Secret Agent Groom (The Bridal Circle #2)

by Andrea Edwards

  Traffic had come to a complete standstill, but the exit ramp leading to Alex’s friend’s house was empty and beckoning. Tempting. All that room to drive. Why not? She could find a street that ran parallel to the expressway and get back on once she had passed the stalled truck.

  Heather swung into the next lane and onto the off-ramp. It had to be a safe neighborhood if Alex’s friend lived there. It would be fine. Nothing would happen. Except with her luck, Alex would be outside and see her. Her heart practically stopped at that thought.

  But so what if he was? This was the new Heather, the one in search of brave deeds. She didn’t care if Alex did see her. Not that this would be her brave deed, but it would be bravery practice.

  It sounded good, but as she drove on, her hands started to sweat. What if her car broke down and she had to go to his friend’s house to ask for help? Or if she got in an accident? Or witnessed a crime?

  Her heart practically stopped. This was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Absolutely, without a doubt, unquestionably the most idiotic, harebrained thing she’d ever thought of. Bravery practice, indeed!

  She would turn around and get back on the expressway. Quickly, before fate had a chance to make a fool of her. All she had to do was find a place to turn around. A driveway. An alley. A side street.

  Palms sweating, breathing hard, Heather gripped the steering wheel tighter and looked slowly around her. The neighborhood was run-down, to put it kindly. It had once been a commercial strip with businesses thriving behind those boardedup windows. But that obviously hadn’t been anytime recent. It had taken more than one or two winters’ worth of snow and ice to wear all the paint off the doorways. And more than two summers of blistering heat to make the wood trim cracked and dried.

  There might be apartments above some of these old stores, but this was not the place an English professor would live. She must have remembered the address wrong. Or there was more than one Poplar Street in Chicago. The thought was only mildly reassuring. She might not be in danger from more Alex embarrassment, but she certainly didn’t feel safe. She would just turn around and get back to the expressway, regardless of the traffic tieup.

  There, up ahead. There was a side street. Up ahead where those men were standing.

  Alex walked slowly across the small gravel parking lot and away from the old storefront. Feet shuffling, shoulders slumped. Hopefully, looking like a guy who gambled every last cent and then some. Not an undercover federal agent with a tiny camera hidden in his tie tack.

  With a weary sigh—you never knew who was watching—Alex shuffled over to the fence at the back of the lot and leaned on the top, staring in at the cars parked in the secure lot. A mangy-looking brown-and-white cat moved cautiously between them, watching the lot for signs of danger.

  Alex smiled slightly. Good thing Heather wasn’t here. She’d be over the fence and after the cat, the hell with the investigation.

  His smile faded into a frown. Now where had that thought come from? He went back to his federal agent train of thought and took a few pictures of the lot, not that he expected anything of them, but you never knew.

  Things were going great in the investigation. Both he and Casio had gotten into the illegal gambling den. He didn’t know how Casio had done, but Alex had lost several thousand dollars, as planned, and taken a couple dozen photos. If he got no nibbles from loan sharks, he’d come back in a few days and lose even more. Sooner or later, he’d get offered the loan and they’d be deeper into the operation. Then the real plans could be implemented.

  “What you doing down here, slumming?”

  Alex turned. The man was well dressed and had the aura of a professional about him. Professional what, though?

  “You look more like a Vegas kind of guy,” the man went on.

  Alex shrugged and touched the button on his coat. “Too far away to stay in touch. And the riverboats are filled with seniors playing the quarter slots. I’m looking for real action.” He thought maybe he could risk pushing just a little more. “And someplace a little freer with the credit.”

  He got no response, just a hard stare. Then the man looked away, gazing at the cars in the secure lot as if they were rare and beautiful sculptures to be admired.

  “You feeling lucky?” the man asked after a moment.

  Alex licked his lips, a man on the edge yet still trying to maintain his facade of macho pride. “All I need is a little seed money. Then let me roll them bones and I’ll be hitting sevens and elevens the rest of my life.”

  “Seed money ain’t free.” The man looked Alex up and down, no doubt appraising his suit and tie, shoes and shirt. He wouldn’t know how carefully this outfit had been put together to give just the right image, but he would know what it was worth.

  “Hey, you need money to make money,” Alex said, brushing off the warning. “And I’ll only need it for a little bit. Just until I make my big score.”

  “Yeah, sure.” The man shifted position. “You got any ID?”

  Alex gave him his driver’s license and two credit cards. The man pulled out a pocket computer and copied the data into it before returning them. Alex touched the suitcoat button a few more times.

  “I got an office in back,” the man said. “Come around in a half hour.”

  “Great. Sure. Thanks.”

  Alex was smiling as he pocketed his IDs. The man didn’t bother to reply and just turned and left, but it wasn’t like Alex was looking for a buddy.

  Alex walked slowly back across the parking lot, keeping his elation under wraps. This was going just as they planned. The goons would be checking up on him in a matter of minutes and they’d find out all about Alex Waterstone III. Well, not all. Alex allowed himself a small smile. But they’d get enough to realize the potential there.

  Damn, but this was great.

