Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

  Whichever way this went, she would be losing a grandfather.

  She was glad she hadn't gotten hold of her grandmother when she called home yesterday, and had only left a cheerful message. She could just imagine what her sketchy information about the wreck, and her pointed questions about the single-or-married discrepancy on Robert’s enlistment form, would have put Virginia through. After today, when she finally did talk with her, Joanne would be able to answer her grandmother’s inevitable questions, one way or the other. Hopefully, she wouldn’t even have to mention the marriage certificate, other than maybe as a funny anecdote.

  She watched Leif's expression like a hawk as he spoke with the director of the retirement home, trying to decipher what he might be hearing. But he kept his face neutral and impassive through the whole conversation. She was on pins and needles until he finally put down the phone and came around to where she was sitting.

  He held out his arms, and as she retreated into his comforting embrace, somehow she knew he was about to break her heart.

  He hugged her tight, and said, "It looks like it may be him, Jo. I think it's your grandfather.”

  Chapter 56

  A muffled sob squeezed past the solid lump in Joanne's throat at Leif's words. She buried her face against his shoulder, fighting the pain, desperately not wanting to believe.

  He stroked her hair, speaking softly. "The Robert Grant living at the retirement home is American, and he came to Sweden during the fifties. He was badly injured in an accident back then, and has used crutches or a wheelchair ever since.”

  She felt him kiss the top of her head, cradling her in his arms as he spoke. Numb, she tried to absorb what he was saying.

  "His health is reasonably good, except for chronic arthritis caused by his old injuries. He's been living at the home for seven or eight years now, since his wife died.”

  When she heard the word 'wife,' Joanne let out a sob, and clutched Leif tighter. In that single moment, her safe, comfortable world collapsed.

  “Why?” she cried. “Why did he leave us? Why would he do something so heartless to my grandmother?”

  Joanne’s mother had always said a man could not be trusted with a woman's love. Eventually, he would leave her behind. Tear out her heart, and leave her weeping and utterly alone. Joanne had never bought into that philosophy. She knew her mother’s pain and heartbreak over the untimely deaths of both her father and husband had colored the way she felt about all men.

  But now her mother’s warnings came rushing back, chilling Joanne’s heart and transforming her world into a bleak, loveless place.

  With tear-filled eyes, she looked up at the one man she’d believed she could trust. The man to whom she had so very recently handed her own frightened and fragile heart.

  Had she made a huge mistake? Was her mother right?

  Concern shadowed his blue eyes. “Älskling, are you okay?”

  She shook her head. And burst into tears. Over what she had learned. Over what she had lost. Over the futility of it all.

  She had to get away from him.

  Pushing Leif away, she ignored his astonished expression and ran crying from the conference room, out into the maze of cubicles in the Customs office.

  She stopped at the nearest desk with a woman behind it, and asked, sobbing, “Ladies room?” then ran to the only place where no man might follow.

  She needed to think.

  Oh, God. What should she do?

  Chapter 57

  Leif stood in the doorway gaping after Joanne, his fists jammed into his jumpsuit pockets. Every eye in the place was on him, casting accusing looks.

  He shook his head and raised his palms in the universal sign of surrender. "Don't look at me, she was fine until she found out she has a grandfather.”

  He clamped his jaw at their uncomprehending faces, then went back into the conference room to call the airport for a flight to Umeå.

  Right now she was upset. She had a right to be. But she would be out in a few minutes, wanting to go and meet Robert Grant. And possibly kick the old boy in the balls.

  The next flight left in an hour from the small airport on the outskirts of town.

  Pushing out a breath, he dialed the number of police headquarters, and had them patch him through to Pelle's two-way radio. As he filled him in on this latest development, Leif could practically hear the gears cranking in his friend's head, even over the static.

  "Find out what you can and call me right away," Pelle told him. "If there really are some kind of old KGB documents on the loose out there that are still putting people’s lives in jeopardy, and Robert Grant knows anything about that, I want to know as soon as possible. So no one else gets hurt.”

  Grim, Leif hung up the phone. He still couldn’t believe Robert Grant was alive. The Robert Grant. After seeing the pain he’d caused Joanne, Leif was tempted to kill the man himself.

  She was right. How could anyone be so heartless?

  He just hoped the old man had one hell of a good reason for his actions.

  He clamped his jaw. Not that there was any excuse good enough to betray and desert those you’d vowed to love and cherish. Not espionage. Not fear for your life. Not asshole lawyers with fishing poles.

  Total amnesia, maybe. But that clearly wasn’t the case here.

  Jetting out an angry breath, he reached for the phone again. There was one more call he had to make, and he wasn't exactly sure how to handle it. As Joanne’s assigned minder, Leif was supposed to report any developments in her search to the State Department. Finding out Robert Grant was still alive certainly qualified as a major development. In fact, it was a lot bigger than anyone had ever anticipated at the time State agreed to give him the assignment.

