Bride Quartet Collection

by Nora Roberts

  “At bare minimum. Violence may ensue. So.” She opened her camera bag, took out the mug shot. “This is the target. See it, report it. Okay?”

  “All right.” He studied the photo, smiled a little, then folded it to tuck it in his inside pocket. “Is there something else? It feels . . . You seem upset.”

  “Upset? No. No. Just distracted. I said that already, didn’t I? The bride’s upset, and that could affect the portraits, so . . .”

  Deal with it, she ordered herself. Just explain the way things are.

  “Actually, Carter.” She took his arm to lead him to a relatively quiet corner in a room that buzzed like a hive of hornets. “I did want to say I’ve been thinking we should discuss—Damn it.” She tipped up the walkie hooked to her pocket. “That’s my cue. Bride’s on the property. I have to go. I guess you’d better come with me.”

  “Do you need me to get any of your equipment?” he asked as he adjusted to her hurried pace.

  “No, I have what I need for this. Everything else is up in the Bride’s Suite. She’ll go there. But I need shots of her arrival. Just make sure you stay out of the shot.”

  “Hey, Carter,” Parker said as she fell into quick step with them. She flicked the faintest questioning glance at Mac, then switched to full-business mode. “The bride’s a solid nine point five on the emotion scale. Constant reassurance, support.”

  “Got it.”

  “We need her upstairs, busy, and focused on herself ASAP. I’ve already put champagne up there, but let’s not let her pull a Karen.”

  “Won’t be a problem.”

  “MOH and two of the BAs are with her, as well as the MOB. MOB is a rock. If I’m not available and the bride or the MOH go on, get the MOB.”

  “Is Jack on his way?”

  “ETA fifteen minutes. I’ll send him straight up.”

  “Who’s Karen?” Carter wondered.

  “Former bride, arrived half drunk, finished the job before we got a handle on it. Puked over the terrace shortly before the ceremony.”

  “Oh.”

  Outside, the women stepped to the side of the porch where the rails were already dressed in Italian lights and tulle.

  “Where are your coats?” Carter asked. “I’ll get them for you?”

  “No need.” Mac took out her camera. “Adrenaline works.”

  As the white limo cruised down the drive, Emma and Laurel came out.

  “I wanted all four of us,” Parker explained. “Solid wall of ‘we’re here to make your day perfect.’ Happy faces, everyone.”

  The limo stopped. Mac framed a shot of the bride turning to exit the open door with what could only be called a brave and wobbling smile on her face.

  Mac thought: Crap.

  “Your day,” Parker said from the steps. “Guaranteed.”

  The smile brightened, just enough. Mac got the shot before the bride’s face crumbled. She sprang out of the car, arms outstretched, and said, “Oh, Parker!”

  “Hey!” Mac’s voice stopped the bride in midstride. “Are you going to let that bitch give you puffy red eyes in your portraits? Give me one, give me a beaut. One that’ll make her cry like a baby when she sees it.”

  It might’ve been rage, but the bride’s face went radiant. “I’m getting married!”

  “Damn right.”

  “One of both of us.” The bride grabbed the hand of her maid of honor, grinned fiercely at her friend. “Together. Solidarity.”

  “Now we’re talking.”

  She captured the movement, the energy, as garment bags and totes were unloaded, as women milled together. And undoubtedly, she thought, caught the tension as well.

  “Parker, what will I do if—”

  “Not a thing,” Parker assured the bride. “We’re completely on top of it. All you have to do is be beautiful, be happy, and we’ll handle the rest. Let’s go up. There’s a bottle of champagne waiting.”

  Giving Carter the come-ahead signal, Mac skirted around Parker and the bridal party. “We get a glass of champagne in her, and in the MOH. Celebrate their friendship,” Mac said as she bounded up the stairs. “It’s about the journey, and in this case, that relationship is part of the whole. We’ll play on that, so instead of keeping a little distance between them as I initially figured, we document the unity. The bride prep as female bond as much as mating ritual.”

