THE BEST MAN…IN EVERY WAY

Watching his best friend marry the wrong man is Owen Stiles’s worst nightmare…until he and the would-be bride are kidnapped. Someone wants Tara Bentley out of the picture, enough to frame her for the murder of her fiancé. All that stands between Tara and destruction is Campbell Cove security agent Owen.

Moments away from calling off her wedding, Tara’s life is turned upside down. Now the man she’s always considered her best bud has transformed into some kind of sexy special agent. Owen is prepared to do anything to clear her name and secure her safety. But who’s keeping her heart safe from him?

Campbell Cove Academy

“You go without me,” she said.

Owen looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I am not leaving you,” he growled.

The sudden urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him caught her off guard. She’d set aside those nascent feelings of attraction to Owen a long time ago, valuing his loyal friendship far more than she valued any sort of sexual attraction she might feel toward him. To have it come back now, in this awful situation, was confounding.

“Now!” Owen growled, and he tugged her with him through the underbrush to their next bit of cover.

So far, she and Owen seemed to be staying ahead of the danger rustling around in the woods behind them.

But what would happen if they ran out of woods?

Fugitive Bride

Paula Graves

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAULA GRAVES, an Alabama native, wrote her first book at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.

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For Melissa, whose cheerleading got me to the end of this book.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

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

Extract

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The afternoon was perfect for a wedding, currently sunny and mild, with no hint of rain in the forecast until after the ceremony. Staring out the bride’s room window at the blooming dogwood trees that lined the church lawn, Tara Bentley had the urge to check her to-do list to see if “achieve a perfect day” was somewhere on the page.

Everything she had so meticulously planned had fallen into place with ease. Her dress fit perfectly. The white tulip bouquet brought out the delicate floral pattern of the lace in her veil. Her wavy hair had, for once, cooperated when the hairdresser straightened it and twisted it into a sleek chignon low at the back of her head, where the snowy veil provided a striking contrast. And she was ten minutes ahead of schedule, which gave Tara a few moments to simply breathe and think about what came next.

Robert. He came next. Robert James Mallory III, successful lawyer and all-around Mr. Perfect. Literally.

Two years ago, as her midtwenties suddenly became her almost-thirties, Tara had written out her list of perfect traits for a potential mate. It hadn’t been a particularly long list—she might be hyperorganized and prone to overpreparing, but she wasn’t a robot. People weren’t ever really perfect, so her list included only things that would be deal breakers.

Things like honesty. Hard work. Respect for her mind. Ambition. And, okay, a few bonus wishes, like a man who was good-looking, fit and amusing.

Three dates with Robert Mallory, and Tara knew she’d met the man who ticked off every item on her checklist. Now she was less than an hour from marrying him.

“I’m so happy,” she told the green-eyed woman who stared back at her in the full-length mirror by the vanity table.

Her reflection looked skeptical.

Dang it.

She turned away from the mirror and sat on the small vanity bench, taking care not to wrinkle her wedding dress. Without planning it, she snaked out her hand and snagged the cell phone lying next to her makeup bag. She gave the lock screen a quick swipe and hit the first number on her speed dial.

A familiar, growly voice answered on the second ring, his soft drawl as warm as a fuzzy blanket on a cold Kentucky night. “Shouldn’t you be practicing your vows?”

“Owen, am I making a mistake?”

Owen Stiles was quiet for a second. When he spoke again, the lightness of his earlier tone had disappeared. “What’s happened?”

The serious tone of his voice made her stomach hurt. What was she doing, dragging poor Owen into her self-doubts? As if he hadn’t already suffered half a lifetime of being her sounding board and shoulder to cry on.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything. See you soon.” She ended the call and set the phone on the vanity table again.

A few seconds later, the phone trilled, sliding sideways on the table with the vibration. Tara didn’t even look at the display. She knew who it was. She picked up the phone. “Owen, I told you it’s nothing.”

“If you’re wondering if you made a mistake, it’s not nothing. Are you in the bride’s room?”

“Owen—”

His rumbly voice deepened. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Owen, don’t.” Her voice rose in frustration. “Please. Just stay where you are. Everything is fine.”

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Today is absolutely perfect. Beautiful weather, the sanctuary is gorgeous, my dress fits perfectly and I’m marrying the most perfect man in the world. Nothing can possibly be wrong on a day like this.” She stared at the bride in the vanity-table mirror, defiance glaring from her green eyes.

“If you’re sure.” Owen didn’t sound convinced.

“I’ll see you at the altar.” She hung up the phone again and set it in front of her, her hand flattened against the display.

“Nothing will go wrong,” she said to the woman in the mirror.

The bride stared back at her, unconvinced.

It was just cold feet. Everybody got cold feet, right?

This was where having a mom around would have come in handy. Orphanhood sucked. Her mom had died when she was small, and her father had never remarried before his death three years ago. Not that Dale Bentley would have been much help on a day like today. “Suck it up, soldier,” she muttered aloud, mimicking her father’s gravelly growl. “Make a decision and stick to it.”

Man, she missed the old sergeant. He’d have known what to make of Robert. He’d have known whether or not Tara really loved the man or if she loved the idea of him instead.

That was the sticking point, wasn’t it? She just wasn’t sure she loved the man she was less than an hour away from marrying.

She pushed to her feet. What in the world was she doing getting married if she wasn’t sure she loved the man? Had she lost her mind? Was she so addicted to her stupid lists that she trusted them over her own heart?

She had to tell Robert what she was feeling. Talk to him, let him try to talk her out of it. Then she’d know, wouldn’t she?

You already know, Tara. Listen to your gut.

Maybe she already knew, but either way, she had to tell Robert. And now, before it was too late.

She was halfway to the door when a knock sounded from the other side. She crossed to the door and leaned her ear close. “Yes?”

The voice from the other side was male and unfamiliar. “Ms. Bentley? There’s a package outside we need you to sign for.”

“A package?” Sent here, to the church? That was strange. “I’m not expecting anything.”

“I don’t know, ma’am. It’s just for you and it requires a signature. You want me to tell them to send it back?”

