“We’ve got less than ten minutes. This time, I really do need you to hide. Will you do that? Please?”

“Tell me your plan first,” she said, not answering his question.

“I don’t have one,” he said. “Other than to get more information out of them than they get from me and to keep you safe. Everything besides that is fluid.”

She let out a loud breath.

“I can’t focus on them if in the back of my mind, I’m wondering what you’re doing,” he said.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be in the back of the closet, hidden behind the clothes.” She started to walk toward the bedroom.

“Stormy,” he said.

She stopped. “Yes.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, turned her and kissed her. All the emotion of the moment was packed into ten seconds of scorching pleasure.

Then he stepped back. “We’re not finished,” he said.

Agent Bride

Beverly Long

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BEVERLY LONG enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com, or like her at facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.

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For Brynn and Eric, who both made the leap from college kid to adult look easy.

Hope you’re having fun in Missouri!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Cal Hollister rarely let anything stop him. And that included the weather. But when the freezing rain in the upper plains had turned to snow, then more snow, making the I-70 corridor a real mess, even he’d had to admit it was time to take a break.

Now, an hour east of Kansas City, Missouri, he’d filled up both his gas tank and his belly. He sat back in the tattered booth of Dawson’s Diner and watched the television that was mounted in the corner of the truck stop. It was on mute and the words flashed across the screen. Early winter storm paralyzes Midwest.

Cal stopped reading, just as he’d turned off the radio in his rental car earlier. It was all they were talking about. The storm, the storm, the storm.

Missouri rarely got heavy snow and to get it in November was real news. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let a little ice and snow stop him.

He was going home. Back to Ravesville. The idea had taken root after Cal had talked to his brother last month and learned that Chase was getting the old house they’d inherited from their mother ready to sell.

Chase hadn’t asked for help. He never did. Especially not from Cal. But it was time for that to change. Cal had finished his assignment and put plans in motion to get back to the States. It had taken a month but finally, he was a mere hundred miles northwest of his destination, more than three weeks early for Thanksgiving dinner.

“All finished?” the waitress asked as she passed the booth.

“That was amazing,” Cal said. The woman had encouraged him to get the daily special, the roast pork, especially if he was pressed for time. He didn’t have a schedule but he’d gone along with the suggestion.

She smiled. “I know. People are always surprised. They don’t expect a place like this to have a chef. Pietro worked for years at Moldaire College in a high-end restaurant in their student union. He’s always talking about how he used to cater all the important events at the college, even the private parties that the president of the college hosted.” She picked up the dirty dishes. “Can I get you anything else? Maybe a piece of apple pie?”

“I’m stuffed but because I suspect it will be every bit as good as that roast pork, I’ll take it to go.”

“Good choice,” she said. She walked over to the pie case, opened the door, slid a piece into a cardboard box, and brought it and a plastic fork back to the table.

Cal pulled out a twenty. “Keep the change, Lena,” he said, looking at her name tag. She looked tired. Hell of a job slinging hash.

But at least she had a job.

Which was more than Cal had at the moment.

No job. No expectations to live up to. No one else’s timetable to adhere to. It was a heady feeling for a man who’d spent eight years in Uncle Sam’s employ as a Navy SEAL and the past six months as a contractor doing much the same kind of work at a considerably higher rate of pay.

“What are they saying about the roads?” he asked. He’d seen Lena chatting with two state police officers at the counter.

“It’s bad and supposed to get a whole lot worse. Interstate is still open but there’s lots of spinouts and cars in the ditch.”

About what he’d expected. First bad storm always resulted in a bunch of fender benders as people relearned their winter math—that speed plus following too close equaled crap-on-a-stick.

He scooted to the end of the booth, stood up and stretched. “Well, wish me luck,” he said.

She shook her head. “You’re like all the other crazies around here today. There was a heck of a commotion in the parking lot right before you came in. People running around, slamming doors and carrying on. They cleared out fast when my friends at the counter, who never miss an opportunity for apple pie, pulled their squad cars into the lot. Probably couldn’t wait to get out on the road and kill themselves.”

That was a happy thought. He was grateful he’d missed the excitement. He’d had plenty recently. It had been less than two weeks ago that he’d barely missed getting up close and personal with enemy fire.

“Anyway, for what it’s worth,” she added, “there’s a hotel about five miles east. They might still have a room.”

He winked at her and smiled. Then he pulled his coat collar up and walked out the door. The cold wind hit him hard.

Crazy. Maybe. But Lena had no idea the number of truly outrageous things he’d done. And usually in the name of protecting national security or preserving American interests.

The hotel might have been a good option if he was continuing on the Interstate. He would be turning off before that, for the final leg of his journey. The two-lane highway that would take him into Ravesville would likely be in worse shape than the Interstate but he had another hour of daylight left and he intended to make good use of that.

If everything went well, he’d be at the house in a couple hours. He thought about calling ahead but disregarded the idea. While Chase would intuitively know that the weather was a mere inconvenience to any former Navy SEAL, he still would worry.

Chase had always taken his big-brother role seriously. They were going to finally have a talk about that. The conversation Cal had been running from for years.

It took Cal ten minutes to brush the snow off his SUV. When he was finally back inside his rented Escalade, it was nice and warm. He pulled out of the parking lot.

The plows had gone through at some point but another couple inches had fallen after that. But he settled in, going a brisk thirty-five miles per hour. Two miles east, he took the exit, realized he’d been right that the secondary roads were in worse shape. It was somewhat reassuring to see wide tracks in the fresh snow. Somebody driving a big truck had made the same turn within the past ten minutes.

The wind was really whipping up the snow. It wasn’t white-out conditions but damn close. Which was why he thought he was seeing things.

He checked his rearview mirror, didn’t see any other cars and risked pulling over to the side. He got out, leaving his vehicle running.

Three feet off the road, something had hit the fresh snow, denting its whipped perfection. The object had rolled several more feet before stopping, forward progression halted by a study wooden fence that was likely there to keep cattle in.

