Veil of Fear

by Judi Lind

  When she said nothing, he continued, “Anyway, your wedding is only a few weeks away now. You won’t have to put up with me much longer. But this creep is getting more and more daring, and I’m not going to leave you alone. So, like it or not, Mary-Mary, until you exchange wedding vows with Jonathan Regent, I’m going to be your shadow every minute of the day.”

  The determined edge in his voice told her that further argument was useless. In silent, mutual accord, they slowly turned from each other and ambled into the living room. Mary collected her sweater and handbag while Trace strapped on his shoulder harness.

  Wordlessly, they walked to the foyer. Arm held straight out, Trace kept her from view while he checked out the peephole, then cautiously opened the door and scanned the empty hall. Still irritated by his cavalier attitude, Mary pushed past him and started into the corridor.

  Her passage was halted, however, by the latest “surprise” waiting on her doorstep.

  A huge funeral wreath was standing on a wire frame on the doormat. The blossoms, once fragrant and lovely, were all dead, giving off a sickly sweet odor of decay. The foliage was the gray of a graveyard on a rainy day, and forlorn brown petals littered the hallway. Only the wide black ribbon that ran across the wreath looked new. In bright gold script, the message on the black sash read, “In Loving Memory.”

  Her hands rose involuntarily to cover her mouth, smothering the scream she felt rising to the surface. She felt weak and cold. Horribly cold. Wordlessly, she sagged against Trace’s chest.

  “What’s—” Looking over her shoulder, Trace spat an epithet when he saw the sick “gift.”

  “Damn it!” he shouted as he aimed a high kick that sent the funeral spray flying down the corridor. “Double-damn the bastard to hell!”

  * * *

  THE BRIDAL BOUTIQUE in old town Alexandria wasn’t like any store Trace had ever been in before. It was more like one of the mirrored and gilded drawing rooms he’d seen on a PBS special about the palace at Versailles. Obviously an establishment frequented primarily by women, the owner was nonetheless prepared for a male visitor.

  A clerk handed him a china cup of herbal tea, and a magazine filled with pictures of honeymooning couples splashing in heart-shaped bathtubs, then relegated him to an uncomfortable chair in the waiting area.

  Not that he minded being excluded from the festivities. Mary’s upcoming wedding was none of his concern; and he’d do well to remember that. He was her bodyguard, her hired hand. Nothing more.

  Sipping the bland tea, he tried to balance the cup and saucer on his knee for a few minutes, before he gave up and set them on the floor. The damn cup didn’t hold more than a thimbleful of liquid in the first place.

  But Trace knew it wasn’t the ritzy surroundings or the fragile china that was frustrating him. It was his inability to get a handle on who was stalking Mary.

  It had been over an hour since they’d called the front desk to have the funeral spray removed, and yet Trace’s fury had barely abated. He shifted on the dainty Louis Quatorze-style chair and in his mind replayed the events of the past few days. What was he missing? There had to be some clue, some tiny detail that he’d overlooked that would give him the key to nail the perpetrator.

  He was inclined to agree with Mary that the man she’d spotted several times—the one who’d been waiting on her doorstep—was a hired gun. Someone else, some unseen hand, was orchestrating the attacks. But who?

  Camille Castnor was his first choice. Sending “poisoned” candy was the kind of stunt that women pulled. Anonymous letters were also thought by criminologists to be a female-dominated crime. Yeah, the senator’s wife was a pretty likely suspect. No doubt she had the money to hire a thug to act on her behalf.

  A gabble of excited voices from the dressing room interrupted Trace’s thoughts. He raised his head, expecting Mary to emerge from the draperied cubicle, but the murmur of voices faded and he was left alone with his thoughts again.

  Earlier, Mary had mentioned Bob Newland as a possible suspect. Trace had to admit that Bob had spoken of Mary quite harshly. Still, disliking a person seemed a puny reason for sending death threats.

  Nor was Trace convinced of Mark Lester’s innocence. The man was a nut case, that much was certain, but he’d seemed devoid of the cold-blooded malice that you’d expect in a stalker. Trace bit his lip in frustration. He didn’t feel any closer to the truth now than the day he’d agreed to take the case.

