The Wrong Bride: A Christmas Mail Order Bride Romance (Brides and Twins Book 3)

by Natalie Dean

  “Sorry, but I had to shoot you,” she told him.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. He had that look in his eye that made her nervous. He wasn’t going to be easy to contain. A professional fighter with the same knowledge of police work that she had. Great.

  “Can you stand up?”

  He stood up. Okay, maybe she was wrong. He was taller than her. Not by a lot, but he was. “I’ve been through worse.”

  Mental note: The Celtic could apparently take a gunshot to the leg and feel fine a moment later. Not a guy she wanted to mess with too much.

  “You should know that he’s going to kill me before I testify,” he told her as she steered him towards her car.

  “I’ll protect you.”

  He snorted in sad amusement. “There was a reason I was running. I suggest you drive quickly.”

  She was starting to get a better sense of the aura of her surroundings as the rain cleared even more. There was something around them, some dark aura, but she couldn’t quite get a fix on it. Somewhere, though, something was setting her mental alarm off like crazy. As she led him out to her car, the sense exploded. Someone was watching them.

  She twisted. There, in the parking lot, was the biker from earlier, still with his helmet on. He was just in the very corner, hidden under the shade thrown by the building itself. Silently, he bowed his head just the smallest bit, as if to say I see you.

  She shook it off. When she shut the door on The Celtic, he was still watching.

  She had him in the passenger seat. She didn’t want him behind her. Even handcuffed, she wasn’t willing to give him the opportunity. She figured that he would be just fine in the backseat, but if she pegged him wrong, it wasn’t too hard to believe that he could wrap the chain of the cuffs around her throat and strangle her.

  Did she peg him as the kind of guy that would do that? No.

  But if she was wrong?

  Not something she wanted to confront in the middle of driving.

  “Is your gun loaded?” he asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Good,” he said. It was funny. Most of the times people said that, they were trying to be threatening. Not him. He was almost saying it like he was relieved that it might come in handy.

  The drive went about as well as it could have. He was mostly silent, staring at the pine trees that zipped past the car window. Not even once did he look like he might consider breaking out, but he looked her over once or twice. It was a different sort of look: mildly interested, but mostly curious.

  “What have you done with my daughter?” he finally said. His voice was so soft that she at first didn’t even register that he was speaking to her. His voice was cool to listen to—like a cello being gently stroked. Strong, deep, and soothing.

  “She’s safe,” Adrianna said. “She’s back at the station.”

  “Is she scared?”

  “No.” It was true. The little girl was having the time of her life running around the agency. She had absolutely no idea that her father was a wanted criminal. She just knew that there were lots of places to explore. The agency had their hands full keeping her contained.

  He nodded solemnly. “Does she know?’

  “Not really.”

  “Is she being cared for?”

  “By our best.”

  He seemed satisfied with that answer, so he just leaned back up against the seat. “I’m innocent.”

  “Yeah, you said that.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  She zoned back to the biker back at the hotel. She had no doubt he was following her. She also had no doubt that he was connected to The Celtic somehow. At first she’d assumed he was just an interested party trying to make a statement about the FBI (it happened surprisingly often). People would figure out who agents working for the FBI were and would heckle them. Sometimes it was just staring from across the street. Other times it was full protests. Yet other times, they were out for blood.

  But the more she thought about it, the less confident she was that the biker was just an ordinary guy. He was too interested, too prepared. She’d seen his aura. Normally, protesters’ auras were brightly colored—brilliant red, usually. They were angry, and their auras showed it. The Celtic’s aura was a cool blue with little streaks of orange; he was calm. Anxious, but calm.

  The biker, conversely, had a nearly entirely black aura. She’d only seen a couple of them. Both were serial killers that she’d tracked down. He was sociopathic to be sure, and dangerously violent to boot.

  Sometimes her powers were a blessing. Other times… they were awful. She knew that guy was after her. She knew he meant her harm. But she couldn’t go up and just confront him based off that. There were laws, and she couldn’t break them just because she had a feeling about him. She was never wrong, but she still couldn’t do whatever she wanted.

  Suddenly, as they were cruising along yet another slow turn, her danger sense went off.

  A flood of adrenaline pounded through her veins. She felt herself getting ready to fight or run. Something, no doubt about it, was kicking on her adrenaline drive.

  She slammed on the brake and stopped off the side of the road fast enough to whack the Celtic’s forehead against the dashboard.

  “Ow!”

  “Get out,” she commanded. “Now!’

  “What? No.” He touched his nose and brought his fingers away red. “I think you broke my nose.”

  “Get out!”

  She reared up the front of her gun and pointed it at him. Her danger sense was going nuts. Something was about to happen. He clambered out of the car, hands still shackled. Keeping the gun pointed at him, she yelled for him to run. He didn’t question her this time. Then Adrianna took off running too.

  And then the bomb planted in the engine of the car exploded.

