B. J. Daniels Read online

  And then everything happened too fast. At first Alex heard rather than saw the commotion that ensued. He turned as a black limo pulled up behind the white one. Two men leaped from the rear doors. They grabbed the woman who’d just exited the limo in front of them. Her driver tried to fight them off but was knocked to the ground as they dragged the woman to the open doors of the black limo.

  Alex charged across the lawn toward the two men who’d shoved the woman into the backseat of the waiting black limo and jumped in after her. The limo engine roared, then to Alex’s horror, the large black car jumped the curb as if aiming directly for the woman’s limo driver who was still on the ground.

  The driver managed to roll out of the way as the limo shot toward Alex. He yelled to Caroline as he dived aside, hitting the ground and rolling, coming up in time to see that the speeding car had turned and was aimed directly at his sister.

  Caroline seemed frozen to the spot. He let out a howl of anguish as he heard the limo hit her, her body flying off to the side.

  The dark limo had no rear license plate and the windows were too tinted to see inside as it crashed between two cars at the curb and sped off down the street. Everything had happened so fast, he didn’t even get a good look at the two men who’d taken the woman.

  “Caroline. Oh God, Caroline.” Alex was on his feet, running to where she was slumped on the grass. He dropped to the ground next to his sister and felt for a pulse with one hand as he fumbled out his cell phone and dialed 911 with the other. “Oh, Caroline,” he whispered as he brushed her hair back from her beautiful face.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder but it wasn’t until later that he recalled the feel of the woman’s touch, let alone remembered her name. Samantha Peters.

  INSIDE THE SPEEDING black limo, the man in the back made the call. “We’ve got the girl,” he said when the phone was picked up at the other end.

  There was no reply. Just a soft click. In the backseat Sonya Botero’s eyes fluttered.

  “Give her more of the drug,” the man ordered. “I don’t want her waking up.”

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. The job hadn’t come off as clean as he’d planned. Unfortunately, he’d left loose ends, he thought glancing back.

  CRAIG JOHNSON SAT on the grass in front of Weddings Your Way and watched the black limo disappear down the street, tires squealing and engine roaring.

  The limo driver-bodyguard was too shocked to move. The blow to his head had left him dazed but not so dazed that he didn’t realize what had just happened.

  The men had taken the woman he’d been hired to protect and there would be hell to pay.

  But what was utmost in his mind was one startling realization: the men had tried to kill him. If he hadn’t rolled out of the way when he had…

  Suddenly he couldn’t catch his breath at just the thought of how close it had been. He gasped, the weight of the knowledge like a weight on his chest.

  He was glad that no one was paying any attention to him now. They’d all crowded around a woman on the ground a dozen yards from him and he realized that unlike him, she’d been hit by the car.

  He felt light-headed, his stomach weak and queasy. That could be him over there on the ground.

  He tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t hold him. Sitting back down heavily on the ground, he watched people rushing around, calling for help. More people were running over. He heard voices above him asking if he was all right. Did he need an ambulance?

  He was shaking so hard he couldn’t answer. He closed his eyes and lay back on the ground, lucky to be alive. But for how long?

  Chapter Two

  Samantha Peters pushed her tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses up as she sat at her usual spot at the table in the soundproof room on the second floor of Weddings Your Way, watching the monitors on the wall.

  The police had left hours ago. Now the only illumination came from the security lights that bathed the long palm-lined entry into the shop.

  Weddings Your Way had been in an uproar all afternoon and evening. No one could believe that Sonya Botero had been abducted right out front and client Caroline Graham had been injured in the hit-and-run that followed.

  “We are prepared for a ransom demand,” Rachel Brennan was saying now to the elite group of undercover agents positioned around the table. “Everything is in place. Since the abduction took place here, the kidnappers might contact us first. If it is a kidnapping.”

  Samantha found herself only half listening as she watched the monitors that provided surveillance. She focused on the two that covered the front of the building.

  “I’ve heard from Sonya’s father as well as her fiancé,” Rachel was saying. “Both are flying in tomorrow. Both will demand answers. Let’s do our best to have some for them.”

  The air conditioner hummed in the large room devoid of windows. One end was a wall of computers and electronics. This was the command center, the heart of the true operation with Weddings Your Way being the front. Not that each agent didn’t perform wedding-related duties, living and working in the community while working undercover as part of the Miami Confidential team.

  Rachel Brennan, tall, ebony-haired with sparkling blue eyes, in her early forties, was head of the elite group.

  “I’ve looked at the surveillance tapes,” Rachel said. “The men knew about the cameras. They were careful to keep their heads down, faces in shadow. It was all very well planned and executed. We can’t rule out that Sonya’s abduction is connected with the recent assassination attempt on her fiancé.”

  “So are we assuming this is politically motivated?” Sophie Brooks asked. Sophie, tall, willowy with long blond hair, had been sketching on a pad in front of her and now looked up. Along with being an agent, she was also Weddings Your Way’s invitation designer.

