The Bride And The Bodyguard

by Anita Meyer

  “Rumor, huh?” Jeff shook his head. “Then you’ll appreciate why I don’t want to give this up.”

  “Which is why you’ll be compensated for your inconvenience.” Arthur smoothed out the check and put it back on Jeff’s desk.

  “’Inconvenience’?” Jeff laughed at the absurdity. “Arthur, I make good money sitting behind a desk. I don’t need to risk my life to get more. Besides, I seriously doubt the managing partner is going to understand my wanting a twomonth vacation in Iowa.”

  “Au contraire,” Arthur said, grinning. “He understands completely. Your job and your clients will be waiting for you when you return.”

  Jeff blinked. “You already talked to him?”

  “Of course, my boy. I would never risk your career.”

  “No, just my life,” Jeff muttered.

  “And for the record,” Arthur said, ignoring Jeff’s comment, “you won’t be going anywhere near Iowa. You’re getting married.”

  “Say what?”

  “It won’t be a legitimate ceremony,” Arthur amended. “Real license, real chapel, real cake, phony minister. Just enough to persuade people that this is on the up-and-up.”

  Jeff looked at Arthur as though he were certifiable. “No one is going to believe I woke up this morning and decided to marry the first woman who walked through the door. And stop talking as though I’ve already agreed to this harebrained scheme.”

  “Everyone will believe it,” Arthur insisted. “She’s someone you met while taking the bar review and now she works in northern California. Or maybe she’s an old college sweetheart you recently ran into and the passion was rekindled. Be creative. Make something up. And after the wedding, you’ll take your new bride on a nice, long, quiet, relaxing honeymoon in the Virgin Islands.”

  “Spending a couple of months dodging bullets with a total stranger is not my idea of ‘quiet and relaxing,’“ Jeff countered. “Besides, I can’t pull this off by myself. I’ll need help, and you don’t trust the people in your own department to back me up.”

  “Then bring Mac in. We’ll pay his expenses, too. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you. Anything at all.” The appeal in Arthur’s voice was unmistakable. “Just say yes.”

  Jeff had a real soft spot where the old man was concerned, and what was worse, Arthur knew it. But this time he had gone too far. Jeff shook his head. “Come on, Arthur, you must know a dozen guys who do this for a living.”

  “Sure, I know them. But right now, you’re the only one I trust.” Arthur stood and pulled a photo from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I’ve got a dozen look-alike operatives running across the country trying to divert suspicion from her.” He threw the picture on the desk in front of Jeff. “But if you don’t help her, she won’t live to see her next birthday.”

  Reluctantly, Jeff glanced at the photo. It was of a woman in her mid- to late-twenties and slender, which gave her a delicate, fragile appearance. Appearances were deceiving, he reminded himself. She had already survived attempted murder and living on the streets. She was probably stronger than he was.

  Jeff looked again at the picture. She had an oval face and dark brown hair that brushed the tops of her shoulders and curled in waves around an elegant neck. She was smiling, her lips were full and sensuous, her nose was small and straight. And her eyes…

  Slowly he picked up the photo. Her eyes were a mesmerizing deep brown. Dark and tempting. Laughing now, but filled with passion. Eyes that touched his soul, stupid as that sounded.

  He glanced at Arthur, then looked back at the picture. Once again, those eyes made his stomach knot.

  Jeff slowly released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You don’t play fair, Arthur.”

  Arthur’s expression was a painful mixture of affection and determination. “I can’t afford to.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Davis?” The young lady rapped softly on the open door.

  “Yes, Susan, what is it?” He beckoned with his hand and she crossed the plush carpet to stand in front of his desk.

  “Reports have been coming in all morning from around the country—about the missing woman.” Susan offered him a stack of pink message slips.

  “Thank you, my dear.” He smiled benevolently. “That will be all for now.”

  One by one, Augie Davis carefully spread out the pieces of paper. Caroline Southeby spotted in Tampa. Southeby woman last seen in Oregon. Southeby reported in New England. Woman matching Southeby’s description on the run in Dallas.

