Missing: One Bride. Alice Sharpe
wasn’t wearing a watch, so she wasn’t sure exactly how late the ceremony was, just that the “moment” had come and gone. She glanced in the direction of the minister, who was standing by the groom’s family. He was studying his watch, then darting quick looks toward the French doors leading from the house. He didn’t cast the bride’s family any loaded looks for the simple reason that the bride didn’t have much family and what she did have wasn’t there.
Alex’s gaze darted ahead of the minister and rested on the groom, Thorn Powell. He seemed upset, a condition that didn’t detract in any way from his startling good looks. In his tuxedo, with a vibrant yellow rosebud pinned to the lapel, his gray eyes stark against his tanned skin, his shoulders broad, his stomach flat, he appeared to be exactly what he was: a rancher in his early thirties, wealthy, smart, industrious—and about to marry the wrong woman.
No, no, no, Alex cautioned her runaway thoughts.
But they came again. Natalie and Thorn were wrong for each other. Alex knew it; she suspected Natalie knew it but didn’t care, and now she wondered if maybe Thorn wasn’t beginning to realize it, as well.
As if her thoughts had touched his mind, he turned just then, caught her eye and began walking toward her. Alex felt her heartbeat accelerate as his long stride brought him closer and closer. This was his land, his yard, and he crossed it with a self-assured gait and an intensity of suppressed irritation that wafted ahead of him like an invisible calling card.
“Alexandra,” he said. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where Natalie is?”
Alex shook her head, faintly aware of the tendrils of black hair that had escaped the French twist and now brushed her bare shoulders. “I haven’t the foggiest,” she said. “But you know Natalie.”
“She didn’t say anything to you?” he persisted.
“Not a word. Does this mean she hasn’t called here, either?”
He nodded, then once again scanned the yard as though he suspected Natalie might be lurking behind a tree or a fountain. “When did you talk to her?” he asked.
“At the shop last night, right before closing.” She didn’t add what they had talked about: money. The fact that Thorn had it and Natalie wanted it. It had been mentioned so often, Alex had been moved to ask if there weren’t other more compelling reasons to marry Thorn Powell—other attributes he might possess that made him the only man for Natalie Dupree.
“Sure,” Natalie had said. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, too.” A throaty laugh had been followed by the words, “And did I mention he’s loaded?”
Thorn mindlessly punched fist against palm and said, “The limousine driver swears she was dressed in a wedding gown when she answered the door but that she told him to go on back to the agency, that she’d drive herself, that she had a phone call to make. I asked him if she seemed upset and he said she didn’t, that on the contrary, she’d seemed to be quite excited—so excited, in fact, that she gave him a huge tip.”
Thinking of the way Natalie refused to tip the kid who delivered sandwiches from the deli down the street from the florist shop, Alex said, “That’s odd.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I imagine you called her apartment?”
“Of course.” He glanced at his watch, surveyed the yard, then turned that penetrating gaze on Alex. “I’ve called everyone I can think of. Now I’m going over to her place.”
“What about all this?” Alex asked, a sweeping gesture including the guests, the towering cake, the musicians, the minister.
“To hell with all this,” he said. “Anyway, it’s about to be announced that the wedding is off, at least for today, and I don’t particularly want to be around.”
“Neither do I,” Alex said heartily.
“Do you want to come with me? If she’s there and she’s healthy, she’s going to need a bodyguard.”
A smile crossed Alex’s lips. She couldn’t imagine this man actually hurting any woman, let alone Natalie, so technically, Alex was hardly needed. So why was her heart beating faster and why did her stomach feel all fluttery just at the mere thought of being alone with him? You’re crazy, she told herself. To him, she said, “Okay.”
She followed him out the back gate to a late-model luxury convertible replete with two long strings of cans tied to the rear bumper and a sign reading Just Married. The sides of the car were decorated with something white and gooey.
Although Thorn had been coming into the shop for the better part of two months to fetch Natalie for their various dates, the conversation Alex and he had just held was the longest they’d ever engaged in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t friendly and exceedingly polite; Natalie was simply always ready to leave. In fact, the store joke was how many seconds it would take Natalie to whisk Thorn out the door. So far, the record was thirty.
Thorn tore the sign and the cans from the bumper and dumped them in the back seat, where they landed with a rattle and a clank. Alex tossed her umbrella on top of the cans, then, with some difficulty, managed to stuff the bulk of her dress into the front seat and close the door.
As he started the engine, she slid a sideways glance at Thorn’s profile, at the straight nose, the intent mouth, the assertive thrust of his chin. Every line and crease shouted impatience. She looked away as he backed the car down the long drive and pulled onto the road. As distracted as he was, he was also a good driver, and the trip from his place to Natalie’s apartment building took only fifteen minutes.
The complex was in a nice area of the small city of Cottage Grove, nestled next to a park, which currently held several children involved in a game of softball. As Alex unfolded herself from the front seat and spilled onto the pavement like a wilted rose, she sensed the children staring. With Thorn in a tux and her in a gown, they must look like the misplaced top off a wedding cake. This thought was followed by an inward smile she didn’t stop to dissect.
“Her car isn’t here,” Thorn said.
Alex looked across the sea of automobiles. “How do you know?”
“They have assigned parking spots. I just parked in her space. Come on. Her apartment is on the second floor.”
Thorn stood aside for Alex to mount the stairs ahead of him; she lifted her skirt in her hands and began making her way, with him close behind her.
The landing was made of the same concrete as the stairs, a no-nonsense iron railing added to keep tenants from taking a nosedive to the parking lot. Alex’s heels clicked along the walk as she passed the windows of different apartments, some decorated with potted plants, one with a cat sitting on the sill, catching the afternoon sun.
“Hey, you passed her door,” Thorn said, gripping Alex’s elbow and halting her progress. “It’s this one—3B. Haven’t you ever been here before?”
“No,” she said.
He regarded her with a startled look, which he shook off with effort as he reached past her and rapped on the metal door. They waited expectantly for several seconds, then he knocked again, this time so hard, the curtains in the next apartment parted and an elderly woman peeked out. Alex smiled reassuringly at the woman who snapped the curtain shut without changing her expression.
“Friendly place,” Alex murmured as she watched Thorn take his keys from his pocket. He found the one he was looking for and inserted it into the lock. The door opened easily, soundlessly.
“Nat?” he called into the dark room.
No answer. He propelled Alex inside and closed the door behind him; they were instantly swallowed by darkness. She stepped backward and ran into him. He clutched both her arms and steadied her, then dropped his hands and patted the wall, looking for the light switch. The room was suddenly flooded with light.
Alex ran her hand up