His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons)

by Barbara Dunlop

  “I guess not. I mean, you’re on the other side of crime. You fight it. Then again, that’s still a bit of an obsession with the criminal world.”

  “Your confidence is inspiring.”

  “I’m only trying to be honest.”

  “I’m not a criminal, Crista. And neither are you. Our fathers made their own choices—bad choices, obviously. But we’re not them.”

  “My mother married him,” she pointed out.

  “You didn’t marry Gerhard.”

  Ellie missed the putt but got a little closer to the hole.

  “I’m not buying a house,” said Crista.

  “I hate to see you spend your money on rent, especially since you’ll be trying to build your business.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Every penny you spend on rent is a penny you can’t plow into Cristal Creations.”

  “It’s still the most practical solution,” she said.

  “It might be a solution, but it’s not practical.”

  “It’s every bit as practical as buying a house.”

  “Real estate is a capital asset,” said Jackson.

  Ellie sank her putt. She let out a whoop and hoisted her putter in the air.

  Crista grinned at her joy.

  “See what happens when you concentrate,” Mac called to Ellie, loping toward her.

  Crista started for her clubs.

  Jackson suddenly grasped her hand and pulled her back. “Hang on.”

  “What?”

  “I have a better idea.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it.”

  “It’s a very good idea.”

  She turned, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “Can’t we just golf?”

  “Come live with me,” he said.

  She blinked at him in astonishment, certain she couldn’t have heard him right.

  “I’ve got three bedrooms.” His expression turned reflective. “I mean, not that I’m suggesting you’d need your own bedroom. I like sleeping with you. In fact, I love sleeping with you. I’d seriously like to continue sleeping with you, Crista.”

  She replayed his offer in her head, looking for the punch line.

  “It’s a great plan,” he said, his gaze darting around her expression. “Gerhard would absolutely leave you alone if I was in the picture. And, really…you know…” His eyes lost focus. He had obviously gone deep into thought.

  “Jackson?” she prompted.

  When he didn’t respond, she waved her hand in front of his face.

  “I’ve got the solution,” he said. “It’s so simple.”

  “I’m not moving in with you.”

  They barely knew each other. Jackson had wandered ridiculously far afield in his ramblings.

  “Marry me,” he said, grasping both of her hands, his expression turning earnest.

  She opened her mouth. Then she closed it again. “Uh, earth to Jackson?”

  “It’s perfect,” he said in what looked like complete seriousness.

  “Mac,” she called out. “Something’s gone terribly wrong with Jackson.”

  “What is it?” asked Mac, immediately starting toward them.

  “Vegas,” said Jackson, still looking straight into Crista’s eyes. “We can take Tuck’s jet to Vegas.”

  “Has he ever done this before?” she asked Mac.

  Mac halted next to them. “Done what?”

  “I’m proposing to her,” said Jackson.

  “Then, no,” said Mac. “He’s never done that before.”

  Ellie arrived in the circle. “What’s going on?”

  Mac answered, “Jackson asked Crista to marry him.”

  Ellie’s face broke into a bright smile. “Really?”

  Crista turned on her. “Be serious.”

  Ellie schooled her features, lowering her tone. “Really?”

  “No, not really,” Crista snapped. “He’s joking. Or he’s gone round the bend. At the moment, my money’s on round the bend.”

  “Are you all done?” asked Jackson, looking normal again.

  “Is it over?” asked Crista. “Your fit of insanity or whatever that was?”

  “It’s a perfect plan,” said Jackson. “If you’re married to me, then Gerhard is forced to give up and go away.”

  Neither Ellie nor Mac disputed the logic.

  “Perfect plan,” Crista drawled sarcastically. “What could possibly go wrong? Oh, wait. I’d be married to a man I barely know.”

  “For a good cause,” said Mac.

  Crista turned on Mac. “You’re actually going to encourage him?”

  “You can divorce me if it doesn’t work out,” said Jackson.

  “It’s not going to work out,” she said, an edge of hysteria coming into her voice. “Because it’s never going to happen.”

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Just like they do in a regular marriage.”

  It occurred to her that she was being had. She glanced from one man to the other. “Is this a joke? Are you messing with me? Do you guys do this kind of thing all the time?”

  They looked at each other.

  “No,” said Jackson. “I don’t make a habit of proposing to women. I’d sure never do it as a joke.”

  She tugged her hands from his. “Fine. Whatever.” She paced away and called back over her shoulder, “I’m going to tee off on six. Anybody coming with me?”

  “I’m coming,” called Ellie.

  In a moment, Ellie was walking beside her.

  “What was that?” Ellie asked.

  “We were talking about rent and real estate. Next thing I knew, he was off the deep end. I should buy a house. No, I should live with him. No, I should marry him.”

  Ellie giggled.

  “This isn’t funny,” said Crista.

  “It is a little bit funny.”