  He fidgeted on the uncomfortable chair and glanced at his watch. How long could it take to try on a dress? What was keeping Mary?

  As if in tune with his thoughts, the hum of voices suddenly grew louder, the dressing room curtains parted and Mary stepped into view. No, Trace thought, his breath caught somewhere under his rib cage, Mary hadn’t stepped into the room, she’d floated in. With a long, sibilant sigh, his pent-up breath escaped, leaving a furious pounding in his chest.

  Mary, a dream, a vision in white glided magically over the wine-colored carpeting, the store owner and two salesclerks following in her wake.

  All brides are beautiful. The old adage drifted into his consciousness. Maybe so, but Mary opened a whole new meaning for the word beautiful. Shimmering. Mesmerizing. Sultry, sensual, yet heartbreakingly innocent.

  Mary and her entourage of store clerks stopped in front of a three-way mirror. With regal serenity, Mary stood still while the two attendants draped a filmy veil over her hair.

  She looked up, catching his eye in the mirror.

  Struck mute by the impact of his confused emotions, he simply stared back until, finally, she broke the visual connection and turned away.

  Mary reached up to adjust the veil and realized that her hand was trembling. No matter how she tried to deny it, she couldn’t forget that look in Trace’s eyes in the mirror. For once, she’d caught him in an unguarded moment, and there was no mistaking the pure enchantment in his reflected gaze.

  Nor could she ignore the sudden pounding in her breast; a primal response to the predatory and hotly demanding look in his eyes.

  A shrill ringing of the telephone took the store owner away, and she left her two assistants to attend to Mary. Both were young women, full of giggles and whispers. Now that their boss was gone for a moment, they broke into excited chatter. While they fluffed the satin skirts and adjusted the lengthy train, Mary allowed her thoughts to drift away. Allowed herself to wallow in the dangerous fantasy that had been nibbling at the edge of her awareness for the past few days.

  She was in the back of a small church. White baskets bursting with fragrant pale pink flowers banked the altar. Tall white tapers cast a golden glow on the covey of people standing nearby. In her mind, Mary could see her mother in the front pew, a weepy smile on her face.

  Then, the organist shifted in her seat and the first distinctive notes of Lohengrin’s bridal accompaniment filled the air. Mary’s father appeared beside her, offering his arm and, together, they started down the long aisle.

  All around her, the people crowding the church rose to their feet, all eyes following Mary’s slow progress to the altar.

  That’s where he waited.

  Tall, darkly handsome. His black suit emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders, his face still turned from hers.

  It was Mary’s wedding day, the happiest day of her life. The man she loved, the man whose ring glittered on her finger was slowly turning to face her.

  As they approached the altar, her father disengaged her hand from his arm and stepped back, making way for the man who would now come first in her life.

  In her fantasy, that man bent and gently lifted the filmy veil from Mary’s face. With the gauzy material no longer obstructing her vision, when Mary opened her eyes again, the face she would see was that of her betrothed. The man whose bed she would share for the first time that night, and every night for the rest of her life.

  As she lifted her head in preparation for Jonathan’s kiss, her eyes opened and Mary blinked in stunned disbelief.

/>   It wasn’t Jonathan waiting for her in his black tuxedo; it was Trace Armstrong.

  “Miss Wilder? Are you all right, dear?” The store owner had returned, and her brisk, businesslike voice had the same effect as a bucket of cold water.

  Mary whirled, her face a mask of confusion. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  One of the clerks, the short, plump one named Gerda, patted Mary’s arm. “That must have been some daydream, honey. You sure looked like you were enjoying it. Not that I can say as I blame you.” She nudged her companion and they both cast a knowing glance at Trace.

  The other clerk raised an eyebrow and said slyly, “Mmm-mmm. Honey, if that were my fiancé, I guarantee we’d be eloping. Right now!”

  Mary started to protest, but the store owner was already chastising the girls roundly and she didn’t want to add to their troubles. After all, they had no way of knowing that Trace wasn’t her fiancé.

  But she knew better.

