The Bride’s Secrets

by Debra Webb

  He stared at the kit as he accepted it, then lifted his gaze to hers. “Seems you have a lot of habits I didn’t know about.”

  She held his gaze a moment before walking away without comment.

  Maybe she had a conscience after all.

  Nah…he doubted it.

  When he’d covered his stitches with a fresh bandage, he cleaned up the mess he’d made and headed for the showdown. His gut growled—his appetite had reappeared full force.

  He would have some answers first.

  Unable to help himself, he paused at the foot of the sprawling bed. They were supposed to have had their honeymoon night here. Images of making love—fingers fisted in all that gorgeous hair of hers…sheets tangled around long, toned legs—flashed like a seductive preview in his mind.

  His heart pounded with the memories.

  Yes, he was an infinite fool.

  He stalked out of the room.

  “I made you a sandwich.” She gestured to the bar that separated the living room from the small kitchen. “Ham and cheese with mayo, your favorite.”

  Anger simmered in his gut, replacing the need for food. Yeah, she knew all his favorites. His likes and dislikes. She knew everything because he’d been honest with her, and he knew nothing about her.

  Because she’d lied.

  About everything.

  “For the third time,” he said, his voice low and hard, “who are you?”

  She picked up her plate and got comfortable on the sofa. “That’s a tough one.” Her long fingers tore off a chunk of sandwich. He watched with far too much interest as she lifted it to those lush lips.

  The anger started to boil. The games ended now. “It’s an easy question. What’s your real name? The one you were given at birth.”

  “The name on a birth certificate is irrelevant in all the ways that matter.” She moved her shoulders in a display of indifference. “My name’s Eve. Eve Mattson. I’m twenty-nine. I live at—”

  “Lincoln Park, 2209 Pratt Street.” He plopped into the chair across from her position. “That’s all crap. I checked. You’ve had numerous aliases in the past six or seven years. But that’s as far back as I could trace you. As far as records are concerned, you didn’t exist at all before that.”

  Even as he said the words, the whole situation didn’t feel real. Felt impossible. How could he have fallen in love with all the…lies? With a woman who didn’t exist? The better question was, how could he have been so blind?

  She dropped her bare feet to the carpeted floor and set her plate on the coffee table. With her forearms braced on her spread knees, she looked him dead in the eye. “The truth is I don’t even remember who I was…before. I am who you see at the moment. That changes when the need arises.”

  A frown pulled at his forehead. “Don’t snow me. Where were you born? Who were your parents? Where’d you go to school?”

  “I need wine.” She stood, stretched, then walked over to the bar and poured a glass of the red wine she’d already uncorked.

  He waited, his frustration mounting rapidly as she resettled on the sofa. “I’m waiting.” He wasn’t having anything less than the whole truth. And he wasn’t going to keep playing these guessing games.

  She stretched again. The cami tightened on her breasts. He looked away.

  “Arizona.”

  His attention returned to her.

  “Phoenix, Arizona.” She downed half the glass of wine, licked her lips and stared straight into his eyes. “But that girl doesn’t exist anymore. I am Eve Mattson. So move on to the next question.”

  Fury tightened his jaw. “What kind of con are you running?” The admission reminded him that he’d been an even bigger fool than he’d known. What was in this for her?

  “This isn’t a con, J.T.” She cradled her glass, stroked it with the pad of her thumb. That he noticed only made him angrier. “You’re in danger and I’m trying to save you.”

  Laughter burst from his chest. He’d heard it all now. She was trying to save him? “You whack me on the back of the head. Drug me,” he said pointedly, “and kidnap me. Now you’re telling me you’re trying to save me?” He laughed again. “From whom? Your associates?” His gaze narrowed. “Or from you?”

  The last of her wine disappeared. “You keep trying to make this about me, J.T.”

  He shot to his feet, shook his head and paid the price as pain erupted all over again. “This is about you, Eve.” Just saying her name made his gut clench. Fury bolted through him.

  She moved her head slowly from side to side. “No, J.T.” She pushed up, walked back to where the bottle of wine sat and poured herself a second glass. “This has nothing to do with me.” She leaned against the counter and pursed her lips. “Well, I suppose now it does. But it didn’t start out that way.”

  “Tell me the truth,” he bit out the words. “The whole truth. Starting from the beginning. From the day you crashed into my life.” Literally. She’d rear-ended him. No real damage to either car, more a fender-bender.

  That blue gaze coupled with his. “It started with a job.” One shoulder lifted in the slightest shrug. “Seemed simple enough at the time. But, as you can see, everything’s changed now.”

  He held her gaze, waited for her to continue.

  “Now they want you dead…. And my conscience won’t let me just walk away.”

  Chapter Six

  “Who wants me dead?”

  Eve pushed off the counter and reclaimed her seat on the sofa. “That’s the problem.” She sipped the wine. “I don’t know who. If I did, I would have taken care of the situation already.” This mystery was wrapped in numerous layers.

  More of that frustration etched across J.T.’s handsome face. “You have to know who hired you and the goal of the assignment.”

  It was never that simple. “Three months ago I was contacted through my Web site.”

