Operation K-9 Brothers

by Sandra Owens

  The dress her father had paid a small fortune for was torn and dirt streaked. He wasn’t going to be happy about that, but she wasn’t happy with him either, so they were even. She headed for a boulder with a flat surface. She tried to climb up it, but that proved impossible when wearing a million yards of...whatever the dress was made of. Fashion and fabrics weren’t her thing, the reason her father had chosen the gown. Clothes were a necessity, something she had to put on before she could appear in public. And right now, there was no public, and she wanted on top of that boulder. She deserved to be up there after knowing her actions would cost her the only thing that mattered to her.

  So...it was a struggle, but she finally got the hated gown off. Irritated with the stupid thing, she tossed it to the side with more force than she’d intended.

  It tumbled down the embankment, landing in the waterfall pool.

  “Oops.” Who knew a dress that heavy could travel so far?

  Free of the gown, she climbed up to the top of the boulder, giving thanks that it wasn’t winter, when she’d be freezing her bottom off wearing only a sexy white corset that she had wanted to wear. She’d imagined that Dalton would finally look at her with desire in his eyes—something he’d never done—when he saw her in it.

  Although brewing beer and creating events that brought beer lovers to Elk Antler Brewery was her jam—or had been—she wanted to experience how it felt to be truly wanted by someone.

  She was, as far as she’d gathered, the result of a one-night stand between her parents. The mother she only vaguely remembered had dropped her off at her father’s when Peyton was four years old, then had disappeared from her life. Her father had kept her, but she’d never been sure he’d been happy to have her. That uncertainty was the reason she’d spent her life until now trying to please him...so he wouldn’t give her away like her mother had.

  All good reasons why the champagne should go straight down her throat. She managed to pop the cork on one of the bottles. The cork shot up before arcing and falling into the pool to join her wedding gown.

  “Cheers to me.” She lifted the bottle to her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks for what she’d lost today.

  * * *

  There was only one other car parked on the dirt-packed lot at the entrance to the falls, a silver Mercedes with “Just Married” scrawled on the rear window. Shrugging off his curiosity, Noah locked the doors of his rental and headed for the trail going down, hoping Jack was right and a bit of peace awaited him at the bottom that would quiet the ants.

  Noah paused at the top of the trail going down, frowning at seeing the white heels, one upright and the other on its side. A pair of white stockings were draped over a nearby bush. He glanced back at the silver Mercedes. Was he going to stumble on a bride and groom, and what the devil were they doing here of all places?

  He almost turned around to leave, but curiosity got the better of him. If he discovered them getting it on—a distinct possibility considering the bride was shedding clothing—he’d discreetly disappear. Going down in stealth mode, he reached the bottom of the trail, stopping dead in his tracks when a feminine voice said, “Cheers to me.” He blinked and then blinked again.

  A woman wearing nothing but a white corset and a veil was perched on a boulder, a champagne bottle held up to her mouth as she chugged the contents. He scanned the area, searching for the groom. Something white floating in the pool caught his eyes, and after staring at it for a minute, he realized it was a wedding dress. The hell?

  His gaze returned to the woman. Had she done away with her groom? Was the man in the pool under her dress? He wasn’t sure what to do, but one thing was for sure. This woman—whoever she was...a murderer?—had him forgetting his own troubles.

  She still hadn’t noticed him, and he took the opportunity to observe her. Black hair fell around her shoulders and down her back, and the corset did a mighty fine job of displaying her breasts. Her long, firm legs were splayed apart over the rock as if she had no modesty.

  Of course, she thought she was alone, and realizing he was no better than a peeping tom, he debated leaving or making his presence known. But what if she had offed her groom? Was that why she was crying? The last thing he wanted to do was get involved in someone else’s mess, so he decided a dead groom wasn’t going to be his problem. When he got to the top of the trail, he’d call Jack, tell him what was going on, and let him decide what to do.

  Besides, he wasn’t fond of brides. He’d almost had one of those once. His had walked out on him the day before their wedding after telling him that he loved his SEAL team more than her. That wasn’t true. He’d loved her as much as his teammates. Brides couldn’t be trusted, especially a killer bride who chugged champagne to celebrate her groom’s demise.

  Time to do a disappearing act. He took a step back, but his movement caught her attention before he could slip away. She lowered the champagne bottle and stared at him. Blue eyes the color of the sky above, he inanely thought.

  She tilted her head as she studied him. “Are you going to kidnap me?”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll be going now.”

  “You don’t have to. Just ignore me.”

  Like it was possible to ignore a beautiful woman wearing nothing but a corset. “That’s okay. Probably best if I go.”

  She lifted a foot and stared at it. “My feet are dirty.”

  “I see that.” Weirdest conversation ever.

  “You want some champagne?” She held up the bottle, showing him the label. “Only the best will do for my father.”

  “No, thanks.” If he stuck around and drank with her, his luck, he’d end up arrested as an accomplice to murder.