  “Okay.” He turned into the room behind Mac. “It’s a lovely space.” He scanned lace, flowers, candles, swags of silk. “Ah, very female.”

  “Well, duh.” Mac pulled out the second camera body, strapped it on.

  “Should I be in here? It doesn’t seem quite . . . proper.”

  “I may be able to use you. But for now, you’re stationed at the door. Nobody gets in without the password.”

  “What’s the password?”

  “Make one up.”

  He took up his station as Parker swept the bride past him. A brunette stopped, gave him a once-over that made his stomach twitch.

  “Jack?”

  “Ah, no. I’m Carter.”

  “Oh. Too bad.” She gave him a hard, sharp smile. “Stick around, Carter. You may come in handy.”

  The door closed with a snap. Through the panel he could hear female voices, then the happy pop of a cork leaving the bottle. The laughter that followed had to be a good sign.

  Moments later a small troop of men and women carting totes and cases started toward him.

  “Excuse me,” he began, and the door swung open behind him.

  “It’s okay, Carter. They’re hair and face.” Parker gestured them in. “Let Jack through when he gets here.”

  The door shut again, and the noise level rose behind it.

  He wondered if this was typical, if Mac and the rest of them repeated this pattern several times a week. Emotion, immediacy, red alerts, strange codes, headsets, walkie-talkies. It was like a continuous battle.

  Or a long-running Broadway show.

  Either way, he decided he’d be exhausted at the end of every day.

  Mac opened the door, stuck a glass of champagne in his hand. “Here you go.” And closed the door again.

  He stared down at the glass, wondered if he was allowed to drink on duty. Amused at himself, he shrugged, took a sip.

  He glanced over at the man who turned at the top of the steps and started his way.

  “Hey, Carter, how’s it going?”

  Jack wore a dark suit with subtle chalk stripes. His dark blond hair curled casually around his face. Eyes, smoky gray and friendly, sparked under brows arched in question. “You in the wedding?”

  “No. I’m helping out.”

  “Me, too.” He dipped his hands in his pockets, relaxed. Jack Cooke always appeared relaxed to Carter. “So, I’ve got a date in there. Did you happen to get a look at her? Megan. Meg to her pals.”

  “Oh, the maid of honor. Yes, she’s in there.”

  “Well?” Jack waited a beat. “Give me a gauge. Parker gave me the ‘she’s beautiful’ routine, but Parker had an agenda. I’m in either way, but I might as well get an objective opinion.”

  “Very attractive. Brunette.”

  “Mood?”

  “A little scary, actually. They’re doing something with hair in there now.”

  “Great.” Jack blew out a breath. “What we do for friendship and a case of good wine. Well, into the breach.” He knocked. “Foreign chromosome,” he called out.

  Parker opened the door. “Perfect timing,” she said and yanked him in.

  Carter leaned against the wall beside the door, sipped champagne, and pondered human rituals.

  The next time the door opened, Mac pulled him in.

  Women sat under protective cloaks while hairdressers plied their trade with implements that always made Carter vaguely uneasy. If hair was straight, here was a strange tool to curl it. If hair was curly, another tool would straighten it.

  Why was the question.

  But he kept it to himself and held a light meter wh
en he was told to, a length of white lace over a window, a lens. He didn’t mind, even when Jack deserted the field and he was left the lone male among the female army.

  He’d never seen Mac work before, and that alone was both education and pleasure. Confident, intent, he thought, with efficiency and fluidity in her movements. She changed angles, cameras, lenses, circling and winding through the women, speaking rarely to those she photographed.

  She let them be, he realized. How they were and who they were.

  She tapped her headset. “Groom’s heading in. We’re on the move.”

  Solidarity wasn’t the theme here, Carter noted, as the best man didn’t arrive with his brother. Mac did her work, in the cold, with her breath wisping vapors.

  “Groom’s coming up,” she said into headset. “CBBM among the missing. Got it.” She turned to Carter. “We’ve set a lookout for the asshole. I’m going to go set for the formal gown portraits. Why don’t you find Jack and Del, relax awhile?”

