“The last thing I need is for someone to snap a picture and post it to social media.”
He nodded in approval. He was relieved she understood she was being chased by the Gerhards. “Good call. I can see you going viral in that outfit.”
She heaved a deep sigh, her cleavage catching his attention so that he nearly swerved off the exit ramp.
“I was supposed to be on a yacht today,” she said. “Bobbing around the Mediterranean, sipping chardonnay, reading a celebrity magazine and working on my tan.”
Mentally, Jackson added that she would have been under Gerhard’s control, at the mercy of his family. His suspicions were pinging in earnest. Gerhard wasn’t a worried groom. He was a thwarted con artist.
If everything Trent said was true, the Gerhards were organized and ruthless, and they sure wouldn’t want to lose track of Crista. She’d been gone for twenty-four hours. There was every chance Daddy Gerhard had people on her apartment by now. They might even be watching her credit cards and bank account.
Jackson was definitely looking into the diamond mine, its size and location, its ownership, and how it could possibly have made it onto Gerhard’s radar.
* * *
Crista was going to pay Jackson back for everything just as soon as she had access to her bank account.
For now, explaining that he was invoking his regular precautions, he’d put her up at the Fountain Lake Family Hotel, leaving his own credit card information with the front desk to cover her expenses. The place was full of boisterous vacationers, and it seemed like an easy place for her to blend in with the crowd. Her room was spacious, with a king-size bed, comfy sitting area, a small kitchenette and a furnished balcony overlooking the pool and a minigolf course.
She’d tried right away to call Ellie, her best friend and maid of honor, but she only got through to voice mail. It seemed far too complicated to leave a message, so she’d decided to try again later. Instead, she liberated a soft drink from the minibar and wandered onto the balcony.
The temperature was in the high eighties, but a breeze was blowing across the lake, cooling the air. She was on the third floor, so it was easy to make out the activity below, kids splashing in the pool, teenagers lounging on striped towels. There was a young couple in one of the gazebos. He was slathering suntan lotion on her bare back, playfully untying her bathing suit top.
The woman batted awkwardly at his hand to get him to stop. When he kissed the back of her neck and looped his arms around her, Crista quickly looked away. They were probably on their honeymoon.
She eased onto a rattan lounger, wishing she had a bathing suit herself. She wondered if Jackson’s credit card was connected to the hotel shops as well as the restaurants. It would definitely be nice to take a swim, and since her three jewelry stores, Cristal Creations, were doing very well, it would be a simple matter to pay back every dime.
Afterward, she’d order something from the room service menu. She’d get a bottle of wine. Maybe gaze at the moon and the stars out here and get some perspective on life. She toyed with her engagement ring, twisting it around and around as she went over the confrontation with Vern.
He’d been quick to assume she’d run away. She was disappointed, of course, but she wasn’t sure she could blame him completely for his reaction. It must have seemed like the most logical conclusion at the time. Though it would have been nice if he’d asked her what happened.
The worst part was that he’d suggested divorce. As if getting married and then quickly divorcing was preferable to ruining a party. He’d worried about the embarrassment to his family. He’d worried about her dress, his mother and the mayor. The only thing he didn’t seem to worry about was Crista.
In the thick of the argument, it had seemed clear that it was over. But now other memories were crowding in, good memories. Did one ugly argument obliterate everything they’d shared?
On the other hand, it had been an alarming experience, seeing a side of Vern she’d never known existed. She found herself questioning the photographs, no longer completely convinced they were fake.
She took another swig of the soda. Maybe she should call him. Or maybe she should confront him in person again, flat-out ask him if he was cheating.
Maybe he’d tell her the truth. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Or maybe she’d never know.
She came to her feet.
Ellie was her next phone call, not Vern. Ellie would have good advice. She always did.
Crista pulled open the glass door, entering the cool of the air-conditioned room. She was chilled for a moment, but then it felt good. She sat down on the bed and dialed nine for an outside line. Then she punched in Ellie’s number.
Before the line connected, there was a knock on the door.
Crista didn’t need towels or mints or anything else from a housekeeper. But she also didn’t want a hotel employee barging in on her conversation. She quickly replaced the telephone receiver and went to the peephole.
It was Jackson.
Puzzled, she drew open the door. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes.” He walked in without an invitation.
“Come on in,” she muttered, letting the door swing shut behind him.
“I forget to tell you not to phone anyone from the room.”
“Not even Ellie?”
“Who’s Ellie?”
“My maid of honor.”
“Not even Ellie. The Gerhards have a big security staff. They’ll be covering all the angles.”
“Their security staff looks after the Gerhard buildings. They don’t care about Vern’s love life.”
“They care about what Manfred Gerhard tells them to care about.”
