The Groom's Stand-In (Special Edition)

by Gina Wilkins

  There were no other customers in the place when he and Chloe paused at the cash register so he could pay the tab. Judy took his money with a hearty invitation for them to come back soon.

  “The grocery store is only a couple blocks away,” he said, turning to Chloe just inside the exit door. “If there’s anything you particularly want, don’t hesitate to say so.”

  “I would like some fresh fruit,” she admitted. “And tea—oolong or Ceylon, if possible. Anything but Earl Grey. I’ve never developed a taste for that blend.”

  Donovan rarely even noticed the brand of the tea bags he occasionally dunked in water to make iced tea in the summertime—much less the blend of the leaves encased in the bags. “We’ll see what’s available.”

  She reached for the door handle. He beat her to it. With one hand at the small of her back, he opened the door and guided her through it, scanning the nearly empty, gray-shadowed parking lot as he did so.

  “You’re doing it again,” Chloe murmured, eyeing him quizzically. “Acting as if you’re guarding me from some supposed danger.”

  He hesitated a moment, then shrugged, knowing it would do no good to deny that he was on alert. He tried to come up with an explanation that would satisfy her—without revealing the extent of his odd paranoia. “You’re involved with a wealthy and powerful man. There are inherent risks in that association, not to mention the possible annoyance of the paparazzi.”

  “Paparazzi?” She laughed. “I hardly think I’d be of any interest to them.”

  “You might be surprised,” he murmured, noting the way her laughter made shallow dimples appear at the corners of her soft mouth.

  As if on an impulse, she patted his arm when they stopped beside the passenger door of his car. “I think it’s rather sweet that you’re taking such good care of me,” she said, her tone gravely teasing.

  He surprised himself—and undoubtedly her—by chuckling. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

  “I’ll be sure and tell your boss to put a commendation in your employee file.”

  “Do that.” He opened her door for her, his faint smile fading at her mention of his boss—the man who should be teasing with her in this parking lot. As he headed around the back of the car toward the driver’s side, an image of her smile stayed in his mind.

  Despite his earlier vigilance, the attack caught him completely offguard. Maybe it was because he’d been so close to getting in his car and driving away. Or maybe because he’d finally talked himself into discounting those nagging, apparently groundless premonitions.

  He should have known better. His instincts had always been very accurate. They’d only betrayed him once before—and that, too, had led to disaster.

  Something cold and sharp punched into the back of his neck. Someone big and solid pushed him against his car, pinning him there so tightly he could hardly breathe.

  Donovan wasn’t a small man—six feet tall, a hundred and eighty pounds—but whoever was behind him dwarfed him. Even then, he might have had a chance in a fight—he’d been well-trained in hand-to-hand combat—but whatever had been injected into his neck was already taking effect, blurring his vision, making his stomach lurch.

  His legs started to shake, no longer supporting his weight. He would have crumpled had he not been pressed against the car.

  He heard a vehicle pull up close to his own, and got a peripheral impression that it was a van. A side door opened.

  “Chloe,” he said, but his voice came out only a gasping croak. Lock the doors, he wanted to yell. Blow the horn, do something to get attention.

  Everything went black before he could make his unresponsive tongue form the words.

  “Wake up, Donovan. Oh, please wake up.” Chloe spoke the words softly, but urgently, trying to penetrate the drug-induced stupor he’d been in since they’d been taken outside the little diner. She was concerned that he’d been out so long, and by his pallor and his very shallow breathing.

  What if the bastards had given him an overdose of whatever sedative they had used? What if he didn’t wake up at all? She risked speaking a little louder. “Donovan? Can you hear me?”

  He lay on his back on a bare blue mattress, both his arms stretched above his head. His wrists were secured by a pair of handcuffs that had been looped around one vertical bar of a black iron headboard. Chloe was on her knees beside him. One end of a pair of cuffs encircled her right wrist, the other end locked around another of the iron bars. She’d never worn handcuffs before, and the metal felt cold and heavy against her skin.

  Since she wasn’t wearing a watch, and Donovan’s had been taken away, she had no idea how much time had passed. She only knew that panic was building steadily inside her with each passing minute.

  Hearing a noise from somewhere else in the house, she spoke again. “Donovan? Please open your eyes.”

  A sound rumbled low in his chest—a cross, she decided, between a growl and a groan. Whatever it was, she’d never heard a more welcome noise. It proved that he was alive—and, she hoped, beginning to rouse. She laid her hand on his chest, just above the spot from where the groan had emanated. “Donovan?”

  His eyes opened to bloodshot slits, focusing immediately on her. His voice had a ragged edge when he asked, “Where are we?”

  It amazed her that he seemed to wake almost fully alert. No apparent confusion or disorientation. “I don’t know where we are. They brought us here in a minivan with the back windows covered, so I couldn’t see out.”

  “How long have I been unconscious?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly. It seemed like hours. We were on the road in the van for a long time.”

  She watched him test the cuffs that bound him as he asked, “Smooth roads? Like highways?”

  “No, rough. Like gravel. Lots of turns and hills.”

