by Lisa Childs
“About time my best man got here,” a male voice remarked as the door opened. “What the hell...”
Richard Boersman’s mouth fell open, and his already pale face paled with shock. “You came back from the dead?”
Stepping forward, Gage shoved Richard back into the room and closed the door behind them. He grunted in reply. When he’d finally escaped captivity, he had felt as if he’d returned from the dead.
Richard uttered a shaky sigh and murmured, “I did that once myself.”
“What?” Gage narrowed his eyes and studied the shorter man. Like Gage, he wore a tuxedo, but his hung even more off his skinny frame. His thick-framed glasses had slid down his long, narrow nose. His whole face was thin and unremarkable, like his bowl-cut brown hair and pale complexion. He looked like he had probably spent most of his childhood being bullied. But maybe he wasn’t the harmless geek Gage had always thought he was. “What the hell does that mean?”
He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Nothing...just had a close call myself a few years ago.”
Megan had said something about it before, about Richard surviving a house or apartment fire. If Gage looked close enough, he could see a few thin scars along the man’s hairline. But those scars were nothing compared to the ones Gage had now.
He remarked, “I think you’re about to have another close call.”
Richard stepped back, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “What are you doing here? Dressed in a tux? You’re not my best man.”
“I am now,” Gage said. “Not that this wedding’s gonna happen anyway.”
“You son of a bitch,” Richard said, and now his face flushed a mottled red. “How dare you come back from the dead to stop my wedding?”
A laugh slipped out of Gage. He couldn’t help it. Richard was that damn ridiculous. “I had no intention of stopping your wedding.”
Spit dribbled out of Richard’s mouth when he sputtered, “But—but you said it’s not going to happen...”
“That isn’t because of me,” Gage said. “It’s because the church is under siege.”
Richard laughed now. “That’s crazy. Under siege—what the hell are you talking about?”
“Guys—and a woman—with guns,” Gage said, “have infiltrated the church.”
“Megan’s father is the Chicago FBI bureau chief,” he patronizingly said, as if Gage wasn’t already aware. “Of course there will be men and women with guns at his daughter’s wedding.”
“These people are not Woodrow’s agents,” Gage said. “They’re strangers. And they’re dangerous.”
Richard’s skin paled again. “What—what are you saying?”
“This isn’t random,” Gage said. “They’ve planned this out. Someone has a cell signal jammer. We can’t call out, and only a few guests were able to get into the church. They have us surrounded.”
“Why?” Richard asked. “What did you do?”
Gage laughed again. “This doesn’t have anything to do with me.” At least he hoped like hell that it didn’t.
Richard snorted. “You’ve been nothing but trouble for Megan since the day you met her. This has to be your fault.”
Gage laughed again. “I’ve been nothing but trouble for her?”
She was the one who’d destroyed his life. She’d broken his heart and made it impossible for him to work for her father, the man he’d respected more than any other.
“Why couldn’t you have just left her alone?” Richard asked.
“I don’t want her,” he said. But it was a lie.
And Richard knew it. “That’s bull! You’re behind this. You’ve put some sick plan into action to stop our wedding!” Despite the guy’s smaller size, he launched himself at Gage.
Gage easily held him off with his hands on Richard’s thin shoulders. “I wouldn’t have had to go to this much trouble,” he said. He was angry, too, so angry that he taunted the groom. “All I would have to do is kiss her, just like I did the last time I stole her from you.”
Richard lost it, cursing and swinging. He wasn’t able to get in a good punch. But his arms were long enough that he reached for Gage’s holstered weapon.
* * *
Hearing the tussle from outside the door, Woodrow burst into the room with his gun drawn. He’d expected to find one of the armed strangers inside. Unfortunately, he knew the two men inside, but maybe he didn’t know them as well as he’d thought. He had never thought Richard would have had either the courage or the stupidity to take on Gage Huxton.
