“Not stage,” said Daddy. “You actually get married.”
Wyatt hooted. Harley punched him in the arm, and he quit caterwaulin’.
“I’m not the one you have to marry.” He rubbed his now dead bicep.
Harley hooked the chair with her foot, drug it beneath her caboose, and plopped down. “I am not gettin’ married.”
Daddy sat next to her. His jaw clenched several times, and the small vein above his temple throbbed. “All this—” he waved his arm to indicate the building, the guard outside the door, the cameras and screens “—is to protect you. And, it’s done a bang-up job until now. This person, whoever they are, knows things others don’t. Their notes are surprisingly familiar. At first I thought they were lucky guesses, but the more they reveal what they know, the more I’m beginning to understand that this is an inside job.”
Harley’s mouth went dry. “Inside? As in, inside our walls? My home?” Harley wanted to scrub her skin clean thinking someone had entered her domain uninvited, touching her furniture, burrowing through her clothes, and who knew what else.
She had a hard time figuring out how they would get in. Mrs. Hill ran the house with a white glove and an iron fist. If the staff had seen someone out of the ordinary, it would have been reported. The only time the house was really empty of staff was when Harley was home. Mrs. Hill ensured Harley’s downtime was protected. Men and dogs patrolled the grounds. From what Daddy said, her stalker was someone she knew or had known well enough to invite to the compound. To think she’d opened her door to a crazy person made her shudder.
“We don’t know that for sure, sweetheart.” Mama warned Daddy off with a level stare.
“We know enough,” countered Daddy.
“Darlin’, your daddy is trying to protect you.” Mama’s eyes pled for Harley to acquiesce.
Rubbing her temples, Harley asked, “Can’t we do something else? I’ll take a full-time bodyguard, work from here, and stay home on the weekends. Anything but marriage.”
She could see the headlines a quick marriage so soon after her public breakup with Jeremiah would inspire. And what would Jeremiah say? He may have broken up with her because she was too calculating—his actual word—but they’d been Skyping on and off for a week or so, and she’d hoped to establish a solid foundation for friendship if nothing else.
Despite the initial horrification of being dumped, Harley liked being single. The pressure and upkeep of a close relationship was not something she was hoping to add to her life at the moment.
“I’ve talked to several FBI agents who specialize in this type of situation, and they agree that a marriage would do one of two things. Either it will force this creep to back away and give up, or it will push them over the edge and make them desperate enough to mess up and get caught. Either way, we win.”
“Right.” Except I have to get married.
Shaking her head, Harley chided herself for believing that Jeremiah was psychotic. Jeremiah was one of the kindest men she’d ever known. Sure, he cried as often as a hen laid eggs, but growing up with the General meant that she and her brothers learned quickly how to stop the floodgates and control their outbursts. It was said that each of them only dared throw a temper tantrum once, because once was enough to learn that a Wilson did not behave that way. Jeremiah had shown her a softer side to the male half of the species; it was … intriguing. Even if, at times, it was emotionally exhausting to keep up with his sensitivities—at least he had them.
Daddy shook his head. “We don’t want you to change your pattern of behavior without a viable reason; otherwise the stalker believes they have gained control over you.
“Your husband will be your bodyguard, and since you’re married, having him close won’t seem strange. Also, since you’ll be newlyweds, staying close to home and working from satellite locations will appear normal. We’ll paint you as a loving couple who can’t get enough of each other, so nesting on the weekends won’t draw undo attention. In a year, after all this is behind you, you can get an annulment.”
Harley groaned. She had to deal with house arrest and a marriage—wonderful. “What happens if we just ignore this lunatic and continue on?”
John sucked air through his teeth. “Most likely the attempts to gain your attention will escalate and lead to a possible attempt on your life.”
Wyatt let out a low whistle. “Well.” He clapped Harley on the back. “Death or marriage, what’s it going to be?”
The General cleared his throat. Wyatt flashed him a brilliant, unapologetic smile.