He could hardly believe his eyes. There was a woman in a bridal gown and nothing else, no coat, no shoes, just a long veil, which was what had caught his attention. It was flapping in the breeze like a wayward flag.

She was on her side, turned away from him.

He figured she had to be dead.

* * *

SHE WAS SO COLD. Had never been so cold. And her head hurt. But she had to keep going. Had to get up. Get away.

She forced herself to move and heard a man swear. Suddenly there were hands on her. She had to fight.

No. No. She could not go back.

Felt a hand on her neck. She swung an arm, a leg. Knocked into something.

“Hey,” he said. He pulled on her shoulder, flipping her to her back.

It hurt to open her eyes. The man was big and dark and he loomed over her.

She screamed and knew that no one was going to hear her. No one was going to help her. Just like before.

“How the hell did you get here?” he asked. But he didn’t seem inclined to wait for an answer. She felt strong arms, one under her neck, the other under her knees, and she was swung up into the air.

He held her close, pulled tight against his coat.

And he started walking.

She tried to struggle, to force him to loosen his grip. But it was as if his arms were bands of iron. And her arms and legs felt heavy, useless.

She was dying. She knew it.

She closed her eyes and waited for it.

She felt him shift her weight. Suddenly, she was standing. She needed to run. Go. Now.

So tired.

Took one step. Saw the vehicle. Saw the door that he’d just opened.

“Get in,” he said.

When she didn’t move, he scooped her up again and deposited her into the warm, the heavenly warm, SUV. He shut the door. Within seconds he was climbing into the driver’s side.

He was big and snow-covered and for one crazy minute, she could only think of the Abominable Snowman. But then he was moving, reaching a long arm into the backseat. She heard the sound of a zipper.

He had a big gray T-shirt in his hand. Suddenly, he was rubbing her face, her arms, brushing snow off. It was piling up on the floor, by her feet. He flipped the heater on high and more of the delicious heat poured from the vents.

His hands stilled suddenly. She looked down. He was staring at her left wrist. Saw his gaze move swiftly to her right arm. She looked, too. They matched. Both wrists sported a wide reddish band of skin.

And she remembered pulling, pulling with all her might. And being so angry.

“What happened here?” he asked, his words sharp.

She didn’t answer. Just stared at him.

He hesitated, then reached into the backseat again. Pulled out another T-shirt, this one white and long-sleeved, and some gray sweatpants. “We’ve got to get you out of that wet dress,” he said.

What?

She looked down. Saw what she was wearing and felt her heart start to race in her cold body.

How had this happened?

“Are you injured?” he asked.

Huh? He had evidently easily gotten past that she was wearing a wedding gown but she was having trouble moving on.

A wedding gown. She lifted her hand, touched the satin fabric, noting, rather dispassionately, that it was dirty in several places. Her hand started to tremble.

The man reached his own hand out, caught her fingers. “You’re shaking,” he said.

“Cold,” she said. She had been. For sure. But that wasn’t why she was shaking. Her body felt odd. As if she was on edge, just this close to spiraling out of control. At the same time, she felt nauseous, as if maybe she’d drunk too much and gotten too little sleep.

She turned her head to look at him. To try to offer up some sort of explanation.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, his cadence quick. “I didn’t see that earlier.” He leaned toward her and, with surprisingly gentle hands, prodded the right side of her head, just above her ear, with the tips of his fingers. She heard him hiss.

“You’ve got a hell of a knot here,” he said. “But just a small slice in the skin. It’s already stopped bleeding.”

She reached up. Their hands connected and she could feel his barely contained energy. His skin was warm. Vibrant.

He pulled his hand away. She continued to press and realized there was something on her head. A veil. Pinned tight into her hair.

She started yanking bobby pins and tossing them onto the floor. One bounced off the dash. She pulled and pulled. When the veil was loose, she ripped it off her head.

The man was staring at her, his hazel eyes assessing.

She reached up, pulled down the visor and stared into the mirror. Terror seized her, making her want to throw up.

Think. You need to think.

But it was as if all coherent thoughts had deserted her.

She started to shake. Badly. Not just her fingers or her hands. Her whole body.

And the man moved suddenly. Using both hands, he pulled the dry T-shirt over her head, stuffed both arms in. Pushed her forward in the seat, so that he could reach around her back. She felt him release the zipper of the dress. Felt him unclasp her bra.

Then he was pulling down her dress, her strapless bra, and lowering the T-shirt at the same time, preserving her modesty. His touch was quick, impersonal, but she felt the intimacy of it. She shook his hands off.

If she didn’t do this, he would.

She pulled the T-shirt down. It came to her thighs. Then she yanked on the wet, heavy wedding dress. When she had it off, she handed it to him. He tossed it into the backseat. She pulled on the sweatpants, cinching the tie strings as tight as she could. When he handed her thick white socks, she put those on, too. She was drowning in his clothes but it felt absolutely wonderful to be warm and dry.

“I’m not sure where the nearest hospital is,” he said, “but I think our safest bet is to head back to the Interstate.”

Hospital? She grabbed his arm. “No.”

He stared at her. “What the hell is going on here?”

She had no idea. All she knew was that she couldn’t go to a hospital. Couldn’t go anywhere.

They would find her.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t trust this man with the truth.

He waited.

“What’s your name?” he asked again.

“Mary. Mary Smith.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t think so.”

She said nothing.

“How about I just call you...” He paused. Then looked forward, into the blowing snow. “Stormy,” he finished. “That’ll do.”

“What’s your name?” she asked quickly, desperately trying to shift his focus.

He seemed to hesitate for just a moment. “Cal. Cal Hollister.” He put the car in gear, pulled back onto the highway and started driving.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer her.

He was taking her to the hospital. She just knew it. She had to get away. She reached for the door latch.

He was faster, stretching his arm across her body, blocking her hand. “Please. I would like to help you. I just came from a diner where there were two cops. I think they may be your best bet.”

The police. Again, she could feel her heart start to race. Why? She searched her mind, her terrifyingly empty mind, and tried to reason it out. Was she in trouble with the police? Was she running from the police?

