There Goes the Groom

by Rita Herron

  “So someone else besides us wants Pendergrass?”

  “Yeah, enough to kill him.” And maybe kill Marci to get him. “Did forensics find anything on Marci’s laptop.”

  “A lot of stuff,” Georgia said dryly. “But nothing helpful. She has tons of wedding info on there, cake designer sites, hairstyles; hell, her browser history looks like an ad for the home shopping channel.”

  Cade remembered the dozens of sexy shoes on the floor of her bedroom and fought a reaction. An image of Marci wearing those red stilettos and that black lacey teddy taunted him.

  He shifted, battling a hard-on.

  “No hidden accounts?”

  “Nada. Judging from her bank statements she lived paycheck to paycheck. Right now, the only thing we could pin on her is not reporting all her tips at the restaurant. And there’s no proof of that. Hell, she does at least list some of them.”

  Jesus. Maybe they were wrong about her.

  “Keep looking. And Georgia, check out her sister and her husband’s financials.”

  “You think they were in on the scheme?”

  No, he didn’t. “I’m just covering all the bases. Kimberly Turner received a call from some investors who believe she is, so we have to check it out. Hell, maybe Marci hid some money in an account in her sister’s name to cover her own butt in case they got caught.”

  “Smart thinking,” Georgia said. “They look alike, she could easily have forged her signature or set up a safety deposit box.”

  His gut knotted. He hoped she hadn’t, but he wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t investigate the possibility.

  Although up close they looked nothing alike. Kimberly was quiet, neatly dressed, conservative.

  Marci was just plain…sexy.

  A word he could not keep associating with a suspect.

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything,” Georgia said.

  “Thanks. I’ll keep an eye on Marci tonight.”

  “What’s she doing now?” Georgia asked.

  “I don’t know, she’s in the bedroom.”

  “Hmm,” Georgia muttered. “Is the door closed or open?”

  “Closed. The crime techs are here,” Cade said through clenched teeth.

  “You’d better watch out. She could sweet talk them and make them miss something.”

  He stepped to the door and saw them taking pictures and fingerprinting the place. “No problems. We’re all professionals here.”

  “Sure you are. But every man in pants would be attracted to that woman,” Georgia said with a sardonic laugh. “Hell, half the women in Atlanta would be attracted to her. She has that kind of --”

  Power over a man, he almost said.

  “Body that’s distracting,” Georgia finished.

  He didn’t need a reminder about her body. “Go look up those accounts,” Cade said, irritated as he hung up.

  One of the crime techs turned to him, his case in hand. “We’re finished.”

  Cade gave a clipped nod. “Let me know if you find anything.”

  They agreed and left, and he turned and stared at the bathroom door. What in the hell was Marci doing? There wasn’t a window in there, was there?

  No, he would have remembered if there was.

  Then the shower water kicked on, and he groaned as he imagined Marci naked beneath the spray of water.

  *~*~*~*

  Marci turned the hot water to full speed, hoping the sound would drown out her voice if she reached Paul.

  She didn’t want mule-headed Muller to hear what she had to say to her fiancé. She wanted to tell the lying, ratfink, snake off in private.

  Stop it, Marci. You can’t convict him until you hear his side of the story. After all, she was innocent and she’d been locked up for the crime.

  He could be, too.

  First she punched her inbox and listened to the messages.

  “Marci, this is Zelda French, please tell me that policeman was wrong. You and Paul were such a nice couple. You really did sell us a resort didn’t you?”

  Marci winced then clicked the next.

  “This is Edwina Phillips, I just talked to my attorney and he said my accounts have been cleaned out. It’s bad enough that resort is just a piece of desert land, but now I can’t pay for Mama’s back surgery, and if she doesn’t have it, she’s never gonna walk again.”

  Marci gasped.

  Had Paul gained access to the woman’s accounts and robbed her blind?

  No…surely he wouldn’t have done that.

  But the next fifty messages were variations of that call. Money stolen. Resort land not a resort, just desert. Dreams and hopes for their future disintegrated. They’d have to declare bankruptcy.

  Sweet Merna Folkerton, at seventy-six, was going to have to move in with her ninety-three year old mother, and they would be living on social security. And Bitsy Rowenall had saved for new teeth, but now that would have to wait.

  God…Marci scrolled through the rest, looking for Paul’s name, but there was nothing from him.

  Furious, she punched his number, but the machine automatically rolled to voice mail. Either he wasn’t answering or he’d ditched his cell phone.

  Probably so the cops couldn’t track him down.

  Guilt mushroomed inside her as the sound of all the distraught voices from her message machine echoed in her head. Paul had destroyed these people’s lives.

  And Kim’s future at the center – that could be ruined too.

  It wasn’t just Paul. You helped him.

  Bile rose to her throat as she remembered following him around like a little puppy dog. Smiling and patting her friends’ hands as he charmed them with the slide show.

  She might not have known that he was selling them a crock, but she had by way of her own stupidity been his accomplice.

  She was such a fool. When would she ever learn that men couldn’t be trusted? At least not the ones who were attracted to her.