“You’re paranoid. And anyway, I thought you’d left.”
“I’m not in a hurry.”
“You don’t have a job to get back to? A life that requires your attention?”
Instead of answering, he sat himself down on the small blue sofa. “What do you know about the Borezone Mine?”
“What’s the Borezone Mine?”
“Have you ever heard of it?”
“No. Was it in the news?”
“No.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. She wondered if he was making small talk, delaying his departure for some reason. She tried to figure out why he might want to hang around.
“I won’t go wild with your credit card, if that’s what’s got you worried,” she tried.
“I’m not worried about my credit card.”
“Are you worried I’ll make a phone call? Because it won’t matter if I do.”
“Ha. Now I’m definitely worried you’ll make a phone call.”
“I need to talk to Ellie.” What she needed was a girlfriend to listen to her fears about Vern.
“Talk to me instead.”
She took the armchair cornerwise from where he sat. “Sure. I’ll just sit here and bare my soul to the strange man who kidnapped me from my wedding. I can’t see any downside to that.”
“Good. Go ahead. Bare away.”
“You’re not funny.”
Surely he could understand that this was traumatic for her.
“You absolutely need to call Ellie?” he asked.
“Yes.”
With a shake of his head and an expression that looked like disgust, he pulled out his phone. But instead of handing it over, he dialed a number.
“What’s Ellie’s last name?”
“Sharpley. Why?”
“It’s me,” he said into the phone. “Crista needs to make a call. Ellie Sharpley.” He paused, sliding an exasperated glance her way. “I know. It’s a girl thing.”
Crista squared her shoulders. “A girl thing?”
“Let me know when it’s done.”
“A girl thing?” she repeated.
He pocketed his phone. “What would you call it?”
“A conversation. A human thing.”
“You’ll be able to have one in about an hour. Are you hungry? You must be hungry.”
“You must have people you talk things over with. Friends? Relationships?”
“I’m pretty independent.”
“No girlfriend?” For some reason, she’d assumed he was single. But there was no reason for that assumption. Well, other than the way he’d kissed her. But he had only kissed her.
“No girlfriend,” he said.
She was relieved. No, she wasn’t relieved. She didn’t care. His love life was nothing to her.
“Hungry?” he repeated.
She was hungry. She’d barely eaten yesterday. She’d been watching calories for weeks now, wanting a svelte silhouette in the formfitting dress. In retrospect, her waist size was the least of her worries. But now there wasn’t a reason in the world not to indulge in pizza or pasta, or maybe some chocolate cake.
“I’m starving,” she said. “I know it’s only lunchtime, but any chance we can get a martini?”
“There’s a patio café overlooking the back nine.”
“Sold.”
A martini wouldn’t help her make a better decision, but it would relax her in the short term. Relaxed was good. She could use some relaxing.
She came to her feet. “It feels strange not to take a purse.”
He rose with her, and they made their way toward the door. “You want to buy a purse?”
“I’ve got nothing to put in it.”
“We could buy you a comb or some lipstick or something.”
She couldn’t help but appreciate his offer. She also couldn’t help wondering about his motivation. It was strange that he was still here, stranger still that he was putting out an effort to help her.
She exited into the hallway. “Are you feeling guilty?”
He checked to see that the door had locked behind them, then fell into step beside her. “For what?”
“For destroying my life.”
“Gerhard was the one trying to destroy your life.”
“Jury’s still out on that.”
Sure, Vern had been a jerk back at the mansion. But to be fair, he’d been under stress. She could only imagine his parents’ reaction to the disappearance of the bride. Poor Vern had been alone with them, bearing the brunt of their displeasure for nearly twenty-four hours.
Jackson pressed the elevator button. “The pictures are real, Crista.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I’m sure we can. Let me look into the options for that.”
They stepped onto the elevator, and it descended.
“We’ve been together for nearly a year,” she said.
It wasn’t a whirlwind. And it sure didn’t make sense for Vern to marry her if he was involved with someone else.
“People aren’t always honest, Crista.”
She found herself glancing up at his expression. “Are you honest?”
He met her gaze. “I try to be.”
“Well, there’s a nonanswer.”
“In my profession, I can’t always tell everybody everything.”
“So you only lie professionally.”
There was a trace of amusement in his tone. “Not personally, and not recreationally.”
“Interesting moral framework.”
The doors slid open.
She started to move, but Jackson’s hand shot out to block her, coming to rest on her stomach.
“What?”
He pulled her to one side then stabbed his finger hard on the close door button.
“What are you doing?”
The doors slid shut.
“You must have talked to someone since we’ve been here.”
“No. Well, I tried to phone Ellie. But I got her voice mail. I didn’t even leave a message.”