  He nodded, then gave the room a slow once-over, apparently noting the one small, grimy window, the dirty wooden floor bare of any furniture except the iron bed, the single closed door. He was still pale, and his eyes didn’t look quite right to her, but he wasn’t giving in to any aftereffects he might still be suffering. He seemed wholly focused on assessing their situation and figuring ways to get them out of it.

  Having taken thorough inventory of his circumstances, he turned his attention to her. “They didn’t hurt you,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. She suspected he’d come to that conclusion after his first glance at her. Typically, his first thoughts had been about business.

  “No. I’m not hurt.”

  “How many of them were there?”

  She almost shuddered as she replayed the scene in her mind. “Three. Two attacked you, while another ripped the car door out of my hand before I could close it and lock it. It happened so fast—before I even knew what was going on.”

  “Did anyone see them grab us?”

  “I don’t think so. We were parked in that deep shadow and the van pulled up right next to your car, blocking the view from the road or the restaurant. And they moved so quickly….”

  “Did you have a chance to scream?”

  “They told me they would kill you if I screamed. You were unconscious and the big man held a gun to your head. I couldn’t risk your life.”

  His left eyebrow rose. “So you just got in the van?”

  “I didn’t have any other choice.”

  “You saw their faces?”

  “They made no effort to hide them.”

  What might have been a frown flashed across his face. After a moment, he ordered, “Tell me everything they said.”

  “They said very little. The whole operation seemed to have been carefully worked out ahead of time. They didn’t discuss anything. I tried to find out who they were and what they wanted from us, but they just told me to shut up. I rode sitting in the back of the van with your head in my lap and a gun pointed at me.” She somehow managed to keep her voice steady despite the lingering terror of that ride.

  He glanced at her lap, as if visualizing the scene, a
nd then he said, “I think it’s fairly obvious why they grabbed us.”

  “Is it?” she asked dryly.

  “C’mon, Chloe, your name and your photograph have been in the society pages linking you to Bryan. The gossips have the two of you all but married. Even Judy at the diner recognized you. And I’m Bryan’s best friend and closest business associate. This is a simple kidnapping with ransom as the objective.”

  He was confirming a theory she’d already developed. She’d been aware that there were drawbacks to being involved with a man as wealthy and powerful as Bryan Falcon, even before Donovan had pointed them out during the past couple of days, but she’d considered gossip the most troublesome. She had honestly never imagined her personal safety was at risk. Now, of course, she realized she’d been naive not to consider it.

  Bryan obviously hadn’t made the same mistake. After all, he’d sent Donovan to escort her to the lake house because he hadn’t wanted her to make the drive alone. “Did you and Bryan suspect something like this would happen?”

  “Of course not.” Donovan’s reply was sharp and instantaneous. He looked irritated that she had asked. “We didn’t have a clue. If we had, do you honestly believe I’d have been so careless?”

  Hearing the self-recrimination in his voice, she shook her head. “But you weren’t careless. You were so alert that I even teased you about acting like a bodyguard.”

  “Some bodyguard,” he muttered, flexing his hands within their bindings.

  He blamed himself. Chloe made another effort to reassure him. “It happened so fast. It was all so well-planned and executed. They had us before either of us could react.”

  She could tell that he found no comfort at all in her words.

  Another sound penetrated the closed door—a muffled thud that might have been another door slamming shut. The sound of a car being started and driven away followed.

  “Do you think they’re leaving us here alone?” Chloe asked, looking toward the closed door, not certain if she would be dismayed or relieved if their kidnappers had abandoned them.

  How long would it take to die of dehydration? But if their kidnappers were going to let them die, wouldn’t they have just killed them already? They’d been rough and abrupt, but neither she nor Donovan had been injured.

  Donovan didn’t seem to share her concern about the possibility of being stranded. “We should be so lucky,” he muttered.

  She swallowed. “What do you think will happen now?”

  Even as he answered, she could tell he was busy studying the room again, and considering their options. “They’ll probably wait a few hours before contacting anyone, just to make sure our absence is noted and people have started to worry about us. When enough time has passed, they’ll get in touch with Bryan, give him the standard threats if he should contact the authorities, and then offer him their deal for our safe return.”

  “What do you think he’ll tell them?”

  Donovan’s mouth twisted into his odd half-smile—the one that held little, if any, humor. “What he’ll say initially should probably not be repeated in mixed company. After that, he’ll negotiate.”

  “Will he contact the authorities?”

  After a quick glance at the door, Donovan merely shrugged.

  Was he worried that they were being monitored? Watched, perhaps?

  Biting her lip, Chloe glanced quickly around the room, searching for any evidence of a microphone or a video camera. She saw nothing, but then she wasn’t exactly an expert on covert surveillance. She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling Donovan was more experienced with such matters.

  He shifted on the mattress, making her aware that her hand still rested on his chest. She knew she should move it, but she was reluctant to do so. There was something reassuring about the warmth that seeped through his black shirt, and the steadiness of his heartbeat against her palm. She was disinclined to break that fragile connection.

