"I'm looking for a bridal gown," Manda said.
"But of course you are." Sylvie smiled at Hunter. "But if you're the groom, it's highly inappropriate for you to be here. Mustn't see the bride in her gown before the wedding. It's bad luck, you know."
"We'll risk it," Hunter said.
The woman's eyes widened, but sensing a sale, she managed to keep her smile in place. "Yes, well … yes." She looked straight at Manda. "Do you have something in particular in mind?"
"No, not really. Just something simple."
"Is this a second wedding for you? In that case you might want a gown in one of our pastels."
"No," Hunter replied for Manda. "It's her first wedding. She wants something in white. Something understated, classic and elegant, like the lady herself."
"My, my, he's certainly smitten with you, isn't he?" Sylvie all but tittered. "I have several gowns that fill the bill. But I'll warn you, they're rather expensive."
"Money is no object," Manda said. "But I need to find something today and have it altered and ready by this coming Saturday."
Sylvie gasped. "This Saturday." The woman's gaze went directly to Manda's stomach, checking for any signs of pregnancy.
"What about bridesmaids and a maid of honor and tuxedos for the groom?" She surveyed Hunter and shook her head. "We might have to special order something large enough to fit you. Are your best man and groomsmen big fellows like you?"
"My fiancé and his best man own tuxedos," Manda said. "And I'm having only one attendant, a matron of honor. My sister-in-law. She already owns something appropriate for the ceremony."
"I see." Sylvie's tone said plainly that she didn't approve. "Very well. Follow me. What you want is back this way." She glanced at Hunter. "If you'd like, you may sit here and wait."
Hunter eyed the Victorian settees and chairs, then shook his head. "I'll stand."
"Yes, that's probably a good idea. Our furniture is antique and rather delicate. I do apologize for any inconvenience, but we aren't accustomed to fiancés accompanying their brides-to-be."
Manda followed the salesclerk to a row of gowns near the back of the room. She would rather be anywhere than here, doing anything other than this. The gown for her wedding to Rodney, an elaborate, beaded, white satin with a ten-foot train, had been designed especially for her by Rosemary Marcuse, who had been an up-and-coming young New York designer twelve years ago. And the dress for her wedding to Mike had been designed by Rosemary, also, who by that time was a renowned couturiere. That dress had been a cream Venetian lace, as was her bridal veil.
"What size are you?" Sylvie asked. "A six?"
"An eight," Manda said.
"Mmm-hmm … let me see."
Sylvie looked through the rack of eights, then pulled cut a clear bag, unzipped and removed the cover to reveal a gown that matched Hunter's request. Understated. Classic. Elegant.
"Why don't you take this one into the dressing room to try on?" Sylvie suggested as she handed the gown to Manda. "And while you're doing that, I'll find you a veil."
"No veil," Manda said. Wearing a veil would make the wedding seem more real. Silly notion, but one she couldn't shake.
"No veil? Very well. Flowers then, or perhaps a headband."
"A headband."
Sylvie snapped her fingers. "I know just the one. It's an almost perfect match to the bodice of this gown."
Manda nodded, then entered the dressing room. As she stripped off her street clothes and stood in front of the mirror wearing only her bra, panties, knee-highs—and a pair of two-inch black heels, she prayed for the strength to see her through this next week.
Please, God, please, let this plan to trap a madman be over and done with before next Saturday. Don't make me go through with this wedding farce. I can't bear the thought that my first marriage won't be a real union of love and a promise of forever.
* * *
Hunter waited patiently while Sylvie knocked on the dressing room door, then went inside to assist her customer. How Manda must hate going through this ordeal, he thought. Choosing a bridal gown had to bring back so many memories—both pleasant and terrifying. But if they were lucky, the lunatic threatening her would reveal himself before the big wedding day. Sending that outrageous wedding album so quickly after their engagement had been announced had to mean that their nutcase would escalate his tactics once he saw that nothing he did would stop the wedding. With each day that passed, the danger would increase. He had to be on guard constantly, always aware that a strike could come at any time and from any direction. And what made it even more frightening was that it could come from anyone.