  Pulling a lined pad from a drawer, he drew up a twocolumn list—location on the left; operative on the right. He recorded each message, then ran the pink slips through the paper shredder.

  And that was exactly what he would do to Caroline Southeby.

  Jeff slumped against the inside of the phone booth. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Arthur had talked him into this madness, and already Jeff regretted it. Last night he had flown to Sacramento. This morning he had gone through a rigorous briefing/training session which only served to confirm what a fool he’d been to let Arthur talk him into this assignment. And then this afternoon, he and a policewoman posing as “Caroline Peterson,” niece of Federal Marshal Arthur Peterson, went to the Clerk and Recorder’s Office and took out a marriage license. Arthur had the real Caroline under lock and key while he prepared the new identity. On the day of the wedding, Arthur would turn her over to Jeff and from then until the trial she was his responsibility.

  Jeff pulled a wallet from his back pocket and gently withdrew the photo tucked in the billfold. He had probably looked at that picture a dozen times and every time those eyes hit him in the gut.

  He slid the picture back into his wallet and pulled out a telephone calling card. Charging the call to his home number, he drummed his fingers impatiently while he counted the rings.

  “’Lo?” The voice on the other end sounded groggy and thick with sleep.

  “Mac, is that you?”

  “Hey, bro.” Mac yawned loudly into the phone. “What d’you want at this hour of the morning?”

  “It’s the middle of the afternoon, Mac. Open the blinds on that dinghy you sleep in and see for yourself.”

  The rattle of venetian blinds going up was followed by a loud wince and the crash of the self-same blinds coming down. “You made your point, kid. Now if there’s nothing else I’m going to put out an A.P.B. on a bottle of aspirin.”

  “Wait a minute, Mac. I didn’t fly all the way to Sacramento to give you a long-distance wake-up call. We have to talk.”

  “Sacramento? What are you doing up there?”

  Jeff took a deep breath. “I’m getting married next week and I want you to be my best man.” The silence on the other end had Jeff convinced Mac had gone off in search of something for his headache. “Mac, you still there?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m here.” The sleep had drained from Mac’s voice, and, if nothing else, Jeff at least had his brother’s full attention. “Kind of sudden, isn’t it?” Mac continued.

  “Yeah, well, it can’t wait.”

  Mac’s epithet was colorful to say the least. “Damn it, Jeff. How could you be so careless? Are you sure it’s yours?”

  Jeff stared at the phone in disbelief. Yesterday he was sitting in his office, minding his own business, thinking the world was a pretty nice place. Today he had a fiancée who was being chased by members of the New York underworld and a brother who was looking to become an uncle.

  “It’s not what you think, Mac. I’ll explain everything when I get back. Just clear your calendar and start packing. I’ll need your help when I get her to the Virgin Islands.”

  The sounds of someone rummaging through cabinets vanished as Mac’s laugh sang across the wires. “Sorry, kid. But I taught you everything I knew when you were thirteen. If you haven’t got the hang of it by now, there’s nothing more I can do for you.” The raucous laughter continued. “On second thought, maybe I should help you out. After all, that’s w
hat brothers are for.” Jeff listened as Mac drank something, glugging loudly into the phone. “So tell me, what’s this lady like?”

  Jeff grinned. “How should I know? I haven’t met her yet.” The sound of choking gave Jeff a satisfying feeling of revenge.

  “Is this your idea of a joke?” Mac sputtered.

  “Funny, that’s exactly what I said to Arthur when he—”

  “Arthur’s involved in this? No wonder you’re not making any sense. How can you even think of hooking up with him again? I haven’t forgotten the last mess he coaxed us into. You ended up with cracked ribs and I spent three days in jail.”

  “This one’s different.”

  “Oh, sure. This time I’ll get the cracked ribs and you can sit in jail. Listen, bro. Do yourself a favor. Get on the free way, skip the San Diego exit, and don’t stop until you hit Tijuana.”

