Protecting His Brother's Bride

by Jan Schliesman

  “He called this number a bunch of times.” She sighed. “I don’t think he likes this guy very much. Anyway, there’s a girl with him named Kira.” Stacy Jo held up one finger. “Um, at some fancy ski house in the mountains.” She lifted a second finger and then a third. “And they think some guy’s framing her for killing somebody else, I think in Wyoming.” She giggled. “If you ask me, it sounds more like a soap opera than real life.”

  He plucked the phone from her outstretched hand and then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “There’s only one problem, babe. No one asked you.”

  A second later, he shoved her off the curb in front of a slow-moving semi. The truck did a good job shutting her up.

  * * *

  The smell of coffee penetrated Kira’s senses and stirred her from several hours of much-needed sleep. Given how she felt about the brew, it might as well have been stench from a pig farm.

  She rolled to the center of the bed and buried her face in one of the pillows, groaning in regret. Okay, maybe it wasn’t regret. Just a realization she’d done one more thing she couldn’t take back.

  Had she ever been so bold before? Probably not, but it felt good and she planned on doing it again. Being bold, that is. She could get used to feeling empowered. And it was funny how Dalton didn’t need to make her feel inferior in order to feed his ego. There was urgency, but there wasn’t a rush.

  She’d been married, but had never known the aching need Dalton aroused in her. Never knew intimacy meant being so intimate. Never knew what she’d been missing.

  How could she pretend the experience hadn’t changed her? If Josh had made half as much of an effort in the bedroom, she would have followed him around like a lost puppy.

  But Josh hadn’t needed her the same way she’d needed him. He’d been sneaking around with Lauren, undermining Dalton’s marriage when he should have been focusing on his own. Why was Kira so susceptible to the charm of the Matthews men?

  She needed a shower. A very hot shower and a thousand-calorie breakfast to put her in the right frame of mind. And then she’d be ready to face Dalton again.

  * * *

  Dalton stood in the kitchen listening to Kira’s off-key rendition of a Sugarland tune. He needed to focus on what it would take to get her out of trouble and on the right side of the law.

  It was time to call Ethan.

  Dalton swung open his office door. Just in case he needed to take some notes, he wanted to be in a quiet spot where Kira wouldn’t overhear. After punching in the Buckshot’s number, he entered Ethan’s extension, hoping it wouldn’t go right to voice mail.

  “Tech support, this is Ethan. May I have your employee number please?”

  “One.”

  After a momentary pause, Ethan said, “Dalton?”

  “Yep, it’s me. And I’m not making contact from the other side.”

  “But it’s all over the news you were killed by some crazy lady,” the younger man said.

  “Tate is the only one, other than you, who knows the truth. I need you to keep quiet.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Now, did you get the flash drive decrypted?”

  “Yes, I’ve been working on it. Tate didn’t say it was from you.” He tapped on his keyboard a few times. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

  “I’ll take the bad.”

  “Several of these files show a direct link to Josh.”

  How many other people had been harmed by Josh’s deceptions? “And the good news?”

  “I can probably erase his information without deleting any of the other files, if you want me to.”

  Dalton drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Bad, huh?”

  “A few of the files had an embedded IP address leading right to Josh. I have a feeling whoever collected this information never figured out how to dig deep enough to prove the connection. There are some incriminating files related to Geoff Griffin and the owner-author, Kira Kincaid. Mostly shuffling of government payments through six or more companies before they disappear. Looks like insurance fraud and embezzlement.”

  “How much damage are we talking about here?”

  “I don’t see anything associating Buckshot’s with Josh’s actions. But in the last six months, the amount of money stolen has almost tripled. I can understand why the authorities are anxious to tie this all up with a nice neat bow.”

  Dalton frowned and doodled on a piece of scratch paper. Now what? “I didn’t expect you’d really find anything about Josh.” Dalton hated not having a definitive answer. “Give me a day or two to decide how to proceed on this.”

  “Sure, I can sit on the information as long as you want,” Ethan replied. “Give me a phone number, in case something changes and I need to get in touch with you.”

  Dalton rattled off the number and then voiced what had been on his mind all night. “One more thing, Ethan.”

  “Name it.”

  “Track down a birth certificate for me. Not sure of the exact date, probably three to four years ago. But it should be in the Kansas City area, with the mother listed as Kira Kincaid.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” It pained him to say the words. “There should be a death certificate, too. Same date as the birth.” He absently tugged open one of the desk drawers and then slid it shut.

  “Is Josh the father?” Ethan asked.

  “The father?” Dalton echoed. His heart raced as his brain connected all the pieces. What if Lauren had been carrying Josh’s child and not his own? Yesterday he would have laughed outright if anyone had voiced such a ludicrous theory.

  “Dalton?”

  “Let me know what you find out.” He quickly disconnected the call and pocketed the cheap phone. Sliding the chair closer to the bookcase, he reached for the framed picture from their night at the Grammy Awards ceremony.

  Lauren had been giddy with excitement, starstruck by the number of musicians who knew her name. Hitting double platinum with her first album had caught many people by surprise. But winning the Grammy for Best New Artist had cemented her as a celebrity.

