Damn it. As much as he wanted to drop her camera case on the concrete sidewalk and possibly smash the offensive equipment of her trade, he couldn’t ignore that little signal of distress.
It was a character flaw. The need to protect. His late partner called it his hero-complex. He couldn’t let someone in trouble—even if it was simply finding a place to change clothes—fend for themselves.
“This way,” he said. Stepping around her, he led the way to the brick portion of the facility in back of the pavilion without waiting to see if she followed. At the entrance, he did hold the door for her, but refused to help wrangle the roll-on type suitcase in for her. “Third door on the right is the women’s restroom.”
“Thanks,” she said with another of those overly-bright smiles, and strutted down the hallway.
Despite her chosen profession, he had to admit those pants shifted nicely on her bottom as she sashayed away, her blonde hair bouncing like a halo around her head as she walked.
It wasn’t until the door closed behind her that he realized he still held her bag of camera equipment. He should just leave it outside the bathroom on the floor. But someone might steal them, and he had a feeling it would be very expensive for her to try and replace them.
Damn it.
He stalked to the door and knocked on it—hard. “You forgot your bag.”
The door opened a minute later.
“Oh, thanks,” she said with another smile, the aviator-framed sunglasses now on top of her head. She had a dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. “I usually don’t let that bag out of my sight,” she said, taking the bag and stepping back into the restroom, closing the door on him.
Purple.
Her eyes were so blue they appeared purple.
Who the hell has purple eyes?
“Castello, give us a hand.”
He shook off the odd numbness that seeing Sydney Peele’s eyes had caused him to look to his left in time to see Dave and Matt Edgars hauling in two crates of wine. He hurried to help his friends load in the drinks for the reception, pushing inappropriate thoughts of the little photographer out of his mind. The last thing he needed was to give her any reason to focus her attention, or one of her cameras, on him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Walking around the outside of the North Bank Park pavilion, Sydney snapped images of the happy couple mingling with their guests. It was a beautiful, yet simple wedding. Mostly family, all of it the groom’s, a few friends and some work colleagues of both Luke and Abby’s.
When Sydney met Abigail she was working as a model on a fashion shoot. The tall, willowy brunette had been new to the fashion world—a little awkward, a lot shy—but she was a quick learner. Her extreme professionalism and punctuality made her a favorite among designers and photographers. Her selectiveness about shoots made her unique and highly sought after. Her aloofness kept her from getting caught up in some of the backstage drama, yet made her one of the models the other, younger, models tried to emulate.
She and Abby became friends when one of the shoots was delayed by an afternoon thunderstorm on a beach shoot in South Florida. The other models had taken the day to get ready to go clubbing that night, but she’d found Abby sitting on a covered veranda outside the hotel, drinking hot tea and watching the storm rage out over the ocean.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, standing to the side and focusing her camera out towards the beach.
“It is. I’d never seen the ocean until I graduated from college,” Abby said. “I find the waves crashing on the beach beautiful in fair weather, but now, it’s like a violent song that Mother Nature is performing just for us.”
“I know. We get violent storms where I live, but mostly in the spring. Nothing like living in the Midwest during tornado season.” She focused on the horizon where it appeared that the clouds met the water as thunder rumbled around them. Adjusting the shutter speed ring, she counted in her head.
She pressed on the shutter release and snapped several images in a row, capturing the lightning as it streaked across the sky.
Then she stopped to count in her head.
One-one-thousand.
Two-one-thousand.
Three-one-thousand.
Thunder rumbled again. It must be about three miles out.
“So, you’re from the Midwest?” Abby asked her as she lowered the camera.
“Columbus, Ohio. Born and raised a Buckeye.”
Abby’s face beamed with genuine surprise and happiness. “No kidding. That’s where Luke’s from, too.”
Grabbing the towel she’d thrown over her shoulder in her room earlier, she sat at the table and gently wrapped the camera so it wouldn’t get too much moisture from the damp atmosphere. “Luke wouldn’t be that sexy blond hunk of man who’s been following you around the shoots, would he?”
A deep blush filled Abby’s face and she smiled. “That would be him.”
“Boyfriend?”
Abby nodded. “And bodyguard.”
“He could pass for a secret agent.”
At the time she’d been teasing, but later on she’d discovered that not only was Luke really a Treasury Agent with Homeland Security, but so was Abby, working as a model in an undercover assignment. She’d discovered their secret by accident when she overheard a conversation in Milan. When she learned the nature of their work, she promised not to say anything to anyone about it, even working to photograph crowds during her shoots for Abby to study later. That was when she learned her friend’s unique ability to recall anything she ever saw.
Over the past year, she and Abby bonded over life in the Midwest, cameras, and photography. The fact that she’d proven she could keep a secret had added to their friendship. When the couple decided to have a wedding out of the paparazzi limelight, they’d asked her to do the photography, and she’d been thrilled, honored, and excited.
Of course, her day had started out in a wild trip from the mountains of Vermont through Boston to Logan International Airport, a bumpy ride back to Columbus, and the taxi ride to the wedding venue. But nothing topped the bizarre meeting with Luke and Abby’s friend Castello.
