by Lisa Childs
If only she’d given Lexi more of her attention...
“You know this isn’t a real wedding,” Rebecca said. The chief had assured her that the wedding planner was fully aware of the situation and the danger.
Mrs. Payne chuckled. “Yours won’t be the only not real wedding I’ve had in my chapel.”
“It isn’t?”
“No,” she replied. “But, you know, every single one of those not real weddings turned into real marriages.”
“Mrs. Payne—”
“Penny,” she was corrected again. “And in order for this to appear to be real, you have to pull a marriage license. So that actually makes it real, Ms. Drummond.”
“Rebecca,” she corrected the woman. Despite her headache, she managed a smile.
“So, Rebecca,” the woman continued, “you should make all your selections based on what you’d want at your real wedding—because this just might wind up being exactly that.”
That was damn unlikely to happen. Jared was still furious with her—so much so that he’d barely spoken to her since Dalton Reyes’s wedding. Of course she hadn’t given him much opportunity since she’d started sleeping in Alex’s room.
She missed him. Missed lying in his arms. Missed his kisses. His caresses.
She ached for him. Not just for his lovemaking but for his companionship. If their wedding was going to be real, she would have wanted his input. He probably would have left the decisions up to her anyway, but she would have persisted until he at least offered his opinion.
She knew what his opinion was now—that she was being reckless. The pain throbbing in her head intensified. She had to squint at the pictures on her computer screen. But she made selections for the bouquet and the flowers and the cake.
“Alex will love the double chocolate,” Mrs. Payne said.
The woman was sweet to have remembered her son. But then Alex—and his precocious personality—was entirely unforgettable. How well would he remember her if something happened, if the FBI agents and the bodyguards weren’t able to protect her?
Now tears blurred her vision. But she blinked them back. She had to focus. She had to keep her wits about her—more so now than ever. If the agents and bodyguards didn’t protect her, she would protect herself.
She wouldn’t become the Butcher’s next victim. And she would make certain that Amy Wilcox was his last.
“That’s great,” Penny said. “Your wedding will be beautiful.”
If it was, it would be bittersweet: a perfect wedding with no hope of a marriage. But would she even make it to the wedding? No other bride the Butcher had targeted had made it down the aisle.
“And you’ll come here to be fitted for your dress,” Penny continued. Her sweet voice held no happy lilt now. It had gone flat with seriousness. She knew what Rebecca knew: that was when it would happen, when the killer would try to grab her like he had all the others. “The seamstress will come here—as well as other personnel.”
FBI agents and bodyguards. They would protect her; at least Chief Lynch was convinced that they would. Jared wasn’t as confident. He still thought it was too big a risk.
But Dalton’s bride had been safe; nothing had happened to Elizabeth at her fitting or at the wedding. The happy couple was off on their honeymoon now.
What would Jared do if the killer didn’t try to grab Rebecca at her dress fitting? Would he call off the wedding or would he see it through—to give the killer another opportunity to grab her?
Maybe she’d done all this planning for naught. “I’m sorry,” she told Mrs. Payne. “I hope this all hasn’t been a waste of your time.”
“Not at all,” the other woman assured her. “As I said, all of the not real weddings I’ve held have become very real marriages.” She clicked off before Rebecca could tell her that was doubtful to happen in this situation.
Jared was even angrier with her for putting herself at risk than he’d been over her keeping their son from him. She’d like to think that was because he cared about her—more than he was willing to admit. But if he really cared about her, why wouldn’t he admit it—especially now if he believed he could lose her?
Rebecca was still holding the phone when it rang again. Mrs. Payne probably had another question for her—another question Rebecca would have to answer alone since Jared wanted nothing to do with their wedding.
Or with Rebecca.
He hadn’t asked her to move back into his bedroom. No, he definitely wasn’t in love with her.
“Yes, Penny?” she asked.
But there was no reply—just that eerie silence. She should have known it wasn’t Mrs. Payne. The wedding planner was too organized to have forgotten anything.
Her hand trembling, she knew she should click off the phone. But she hadn’t had any threats since that one in the boutique dressing room. It wasn’t that she wanted to hear any more—just that she somehow felt as if she needed to. Maybe she could figure out who was calling her—who was watching her.
But when he spoke his voice was too low and raspy to be recognizable. “You didn’t listen,” he admonished her. “By getting engaged, you’re risking your life.”
She couldn’t deny that she was—willingly—risking her life. To catch a killer...
“And now you’re going to die.”
Chapter Fifteen
Even with guards posted outside his apartment, the killer had still gotten to her. Anger and fear warred inside Jared, making his heart pound fast and hard.
“Doesn’t this prove to you how bad of an idea our engagement is?” he asked.
Becca flinched.
Had his comment hurt her? She knew the engagement wasn’t real. He couldn’t really propose to her because he cared too much about her to risk her life. But when the killer was caught...
Would she want to marry him? He’d never handled anything right with Becca. He’d rejected her love six years ago. So why would she offer it again?
