His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons)

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Bunny,” said the little girl, tears in her eyes.

  “Bunny will be fine,” the woman whispered, voice breaking.

  Crista’s heart went out to the frightened girl, and she gave her a squeeze on the shoulder. “The firemen are here. They’ll use their hoses to put the fire out.”

  A dozen firefighters in helmets and gold-colored coveralls strode across the crowded lobby.

  “Will Bunny get wet?” asked the girl.

  “Bunny might get wet,” said Crista. “But it’ll be like a bath. Is Bunny a boy or a girl?”

  “A girl.”

  “Does she like baths?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Do you like baths?”

  The girl nodded. “Uh-huh. I get bubbles and baby froggy. He hops on the water and spits out his mouth.”

  “Thank you,” the woman whispered in Crista’s ear, obviously grateful for the distraction.

  They’d come to the front doors, which were wide-open, the night air blowing inside. The drive was a maze of fire trucks, ambulances and police vehicles. Lights flashed and uniformed people rushed past. Some were on radios, some hauling hoses and other gear, and some were aiding people to stretchers or ambulances.

  The hotel guests had obviously come out of the building in whatever they were wearing. Few had sweaters, many were barefoot. They looked confused and disoriented.

  For a moment, Crista could only stand and stare.

  She suddenly felt an arm go firmly around her shoulders. She glanced up, afraid it was Vern. But it was Jackson.

  “Let’s go,” he said, moving her forward.

  “This is awful.”

  “It’s under control.”

  “He didn’t do this. He couldn’t have done this.” The fire had to be an accident.

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” said Jackson, increasing their pace around the end of a fire truck.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “That’s the least of our worries. We need to get out of here. We’ll never get my car from the valet, but there’s a rental place a couple of blocks away.”

  “I should just talk to him.” The sooner she got it over with, the better.

  “No, you shouldn’t.” Taking her hand, Jackson set an angled course across the front lawn.

  She had to struggle to keep up to his pace. “I’ll have to talk to him eventually.”

  “You can phone him.”

  “I thought I wasn’t allowed to phone anyone.”

  “Don’t twist my words.”

  She came to a halt, yanking her hand from his, annoyed by his high-handed attitude. This was still her life.

  “I’m not twisting your words.”

  He stopped, let his shoulders drop and turned back. “You’ll be able to call him, just not tonight, and not on a phone with a GPS.”

  “I really don’t mind talking to him.”

  She wasn’t excited about it. But the prospect of a conversation didn’t need to get blown all out of proportion, either. She’d sit Vern down, look him in the eyes and tell him…

  She realized she didn’t exactly know what she’d tell him. Would she hand him back the ring and break it off completely? Would she ask for an explanation of his behavior? Would she demand to know if he’d been faithful?

  “Crista?” Jackson interrupted.

  She looked up.

  “You need to sleep on this.”

  She recognized that he was right. That had been her first instinct. She should get a good night’s sleep. It would all be clearer in the morning.

  She nodded her agreement and started to walk.

  To her surprise, he took her hand again. But this time his touch was gentle, and he slowed his pace.

  She knew she shouldn’t be grateful. He was her kidnapper, not her friend, and there were all kinds of reasons she shouldn’t trust him. But she found she did trust him. And at the moment, there was no denying that she also felt gratitude.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He glanced down as they walked. “For what this time?”

  “Rescuing me from a burning building, I guess.”

  He grinned at that. “Sure. No problem. I had to follow you down quite a few stairs, but that’s the kind of guy I am.”

  “What kind?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

  “What kind what?”

  “What kind of guy are you? Tell me. What would you be doing right now if you weren’t with me?”

  “Probably working another case.”

  “At ten o’clock on a Sunday night?”

  “Mine isn’t a nine-to-five job.”

  She supposed it wasn’t. He’d already said he didn’t have a girlfriend. “What about family and friends?”

  “No family. Friends, sure. But there’s not a lot of time in my life for anything serious.”

  “When was your last girlfriend?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  She waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

  “You know all about my love life,” she said.

  “That’s a professional interest.”

  “Well, fair’s fair. Spill.”

  “You see that sign?” He pointed down the street.

  “The car rental place?” The familiar sign flashed orange and white on the next corner.

  “That’s where we’re going.”

  “Don’t think you can change the subject that easily.”

  “It was two years ago,” he said, increasing their pace. “Her name was Melanie. She’s an accountant.”

  In Crista’s mind, it didn’t fit. “You dated an accountant?”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  “Are you making that up?”

  “Why would I make it up? You don’t think I can get dates?”

  The suggestion was preposterous. Jackson was a smart, successful, sexy guy. He could get all the dates he wanted.

  “An accountant doesn’t sound very exciting,” she said as they hustled across a side street to the rental car parking lot.