“No,” she said quickly, curiosity overcoming her impatience. Maybe a distraction was just what she needed to get her head out of her navel for a few minutes. Robert would still be on the other end of the church with his groomsmen, so it wasn’t like he’d accidentally get a peek at her dress before the wedding, right?

Assuming there was even going to be a wedding...

Stop it. Just go see what the package is. One thing at a time.

She opened the door to a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a blue polo shirt and khaki pants. “Hi,” she said, feeling a little sheepish as he took in her seed pearl–studded dress and tulle veil. “It’s my wedding day.”

“I see that.” He nodded toward the door down the hall that led to the church’s parking lot. “Out here.”

She followed him down the hall and out the door, taking care as she crossed the threshold not to let the skirt of her dress get caught in the door closing behind her. Once her dress cleared the door, she started to turn her attention back to the deliveryman, but something dropped over her face suddenly, obscuring her view.

Instinctively sucking in a quick breath, she got a lungful of something sweet and cloying. Her lungs seemed to seize up in response, making it hard to take another breath. Fighting panic, she tried to lift her hands to push the offending material off her face. But thick, strong arms roped around her body, holding her arms in place. Her head began to swim, her throat closing off as she struggled for oxygen. She seemed to float into the air, which was impossible. Wasn’t it? She wasn’t floating. People didn’t float.

Somewhere close by, she thought she heard a voice shouting her name. It sounded familiar, but her suddenly fuzzy brain couldn’t make sense of what she was hearing. Then she heard a swift thump and the voice went silent.

There was a metallic clank and suddenly she wasn’t floating anymore. She landed with a painful thud onto a hard, cold surface, unable to make sense of what was happening to her. The sweet, slightly medicinal smell permeated everything, seeping into her brain as if it were a sponge soaking up all those heady fumes.

Another thud shook the floor beneath her, and something solid and warm settled against her back. She struggled against the encroaching darkness, one lingering part of her acutely aware that something terribly wrong was happening to her. Today was supposed to be her wedding day, even if she’d decided it was a wedding she didn’t want.

She should be looking for Robert to tell him what she’d decided. She had to let people know the wedding was off. She had to call the florists to take away the beautiful roses and tulips that festooned the sanctuary. She supposed she could let the reception go on as planned, feed everyone as an apology for her attack of cold feet.

She had too much to do to be sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness now spreading through her fuzzy brain. But within seconds, she could no longer remember what those things were.

Slowly, inexorably, darkness fell.

* * *

OWEN STILES WOKE to darkness and movement. He tried to lift his hands to the hard ache at the back of his head, but his arms wouldn’t move. He was bound, he realized, animal panic rising in his throat. He forced it down, trying to remember what he’d learned at Campbell Cove Academy.

First, ascertain where you are and what the danger is.

The where was easy enough. He was in the white van that had been parked outside the church when he went looking for Tara.

He hadn’t liked the way she’d sounded on the phone. And if he was brutally honest with himself, there was a part of him that had been nearly giddy with hope that she was going to call off the wedding.

He wasn’t proud of feeling that way. His love for Tara was unconditional. Her happiness meant everything to him.

But he couldn’t deny that he wanted her to be happy with him, not some blow-dried, Armani-wearing Harvard Law graduate with a chiseled jaw and a cushy job with a top Louisville law firm.

Ignoring her command to stay put, he’d turned the corner of the hallway that led to the bride’s room just in time to see a wedge of tulle and lace disappear through the exit door about twenty yards away.

Hurrying out after her, he’d been just in time to see a large man throw a pillowcase over Tara’s head and haul her into a white panel van parked in front of the door. He’d called her name, shock overcoming good sense, and earned a punch that had knocked him into the side of the van. At least, that was the last thing he could remember.

Okay, so he’d ascertained where he was. And the fact that he was trussed up inside the moving van made the danger fairly clear, although he couldn’t see anyone lurking around, ready to knock him out again, so he supposed that was a plus.

The back of the van seemed to be closed off from the driver’s cab area by a metal panel. That fact posed a problem—he couldn’t see how many people were in the front of the van, so he couldn’t be sure exactly what he was up against. However, he had seen only two men wrestling with Tara, and they’d both been big guys. He wasn’t sure there was room in the van’s cab to accommodate more people.

So there were probably two bad guys to deal with. And thanks to the closed-off cab, he could move around unobserved, which would give him a better chance of working out a way to escape.

He felt warmth behind him. Tara?

With a grimace of pain, he rolled over and peered through the gloom. A bundle of silk, lace and tulle lay on the floor of the van beside him. The pillowcase over her head was still there, and he caught a whiff of a faintly sweet, medicinal odor coming from where she lay.

He wriggled closer, ignoring the pounding ache in his head, until his face lay close to the pillowcase. The odor was much stronger suddenly, giving off fumes that made him feel light-headed.

Ether, he thought. The pillowcase was soaked with ether.

Those idiots! Ether could be deadly if used without care, and they weren’t even monitoring her condition.

He jerked at the bindings that held his arms behind his back to no avail. They’d apparently duct-taped his hands together. They weren’t going to come apart easily. But he had to get the pillowcase off Tara’s head.

Wriggling closer, he gripped the top of the pillowcase with his teeth. The smell of ether nearly overwhelmed him, but he held his breath and tugged upward. Inch by harrowing inch, he dragged the ether-soaked pillowcase from Tara’s head until he finally pulled it free.

He spat the taste of ether out of his mouth. Then, his heart in his throat, he leaned over to make sure Tara was still breathing. A few terrifying seconds passed before he felt her breath on his cheek. Shaking with relief, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “That’s my girl. Stay with me, sweetheart.”

As he waited for her to come around, Owen started working on the tape that bound his wrists together. His eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness inside the van, giving him a better look at their immediate surroundings.

The interior of the cargo van was empty except for Owen and Tara. Also, what he’d mistaken for a closed panel between them and the front cab wasn’t technically closed. There was a large mesh window in the panel that should have given him a look at the occupants of the cab. But their captors had covered the mesh opening with what looked like cardboard, not only blocking out any light coming through the front windows but also keeping them from hearing whatever conversation might be going on between their captors.