She shrugged and said, “It was just a phone call.” As if it was nothing.
“He threatened your life,” Jared reminded her of what she’d told him—of what the trace on the phone had recorded.
But even though the call had been recorded, they had no clue who’d made it. “From a burner cell,” he said. Which was how all the other calls had been made. “It couldn’t be traced.”
She rubbed her hands over her arms as if she’d gotten a sudden chill.
Jared was chilled, too—from the threat, from the danger she was in. “It could be anyone...”
“It’s Harris,” she said.
“I’ll have to double-check the time the call was made,” he said. “I may have still been with him.”
Her face brightened. “You were interrogating him again?”
“Checking his alibi,” he admitted.
“I thought you did that several times already and it can’t be cracked,” she said.
“For Lexi’s murder,” he said. “I was checking for Amy Wilcox’s abduction.”
“His fiancée gave him an alibi?”
He nodded. While he suspected Priscilla Stehouwer might change her story, he didn’t share that with Becca. He didn’t want to raise her hopes—in case he was wrong. Harris’s hold on Priscilla might be stronger than Jared thought.
“He gave me another suspect, though,” Jared said. And now he was angry at her again for not telling him about Lexi’s ex.
“Of course he did,” she said. “He wants to take suspicion off himself.”
“Then why didn’t he give me the name six years ago?” Jared kept his voice low—because Alex was just playing in his room, but anger sharpened his tone when he added, “Why didn’t you?”
“I told you who hurt my sister, but you wouldn’t believe me,” she said. And now there was anger in her voice. But she glanced toward Alex’s room, as if afraid that he might have heard her.
“All you would talk about was Harris,” he agreed. “But I asked you about other boyfriends. Exes.”
She shrugged. “There was no one else—no one she ever cared enough to talk to me about like she did Harris. Not that she told me everything about Harris. If only she would have told me how he was treating her...”
“She was probably embarrassed,” Jared said. Lexi had been the older sister. And Rebecca was so smart and so strong that it would have been hard for Lexi to admit what she’d probably considered a weakness on her part. Harris was the weak one.
“She shouldn’t have been,” Becca said. “It wasn’t her fault.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed. Just like it wasn’t Priscilla Stehouwer’s fault. Hopefully, she at least called the shelter.
“So what name did Harris give you?” she asked. “Who is he throwing under the bus to protect himself?”
“Lexi’s ex—George Droski.”
She laughed. “George was never her boyfriend. He was like a brother to us. He grew up next door to us. He was her best friend.”
“Are you sure there wasn’t more between them?” he asked. “He didn’t have a crush on her?”
“George loved her,” Becca said. “But he loved me, too.”
“Harris said George was obsessed with Lexi, and that he was devastated when they broke up.” As the man had walked Jared to his vehicle, he’d made certain to add to his case against George Droski.
Becca shook her head. “No. They were just friends. George didn’t like Harris, though, so that had strained their friendship to the point they’d lost touch.”
“Harris says he was jealous.”
“He was smart,” Becca said, and there was bitterness in her voice. She didn’t think she’d been smart. “He realized what a jerk Harris was before anyone else did.”
The pain and guilt in her voice reached inside Jared and squeezed his heart. He pulled her into his arms. “It’s not your fault, either.”
Now he understood why she was taking such a big risk to catch her sister’s killer—because she blamed herself.
She trembled in his arms before sliding her arms around his neck and clinging to him.
He’d missed her. Missed her being in his arms. In his bed...
A door creaked open, and Jared tensed. But it wasn’t the door to the hall. It was a bedroom door.
“Family hug,” Alex declared as he wedged between them.
Jared wanted to be part of this family. He wanted to be more than Alex’s father; he wanted to be Becca’s husband, too. But first he had to keep her alive and stop the killer who was certain to try for her again.
* * *
REBECCA KNELT BESIDE Alex’s bed as she tucked him beneath the covers. He snuggled down, his eyes already closing as he drifted off to sleep. A smile curved his lips. He was happy.
And that was all a mother wanted for her child: happiness. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. It puckered beneath her lips. And she chuckled.
He obviously didn’t want her interrupting the dreams that had already begun to play through his mind.
Still on her knees, she eased back and bumped into a hand. It covered hers and helped her to her feet. Like their son, Jared had a smile on his lips.
But she didn’t believe he was happy. He was too angry with her. When she met his gaze, though, she didn’t see any anger in his eyes. She saw only desire—desire that brought out her own desire for him.
“He’s asleep,” Jared said. He’d read him a story before going to check with the guards in the hall. “And everything’s quiet outside.”
It wasn’t quiet inside her. Emotions were rioting in her heart. She loved him so much.
He turned toward the door, but his hand was still around hers. He tugged her along behind him. When they cleared the threshold, he reached around her and closed their son’s door. His chest bumped against hers, and he stared down at her, those amber eyes intense with desire.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Bringing you to bed...”
She pointed at the door he’d closed. “I’ve been sleeping in there.”