  Had she no shame? The ring on her finger had been placed there by Jonathan, not Trace. Jonathan loved her, trusted her. And how did she repay his faith? By fantasizing about another man. She was sickened by her own disloyalty.

  “How do you like the gown, dear?” the store owner asked, a concerned frown on her face.

  “Fine. Just fine.” Her cheeks stinging with embarrassment, Mary turned around to retreat to the dressing room, when an image out of the corner of her eye halted her.

  Slowly twisting her head, she stared at the plate-glass window at the front of the boutique.

  As her eyes adjusted to the brilliant light flooding in the storefront window, she made out the image that had intruded into her subconscious.

  A figure was standing just outside the shop, looking in.

  As the blood chilled in her veins, Mary raised a wobbly hand and pointed at the shadowy figure. It was the man in the baseball cap. The man who’d been waiting on her doorstep yesterday.

  The man whose note said he was going to kill her.

  Chapter Ten

  His eyes following Mary’s accusing finger, Trace threw down the magazine and leapt to his feet.

  That bastard had followed them!

  Acting with the quick, sure instinct honed by years of experience, Trace bolted from his seat and flew out the front door.

  The quaint brick sidewalks were filled with passersby, tourists mainly, judging from the cameras strapped around their necks, but there was no sign of a fleeing figure in a purple ball cap. Trace was unwilling to admit that the creep had gotten away clean. Dodging the milling tourists, he picked a direction at random and raced to the nearest corner. Seeing nothing, he crossed the street and reversed his direction.

  But after several fruitless minutes of popping his head in storefronts and scanning the passing throng, he had to admit defeat.

  The stalker had vanished into the crowd.

  More frustrated than ever, Trace reluctantly made his way back to the bridal boutique. As he neared the door, his pace slowed. He was in no hurry to see the look of disappointment in Mary’s eyes.

  By the time he trudged into the salon, Mary was waiting just inside the door, dressed in the simple linen sheath she’d worn from home. “Thank heavens, you’re all right! You were gone so long that...that I was getting worried.”

  Trace mopped his sticky forehead with his sleeve. His recent exertion barely discernible, he shook his head. “Sorry, but he got away from me. No luck.”

  Her expression was strained and anxious, but there was no hint of the reproach or disappointment he expected. Instead, she hesitantly asked, “But you did see him, didn’t you? I mean, it wasn’t my imagination. Was it?”

  Despite his earlier declaration to keep a firm emotional distance between them, her forlorn manner melted Trace’s resolve. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he pulled her to him. “I only had a glimpse of the filthy snake, but he was for real, all right. So help me, Mary, I’ll get him next time. I swear it.”

  She raised her head and looked up at him. “It’s not your fault. I just wish we had some idea who he is, or who’s behind all this. And why.”

  Hearing the wobbly catch in her voice, Trace knew she’d almost reached the end of her rope. She’d been through a lot these past few days. More than she should have to endure in a lifetime. “Are you finished here?” he asked.

  When she nodded her reply, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and opened the plate-glass door. “Let’s get you home then, kiddo. It’s been a long morning.”

  * * *

  WHEN THEY RETURNED to the hotel, Trace ordered lunch from room service while Mary took a long, reviving shower. Walking over to the glass patio door, he looked down on the peaceful-looking street below. Mary had finally won the battle they’d been waging over whether or not to keep the vertical blinds drawn. They’d struck a bargain wherein she’d reluctantly agreed not to stand near the window, and he’d just as reluctantly agreed to keep the blinds open during the day.

  Now, he was regretting that bargain. Somewhere down there was an obsessed weirdo watching Mary’s every move. Trace could almost feel the man’s presence. Even now, he could imagine the man in the purple ball cap in that tall building across the way, spying on him with high-powered binoculars.

  Over his long and sometimes violent career, Trace had become immune to fear. When he was still working on the presidential detail for the secret service, he’d finally reached the point where he didn’t flinch at every strange noise. Didn’t wake up every morning and wonder if this was the day he’d take a bullet meant for the president.