The upside to that, Owen thought, was that their captors probably couldn’t hear much of what was going on in the back of the van, either.

He looked around for any sharp edges he could use to tear the tape around his wrists. The covering over the wheel well was bolted to the floor of the van, but the bolts were old and worn, not providing much of a cutting edge. Still, he scooted over to the nearest bolt and gave it a try.

The van must have left Mercerville Highway, he realized a few minutes later when the swaying of the vehicle increased, forcing him to plant his feet on the cargo hold’s ridged floor to keep from toppling over with each turn. But he couldn’t stop Tara from rolling across the floor. A moment later, her head knocked into his hip with a soft thud.

“Ow,” she muttered, her voice thick and slurred.

“Oh, sweetheart, there you are,” he said softly, twisting so that his bound hands could reach the side of her face. He brushed away the grit on her cheek with his fingers. “Tara, can you hear me?”

Her head lifted, her hair and the torn remains of her tulle veil obscuring part of her face. “Owen?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Careful,” he added when she tried to sit up and nearly fell over.

She managed to steady herself in a sitting position and shoved her hair and the veil away from her face with clumsy hands. They, too, were secured by duct tape, he saw, though her captors had bound her hands in front of her rather than behind her. She seemed to belatedly notice the bindings and stared at her wrists. “What’s happening?”

“We’ve been abducted,” he said, though he wasn’t sure abduction was the right term. Neither of them was exactly rolling in dough, so he didn’t imagine they’d been taken for ransom purposes. Tara’s fiancé was successful but not what anyone would term wealthy. Not yet, anyway.

So why had the men grabbed her?

“That’s insane,” she muttered, still pawing at her veil, which sat askew on her head. “Why am I so woozy?”

“They put a pillowcase over your head.” He waved his hand at the offending piece of material lying against the front of the cargo hold. “I think it was soaked with ether.”

“Ether?” Tara finally pulled her veil free and threw it on the floor beside her. The van took another turn, forcing Owen to brace himself against the side of the cargo hold. Tara was unprepared, however, and went sprawling against his side, her nose bumping into his shoulder.

“Ow.” She righted herself, rubbing her nose. She finally noticed Owen’s bound hands, her eyes widening. “You’re tied up, too.”

“Think you can get the tape off me? Then I’ll return the favor.” He twisted around until his back was facing her.

“My fingers aren’t working so well,” she warned him as she started fumbling with the tape. She wasn’t lying; it took a full minute before she was able to find the end of the tape on his bindings and start to slowly unwrap his wrists. But she finally ripped away the last of the tape, making the flesh on his wrists sting.

He stretched his aching arms, grimacing at the pain.

“What time is it?” Tara asked.

He pressed the button on his watch that lit up the dial. “Just a little after four.”

“Oh.”

He turned to look at Tara. “You were supposed to get married at four.”

She nodded. “I was supposed to.”

He reached for her, taking her bound hands in his. “We’ll get you back there, Tara. We’ll get out of this and get to a phone so you can call Robert and tell him what happened. And then we’ll get you back to the church and you’ll get married just the way you planned—”

“I was going to call it off.”

He went still. “What?”

In the low light he couldn’t make out much about her features, but the tone of her voice was somewhere between sad and embarrassed. “I was going to call it off. Right before that guy knocked on the door and told me there was a package outside.”

“That’s how they got you outside to the van?”

“Yeah.” She wriggled her bound hands at him. “Get this off me, please?”

He pulled the tape from her wrists, taking care with the last few inches to spare her as much of the sting as possible. When she was free, he rolled up the tape from both of their bindings and shoved it in his pocket. It might come in handy if they could get themselves out of this van alive.

Freed from her restraints, Tara curled into a knot beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees. The puffy skirt of her wedding dress ballooned around her, almost glowing in the low light, making her look like a piece of popcorn.

Owen had the clarity of mind not to speak that thought aloud.

He put his arm around her, trying not to read too much into the way she snuggled closer to him. They were in the middle of an abduction. Of course she was seeking a little comfort from the guy who’d been her best friend since middle school.

“What do they want?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t suppose Robert is secretly a multimillionaire with a hefty trust fund?”

“Not that he’s ever told me.” She made a soft mewling noise. “I am so woozy. They used ether?”

“That’s what it smelled like to me.”

She cocked her head toward him. “Exactly how do you know what ether smells like?”

“I took a history of medicine course in college, when I was still considering a medical degree.”

“And they let you sniff ether?”

Tara’s skeptical tone made him smile. She was sounding more like her old self, which meant the effects of the ether were wearing off. “Not on purpose.”

He glanced to the far side of the van’s cargo hold, where he’d thrown the ether-soaked pillowcase. In this confined area, the fumes it emitted might still be affecting them, he realized.

“We need to find a way to wrap up that pillowcase so that we limit the fumes it’s putting out in this van,” he told Tara. “I wish I had a garbage bag or something.”

“Don’t suppose you carry one of those around in your back pocket?”

“Not in a rented tux, no,” he answered with a grin, feeling a little less grim about their chances of survival now that his smart-ass Tara was back. He shrugged off his jacket. “I can wrap it in this.”

“The rental place isn’t going to like that,” Tara warned.

“Not sure it’s enough, though.”

“Well, I have about twenty yards of silk, lace and tulle you can use.” Holding his shoulder, she levered herself to her feet and started to tug at the seams of her skirt until the fabric tore free. In the darkness of the van’s enclosed interior, Owen couldn’t make out much besides a cloud of faint brightness in the gloom floating away from her body. Tara gathered the fabric into a ball and presented it to him. “Will this do?”

He crossed carefully to the corner of the cargo hold, feeling a distinct unsteadiness he attributed to the moving van, although he should be a lot more worried about the blow he’d taken to the head. He’d been unconscious long enough for their captors to shove him inside the van and tie him up. He might have a concussion. Or worse.

But for now, he was conscious. His head didn’t hurt too badly. And he had a job to do.

He wrapped up the pillowcase inside the layers of silk, tulle and lace, and pushed it back into the corner. Already, the distinctively sweet scent of the ether was almost gone.