Slowly she rotated, keeping her camera up as she searched the crowd milling around the outdoor reception area. The groom’s parents were talking with their youngest grandchildren. His elder brother danced with his wife, while his other brother stood talking with the minister. The bride and groom were talking with the maid of honor, Abby’s friend from childhood, Brianna, and a police detective from Cleveland.
Another slight turn of her body.
Then he came into view. Standing at the edge of the outdoor patio he had a line of sight for both the street on the far side of the pavilion where the ceremony had taken place and the river and sidewalk behind him.
Tall. Strong. Broad shoulders. Thick, wavy, dark hair that had just a touch of grey creeping in at the temples. A little on the gruff side, even in his tuxedo. He studied the crowd and the area beyond. Watching to see if any intruders would interrupt the festivities. Pressing the shutter release, she captured the deputy always on duty.
Suddenly a child shrieked. A mother shouted.
Sydney kept shooting as Castello moved, bending down just in time to snatch a pink-and-white taffeta blur bolting towards the slope of grass down to the concrete sidewalk and the river beyond.
“Gotcha,” he said, and a smile broke that serious face.
A little flutter caught in Sydney’s chest.
One final picture of him handing the child back to her grateful mother.
“He won’t appreciate you taking his picture.”
Sydney turned to see Abby’s pregnant sister-in-law, Katie, standing beside her, holding a small plate of appetizers and watching the marshal. “Not to worry, none of these pictures will ever go public. I promised Abby and Luke that.”
“Doesn’t matter to him. He hates photographers and hates having his picture taken. Always has. As long as I’ve known him.” Katie took a nibble of th
e finger sandwich on her plate.
“Why does he hate us so much?”
Katie gave a little shrug and shook her head. “I don’t really know. Something happened in a case once, before he became my WitSec officer. Whatever it was, he won’t talk about it.”
“You were in the witness protection program?” Sydney tried not to gawk at the other woman, but seriously? The witness protection program?
“For about ten years,” Katie said, continuing to watch the crowd around them.
“Who did you testify against?” Sydney asked then stopped. Maybe she shouldn’t be prying into something that Katie was sworn to secrecy about. “I mean, if you’re allowed to talk about it.”
Katie gave a little laugh. “I can now that I’m out of the program.” Then the whisper of a smile slipped from her face. “Did you ever hear of Jacob Strict?”
“Wasn’t he the leader of some cult that tried to blow up a federal building?”
The whole thing had occurred nearly fifteen years ago, when Sydney, still devastated by the loss of her father in the 9/11 attack, had avoided the news like the plague.
“He was the Grand Prophet of the People’s Militia Movement and it did bomb the Philadelphia Federal Building. Hundreds of people died.” Katie took a slow breath, exhaled then stared straight into Sydney’s eyes. “He was also my stepfather.”
“Oh.”
Wow. Talk about a wicked stepparent.
“After they killed all those people in the explosion, I left the family and took evidence to the FBI. That evidence, combined with my testimony, put Strict on death row and broke up the cult.”
“Was your mother part of the cult?”
Sadness softened Katie’s eyes. “She was, but she’d died a few years before. I had no ties or loyalties to the group. But my actions were viewed as traitorous by some of the hardcore members, which meant that I had to go into hiding. Castello and his later partner, Pete Halloran, were my case handlers.”
“So how did you get out of the witness protection program?”
“She pointed a gun at me and forced me to help her when a hit man tried to kill her,” her husband said, standing behind his wife and pulling her back against his body, his hands resting on the small baby bump.
So fascinated by Katie’s story, Sydney hadn’t seen Matt appear.
Katie smiled at him over her shoulder. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
He grinned, leaned in, and gave her a quick kiss. “Nope. Our kids’ kids’ kids will be telling that story when we’re both in our dotage. It will be a family legacy.”
Sydney suspected there was much more to their story, and she really wanted to know about the hit man Matt mentioned, but she didn’t get to ask questions, as the initial subject of her curiosity approached them.
“Your services are needed,” Castello said, focusing that dark-eyed gaze on her.
It took Sydney a moment to break the connection and process what he’d said. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Abigail wants you,” he said, stepping back so she could see past him. “Something about the cake.”
“Cake,” she glanced past him through the windows of the pavilion to where the cake station was located. Abby and Luke were standing nearby, along with the maid of honor, Brianna, and Luke’s parents. Everyone was looking in her direction. “Oh, the cake-cutting pictures!”
How could she forget that part? Okay, she wasn’t really a wedding photographer, but sheesh, everyone knew cutting the cake was a big deal.
Her face heating furiously at her faux pas, she hurried away from the huge hunk of quiet, brooding man that was Frank Castello.
Dammit. She wasn’t here to solve the puzzle of the marshal’s hatred of photographers. Her job was to save memories in photos for her friend. She was just going to have to focus on that and shove the odd attraction to a man who more than likely wouldn’t give her the time of day out of her mind.