Just to be stubborn, Harley stared at the ceiling and pretended to think about it.
“Harley Marianne Wilson,” Mama whispered in warning.
“It’s a big decision, Mama. It’s not every day that a girl picks a weddin’ dress or a casket.”
“Maybe you could wear a weddin’ dress in the casket.” Wyatt grinned.
Harley tipped her head as she lightly considered the option. “It’s really the best of both worlds: high fashion and meeting the higher power.”
Daddy tapped his knuckles on the desk. “If you two are done with this morbid desire to torment your mother, I need an answer.”
Harley took in Mama’s pale face and the circles under her eyes. Mama was a capable woman with the ability to do everything from running a major corporation to raising semi-normal children and spoiling her only grandchild, all while looking like she stepped off a movie set in full hair and makeup. Harley had wanted to be just like her when she was little—still did. Mama wouldn’t make a fuss about getting married like this. She’d take it in stride and trust in the Lord. Sucking it up was a character trait that ran deep in the Wilson bloodline.
The one and only thing in Harley’s life that had a place in her heart was her family. They all shared the compound, and if she was in danger, they were too. Daddy wouldn’t hesitate to spring to her aid. Wyatt would sleep on her couch every night if needed. And Mama would wear a hole in the floor pacing with worry over Harley’s well-being. Jackson? Jackson wasn’t here. He was probably holding down the office while the rest of them talked about stalkers and wedding dresses.
The idea that this madman might go through her family to get to her rammed into Harley like a bull with a burr up his tail. Her eyes went from her mama, to Wyatt, and finally to Daddy. He could and very much would take a bullet for her. And what about the men and women they hired to protect the compound? Their lives were more important than her pride or her love life. What was one year of marriage compared to the health and happiness of those around her?
“Let’s do it.”
The very air around the General sagged with relief even as he kept his shoulders ten-hut straight. “This weekend, then.”
“I’m on it.” Mama had her phone to her ear before she left the room. “Pamela?” Pause. “Darlin’, we need a groom—pronto.”
Harley pressed her hands over her eyes. Too late to change her mind—once a Wilson gave their word, they stuck to it—she checked her pocket for her Glock before heading to the door.
“You might want to keep that close by.” Daddy’s eyes darted to her pocket, indicating he was talking about her weapon. “I had a holster sent to Ms. Hill. It’ll fit under most of your jackets.”
Harley swallowed. She hated wearing suits and suit jackets to the office like she was one of the guys. Just because she ran with a bunch of longhorns didn’t mean she had to dress like them. Instead, she depended upon knee-length dresses and skirts in soft colors to get her through the workday while still feeling feminine.
The world of billion-dollar deals was dominated by males. Throwing beautiful women in their path was often a ploy used to distract others during business negotiations, and most billionaires had learned to tune the distractions out. Harley found it was a huge advantage to be the distraction men couldn’t tune out—not if they wanted her financial backing. Did she have an unfair advantage? Perhaps. Was she going to stop using her feminine wiles? Nope. Because in the
world of billion-dollar deals, a girl needed every advantage she could get.
Marriage? Marriage was the biggest deal of all.
Once in the hall, Harley tapped her mama on the shoulder. “Pull out the platinum, Mama. I want to be the prettiest bride south of the Mason–Dixon line.”
Chapter 4
Noah and Paige followed Tina, the petite BMB receptionist, down the hall to Pamela Jones’s immaculate office. Noah checked his boots. The dark brown crocodile leather was his best pair, and they were clean—thank goodness.
Considering the two women in front of him, Noah decided Tina’s hair was suddenly a lot closer to Paige’s copper red than the light strawberry it was the last time he’d been here.
Tina tapped lightly on the open door and waved them inside before going back to the greeting area.
Pamela, president and owner of Billionaire Marriage Brokers, sat behind her fancy wood desk, her phone pressed to her ear. She held up a finger, letting Noah and Paige know she’d just be a moment.