  “No…” said Crista. “Okay, sure, it’s a little bit funny.” And there was some in the idea of marrying Jackson to keep Vern out of her life. “In an ironic way,” she allowed.

  “He must like you.”

  “Sure, he likes me. And he likes sleeping with me. Who wouldn’t—” Crista stopped herself. She had been about to say the sex between them had been mind-blowing, both last night and again this morning.

  “It was that good?” asked Ellie, a thread of laughter in her voice.

  “We wouldn’t get tired of the sex anytime soon,” Crista admitted.

  “I wouldn’t get tired of Mac, either.”

  Crista stopped. “You had sex with Mac?”

  “Why do you think he was there for breakfast?”

  “I thought he came by this morning looking for Jackson.”

  Crista and Jackson had fallen asleep last night before Ellie had come back to the suite.

  “You’re not the only hot one, you know.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  But Ellie was laughing. “Mac’s pretty great. And he thinks the world of Jackson.”

  “Jackson seems pretty great, too,” Crista said honestly.

  “But you’re not going to marry him?”

  “What sane woman would do that?”

  “Will you live with him?”

  “No.”

  “It could be platonic.”

  “It wouldn’t be platonic.” Of that, Crista was certain.

  “I’ve only got a sofa for you.”

  “Your sofa will be fine.” They came to the sixth tee box, and Crista stopped. “Your sofa will be perfect. I am putting this crazy week—no, this crazy year—behind me. As soon as Reginald works out the details, I’ll get to work on rebuilding Cristal Creations, and then I’ll find myself a new apartment.”


  She selected the three wood, pushed a tee into the grass and proceeded to hit the longest drive of her life.

  * * *

  “The marriage proposal was out of left field,” Mac observed the next day. They were back in Chicago at Jackson’s house. Crista had moved in with Ellie, her belongings going to a storage unit in the morning.

  “It wasn’t the worst idea in the world,” Jackson countered.

  “It kind of was.”

  Maybe. But had Jackson pulled it off, it would have solved a whole lot of problems. And, truth was, the more time he spent with Crista, the more time he wanted to spend with Crista.

  “You barely know her,” said Mac.

  “I know her better than she knew Gerhard.”

  “I’m not sure I see your point.”

  “My point is, she agreed to marry him, and he was lying to her from day one.”

  “That logic borders on the bizarre,” said Mac. “You do know you’re getting a little too close on this one.”

  “You think?” Even now as Jackson glanced around his living room, all he could think was how Crista would look good in the leather armchair, or on the sofa, or at the dining room table.

  It wasn’t clear what happened next between them. He was leaning toward inviting her over for dinner, a simple date. He’d break out the candles and wine, maybe order some flowers, do by stealth what he couldn’t do with candor and get her to spend a night, or two or three.

  “It may be time to move on,” said Mac.

  “It’s not time to move on.”

  “She knows the score. She’s not going to give the guy the time of day.”

  Jackson would agree on that front. But he still didn’t trust Gerhard. And his gut said they didn’t yet have all the pieces.

  “It you want to date her, date her,” said Mac. “But stop pretending you still need to protect her.”

  Jackson’s phone rang.

  He answered. “Hey, Tuck.”

  “We got it done,” said Tuck.

  “Cristal Creations?”

  “Yes. They drove a hard bargain. Vern Gerhard would have walked, but the old man took double the estimated market value.”

  “Good.”

  “I hope she’s worth it.”

  “She is,” said Jackson. “Does she know yet?”

  “Our Bahamian guy is calling Reginald right now.”

  “Reginald won’t know Tucker Transportation’s behind the purchase?”

  “He won’t. Do you want him to know?”

  “No. And Dixon’s okay with this?”

  “Absolutely. I told him you were in love.”

  The statement took Jackson by surprise. “I’m not in love.”

  Across the living room, Mac grinned.

  “Sure,” Tuck said smoothly. “Keep telling yourself that.” He paused. “Until you can’t keep telling yourself anymore.”

  “You’re nuts,” said Jackson, and he frowned his displeasure at Mac.

  “I know the signs,” said Tuck.

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  Tuck laughed. “Picturing her in a white dress yet?”

  “Picturing her in Vegas.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Jackson regretted them. He knew they left the wrong impression. But he also knew that explaining further wouldn’t help.

  “That’ll do it,” said Tuck. “I’ll bring a jet if you let me be the best man.”

  “Goodbye, Tuck.” Then Jackson remembered the magnitude of the favor. “And thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  The laughter remained in Tuck’s voice. “No problem. This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

  Jackson disconnected the call. “Tucker Transportation just secretly bought Cristal Creations.”

  “You know, you could do it the old-fashioned way,” said Mac.

  “Do what?”

  “Date her. Win her over. And when she loves you back, propose.”

  Jackson rolled his eyes. “Give me a break.”

  “The barriers are out of the way. You don’t need to be her bodyguard anymore. You’re just two ordinary adults.”

  Jackson didn’t know why he took offense to Mac’s words. “She’s not ordinary.”