  Alex’s gaze wandered over the street as his hand in his pants pocket changed the film cassette in the tiny camera. Under cover of his handkerchief, he switched the three cassettes to his coat pocket and eased up on his shuffle slightly, going more for nervous pacing. He was, after all, waiting for his loan to be approved. He was probably being watched and had to play his part to perfection.

  He wasn’t the only one playing a part, though. Fitz came wandering over, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He was moving casually, then stopped, his back to Alex, as he appeared to try to light a cigarette. Alex just continued to walk by him, but Fitz pulled up behind him, jabbing a small gun into Alex’s side.

  “Hey!” Alex cried.

  “Hands up.” Fitz shoved the gun a little harder into Alex’s side. “And mouth shut.”

  While Alex did as he was told, Fitz pulled Alex’s wallet from his pocket, rifled through and took his few credit cards and the couple of dollars Alex had left. He tossed the empty wallet to the ground and reached into Alex’s coat pocket, slipping out the film cassettes before waving his gun at Alex’s watch.

  “Hand that over too, big—”

  But the next thing Alex knew, Fitz was reeling, falling to the ground. Alex spun around. A woman holding a large purse was kicking Fitz’s dropped gun farther away from him. No, it wasn’t kicking—nudging maybe, or inching—but timidly moving it away like it might go off if she really touched it.

  It couldn’t be!

  Good lord, it was!

  “Heather?” Alex grabbed up the gun himself. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Getting ready to faint might be one answer. Her face was white, her eyes were wide and her hands were trembling. She was clutching her purse as if it were a lifeline.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She was staring down at Fitz—still on the ground, shaking his head slowly and seeming dazed—then she looked back up at Alex. “You’re not going to shoot him, are you?”

  He just frowned at her and then at the gun in his hand. “I’m not planning on shooting anybody,” he told her.

  “Make him give back your stuff before you shoot him,” she said, her ey
es on him as she dug around in her purse blindly. Her voice was thready, but she seemed to still have her wits about her. Unfortunately.

  “I’m not going to shoot him.” He couldn’t believe this! But he had to play along or blow both his cover and Fitz’s. “Hey, fella. Give me back my credit cards.”

  Fitz handed him the small stack of credit cards he’d taken, then started getting to his feet slowly. Playing it cautiously, Alex knew. He pocketed the cards.

  “The rest of the stuff too,” Heather said, still searching in her purse. “He took something from your coat pocket.”

  Alex looked at her. Maybe it would be better if she fainted. He’d thought the film cassette exchange had gone so well and now she was going to screw it up.

  “No, he didn’t,” Alex said. “He wanted my watch but I hadn’t taken it off.”

  Fitz was on his feet now, standing a few feet away, trying to look as contrite as a caught mugger might, but mostly he looked confused. Alex knew exactly how he felt.

  “I was sure...” Heather began, then pulled out a little vial from her purse. “Aha!”

  She cracked the vial open and held it near her nose, taking a deep breath. Her eyes widened and she shuddered a little, then seemed to realize they were both staring at her.

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said to Alex and slipped the vial into her pocket. She pulled a cellular phone from her purse. “You just watch him and I’ll call the police—”

  “No,” Alex said quickly as if he’d gotten a whiff of the smelling salts too. Actually both he and Fitz might have said it together, but he ignored that little fact and frowned at Heather. “We need to get out of here.”

  She frowned back. “But—”

  Geez, police was all they needed. As if they weren’t attracting enough attention as it was. He took Heather’s hand and pulled her back a step from Fitz.

  “He could have accomplices here,” Alex said and glanced around them nervously. “We’d better just go.”

  Heather started looking around nervously also, and her hold on the purse got tighter. He thought maybe her face went a shade paler but it was already so pale, it was hard to tell. He felt a twinge of guilt at increasing her fear, but hell, she had screwed everything up for them!

  Damn. That bit of knowledge didn’t help. He felt like a heel. Like an absolute crud. He tossed Fitz’s gun into a nearby garbage can—where Fitz could retrieve it—and pulled Heather toward her car.

  “Come on,” he said.

  Chapter Four

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Heather pulled into her driveway. “I can take you over to the emergency room.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Alex said. “I’m not the one who’s been sniffing smelling salts the whole way home.”

  “I was not,” she cried. “I just sniffed them once because I wondered how long they stayed potent.”

  “You should have let me drive.”

  “You couldn’t. You’d been mugged.”

  “Well, you were about to pass out.”

  His voice was sharp and terse—she was hoping it was just a reaction to being attacked—but she really didn’t care. Much as she would prefer to avoid him, she couldn’t have left him there, being mugged. She still could not believe that it had occurred as she had been driving by. It was just like old times—whenever she was around Alex, things happened. She turned off the ignition and glanced his way. He looked all right, it was true, but how could she tell? What if he had internal injuries?

  “We should have gone to the hospital in Chicago,” she said. “I should have insisted.”

  “And I should have agreed,” Alex said with a quiet intensity as he unbuckled his seat belt. “So you could be checked over.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “So am I.”

  It was all macho nonsense, Heather knew. He was embarrassed about being mugged. Or embarrassed that she had overpowered the mugger with her sewing bag. Which was about as silly as it got; she was still shivering from the whole idea. She undid her seat belt and got out of the car. Hurrying around to his side, she took his arm as he got out.