  Tears blurred her eyes, but she blinked them back then looked down at the tattered dress. Hating it now, she peeled it off, then grabbed the scissors from the medicine cabinet and began to hack it up.

  Whack, whack, whack. She cut and tore until it was nothing but a pile of lace and crinoline and satin.

  Then she climbed into the shower and scrubbed her skin and hair until she felt raw. She had to get the stench of jail off of her.

  But she’d never get the stench of what she’d done from her conscience.

  She just hoped Paul called her and agreed to meet her, so she could rip him apart piece by piece like she had her wedding dress.

  *~*~*~*

  Cade tapped his foot and paced while he waited on Marci. She was his best lead now, and he had to watch her whether he liked it or not.

  Of course, she wouldn’t like it.

  He heard the phone ring from inside the bathroom, then the water kick off. Forensics had already told him she’d received dozens of calls from irate, upset victims.

  The tracer they’d put on her phone was recording all her calls, so he strode to the front window and looked outside while he listened.

  “Paul,” Marci said in a tiny voice. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, baby, I’m here.”

  Marci cleared her throat. “What’s going on, Paul? Where are you?”

  “I’m sorry I ran like that, babe, but I couldn’t go to jail.”

  “I went to jail,” Marci said.

  “I know, and I’m sorry, Marci, but you’re out now, so everything’s okay.”

  “Okay?” Marci cried. “The cops think I helped you rob all those sweet ladies. They’re watching me and hunting for you. How is that okay?”

  “Don’t go all postal on me,” Paul said. “I’m trying to fix things.”

  “How? Are you going to turn yourself in?” Marci asked.

  “No, I can’t do that,” Paul said.

  “Why not? If you’re innocent, you can hire a lawyer and –”

  “Listen to me, Marci, the cop
s would never believe me.”

  “They will when you prove that you didn’t steal from those people—”

  “To do that, I have to lay low. Someone is framing me, sweetheart, and I need to figure out who it is.”

  “Framing you? Who would do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Paul said in a whiny voice. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  A heartbeat passed. “Just talk to the police and explain. They can investigate.”

  “I told you, they won’t believe me.” Paul hesitated. “But you do, don’t you, sugar?”

  “I want to,” Marci’s voice cracked. “But that mean detective had pictures of the Desert Sand Resort, and it was nothing but a piece of desert land. He said you Photoshopped the other pictures to scam people into investing.”

  “I didn’t Photoshop it,” Paul said. “Don’t you see? Someone conned me. I thought I really was selling resort property.”

  “Really?”

  Cade rolled his eyes. Marci was not falling for this guy’s crock, was she?

  “Yes, baby. And I’m going to fix this.”

  “Then you’re going to come back and tell them who set you up, and we’ll help those people get their money back.”

  Marci sounded excited at the prospect.

  “Sure, baby, I’ll do that.”

  Cade balled his hands into fists. Pendergrass was lying through his teeth.

  “But it’ll take time. Meanwhile, I have no proof, and the cops aren’t going to take my word for it.”

  “Then what are we going to do?” Marci squeaked.

  We? Was she still planning to marry this cheating, lying scumbag?

  For God’s sake, she deserved better than Paul Pendergrass.

  “I have to get away for a while and figure that out,” Paul said. “Maybe I can track down the guy who framed me. But I need your help, Precious.”

  Precious?

  Marci lowered her voice to a whisper. “What do you want me to do?”

  A muscle ticked in Cade’s jaw.

  “I need money.”

  “What about all the money you made in those deals?” Marci asked.

  “The cops are all over my accounts.” Someone murmured something in the background, then he coughed.

  Cade frowned. Pendergrass was with someone. He slammed his fist against his thigh. Of course. The sleaze probably had another woman helping hide him out.

  “Baby, I need cash,” Pendergrass said.

  “I don’t have cash,” Marci said, her voice tinged with panic. “The detective said you cleaned out my account. That you didn’t pay my tuition, and that you didn’t buy the house in Buckhead.”

  “Listen, Marci, I can’t go into all the details, but I have money to cover all of that. I just don’t have access to it right now.”

  “So you’re just going to disappear and leave me here to handle the fallout? I have a cop in my living room right now,” Marci said. “And someone broke into my place and slashed the mattress.”

  Pendergrass muttered a curse. “You haven’t told the cop anything, have you?”

  “I don’t know anything to tell him!” Marci screeched.

  “Just calm down, babe. Listen, I’m not leaving you. I just need you to get the cash I stashed away and then meet me, and we’ll leave town together till we can figure out how to clear my name.”

  A tense silence passed, and Cade paced by the bathroom, his anxiety rising. What was Marci going to do?

  Run off with this Cretan?

  *~*~*~*

  Marci wrapped a towel around her, wishing like heck she’d brought a change of clothes or her robe into the bathroom.

  “Marci?” Paul said in that low smooth voice that always crept under her skin.

  Although now she wondered if that voice was a tad fake…

  She tightened the towel around her boobs, tucking it tightly. “What?”

  “You will do this for me, won’t you?” Paul murmured. “Then we can be together again.”

