probably one of the most striking women he’d ever seen. If they had ever met before, he was sure he would have remembered.

“Jake,” Cindy said then. “This is Kristin, my sister.”

Jake nodded. “Actually, we just introduced ourselves.”

“That’s great,” Cindy said, reaching a hand out to her sister. “Because as best man and maid of honor, you two are going to be spending a lot of time together the next couple of days.”

Jake felt something in the pit of his stomach go tight. “Wonderful.”

“Okay, everyone inside. Time to get started.” They all turned in unison as the wedding planner approached, clapping loudly. “There will be plenty of time for chitchat later. Everybody into the church.”

“It seems the wedding Nazi has spoken,” Ted grumbled, pulling Cindy to him. “And my advice to you is to do what she says.”

Jake watched as Ted and Cindy started arm in arm up the walk. Turning slowly, he gave Kristin a hesitant look. “Shall we?”

“We probably better,” she said as she passed. “Wouldn’t want to keep Minnie Mouse waiting.”