Protecting His Brother's Bride

by Jan Schliesman

  It was sort of like prepping the electric chair for your execution. She knew what would happen next, but she was helpless to stop it. Opening the plastic packaging gave her a marginal reprieve. Dalton finally whipped out a pocketknife and cut through the layers with barely any effort while she still worked on releasing the charger.

  Her brain slipped to autopilot. She was somehow able to focus all her attention on the task with the pretense of normalcy. Phones were harmless. Phone chargers were never there when you needed them. Like Josh. And now Kira’s whole world was crumbling and her greatest wish was to forget she’d married a lying, cheating bastard. Forget about the son who deserved to be buried in a family cemetery instead of an unmarked grave. And forget about clearing her name from a lengthy list of trumped-up charges.

  “Ready to tell me the truth?” His question knocked her back to reality. She needed a moment to gather the words in her head so they made sense. She couldn’t blurt out the facts or he might not give her a chance to explain her actions. After opening the prepackaged phone, she plugged it in, wondering where to begin. Was there any part of the story that didn’t make her sound like a psycho nut?

  “I work, I mean worked, for Midwest Mutual Insurance in Kansas City. I’ve been building a case for almost three years that one of my superiors knows nothing about.” Please don’t ask why, please don’t ask why. “I didn’t have enough evidence yet, but I knew I was close. Apparently I wasn’t the only one, because I received a threat to back off. I didn’t. Then five weeks ago I was arrested. The FBI traced some missing money, millions actually, to foreign accounts in my name.”

  “Are you guilty?”

  “What?” Kira hadn’t expected Dalton to jump to the end of the story.

  “Simple question. You either did it or you didn’t.”

  “There is nothing simple about this story. Simple would be an expired parking meter and a five-dollar fine.”

  “You’re stalling.”

  “No, you’re being rude. Why’d you even ask me for the truth if you’ve already made up your mind?”

  “First reaction is usually the most honest.” He gave a careless shrug.

  “Have you ever been arrested, Dalton?”

  “No.” His tone implied the idea was beyond the realm of possibility. Good. Let him continue to believe he was out of reach.

  “I have evidence on the flash drive.”

  “Like what?”

  “Besides the forged bank statements, I have copies of fake death certificates and payments to nonexistent doctors, supposedly approved by me.”

  “With all that evidence, why haven’t the Feds taken a second look?” Dalton sounded skeptical and unconvinced.

  “Someone inside my office is working to exaggerate my guilt.” Even saying the word guilt left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Every idea I’ve had to prove my innocence has been a dead end.”

  “How does Josh fit into all of this and why did you come looking for him?”

  “I briefly shared a bank account with Josh. There was never more than a few hundred dollars in it. The account was closed shortly after we were married—by Josh—and only he can confirm that. Josh could help clear my name. But the way he died, under the circumstances you outlined, I know there’s more to it now. I’m afraid it all has to do with Geoff Griffin.”

  “And you think he’s trying to kill you.” Dalton wiped his free hand against his jeans and her eyes followed. The simple gesture had her reliving the few times his body had pressed against hers. It was completely unacceptable how she slipped from extreme annoyance to utter attraction in a millisecond.

  “I didn’t know he wanted me dead or I wouldn’t have involved you. Dalton, you’ve got to believe me.” Her hand was on top of his—which was still on top of his jeans. A bolt of lightning lit up the car through the broken rear window. A reminder of how close they’d come to dying.

  “You can’t take the flash drive. It’s all I have left.” She wanted to tell him more. She was tired of facing it all alone. But this was Josh’s brother. She definitely couldn’t trust him to choose her over Josh, even the memory of Josh.

  Wind gusted through the broken window, swaying the car from side to side. The light rain switched to a torrent, delaying any conversation. The trees helped, but the rain poured into the backseat. Dalton grumbled something and then retrieved the tote bag from between her legs.