Hunter had told Manda about only three suspects—the three most obvious ones being the men who had been pursuing her. But Hunter had secretly added two more to the list. Gwen Munroe, who had once been in love with Rodney Austin. Whenever they were around Gwen, he could sense an underlying tension in her. His guess was that she both loved and hated Manda. And his other suspect was Claire Austin. Despite the woman's motherly affection for Manda, it was possible that she didn't really want to see her dead son's former fiancée happy with another man. Of course, neither woman had ever done anything that was suspect, but Hunter's gut instincts warned him to not rule out anyone.
Except perhaps Perry and Grams.
Of course, it was conceivable that Mr. Maniac was someone unknown to Manda. A secret admirer who had been lurking in the shadows for over twelve years. Hunter had heard of crazier scenarios. When it came to obsession, anything and everything was possible.
The dressing room door opened and Manda emerged. God Almighty, she was ravishing. Like a golden-haired angel. Odd, he thought, but that was what had come to mind the first time he'd seen her. She'd been ten and looked like a plump, blond cherub. But she was no longer plump nor was she ten years old. But she still looked like an angel.
Manda glided across the room to stand in front of the long mirrors across the back wall. Hunter studied her, enjoying the sight more than he should. The sleeveless gown had an arched beaded bodice, a rounded neckline, a fitted waist and flowed to a full, floor-length skirt of shimmering white silk. As classically elegant as anything he'd ever seen. Her only other adornment aside from white, elbow-length gloves was a beaded headband. A really stupid thought crossed his mind—he wished this beautiful creature was his bride, the woman he could claim for a lifetime—but as quickly as the idea hit him, he banished it. He sure as hell couldn't allow himself to get emotionally involved with Manda.
"Isn't she lovely?" Sylvie beamed with pride for having made an excellent choice.
"Yes, she is," Hunter said.
"I like this one," Manda told Sylvie, then glanced at Hunter. "I don't see any need to look at others, do you?"
He shook his head. "That one's perfect."
Sylvie clapped her hands. "It will require only minor alterations. We'll have to take it up about half an inch in the waist and let it out about the same in the bust."
"Fine," Manda said. "I'll write you a check today. I want it delivered to my brother's house Saturday morning. I'll give you the address."
Fifteen minutes later Hunter escorted Manda outside to his Lexus. Once in the car, she sat quietly as he pulled into traffic and headed toward the Poloma River.
"Would you like to stop somewhere on the way for a bite of lunch?" he asked.
"Why don't we just go to the house? I can fix us some sandwiches. I'm not really in the mood to sit in a restaurant and put on a show of lovesick happiness."
Hunter grunted. Was it necessary for her to remind him every chance she got how difficult it was for her to keep up the pretense that they were lovers? Maybe he should take care of that problem as soon as possible. If they actually were lovers, she would probably be more at ease with the charade that they had to enact for the benefit of everyone around them. What would she say, he wondered, if he suggested they share a bed tonight? After all, they were both consenting adults, both experienced and capable of a sexual relatio
nship without love. And there was no doubt they desired one another. He could tell by the hungry look in her eyes every time he got too close.
* * *
Manda picked up the mail from the decorative brass box attached to the wall by the front door, then unlocked the dead bolt. Before she entered her house, she sifted through the envelopes lying on top of three magazines. She could tell without opening each item what most were. Two bills, two requests for charity donations, one credit card application and one… Her heartbeat accelerated as she inspected the final missive. A plain white envelope, her name and address typed plainly on front, but no return address. Mailed yesterday, here in Dearborn.
"What is it?" Carrying a black vinyl carry-all and the box containing the wedding album, Hunter bounded onto the front porch.