  “Maybe I wasn’t looking for exciting.”

  “Jackson, everything about you says you’re looking for exciting.”

  “How so?”

  “Take this weekend. You kidnapped a bride, told one of Chicago’s wealthiest men to stuff it, and there’s a hotel on fire behind you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I like it.” He pulled open the glass door.

  “You love it.” She grinned over her shoulder as she walked past him and into the small lobby.

  There was a single clerk at the counter who was already helping another customer. Crista entered the roped lineup area and followed the pattern to the front, where she stopped to wait.

  Jackson came up behind her.

  “See that sign on the wall?” he mumbled in her ear. “Behind the counter, with the purple letters.”

  “That says Weekly Rates?”

  “That’s the one. Do not turn your head. But look at the reflection in it.”

  She squinted, seeing a slightly distorted black SUV.

  “That’s Vern,” said Jackson.

  She started to look behind her.

  “Don’t turn,” he reminded her sharply.

  She held still. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I want you to turn and look at me. Do not glance out the front window. Just ask me a question.”

  She turned. “What question.”

  “Any question.”

  “Tell me some more about Melanie the accountant.”

  “Maybe later. See that hallway at the end of the counter?” He pointed.

  She looked. “Yes.”

  “There’
s a ladies’ room down there. I want you to walk down the hall, go past the ladies’ room and out the back door. You can cut through the alley to Greenway. Hail a cab on Greenway. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “We’re not renting a car?”

  “We’re not renting a car.”

  “If I talk to him, it’ll stop all this madness.”

  Before she could move, Jackson blocked her way. “It’s not safe.”

  “I’m going to tell him to back off and that we can have a proper conversation tomorrow. He didn’t light any hotel on fire.”

  “If the fire wasn’t a ruse to flush you out, why was he waiting to follow us?”

  She opened her mouth. But then she realized it was a reasonable question. Vern had to have been outside in the SUV in order to find her.

  “It could have been a coincidence,” she ventured. It was possible he just happened to see them leaving the hotel.

  “Could have been,” said Jackson, surprising her with his lack of argument.

  It seemed he’d finally decided to leave it up to her. He was letting her assess the situation and make up her own mind. It was heartening but somehow unsettling.

  For some reason, without Jackson’s pressure, she found herself looking at both sides. She thought her way through each scenario and decided to play it safe.

  “Down the hallway?” she confirmed. “Hail a cab?”

  “Good decision. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She resisted the urge to look closer at the SUV. Instead, she sauntered toward the hallway, trying to look like she was visiting the ladies’ room. She didn’t know how to transmit that message by the way she walked, but she did her best.

  As Jackson had said, there was an exit door out the back. It led to a small parking area surrounded on two sides by a cinder-block wall. There was a Dumpster in the corner, and several vehicles in various states of disrepair.

  She walked cautiously across the uneven pavement, coming to an alleyway where she could see a driveway between two buildings that presumably led to Greenway Street. Avoiding the puddles, she hurried down the dark driveway to the lights of the busy street.

  It took a few minutes to catch a cab. By then Jackson had appeared, sliding into the seat beside her.

  “Anthony’s Bar and Grill at Baffin and Pine.”

  “We’re going for a drink?” she asked, surprised he’d suggest something so mundane, though not really knowing what to expect.

  “I’m thirsty, aren’t you?” he asked.

  She wasn’t yet ready to brush past their cloak-and-dagger escape. “How did you know there was a back entrance to the rental place? And how did you know where it would lead?”

  “I didn’t pick the Fountain Lake Hotel by accident.”

  “You’ve been here before,” she said, glancing back while the taxi pulled away from the curb, comprehension dawning. “You’ve done this before.”

  “I’ve eluded a few people in the past.” His easy smile told her he knew what he was doing. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “You think this is fun.” She’d meant it to sound like an accusation, but it didn’t. Truth was, she found his confidence reassuring.

  “I think you’re fun.”

  “I’m not having fun. My life is falling apart around my ears, so I am not having any fun at all.”

  “You’ll like Anthony’s,” he said.

  What she’d like was her life back. And she almost said so. But just as quickly she realized it wasn’t true. She had no life to get back, at least not a real life, not an honest life. There was nowhere for her to go but forward.

  “I’d like a strong drink,” she said instead.

  “Coming up,” said Jackson as the taxi picked up speed.

  “This is the strangest day of my life,” she muttered.

  “I wouldn’t trade mine for the world.” His tone was unmistakably intimate, bringing with it a wave of desire that heated her chest.

  She wanted to look at him, meet his warm eyes, drink in his tender smile. But she didn’t dare. No matter what Vern had said or done, she had no right to feel this way about Jackson.