  Marci’s stomach lurched. He obviously didn’t care one iota about the humiliation she’d endured the last twenty-four hours. About their ruined wedding. The arrest. The phone calls from the seniors crying about losing their money. Nana Muller beating her with her purse.

  Kim’s supporters backing out.

  And Detective Muller’s condemning eyes.

  She towel-dried her hair. “Of course I’ll do whatever you say, Paul.” She intentionally added a lusty tone to her voice. “Just tell me how to access the cash and where to meet you.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” His tone brightened a notch. “There’s a locker at the gym that has a duffel bag in it. Pick it up, then call me and I’ll tell you where to come.”

  “What’s the locker number?” Marci asked. “Don’t I need a key?”

  “The number’s on the key. It’s in your medicine chest underneath your diaphragm.”

  Sweat beaded on Marci’s neck. Wasn’t it sacrilege to hide the key for his runaway cash with her birth control?

  Her blood began to boil. People might think she was stupid. But she wasn’t. “All right,” she sang. “I’ll get it for you, sugarcakes.”

  “Good. And Marci?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing or that you’re meeting me. Not even your sister, you understand?”

  Marci heaved a breath of frustration but hoped it sounded sexy when she spoke. “Yes, Paul, I understand everything now.”

  “Good. Now wait until tonight when it’s dark. Just in case the cops or press are watching.”

  “Right.” Because she might lead them to him. And he wasn’t about to turn himself in or stand up for her.

  Instead the dirty rotten scoundrel wanted her to bring him his getaway cash so he could hightail it out of town.

  *~*~*~*

  “Do you have eyes on Marci?”

  “I’m outside her apartment now.” And he’d been watching her in the bathroom. Man, she had a rack on her. But he didn’t think the boss would like hearing that.

  “What about Pendergrass?”

  “He just called her. She’s going to pick up a duffel bag with some cash in it and take it to him later.”

  An obscenity echoed over the line. “Where’s she meeting him?”

  “I don’t know yet. He told her to call him when she had the cash, and they’d set up a meeting place.”

  Another curse. “All right. Stay with her.”

  “Don’t worry.” This was the best job he’d ever had. The perks of watching that sexy broad undress had been more than worth any risk.

  “Don’t lose her,” his boss said. “And let me know where the meet place is, and I’ll be there.”

  “I can handle it,” he said.

  “No way,” his boss snapped. “This is my baby. I want to take care of the situation myself.”

  He simply shrugged and muttered that he would. He didn’t ask questions.

  He didn’t want to know the details of what his boss had planned.

  But a twinge of sympathy registered for Marci Turner.

  Still, what his boss did with her was his business.

  He’d learned a long time ago to do what he was told and not ask questions.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cade’s pulse jumped as Marci emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her voluptuous body.

  His sex stirred, his blood heating. Her golden skin glistened with moisture. The towel slipped beneath the weight of her breasts, giving him a glimpse of her tender sweet flesh.

  And the breasts he desperately wanted to touch.

  And kiss.

  And draw into his mouth.

  She would be so delicious.

  Marci folded her arms in front of her, her eyes piercing him. “You can go now, Detective.”

  He inhaled to calm himself. And to keep from reaching for her.

  But that conversation with Pendergrass echoed in his head.

 
“I thought I’d help you clean up this mess,” he said, searching for a way to stay inside her apartment.

  He had to convince her that Pendergrass was only using her.

  It was the only way she could save herself.

  Marci licked her lips, that nervous gesture he’d seen her doing before. Only now all her lipstick and she was make-up free, she looked young and vulnerable.

  And more beautiful than any woman had a right to be.

  Shit. He was in deep trouble.

  “Thank you, Detective Muller, but I can take care of this mess myself.”

  He mentally searched for an excuse to stay. “Someone broke in, Marci,” he said, intentionally using her first name to soften her. Hell, if he had to use his own charm to reach her, he would. “I thought you might not feel comfortable being here alone.”

  Marci twisted a lock of hair around her finger and gestured toward the mess. “Whoever did this either found what they were looking for or they didn’t, so they’re gone.”

  She was right. But that didn’t mean they might not return now they knew she was home. Try to extract some answers from her in person.

  “If the intruder was the same person who shot at you, he could be dangerous.”

  Fear flickered in her eyes for a second, then she masked it and shook out her damp hair with her fingers. “Thank you for your concern, but I have locks on the doors, and I can take care of myself.”

  He gestured toward the front door where the lock had been picked. “Obviously locks didn’t keep the intruder out before.”

  “I’ll install better ones,” Marci said, her voice irritated. “Now, please go so I can get dressed and clean up this catastrophe.”

  “You’ll need help moving that mattress,” he said.

  “I’ll order a new one on-line and have them take the old one when they deliver it.”

  Cade shifted from foot to foot. His hand itched to touch her cheek, rub her shoulder and massage away the stress tightening her body.

  “I’m sorry, Marci, but your credit cards have been frozen until you’re cleared.”

  Marci’s face fell, defeat echoing in her tired sigh.