Accessory To Marriage. Ann Voss Peterson

      Prologue

      Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife…

      Slamming on the brakes, Risa Madsen threw open her car door. She clambered out and raced through the parking lot toward the looming perimeter fence of the Grant Correctional Institution. Her heels pounded on the pavement in sync with the drumming of her pulse.

      She had to stop this marriage from taking place. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Dixie throw her life away. She had to save her little sister.

      And she was running out of time.

      …to have and to hold…

      The early afternoon sun glinted off strands of razor wire lining the top of the perimeter fence. Risa shivered as she ran. If it wasn’t for her, Dixie never would have sought out Dryden Kane. She never would have transferred her exhausting need for male approval from her father to Kane. She never would have become Kane’s willing victim.

      …from this day forward…

      Two guards stood at the gate. Stopping, Risa gulped air and struggled to subdue her panic. She focused on the bulky guard whose eyes held the look of a soul weary with confronting the evil of life. “Duane. Am I too late?”

      “They already started, Professor.” He opened the gate and pulled her inside. “What took you so long?”

      “Traffic. I got here as soon as I could.” If it hadn’t been for Duane’s call, she wouldn’t have made it at all. She wouldn’t have even known about the wedding.

      He motioned for her to follow. “Hurry.”

      Risa ran up the steps behind him. He threw open the door and led her through a metal detector and into the wide entrance hall of the prison’s main building.

      …for richer or for poorer…

      While a female guard patted her down and checked the inside of her shoes and the bottoms of her feet, Risa inhaled breath after breath of stale air into her hungry lungs. There never seemed to be enough air inside these walls. Nor enough light.

      The perfect place for a man like Kane to live out the rest of his days.

      Of course that was a thought she could never voice. In light of her profession, she was supposed to be supportive of Kane’s efforts toward rehabilitation. She was supposed to believe that through psychoanalysis he could overcome his horrible childhood and turn his life around. A part of her even wanted to believe it. But she couldn’t shake the cold feeling slithering over her skin every time she thought of his ice-blue eyes, his artful smirk.

      The feeling of impending doom.

      She knew where the feeling was coming from. Trent had planted this bias in her mind when he’d profiled Kane for the FBI. When he’d testified at Kane’s trial. When he’d helped put Kane in prison.

      Everything always went back to Trent.

      …for better or for worse…

      She shook her head, trying to dislodge the litany of vows scrolling through her mind. She had to make it to the chapel in time. She had to prevent this travesty from taking place.

      Security checks complete, she hurried after Duane. Barred doors slid open in front of them and clanged shut behind. Risa’s heart slammed against her ribs. She wanted to push past Duane and race for the chapel as fast as her feet would carry her. She wanted to grab Dixie and drag her out of this godforsaken place, kicking and screaming if need be.

      She wished she could change the past. She wished Dixie wasn’t the needy, vulnerable girl she was. She wished she had never added Kane to her list of case studies. But wishing wouldn’t help Dixie. Only getting her out of this place, away from Kane would do that.

      …in sickness and in health…

      Finally Duane stopped in front of a plain steel door marked Chapel. “I hope to God you aren’t too late. For your sister’s sake.” He pushed the door open.

      Risa squeezed past him and lunged inside.

      Her sister stood in the corner of the chapel. Her bleached hair fell to her shoulders in platinum ringlets. At least fifty yards of lace and satin and frothy tulle flourished around her like French creme frosting. Her lipsticked mouth rounded. Her penciled brows arched in surprise. “Risa.”

      Risa looked past Dixie and focused on the groom. The man was charming, almost boyish, with an endearing shyness and a down-home smile. Looking at him, one would imagine him to be a kind and gentle man, the perfect husband for a troubled girl like Dixie. But Risa knew differently.

      Dryden Kane was a brutal serial killer.

      She strode up the aisle toward her sister, toward Kane. Her hands hardened into fists by her sides.

      Kane’s ice-blue eyes met hers. A smirk slithered over his thin lips. “Hey, sis. You here to welcome me into the family?”

      A cold finger traveled up her spine.

      “No?” His smirk grew wider. “Why not? Don’t tell me you’re jealous of your little sister. Do you hear that, Dix? She’s jealous of you.”

      Dixie gazed up at him, beaming as if he’d just given her the prize of a lifetime.

      Nausea swirled in Risa’s stomach. She wanted to think all men were redeemable. Curable. But looking into Kane’s emotionless blue eyes, she just couldn’t buy it. No, Trent was right. A man like Kane never changed. He manipulated. He terrorized. He killed. But he never changed.

      And he’d found just the right ploy to manipulate her sister.

      Kane leered down at Dixie as if she were a roasted leg of lamb seasoned just the way he liked. “Face it, sis. Dixie has triumphed where years of psychotherapy failed. Her love has made me a better person. A good person. She’s my soul mate. And you’re too late to change it now. We already said ‘I do.’”

      The breath left Risa’s lungs in a whoosh.

      Kane raised his eyes to meet hers and lowered one eyelid in a profane wink. “Dixie is my wife—until death do us part.”