  “I can’t do that, Mac. I gave him my word.” Jeff listened to the silence on the other end of the line. “So, are you in or out?”

  Mac’s sigh was loud and long. “I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to keep you out of trouble. I guess I can do it a little longer.”

  Jeff stood at the vestry window, looking out over the quiet park. It was a glorious June day—bright and sunny with a soft breeze and a cloudless blue sky. The kind of day that begged you to come outside to listen to the birds and smell the fresh-mowed lawn. Jeff inhaled deeply, but his senses filled with the musty odor of old leather books.

  “Are you okay?” asked Mac.

  Jeff checked the studs on the front of his shirt and straightened his cummerbund. “I’m fine.” Of course, there had been at least three dozen times in the last two days when he had seriously considered getting the hell out of here. But every time he was tempted, he pulled out the photo and those damn eyes drew him back…called to him in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

  He slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered the picture. He didn’t even need to look at it anymore. All he had to do was touch the paper to bring to life every nuance of her smile, the glow in her cheeks, the luster of her hair.

  Jeff pulled his hand from his pocket, breaking the spell. He had told no one, not even Mac, about the mesmerizing hold the picture had over him. Soon there would be no need for a picture. The crazy dream was over, and reality had begun.

  “You’re pacing,” Mac said.

  Jeff stopped and looked at his brother, reclining in a chair near the window. “Of course I’m pacing. I’m nervous. And I’m going to stay nervous until we get out of this three-ring circus.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Arthur has the tickets. Be sure to get yours before you leave the reception. He arranged it so Caroline and I have a long layover in Atlanta. You’ll be in St. Croix about three hours ahead of us.”

  Mac shook his head. “That’s not much time. Not if you expect me to find your room, break in, sweep it, and check out the guests, personnel, and general surroundings.”

  “Not to worry,” Jeff said. “Arthur took care of that. He promised the owner a lot of future business if this trip goes well. He even offered the services of his very discreet, personal assistant—namely you—to keep an eye on things. Arthur said the owner is expecting you, and will give you carte blanche for anything you need.”

  “Good ol’ Arthur,” Mac said. “The man thinks of everything.”

  “Let’s hope so. For all our sakes.”

  Mac nodded and pushed himself out of the old leather chair. “Well, then, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Jeff stood at the front of the chapel, looking out over the sea of faces. The tiny church was filled with the fragrance of summer flowers and the soft, low strains of organ music. Sunshine poured in through the stained-glass window above the altar, spilling pools of emerald, ruby and sapphire light across the altar steps. Jeff smiled at his brother, who looked uncomfortable in his formal attire and without his Padres cap.

  He watched his grandmother walk down the carpeted aisle and take her place in the wooden pew decorated with a white satin bow. After a moment the maid of honor, dressed in yellow silk, began to glide down the aisle. Jeff nearly choked when she reached the altar and winked at him. It was the same policewoman who had gone with him to get the marriage license.

  The music swelled and the familiar strains of the wedding march rose to the vaulted ceiling. In one fluid motion, the congregation stood and turned to face the vestibule.

  Jeff’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Arthur offer his arm to a vision in white lace. Her bearing was regal. She walked with the grace and elegance of a princess, seeming to float down the aisle. She carried a bouquet of white roses and yellow freesia and wore a crown woven of the same flowers. A gossamer veil, attached to the crown, covered her face.

  Jeff watched, spellbound, as the distance closed between them. She lifted her skirts and ascended the stairs to stand next to him.

  “We are gathered here today…”

  Jeff let the words wash over him as he studied the woman standing by his side. He could the see the outline of her nose, her lips, chin, and swanlike neck, but the veil hid her eyes.

  “Who gives this woman in marriage?”

  “I do.” Arthur lifted the veil from her face and draped it back over the crown of flowers in her hair. He kissed her cheek, then took her right hand and placed it in Jeff’s.