  He tossed a couple items aside before latching on to the bottle of painkillers and prying open the top. After shaking a few tablets into his palm, he downed some Gatorade.

  A flash of lightning temporarily blinded Kira and she jumped. Forceful blasts of cold rain shot through the broken window. Dalton tugged on the cord to the phone and flipped it open.

  “Who are you calling?”

  He punched a few numbers, looked up. His lips moved but she couldn’t decipher the words. What if he was calling 911? Probably the easiest way to get her out of his hair. The confining seat belt made it impossible to get an abundance of oxygen to her lungs. Raindrops thumped against the roof of the car, creating a deafening drumbeat.

  It was like the moment she’d awakened and Josh had told her about the baby. She’d loved her child since the day she’d learned of the pregnancy. She’d read all the baby books on the library shelves, avoided sugar and caffeine. Every kick to her ribs was a blessing. Proof of the tiny person she and Josh had created.

  Josh’s enthusiasm had grown significantly when he’d learned they were having a son, and she thought things would turn out okay. Then, in an instant, everything was gone. She hadn’t fought hard enough and she’d lost every single thing that mattered to her. She couldn’t sit here and pretend she was okay. She had to get out of this cramped space, where panic was fighting to take over.

  Dalton was calling the police or the sheriff or whoever was the law in this part of the state. He’d likely do everything in his power to see Josh’s name cleared, and she’d be the only one to blame. He had the money to make it happen. Griffin provided the evidence.

  Panic won.

  She snatched the keys from the ignition and threw her shoulder against the door, but it didn’t budge. Yanking at the handle was more successful, landing her on her butt in the muddy gravel of an unlit road. Oh, Lord, what had she done?

  Forcing herself to move, she scrambled to her knees on the rough stones and then her feet, losing one of her shoes in the process. The rocks cut the sole of her stockinged foot and she stumbled sideways, kicking off the other shoe. She fisted the keys and ran down the ditch, a stream of frigid water quickly numbing the pain. Clamoring up the other side of the embankment, she blinked against the rain blinding her vision.

  Kira had no idea which way to head, only certain of her determination to keep going. She heard Dalton’s voice, ignored it and ran. It was pure madness to continue through icy rain strong enough to blow a car from the road. She couldn’t see the holes in the ground, or the trees ahead, but this was her last opportunity to avoid jail.

  Lightning splintered the sky briefly, guiding her into the cover of a nearby grove. The scent of pine filled her nostrils as cones crunched beneath her feet. She had to keep moving. Her lungs ached with the effort of drawing breath, and she cursed her own lack of endurance.

  She swerved to the left, dodged one large limb and smacked her shoulder on another low-hanging branch. The keys flew from her hand and disappeared. She’d never find them without a light. Or if she did try to search, Dalton would find her.

  Stumbling forward, Kira continued through the darkness. Failure was not an option. Almost belatedly she noticed the rain was tolerable beneath the towering pines. She shoved her hair away from her eyes, spared a glance over her shoulder and ducked behind the largest tree trunk.

  Her fingers were already numb from the cold. Her shoulder
s shook with the effort it took to stifle a cough. She couldn’t outrun Dalton, so she’d keep quiet until she was certain he either gave up his pursuit or made his way beyond her hiding spot.

  “Kira!” His angry voice echoed through the canopied forest.

  She stayed silent, cupping her chilly hands over her lips and releasing a breath. She closed her eyes and remembered Kansas City in July. The steam pouring off the sidewalks, the rattle of her sometimes temperamental window air conditioner and the scent of cocoa butter sunscreen.

  “Kira! We’re in the middle of nowhere. Get back in the car.”

  Why the demand seemed especially amusing, she had no idea, but she swallowed the hysterical laughter bubbling up her throat. Be quiet.

  “Aren’t your feet sore without your shoes?”

  Of course they were.

  “I don’t think you meant to jump out of the car. You left your bag. How are you going to survive without all your essentials?” he yelled, getting closer.