  “And you’re not in love.”

  “Let’s talk about you and Ellie.”

  “I just met Ellie.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jackson exaggerated the skepticism in his tone.

  “Me and Ellie, that’s me being your wingman.”

  “That’s you falling for a beautiful woman.”

  “You’re forgetting I didn’t propose to her,” said Mac.

  “She’s not the one in jeopardy.”

  Mac’s expression turned thoughtful. “See, I can’t picture that.”

  “Picture what?”

  “Ellie in jeopardy. She’s tough, and she’s smart, and she’d take out any guy who tried to mess with her.”

  “Worried?” asked Jackson, glad to have the topic turned away from himself and Crista.

  “Nope.”

  “Because you’re tougher than her?”

  “Because I’m not trying to mess with her.” Mac’s words rang true.

  His situation with Ellie was dead simple. While Jackson’s situation with Crista was anything but. He knew how she felt about her father. If he told her he’d been working with Trent, she’d never trust him. But if he didn’t, their relationship would be built on a lie.

  It wasn’t a choice. To move forward, he had to come clean and take his chances that she wouldn’t walk away.

  * * *

  Crista set down the phone, her brain reeling with the news.

  “What?” asked Ellie. She was in the small kitchen of her apartment, tearing spinach into a salad bowl.

  “Reginald says somebody bought Cristal Creations.”

  “What do you mean, bought it? How could they buy it?”

  “They bought the company. From Gerhard. Reginald says I still have copyright on the designs.”

  Ellie frowned. “Is this good?”

  “I think so. Reginald says they want me to keep running the company. He seems really excited about the sale.”

  “Who are they?”

  “A group of wealthy anonymous investors.”

  “Does that strike you as a little hinky?”

  “Should it? I do trust Reginald. He says holding companies do this all the time. And it’s got to be better than Gerhard Incorporated.”

  “I suppose.” Ellie seemed skeptical, but she went back to tearing the spinach.

  Crista told herself to be practical rather than emotional. She fought an urge to call Jackson. She knew the sale had nothing to do with him. He probably wasn’t even interested. Still, she found that she wanted to share the news and get his opinion.

  “It’s not like I have a choice,” she said to Ellie instead. “I can’t afford to buy it myself.”

  “How much did they pay?”

  “It was confidential.”

  Ellie shrugged and turned to open a cupboard. “If it’s more than fifty bucks, you couldn’t have afforded it.”

  “I’m not that bad off,” Crista protested.

  “Oh, crap,” said Ellie.

  “What?”

  “I forgot to buy almonds. The salad is going to be boring without them.”

  “No problem,” said Crista, coming to her feet. “I’ll pop down to the market. I could use the fresh air.”

  She could also use a little time to think. Her life felt like a pinball, bouncing off paddles, bonging over points, into traps, some things good and some things bad, but all of them on the edge of control.

  “Can you grab a few limes as well?” Ellie called.
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  “Sure.” Crista retrieved her shoulder bag.

  The evening was warm, so she tucked her feet into her sandals and swung the purse over her T-shirt and shorts. She looped her hair into a ponytail in case of a breeze. Then she called goodbye and locked the dead bolt behind her.

  The sun was setting on the street outside, lights coming on in the apartments above the shops. Ellie lived above a florist, which was next to a funky ladies’ boutique and a toy store. There was a bakery on the corner with a compact grocery store opposite.

  Traffic was light now that rush hour had passed. Neighbors and shoppers cruised the street, while laughing groups of people from the after-work crowd—or maybe they were tourists—sat drinking at the open-air café on the other side. The buzz of traffic, the aromas of yeast and cinnamon, and the bustle of ordinary Chicagoans on a Thursday night made her feel normal. It felt good.

  She stopped at the corner, waiting for the walk signal.

  The light was yellow, and a minivan with smoked windows came to a stop at the intersection. A silver sedan came up behind it. The minivan’s door slid open and a man hopped out. Crista moved to one side so he could get around the light pole.

  Suddenly, she felt a shove from behind. The man stared her straight in the eyes. He moved out of the way, and she was instantly propelled forward.

  “Hey!” she shouted, angry at being jostled.

  But the next thing she knew, she was inside the van.

  The door slammed shut.

  “Stop,” she shrieked.

  A hand clamped over her mouth, and an arm went around her like a steel band. The horn honked, and the van lurched away from the curb, cutting around the corner to a chorus of horns from outside on the street.

  A hood was thrown over her head, and sheer terror rocked her.

  “Keep quiet,” a gravelly voice commanded in her ear. Then he pulled his hand from beneath the hood.

  She had no intention of keeping quiet. “What do you think you’re—”

  A hand immediately came over her mouth, pressing the rough fabric against her teeth.

  “Quiet,” the voice repeated.

  She felt the car slow to a stop, and she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping someone outside would hear.

  The hand stopped her again, and the man swore.

  “She pierced my eardrum,” he shouted.