Gingerly, he edged his way back to where Tara perched on the wheel well cover. “That should take care of—”

The van gave a hard lurch, sending him toppling over. He landed hard on his side, pain shooting through his rib cage and hip.

“Owen!” Tara grabbed his arms and helped him to a sitting position. “Are you all right?”

He rubbed his side, reassuring himself that nothing was broken. “I’m okay—” He broke off, aware that something had changed suddenly.

The engine. He no longer heard the engine noise, or felt the vibration beneath them.

The van had come to a stop.

Chapter Two

Most of the haziness left in her brain from the ether disappeared in a snap when Tara heard the van’s engine shut off.

“We’ve stopped.” She looked up at Owen, wishing he wasn’t just a shadowy silhouette in the gloom. Sometimes just the sight of him, so controlled and serious, could make her feel as if everything in the world would be okay. At least she could hear his voice, that low Kentucky drawl that had always steadied her like a rock, even in the midst of the craziness life had a habit of throwing her way. “What are they going to do to us now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” He didn’t sound confident.

She reached across the narrow space between them and grabbed his hands. “We need a plan.”

“We don’t have anything to fight with, Tara.”

“Yes, we do.” She squeezed his hands and pushed to her feet, heading for the corner where he’d buried the pillowcase inside the remains of her skirt. She grabbed the whole bundle and brought it to where Owen waited.

She saw the faintest glimmer in his eyes when he looked at her, just a hint of light in the darkness. “You are brilliant, sweetheart.”

“There were two of them. One who came to get me, telling me there was a package waiting for me, and one standing by the van. I think he was the one who put the pillowcase over my head.” She kept her voice low, in case their voices carried outside the van. “They think we’re still tied up. At least, we’d better hope they do.”

“It’ll still take two of them to get us out, so we won’t have an advantage. Except surprise.”

She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Surprise can go a long way. So, first one through the door gets the ether pillowcase over his head.”

“And we shove him back onto the second guy while he’s off guard.”

She looked at Owen, wishing she could see him more clearly. “Think this has a chance of working?”

“No clue, but it’s all we’ve got. So let’s make it work.” He reached across and gripped her hands briefly. Then he unwrapped the pillowcase from the dress skirt.

The sickly sweet odor of the ether made Tara’s stomach twist, but with a little effort she controlled her nerves. She had one job—to fight with every ounce of strength and will she had to get out of this dangerous spot.

At least she wasn’t alone. Owen was with her, and if there was one thing in her life she knew completely, it was that Owen would do everything he could to keep her safe. He’d been doing that for her since high school.

The back door of the van rattled, and Tara’s heart skipped a beat. She sneaked a quick look at Owen and found him staring at the door, his focus complete.

He’d undergone training at Campbell Cove Academy, which was part of the security company where he now worked, but Tara hadn’t really given much thought to what that training entailed. After all, Owen was a computer geek. Computer geeks didn’t have much need for ninja skills, did they?

He’d been teased as a child because his skills and talents lent themselves to academic pursuits instead of sports. Even his own father had undermined Owen, calling him weak and inept because he wouldn’t try out for the football team in high school.

Tara wished some of those people could see Owen right now, ready to take on two possibly armed men in order to protect her.

The door to the van opened, and light invaded the back of the van, blinding Tara for a long panicky moment, until a rush of movement from Owen’s side of the door spurred her into motion. Her vision adjusted in time for her to see Owen jamming the pillowcase over a man’s head and giving him a push backward. The man fell over like a bowling pin, toppling the other man who stood right behind him.

Owen grabbed Tara’s hand. “Jump!” he yelled as he jerked her with him out the back door of the van.

She saw the two men on the ground struggling to right themselves. It wouldn’t be long before they did, she realized. The thought spurred her to run faster. Thank God she’d opted for low-heeled pumps for her wedding, she thought as she ran across the blacktop road and into the woods on the other side, her hand still firmly clasped in Owen’s.

The pumps proved themselves more problematic once they hit the softer ground of the woods. Behind her, the men they’d just escaped started shouting for them to stop, punctuating their calls with a couple of gunshots that made Tara’s blood turn to ice. But, as far as she could tell, none of the shots got anywhere near them.

“Come on,” Owen urged, pulling her with him as he zigzagged though the woods. It took a couple of minutes to realize there was a method to his seemingly mad dash through the trees. They were moving from tree to tree, finding cover from their pursuers.

What was left of her wedding dress was a liability, she realized with dismay. The white fabric stood out in the dark woods like a beacon. At least Owen’s tux was black. He blended into the trees much better than she could hope to do.

“You go without me,” she said as they took temporary cover behind the wide trunk of an oak tree. “I’m the one they’re after. I stick out like a hooker in a church in this dress. You could find help and send the police after the van. You could tell Robert what happened.”

Owen looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I am not leaving you,” he growled.

The sudden urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him caught her off guard. She’d set aside those nascent feelings of attraction to Owen a long time ago, valuing his loyal friendship far more than she valued any sort of sexual attraction she might feel toward him. To have it come back now, in this awful situation, was confounding.

“Now!” Owen growled, and he tugged her with him through the underbrush to their next bit of cover.

Behind them, the sound of their pursuers was close enough to spur their forward movement. But the men following them weren’t any closer, Tara realized. So far, she and Owen seemed to be staying ahead of the danger pursuing them.

But what would happen if they ran out of woods?

A brisk breeze had picked up as they ran, rustling the leaves overhead. Thank heaven for spring growth; two months ago, these woods would have been winter bare and couldn’t have provided them with nearly enough cover. But even here in the Kentucky mountains, the woods couldn’t go on forever, which could be a good thing or a bad thing. If they managed to find a well-populated town around the next copse, they’d be safe.

But if they ran into a clearing with neither cover nor the safety of numbers to protect them...

“How long do you think they’ll keep chasing us?” she asked breathlessly as they crouched behind another tree.

“I don’t know,” Owen admitted. “I don’t suppose you know why they grabbed you. Did they give you any indication?”

“No, it’s like I told you—one of the men came to get me and the other put the pillowcase over my head before I could even get a good look at his face. Although he definitely asked for me by name. Ms. Bentley.” She risked a peek around the side of the tree providing them with cover. “I don’t see them anymore.”