  A frown furrowed his brow. “What Web site?”

  Before she could answer one question, he came up with another. “Problemsolver.com—that’s me. Clients leave their contact numbers. I do a background search first to weed out the feds and P.I.s, then call and interview each legitimate client. I determine if I’m interested in the job and go from there.”

  J.T. motioned for her to continue. His expression, his every move, was steeped in distrust and frustration. That shouldn’t bother her, but it did. She had allowed herself to get way too close to this guy.

  Dangerously close.

  “Like I was saying,” she went on, “three months ago I was contacted by a male who called himself ‘the Auditor.’ When I refused to discuss his proposition without a real name, he gave me the name Terrence Arenas.”

  “Arenas?” J.T.’s frown deepened. “Terrence Arenas is a fraud investigator at Gold Coast Life. We worked together for years. He retired right before I moved to the Colby Agency.”

  “That’s right. Arenas indicated to me that he had a situation. A problem he needed solved.” This was where things would get hairy. “Before he retired he ripped off about ten mil from GCL.”

  “That’s not possible,” J.T. argued. “There are far too many checks and balances.”

  He hesitated. Eve watched realization dawn on his face.

  “Unless,” J.T. qualified, “he had a partner who was a beneficiary.”

  “Paula Jamison.”

  “I verified that case myself.” J.T. stood, braced his hands on his hips. “There was some question about the beneficiary, Paula Jamison, but that was cleared up. The payment was made. End of story.”

  “You met Ms. Jamison?”

  He nodded, then strode to the front window to stare out at the darkness. She knew what he was doing. He was mentally reviewing the case, confirming what he thought to be the truth.

  “That must be the reason Arenas wants you dead now.”

  J.T. turned back to face her but remained near the window. “That makes absolutely no sense. Arenas had nothing to do with the Jamison case.”

 
“All I know is,” she reiterated, “he hired me to find out if you’d kept any documentation on the case. Or if you were investigating it in any way. Or any others, for that matter.”

  “It took you two months to make and confirm a determination?”

  She moistened her lips. Dread swelled in her throat. “It wasn’t until a few days before…the wedding…that you gave me access to your most private files. Being thorough is important to my reputation.”

  He turned away and stared out the window once more.

  A week before their scheduled wedding, he’d given her full access to everything in his home, his bank account…everything. She’d confirmed what she had pretty much already known, and then she’d disappeared.

  Because the job was over.

  Or she’d thought it was.

  “So hitting my SUV was no accident.”

  He swung around once more. His gaze bored into hers. All emotion had vanished from his face, disappeared from his tone.

  “No accident.” No point in lying. He already understood that she’d deceived him. “It was an entry strategy.” The words left a sour taste in her mouth. She’d never once—never—had second thoughts or regrets about a job.

  But this one was different.

  “Once you had what you wanted—” he moved back to the chair, settled into it “—why’d you come back? Even if what you say about Arenas is true, there’s no reason for him to want me dead.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you why he wants you dead. All I know is that’s what he wants. He, or someone claiming to be him, contacted me four days ago for the debrief and finalization of payment. When our conversation concluded, he hung up but some glitch or oversight prevented the call from being disconnected. I overheard him tell a colleague that he didn’t care that I had confirmed you were not a threat—he wanted you dead anyway. I’ve been watching you ever since. Night before last, you were supposed to die. You would come home and there would be a fire. Too bad for you.”

  “How is it you knew the intruder’s precise intentions?”

  “I had a little chat in your living room with the intruder who cracked you on the head. He was all too happy to talk, in hopes of gaining immunity.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  She inclined her head but kept her gaze steady on his. “Yes. I had no choice. He made a dive for my weapon.” That was true. Though letting him go wouldn’t have been a good move in either case. Maybe the guy had sensed she was leaning in a direction that wasn’t in his best interest.

  “Why are we here?” Suspicion lit in his eyes now. “It appears you do know who the enemy is. Why all the subterfuge? If what you say is true, why wouldn’t I just go to the police? Take Arenas down?”

  “Arenas is dead. His body was discovered five days ago.”

  The frown was back. “You said you’d spoken to him four days ago.”

  “I said I’d spoken to a man who claimed to be Arenas. The man I’d been dealing with, obviously, wasn’t Arenas. Particularly since Arenas had been missing for more than two weeks before his body was discovered. The man retired and then he goes missing. Sounds fishy to me.”

  “Then we look to his presumed partner, Paula Jamison.”

  “Also dead,” Eve let him know. “She died just over three months ago.”

  THIS NEWS STUNNED J.T. Anytime that two people involved with the transfer of this much money died within a few weeks of each other, suspicion was aroused.

  Coincidence…maybe.

  Worthy of looking into…definitely. J.T. had known Terrence Arenas for four years. He was an older man nearing retirement, and J.T. hadn’t sensed even the slightest hint of deception in his nature. Someone else had to be behind this initiative.

  Whatever the hell it was.

  For now, all he had were the details provided by a woman who’d already betrayed him in the most basic way. He damned sure wasn’t taking her word for anything.