The little photographer wove her way through the crowd and into the pavilion. Even in her three inch heels, she barely came to his chin. How the hell did she move so quickly in those heels, anyway? In her haste, she barely missed one of the catering servers bearing a tray of the stuffed mushrooms he’d tried earlier.
“The woman is a disaster waiting to happen,” Frank muttered.
“You know she’s not one of those paparazzi photographers looking for a story to sell to the gossip rags,” Matt said from beside him. “Abby says she does strictly fashion photography.”
“Photographer’s a photographer.” He’d learned years ago you couldn’t trust any of them.
“Abby likes her,” Katie said.
“Abigail likes everyone.”
The woman almost got clipped in the head by a couple doing some wild dance step involving flying elbows as she passed the area designated as the dance floor.
“Luke said she was actually helpful when they were on assignment in Milan, especially after she accidentally learned they were undercover agents.”
“She probably had an angle on a story.”
Finally, she reached the other side of the room, where the three-tier, decorated wedding cake sat.
He exhaled.
“For someone who hates photographers, you haven’t taken your eyes off her since she walked away,” Matt said, that damn Edgars’ teasing note in his voice.
Frank glanced to his left and saw the smirk on Matt’s face. Before he could tell the middle brother where he could stuff his opinion, he whisked his wife away towards the cake serving area.
Watching the blonde tornado had been instinct on his part. In his line of work, he was paid to notice anything out of the ordinary, and she was definitely not ordinary, with all that straw-blonde hair like a wild halo around her head, the lacy-silk sheath showing off her slender curves, and an intensity that could electrify a city block. Yeah, he noticed things. Anything dangerous that might pose a threat to others. Leaning down, he picked up her bulky camera case lying at his feet, and followed the couple across the reception area.
There was one thing he knew about Sydney Peele. The woman was dangerous.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Congratulations!” the crowd yelled, throwing birdseed on Luke and Abby as they climbed into the limousine to whisk them off to their honeymoon.
Sydney kept the camera busy, snapping off images of the happy couple, family, and friends in the crowd, and one poignant moment of Luke’s father hugging his mother, as she wiped at the happy tears rolling down her cheeks. If the photos turned out as good as she hoped they would, she’d frame a collage of them for Abby and Luke as a second wedding gift. The first was a book of all the images she’d captured today in both color and black and white.
As the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared down Long Street, the crowd began to disperse.
“Do we have to do the cleanup?” the oldest Edgars brother, Dave, asked.
Their brother-in-law Jake Carlisle laughed and slapped him on the back. “That would be just like Luke to leave us with the work while he heads to a sunny beach to lay around doing nothing.”
“He might,” Jake’s wife, Sami, said, thrusting a squirming little girl into his arms. “But not Abby. The caterers are taking care of everything as part of their fee. So, we’re free to get our kids home to bed. Even Nicky’s had enough partying for one night.”
Everyone turned to see the eleven-year-old slumped over at one of the tables. The couple bid everyone good night and headed to collect their son. Dave headed to where his wife Judy was gathering up their three kids.
“I guess I’d better call for a cab.” Sydney slipped her camera back in the carryon bag and set it at her feet. She searched through her bag on the other shoulder for her phone.
“You don’t need to do that. We’ll be happy to give you a ride home,” Katie offered, then let out a loud yawn.
“Thank you, but if I call now, the cab should be here by the time I have my stuff together.”
“It
’s getting dark. We can’t leave you out here waiting for a cab by yourself,” Katie glanced at her husband, then let out another long yawn.
Sydney shook her head, as she finally pulled her phone out of the bag. “No, it’s really okay. Besides, you look like you’re as ready for bed as Nicky.”
“I’ll take her home.” A rough voice sounded behind her.
She turned to see Castello standing there, the dim light of dusk shadowing his features.
“It’s really okay if I take a cab.” Pulling up the internet app on her phone, she searched for the number of the cab company she’d used earlier. The last thing she wanted was to feel indebted to the surly marshal for anything, even a ride home. He’d made his opinion of her very clear earlier in the day. She wasn’t about to add mooching rides to the list of evil things photographers did.
“Get your other bags,” he said. “I’ll be back with my car in a few minutes.”
She looked up to see him striding away...carrying her camera case.
“Hey! Bring that back!” She hurried after him, moving as fast as the damn heels she’d put on for the wedding would allow her. With his long-legged stride he was across Long Street and the crosswalk had changed to Don’t Walk by the time she got to it. From the opposite side of the busy road, he stopped to look back at her.
“That’s stealing!” she yelled.
“I call it motivation,” he called back, a slow smile spreading the corner of his lips. “Get your other bags and be ready when I pull up.”
“Grrr.” She stomped her foot, but he didn’t see it. He was already walking away, swinging her bag like it was full of gym clothes instead of thousands of dollars’ worth of cameras, equipment and film.
“Large and in charge, that’s our man Castello,” Matt said, pushing the walk button and taking his wife’s hand in his.
“I’m not one of his witnesses, or a criminal,” Sydney said, watching the back of the man move farther away. “He doesn’t get to order me about.”
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