“I don’t think we should move anytime soon. They may be hunkered down, waiting to flush us out.”

Tara frowned. “How long are we talking?”

“I don’t know. A couple of hours?”

She grimaced. “I suppose it’s a bad time to mention that I desperately need to pee.”

Owen gave a soft huff of laughter. “Can you hold it awhile?”

“Do I have any choice?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go.”

Owen gave her a look that made her insides melt a little. She might have decided years ago that she’d rather be his friend forever than risk losing him by taking their relationship to a more sexual place, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware that he found her just as attractive as she found him.

And right now he was looking at her as if he wanted to strip her naked and slake his thirst for her up against the rough trunk of this big oak tree.

Oh, God, Tara, you’re hiding from crazy kidnappers and you choose now to conjure up that visual?

“I think I know where we are,” Owen murmured a few minutes later.

Moving only her eyes, Tara scanned the woods around them, seeing only trees, trees and more trees. “How on earth is that possible?” she whispered.

“Because while you went to cheerleading camp, I went to Boy Scout camp.”

“And what, got a badge in telling one gol dang leafy tree from another?” Staying still was starting to get to her already. She wasn’t the kind of woman who stayed still. Ever. And the urge to look behind them to see if their captors were sneaking up on them was almost more than she could bear.

“No,” Owen said with more patience than she deserved. “It’s because I stayed in a rickety little cabin with five other boys about two hundred yards to our east.”

She slanted a look at him. “How can you possibly know that?”

“See that big tree right ahead? The one with the large moon-shaped scar on the trunk about five feet up?”

She peered through the trees. “No.”

“Well, trust me, it’s there. And that moon shape is there because Billy Turley and I carved it in the trunk on a dare. Our camp counselor didn’t buy that we were trying out our trailblazing skills like Daniel Boone before us.”

There had never been a time in her life when she’d felt less like smiling, but the image conjured up by Owen’s words made her lips curve despite herself. She and Owen had met around the time they were both in sixth grade. In fact, she could remember Owen taking that trip to the woods because she’d been over-the-moon excited about being invited to cheerleading camp, since only girls who went to the camp in middle school ever made the varsity squad in high school.

Oh, for the days when life was so simple that her biggest worry was crash-landing a herkie jump in front of twenty other judgmental preteen girls.

“I know you’re about ready to squirm out of your skin,” Owen said quietly, slipping his hand into hers, “but I have a plan.”

She curled her fingers around his. “Okay. What is it?”

“As soon as I’m pretty sure our kidnappers have retreated, we’ll head for the cabin.”

She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. “The one you stayed in twenty years ago when you were eleven?”

“I think it’s still there.”

“Maybe, but in what kind of condition?”

His lips flattened with exasperation. She felt his grip on her hand loosen. “Must you always be so negative?”

She tightened her fingers around his again. “Yes. But sorry.”

He gave her fingers a light squeeze. “I suppose it’s part of your charm.”

“Sweet talker,” she muttered.

“So we’re agreed? We head for the cabin?”

“If it’s still there.” She looked up. “Sorry. Negativity.”

“If it’s still there,” he agreed. “And we’d better hope it is.”

The dark tone of his growly voice made her stomach turn a flip. “Why’s that?”

“You know how the wind has picked up?”

“Yeah?”

“I think the rain may be getting here a little earlier than expected tonight.”

Owen was right. Within a few minutes, the brisk wind began to carry needles of rain from which the spring growth overhead provided only partial shelter. Owen tried to tuck Tara under his coat, but the rain became relentless as daylight waned, darkness falling prematurely because of the lowering sky.

Tara wiped the beading water from her watch face. Nearly six. The wedding would have long been over by now, if she’d gone through with it. Robert must be going crazy, wondering what happened to her. Her car would still be in the parking lot, her purse in the bride’s room. The only thing missing was the bride and her puffy white dress.

Would everyone realize something had gone very wrong? Or would they assume that Tara had succumbed to cold feet and bolted without letting anyone know?

Was Robert thinking he’d just made a narrow escape from a lifetime with a lunatic?

Stop it, Tara. This is not your fault.

Owen was right. She was way too negative. She added it to her mental list of things she needed to work on, right behind cellulite on her thighs and—oh, yeah—running away from dangerous, crazy kidnappers.

“You’re thinking, aren’t you?” Owen asked. “I always worry when you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking I haven’t heard anything from the kidnappers back there recently. I’m also thinking that there may be ants crawling up my legs. And I’m thinking if I have to hide behind this tree for a minute longer, getting soaked to the skin, I’m going to run crazy through the trees, screaming I give up! Come get me! at the top of my lungs.”

Owen turned toward her, cupping her face between his hands. His fingers were cool, but the look in his eyes was scalding hot. “I know you’re scared. I know wisecracking and complaining is how you show it. And you’re right. We haven’t heard those guys recently. I don’t think they were eager to spend the rest of their day hunting you down in the woods when they know who you are and can take a chance on grabbing you another time.”

She stared up at him. “You really think they’ll try this again?”

“You said they asked for you by name.”

“But why? I’m not rich. Robert’s not even rich, not really. Not enough to warrant a risky daylight abduction.”

“I know. But even if you can’t think of a reason, they clearly had one.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “It’s time to make a run for it. You ready?”

“Born ready.” She flashed him a cheeky grin, even if she felt like crying. It earned her one of Owen’s deliciously sexy smiles in return, and he touched her face again. His fingers were cold, but heat seemed to radiate through her from his touch.

He grabbed her hand and started running, pulling her behind him.

Even though she’d convinced herself that their captors had given up and made their escape, every muscle in Tara’s body tensed as she zigzagged behind Owen, her heart in her throat. Every twig that snapped beneath her feet sounded as thunderous as a gunshot, even through the masking hiss of the falling rain.

Two hundred yards to the cabin, Owen had said. Surely they’d run two hundred yards by now. That was two football fields, wasn’t it?