  Dalton searched his memory for more details, wondering now if Josh had been nearby. Was she thinking of him while she’d been clutching Dalton’s hand?

  This was torture and completely pointless. His wife and his brother were both gone, and disparaging their memory wouldn’t make the situation bearable.

  There would be a firestorm of crap as soon as the press got wind of Josh’s involvement in Kira’s investigation. Two months ago, when Josh was killed in a crash an hour outside of Denver, the news media had jumped at the opportunity to rehash every tragedy his family had faced over the past few years.

  Dalton’s dad and two of his uncles had died before reaching their forty-fifth birthdays, so the media had played up the supposed curse plaguing his family. And then Lauren’s suicide was brought to the forefront, taking Dalton back to the day he’d discovered her body. He couldn’t return there, wouldn’t feel the numbing pain and overwhelming guilt again.

  He placed the picture on the shelf, paused and then turned it facedown.

  He valued family and loyalty above everything. But tarnishing Josh’s memory might not be out of the question. Could Dalton do the right thing and clear Kira of some of the charges leveled against her? Or would he be the next man who let her down?

  * * *

  Griffin yanked the snowmobile’s keys from the teenager’s outstretched hand before climbing onto the machine. This was his last chance. If he didn’t silence the woman and her champion today, then he’d be the one running for his life. He signaled for Rico to follow him. Instead, the arrogant son of a bitch revved the engine and took off before Griffin could even get his helmet in place and his snowmobile started.

  Rico had been pair
ed with Franklin in the past, and the cocky Mexican seemed unaffected by frigid temperatures and mountain air. The little bastard didn’t know who Griffin really was. He’d introduced himself using the name Carson. It was time to clean up this mess himself.

  He’d take care of her new savior and get rid of the bitch at her dead husband’s grave in the family cemetery. Justice would be dealt today. Griffin’s problems would disappear with the death of Kira Kincaid.

  He stomped on the gas pedal and the snowmobile shot forward several yards, then died. He turned the key a second time and the engine restarted, but with a noticeable sputter. He glared over his shoulder at the kid who’d scored a wad of hundred-dollar bills in exchange for the snowmobiles and a promise to lock up shop for the day.

  Oblivious to his annoyance, the tattooed teen was busy texting someone. Griffin turned his attention to the plume of snow Rico was leaving in his wake. No way was Griffin letting the guy take charge of this assignment or rob him of the pleasure of tying up loose ends.

  Griffin gunned the motor and raced across the open field. He knew he wouldn’t be able to catch Rico, let alone overtake him. Anger fueled his determination and he sped across the snow in pursuit. The snowmobile ran smoother when he reached fifty miles per hour, but he was only just able to keep Rico in his sights.

  The temperature was in the teens, but his cold-weather gear kept Griffin plenty warm. They had twenty minutes of driving across a fairly open stretch of ground before a forest of pine trees appeared and forced them to slow the machines. He checked the GPS screen on his phone before tapping the wired mic system in his helmet and summoning Rico.

  Rico reduced his speed to a crawl and Griffin was able to pull alongside him.

  “The kid said there’d be some sort of path heading southeast through the trees. Guessing it’s been covered by all this snow, so keep your eyes peeled for it.”

  Rico grunted something in another language and Griffin’s annoyance jumped again. Foreigners. If they were in the United States, then they needed to speak English.

  “I’ll take the lead now,” Griffin instructed, flipping the shield over his face and then moving into position. Let the man inhale his exhaust and stare at his back for a while.

  Griffin followed the tree line for the next twenty minutes, searching for any break wide enough for a snowmobile to get through. The wind grew stronger and the snow swirled in front of him, slowing their progress to a crawl. He consulted the GPS again, growing impatient with the time they were wasting.

  Rico whistled into the mic and when Griffin looked over his shoulder, the man was gesturing to a small gap between the trees. No way was that big enough for them to get through. Before Griffin could voice his opinion, however, Rico steered his snowmobile into the space and carefully maneuvered around a few younger trees.

  Griffin was forced to make a U-turn and follow the man again. He fumed silently instead of cursing repeatedly inside the helmet. No sense in letting Rico know how frustrated he was by their current situation. Then Griffin noticed how easy it was to follow Rico’s tracks as they wound through the trees. Maybe Griffin had lucked out, after all.

  All the zigzagging felt like a never-ending carnival ride. When he thought he wouldn’t survive another minute of the great outdoors, the path straightened and Rico picked up speed as one small incline turned into a hill and then a mountain.

  Griffin glanced down at the GPS. They had to be getting close, since they’d been traveling for well over an hour. The gas gauge hovered below three-quarters of a tank, stemming his other concern that they might not have enough fuel to make the return trip.

  Even from several miles away he noticed something sparkling in the distance. The blinding brightness of the newly fallen snow was reflecting off a few windows. He stopped his machine and whistled into the mic for Rico, who stopped a hundred feet or so ahead of him.

  Griffin unzipped his parka, located a pair of binoculars and raised them to his eyes, hoping to get confirmation they were headed to the right location. He was blinded by the initial glare and blinked a few times before spotting the house.