Noah’s eyes roamed over Pamela’s work surface, where a half-size legal pad and a pen were the only decorations. He suspected Pamela organized her desk like she organized the brides and grooms that came through her door—everything had a place, and there was a place for everything. Only, it had taken her months to find a place for Noah. And now that the moment was here, Noah found his palms were slick. He wiped them on his pant legs as Pamela motioned for him and Paige to sit in the chairs opposite her desk while she finished up a phone call.
“He just walked in,” she said into the phone as she gave Noah a knowing wink. “I understand, and I assure you the information will be kept confidential. Okay, bye, hon.”
Pamela hung up and came around the desk to offer Paige a hug. Noah stood—always the gentleman.
“How are you?” Pamela asked.
“I’m wonderful.” Paige practically glowed. She roamed around with a perpetual smile on her face and a bounce in her step … and her hair. Noah could always judge his sister’s mental state by her mane. Even though Paige insisted one did not affect the other, her husband, Cody, was on Noah’s side. On good days, it lifted with each step of her silver-toed boots. On bad days, it hung limp as a shroud. Today it neither bounced nor clung, and Noah was distinctly aware of Paige’s concern on his behalf.
For a moment, Noah wondered if his wife would have long hair. He was definitely partial to big curls and locks his fingers could get tangled in. He sat up taller. There was no sense wondering about such things when he was only marrying this woman for her money. Yeah, he was a cold-hearted son of a gun. Any softness toward the world would just open him up to another beating, and he didn’t think he could survive the aftermath.
Pamela moved from Paige to Noah. She offered her hand, and when Noah took it, he felt like he was atop Rebel, pounding through the wind with no means to stop the horse.
Pamela released his hand and moved back to her side of the desk as Noah groped behind him for the armrest on his chair. Blinking several times, he met Pamela’s confident gaze. “I have a good feeling about you, Noah Baker,” she said.
She leaned back in her chair, and Noah copied her relaxed posture despite the furious beating of his heart. Paige discreetly patted his knee, and he took in three quick breaths followed by one deep exhale. Just like when he was in sniper training and needed to calm his heart after a sprint so he could shoot accurately. Only this time, he wasn’t the one doing the shooting. Pamela was about to introduce him to his bride, and he found himself reacting as if caught in the crosshairs.
“Thank you for your patience with this process, Mr. Baker,” began Pamela. “You came with a unique and yet highly useful skill set, which gave me an interesting conundrum.” She tapped her nails on the desk as she studied him.
Noah worked to keep his face passive, unsure where Pamela was leading him.
“The ratio of male clients to female clients is, unfortunately, three to one. Since you approached me four months ago, I’ve had several women sign on; however, none of them needed what you have to offer. Until today.”
Noah leaned forward, wanting to absorb every bit of information.
“Your bride is Harley Wilson—from the Texas Wilsons.”
Noah lifted his shoulders. Was her name supposed to mean something to him? He didn’t run in the same circles as billionaires, except for his sister, and she and Cody kept an extremely low profile for the benefit of their daughter.
“Harley’s father served his country as an airman and then moved into the private sector, where he built a proper empire out of paper; Wilson Paper Goods are sold the world over. With a plan akin to an air strike, John leveraged his empire and took over a good portion of the world’s wealth. He has holdings in everything from real estate to prime-time television. The man is a cutthroat financial genius who cares deeply about his wife and children.
“His success came with a price in that it made his family the target of several kidnapping attempts and blackmail, and unfortunately led to the death of Caroline Wilson, John’s sister. Vowing never to let another member of his family be threatened or feel scared in their own home, John bought fifty-five acres and developed the raw Texas land into a safety zone when Harley was just three.
“Harley is a second-generation billionaire with a small empire of her own.”
“An empire?” Noah raised one eyebrow.
“Each Wilson was given a sizeable trust when they turned eighteen.”
“Each?” prompted Paige.