  Cute. She could do it. She was a survivor. Weeks of scorn and years of abandonment toughened you up. The wilderness during a lightning storm was a cakewalk.

  “I’m leaving and I’m pressing charges for every single stunt you’ve pulled.”

  She laughed and the sound carried straight up the tree trunk and reverberated through the branches. It was funny only because everything transpiring between them amounted to the least of her illegal activities. And he had no way of leaving.

  The few seconds she’d allowed her mind to wander equaled a complete loss of focus. Where had he gone? Had he actually walked away or was he simply waiting for her to reveal her location? She couldn’t believe he cared enough to waste another moment of a stormy night in a dark forest.

  She was so cold. So alone and wishing for another outcome. As she sought warmth for her frozen hands, her fingers longed for the reassurance of the flash drive. How much time had passed? When would it be safe to move around and where would she go? She sank to the ground and shoved her muddied purple socks beneath a layer of pine needles. Dalton was right about one thing: she needed a plan.

  * * *

  A river of water raced down Dalton’s spine. Every inch of his body was wet and cold since Kira had fled what was left of his car. But his Coast Guard training prepared him for far worse than this night. All those drills at 0300 hours were more than enough practice for him to survive a few hours of being wet on dry land.

  He could still smell the salt of the ocean. Feel the waves knocking him out of the safety zone. Being the fastest swimmer in his high school mattered less when the pool was replaced by the unpredictability of an angry ocean. And being the first one to make it to the wall meant you’d endured twelve hours of survival swimming.

  Blondie had caught him off guard twice in less than six hours. He shoved his wet hands into equally wet pockets. Did she really believe stealing his keys meant she’d won?

  Not a chance he’d allow her to scurry to the car and race away without him.

  Not happening.

  But how much longer would she continue this farce? He checked his pocket again, verifying that the flash drive was still there. He ought to be home in bed, where it was nice and dry. Oh, right, his home was destroyed. After months of tearing down walls and replacing windows, he’d found the place was starting to feel like a home.

  He scanned the area for movement, yanked the cell phone from his pocket, guarding it as best he could from the rain. He doubted the cheap thing was waterproof, and it still had no reception. He would have gladly shared that information with Kira if she’d given him a chance.

  The troublesome woman didn’t deserve any consideration. Armed, she’d shown up and ruined months of his hard work. The lady had more enemies than he could count and she also refused to follow the simplest of commands.

  Commands? Was he training a dog? Dalton would admit his people skills were a bit rusty. Training a dog might be easier than getting one desperate woman to follow a few simple suggestions. He refused to think of himself as a bully. He could be nice when a situation called for it. This situation didn’t.

  Crazy woman. Josh’s wife? A woman without common sense or simply one who chose to ignore the simple solutions?

  A sneeze. She was definitely nearby, approximately fifty feet from him, jogging in the opposite direction. He almost yelled her name. Almost returned to his worthless car in relief. But he’d hauled her damn bag, full of everything except an umbrella, this far. She was getting it back. He ran at an angle, hoping to cut her off before she reached the fence in the distance.

  “Where did the fool woman go now?” He stopped and stared at the last place he’d seen her, thinking she’d somehow reappear. She didn’t. Was it another one of her stunts? Had she known he was nearby?

  The wind increased. Pellet-sized hail pounded him from every angle. He sheltered his eyes from the assault, trudging through the knee-high grass.

  He ducked back under a tree, blocking some of the white pellets now covering the ground. His Caddy would be ruined. Who was he kidding? The car had already been shot up.

  Kira Kincaid’s emerald eyes burned in his memory, along with the look of utter surprise on her face when he’d kissed her. The softness of her lips when she’d fallen into his arms and returned his kiss. He couldn’t be attracted to Blondie. The pull toward this enigma proved how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. He’d forgotten how good they smelled.

  A therapist would probably tell him it was a breakthrough in his healing process. What a load of crap. He wanted his keys. The anticipation was all about wanting to get out of here. Nothing more.