But he headed away from that door, across the living room to the master bedroom on the other side of the apartment. “And you should have been sleeping in here.”
“Why’s that?” she asked as he led her into his bedroom.
“Because it’s where you belong,” he replied as he pushed the door closed. “With me.”
Just in his bed? Or in his life?
If she were braver, she would have asked. But it seemed to be easier for her to face a killer than Jared’s feelings for her. Because if he didn’t feel the same...
She couldn’t handle him rejecting her again.
He wasn’t rejecting her now. He was quickly disrobing her with hands that shook with his urgency and his passion. Then he was kissing her with all that passion.
Her heart began a frantic beat. His tongue slid between her lips and teased hers. She gasped, and he deepened the kiss even more.
Then she was fumbling with his clothes, her hands shaking as she unbuttoned buttons and unsnapped snaps. Then she jerked down his zipper.
He groaned. Then he murmured her name. It was only a few steps, but he carried her to the bed and followed her down onto it. The rest of their clothes disappeared until there was only skin sliding over skin.
Heat burned inside her as pressure built and wound tighter and tighter. He kissed her everywhere. Her lips. Her throat. Her breasts.
He slid his lips along the curve and across her nipple. Then he drew the point between his lips and teased it with his tongue.
She wriggled beneath him as that pressure became unbearable. She needed him too much to wait. It had been too long. “Jared...”
And she touched him. She knew exactly where would drive him crazy. His chest. His lean hips. And lower...
“Becca!” His control snapped, and he was inside her—where she needed him most. Sliding deep, filling her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him, meeting every thrust. He kissed her deeply, sliding his tongue into her mouth.
Her body shuddered as pleasure overwhelmed her. If he hadn’t been kissing her, she might have screamed. Or declared her love.
Like the pleasure, love overwhelmed her.
Then he joined her in ecstasy, his body tensing as his pleasure filled her. He rolled to his side and clasped her closely in his arms. His heart beat hard and fast against hers. And he murmured her name, “Becca...”
She tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. His pale brown eyes were full of intensity. It couldn’t be desire again—not so soon.
And he murmured her name again as if he was going to say more—as if he was going to express whatever intense emotion burned in his gaze.
But the doorbell rang.
Rebecca could have cursed. But he beat her to it. Then he reached for the cell phone he’d placed, along with his weapon, on the table next to the bed. He glanced at the blank screen and shook his head.
“What is it?” she asked. She shivered, maybe because he wasn’t holding her anymore, maybe because she had an ominous feeling.
“The guard at the door is supposed to call me,” he said, “not ring the bell.” He vaulted out of the bed, pulled on his pants and reached for his weapon.
Before she could say anything—warn him to be careful—he was gone, closing the bedroom door behind him. She couldn’t stay in the room. Not if he was in danger. Not if their son might be in danger, as well.
She grabbed her robe, thrust her arms through the sleeves and cinched the belt at her waist. Then she hurried into the living room.
Jared stood in the open doorway, his gun drawn. But there was no person standing in the hall. Not the guard. Not a killer. He was looking down, though, so Becca followed his gaze and saw the box.
“What is it?” she asked.
He held out his arm as if holding her back. “Don’t come any closer.”
Fear quickened her pulse. “What do you think it is?” She glanced across the living room to their son’s
bedroom doorway. “Is it ticking?”
He leaned down and listened, then shook his head. “This serial killer has never used a bomb.”
She shivered. “No.”
“It would be too quick for him,” Jared said, almost as if he was thinking aloud. “Too impersonal.”
“So what’s in the box?”
“Get back,” he told her as he lifted his weapon again.
Maybe the box was only a distraction, so that someone could sneak up while they were staring at it. But she recognized the voice of the guard as he said, “Agent Bell, I’m sorry—I thought I heard something in the stairwell. It sounded like someone might have fallen. I know I should have called you before I went to investigate. But I was worried that someone was hurt...”
“It’s okay,” Jared assured the other man. “That was the distraction, so someone could leave this box.”
Rebecca stepped closer to get a better look at the box. It was wrapped in shiny silver paper, and there was a bow on the floor beside it—like it had fallen off.
“It’s a present,” she said. “A wedding present.”
For their fake wedding.
“It’s a message,” Jared said. “He knows where you are...”
“He already knew,” she said. “Whatever’s in the box is the message.”
“Do you have gloves?” Jared asked the guard. He wouldn’t want to compromise any evidence.
But Rebecca doubted there would be any inside the box. It was another threat. Another warning that she would die. But she stepped even closer as Jared donned the gloves and reached for the lid of the box.
He lifted it easily and peered inside.
“What is it?” the guard was just as curious as Rebecca. “And what’s on it?”
Lace spilled from the box like lace had spilled from the trunk of Lexi’s car when they’d found it. This lace wasn’t stained red, though. Whatever was on it was darker and dried.
“It’s a veil,” Rebecca said. Just that afternoon she’d flipped through images Penny Payne had sent her of veils, like she’d sent the bouquet and cake pictures.