  He was afraid they would yank him off the case and put some paper-pusher from Stockholm in his place. He shuddered at the thought of what might have happened at the river that morning if he had not been there to pull Joanne out of the raging water. If, instead, it had been some pasty-faced, racquetball-playing bureaucrat who’d never been north of Uppsala.

  He punched in the number with solid determination. He would not be put off, and that was that. He stood and turned to stare out the window at the festive Midsummer banners and bunting that decorated city below, listening to the phone ring in Stockholm.

  When his contact came on the line, Leif went through—almost—everything that had happened over the past two days, answering the considerable number of questions thrown at him as best he could.

  "Well, Customs Chief Adel, it sounds like you're on top of the situation. For now, I'll let you follow this through.”

  Leif breathed a sigh of relief, which he hadn't quite completely exhaled, when his contact continued speaking.

  "Do you think it's possible the original list of European KGB operatives the defector was carrying really still exists?”

  Leif froze. The implications of his contact’s question exploded through his mind in an instant.

  A list of European KGB operatives.

  That was far too specific to be a wild guess.

  Had the State Department known all along what the Hungarians were hunting? Had the bastards let Joanne continue her search for her grandfather’s plane, knowing full well her life could be in danger?

  “Adel?”

  Fury filled his veins. But he had to play it cool. Obviously, his contact hadn’t realized his slip.

  Leif cleared his throat, and pretended he’d been considering the question. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I suppose it must be around somewhere, or the Hungarians wouldn’t be this persistent.” Or deadly.

  "Good. I’d like you to get your hands on that list for us.”

  He clamped his jaw. No problem. It’s only been gone for sixty years. "And what am I supposed to do with the list once I have my hands on it?”

  "Put it somewhere safe until we can send somebody to collect it.”

  His anger escalated. "And what if Miss Fager objects?”

  Or Gran
t. It had been his mission. He was the one who should decide what was to be done with the list, if, in fact, it did still exist. Hell, maybe he’d burned the damn thing sixty years ago.

  "Tell Miss Fager we might be amenable to a trade," came his contact’s silky reply.

  Seriously? They’d already formulated a strategy to deal with her in case she found it?

  “And what would that be?” he asked icily.

  "The list, in exchange for an indefinite visa and a work permit, so she can stay in Sweden. Should she feel so inclined.”

  Gud i himmeln. These guys were smarter than he gave them credit for.

  He narrowed his eyes. Or maybe they had a mole in Customs.

  “I’ll relay the message,” he said, and turned back to the conference table to put down the phone.

  Joanne was leaning against the door jamb regarding him, her expression chilling.

  How long had she been standing there?

  “What list?” she asked stonily.

  Long enough, apparently.

  “A list of European KGB operatives the defector was carrying,” he said, excited to tell her about the information windfall he’d just gotten. “I was—”

  She cut him off with a steely look. "So, you’ve known all along what the Hungarians are after. Why they’re trying to kill me." Anger rang in her voice.

  “What? No!” His smile fell into stunned astonishment. "Jo, you can't possibly believe I’d—"

  She slashed a hand up. "I don't have to believe, I heard enough of your conversation to know.”

  Leif reached out to her, hurt razoring through him, only to have her step away from his hand.

  "Don't." She looked away. "How can I get to Umeå?”

  Chapter 58

  As the plane took off an hour later on the short flight to Umeå, Leif scowled out the window. A string of curses flew circles inside his brain. How the hell had he and Joanne gone from delighted lovers to this terrible impasse?

  Could she really believe his wanting to get hold of a fucking list of names had prompted him to make love to her last night? All night? And this morning? And again tonight? And for the rest of his goddamned life?

  He silently fumed, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

  Except...her stand-offish behavior had started before she overheard his call to Stockholm. Everything had changed when she’d discovered her grandfather was still alive.

  He understood how that must have hurt. That she needed some alone-time to absorb the fact and deal with it emotionally.

  But he had nothing to do with all that. He so did not deserve this treatment.

  Hell, he’d had to face his own damn demons before gathering the courage to be with her last night.

  Helvetes djävlar.

  He couldn’t believe it. He’d let yet another woman do it to him again.

  Hurt, betrayed, and broken-hearted.

  And fucking alone in his misery.

  When the hell would he ever learn?

  Chapter 59

  Three rows up, Joanne was grateful she and Leif had not been able to sit together on the packed flight. She was already bitterly regretting what she had to do.

  The ride to the airport had been a pure nightmare. She'd had to force herself to ignore the pain in Leif's eyes. It was best that way.

  She couldn’t deal with him—with anything—right now. She could only look as far ahead as the next task to be completed, until she could go home. Home to her sterile job and neurotic family. She had to make her mind stay empty. Because if she let in any real thought, any real emotion, to penetrate the ice-cold shroud of betrayal enveloping her own heart, she was terrified she’d break down and beg Leif to let her stay with him in this strange, beautiful wilderness.

  But she couldn’t let herself do that. She’d be leaving as soon as she could arrange it. He didn’t want a real relationship with her, anyway, just something short and sweet. Which she’d come to accept. But now this...this list thing. Was that all he’d been after from the beginning?