Owen jerked sideways suddenly, nearly flinging her off her feet. He grabbed her around the waist as she started to slide across the muddy ground and kept her upright. “There,” he said, satisfaction coloring his voice.

Tara followed his gaze and saw what looked to be a ramshackle wooden porch peeking out from the overgrowth about twenty yards away.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

His lips pressed to a thin line. “Shelter is shelter, Tara.” He let go of her hand and started toward the wooden structure with a brisk, determined stride.

She stood watching him for a moment, feeling terrible. The man had saved her life, and she’d been nothing but a whining ingrate.

Lighting flashed overhead, followed quickly by a bone-rattling boom of thunder that shook her out of her misery and sent her dashing through the muddy undergrowth as fast as her ruined pumps would carry her. She skidded to a stop at the edge of the porch and stared at what Owen had called a cabin.

It was tiny. She didn’t have any idea how Owen and his fellow Boy Scouts had managed to squeeze themselves inside the place. The three shallow steps leading up to the porch looked rickety and dangerous, though apparently they’d managed to hold Owen’s weight, for he was already on the porch, peering inside the darkened doorway of the small structure.

“I remember it as being bigger,” he said quietly.

“You were eleven.” She made herself risk the steps. They were sturdier than they looked, though the rain had left them slick. At least the stair railing didn’t wiggle too much as she climbed to the porch and joined Owen in the doorway.

Years had clearly passed since any Boy Scouts had darkened the door of this cabin. What she could see in the gloom looked damp and dilapidated. The musty smell of age and disuse filled Tara’s lungs as she took a shaky breath. “The roof leaks, doesn’t it?”

Owen took a step inside. Almost immediately, he jerked back, bumping into Tara. She had to grab him around the waist to keep from falling.

Something small and gray scuttled out the door past them, scampered off the porch and disappeared into the undergrowth.

“Possum,” Owen said.

Tara grimaced. “So that’s what I’m smelling.”

He whipped around to look at her. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you. Again.”

She grabbed his hand. “You saved me. I wouldn’t have gotten out of there without you.”

He gave her hand a little squeeze before letting go. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have never gotten loose from that duct tape.”

And he’d never have been in trouble if she hadn’t called him to share her doubts about the wedding. Which maybe she wouldn’t be having if she didn’t still find Owen so darn attractive.

They could play this game forever, going all the way back to sixth grade when she saved Owen from a bully and he’d helped her pass math.

They were darn near symbiotic at this point.

“You’re thinking again,” Owen murmured.

“I am,” she said. “I’m thinking if we’re planning on hunkering down here until the rain passes, I’d like to make sure there’s no possum surprises waiting for me in there. Any chance we could find a candle or two in this godforsaken place?”

“Maybe.” Owen entered the dark cabin. A moment later, she heard more than saw him scrabbling around in a drawer. “Ha.” He reached into the pocket of his tuxedo pants and pulled out something. A second later, a small light flickered in the darkness.

“You had a lighter in your pants pocket?”

“I wanted to be sure your candle lighting at the wedding went off without a hitch.” He shot her a sheepish grin. “I take my man-of-honor duties seriously.”

Her insides melted, and she crossed to where he stood, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face to his chest. “You’re the best man of honor ever.”

He rubbed his free hand down her arm. “Oh, Tara, you’re freezing. You really need to get out of those wet clothes.”

“And into what?” she asked, her voice coming out softer and sultrier than she’d intended.

He stared back at her, wordless, his eyes smoldering as strongly as the flickering candle in his hand. The moment stretched between them, electric and fraught with danger.

And forbidden desires...

A loud thud sounded outside the door, and in a flash, Owen extinguished the candle and pulled Tara behind him.

There was another thud. Slow. Deliberate.

Someone was outside the cabin.

Chapter Three

Owen tucked Tara more fully behind him, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to look larger than he was. What he wouldn’t give to have the pecs and deltoids of Mike Strong, who’d instructed him in hand-to-hand combat during his first grueling weeks of probationary training at Campbell Cove Security Services. Strong had insisted that Owen’s lean, wiry build didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own in a fight, but until today, he’d never had a reason to test that theory.

And given how badly his attempt to save Tara outside the church had gone, he wasn’t confident that Strong would be proven right this time, either.

He could hear his father’s voice, a mean whisper in his ear. “You’re weak, Owen. Life ain’t kind to the weak.”

Grimly shutting out that voice, he searched the shadowy interior of the cabin for something he could use as a weapon, but the place had been stripped mostly bare a long time ago, from the looks of it. There was a rickety camp bed left in one corner, and the mattress of another lying on the floor nearby, but that was all. What he wouldn’t give for one of those cheap little bow and arrow sets he and the other Scouts had learned to use that summer twenty years ago.

Not that he’d remember how to use it.

The footsteps on the porch moved closer, the steps careful. Deliberate. There was an oddly light touch to the sounds that didn’t remind him much of the hulking men who’d shoved him into the side of the van earlier that day. These footfalls sounded almost—

A face peered around the edge of the door. Small, pale, freckled and terrified.

A kid, no more than ten or eleven. He froze there, his face framed by the bright red hood of his rain slicker. A second later, a second face appeared next to the boy’s, smaller. More feminine. She had big, dark eyes and frizzy curls framing her face beneath her pink rain hood.

Owen took a step toward them. “Hello—”

The boy opened his mouth and screamed, triggering an answering shriek in the girl. They sped off into the rainy woods, their terrified wails turning to hysterical giggles of pure adrenaline rush before they faded from earshot.

Owen felt Tara’s forehead press hard against his back. “Kids?”

“That could have been us twenty years ago.” Owen turned to look at her. “Sneaking around Old Man Ridley’s cabin, trying to catch him red-handed at murder.”

Tension seeped slowly out of her expression, a faint smile taking its place. “Remember that summer he almost caught us?”

“One of the top ten most terrifying moments of my life.” He laughed softly.

“Do you think those kids will come back with grown-ups next time?”

He shook his head. “Are you kidding? They’d probably be grounded for life just for sneaking around this old cabin.” He pulled out the lighter and relit the candle he’d extinguished. “Come on, let’s see what kind of shelter we can make of this place.”