Pamela smiled. “There are four, and Harley’s the youngest.” She turned back to Noah. “Harley apparently takes after her father when it comes to money. She’s turned her trust fund into a fortune that, if it continues to grow at the current rate, will rival her father’s in the next ten years.”
Noah blinked. “If she’s so smart, why does she need me?”
Pamela shook her head as she swiveled the computer screen so Noah could see the grainy black-and-white video of a group of men in SWAT gear approaching a box. Soon there was a bomb-bot poking the thing, and finally a new man in protective gear picked it up. “Harley is being stalked by someone her family believes intends to do her harm.” Pamela swung the screen back around. “The last message, found in the box you just saw, indicated that the stalker believes Harley has a desire to be in a relationship. Obviously, this couldn’t be further from the truth. Her family would like to send the message that Harley is not interested and have asked me to find a groom.” Pamela lifted her eyes from the screen to delve directly into Noah’s soul. “Your police training, experience, and protective nature are exactly what the Wilson family, and Harley, need right now.”
Noah’s hands began to shake, and he turned away from Pamela’s penetrating stare. Suddenly he was back in the precinct with the smell of stale coffee and the sound of phones set to vibrate tapping against metal desks. He’d sworn he would never go back. Giving up the job he loved was poor penance for what he’d done, even if, at the time, it was all he had to give.
“Pamela.” Paige spoke in a soft, soothing voice. “Noah doesn’t—”
“Don’t,” Noah cut her off. He didn’t need Paige to explain why he couldn’t put on a badge again. Turning to Pamela, he forced himself to stare over her shoulder as he spoke, just like when he’d reported the events of that night to the judge. “I no longer do police work.”
Pamela cleared her throat, and Noah’s eyes flicked to hers, expecting to find the pity he’d seen in so many others. Instead, he found fire coupled with determination. “I’m not asking you to become a police officer; I’m asking you to become a groom, a husband.”
She flipped the screen around, and this time Noah was met by an image that had his complete attention. The picture was taken from the side, with the woman turning slightly so Noah had full access to both of her large, golden-brown eyes, which sparkled with a confidence that drew him in. Her blond hair cascaded down her back, with swoopy bangs brushing across one eyebrow. She was a natur
al beauty; her rose-petal lips, high cheekbones, and flawless skin didn’t need makeup. Everything about this woman left Noah discombobulated, and he found that he thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
Pamela continued, “I’ve spoken with her family. They are very concerned about Harley’s safety—concerned enough to take drastic measures.”
Noah’s eyes went back and forth between Pamela and the picture of Harley Wilson. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to harm this precious woman. Those pale pink lips, so full and inviting, spoke of innocence and sweetness. She didn’t deserve the fear that stalkers forced on their victims.
If anyone knew about the sickos and crazies out there, it was Noah. The time he’d spent with the LA police department had opened his eyes to a whole different level of humanity, which was more like inhumanity. He had no desire to return to that world—a world that had turned him into a monster.
He could hoof it out of here, turn his back on BMB, and take that job with Cody. No one would judge him … no one but himself. Moving back to Harley’s image, he knew he couldn’t walk away. Deep in his gut, the part of him that had urged him to become a police officer in the first place, to protect innocents and bring bad guys to justice, sprang to life. “When’s the wedding?”
Paige gasped, her hand flying to his arm. “Are you sure?”
“I can’t let something happen to her. Not when I can help. I can’t carry that weight.”
Paige nodded, somehow understanding the words he couldn’t speak. They’d always been close, and at this moment, Noah was grateful he didn’t have to explain himself further.
“It will be this Saturday at the Wilson estate in Texas. Tina will have your flight information at the front desk.”
Noah stood. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to drive.”
“Drive?” Pamela’s eyebrows pulled together, creating the tiniest of lines on her forehead.
Paige slid her purse over her shoulder. “He’s in love with his truck and won’t leave it behind.”
The Protective Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers Page 3