  The funny thing about explosions that Adrianna had learned over a couple of them was that they were loud. Really, really loud. As close as she was, the sound hit her like a tidal wave, tossing her off her feet like a ragdoll.

  She slammed into the moss beside the road. She screamed in pain, clutching her ears. It felt like a bus had run her over, stopped, reversed, backed up over her, and then drove forward over her again. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t hear. The flaming car was just an orange blue.

  She let out a scream of curses, some of which were real and others of which she came up with right then in a moment of inspiration, fueled by pain and shock.

  A blur stumbled away. A pale one, with a hint of blue.

  The Celtic was making an escape.

  She tried to get to her feet and stumbled. She hugged her stomach, groaning. She was a tough gal, but she’d still been close to the car when what she could only assume was a planted explosive had detonated. Hardened soldiers had been killed by less. She was amazed she was even alive. The Celtic had been near enough to get some of the blast, but he’d gotten farther away than her.

  Now the blur of The Celtic grew closer to her. Not good. She fumbled for her gun, but she couldn’t see it. Her head felt like someone had put it in a blender. His boot cleared in her vision, right by her skull.

  She heard The Celtic say something. She couldn’t pick out most of what he was saying, but her brain kicked in enough to read his lips.

  Are you okay?

  She was pretty sure that she said something back, but she couldn’t even hear that. The world was the quietest that it had ever been. She could have unloaded her handgun right next to her ear and wouldn’t have heard a thing.

  The Celtic put his shackled hands around her forearms and gently pulled her to her feet. She was still pretty well out of it, but he was still speaking to her. She wasn’t picking up any of it.

  Together, they hobbled away from the burning hulk. As Adrianna’s vision cleared, it became obvious that he hadn’t come away without a scratch. Something—a piece of the door, probably—had gouged a cut over the top of his right eye. It wasn’t gr
uesome, he would be fine, but head wounds tended to bleed quite a bit. Both of them were limping, and Adrianna was relatively sure she’d broken a rib or two. Something had clocked her in the ribs with a tremendous amount of force right after the blast.

  She inhaled and it hurt. Yup. She’d had enough broken ribs throughout the years to recognize one.

  “That could’ve gone better,” she coughed finally. She wasn’t even ready yet to deal with the fact that he had helped her. In a minute, she could think about the implications of him stopping to protect her instead of running while she was down, but right then, it took up all her mental strength to keep upright.

  “Yup,” he said, and spit. She was starting to pick up his voice again. She spotted a deep, red liquid seeping from his ears. She suspected her own ears had sustained some damage. “How’d you know?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  He gave her a funny look. “You have some impressive hunches.”

  “Thanks.”

  Adrianna knew they had to get out of dodge before whoever planted the bomb showed up to see if it had worked, but all she wanted to do was curl up on a couch somewhere and sleep for eight to ten hours. She forced herself to wake up and snap out of it.

  “We gotta get out of here,” she heard herself say. The shock was starting to wear off. She could at least think, which was a huge step up from earlier, when her thought processes capped out at realizing that the fire was warm. She patted her jeans. No phone. She assumed that it had gone up in flames with the car.

  They started off deeper into the woods. Most folks would walk along the road, but anyone coming to clean up would search the road first. If that biker was alone—and she felt confident that he wasn’t—she might be able to handle them. If he had friends, they were in some big trouble. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t checked for bombs. She’d known the biker was trouble. She knew someone was out for her, and, if she trusted The Celtic, someone was after him too. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but for this whole case she’d been just one step behind. Rare, for her.

  But that wasn’t what was bothering her. What was simply perplexing to her is that The Celtic hadn’t run off while she was down. He’d come back to help.

  “Why’d you stay?” she finally asked while they were hiking in the general direction of the city.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you owe me nothing.”

  He nodded and stepped over a fallen tree. “I’m not a killer. I didn’t know if the car was going to blow again. I couldn’t just leave you.” He looked over at her. “Would you have left me?”

  “No. Probably,” she added after a moment.

  He snorted in amusement. The motion made the chains of the shackles jingle. “Do you believe me now about The Owl?”

  “Starting to.”

  He pulled at the shackles, but they were too tight around his wrists. He tried to slip out to no avail. “Wanna let me go?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I told you, The Owl is hunting us. I need to be able to fight.’

  “Just because you were telling the truth about one thing doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go free.”

  They walked in silence for several minutes before The Celtic spoke. “Well,” he said. “At least it can’t get much worse.”

  “Don’t say that,” Adrianna said.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re gonna jinx it.”

  “I don’t believe in jinxing something.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “At least it can’t get much worse,” he repeated.

  “Stop it!”

  He grinned. He had found something that irritated her. “At least—”

  And then one raindrop fell onto his shoulder. He stopped, more than a little surprised, as more drops began to fall from the sky.

  “I told you not to say it!” Adrianna hissed.

  Chapter 4

  The rain caught them about three miles from the car, and when it came, it didn’t just sprinkle. It poured. Buckets of rain plummeted from the dark sky, chilling Adrianna and The Celtic to the bone. Worse, Adrianna had to stick her gun under her shirt in an effort to keep it dry. She wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if water managed to sneak into the inner workings of it, but she was convinced it wasn’t going to be good.