  She fixed her gaze on the traffic, bright headlights whizzing past in a rush. She didn’t know Jackson. She didn’t like Jackson. By this time tomorrow, he’d be nothing but a fading memory.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Despite the humble name, Jackson knew Anthony’s was an upscale restaurant housed in a redbrick colonial mansion. Owned by a close friend of his, its high ceilings, ornate woodwork and sweeping staircase gave an ambience of grandeur and a distinct sensation of class.

  Tonight, he hadn’t been interested in the restaurant, but in the historic B and B rooms on the third floor of the building. He knew he could count on Anthony not to ask questions or keep a record of their stay. It was the closest thing Jackson had to a safe house.

  Their room had a four-poster king-size bed, a stone fireplace and sloped cedarwood ceilings. There was a small dining table in a bay window alcove, and a sofa that the housekeeper had already converted into a second bed.

  Crista had opted to take a shower, while Jackson had stretched out on top of the sofa bed, a news station playing on the television and his laptop open to the photos of Vern and Gracie. The resolution on the pictures was high, so it was going to be easy to show they hadn’t been altered.

  His browsing was interrupted when the bathroom door opened and Crista appeared. She was dressed in a fluffy white robe, drying her auburn hair with a towel.

  “That shouldn’t be all it takes to make me feel better,” she said in a cheerful voice as she padded toward him on bare feet. “But it does.” She plunked down on the opposite side of the sofa. “I’m refreshed.”

  Just her appearance made him feel better. She was easy on the eyes and entertaining for his mind. He realized the only thing he liked better than looking at her was listening to her.

  “I don’t know if this will make you feel better or worse.” It certainly made him feel better.

  He slid the laptop across the sofa bed toward her. “I’ve zoomed way in on the pixels. Stare all you want. The pictures haven’t been altered.”

  She shifted on the bed and moved the computer to her lap.

  “The dates and times are registered in the metadata,” he said, anticipating that as an argument from Crista, or possibly a defense later from Vern.

  “He’s hugging her.” Crista zoomed the view out.

  “And here he’s kissing her.” Jackson reached over to scroll to the next photo.

  “It doesn’t look brotherly,” she said.

  “It’s not.”

  “This is hard to accept.”

  A female television announcer caught Jackson’s attention.

  “The Fountain Lake Family Hotel was the scene of a structure fire this evening,” she said. “Over three hundred guests were evacuated, while engines and firefighters were deployed from three stations in the area. Fire Chief Brandon Dorsey says that arson has not been ruled out.”

  The view switched to a reporter at the front of the hotel. He was interviewing a guest against a backdrop of fire engines and police cars.

  “Is that code to say that it was arson?” asked Crista, her gaze on the TV screen.

  “It means it’s early in the investigation,” Jackson answered honestly. But it was arson. He knew it was arson.

  “Tell me the truth,” she said, her gaze not wavering.

  “He did it to get us both out of the building. He wants you back. But I’m guessing he also wants you far away from me.”

  She turned her head, looking surprised. “Why?”

  “You have a mirror, right?”

  She lifted her hand and self-consciously touched her damp hair. It was tousled and incredibly
sexy.

  “He thinks I’m your ex-boyfriend,” Jackson reminded her.

  “I forgot about that.”

  “He doesn’t want the competition. I don’t blame him.”

  If Crista were his, Jackson couldn’t honestly say he wouldn’t set a building on fire.

  Looking unsettled, she turned her attention back to the laptop.

  “I’m going to have to end it, aren’t I?” Her tone was regretful.

  Yes! “That’s up to you.”

  She looked back at Jackson. “I don’t think I can marry a man who’s been unfaithful.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t marry him, or wouldn’t be unfaithful?”

  “Neither.” He felt himself ease closer to her. It was impossible to keep his true thoughts at bay. “Any man who cheats on you is out of his ever-lovin’ mind.”

  She gave a ghost of a smile. “That’s very nice of you to say.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Silence descended between them.

  He wanted to kiss her now. He desperately wanted to kiss her luscious red lips. The robe’s lapels revealed the barest hint of cleavage. Her skin was dewy from the hot shower. And he was all but lost in her jewel-green eyes.

  “I guess I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” she said.

  And say what? The question was so loud inside his head that for a moment he was afraid he’d shouted it.

  “Unless there’s some miraculous explanation,” she continued, “I’m handing back his ring and walking out of his life.”

  “There’ll be no miracle.”

  She nodded, twisting the diamond around her finger.

  He gently but firmly took her hands. Then he slipped the ring off her finger, reaching up to place it on the table behind the sofa.

  “But—” She looked like she wanted to retrieve it.

  “Afraid it might get lost?” He lifted his brows.

  “It’s valuable.”

  “It’s worthless. You’re valuable.”

  His face was inches from hers. A small lift of his hand, and it was on her hip. Then he slipped it to the base of her spine. He leaned in.

  “Jackson.” His name was a warning.