  “I’m a runaway bride.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, but he definitely had thoughts. Like, there you go, just more proof that brides can’t be trusted. Then another one...at least that meant there wasn’t a dead groom under that wedding dress. That one was definitely a relief. And why was she only wearing a corset and veil, and her dress was floating in the pool?

  “Do you need some help?” he finally said, hoping she said no.

  “Yeah, with this champagne. It’s not good to drink alone, you know.”

  He did know that, not that it stopped him. Why wasn’t she afraid of him? She picked up a second, still corked bottle, and held it out to him. “You can even have your own if drinking out of a bottle my mouth has been on bothers you.”

  His gaze fell to said mouth. Negative. He’d have absolutely no problem putting his mouth anywhere hers had been. Situation dire! Time to retreat. He didn’t do brides, even ones with sky-blue eyes and lips made for kissing.

  “Come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud.” She waved the bottle like it was a red cape and he was the bull.

  Apparently, he was a bull because his feet took him to the edge of the boulder. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

  “Should I be?”

  “No, but you can’t know that.”

  She shrugged. “I figure the universe can’t be meaner to me today than it already has. And if it is, not sure I have it in me to care anymore.” She tipped the bottle up, chugging down more champagne like a pro.

  As much as he wanted to leave, knew he needed to put this woman and her problems behind him, he couldn’t bring himself to go. Not when tears were pooling in her eyes and her lips trembled. Somehow, he knew she was trying hard not to cry in front of him.

  So, as much as he hated brides, crying women, and champagne, he took the already opened bottle from her and brought it to his mouth. She was right. Daddy did go for the best. First time he’d actually liked the taste of champagne.

  “You can’t stay down there if you’re going to drink with me.” She patted the space next to her.
<
br />   Obeying, he pushed himself up. As they passed the bottle back and forth, he tried to imagine telling Jack that he’d spent the afternoon at a waterfall, drinking top-shelf champagne with a runaway bride who was wearing only a corset and veil. His friend would laugh his ass off, not believing a word of it, then say, “Good one, DD.”

  * * *

  Don’t miss

  Keeping Guard by Sandra Owens

  Coming soon wherever

  Carina Press books are sold.

  www.CarinaPress.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Sandra Owens

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Home They Built by Shannon Stacey.

  Chapter One

  “You are not even going to believe what your grandmother did now.”

  Finn Weaver wasn’t sure how many conversations with his parents had begun with those words, but he’d put his money on at least half of them. “It can’t be that bad, Mom. On a scale of going to the market in her pajamas to the time she got a pet goat and tried to train it to live in the house, how bad is it?”

  His mother sighed, and it sounded loud even over the phone. “If she bought an entire herd of goats and knit them matching sweater vests—no, if she stole the goats matching sweater vests from the ski shop—it still wouldn’t be as bad as what she’s done now.”

  “Hold on. Let me sit down.” Finn walked across his office and sat in his plush leather executive chair, spinning it to look out over the view of the Piscataqua River.

  “I don’t think sitting down is going to help,” she said.

  “Does she need bail money?”

  “I wish it were that simple.”

  That didn’t sound good. “What’s worse than Gram being arrested?”

  “Well, let’s start with the fact she expects you to come home for a few weeks to aid and abet her.”

  “You mean that figuratively, right?” When it came to Gram, he could never be sure.

  “Literally,” his mother snapped. “We all get to take part in defrauding a popular television show in a way that’s definitely wrong and probably criminal.”

  That didn’t make any sense. While Gram’s shenanigans could be legendary, neither of his parents had ever even had a speeding ticket. They didn’t do shenanigans. “We’re not taking part in that. I’ll call her and talk her out of whatever it is she’s up to.”

  “She already signed the contract.”

  Groaning, Finn leaned forward so he could rest his forehead on his hand. He should probably take some preemptory ibuprofen because this was going to be one hell of a headache. “I feel like defrauding and criminal are the words I should be focusing on, but, to be honest, I’m a little hung up on the expectation I can just drop everything and hang out in Blackberry Bay for a few weeks.”

  “It gets better.” His mom paused, as if waiting for his reaction, but he couldn’t manage more than a weary sigh. “She needs you here by ten tomorrow morning.”

  Gram had a bad habit of waiting until the last second to drop bombs because it didn’t give a person time to get out of the way. And no matter how often her loved ones complained, she didn’t change her strategy, because it was effective.

  He looked up, his gaze fixed not on the river this time, but on his own faint reflection in the window. He looked like a grown man. Dark hair kept neatly trimmed. His suit coat hung by the door and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, but he was still wearing the boring maroon tie. It was the reflection of a professional adult who had a business to run.

  But it didn’t show the grandson on the inside who had a soft spot for the woman who kept their lives in a constant state of low-level disarray, with occasional spikes of straight-up chaos. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Gram, but this...

  “I know,” his mom said softly, even though he hadn’t said anything yet. “But your father and I think she could really get in trouble this time, and unless you can find a loophole in the legal crap your father couldn’t, we might have to go along with this scheme she’s concocted.”