  The fact that they had been shot at and chased proved there was trouble, but whether or not it actually involved J.T. or his previous employer was yet to be seen.

  J.T. had no reason to believe there had been any underhanded dealings in the Jamison case. He certainly hadn’t noted any deception when the beneficiary payment was executed. Nor had he noted any reason to be suspicious after the fact.

  The better part of a year later, he couldn’t fathom that whatever Eve was involved with had anything to do with the Jamison case—or with him, for that matter.

  But he didn’t take kindly to having his home invaded, being abducted, shot at or chased.

  “What was Arenas’s cause of death?” If the man died of natural causes, that would certainly shed a different light on the situation.

  “I tapped into the coroner’s database and—”

  “You tapped into the coroner’s database?” Who the hell was this woman?

  He’d asked that question many times already.

  “It’s not that complicated,” she countered, “as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  It wasn’t. Not for those with the proper skills and the predilection for the illegal. J.T. simply couldn’t get past the idea that this was the woman he’d fallen in love with…had intended to marry.

  “The final autopsy report is not available as of yet,” she explained, “but the preliminary assessment is that foul play was involved in his death.”

  “And what about Paula Jamison?”

  “Automobile accident. Brake failure.” J.T. scrubbed a hand over his chin. Was it possible someone in the insurance agency had been exploiting clients? Or working some other scam?

  An investigation was assuredly in order.

  But J.T. had other obligations he would need to square away first. “I’ll need to check in with my current employer,” he warned the woman sitting across from him. “Then, I’ll need to do some digging of my own.”

  “I’m afraid the former is impossible.” She pushed out of her chair and wandered back to the bar. Rather than pouring herself another drink, she picked at the sandwich she’d made for him since he hadn’t touched it.

  J.T. shook his head and got to his feet. “You can’t keep me here against my will any more than you can prevent me from making a phone call.”

  She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “This is the only phone for miles.” She popped a bit of cheese into her mouth, chewed a couple of times, then swallowed. “The keys to the only car around and my Glock are hidden.”

  “Walking hasn’t gone out of style.” He headed for the door. He wasn’t playing by her rules. If she wanted to dig out her gun, more power to her.

  He was finished.

  “J.T.”

  He hesitated at the door, his hand already on the knob. He shouldn’t have, but there was something in her voice. An uncertainty…a fragility almost…that he hadn’t heard before.

  “If you go, they won’t stop until you’re dead. Trust me on this. This man, whoever the hell he is, is not playing.”

  He turned back, allowed his gaze to connect with hers. “I’m a big boy, Eve. I can take care of myself. I was doing it long before I met you.”

  As he reached for the dead bolt, she spoke again. “This is my responsibility.”

  He stilled as she moved closer.

  He should have flipped that latch.

  Should have walked out the door.

  “I suppose if I hadn’t taken the job, someone else would’ve. But that doesn’t lessen the responsibility I feel. I…I don’t want to leave you in this position. I want to finish this…the right way.”

  “You already finished it, Eve.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. The warmth of her soft skin premeated into him, made him weak when he needed to be strong.

  “We’re finished—I understand that. You’ll never trust me again. And you shouldn’t. I’m not a trustworthy person. But this job…this guy is not finished by a long shot. He needs to ensure you’re out of the way, for whatever his twisted, se
lfish reasons are. He needs to be stopped. That’s the thing I have to finish before I go.”

  He turned his head just far enough to make eye contact. The urge to laugh at the sincerity in her eyes was very nearly overwhelming. How did she expect him to trust her words when everything about her was a lie?

  “You’ve done your job. It’s time for you to move on to the next job. You don’t owe me anything. You can walk away with a clear conscience. I’m not your fiancé or lover. I’m not even your friend.”

  She flinched. Actually flinched for the second time since he’d awakened in that warehouse.

  His heart reacted.

  He wasn’t sure which of them was the bigger fool.

  Maybe they both were fools.

  “Give me twenty-four hours,” she asked. This was her second request for time. “If I haven’t proved useful to your efforts by then, I’ll be on my way.”

  He shouldn’t change his mind. “I have to contact the Colby Agency.”

  “I live by one firm rule, J.T., and it’s gotten me through until now.” She made a sound, a sort of laugh, but it was glaringly lacking in humor. “And believe me, I’ve been in some seriously tight spots. The motto that’s gotten me through those spots is trust no one. No outside contact whatsoever until this is done.”

  She just didn’t understand the Colby Agency. That was the one place on this planet where complete trust not only existed but also thrived.

  “Twenty-four hours,” he repeated. He supposed contacting the agency could wait. The first chance he got, he would make the call. She couldn’t keep an eye on him every minute.

  She nodded. “Twenty-four hours.”

  He shrugged. “After the swim we took, your phone probably doesn’t work anyway.” He hadn’t considered that until just now. He obviously should have.

  Eve smiled. “I never leave anything to chance, J.T. I keep a spare cell phone in my car.” She tucked the phone into her back pocket once more. “I don’t know how we ever survived without them.”

  How the hell had he missed this level of shrewdness? Then another thought zinged him. “Are you suggesting I stay here—” he glanced back at the door leading to the one bedroom “—with you?”