The place was grimy and drafty, but the tin roof seemed to have weathered the years without springing leaks, which had kept the interior dry and mostly free of mildew. The cot mattresses were a disaster, but Owen uncovered an old military footlocker half hidden by the remains of one of the cots. Inside, he found a couple of camp blankets kept well preserved within the airtight trunk. They smelled of the cedar blocks someone had placed inside the trunk to ward off moths.

“Here, wrap up in this.” He unfolded the top blanket and wrapped it around Tara’s shoulders, not missing the shivers rattling through her. “I wish we could risk starting a fire in that fireplace,” he said with a nod toward the river stone fireplace against the near wall. “But the chimney’s probably blocked by now, and besides, we don’t want to risk smoke alerting anyone to where we are. Not yet.”

She stepped closer to him, curling into him like a kitten seeking heat. “Just hold me for a minute, okay? They say body heat is the best heat.”

Owen quelled the instant reaction of his body to hers, a talent he’d honed since their early teens, when Tara’s femininity blossomed in time for his hormones to rev up to high gear. She’d put deliberate boundaries between them, first unspoken ones and then, later, when he’d wanted to push those barriers out of the way, spoken ones.

“I’ve never had a friend like you, Owen,” she’d told him that night after the high school football game when he tried to kiss her in the car after he’d driven her home. “I need you to be Owen. My best friend. We can’t risk changing that. Do you understand? Boyfriends are complicated. Relationships are volatile. I have enough of that in my life.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Motherless since just before they’d met, Tara had struggled to connect with her rough-edged, emotionally conservative father, who’d had to give up the military life he’d loved to take care of his daughter. Tara had felt as if he resented her for the end of his Marine Corps career, which had added to the existing friction between them right up until his death.

Owen had swallowed his desire and given Tara what she needed, as much as it had cost him to do so. But the desire had never gone away, married as it was to his enduring love for his best friend.

And at times like these, with her slender body pressed so intimately to his, what was left of her clothing clinging to her body and leaving little to his imagination, tamping down that desire was a Herculean task.

“Maybe the rain will stop soon,” she mumbled against his collarbone, her breath hot against his neck.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Those children must live nearby, which is promising, because when this was a Boy Scout camp years ago, there were no houses in easy walking distance at all.”

She burrowed deeper in his embrace. “I wonder how I’m going to explain walking around in the woods wearing a slip, half a wedding dress and my ruined silk pumps.”

“Very carefully,” he answered, making her chuckle. The sound rippled through him, sparking a shudder of pure male need.

“I don’t think the rain is supposed to end before morning,” she said with a soft sigh that heated his throat again. “We’re going to need to find somewhere to sleep tonight. And I have to say, I’m not thrilled about sharing a cot where a possum was probably nesting.”

“The blankets from that chest are pretty clean. We could cover the mattresses with those.”

“Mattress,” she corrected.

“Mattress?”

She looked up at him, her expression serious. “It’s too cold in here for us to sleep apart. Right?”

He stared at her, his heart rattling in his chest like a snare drum. He swallowed hard and forced the words from his lips. “Right. Body heat is the best heat.”

He was in so much trouble.

* * *

BAGLEY COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT investigator Archer Trask walked slowly around the small groom’s room, taking in all the details of the crime scene. There was less blood than one might expect, to begin with. The victim had taken two bullets to the base of his skull—double tap, the big-city cops would call it. A sign of a professional hit.

But who the hell would target a groom on his wedding day?

“Vic’s name is Robert Mallory. The third.” The responding deputy flipped a page in his notepad. “Mallory Senior works in the Lexington DA’s office, and he’s already screaming for us to turn this over to the Kentucky State Police.”

“Any witnesses?”

“No, but the bride is missing. So’s her man of honor.”

Trask slanted a look at the deputy. “You’re kidding.”

“Nobody’s seen either of them since about an hour before the wedding.”

“Bride’s name?”

“Tara Bentley.”

Didn’t sound familiar. Neither did the groom’s name. “Have you talked to the bride’s parents?”

“She’s an orphan, it seems.” The deputy grimaced. “Her side of the aisle is a little sparse.”

Trask rubbed his forehead, where a headache was starting to form. Why didn’t he ever get a cut-and-dried case these days? “I want the groom’s parents kept apart so I can question them separately. And any of the wedding party who might have seen anything. Do we have an estimated time of death yet?”

“Last time anyone saw him was around three, about an hour before the ceremony was supposed to start. Last time anyone saw the bride was round the same time.”

Trask frowned. Missing bride, dead groom, professional-looking hit—nothing seemed to fit. “You said man of honor.”

The deputy flipped back a page or two in his notepad. “Owen Stiles. Apparently the bride’s best friend from childhood.”

Stiles. The name sounded familiar. “What do we know about Stiles?”

“Not much. His mother is here for the wedding. She’s the one who told us she couldn’t find him. By the way, according to the man of honor’s mother, their cars are still in the church parking lot.”

Trask looked up at the deputy’s words. “You’re telling me the bride and her best friend took a flyer and left their cars behind?”

“Looks like. We’ve already checked the tags and they’re registered to our missing persons.”

Well, now, Archer thought. That was a surprising twist. “Let’s get an APB out on both of them. Persons of interest in a murder for now. We need to check if either of them have another vehicle, too.”

“I’ll call it in.” The deputy finished jotting notes and headed out of the room.

Trask looked down at the dead man lying facedown on the floor. Poor bastard, he thought. All dressed up and nowhere to go.

* * *

“DO YOU, TARA, take Robert as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others...” The pastor’s intonation rang in Tara’s head, making it throb. She wanted to run, but her feet were stuck to the floor as if her shoes were nailed to it. She tried to tug her feet from the shoes, but they wouldn’t budge.

Breathing became difficult behind the veil that had seemed to mold itself around her head and neck, tightening at her throat. She attempted to claw it away, but the more she pulled at the veil, the more it constricted her.

“Owen!” she cried, the sound muffled and puny. She knew he was here somewhere. Owen would never let anything bad happen to her.

“I’m here.” His voice was a warm rumble in her ear, but she couldn’t see him.

“Owen, please.”