  “What exactly are—” He paused. “No, don’t tell me. I have a feeling the more I know, the less I’m going to want to show up for it. I’ll be at Gram’s by ten tomorrow, but I’m not making any promises about staying.”

  “Thank you, Finn. And Gram said you should bring some old jeans, too. And work boots.”

  “What?” But his mother, smart woman that she was, had already disconnected.

  He dropped his cell phone on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “Unbelievable.”

  “A few weeks? You’ve gotta be kidding.”

  The screen between the two desks didn’t offer much in the way of privacy. It existed more to keep him and Tom Brisbin, his business partner, from throwing balled-up paper or shooting rubber bands at each other during working hours.

  “It’s about Gram,” Finn replied. Tom had known his family long enough so he didn’t feel a need to say more.

  “It always is.” A low chuckle filtered through the screen. “I love that woman.”

  So did Finn, which was the only reason he rolled into Blackberry Bay at ten minutes before ten the following morning. The quaint little town nestled around a bay off Lake Winnipesauke attracted tourists year-round, thanks to their proximity to a popular ski area as well as the water, but summer was their booming season and he had to roll the big Harley-Davidson to a stop at what felt like every crosswalk in town.

  He had clothing and toiletry staples in one of the big side bags and what amounted to a mobile office in the other, because he hadn’t wanted to pack up his truck and give his family the impression he was on board with an extended stay. After going over the calendar, he and Tom had marked the meetings Finn couldn’t miss, but there was no reason he had to be in the office otherwise. The day-to-day of their financial management company could be run from practically anywhere, but he didn’t want anybody to know that. Especially Gram.

  Because three road construction zones in twenty miles had slowed him down, Finn went straight through the intersection with the right turn that would lead to his parents’ house, figuring they’d already left, and followed the bay for another mile and a half, until he came to the winding driveway leading up to his grandmother’s house.

  Finn’s grandfather—may he rest in peace—had been one for maintaining appearances, and the outside of the massive Victorian on the hill, overlooking Blackberry Bay, was in pretty good shape, though it was starting to show some wear and tear. The clapboard siding—some original and some not—was painted a muted salmon color and the door and many windows were trimmed in a cream color. It caught the eye without being garish. Blackberry Bay didn’t do garish.

  The two-car garage that had been built to replace a torn-down barn, as well as an original shed that was almost as big as the garage, were painted to match, and if there was one thing Gram could do well, it was tend gardens. From the road, her home was the picture of historical grace and elegance.

  Inside, it looked like the seventies and eighties were having an everything-must-go rummage sale.

  Or it usually did, anyway. He’d had a busy month at work, so his visits to town had been quick ones, and after visiting his parents, he’d made time for a glass of lemonade with Gram on her front porch. But sometime between his last time inside and today, a whole lot of stuff had been removed and somehow he doubted she’d randomly decided to do a mass decluttering.

  “We’re in here,” his mother called when he gave the front door the extra little shove it needed in order to latch properly behind him.

  As if they were ever anywhere but in the kitchen. His footsteps were loud in the foyer as he walked past the doors to the living room and the sitting room—and damn if anybody had ever been able to tell him the difference between the two, other than one having a television and the other having the most uncomfortable wingback chairs he’d ever sat in—to the kit
chen.

  His parents were seated at the butcher-block table several generations of Weavers had taken their meals around. They were dressed in their usual jeans and T-shirts, though his mom had a lightweight cardigan over hers. They both had short dark hair liberally sprinkled with gray and gave him matching tired smiles.

  Gram hopped down from the barstool she’d been sitting on in front of the counter, since the kitchen didn’t have a center island. Her gray hair was long and loose around her face, and her white tank top, peach capris and white tennis shoes made him smile as she opened her arms for a hug. Gram refused to age gracefully by seemingly refusing to age at all, thank goodness.

  “You made it!” She looked at the clock on the wall and then pinched his arm just hard enough to make him wince. “Barely.”

  “Hey, barely counts. And of course I made it.” He pulled out a seat at the foot of the table and sat. Gram followed suit, sitting across the table from his parents. “So I’m here. Somebody tell me what’s going on.”

  “I have good news!” Gram clapped her hands together one time while his father groaned. “Do you know that show, Relic Rehab?”

  “Nope.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “You really should watch more TV, you know. Anyway, they remodel historical homes with businesses in them and they’re coming here to remodel the Bayview Inn!”

  “Okay.” Finn looked from Gram’s excited expression to his parents—his mother rolling her eyes and his father shaking his head—and back to Gram. “What’s the Bayview Inn?”

  “This is.” Gram waved her hand in a gesture that encompassed the kitchen before leaning closer. “I’ve decided I can only afford to keep this place up if I let rich flatlanders—I mean tourists—pay to sleep here, but it needs some updating to be an inn, so I applied to the show and told them it already was. And I got picked!”