Jackson swore as he punched twelve, the top floor.
“What?”
“Vern. He’s in the lobby with a couple of guys.”
“No way.”
“I just saw him.”
The elevator rose.
“How is that possible?”
“It’s possible because your phone call connected and revealed the hotel number.”
“I didn’t call Vern.” Wasn’t Jackson listening? “I called Ellie.”
“And Vern knows Ellie’s number. They were monitoring her phone.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You have a better explanation for him showing up here?”
She didn’t. In fact, she was baffled. And she was starting to feel frightened.
“What do we do on the twelfth floor?” she asked as the numbers pinged higher.
“My room,” he said.
It seemed every second threw her for another loop. “You have a room? Why would you need a room?”
“To sleep in. You can have a drink there.”
“But why would you sleep here?”
“So I can drive you back to the city when you’re ready.”
“I thought I was going to take a bus back to the city.”
“If we’d gone with that plan, Gerhard would already have you.”
“Jackson, what is going on?”
It took him a moment to answer. He seemed to be weighing his words. “Vern Gerhard wants you back, and he has a lot of money to spend accomplishing that.”
“I was coming back.” She thought about that statement. “I mean, I might go back. I didn’t break up with him. I still have his ring.”
The doors opened on twelve.
“You should break up with him.” Jackson gestured for her to exit first. “Take a right.”
“I don’t know for sure that he’s done anything wrong. Well, except react badly to me wrecking a hundred-thousand-dollar wedding.”
“You didn’t wreck it.”
“You did.”
“True enough,” he said.
He inserted a key card into a set of double doors at the end of the hallway.
“You don’t seem to care.”
“I don’t care about Gerhard’s money, that’s for sure.”
Crista stepped over the threshold, taken aback by the very well-appointed suite. She gazed around. “Used to traveling in style?”
“I thought I might need a room for a meeting.”
“With me?” They needed a meeting?
“With Mac and some of the other guys. They’ll be here later.”
She digested that statement. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“There are hundreds of things I’m not telling you.”
The door swung shut behind him and he crossed to a wet bar.
“Those pictures of Vern are fake, aren’t they? Is this extortion? Am I still kidnapped? Was this about money all along?”
“We have beer, wine or highballs. And I’m going to order room service. If you’re set on a martini, I can have them bring one.”
“That’s not an answer.”
It occurred to her that she might be a whole lot safer with Vern. The suite door was right behind her. She could be out of it before Jackson caught her. Could she make it to the elevator, or would he drag her back kicking and screaming?
“You’re not kidnapped,” he told her, exasperation clear in his tone. “I left you alone in your room for an hour.”
She eased a bit closer to the double doors. “You could have been standing guard outside my door.”
“I wasn’t. I’m a whole lot more interested in food right now that I am in any of Gerhard’s moves. You’re free t
o leave. You’ve been free to leave since this morning. I took you back to their mansion. You could have stayed there.”
He was right about that. She could have walked inside the mansion where the Gerhard family, not to mention a few security guards who would have been waiting. There wouldn’t have been a thing Jackson could do to stop her.
She wasn’t being held against her will.
“I’ll take a glass of merlot,” she told him. “And I’d kill for a mushroom and sausage pizza.”
He smiled at that. “Coming up.”
“We told Vern your name this morning,” she felt compelled to point out. “He can probably find your room number.”
“What makes you think I’m registered under my own name?” He uncorked a bottle of wine and gestured to a living room furniture grouping. “Probably better to stay off the patio.”
“You’ve got me worried there’s a sniper out there,” she joked.
He crossed the room with two glasses of wine, setting them on opposite ends of a coffee table. “I’d say a long lens rather than a rifle. But it’s healthy to be cautious.”
“Of the whole family now?” She took one end of the sofa and lifted her wine.
“The whole family,” said Jackson, giving her a mock toast.
She drank, anticipating the hit of alcohol and glad of it. These had been the strangest days of her life. She wished the insanity was over, but it seemed there was more to come.
CHAPTER FIVE
To Jackson’s surprise, Mac wasn’t alone.
There was a twentysomething woman in the hotel hallway beside him. She had short, dark hair, blue eyes, a pert nose and set of distracting, full red lips.
In five years working together, Jackson had never seen his security agent behave so unprofessionally. “You brought a date?”
“I’m not his date,” the woman stated with a sniff of disgust.
“Ellie?” Crista called out from behind him.
“She’s not my date,” said Mac.
Ellie pushed past Jackson.
“She’s the maid of honor,” said Mac.
“And you brought her here?” Jackson wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
The two women laughed and embraced.
“I’ve been frantic,” said Ellie, her voice high. “We thought you were hurt or dead.”
His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons) Page 7