  Without thinking, she tried to lift her right hand to brush back her hair, which had fallen into her face. The handcuff jerked her to a stop, rattling loudly against the iron bar of the headboard. “Damn,” she muttered, letting her shackled hand fall to her side.

  Donovan looked at her tumbled hair. “Your hair was up this morning.”

  “They took all my hairpins. As well as my purse, your watch, everything in your pockets, both our belts and our shoes.” She shivered as she remembered the rough, impersonal pat-down she’d been subjected to while the biggest of the three kidnappers had held her arms behind her back. His grip had been so tight it had brought humiliating tears to her eyes.

  “They seem to have covered all the bases in that respect.”

  She eyed the heavy metal links skeptically. “They thought we could actually use hairpins to pick the locks on these cuffs?”

  Donovan moved one shoulder in a semi-shrug. “They might have been right.”

  The comment brought her eyes quickly back to his face. “You could do that?”

  “I could damned well try.”

  “In that case…” She reached beneath the denim shirt to the coral, pocketed T-shirt she wore beneath, fumbled around for a moment, then produced a sturdy metal hairpin, which she held in front of him.

  Chapter Five

  Donovan’s eyebrows rose. “You always keep hairpins hidden inside your shirt?”

  “When I’m wearing my hair up, I do. My hair’s fine and it tends to crawl out of restraints during the day. I usually stash an extra hairpin or two in case I need them. I had this one tucked into my T-shirt pocket. It had fallen down into the seam, which must have kept the guy who patted me down from feeling it.”

  He opened his right hand. “Let me have it.”

  She placed the pin in his palm, then frowned when he hid it in his own hair instead of setting to work with it. “Can you see it?” he asked.

  The thick hairpin was completely hidden in his brown hair. “No. But aren’t you going to try to escape?”

  “I’ll give it a try when I think it’s safe to do so.”

  “And when will that be?”

  He glanced toward the little window, which was so dirty that the light from outside barely penetrated it. “Later.”

  Was he waiting for nighttime? How many more hours would that be? It had been about four-thirty when they’d left the diner. She estimated that they’d traveled for more than an hour in the van, and then perhaps another half hour had passed while she’d waited for Donovan to wake up. It would be dark soon, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could sit here, bound at the wrist, waiting in dread for that closed door to creak open. It had to be worse for Donovan, flat on his back with his arms fastened over his head.

  “Maybe we should try now, while we’re alone in here. Maybe they assume you’re still unconscious. Maybe we could get out through the window before they realize we’ve gotten free.”

  “And maybe someone would come in while I’m fumbling with the cuffs and take away the only potential tool we have. I didn’t say I could pick the lock. I only said I would try. Even if I succeed, it could take a while.”

  She had to acknowledge his point, as well as the need for caution, but she hated the thought of spending hours here. In frustration, she tugged at the cuff that held her, growing suddenly claustrophobic against the confinement. The only result was the noisy ring of steel against iron, and a stab of pain in her abused wrist.

  “Chloe—relax.”

  “Relax?” She stared at his impassive face in disbelief. “How am I supposed to relax under these circumstances?”

  “We haven’t been harmed. We’re being left alone. There’s no reason to panic.”

  “Yet,” she muttered grimly.

  “Don’t let your imagination run away with you. No threats have been made against us. These are just common thugs looking to make some quick money. Criminal types aren’t overly bright, and they almost always make stupid mistakes. We’ll wait until they make one with us, and then we’ll take advantage of it.�
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  “You make it sound so simple. How do you know they will make a mistake? How do you know they aren’t planning to take the money and then kill us? They let me see their faces.” She hated the tremor in her voice, the fear she couldn’t hide. Especially since Donovan seemed so unnaturally calm and controlled.

  But when she looked into his eyes, she saw that he wasn’t as controlled as she had believed. His usually cool green eyes were a dark emerald now, gleaming with an anger so hot she could almost feel the warmth. She’d thought his face was expressionless; now, she saw that the muscles beneath his taut skin were tensed into a steely mask. No, most definitely, he was not calm.

  “They aren’t going to hurt you,” he vowed, his voice a low growl.

  She sat back on her heels for a moment to study him. Beneath her hand, his heart continued to beat steadily, but the pounding seemed a bit faster now. Stronger. “Tell me what you want me to do,” she said simply, literally placing her life in his hands.

  “Just stay calm and let me handle things now. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Her gaze still locked with his, she moistened her lips and nodded. “Thank you.”

  He was the one who looked away first. “Bryan’s counting on me to watch out for you,” he said gruffly.

  She swallowed and took her hand off his chest. “This is more than you signed on for when you agreed to ‘babysit’ for a few hours, isn’t it?”

  “As I said—I didn’t expect this at all. If I had, I wouldn’t have been caught off guard, not even for a moment. As for the babysitting crack—well, don’t take that personally.”

  Studying his uncomfortable position, and the dark circles under his eyes that were so noticeable, she knew she couldn’t hold a grudge now. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m sure you were frustrated because you were being kept from your work for so long.”

  “That’s one explanation,” he muttered.