“I just need a place to stay. To get some sleep,” she said. “Can you just drop me off at a hotel?”

He waved his hand in a semicircle. “We’re sort of in the middle of nowhere.”

She could see that. Everywhere she looked there was snow. And it was getting dark.

“Will you drive me as far as the nearest town?” she asked. “I’ll pay you. I promise. I mean, I don’t have any money with me, but I’ll send it. Just give me your address.”

He stared at her, his eyes showing absolutely nothing. Was he about to kick her out of his car, thinking that she was going to be more trouble than she was worth?

“I won’t be any inconvenience,” she promised.

“There have to be people looking for you, worried about you. At the risk of stating the obvious, I think today might have been a big day for you.”

Had she gotten married today?

She didn’t think so. She’d know that. Deep down she would know. Right?

“I’ll contact people once I get to the hotel,” she said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Handed it to her.

Her arm felt as if it weighed eighty pounds when she reached to take it. Her fingers brushed against his.

Warm skin.

So different.

And a flash of a memory, jagged at the edges, in grays and blacks, like an old movie, jumped into her empty head. Cold hands. Wrapped around her upper arms. Pushing her. Cold, cold hands.

She closed her eyes. Willed it to come. But that was it.

“Please just take me to the nearest hotel.” She put his phone down on the gearshift console. Maybe rest would help.

If it didn’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

Chapter Two

Under normal conditions, having a beautiful woman beg him to take her to a hotel was not an invitation that he needed to give much consideration to.

Hell, yes.

And if all went well, a half hour after they’d checked in, neither one of them would even remember it was snowing.

But there was nothing normal about this. The woman had been lying in the snow in a wedding dress. As he’d approached, he’d seen a slight movement in her arms and legs and had reached out to check for a pulse. She’d responded like a mad dog, throwing a punch and kicking her leg. Her movements had been uncoordinated, as if hypothermia was setting in.

While he had no formal medical training, every SEAL had the basics. He’d quickly sorted through the options. Moving someone before a full assessment was always a risk. But her extremities all seemed to be in working order, maybe a little jerky, a little awkward. He’d identified the cold as his biggest challenge, decided there was no time to waste and flipped her over to her back.

Then, even though her arm and leg hadn’t connected with anything vital, he’d been knocked back and just a little breathless.

She had a stunningly beautiful face. Dark hair. Very dark eyes, almost black. Rich, almond skin that hinted at an ethnicity that was more exotic than his own common German-Irish mix. Maybe from one of the Pacific Islands.

When she’d screamed, he’d gathered his lust-spiked wits and moved into action. He didn’t think she’d been there long. Dressed as she was, it would have taken less than twenty minutes in these conditions—twenty-degree temps with a thirty-mile-an-hour wind—for her to be in real serious trouble.

He hadn’t been confident that she could walk, so he’d carried her to the car. Once inside the vehicle, he’d been processing what to do next when he’d seen the marks around her wrists that looked suspiciously as if she’d been tied up.

It was possible that it had been consensual. What people did behind bedroom doors was nobody’s business. But he’d spent the better part of the past decade in countries where men routinely mistreated women and he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. But when he’d asked, she’d stared at her wrists, as if it was the first time that she’d seen them, seen the damage.

Then he’d seen the small trickle of blood on the side of her face. He’d been very concerned when he’d felt the lump on her head, which he suspected she’d gotten from connecting with the fence post, and had been relieved when he’d seen that the cut itself was just a slice that would heal quickly.

He’d pushed aside his concern over her possible mistreatment and dealt with the immediate need of getting her out of her wet clothes.

When he’d pulled the T-shirt over her head and lowered her dress, he’d done a quick inspection of the rest of her to assess for injuries. Had caught a glimpse of pretty breasts and smooth skin but no other significant bruises or red marks.

The wedding dress had been wet and heavy and, quite frankly, had knocked him off his stride.

And oddly enough, it had seemed to have a similar effect on her. She’d ripped the pins out of her veil as if she was attacking a nest of snakes with a garden hoe. Her wet dark hair, free of constraints, had fallen around her shoulders.

How had a bride ended up in the snowdrift? Where the hell was her husband?

When he’d picked her up, he’d made a visual inspection of the surrounding area. No footprints besides the ones he’d left. No sign of a vehicle, with the exception of the wide tire tracks on the road, but he was fairly confident that the truck hadn’t stopped. There was no sign of heavy exhaust in the fresh snow that would have been there if a big truck had idled for any amount of time.

Was it possible that she’d fallen out of the truck while it was moving? That someone had pushed her out?

None of it made sense and she wasn’t helping. She’d lied about her name. He was pretty sure about that. Had tried to let her know that he knew in a nice way by calling her Stormy instead. When she’d asked his name, he could have reciprocated and lied. He had a half-dozen different aliases that he’d gone by in the past years. Instead, he’d offered up the truth.

It might have been a mistake but he’d felt the need that one of them should be honest. Why it was important, he wasn’t sure. They were ships passing in a storm. He was offering a helping hand until she could reach out to someone else.

Which she didn’t seem inclined to do. He’d expected her to look upon his cell phone as an unexpected lifeline but there didn’t seem to be anybody she was interested in calling.

Odd. To say the least.

There were probably a couple choices. He could keep driving toward Ravesville and take her to the old house. But given that he didn’t know her story, he wasn’t inclined to want to do that. It was too great of a risk that he might be bringing trouble to his family, to Chase especially, and he was done with that.

He had enough guilt already.

He could disregard her instructions that she didn’t need either a hospital or the police and drop her off at whichever he encountered first.

Or he could turn around, take her back to the Interstate, find the hotel that the waitress had said was just miles down the road and send her on her way.

That was probably the best option. Now that he’d gotten a closer look at her, he could see the fatigue that shadowed her eyes. He supposed it was a busy time leading up to a wedding.

Had she gotten cold feet? Was there a groom pacing the aisle in some church, at a loss to understand where his bride might be?