  “Is that the place?” Rico asked a bit too loudly.

  Griffin nodded before lowering the binoculars. “Looks like we found it.”

  Rico turned his machine around and approached him. “Are you sure we don’t want to wait until dark to move in?”

  “What?” Griffin wasn’t waiting any longer to end the bitch’s streak of luck. Plus, how would they ever find their way after dark?

  “When the sun sets, the element of surprise will be on our side,” Rico insisted.

  Was the Mexican a moron or what?

  “The element of surprise is already on our side. They think no one can find them.”

  “In another kilometer they’ll hear us.”

  “Probably. But snowmobiles are common around here.”

  “I think we should wait.”

  Griffin didn’t care for Rico’s opinion. The bastard had no right to question his authority. Griffin was the one calling the shots. He shoved the binoculars into his pocket and quickly zipped his coat before replacing his glove.

  “We’re moving in now,” he instructed. He wanted to lead the way again, but his snowmobile died as soon as he hit the gas. He could have sworn Rico was smirking as he pulled away, and Griffin’s temper flared again. One way or another, he was going to put him in his rightful place.

  Chapter 15

  When Kira finally exited the bedroom, she was dressed in a navy turtleneck and jeans that had suddenly materialized on her bed. The tags were in place and she’d breathed a sigh of relief, knowing Dalton’s wife had never worn the clothing.

  The scent of coffee was a bit less overwhelming when she entered the kitchen and found Dalton retrieving waffles from the toaster. She paused long enough to admire the way he filled out a pair of jeans. He’d changed into a dark gray long-sleeved shirt, but his feet were bare. She noticed a battery lying on the ceramic tile floor and paused to retrieve it before approaching him.

  “Thanks for the clothes.” She stepped up behind him and laid the battery on the counter. “This was on the floor.”

  “Better than the thumbtack I stepped on earlier.” He glanced over her shoulder. “A casualty of my great condom search last night.”

  Kira laughed and he gave her a disapproving frown. “It could have been very serious.”

  She laughed louder and watched him drop two more waffles into the toaster.

  “I’m going to remember how heartless you can be,” he threatened.

  “And I’m going to remember how thorough you can be,” she replied, briefly eyeing the counter behind them.

  Arms full of waffles and extra plates, Dalton gestured to the glasses on the table. “Unless you’d like a repeat performance, you should probably grab the orange juice out of the fridge.”

  She quickly stepped out of his reach and retrieved the pitcher of juice, all the while knowing he was watching every move she made. She filled the glasses, noticed that napkins were missing and retrieved some from the counter.

  “Check the cupboard in front of you for syrup,” Dalton instructed.

  Kira found it and carried the real Vermont maple syrup and napkins to the table before seating herself. She took a sip of her juice. “Did you have orange juice on the plane?”

  He shook his head. “Frozen concentrate, frozen waffles and some freezer-burned ham. I pitched it in the trash. The breakfast options were pretty limited.”

  “I’ll survive,” Kira said.

  He placed the plate of waffles on the table and refilled his coffee mug. Kira divvied up the waffles and was pouring syrup on hers when he reached over with his fork and stole one.

  “Hey, give me that,” she said.

  He placed the syrupy waffle on one of his and then co
vered it with another before raising the resulting sandwich to his lips and taking a hefty bite. “I’m starved,” he mumbled around the mouthful of food.

  “Yeah, me, too,” Kira said, sliding her plate a little farther away from his. Wasn’t there some unspoken rule about hosts waiting until guests ate their fill before taking all the food they wanted? Kira scowled across the table at Dalton while using her knife to saw through the two remaining waffles on her plate.

  He’d polished his off by the time she’d cut her waffles into bite-size pieces. He smiled over at her. “If you’re not hungry, I can finish those for you.”

  She stabbed two pieces, shoved them into her mouth and nearly gagged. Vermont maple syrup was really strong and the waffles had a too-long-in-the-freezer taste to them. She chewed, swallowed and washed everything down with the remainder of her orange juice.

  Kira dropped her fork onto the plate and shoved it toward him.

  “I’m full.” Ignoring his greedy smile, she grabbed her glass and went to the sink. She was still hungry and definitely in need of some chocolate fortification. She squeezed a little dish soap into the sink and turned on the hot water, then started searching for a dishcloth.

  Dalton appeared behind her holding both plates, which she retrieved and stacked on the counter.

  “I’ll clean up,” she offered. He found a cloth and dropped it into the bubbly water before setting a couple dish towels nearby. Then he walked to the coffeemaker and filled his cup again.

  “You know that I believe you, right?” Dalton asked.

  Kira glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, I know.” The expression on his face had her reaching for a towel to dry her hands. “But...?”

  “But nothing.” Seconds later, he was pulling her into his arms. “Don’t doubt my allegiance, Kira. I’m doing everything in my power to clear your name.”

  “I know you are, Dalton.” She stared up at him, wishing she could hold on to him for more than a minute.

  “You don’t sound very confident in my abilities.”