Ignoring his question, she shoved open the front door and walked into the house, straight through the foyer and into the great room. She flung the mail onto the table—all except the mysterious white envelope. With the letter in her hand, she turned and pointed it at Hunter as if it were a gun.
"I think this is our first warning letter," she said.
Hunter dropped the carry-all on the floor and tossed the box onto the nearby sofa. Manda glared at his vinyl bag as if it were a slithering snake.
"I just brought what I'd need for a couple of days," he said. "I left the rest of my stuff out at the farm."
"I'd almost forgotten that you were moving in with me this afternoon." Manda walked over to him and handed him the letter. "Why don't you open it and read it? I've already had my fun for the day." She glanced meaningfully at the gift box on the sofa. "I put Oxford on the back porch this morning, so he could go in and out through the doggie door and enjoy the backyard. Once he hears me, he'll start scratching at the kitchen door."
"Oxford can wait for a few minutes. Let's check out this letter and see if it's what we think it is." Hunter ripped off the end of the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of unlined paper. He spread it apart and scanned the message. His big hand crumpled the edge where he held it tightly.
"It's from him, isn't it?" she asked
"Yes, it is."
When Hunter started to fold the letter, Manda held out her hand. "Wait. I want to know what he said."
"Pretty much what we were expecting. Something to the effect that if you don't call off your engagement to me immediately, I'm a dead man. And that if you even try to go through with the wedding, he'll kill both of us."
"God!" Manda tensed. Her heartbeat accelerated. Anger rushed through her like a tidal wave devouring a shoreline.
Hunter laid the letter and envelope on the table, then reached for Manda, who sidestepped him and began pacing frantically. She felt like running and screaming. She had thought she was prepared to go through this nightmare again, but she wasn't. When she'd been engaged to Mike and the letters began, even she hadn't taken them too seriously. Mike and Perry had convinced her to ignore them, saying they were just a stupid prank or perhaps the tirade of a rejected old boyfriend. But Mike and Perry had been wrong. Dead wrong. The person who had written those letters had followed through with his threats and killed Mike.
"He's going to try to kill you," Manda said, stopping to glare at Hunter. "Our engagement may be a pretense, but his threats are real. If you're having any second thoughts about going through with this, we can call off the engagement."
"No second thoughts," Hunter told her. "We're going to see this thing through to the end."
"I just don't want it to be the end of your life."
He came toward her. A part of her wanted to run, to get as far away from him as she possibly could. But another part of her wanted to rush into his arms and find not only solace, but comfort and caring. As her mind struggled with the decision, Hunter grasped her shoulders. She forced herself to look right at him.
"That box—" he inclined his head toward the sofa "—and that letter are only the beginning. Things will get worse. Once he realizes that we're going through with the wedding, he'll have to make a move. He's going to come after me. And maybe you, too."
She nodded, the truth of his words ripping through her like the blade of a sharp knife, cutting to shreds what little was left of her composure.
"From now on, until he's caught, we're going to be together twenty-four hours a day." Hunter ran his hands down her arms and encircled her wrists. "I'm going to be at your side day and night. And when he makes his move, we'll be ready for him. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I think so. You're staying here at the house with me. You'll take me to work every day, come back to the clinic to have lunch with me and then pick me up in the evening."
"You're partially right," he said. "I'm going in to work with you and staying there all day. It'll be easy enough to explain my presence since we'll tell everyone about the letter and make it clear that our wedding plans haven't changed. I doubt anyone will question my wanting to protect you."
"What you're saying is that from this moment on, you'll not only be my fiancé, but you'll be my bodyguard."
"That's right. You're never going to be more than a few feet away from me."
"Except at night, when you're in my guest bedroom."
"Wrong."
"Wrong? Surely you're not implying that we're going to sleep together."
"I'm not implying anything," he said. "I'm telling you."
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
Fury brightened her sky-blue eyes as she glared at Hunter. "If you think for one minute that we're going to—"
"Share the same bed," Hunter said. "That's all. You on your side of the bed and me on my side."