  “What are you doing now?” he asked.

  She ignored his question. She wasn’t sure what that new element she heard in his voice was—impatience, astonishment, confusion—but it was not going to stop her.

  “I’m helping you out of the car,” she said and leaned past him to close the car door. “You’re sure you don’t feel any pain? Any soreness? Are you lightheaded ?”

  “Heather, I am fine,” he said. Slowly. Enunciating every word carefully and distinctly. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with me.”

  This time she couldn’t ignore that something in his voice, but she could refuse to put a name to it. And refuse to let it bother her. She was doing what she had to, what was right to do. She was doing for Alex what she would have done for anyone that she had seen in trouble.

  “Come on inside and sit down,” she said, still holding his arm. She was trying hard to remember something—anything—she might have read about internal injuries. “I’ll make us some dinner.”

  He stopped walking. Or maybe he’d never started. Heather wasn’t sure. She did see that he was frowning at her though.

  “I really appreciate your help, but I’d much rather just go home. By myself.”

  Heather wanted to back down. Certainly she’d rather he go home, but she also knew that she couldn’t let him. No matter how uncomfortable she was around him. “No,” she said. “What happens if you faint or start to bleed or hallucinate?”

  “Look, Heather—”

  Why were men so stupidly stubborn? “No, you look. I was scared to death that mugger, or his accomplices, was following us. Well, I got you this far. I am not going to leave you in your house to have some kind of post-traumatic stress attack.”

  She expected an argument, another denial, but what she got was a dumbfounded stare. “You thought we were still in danger?” he asked.

  She wished she was brave enough to hit him, to just wallop him a good one and lay him out flat. Was the fact that he had been with her supposed to keep her from being afraid?

  “You know me, always a chicken,” was all she said though. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  He didn’t move, just stood there in the middle of her driveway frowning at her. “What were you doing there anyway?” he asked.

  She felt her cheeks burn “Just driving by,” she said quickly. “Now just come inside, will you? Once you’re sitting down and relaxing, we can talk all you want”

  He must have agreed, for although he didn’t say anything, he did walk with her into her house. Victoria and Henry came running to greet them, but Heather settled Alex in the recliner before fussing over them. They were more than willing to follow her into the kitchen.

  “What an adventure we had,” she told them as she refilled their water dish. “I actually knocked a mugger down.”

  Victoria was unimpressed but Henry rubbed against Heather’s legs sympathetically. Heather picked the lit tle cat up and hugged it. Now that she was home, everything seemed to be catching up to her.

  “I thought I was going to throw up about ten times,” she told Henry. “I was so scared.”

  “Then why’d you do it?”

  Heather spun around. Alex was in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wood trim and looking puzzled. He was so breath-stoppingly handsome with his broad shoulders and narrow hips that she felt her nerves all tense up again.

  “What are you doing up?” she scolded. She needed more breathing space. Putting Henry down, she shooed Alex back into the living room. “Next thing you know, you’re going to be passed out on the floor and I’m going to have to find another tube of smelling salts and it’ll turn out that they’re all dried up and no good, but you’ll have an allergic reaction to them anyway and I’ll have to call the paramedics who won’t be able to get you through the door because your shoulders are too wide.”

  She stopped in h
orror with Alex staring at her. He looked confused. She hadn’t really said what she thought she said, had she? Only a total idiot—or a woman who normally got love letters written in crayon by five-year-olds—would let her mouth ramble on like that. What must he think of her?

  She tried to look more professional, more competent, and waved him back toward the recliner. “Please sit down,” she said. “I just need to check on Bonnie and then I’ll make us some dinner.”

  “Who’s Bonnie?” he asked, neither sitting nor looking like he was going to pass out.

  “The kitten we rescued the other night. That’s what I named her.”

  “Oh. So, are you going to go socialize her now?”

  Heather took a step back. Lordy, but he was tall. Her mouth went dry. “I was going to check to make sure she was okay and give her clean water,” she said. “Once I had dinner started, I was going to work with her a little.”

  “I’m not that hungry,” he said. “Let’s go see Bonnie.”

  “I really should...” She stopped and sighed. She really should insist he sit down. But then she should have insisted they go to an emergency room in Chicago. Or to the clinic here in town. Insisting wasn’t her specialty. Maybe she could bargain.

  “All right. We’ll check on her quickly and then you’ll go sit down while I start dinner.” She led him down the hall to the back bedroom. At least this time that he was following her down her hallway, she was dressed.

  Heather guessed she should be glad that he didn’t seem quite so angry anymore. She opened the bedroom door, then closed it after them. It felt very scary to be closed up in the room with him. But deliciously scary somehow. She didn’t know what to think.

  “So, how does this work?” he asked.

  Thank goodness he wasn’t afflicted with the same mental inertia. Heather went over to the cage. Bonnie was just waking up, stretching her tiny legs and flexing her little feet. Every time Heather saw the kitten she was overcome with love for the tiny creature. And felt a slight sliver of sadness that she had no one but her cats to give that love to. No one really special.