  “It has to be connected to politics,” Julia Garcia said in a quiet voice at the end of the table. Julia was friends with Sonya when they were young and now worked as a seamstress for the wedding shop along with being an agent. “When you’re about to marry a politician from Ladera who has been making war on drug dealers throughout South America, you can’t help but be a target.”

  The room fell silent for a long moment. Samantha continued to watch the monitors, the tragic events of the day weighing heavily on her. She knew what she was waiting for. Her instincts told her it wouldn’t be long now.

  “Any word on the condition of Caroline Graham?” Isabelle Rush asked. The agent was small with shoulder-length strawberry blond hair and light brown eyes. She’d been handpicked for the Miami Confidential team as an expert in criminology.

  “Still unconscious,” Samantha said without looking from the monitors. “The doctors aren’t sure she’s going to make it.”

  “Is it possible she was a target, as well?” Isabelle asked.

  Samantha recalled how the car had careened up onto the curb, just missing the limo driver and Alex Graham but hitting Caroline. “I don’t see how. Caroline didn’t even have an appointment. I had to fit her in at the last minute so no one could have known she was coming here.”

  “Maybe,” Rachel said and turned to Clare Myers, who was sitting at one of the computers. “Let’s not take any chances. Find out everything you can on both. Did Sonya and Caroline know each other? I want to know if there is even the remotest connection between them.”

  “I’m on it,” Clare said tapping at the keys. The small pixie-ish blond woman had a sharp mind and worked for the IRS investigating corporations trying to rip off the government before she was enlisted by Miami Confidential to work as the accountant for the wedding shop as well as use her expertise on digging up anything on anyone via the computer.

  “What about Botero’s limo driver?” Rachel asked, checking her notes. “Craig Johnson?”

  “He was admitted to the hospital complaining of headaches,” Isabelle said. “The police questioned him after he was admitted. Johnson said he didn’t remember anything after being struck on the head by one of the
men.”

  “Could be lying,” Julia said. “But it also could have happened so fast he really didn’t get a good look at his attacker.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “I think one of us should go by and see how he’s doing, see what our take on Mr. Johnson is. After all, he was hired as Sonya’s bodyguard as well as her driver.”

  “I’ll pay him a visit,” Samantha said. “I want to go to the hospital and check on Caroline Graham anyway.”

  Rachel nodded her approval. “I’m sure the police questioned Caroline’s brother. Alex, right?”

  Samantha nodded and looked to Isabelle.

  “He told police he only got a glimpse of the men,” Isabelle said. “The car had no plates on the back and tinted windows.”

  “Check limo rentals,” Rachel said. “It’s a long shot.”

  “I saw the car,” Samantha said and felt everyone look toward her again. “I saw some of the incident from the window after I walked Caroline and Alex to the door. You’re right. It happened so fast there wasn’t anything anyone could have done. I got a good look at the limo, though. It was an older model. Definitely not a rental. You might want to check used car lots.”

  Rachel gave her a smile. “Good idea.” She looked toward Clare who said, “I’m already on it.”

  Samantha saw movement on the monitors. Just as she’d been expecting, a dark figure started to bang on the door, then saw the receptionist Samantha had asked to stay late. He shoved his way through the front door and into the reception area.

  Samantha stood. “Excuse me, but Alex Graham is here. I need to take care of this.”

  As a former agent and profiler for the FBI, Samantha was the go-to person. Not only did she make sure every wedding went off without a hitch, as an agent she assisted in investigations by noticing the little things about people and cases.

  As she rose to leave, everyone’s attention turned to the monitor, the same one that had recorded Alex Graham’s entrance earlier today. Only now Alex was dressed in jeans, a Miami Fire Department T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders and running shoes. His light brown hair curled at the nape of his suntanned neck and looked as if he’d just come from a hasty shower.

  “At this point, I don’t think it would be wise to assume that Caroline Graham was just an innocent victim,” Rachel said. “Find out everything you can about her. And her brother,” she said frowning at the monitor screen. “It might not be a coincidence that the two of them just happened to be here at the same time Sonya Botero was abducted.”

  Samantha nodded and slipped out. She’d known Alex Graham would be back. And she knew even before she’d seen him storm in what he would want.

  As she descended the stairs, she caught the scent of him before he saw her. Some kind of masculine-smelling shampoo. Fresh from a quick shower, just as she’d suspected. She noted that his hazel eyes were red rimmed and he looked as if he’d been to hell and back. As she neared him, she felt anguish coming off him as well as a raw angry energy. She braced herself.

  Alex Graham looked up as she came down the stairs to meet him. His eyes locked with hers and she thought she glimpsed relief. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

  “Mr. Graham, why don’t we step into my office?” Samantha said in her all-business voice.

  He gave a sharp nod and stalked ahead of her into her office. She closed the door behind them and took her place behind the desk.

  “How is your sister?” she asked, although she’d called the hospital not long before.

  “Still unconscious,” he said his voice hoarse.

  To think that he’d sat in that same chair with his sister beside him only hours before. Except then he’d been ill at ease, nervous.

  Now Alex Graham was grieving and angry. “What the hell happened here today?” he demanded.

