The Bride's Secrets. Debra Webb
threatening me. It won’t work, and it’s a waste of energy you’ll need later.”
Her slow circling continued until she stood before him, face-to-face.
“Who are you?” The harshly uttered words were fraught with emotion he couldn’t restrain. Damn her. She’d fooled him…betrayed him on every level. The idea made him sick to his stomach.
She put her hands on her hips and seemed to mull over his question a long moment. Then her startlingly blue gaze settled on his once more. “Even I’m not sure about the answer to that one anymore.” She stepped closer. “But I know who you are.” She leaned forward. “And I also know that you’re a marked man, Mr. Baxley. Either you do as I tell you or you die. Seems like an easy choice to me.”
He stared into those dazzling eyes, his gut clenching with opposing emotions. “How can you be a part of this? Jamie Colby is just a child.” That he could have been fooled so completely worsened the misery in his gut.
The woman he had known as Eve Mattson, braced her hands on his arms and put her face in his. “What you think of me is irrelevant. My mission is all that matters.”
“Are they doing this for the money?” His fingers curled into fists even as his skin beneath where her palms rested tingled with desire from her touch. He silently cursed himself. Hated that he could still want her so desperately.
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she studied his face, searched his eyes. A fleeting flicker of some emotion he couldn’t quite label, regret perhaps, passed across her face—the face he’d cherished with all his heart. The same one that had haunted his dreams every night since she had disappeared.
“I can tell you one thing for certain,” she said, her voice achingly soft and familiar. “It’s definitely about money.”
He held her eyes. Wished he could understand how the woman with whom he’d made love…had planned to spend the rest of his life…could be so cold. Where was the heart he’d been sure he’d touched?
She jerked away from him as if his thoughts had reached out, speared her in that chest that apparently harbored only emptiness.
Then she turned and started for the door.
“Don’t do this,” he urged, the plea all too real on far too many levels.
She stopped and turned back to him. “If it makes you feel any better, this has nothing to do with the Colby agency or the kid.”
What the hell? On cue, his injured arm burned where the bullet had passed through his flesh. “I don’t believe you. If this isn’t about the Colby Agency, then what’s it about?”
“You, J.T.” She reached for the door, looking back over her shoulder at him. “It’s about you.”
Chapter Three
10:30 p.m.
Eve scanned the shoreline, then the street.
No sign of trouble yet.
She lowered the binoculars. It wouldn’t last. And she needed more time. Getting J.T. out of his house and into her car hadn’t been easy. He’d been out cold. But not as cold as the scumbag who’d been waiting for him to come home. She’d taken care of that situation without breaking a sweat. Dumping his body in the water once they’d gotten here had been an easy cleanup. The real work had been moving J.T. to this location before he regained consciousness. She’d been forced to take an extra step to ensure he didn’t rouse too soon.
Now he was wide awake.
And they were close.
Whoever the hell they were.
A breath hissed from her lips as she tucked the binoculars into her shoulder bag. She’d been in this business a long time. Every job she accepted came with certain risks. It wasn’t rocket science. Just work. Get in, get the goods, whatever the goods happened to be, and get out.
She was very good at her job. Damned good. Whatever persona was required, she could pull it off. She researched the required occupation to the point that she appeared every bit the experienced expert. Not once in nearly a decade had her skills been questioned.
For her, creating a new identity and pulling it off was—in a word—simple.
But not this time.
But then, she’d never played the part of fiancée. Lover, yes. Mistress, of course. But never this intimate character.
Her fingers clenched.
Just a job. That was all this had been. She had to keep that fact in mind. The only reason she was still hanging around the Windy City was because no one—no one—double-crossed her.
Until she neutralized this situation, she wasn’t going anywhere.
He wasn’t going to make it easy.
Anticipation zipped along her nerve endings. The need to draw his scent into her lungs…to touch his skin was a palpable force inside her. No one had ever gotten that far beneath her carefully constructed exterior. She steeled herself to block the reaction. Again she reminded herself that he was part of the job, nothing more. And the job wasn’t finished yet.
Not until she got the bastard who’d double-crossed her.
And ensured that J.T. didn’t pay the price.
If this guy thought J.T. was his biggest problem, he had no idea what he’d done. Crossing her had been a serious mistake.
Now she was his biggest problem.
He would soon understand just how big that problem was going to be.
As if the thought had summoned his minions, movement below snagged her attention. She watched from the fourth-floor window as four—no, five—men moved toward the warehouse.
“It’s showtime.” She turned away from the window and headed for the stairs. If she’d been smart, she would have moved already.
Things didn’t always go as planned. That was why her motto remained firm. Always have a backup plan. And an exit strategy for every occasion.
Timing was where she’d fallen down tonight.
She jogged down the three flights of stairs to her destination and burst through the door.
“We have to move. Now.”
Fists clenched, J.T. glared at her. “Whatever you’re involved in, I’m not a part of it.” He moved his head from side to side. “The we that included you and I ended the day you didn’t show up for our wedding.”
Not exactly original, but the statement had been one he’d likely wanted to say to her for two weeks now. He’d gotten that out of the way. Good for him.
She hated to do it this way, but…what the hell. Her right hand rammed into her bag, and her fingers closed around the butt of her Glock. “Save it, J.T.” She drew the weapon. “We don’t have time.”
Dropping into a crouch, she retrieved the knife from her bag with her free hand and cut the bindings from around his ankles with one quick swipe to each. She stood and looked him dead in the eyes. “Give me any trouble and we’ll both be dead in—” she hummed a note “—about three minutes.”
“You carry a weapon?”
The question hit its mark. Maybe not the question, but the way he’d asked it. He’d believed in her. Swallowed her profile hook, line and sinker. She flinched.
She never flinched. But somehow it bothered her that he was disappointed. In her.
“Trust me,” she warned. “We don’t have time for this.”
He stared her dead in the eyes.
“Give me one good reason I should trust