  Worse, her rib was starting to kill her. It felt like every step she took, every time she inhaled, someone was punching her in the side. At first, it wasn’t a big deal. But the more the rain fell and the longer they walked in the seemingly endless forest towards what she hoped was the city, it became a big deal. No, it became a huge deal.

  “You look mad,” The Celtic declared.

  “You had to jinx it,” she muttered. Her hair was falling into her eyes and the socks in her shoes were making a squish, squish, squish sound every time she stepped. “I said, ‘don’t say anything.’ But you had to. You freaking had to. And look where we are.”

  “You really believe I did this?” he asked, tossing his head to indicate the storm overhead.

  “You bet I do.”

  “Well… it’s not like I’m having a grand ole’ time over here. I’m as tired as you are, probably more.”

  “Yup,” she said, very tightly. “That’s why you don’t kill people. You get tired.”

  “I. Didn’t. Kill. George.”

  “Sure.”

  “You honestly still think I did, after all this? The bomb? Everything?”

  “Look,” she finally snapped. “I don’t know what I think right now. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m hurting. I really don’t want to talk about whether or not you did it! Nothing I do can change your fate—get it? Nothing. Not one, teency, weency thing. I bring you in. That’s all. I don’t decide whether you’re innocent or not, so would you please stop telling me that?”

  They drifted back into silence for several minutes as the rain pelted them. “Is she happy?” The Celtic finally asked, a little hesitantly.

  “Who?” she grumbled.

  “My daughter.”

  “What? Oh. Yeah, she’s fine. She’s having a great time as far as I know.”

  He seemed to think about it. “I hate to do this to you. I’m sorry in advance, but I have to clear my name, and I can’t do that here.”

  “Do what?” she asked warily.

  “This,” he said, and took off running.

  “Hey!” she yelled, chasing after him. He was fast; being a professional athlete had its perks. Even handcuffed, he was dashing through the wet bushes, right and left like a human rabbit. He slipped a couple times, but he kept his balance and kept charging through the woods away from her.

  Adrianna wanted to recite all the curse words in the dictionary and then some more.

  First of all, as she realized while giving chase, she couldn’t shoot him. They were trying to stay hidden, and he knew it. He knew, the blasted man, that she dared not shoot him for fear of killing him or being found by their pursuers. Second of all, her rib had stopped feeling like regular pain, which she could ignore.

  It felt like death.

  Every time she landed a step, every hard breath she took, felt like someone was stabbing her in the chest with an ice pick.

  She could just barely see The Celtic out in front of her—just his body as a little dot. He’d gotten a head start and she was hindered by her broken rib. She opened her mouth to yell at him to come back, regardless of who was in the woods with her, when she heard a loud crack!

  A gunshot.

  The Celtic’s body dropped like a rock.

  She skidded to a stop, staring. She could see his form stumble back up, hugging his side. He’d been shot in the side, she guessed. She didn’t even think about it: She just charged towards him. Though whoever had shot him couldn’t see her, she could see The Celtic just fine. He was staring at the ground with something like shock as a helmeted man approached him. At first, Adrianna thought she was looking at the biker that had been chasing them from the sta
rt, but it was a different man. Leaner. Less bulky.

  He took off his helmet. Nothing too amazing or unexpected underneath. It was hard to see any distinguishing features from afar.

  She was still a solid fifty yards away when The Celtic stood up and put a right hook right into the jaw of the stranger. Startled, the stranger didn’t do much to avoid and caught all of it solidly. It was a good shot. Spit flew out. Hs skin rippled. His head snapped back.

  And he was out cold.

  He toppled like a felled tree. The Celtic stumbled up, still clutching his side as she jogged up.

  “What were you thinking?” she snapped.

  “I’ve been shot again,” he groaned. His blood was seeping through his fingers, but it didn’t look too bad.

  “I told you to stay near me!”

  “No you didn’t,” he said, sitting down on the ground. “And just so everyone knows, I. Was. Shot. Again.”

  The stranger slid a little down the hill. He was out cold. She’d heard of his strength in the ring earlier when she’d read his bio, but it was another thing entirely to see it in person. She took his gun and looked around for where he had come from. As it turned out, they were right there by the road. They hadn’t been, but their little chase had led right to the road. The stranger must have spotted The Celtic while searching and shot him.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said absently. Maybe it seemed a little rude, but she’d seen plenty of wounds in her time to know their degree pretty quick. It was a small caliber weapon, and it looked like it had clipped his side. When she’d seen him fall, she’d gotten worried, but it was beginning to look like it might have just been from surprise.

  She decided to check out the stranger. She didn’t recognize him, and he wasn’t wearing anything distinguishable. “Do you know this guy?”

  The Celtic took his hand away to look at the blood. He seemed relieved. “No, but I know who he works for. The Owl.”