But it was a Tuesday. Cal didn’t know much about weddings but he was fairly confident that they were usually on a Saturday. Maybe she was simply unconventional. Maybe she and/or the groom worked on the weekends. Maybe they got a better price on the reception if the event was on a weekday. Could be a hundred explanations.

She did not, however, look interested in offering up any of them. She was staring straight ahead, her arms wrapped around herself.

In all likelihood, he’d saved her life. It would be nice to know her name but not necessary. He wasn’t the type to brag or dwell on past accomplishments and this, quite frankly, wasn’t the first time he’d saved an unknown person’s life. That was what SEALs did best. Save the good guys. Kill the bad guys.

He was going with the assumption that she was on the side of right and that he wasn’t assisting the wrong person. That was what his gut told him and he’d learned to listen to it.

“Buckle your seat belt,” he said. He checked his mirrors, slowed down and then made a narrow U-turn on the snow-covered highway.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice small.

“Back to the Interstate. There’s a hotel a couple miles east. I’ll drop you off there.”

He turned on the radio. Maybe he’d try to get some information on the weather after all. It seemed as if the storm was picking up in intensity. It dawned on him that he hadn’t cared as much when he’d only had himself to worry about. Now he was responsible for her.

It should have felt suffocating to a man who’d recently deliberately shed all his formal responsibilities. At least irritating that he’d been sucked back in so quickly.

But oddly enough, it felt okay.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

She said nothing for a long minute. Over the sound of the radio, he could hear the tires working hard to grab pavement.

Finally she turned to him. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe you.”

* * *

IT WAS TRUE. She owed this man her life. But as soon as she could, she was getting away from him. He was young, maybe not even thirty, but his hazel eyes seemed to hold knowledge beyond that. He had short dark brown hair in a buzz cut and his skin was very tanned.

The only time he’d really pushed for information had been when he’d asked her name. She’d had to tell him something. And he’d called her on the fact that he didn’t think it was legitimate. Yet he was still willing to help her.

She wished she could accept that it was as simple as one human being extending a kindness to another. But something told her that she should trust no one. No one.

He was a good driver. His hands were relaxed on the steering wheel. She’d have been a nervous wreck.

She didn’t like to drive in bad weather.

Didn’t know how she knew this. Just knew it.

In less than five minutes, they were on the Interstate that he’d mentioned. She saw a sign. St. Louis, 194 miles.

St. Louis. She let that dance around in her head for a minute. “Joe Medwick. Ducky Medwick,” she corrected.

He turned to stare at her. “What?”

“St. Louis Cardinals. He holds the record for most runs batted in during a single season. Late 1930s.”

“Thirty-seven,” he said, “1937.” He paused, then added, “How the hell did you know that?”

She’d surprised him. Oddly enough, that made her want to smile. Nothing else that had happened up to this point had seemed to faze him but he looked absolutely flabbergasted that she knew baseball. “Sports trivia is not reserved for the male species,” she said.

“Right,” he said. He was silent for a long minute. “Motel should be just up the road.” He paused again. “Have you eaten lately?”

She didn’t feel hungry. “A little while ago,” she said.

He nodded and kept driving. The SUV churned through the snow on the road, its tires slipping occasionally as they encountered patches of ice. They stayed on the road, however, which was more than she could say for the three cars they passed that were in the ditch.

It took them fifteen minutes to get to the hotel. He pulled into the lot and she stared at the building, trying to catch some feel for whether she’d ever been here before. She didn’t think so.

It was a two-story wood building, painted mostly red with some white trim, with each room having an exterior door. She counted them. Eight up, eight down, with a small office at the front of the building. The parking lot was full of cars and had already been plowed at least once. There was a big white sign with blue lettering and a red border. The Daly American Inn. There was a flagpole and a flag near the front door. She wondered if someone had braved the elements that morning or perhaps they simply never took it down.

She stared at the flag, watched it flap in the wind, partially obscured by the flying snow. Something fluttered in her chest. “Oh,” she said, putting a hand to her heart.

“Problem?” he asked.

She shook her head. What could she say? Yes, plural but none that I can talk about.

He took the space in front of the office. She gripped the door handle tight. “Like I said, I don’t have any money on me.”

He shrugged. “We’ll worry about that once we know if they have a room. I’ll go check.”

It sounded as if he was willing to pay for it. Thank goodness. She would send him a check. Right away. She paid her debts. At least she thought she did.

He got out of the vehicle and snow blew in. It was really getting cold.

She watched him walk into the office. His dark down jacket came only to his waist. He wore jeans and cowboy boots and with his narrow hips and nice long legs, he was totally rocking the look.

It felt a little ridiculous that given the circumstances she had even noticed. But it was also oddly comforting, as if her subconscious was letting her know that everyday pleasures, even those as basic as admiring a sexy stride and a fine rear end, were not beyond her grasp.

The office was well lit and she could see a young man behind the desk. He was staring down at his cell phone, punching buttons. He looked up, evidently listening to whatever Cal was saying, and shook his head.

Her heart sank. She hadn’t realized how much hope she’d had pinned on getting a room, having a place to rest. If that wasn’t possible, she had no idea what she was going to do. Maybe they would at least let her sit in the office until...

Until what?

That was the great unknown.

She saw Cal reach into his pocket. Push something across the counter. Take the plastic key that the young man offered.

Hallelujah, it looked as if it was going to be okay.

When Cal returned to the vehicle, he handed her the plastic key. “You got the last room,” he said.

“I was worried. I saw the clerk shaking his head.”

“Just didn’t understand what I was asking for.”

It was perfect. She could sleep. For as long as it took. Then wake up and be able to deal with everything.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked. “I want to keep track.”

“Rooms are eighty-nine bucks a night. You’re in number fourteen. Second floor, two doors from the end.”

“Perfect.”

“How’s the head?” he asked.

“Still hurts,” she said honestly.

“Nauseous?” he asked.

She actually felt better than she had a half hour earlier. “No.”