  From somewhere behind him, the unmistakable sound of hail striking metal reached his ears. Could he be imagining hail hitting a roof? No, there was a certain rhythmic pounding.

  Behind him sat a decades-old trailer, similar to one he’d stayed in while trout fishing a few years ago. This one had seen better days.

  Distance and darkness improved its appearance. And there was Kira. For a split second, something akin to relief left Dalton immobile. He argued against the thought, his mind choosing sides in an attempt to keep the proverbial rowboat from tipping. Was it relief that he was finished with her or relief at seeing her again? With a large rock in her hand, she methodically pounded a padlock attached to the only door. He slid down the incline without making too much noise.

  “Need some help, cupcake?” He easily avoided the rock she tossed.

  “Dalton.” She swiped her muddy hands against her equally muddy jeans and shoved her hair from her face, leaving a dark streak. “I don’t have your keys.”

  Why had he thought she’d be just as relieved to see him? Shoot, he was relieved he’d found her. Idiot is my middle name. He took a step toward her and she flattened against the trailer. “No keys? Am I going to have to strip-search you for them?”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  He gave the weakened padlock a solid yank, breaking it from the door. Shining a nearly useless Buckshot’s penlight into the interior, he took Kira’s arm, ignoring the desire to pull her closer. Her skin was like ice, covered in goose bumps. Her dirty feet must be frigid, as well.

  Once inside, he slid the barrel bolt. Although the outside of the trailer was dented and rusty, the interior was surprisingly clean. Clean until he and his muddy companion arrived.

  The trailer was six by twelve feet. Half the space was devoted to a kitchen with a tiny stovetop, a table and two benches, the other half to a bed. Someone had left a plastic container with sheets and blankets on the short Formica counter. Dalton bent to untie his wet leather boots and dropped her bag of necessities on the floor.

  “Get undressed.” Why had he lugged that thing with him? Because she might actually need something from it.

  “If you really think... Not a chance.” Her teeth chat
tered as she protested.

  “If you’d stayed in the car, this wouldn’t be necessary.” He forced himself to open cabinets. No food. No flashlight. “Stop stalling and give me your clothes.”

  “I won’t be giving you anything.”

  “Wanna bet?” Through with playing games, he pulled her shirt and sweatshirt roughly over her head and tossed them to the floor. For once in his life, he wished he was wrong. But the bra hiding beneath the layers of clothing was definitely a front hook, and the cleavage he’d glimpsed before was even more tempting.

  Bully or commander, he was in charge, and it was time she figured it out. “Strip.”

  A gleam of defiance returned as she threw her shoulders back, thrusting the contents of that lacy bra in his face. Her fingers dropped to her slim hips and released the snap at her waist. The zipper slid south, along with his full attention as she shimmied and shoved the wet denim down her legs. Nice legs. Great legs. The penlight shook in his hand.

  A pair of hot-pink panties, high cut and plastered to her silky skin, taunted him. She kicked the jeans to his feet and propped her hands on her hips.

  “Satisfied?”

  Talk about a loaded question. Long dormant parts of his anatomy sprang to life, reminding him of everything he missed. He caught himself staring at the scraps of material covering her breasts and choked on his initial response.

  Remembering how she’d run through the rainy darkness hardened his resolve. She didn’t deserve any sympathy from him. He tossed her a flowery sheet to cover up with. Even the bully wouldn’t allow him to neglect her completely.

  “Get in bed.” It was the safest place to confine Kira without worries of her escaping again. It wouldn’t surprise him to find her scampering in her skimpy underwear back to the car.

  He searched the pockets of her jeans, then angrily tossed the muddy mess into a high cupboard. He left her sweatshirt on the floor. “Where the hell are my keys?”

  Her reply included mostly four-letter words. Good. Let her be even half as pissed as he’d been, standing in the rain waiting for her.