Manda shook her head. Was he out of his mind? Did he honestly think that she was going to allow him to sleep in the bed with her? Regardless of what he said, she knew damn well that he wasn't any more immune to the attraction between them than she was. She might not be very experienced, but she wasn't some naive kid, either. Every time their bodies touched, Hunter became aroused. Okay, so maybe it was only a physical reaction, but that's all it took for a man. And she had a feeling that what Hunter wanted, he usually got. She doubted very many women had turned him down. But she couldn't—wouldn't—allow herself to become emotionally involved with him. If she made love with Hunter, it would mean more to her than only the release of sexual tension. If they made love, she would care too much, want too much.
"I have two bedrooms." Manda held up two fingers. "Mine and yours. You can make it easily from one bedroom to the other in a minute flat."
"Someone could smother you in your sleep, slit your throat or blow your brains out in a minute flat." Hunter looked at her point-blank as he issued his warning.
"I have a security system," she reminded him, not daunted by his dire predictions. "Before anyone could get to my bedroom from either the front or back door, you'd hear the alarm and—"
"Is the security system hooked up to all the windows in this house?" he asked.
"What?"
"I said are all the windows connected to—"
"No. No, they're not. When I had the system put in, I was told that ninety percent of all break-ins are through doors, not windows."
"That's probably true if the culprit is breaking in to rob you, but our perpetrator wouldn't be trying to get inside to rob you, would he? So, how many windows are there in this house? How many potential ways could he get inside?"
"Damn it, Hunter, if someone broke out a window to get in, we'd both hear him."
"If he's an amateur, sure. But not if he's a professional."
"What do you mean, a professional?"
"Maybe Mr. Maniac will play it smart and hire a professional killer to do the job for him. It's a possibility we have to consider."
Manda slumped down on the sofa, cupped her face with her open palms and sighed. A professional killer? The idea had never crossed her mind. But that was the difference between Hunter and her, between Hunter and any untrained person. In his
job as a Dundee agent, he dealt with situations like this all the time. He knew every possible scenario and planned ahead to be prepared for whatever might happen.
Standing over Manda, Hunter gazed down at her. "I'm not going to be an easy kill. Our nutcase has got to know that. If he's done his homework on me, which he probably has, he'll know my background. If he's smart, he'll realize he needs a professional to fight a professional."
She nodded her head. "It makes sense."
"It will make things easier for both of us, if you don't question my orders. I know what I'm doing. That's why Perry hired me."
"I know." But regardless of that fact, she couldn't share a bed with Hunter. "I can call the security people and have them come out tomorrow and connect all the windows to the alarm system."
"You could do that." Hunter nodded. "But it might take them several days or even a week to get to the job and when they do, it'll cost you a small fortune with as many windows as you have in the house." He studied her face, then chuckled. "If you're that afraid to have me in your bed, then I'll sleep on a pallet on the floor beside your bed."
Her relief was quickly followed by guilt. She couldn't let him sleep on the floor. "No, I can't ask you to do that. I have a big bed. But I'm warning you right now that you'd better stay on your side."
"I'll stay on my side as long as you stay on yours."
She gasped. He laughed.
They had prepared dinner together, cleaned up the kitchen together and shared popcorn while they watched a movie on satellite. Neither had been talkative. Hunter figured Manda was as tense about their sharing a bed as he was. He'd been a fool to insist that they sleep together. She'd been right—he could have made it out of the other bedroom and into hers in a minute flat. But he'd been right, too. In an emergency situation, even seconds counted.
He had brushed his teeth and put on a pair of pajama bottoms. While on an assignment he didn't sleep in his boxer shorts the way he did at home. When he came out of the bathroom, Manda hurried inside and closed the door. Since there were no windows in the room and no other way in or out, he knew she was safe.
WHITELAW'S WEDDING Page 8