“Your pupils look normal,” he said. “Which hopefully means that you don’t have a concussion. But I’m still worried about that. You’re sure that you’re going to be able to call someone to help you?”

“Absolutely,” she lied.

He drove the SUV to the corner of the building where her room was located and put the car in Park. He reached into the backseat and pulled out another pair of thick white socks. “Your feet are going to get wet walking in. Take these so you have something dry to change into.”

He was a really nice guy. “Can I have your address?” she asked. “To mail you a check. For the hotel, and these,” she said, waving at the clothes he’d given her.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Pay it forward someday.”

That was a nice idea. “Well,” she said. It was crazy but she didn’t like the idea of getting out of the car. She felt as if something bad was about to happen. But this man had done enough for her. There was nothing to be gained from stalling.

“Thank you,” she said. She extended her hand.

There was a slight pause before he reached out and very formally shook her hand. His index finger had a callus and she resisted the urge to rub the pad of her thumb against it. “Good luck,” he said.

She swallowed hard. Some good luck would be nice. She opened the door and got out. She went to close the door.

“Hey,” he said. He pointed to the backseat. “Don’t forget this.”

Her wedding dress. She grabbed it and the horrible veil that had hurt her head and wadded them under her arm. She ran up the exterior staircase and inserted her key into the door. It opened. She turned.

He was still there. Watching.

She waved.

He nodded and pulled out of the parking spot.

She went inside, feeling strangely sad. She should be happy to be free of the man. She needed time to figure out what to do next and she needed to be totally focused. That would have been difficult if Cal Hollister had stuck around.

She sat down on the ugly green-and-gold bedspread and stared at the tan carpet. What the hell was she going to do?

* * *

CAL’S FRONT FENDER was edging out of the lot when he decided that he might be a fool but he didn’t intend to be a hungry one. He still had the pie that he’d tossed into his backseat but it wouldn’t hurt to have a backup supply of candy bars, chips and red licorice, his favorite, if he did happen to get stuck. And the hotel vending machine was probably his best bet.

He backed up, parked his SUV and went inside. The desk clerk, phone still in hand, looked up. Cal waved at him and pointed his index finger at the vending machine in the alcove off to the side. The kid smiled back. When Cal saw the prices, he realized the kid was probably laughing at him, not with him. It was practically highway robbery. But he started feeding in his dollar bills.

Stormy had seemed a little reluctant to get out of the car. And he’d had the craziest urge to want to keep talking to her. Maybe they could have traded baseball trivia. She’d surprised him with that one. Her eyes had lit up and he’d gotten a glimpse of what her face would look like without fatigue and cold clouding it.

He’d felt an attraction to her. And that, ultimately, had been what had kept him from chatting it up in the car. She was either someone’s fiancée or someone’s wife. Off-limits.

Just two years ago, he’d had to pick up the pieces when his best friend on the team had gotten a Dear Leo letter. Leo’s wife had met someone and had filed divorce papers. Leo had gone a little crazy and Cal had been seriously worried that the man was going to make a mistake that could take the whole team down.

He didn’t ever want to be in the middle of something like that. So he’d said goodbye to Stormy and accepted that how she came to be in that snowdrift, in her wedding gown, was going to be one of life’s unanswered mysteries. When he’d checked in, he’d verified that there were phones in the room. Hopefully, by now she’d made her calls and help was either on the way or, at the very least, relieved to hear that she was okay.

He had just pressed the last button when the door opened. Two men, both wearing long black coats and dark pants, came in. The taller man had an ugly scar, running from the corner of his eye to halfway down his cheek.

Both men gave Cal a cursory look but focused on the desk clerk. “We are looking for our cousin,” the taller one said. His tone was low, almost guttural, and he’d turned his back to Cal. But Cal, who had always had excellent hearing, didn’t have any trouble making out the words. The guy had a slight accent, clipping the end of his words, rolling his r’s just a little. Maybe Russian.

The man held out his smartphone so that the clerk could see something on the screen.

“Pretty bride,” the clerk said.

“Yes, very beautiful,” the tall man said. “Have you seen her?”

Cal casually reached into his pocket and fed in another dollar. Took his time considering his choices.

“Nope,” said the clerk. “I’d have remembered her if she’d checked in,” he added with the exuberance of a horny young male.

The two men looked at each other. They were frustrated. Trying to hide it but not doing a great job.

“It is very important that we find her,” said the shorter one. “She would have arrived within the last hour.”

The desk clerk nodded. “Sorry I can’t help. I’m the only one here. If she’d have rented a room, I’d know it. There are a couple motels down the road another ten or fifteen miles. You may want to try there.”

The two men nodded and walked out the door. The shorter one had a stiff left leg, swinging it from the hip, rather than bending it at the knee. Cal grabbed his purchases and stepped back into the main office. Glanced out the window. They were driving a black Mercedes. They pulled out, headed east.

Cal held up his bag of chips. “My favorite,” he said. “Should get me through the night.”

The clerk shrugged and picked up his phone.

Cal pulled up the collar of his coat, opened the door and walked back to his vehicle. Once inside, he started it and flipped on the wipers to clear the windshield of snow.

Pretty bride.

Very beautiful.

Arrived within the last hour.

One only had to be smarter than the average bear to figure out that they were talking about Stormy, or whatever her real name was. And they seemed pretty determined to find her. Cal figured they’d be back for a second check once they got up the road a ways and nobody had seen her.

Really wasn’t his problem.

He glanced in his mirror and sedately pulled out of the lot.

Chapter Three

She took a shower and stood under the hot spray for a long time. She stared at her wrists, rubbed them with the washcloth, noting that they were tender. Bruised.

She shampooed her hair, carefully rubbing the bump and the open cut. It stung a little but she figured that was a good thing. Even though it was just a small cut, it was probably a good idea to get it cleaned out.

Not that getting an infection was her biggest problem.

She got out of the shower, dried off and used the small bottle of lotion provided by the hotel. She rubbed Mango Magic on her legs, her arms, her hands. She thought her knuckles were chapped from her time in the snow but realized that they were skinned up and several of her nails had broken off, leaving a jagged edge behind.