  Jeff’s fingers closed around hers, a symbolic gesture of protection and allegiance. He squeezed her hand and she raised her eyes, large and dark, to meet his.

  Chapter 2

  “I, Caroline Marie Peterson, take you, Jefferson Paul McKensie, to be my lawfully wedded husband.” She paused, giving weight to the words.

  Jeff’s heart contracted. Nothing could have prepared him for the sound of his name on her lips.

  He listened carefully as she recited her vows. There was no hesitancy in her voice. Soft and airy, the words tumbled from her lips, making her sound sure of herself. Already, he liked that about her.

  Mac poked his side, pulling Jeff from his reverie. “The ring,” Mac whispered. “Take the ring.”

  With clammy fingers, Jeff picked up the small gold band that lay in the minister’s outstretched palm. He held the ring tightly between his thumb and forefinger, determined not to drop it. Taking his bride’s left hand in his own, he slipped the ring over her pale polished nail and down to the base of her finger.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” he said. The words came easily, with a clarity and depth of feeling he hadn’t thought possible. It seemed natural and right, standing here, staring into the eyes of the woman who had haunted him day and night for nearly a week.

  Slim, feminine fingers lifted the matching ring and reached for his hand. Her fingertips grazed the underside of his palm, her touch softer than the brush of a dove’s wing.

  Dove’s wing?

  Jeff exhaled slightly. He had it bad. Something about that damn picture had turned him into an overnight troubadour, a goner, a sucker, a twentieth-century Sir Walter Raleigh who wanted nothing more than to throw his cloak over every mud puddle in her path.

  She slid the golden band gently over his knuckle and clasped his large hand with her much smaller ones. “With this ring, I thee wed,” she said gravely.

  Compassion squeezed his soul and he looked deeply into her large doe eyes, making her a silent promise—one he meant to keep. He would protect her. He didn’t even know her, and yet he knew she was worth protecting, whatever the cost.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister beamed.

  Jeff breathed the fragrance of flowers mingled with perfume. The combination was heady…intoxicating…incredible. He drew a deep breath to steady himself, but the intensity of her scent made his mind go blank.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the minister prompted.

  She bit her lip and Jeff sensed her reluctance. They’d come this far, and for the sake of appearances they had to see it through. He reached out and touched t
he tendril of hair curled at the base of her neck, wanting to reassure her.

  She sighed. His fingers moved over her throat, curving upward to her chin. She was so close. The white lace of her gown came within a breath of touching the satin lapels of his tux. He felt her heat, and felt a corresponding heat climb his own body.

  He resisted the urge to pull her closer, satisfied himself instead with cradling her face in his palms. Her skin was smooth, her cheeks flushed. Bending slightly, he pressed his lips to hers. She tasted sweet. Her lips…warm and soft. He couldn’t help moving closer, wanting more.

  She stiffened. Even over the pounding of his heart, he heard her gasp. Then, suddenly, she relaxed. Her hands gripped his waist, and she offered the shy touch of her tongue.

  Blood rushed from his head. He tightened his grip on her, needing to hold on. She responded by melting, weightless, into his arms. He felt himself failing, spinning wildly. Losing the very control he needed to keep her alive.

  A thunderous applause startled them apart. Jeff stepped back, swearing silently. Her eyes were dark…smoldering…mesmerizing. She broke contact, looking down at the band of shimmering gold on her finger. When she raised her head again, her face was composed, her eyes shuttered. She offered Jeff a controlled smile and turned to greet the assembly.

  The rousing sounds of the recessional erupted in the tiny church. Jeff took a deep breath and offered her his arm. She hesitated only a moment before slipping her hand around the crook of his elbow, her fingers resting lightly on his sleeve. The thickness of his jacket and shirt protected him from her touch, but he felt it anyway. Unbidden, his thoughts flew to her touching him in other, more intimate places.

  Dangerous thoughts.

  He dismissed the thoughts and escorted her down the aisle past the cheering, laughing crowd. They stopped at the back of the church and waited for his grandmother, Arthur and Mac.