  “You know as much as I do,” Samantha said quietly as she adjusted her glasses.

  “I highly doubt that. Who was that woman in the limo?”

  “One of our clients,” Samantha said. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you her name because the police have instructed us not to.”

  A muscle in his jaw bunched. He was furious and looking for someone to blame for his sister’s accident, but also looking for answers. Samantha wished she had some for him.

  “I’m already getting the same runaround from the police, I don’t need it from you,” he said, his voice rising. “I want to know why my sister was run down outside your business.”

  She nodded and spoke in the same soothing tone she used with jittery brides-to-be. “We want to know the same thing, Mr. Graham.”

  “Alex. Mr. Graham is my father.” He raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. “My sister may not make it.” His voice broke. “I can’t reach her fiancé. You know a hell of a lot more than I do. Are you going to help me or not?”

  She felt a shiver as she glimpsed the raw pain in his gaze. This man was angry and hurting but he was no fool. He wasn’t going to be put off by sympathy and reassuring words. Maybe the hit-and-run had just been an unfortunate accident. But what if for some reason Caroline Graham had been a target?

  “I’m going to help you.”

  ALEX GRAHAM leaned back in the chair, all his anger spent. He needed to calm down, to sleep, to eat, but more importantly he needed answers. “Thank you.”

  She nodded and he found himself settling down a little. She had that kind of effect on people, he thought, remembering how she was with Caroline earlier that day.

  He studied her, trying to put his finger on what it was about her that bothered him. She was rail-thin, with huge brown eyes and straight brown hair that fell almost to her shoulders. She peered at him through tortoiseshell glasses. A quiet, unassuming woman, the kind who blended in with the wallpaper.

  At least that’s what she wanted him to believe.

  Where had that thought come from? He met her steady gaze and felt both sympathy and compassion and true concern. And yet as he looked into her eyes, he had the distinct impression that there was more to her, something she didn’t want him to see.

  “How can I help you?” she asked.

  He took a breath. “Let me be honest with you, Miss Peters. It is Miss, right?” Was there a slight flush under the cool porcelain of her skin? “I have never met Caroline’s fiancé and quite frankly, I don’t even know how to reach him.”

  “I have a number for him,” she said taking a fabric-covered book from her desk drawer. From where he sat, he could see that the contents of the drawer were as neat as the writing in the book.

  He watched her turn right to the page.

  “Preston Wellington III,” she said picking up a pen and printing the number on a Post-it in the same concise handwriting. She tore off the note and handed it to him, closing the book and crossing her arms over it.

  He stared at the number for a moment, then at her. “You already tried to call him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you weren’t able to reach him.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He nodded, suspecting he wasn’t going to get much help here, either. “And this is the only number you have for him, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve tried it, as well, with the same results.” He sighed. “Have you met him?”

  She nodded. “He always came with Caroline for her appointments.”

  “Except today?” he asked, sounding surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “And your impression of him?” He saw her hesitate. “I realize I’m putting you on the spot here, but I need to know what I’m up against. I’m worried sick about my sister. Don’t you think it was more than odd that the only day her fiancé didn’t come with her she changed her wedding plans and then was struck down out front?” He saw something in her eyes that confirmed she, too, thought it odd. “Now no one seems to be able to reach him…. I need to know your impression of him.”

  She nodded slowly. “I liked him. He seemed very
nice, very attentive to your sister. I felt the two of them were very much in love, they seemed to be…soul mates.”

  He heard the small catch in her throat, not sure what surprised him more—her obvious emotional reaction to witnessing what she’d thought was true love or that his sister and this Wellington III might really share something real.

  Was it possible he was wrong about the guy? “Would you mind trying the number again for me?” Maybe they would get lucky.

  “Certainly.” She picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory, then handed him the phone.

  With each ring, his uneasiness grew. He got Preston’s voice mail again but didn’t leave another message. He handed the phone back to her. “He hasn’t returned any of my calls or contacted the hospital. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  She didn’t comment.

  He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. What was he doing here? What had made him think this wedding planner could help him? Maybe she really didn’t know any more than he did.

  But she had met Preston Wellington III, she’d thought the man was in love with Caroline. Then again, maybe she thought all her clients were in love. Maybe the woman was a hopeless romantic.

  He looked into her brown eyes, eyes the color of Cognac. But behind all that rich, warmth was something steely. This woman was no hopeless romantic. There was intelligence there and something else—a wariness that made him wonder if she knew a whole lot more that she wasn’t telling him.

  “I found another number for Wellington in Caroline’s purse and called it,” he said, watching for her reaction. “It was his office supposedly. I was told he was out of the country and couldn’t be reached. Apparently they don’t know when he’ll be back.” He saw surprise and something else register in her expression: doubt. Finally.

  He felt relieved, needing someone else to confirm that his fears might be justified. He recalled the feel of her hand on his shoulder earlier today when he’d been kneeling over his sister’s body.

  “Thanks, Miss… Could I possibly call you something besides, Miss Peters?”