She had a very vague recollection of grasping something with her hands, slipping off, grasping again. Hanging on.

She could feel her anxiety mounting and she told herself to breathe deep, to not try to force it. She towel-dried her hair, wishing she had a comb. At least the hotel had provided a blow-dryer. She used it, running her fingers through her hair, jerking when one of her jagged nails caught a strand and pulled.

She used her finger along with some soap to brush her teeth. Then she rinsed and rinsed, feeling as if had been days since her teeth had been clean.

She opened the bathroom and was very grateful that she had a towel wrapped around her because Cal Hollister was sitting on her bed, back propped against the headboard, arms behind his head.

He was chewing on a stick of red licorice.

What the hell? “Get off my bed,” she said, working hard to keep her tone even. She would not let him see that she was scared to death.

“No.” He reached down to the end of the bed, where she’d left his T-shirt, sweatpants and her underwear. He scooped them up and tossed them in her direction.

She reached automatically and almost lost her towel in the process.

“Get dressed,” he said.

She stepped back inside the bathroom and slammed the door. Looked for a lock but there wasn’t one. Of all the nerve. He may have saved her life but who did he think he was coming here, surprising her, putting her at a disadvantage? She yanked on her clothes, grateful that she’d put the strapless bra in the pile, along with her panties. Once she was finished, she looked around the small room for a weapon. Saw the only thing that might work. A minute later, she walked out, her hands together, casually cupped at her belly button.

She crossed in front of him, sat in the chair near the door. His duffel bag was on the floor, near her feet. From this angle she could see that he had an assortment of candy bars and chips on the bed next to him. “Going for a sugar high?” she asked.

“Always.” He tossed her a Hershey’s candy bar. She let it fall in her lap.

“Got these from the vending machine in the office,” he said.

She waited. Where was this going?

“While I was there, two men came in. Squirrelly-looking guys. Lots of black hair and gold jewelry. One guy has a big scar on his face. Other one had a bad knee.”

He was watching her. “Okay,” she said.

“They showed the desk clerk a picture of someone on their phone. Someone, according to the clerk, who was a pretty bride.”

She could feel her stomach clench. “What did the clerk say?”

“Said he didn’t have anybody here that resembled the woman.”

She felt some of the pressure lift off her chest. “They left?”

He nodded. “I suspect they’ll be back. Them and their friends.”

“Friends?”

“The first two left in a black Mercedes but there was a matching vehicle parked toward the back of the lot. It stuck around. I suspect they were waiting to see if the clerk was lying. If he was, it would be a fairly safe assumption that he’d make a mad dash to the person’s room or use his cell phone that appears attached to his hand to put out a warning call. They might have been expecting somebody to quickly exit from one of the rooms.”

“But that didn’t happen,” she said.

“Nope.”

“Did the two men see you?”

“Yes. So I suspect the guys in the second car were also told to watch me. So I drove off, in the opposite direction of the first car. I waited to see if they’d follow me. But they didn’t. They went the same direction as the first car. Probably didn’t want to get split up in this weather.”

“But you came back?” Why? To warn her? Or maybe he’d decided that there might be a way to profit from this unexpected encounter. Maybe he’d considered whether the men might be willing to pay for information on her. “How did you get in?” she asked, feeling very vulnerable.

He held up a plastic key card. “When I first checked in, I asked for two rooms. I thought maybe I’d try to get some sleep before going on to my final destination. That’s when the guy told me that he only had one room with one bed. I told him that I’d take it, that my brother and I would have to sleep together. I laughed it off, said we’d done it as kids, that we could probably do it for one more night. He gave me two keys, one for me and one for my brother.”

She’d seen the hotel clerk shake his head. When she’d asked Cal about it, he’d dismissed it. Just didn’t understand what I was asking for.

“You lied to me earlier,” she said.

He shrugged. “I thought if you knew that I was interested in getting a room that you’d feel compelled to offer to share this one. I didn’t think that would work out so well for you when your new husband showed up.”

She did not have a new husband. At least she didn’t think so.

“You might want to take your wedding gown and veil out of the garbage,” he said, looking in the far corner. “That might not make him feel so great, either.”

She’d stuffed the offensive items into the brown plastic wastebasket. They spilled over the edge.

“You know,” he said, “that’s how I found you. I saw your veil blowing in the wind.”

It was a miracle that he’d been able to see it, especially in white-out conditions. Most people would have driven by, clueless that a woman was freezing to death.

She was getting a sense that Cal Hollister wasn’t most people. “So the hotel clerk thinks there are two men in this room. He doesn’t know about me,” she said.

“Nope. I suppose it’s possible that he saw you get out of the car but I don’t think so. Angle was wrong, plus the guy is obsessed with whatever he has on his phone.”

She was safe. For the meantime. But who were these men? Why would they be chasing after her? She lifted her chin. “I certainly appreciate you letting me know,” she said.

He sat up and frowned at her. “Congrats on being so very civilized and proper. Here’s the thing, though. I don’t think they were here to invite you to tea. So, I don’t think good manners are going to be all that helpful in this situation.”

He wouldn’t think she had a civilized bone in her body if he knew how close she was to losing it, to screaming and kicking the damn bed.

“Why are they looking for you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Stormy. You can do better than that.”

“I. Don’t. Know. And I don’t know who the men are. In fact, how do I even know that you’re telling the truth?” She tossed her hair and tried not to wince when it hurt her head. “How do I know that you didn’t just want a reason to come back to my room? How do I know that you’re not my biggest worry?”

He stood up. “If I was, you’d already know it for sure. Now, I suggest you start thinking about what you’re going to do when those men come back. I know the type. They won’t want to be bested by a woman. And whoever is paying for those expensive cars isn’t going to be happy that his guys couldn’t get the job done. When they don’t find you up the road, they’ll come back and start turning over rocks. The motel clerk will break in about ten seconds and he’ll be opening every one of the rooms for them to inspect.”