  For years now, Trace’s life had been so empty that the specter of death was no longer frightening. Suddenly, everything had changed. Now, fear was his constant companion. Fear not for his own safety, but for Mary’s. The all-too-real dread that Trace wouldn’t be able to stop the stalker in time to save her life.

  That very concern for Mary was causing him to lose his edge. Because of this incredibly primal urge to protect her, Trace found himself jumping at every shadow. A nervous bodyguard made mistakes. Mistakes he couldn’t afford. Not with Mary’s life hanging in the balance.

  Hearing the shower stop abruptly, he pulled his mind to the present and strode into the kitchen. He had already placed the covered plates delivered by room service onto a pair of linen place mats. Carrying two tumblers of root beer, Trace was in the kitchen doorway when Mary came down the hall.

  She was barefoot, dressed in scruffy jeans and a red T-shirt. A thick towel was wrapped around her head, and her face was devoid of makeup. She looked as young and carefree as a teenager. Trace grinned; Mary was so fresh and shining, the entire room was illuminated with her glow.

  It was the first time in days that her face was free from tension. He instantly made it his goal to keep her that way. At least for a while. To keep the mood light, he set the glasses on the table and said, “Luncheon is served, m’lady.” He bowed and pulled her chair out with an exaggerated flourish.

  Falling into his playful mood, Mary curtsied and slid into her seat. She sniffed the air appreciatively. “Smells heavenly. What are we having?”

  He lifted the stainless-steel lid from her plate. “Chili dogs à la Regent.”

  As if relieved by the silly distraction, Mary laughed aloud. “They don’t have chili dogs on the menu.”

  “I know.” Trace pulled out his own chair with his foot. “I had to bribe the chef an extra ten bucks to go buy some from that guy who has a cart on the corner.”

  “So, you’re a true gourmand. I’m impressed. Not every man has an appreciation for nitrates, unspeakable pig parts and preservatives.” She picked up her hot dog and bit into it with obvious gusto.

  Conversation became limited to a few moans of pure pleasure while they munched on their junk food. Mary was still wiping the greasy residue from her fingers, when the telephone rang. She was so enjoying the break in tension that her first impulse was to let the phone ring. But the thought that it might be Jonathan calling from Alas
ka brought her up with a guilty start.

  Jumping back from the table, she rushed to grab the phone before the recorder could kick in on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

  “Mary, what’s going on? You sound out of breath.”

  “Oh, Jonathan, I thought it might be you. Where are you?”

  He sighed and replied slowly, “Don’t you remember? I told you that I had to go away on business—”

  “I know,” Mary interrupted. “Alaska. It’s just that this connection is so good, you could be in the next room. How was the trip?”

  “Fine. Fine,” he answered in a distracted manner. “I’m leaving for Anchorage tomorrow. But I’m more interested in hearing about you. I tried to phone earlier. Where were you?”

  Wrapping the cord around her fingertip, Mary related her trip to the bridal salon. Not wanting to worry him, she gushed at length over the gown she’d chosen, then lightly skimmed over the incident of the man’s watching her through the window.

  When she finished, Jonathan held his silence for a long, tension-filled moment. In an accusing, judgmental tone, he continued, “So Armstrong wasn’t able to nab him?”

  That was unfair—the stalker had had a big head start. And the streets had been extremely crowded. Mary shook her head in vigorous denial of his inference. Then, realizing he couldn’t see the gesture, she forced a light, confident tone into her voice as she added details of the chase. “Of course,” she finished, “Trace had to break off his search because he didn’t want to leave me alone so long.”

  “Hmm. I see. I guess that makes sense. So you think the bodyguard is able to handle the situation? You feel secure with him?”

  Did she feel secure with Trace? No, no, no! She felt vulnerable and frightened of her own crazy emotions. But was she afraid for her physical safety? Again, no. When Trace was with her, Mary felt cosseted and protected.

  She thought about the hard determined heft to Trace’s jaw when he’d taken off after the man who’d been watching her. She thought about the careful way Trace’s eyes scanned every room before she entered it. The way he sensed her moods before she did and placed a protective arm around her shoulders whenever she was feeling exposed and vulnerable.