He’d nearly grabbed Gage’s gun—until Gage had shoved him back against the wall, his arm pushing against Richard’s throat until the guy struggled for breath.
“Let him go, Gage,” Woodrow said. He spoke softly and calmly.
He knew what Gage had been through. After Nicholas Rus had told him that Gage had survived all those months he’d been missing in action, Woodrow had reached out to guys he knew from his own days in the corps. And he’d found out the hell Gage had endured, the kind of hell few other men could have survived. The kind of hell from which nobody ever fully recovered.
That was why Woodrow hadn’t told Megan that Gage was alive. He knew his daughter loved the man, so much that she would want to be with Gage again. But with the PTSD that Gage had to have, he wasn’t safe for anyone to be around, as evidenced by how tightly he held Richard.
Maybe Woodrow had spoken too softly, because it didn’t look as though Gage had heard him. Instead of loosening, his arm momentarily pressed harder. Behind his huge glasses, Richard’s eyes began to roll back into his skull.
“Gage!” Woodrow spoke sharply now, making the younger man’s name sound like a command.
And like the soldier he was, Gage obeyed. He stepped back.
And Richard slid down the wall, gasping for the breath Gage had momentarily denied him.
“You’re crazy,” Richard murmured, his voice raspy. Then he turned toward Woodrow. “He nearly killed me.”
“You’re damn lucky he didn’t,” Woodrow replied. And with no sympathy for the fool, he added, “You never reach for a man’s gun.” Not unless you were certain you could take it from him without getting killed.
Or Woodrow would have already taken on the armed wedding guests.
“But he’s threatening to stop the wedding,” Richard said.
Woodrow shook his head. “He’s not the threat.”
Impatience flashed in Richard’s pale eyes. “Of course he is. He put this whole sick plan in motion.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Gage asked, his voice very deep and raspy despite not having had anyone strangling him as he had nearly strangled Richard. Not only did he not look the same, he didn’t sound the same, either. The boy Woodrow had known was gone.
His heart ached for the loss. Gage Huxton could have been the best agent he’d ever had.
Through his thick lenses, Richard glared at Gage. “I’m saying you staged this whole scenario just to stop the wedding.”
“And I told you I wouldn’t have had to go to any of that trouble if I wanted to stop it,” Gage said.
Richard’s face flushed again. And now Woodrow understood why he’d gone for Gage’s gun. Huxton could be damn infuriating. As his former boss, Woodrow knew that too well. Maybe there was more left of the boy he’d once known than he’d imagined.
“There is no time for fighting between ourselves,” he told them. “We need to work together.”
In unison, they snorted.
“We have to,” Woodrow said. “We don’t know how many of them we’re dealing with.”
“Ask him,” Richard petulantly said.
This wasn’t the first time Woodrow had noticed the man’s petulance. Maybe it was because Richard Boersman was an only child that he was used to getting his own way all the time. Like that damn dress. Megan had wanted to wear her mother’s dress. But Richard had pouted until she’d agreed to wear the gown he’d had designed for her.
Realizing now t
hat Richard had manipulated her—the way Megan’s mother used to manipulate him—made Woodrow feel a little better about the wedding being canceled. Maybe Penny Payne was right again—damn her—and Richard wasn’t the right man for Megan.
But Penny was wrong about Gage. Woodrow didn’t believe he was the right man for Megan, either, at least not anymore. It was doubtful he could ever recover fully, physically and mentally, from what he had endured.
Gage seemed focused now, though. Ignoring Richard, he said, “I only saw the one guy in the back of the church.”
“The one Penny stopped you from killing.” Letting her be the one to intervene in their tense exchange had nearly killed Woodrow. But Penny had pointed out—rightfully—that two men approaching the wedding crasher might have forced his hand and the hands of whoever else was working with him.
Richard snorted again. “There’s only one guy?”
Gage continued to ignore him. “I didn’t see the woman or the man who’s dressed like a waiter.”