Something told her that he was right. Some past experience.

“How long do you think I have?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They told the desk clerk that you would have arrived within the last hour. So, I think their radius will be anywhere you could have gotten in an hour. On a normal day, that’s seventy miles, give or take. Today, half that at most. Today, they’ll be forced to stick to the main roads. But in a day or less, when this storm dies down, they’ll be able to cover ground much more quickly.”

“How long?” she repeated.

“I think you’ve got eighteen to twenty-four hours. After that, you better be on your game.”

Was she on her game? Not hardly. Something flashed in her head. She shook it, trying to clear it.

“What?” he prodded, maybe thinking that she wasn’t taking the threat seriously.

“You said I needed to be on my game. And all I can think of is Leon Durham.”

“The baseball player?” he asked, as if he really couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah. He played first base. Talented player but unfortunately, there was the time he let a ball roll through his legs.”

“In 1984. Cubs versus Padres,” he said. “Padres went on to win.” He paused. “How the hell do you know these things?”

She had no idea. It was just there.

It was horribly frightening. She had men chasing after her and all she had a grasp on was useless baseball facts. “Well, Mr. Hollister, it appears that I continue to be in your debt.” She looked toward the door, to give him the hint.

“You can start paying up right now,” he said.

What? He couldn’t be suggesting...that, could he? “It’s time for you to leave,” she said more sternly.

“Nope.” He lay back on the pillow, stretched his long legs out and kicked off his boots. He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes.

“You can’t stay here,” she said, louder and with more of a shrill than she expected.

He opened one eye. “I’m tired. I’ve lost the better part of the evening helping you. Now, I don’t care if you want to sit in that chair all night or if you decide to stretch out next to me, but I’m getting some sleep. I suggest you do the same.”

“But...”

“Your virtue is safe with me. I don’t date married women and I certainly don’t sleep with them. And,” he said, “don’t get any ideas of rubbing that shampoo you’ve got cupped in your hands in my eyes. That would just piss me off.”

She had never been so furious. Or so grateful. It was preposterous that he was bulldozing his way into her room but there was something about him that, quite frankly, made her feel safe.

She needed sleep and she didn’t intend to do it in this chair. She got up, went into the bathroom to wash her hands and came back. “You don’t happen to have a nail file, do you?”

He lowered his chin. “Do I look like I file my nails?” he asked, his tone low.

“Not really. I thought you were the Abominable Snowman earlier,” she added. “And I guess he probably doesn’t file his nails either,” she finished weakly.

He laughed. It was the first time she’d heard him do that. It was nice.

He got off the bed, rummaged in the duffel bag that he’d tossed on the floor and came out with a small plastic box. He opened it and tossed a pair of clippers her direction. “Will these work?”

“Yes.” She was so grateful to be able to fix her poor nails that she quickly started clipping. She put the discarded nails in a pile and, when she was finished, dumped them in the wastebasket in the corner of the room, on top of the horrible dress.

“You really messed up your hands,” he said. “How did you do that?”

She was ready for the question. Had anticipated it while she was clipping. Felt good that she was functioning at a level where her brain was working again. “Bridal shower,” she said. “Nasty boxes with too much tape.”

“Uh-huh.”

She pulled back the covers on her side and crawled in, ignoring the fact that six feet of handsome muscle was on the other side of the bed.

He reached up and turned off the light. The room was not totally dark, however, because she’d left the bathroom light on and the door halfway open.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing deep. In her head, she counted. By the time she got to two hundred, he was breathing deep and she assumed he was asleep.

She thought about trying to sneak out. He’d tossed his keys on top of the chest of drawers. All she would need to do was grab them and get out without him hearing her.

She was good at that kind of thing.

Didn’t know how she knew that but felt it.

But where would she go?

That was the truly terrifying part—to have no idea where her safe place was located. Where her family might be.

She didn’t trust Cal Hollister but she trusted the outside world even less.

Chapter Four

Cal felt the candy bars and chips roll into him as she slid in under the covers. She smelled good. Very feminine. He had the craziest urge to reach out, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

But he kept his arms folded, his eyes closed, his breathing deep. She was scared. Of him. But more so of the men that he’d described. So for now, she’d filed him under the category of lesser evil, which was just fine with him.

When he’d seen the second Mercedes idling in the lot, hidden to the casual observer, he’d realized that she was in the middle of something big. There was some serious muscle trying to find her.

He’d considered his options. He could forget what he’d overheard and seen and be on his way. He could go to the cops. Or he could barge his way into this room and try to protect this woman.

Who was lying to him. Of that, he was confident.

But he was also pretty sure that she was scared. Really scared. And he couldn’t forget those marks on her wrists.

When he’d walked in and seen her pile of clothes at the end of the bed, he’d known there was a good likelihood that she might walk out of the bathroom naked. And if he’d been a gentleman, he’d have knocked on the bathroom door, announced his presence and given her a chance to collect herself.

He’d considered that plan for about half a minute before he’d settled down on the bed, determined to let the cards fall where they may. She’d come out in her towel, which for some twisted reason was even more sexy than full nakedness. She had a compact little body. No taller than a couple inches past five feet, she had gentle curves and one set of really gorgeous legs.

When she’d walked past him, he’d seen immediately that she was holding something in her hands. But he had to admit, she was good. She’d seemed relaxed and her stride even, unhurried. Confident.

Perhaps too confident. An operative? It was possible. Since he’d heard the men’s foreign accents, the thought had been nagging at him. Was she part of a foreign terrorist group intent on screwing the United States? If so, even more reason to stick close to her. Was she an innocent, caught up with the wrong people? Then she needed his help.

He listened to her breathe, knew the exact moment that she let loose and fell asleep. He waited another five minutes, then carefully propped himself up on one elbow. Examined her.

She slept daintily, with her mouth closed. Yet, she wasn’t totally relaxed. Her jaw was set as if she might have her teeth together. And one hand grabbed the corner of the sheet, fingers clenched tight.