  She didn’t know what to believe.

  With tears in her eyes, she gazed out the airplane window at the verdant forests and tumbling rivers, the cheerful cottages and azure blue lakes, floating by beneath them.

  No. She couldn’t deal with him. With any of it.

  She’d made up her mind. She would only allow one sequence of events—see this Robert Grant, hear his pathetic excuses, then leave Sweden as fast as she could.

  And damn her broken heart.

  Chapter 60

  Still absurdly dressed in the brightly colored Customs jumpsuits, Joanne climbed the steps of the Umeå retirement home with Leif in uncomfortable silence.

  Ushered into the director’s office, she sat quietly as the director and Leif spoke for several minutes about why they’d come, in English for her benefit. She didn't even flinch when he indicated that her reaction to the news was not entirely positive, and offered her grandmother's abandonment as the reason.

  "What an unbelievable story," the director said to her kindly. She was a slim, silver-haired woman whose name was Anna Lisa.

  "To be honest, my head is still spinning." Joanne admitted with a tight sigh. "I'm not even sure why I'm here. I should probably just get on the next plane home and leave him in peace." She looked up apologetically. "But I owe it to my grandmother to see him and let him explain his reasons for not coming back...if he cares to.”

  Anna Lisa's smile was warm and sympathetic. "I would certainly want to know, if it were me," she said. "But I'm sure it will come as a shock, regardless of what he has to say. I don't envy you, or your grandmother.”

  With that, she took them up on the elevator, and they stood in front of Robert Grant's apartment while she knocked.

  An old man in a wheelchair opened the door. His eyes lit up with pleasure at seeing Anna Lisa, and then with curiosity when he saw Joanne and Leif standing behind her. He must not often get visitors from the outside world.

  "Anna Lisa, how nice of you to drop by," he said with a robust voice. "Who have you brought with you? Come in, come in.”

  "Robert," Anna Lisa began tentatively. "I'm not exactly sure how I should say this, so I'll just blurt it out, if it's all the same to you."

  From his wheelchair, he looked up at her with a frankly puzzled expression. "By all means.”

  "This is Joanne Fager, and her friend Leif Adel." Anna Lisa put a hand gently on her shoulder. "Joanne thinks, well, that you may be her grandfather.”

  The old man's face fell into a stony mask, and he said without hesitation, "Then there must be some mistake." His bushy eyebrows creased harshly. "It is not possible that I have any grandchildren.”

  Joanne stepped forward. "Believe me, I understand your skepticism." She touched her temple with unsteady fingers. "I'm having considerable trouble believing it myself. I just found out a couple of hours ago that a grandfather we long thought to be dead may, in fact, be alive.”

  "You don't understand," the old man said with growing agitation and insistence. "It is not possible for me to have grandchildren, because it has not been possible for me to have children." He brushed across his legs and abdomen with a sweeping gesture that left little question of what he meant. "Now if you don't mind, I have things—"

  "Because of your injuries in the plane crash?" she asked evenly.

  He stopped his wheelchair in mid-turn and glanced up at her sharply. His voice lashed out, "What do you know of a plane crash?”

  She mirrored his coldly furious look. "The one they told my grandmother you had died in.”

  He regarded her for a long time before he spoke. "And your grandmother's name is?”

  "Is it possible there could be more than one to choose from?" she asked coldly, though already feeling the sting of tears.

  "No," he said at length, and shuddered out a breath. "God help me, no.”

  Grant backed his wheelchair away from the door. "You'd better come in.”

  Anna Lisa gave her hand a pat. "We'
ll be downstairs if you need us.”

  Joanne sent Leif a last, uncertain look, but he was carefully studying a spot on the opposite wall, and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Already desperately missing him, she pressed her lips together and followed her grandfather into his apartment.

  And made herself go numb.

  Chapter 61

  Robert Grant had turned into a different person when they were inside the apartment, and he turned to face Joanne. He seemed infinitely older than the cheerful, alert man who had answered the door. His shoulders sagged and his eyes had a far-away, almost haunted, look in them.

  He wheeled into a small galley kitchen off the main living area. "I'd better put on some coffee.”

  She nodded, and looked around the large room where she waited.

  It was a cozy space, filled with doily-bedecked, overstuffed furniture. Many of the pieces were covered in beautifully hand-embroidered petit point fabric. A bookshelf was packed with hundreds of books and magazines. The mantel of the ornately carved fireplace was littered with birds rendered in various forms of glass and porcelain, along with several framed photos.

  Joanne migrated toward the photos, curiosity somehow poking through the numbness. She ran her fingers along the mantel as she stepped along it, looking at each photo. Suddenly, she paused, and without thinking, reached for one. It was a small, solid silver frame containing an ancient, well-worn picture of her grandmother, creased in places and ripped across one corner.

  She caressed the glass covering it, wondering if she trusted the emotions that flooded her at finding it sitting there on his mantel.

  "She was pregnant?" Her grandfather's voice behind her was half-questioning, half-stunned.