“Me neither,” Woodrow said, and his stomach muscles knotted tighter than they’d already been.
“We need to make sure Megan’s safe,” Gage said. He wasn’t as muscular as he’d once been, but he easily moved Woodrow away from the door so he could rush out of it.
“Gage...” Woodrow hurried after the younger man as he started down the church aisle. But before he could catch up to him, someone grasped his arm and jerked him to a halt.
While it was something Penny would have done, she wasn’t the one who stopped him. His skin would have tingled, his pulse would have quickened—with attraction. He felt only irritation now.
The man who held his arm was also armed, a gun bulging beneath his jacket. But unlike the others he knew this man. Although with his smooth face, wide eyes and slight build, Tucker Allison looked more like a child than a man. “I don’t have time—”
“I see you’ve thrown out Gage Huxton, sir,” the young man said, his voice high with excitement. “I was going to do it earlier myself—”
Woodrow nearly laughed. Him and what army? Because apparently even another army hadn’t been able to permanently take out Gage Huxton.
“Gage isn’t leaving,” he said. Even when he’d said he was, he hadn’t been able to walk away from Megan, not when he’d realized she was in danger.
“Do you want me to help you get rid of him again?”
Woodrow narrowed his eyes. “Again? What are you talking about?”
The young man’s face flushed. “I—I—uh...”
“Spread some vicious rumors,” Woodrow finished for him as he shook off his hand. He hadn’t had the time or the patience for the agent’s nonsense and gossip then, and he had less time now.
“I—I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” the kid nervously insisted.
“You had no idea what was the truth.” Then or now. The problem was that neither did Woodrow.
What the hell was going on at his daughter’s wedding? Could Gage have staged everything to disrupt the ceremony just as Richard suspected? Or were the gunmen here for revenge against Woodrow?
If that were truly the case, then no one was in more danger than Megan. He had to get to her—before it was too late.
* * *
Megan stared at the gun clasped so tightly in the woman’s hands. “Are you going to walk me down the aisle with that shoved in my back?” she asked.
The woman chuckled, but her ivory complexion flushed slightly. “That might be noticeable.”
“It would be,” Megan agreed. “You can’t force me to go through with this wedding.”
“Maybe not,” the woman admitted. “But if you don’t, you’ll be sending all your guests home in body bags. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not,” Megan said. All she’d really wanted was Gage. Even when she thought he was dead, she shouldn’t have accepted Richard’s proposal, shouldn’t have agreed to a loveless marriage. Sure, she wanted children, and she’d thought she could raise them with a man she liked and respected. But it was very clear to her that she’d made a mistake. Another mistake. The last had nearly cost Gage his life. This one would probably cost hers.
“You only have one gun,” Nikki said. “How can you kill us all?”
The woman laughed again. “You think I’m here alone?”
No. They all knew better. But Nikki sounded clueless and young and scared as she asked, “You’re not? You have a partner?”
“I have more than a partner,” the woman replied. “So unless you want everyone inside the chapel to die, you will walk down that aisle. You will pretend everything is perfect. And you’ll marry your groom.”
Megan had already decided she had no intention of doing any such thing. But she didn’t want to put innocent lives in any more danger than they already were. But if she were going to be forced into doing something she didn’t want to, she had to know. “Why?”
The woman’s smooth brow furrowed slightly. She was young—probably only Megan’s age or maybe a little older. “Why what?” she asked.
“Why do you care about my wedding?” Megan asked. “Why would you be willing to kill in order to make sure I go through with it?”
“And how do we know you won’t kill everyone even if she does?” Nikki asked. She stepped closer to Megan, almost as if using her as a shield.
What kind of bodyguard was Nikki Payne?
Then Megan realized, when she heard the whispering rustle of silk, why Nikki was using her as a shield. She was drawing her gun from the holster on her thigh. Megan reached behind her back, but instead of the gun, Nikki pressed the scissors into her hand. As a weapon, she would have preferred the gun. But she tightened her fingers around the scissors.