Arms wrapped around her from behind. Owen’s arms, strong and bracing. The veil fell away and she could breathe again. Her feet pulled loose from the floor and she turned to face her rescuer.

Owen gazed at her, his face so familiar, so right, even in the shadows.

“You awake now?”

The shadows cleared, and she realized where she was. It was the old Boy Scouts camp cabin in the woods. Night had passed, and with it the rain. Misty sunlight was peeking through the trees outside and slanting into the cabin through the dusty windows.

And she was wrapped up tightly in Owen’s arms on the mattress they shared.

“Yes,” she answered.

“You were dreaming. Must have been a bad one.”

She forced a smile, the frightening remnants of her nightmare lingering. “Just a stress dream. You know, late for class.”

“You called out to me.”

She eased away from his embrace and sat up. “Probably wanted you to do my algebra homework for me.”

He sat up, too. The blanket spilled down to his waist, revealing his lean torso. She rarely saw him shirtless, and it came as a revelation. Owen might not be bulked up like a bodybuilder, but his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat and his chest well-toned. He’d talked often about Campbell Cove Security’s training facilities, which were apparently part of the company’s connected training academy, but she’d been so wrapped up in her wedding plans she hadn’t listened as closely as she should have.

“Did you hear it, too?” he asked in a half whisper, and she realized he’d been talking to her while she was ogling his body.

She lowered her voice to match his. “Hear what?”

“Voices. I think I’m hearing voices outside. Listen.”

Tara listened. He was right. The voices were faint, but they were there. “A woman and a man,” she whispered. “Can’t make out what they’re saying.”

“Maybe one of those kids did tell their parents about seeing us last night.” Owen rose, grabbing his shirt from where it lay on the floor nearby and slipping it on as he crossed to the cabin’s front window. Tara noticed that grime had smudged the snowy-white fabric.

“Can you see anyone?” she whispered.

He nodded. “They look normal.”

“By normal, I assume you mean nonhomicidal.”

He turned to flash her a quick grin. “Exactly.”

“Maybe we should go out and meet them. It’ll look less suspicious.”

“Good idea.” He glanced her way. “Wrap the blanket around your bottom half. It’ll be hard to explain half a wedding dress.”

Smart, she thought, and grabbed the blanket that had been covering them to wrap around her. She joined him at the door. “Ready?”

He took her hand. “Let’s not tell them what really happened. Too hard to explain. I’m just going to say we’re newlyweds whose car broke down in the storm.”

“Okay.” She twined her fingers with him and followed him onto the porch, surprising the couple approaching the cabin through the underbrush.

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed as they came to a quick halt. “I reckon y’all are real after all.”

“You must be the parents of one of the kids we scared last night,” Owen said with an engaging smile. “Sorry about that.”

The woman, a plump brunette with a friendly smile, waved off his apology. “Don’t you worry about that. Those young ’uns had no business bein’ out here in the middle of a rainstorm. But we figured we should at least come out here and make sure you weren’t in some kind of trouble.”

The man grimaced at the cabin. “Y’all had to sleep here last night?”

“Sadly, yes,” Owen said. “Our car broke down late yesterday afternoon, and then the rain hit, so we had to settle for what shelter we could find. And then, to our complete horror, we discovered we’d both left our cell phones at the church. So we couldn’t even call for a tow.”

The woman took in their appearances—the beaded bodice of Tara’s torn dress, Owen’s grimy white tuxedo shirt and black pants—and jumped to the obvious conclusion. “You’re newlyweds, aren’t you? Bless your hearts—this is where you spent your wedding night?”

Owen laughed, pulling Tara closer. “It’ll be quite the story to tell on our golden anniversary, won’t it? I don’t suppose we could borrow a phone to call for help?”

“Of course you could.” The woman dug in the pocket of her jeans and provided a cell phone. “Here you go.”

“Thank you so much.” Owen took the phone and went back inside the cabin to make the call, leaving Tara to talk to the friendly couple.

“Do you live close?” Tara asked.

“Half a mile. Kind of hard to see the place through all the trees. If it was winter, you’d probably have seen us and not had to spend the night here,” the husband said. “I’m Frank Tyler, by the way. This is my wife, Elaine.”

“Tara B—Stiles. Tara Stiles, and my husband’s name is Owen.” Tara smiled, even though her stomach was starting to ache from the tension of lying to this nice couple. But Owen was right. As crazy as the “newlyweds with car trouble” story was, the truth was so much more problematic.

Owen came back out to the porch, a smile pasted on his face. But Tara knew him well enough to know that his smile was covering deep anxiety. It glittered in his eyes, tense and jittery. He handed the phone back to Elaine Tyler. “Thank you so much. I’ve called someone for a tow, so we’re set.”

“Glad we could help. You know, we could drive you to where your car is parked.”

“Not necessary. I’ve arranged for someone to meet us on Old Camp Road. Easy walk from here to there. You should get back to your family.” Owen shook Frank Tyler’s hand, then Elaine’s. “Thank you again.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” Tara added, smiling brightly to hide her growing worry. Who had Owen called and what had he heard?

When the Tylers were out of earshot, Tara moved closer to Owen. “What’s wrong?”

He caught her hand, his expression pained. “Tara, I don’t know how to break this to you. Robert’s dead.”

She stared at Owen, not comprehending. “What?”

“He’s dead. Shot, from what my boss told me.”

She covered her mouth with one shaky hand, not certain what she was feeling. Her fiancé was dead. The man she’d been close to marrying. Even if she had become convinced he wasn’t the man for her, it didn’t mean she hadn’t cared deeply for him.

And now he was gone? Just like that?

It was crazy. It had to be wrong.

“This has to be a mistake,” she said, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly.

Owen led her to the steps and eased her into a sitting position on the top step. Ignoring the uncomfortable dampness of the wood, she turned to look at Owen as he settled down beside her and wrapped one strong arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

He leaned his head against hers. “Yes.”

She sighed. “Just get it over with.”

“Robert was murdered at the church around the time you and I were taken by the kidnappers. Nobody knew where we went, so—”

“So now we’re the prime suspects,” she finished for him.

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