  “All right.” He looked around the Parlor at the rows of white draped chairs, the floods of flowers, the groupings of candles. “It’s quite a transformation. Like magic.”

  “Yeah, and magic takes sweat. I’ll find you.”

  He didn’t doubt that, but wasn’t sure where he should go to be found.

  He wandered through the flowers and tulle, the tiny sparkling lights and into the Grand Hall. There, with some relief, he found Jack and Del, sitting at the bar.

  “Want a beer?” Del called out.

  “No. Thanks. I’m just getting out of the way.”

  “Best place for all of us,” Jack agreed. “You hit the nail with Megan.” Jack lifted his bottle of Bass. “There are worse ways to spend a Saturday than comforting a pretty brunette. Canape?”

  Carter perused the small tray of food. “Maybe.”

  “Del seduced a sampling out of the caterer.”

  “There are worse ways to spend a Saturday,” Del agreed. “So, Carter, now that we’re all here, what’s going on with you and my girl?”

  “Your—what?”

  “You’ve got your eye on my Macadamia. You got anything else on her?”

  “Del’s territorial. Have a shrimp ball.”

  So was he, Carter realized. “When did she become yours—from your point of view?”

  “Since she was about two. Throttle back, Carter. The question’s brotherly.”

  “Then you’d better ask her.”

  “Discreet.” Del nodded. “That’s a good quality. Hurt her, and I’ll mess you up.”

  “Protectiveness. That’s a good quality,” Carter returned.

  “Then we’re square. And also busted,” he declared when Emma came in.

  “Didn’t I tell you this area is off limits?” In her blue suit, her mass of hair pinned back, she clipped around the tables. “Where did you get that food?”

  “Del did it.” Jack threw his friend into the fire without hesitation.

  “I’m not having beer bottles and crumbs in here. Get out, and take that with you. Go outside or up to the family wing. I expect this sort of thing from these two,” Emma added. “But I’m surprised at you, Carter.”

  “I just . . . I didn’t have a beer. Or anything.”

  She only gave him a steely look and pointed to the door.

  “We were going to clean it up.” Jack skulked out with the others, and turned to watch Emma check the table arrangements.

  Carter bumped into him in the doorway. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” Jack glanced over as Del’s walkie beeped.

  “I’m hooked up,” Del explained. “The asshole just got here. He’s alone. I guess that means we don’t get to go out and intimidate him, maybe smack him around. Too bad.”

  IT SEEMED TO GO WELL, CARTER DECIDED. IF HE HADN’T SEEN so much of the behind-the-scenes, he might have believed it just unfolded. The flowers, the music, the radiant bride bathed in candlelight. He stood in the back with Del and Jack watching two people promise to love.

  But he couldn’t keep his eyes off Mac.

  She moved so smoothly, so silently. Not like a shadow, he thought. She was too bright for shadows. Still it seemed she barely stirred the air so all around her attention centered on the two people in front of the crackling fire.

  “Got it bad, don’t you?” Del murmured.

  “Yes, I do.”

  As the newly married couple turned to start the recession, Mac dashed back, nudged Carter to the left. When they passed by into the foyer, she lowered her camera briefly. “I can use you for the group shots. Just stay behind me.”

  Guests were escorted through another door. Mac made use of the staircase, the foyer, the now empty parlor.

  She worked quickly, Carter observed. She didn’t seem to hurry, but she clicked along, posing various groups and couples—and smoothly avoiding any pose that put the feuding maid of honor and best man together.

  The minute she was finished, Parker took over.

  “Parker’s going to line them up for the introductions. We’ll go around this way.”

  “Let me carry the bag for you.”

  “No, I’m used to it.” She led him around, through doorways, through the kitchen bustling with catering, and out into the Grand Hall. “I’ll get some shots as they come in. B and G have the sweetheart table there. It’s a plated meal, numbered tables. Once everyone’s down, it’s just a matter of keeping an eye out for an op. How are you holding up?”

  “Fine. You’re doing all the work.”