“Nobody will get hurt,” the woman assured them, “as long as nobody interferes with the plan.”
“Plan?” Megan repeated. She hoped like hell Nikki had one, too, for their immediate situation. But she asked the woman instead, “What plan?”
The gunwoman chuckled again. “Your wedding...”
“My wedding is part of some plan? A plan for what?”
Revenge?
Against whom? Megan’s father? Or Gage? Or had Megan done something that had made someone angry enough to want vengeance against her?
The only person she knew for certain whom she’d really hurt and who didn’t seem able to forgive her was Gage. But he wouldn’t go to such extremes to hurt her. He hadn’t cared enough to fight for her—for them—a year ago. Why would he care enough now?
The woman’s face flushed. “I’ve said too much. You don’t need to concern yourself with anything but walking down that aisle and saying ‘I do.’”
Megan shook her head. “No. I can’t.”
“You will,” the woman insisted. “Unless you want to get hurt.”
Megan was counting on the woman not wanting to hurt her because if Megan couldn’t walk down the aisle, she would mess up their plan—whatever the hell it was. So she drew in a deep breath of air and courage, tightened her grip on the scissors, and lunged at the woman.
She didn’t hear the gunshot, but she suspected there had been a silencer on the barrel of the gun. It had looked funny when the woman had pressed it into her stomach earlier. And now she felt the blood, thick and sticky, as it oozed from the wound.
Chapter 8
What the hell kind of bodyguard was she?
Nikki had frozen in place with the gun grasped in her hand. She hadn’t even disarmed the safety. She stared down at the women lying on the floor in front of her. One minute Megan had been standing—strong and defiant—before her. The next she’d been gone.
Was she gone?
Knowing the other woman who lay on the floor with Megan might still be armed Nikki thumbed off the safety and put her finger near the trigger. She would kill her if she needed to. She had killed before. Or so she thought. Her brothers had never confirmed it.
But even if she pulled the trigger now, she would only be saving herself. Sh
e worried that she might be too late to save Megan.
Her veil had fallen off, and some of her dark hair had slipped free of the knot on the back of her head. It was tangled over her face, covering it and the woman who lay beneath Megan.
“Are you okay?” Nikki asked as she knelt beside her.
A gasp slipped free of Megan’s lips. Either she’d had the breath knocked out of her or she’d been holding it. Then she rolled over and held up a hand covered in blood.
Nikki cursed. No, she wasn’t all right. “Where are you hurt?”
Megan glanced down at herself. There was a smear of blood on the gown, too. But just a smear. Surely if she’d been shot, blood would have saturated the heavy fabric.
And Nikki hadn’t heard a gun go off. Then there had been a silencer on the woman’s weapon. She could have fired it. But Nikki smelled no telltale scent of gunpowder.
Megan released another unsteady breath. “I don’t think I am.”
They both turned to the other woman. She lay on the floor, her face pale again, her eyes closed. She might have struck her head on the edge of the vanity table behind her. Or she might have been dead, as blood oozed beneath her.
“D-did I kill her?” Megan stammered. She was more afraid now than when the woman had been threatening their lives and the lives of everyone in the church.
Woodrow Lynch’s daughter had guts. Nikki had been impressed. She moved forward and felt the woman’s neck. A pulse pumped steadily beneath her fingers. “No.”
She examined the woman. “Looks like you stabbed her shoulder with the scissors.” The wound appeared to be the source of the blood.
“Did I hit an artery?” Megan anxiously asked.
Nikki inspected what appeared to be a shallow wound. The scissors weren’t sharp enough to have gone very deeply into the woman’s flesh. “No. It’s not a bad injury. The blood is already clotting and drying up.”
“But she’s unconscious,” Megan said.
Nikki felt the woman’s head. A knot swelled on the back of it. “She hit the table when you knocked her down.”
Megan released a shuddery sigh now. “I’m such an idiot.”