He was still worried about the lump on her head but she certainly wasn’t showing any signs of concussion. Her speech was clear, her pupils the same. Still, she should probably be checked in the night.

It was still blowing outside. That would slow the Mercedes Men down. But they would be back. He wasn’t concerned for his own safety. One against four were reasonable odds for a SEAL. But his attention would be diverted by her. And that could prove fatal.

When she woke up, he was going to force her to come clean. Once he had the story, he’d know what to do.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, remembering that mango was one of his favorite fruits. A little tart. Juicy. Delicious.

Damn.

Two hours later, he gently rolled over and bumped into her, his knee to her hip. She shifted but didn’t wake up. He reached up and turned on the light.

“Hey,” she said. She turned to look at him. “What’s going on?” she asked, her tone sleepy, yet coherent.

“Just had to use the head,” he lied. He looked at her eyes. Pupils still looked good. Her color was fine. “Go back to sleep,” he said, turning off the light.

She was quiet for several minutes but he could tell by her breathing that she was agitated. He wasn’t surprised when she suddenly sat up in bed.

“You did not have to use the bathroom.”

“I didn’t?” he asked with deliberate surprise. “That’s rather personal, isn’t it?”

“You woke me up on purpose.”

“Why would I do that? So I could have this lovely conversation?” He rolled over and gave her his back.

She waited a full minute before she shoved his shoulder. “You were worried about the bump on my head.” She paused. “That was nice of you,” she added somewhat grudgingly.

He smiled. “Good night, Stormy.”

* * *

SHE LAY IN BED, covers up to her neck, relaxed for the first time. She knew it was because she’d finally let down her guard. Cal had had multiple opportunities to harm her and he’d taken none of them. Instead, he’d disturbed his own sleep to wake her up and make sure that she didn’t have a concussion.

He was smart, cocky, a little brash. Sexy in his blue jeans and forest-green Henley shirt.

He reminded her a little of a lounging tiger. Relaxed yet ready to pounce. He moved with quiet confidence.

She envied that. She didn’t have any confidence right now.

But maybe by morning. She closed her eyes and let the sleep come.

The next thing she knew, strong hands gripped her shoulders. Half-asleep, old instincts kicked in. She wrenched her body sideways, attempting to fight.

But she couldn’t budge her attacker.

She opened her eyes, saw Cal on his knees, straddling her.

It was several more terror-filled seconds before she processed what was going on. She forced herself to breathe, to clear her head. He was holding her, not hurting her, simply trying to avoid getting hurt himself. She looked at the bedcovers. They were in a tangled heap, wrapped around her legs.

“What day is it?” she demanded.

That surprised him. “It’s Wednesday. Why?”

She let out a breath. “I needed to know if it was Saturday.”

“Because?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But she saw the determined look on his face, knew that he wanted answers. “I had a bad dream,” she said.

“You think?” he asked, his tone tense. His big body hovered over her, his weight off her but his presence immense.

While bedcovers and layers of clothes separated them, their closeness was suddenly intensely intimate. And disconcerting as hell to go from something horrible, like her dream, to something that offered a promise of being good, very good.

Breathe, she told herself.

“I think you scared ten years off my life,” he said, his tone a little easier now.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

He moved fast, swinging one leg over so that he was kneeling beside her. His hazel eyes looked troubled. “Want to talk about it?”

Could she? Could she go back to that dark place? Could she pretend that it had just been an oddly disturbing dream?

Could she trust this man who had barged into her room and taken up more than his share of the bed?

He’d saved her life.

Had doubled back to let her know about the men looking for her. She looked at him closer. He had a red mark on his face. He hadn’t had it the night before. “What happened there?” she asked, already suspecting the truth.

“You’ve got a strong right hook,” he said nonchalantly. “Unfortunately, you popped me one at about the same time you started screaming. It was a bit disconcerting for a minute.”

Someone with less control might have killed her by mistake in response.

“I was lying on a bed,” she said. “It was narrow, more like a cot.”

He nodded.

“I wanted to get up, knew I needed to get away. But my wrists were tied to the bed frame. I pulled and pulled but it was no use.”

“Who tied you there?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It...it looked like a ghost. All white.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I know, crazy, right?” she said.

“Nope. Did the ghost talk to you?”

She thought for a minute. He had. She knew that. Couldn’t remember what he’d said. “I’m not sure.”

“What else do you remember?”

She pointed to the garbage can in the corner. “That was hanging in the corner of the room.”

“The wedding dress?” he asked.

“Yes.” She’d been scared of the dress but she could hardly admit that. There was something else and she tried desperately to recall it but it was out of her reach.

“Do you remember anything else?”

“I was sick. The ghost made me so sick.”

He seemed to consider that. “You were screaming when you woke up. Why?”

“The ghost had come in and something bad was going to happen.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. But it was bad. I started screaming. And then...I guess I woke up.”

He seemed to consider his words. “You have marks on your wrists,” he said. “Like you’ve been restrained.”

He was pointing out the obvious. She could ignore it, dismiss it. Or she could take the risk, leave herself absolutely exposed. If she didn’t, she’d be all alone. “So you’re saying that maybe it wasn’t just a dream?”

“You tell me,” he said, his voice intense.

She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“Maybe at the beginning.”

Wouldn’t that be nice? “Well, that was sometime before I met you. How long before, I’m not quite sure.”

“That’s a little confusing,” he said.

She sat up in bed and pushed a hand through her tangled hair. “I’m in trouble. I don’t know why but I am. The problem is, I don’t think I can get myself out of it.”

“Because?”

“Because I don’t know what went wrong. I don’t know who else is involved. I don’t know how big this is but something tells me it’s big. Really big. And that terrifies me. I don’t know who the bad guys are. I don’t know what they want.” She took a breath.

“Okay. Anything else you don’t know?”

She nodded. This was the hardest part. “When I looked in the mirror yesterday, I didn’t recognize myself. Not because my hair was different or anything dumb like that. I didn’t know who the woman in the mirror was.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t even know who I am.”

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