  “We’re still on red alert. We need to keep an eye on the CBBM. If he leaves the hall, one of us has to go after him, make sure he’s just going to pee or catch a smoke. When we’re done in here and move up to the Ballroom for the dancing, that’s when it’s going to get crazy. Less structured, and harder to keep a bead on him.”

  SHE WAS RIGHT. HE STUCK WITH HER WHEN HE COULD ONCE the party began in earnest. Guests took advantage of the band and danced, or gathered in groups to chat. Some wandered in, some wandered out. Since he knew what to look for, he noted various staff members by the exits. It was oddly exciting.

  “I think we might be clear.” Laurel joined them. “I’m bringing the cake out after this next set, and he hasn’t made a move. No sign of the target either. The B and G don’t look worried about it.”

  “Couldn’t look happier,” Mac agreed. “Another ninety and we’re clear.”

  “I’m going to check the dessert table.”

  “Wait till you get a load of it,” Mac told Carter. “The cake. It’s amazing.”

  “Carter? Carter!” A pretty blonde in a red dress dashed over to grab his arms and beam up at him. “I thought that was you. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Ah . . .”

  “Steph. Stephanie Gorden. Corrine’s friend. How quickly they forget.” She laughed and tipped up to her toes to kiss his cheek. “I didn’t realize you were friends of Naomi and Brent.”

  “Actually, I’m—”

  “Brent’s my cousin. What a beautiful wedding. This place is just fabulous. Really, imagine having an actual ballroom in your own house. Of course I suppose the Browns lease it out for events so they can maintain it. I’m going to have to find Greg—you remember my husband, Greg, don’t you? He’ll be so surprised to see you. What’s it been? It’s been a year at least. We haven’t seen you since you and Corrine—”

  She broke off, gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry that didn’t work out. We thought you were perfect for each other.”

  “Uh, well. No. This is Mackensie Elliot. The wedding photographer.”

  “Hello, how are you? You must be exhausted! I’ve seen you running around, snapping pictures. Naomi must be making it easy for you. She’s such a beautiful bride.”

  “It’s been . . . a snap.”

  “I’ve gotten some really nice pictures myself. Those digital cameras practically work themselves, don’t they?”

  “Hardly need me at all. You’ll have to excuse me. I have to go preten
d to work.”

  When Carter caught up with her, Mac was taking candids on the dance floor.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think she meant to be insulting, but she’s an idiot and can’t help it.”

  “No problem.” She switched cameras, handed him the other. “Fresh memory card. Remember how to do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re decorating the limo. I want to go get a few shots out there before they bring in the cake.” She started out with Carter in her wake. “So a year ago—the breakup?”

  “The . . . right. More or less. We were together almost that long, and lived together for about eight months. Maybe it was nine. Then she decided she wanted to live with someone else. So she did.”

  Mac paused. “She hurt you.”

  “Not as much as she should’ve been able to, given the situation. Which means we weren’t perfect for each other. Far from it.”

  “If you lived with her you must’ve been in love with her.”

  “No. I wanted to be in love with her. It’s not the same thing at all. Mackensie,” he began as they moved outside.

  “Shit, damn, fuck!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “SBP. Red alert!” she said into her headset. “SBP sighted south side of main entrance. CBBM’s with her. Come on, Carter, we’ve got to head them off until reinforcements get here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HE WASN’T SURE WHAT HE INTENDED TO DO, AND WAS LESS sure of what she intended to do. But when Mac cut across the snowy lawn, Carter instinctively picked her up.

  “What? What?”

  “You’re only wearing shoes.”

  “So are you! Put me down! I can’t project a stern and forbidding demeanor when you’re carrying me. Down, down, or they’ll get by us.”

  The minute he set her down, she was off. In a kind of lope, Carter thought. A long-legged gazelle leaping through the snow. He wasn’t graceful, he knew. But he was fast when he had to be.

  He passed her. Carter figured his ungainly slide on the path, thanks to his now ruined and snow-slicked shoes, cut back on the impact of the barrier, but he blocked the forward motion of the furious best man and his current amore.