Groom Of Fortune. Peggy Moreland
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surveillance for both them and Rowan. At the first sign of danger, I’ll have Rowan arrested on suspicion of murder. Until then, I need for him to think his secret is safe, in hopes he’ll make a mistake and lead us to the evidence we need to nail him.”
Link dropped down onto the lumpy sofa with a weary sigh, scrubbed his hands over his face, then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs and his fists beneath his chin as he stared at the closed bedroom door.
Isabelle slept in the bed on the other side of the door. Isabelle Fortune. The woman he’d admired, even lusted after from afar, ever since her return to Pueblo less than a year earlier.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape him.
Link Templeton, criminal investigator, lowly employee of the city that the Fortune family all but owned, hiding out in a remote cabin with the Fortune’s only daughter, a woman thirteen years his junior, a woman whose innocence and privileged background was a stark contrast to the streetwise man who’d literally pulled himself from the gutter by his bootstraps.
As he stared at the door, knowing he was crazy for even thinking about her, an image of her as she’d appeared earlier that evening pushed itself, unwanted, into his mind. Standing in the bathroom doorway like a virginal bride on her wedding night. Her cheeks flushed, that thick mane of black hair framing a classically beautiful face and tumbling to hang past her slim shoulders. Breasts quivering beneath the thin silk that enhanced rather than concealed the feminine curves beneath it.
He could imagine himself stroking a hand down the smooth column of her throat, covering a breast, almost feel her flesh swell and arch against his palm, the heat rising from her skin to burn with his. Her head would drift back as he stroked her, her eyes would close, her lips part, and he would capture her mouth with his, sip at her sweetness, grow drunk on her erotic flavor, mate his tongue with hers even as he drew her hips hard against his.
Groaning at the image, he dived his fingers through his hair and held his head between his palms, trying to squeeze the lustful thoughts from his mind. “Crazy,” he muttered under his breath. “Insane. Impossible. Irrational.” Isabelle Fortune was out of his league, out of his realm. And he was out of his mind for even thinking about her. His job was to protect her. Nothing more.
Promising himself that he would remember that, he snatched his cell phone from the sofa beside him and quickly punched in a number.
“Hank,” he said when his partner answered. “It’s Link.”
“Where the hell are you? Isabelle Fortune has disappeared, and the whole town is in an uproar. The chief wants you on the case.”
“Isabelle’s with me. We’re at your cabin in the mountains.”
“Whoa. Back up, buddy, and say that again.”
Link sighed and dragged his palm over the top of his head, mussing his hair even more. “I’ve got Isabelle,” he said again. “She’s with me. I followed her when she left the church. She wrecked her car during the storm, and I picked her up and brought her to your cabin.”
“Damn, Link. Brad Rowan is one angry groom. But his black mood doesn’t come close to touching her old man’s. Hunter Fortune’s got the entire police force out looking for his daughter. He’ll have your ass over a fire for this one, I can guaran-damn-tee it. You better get her back here, and fast.”
“No.”
“No! Man, have you lost your mind? This is the Fortunes you’re dealing with, and you’re not exactly on their top-ten list since you arrested Riley and threw him in jail.”
“I know,” Link said in frustration, “but I can’t bring her back. She knows that Brad killed Mike Dodd.”
“The hell you say! Has she got proof?”
“No. That’s the problem. Just prior to the wedding, she heard two men who alluded to Brad’s involvement in Mike’s murder, but she can’t identify either one of them.”
“So you’re going to keep her under wraps until she can?”
Link’s scowl deepened. “It’s the only way I know to keep her alive.” He glanced at the door, then lowered his voice. “Listen. I need you to get me a list of all the wedding guests. I’m sure the Fortunes have a copy, but keep your reasons for needing it under your hat. I don’t want them to know that Isabelle’s with me, or that she suspects that Brad is the murderer.
“I need you to keep an eye on her parents,” he continued, “as well as Rowan. If he shows any sign that he suspects Isabelle is aware of his guilt, arrest him and hold him on suspicion of murder until I can get there.”
“What about her car? Do you want me to have it towed in? A set of wheels like that? Somebody’s bound to come along and strip it, and make a killing on the parts alone.”
Link dragged a hand over his hair. “No. If you do, someone might suspect that you know something, know where she is. I’d rather her family suffer the financial loss of the car than have them face the emotional loss of their only daughter if Rowan should trace her back here to the cabin.”
“Right.”
“And cover for me, will you? Make up some story about me chasing down a lead in another city. Or, hell, tell ’em I quit. I don’t care. Just don’t let on that you know where I am or who’s with me.”
“My lips are sealed. And, buddy,” Hank added, “watch your back. That Rowan is a cold son of a bitch and madder than a rabid dog. If he finds out you’ve got Isabelle…”
He let the warning drift off, unfinished. But Link didn’t need to hear the warning to know the danger he had placed himself in. “Don’t worry about me,” he told Hank. “Just get me that guest list.”
Isabelle awoke, screaming.
Link was awake and off the sofa and in the bedroom before she could fight her way free of the quilt tangled around her legs. He dropped down on the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms, trying to calm her.
She fought him like a wildcat, clawing at his chest and face with her hands and nails, while deafening him with bloodcurdling screams.
He wrapped his arms around her, successfully pinning her hands and arms between them. “Isabelle. Isabelle!” he shouted to be heard over her screams. “It’s me. Link. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
He repeated the same assurances over and over again until his voice, at last, penetrated the nightmare that seemed to hold her in its clutches. She grew still, though her body continued to tremble like a struck chord against his, her chest heaving against his with each grabbed breath. He drew her closer, his hands growing damp with the perspiration that soaked her gown and skin.
“It was just a dream,” he told her, stroking a hand down her hair. “Just a dream.”
She drew in a shuddery breath, another, then eased from his embrace and tipped her face up to his. In the darkness, her eyes were nothing but shadowed pools, her features indistinguishable. Needing to see her face, to reassure himself that she was all right, he stretched a hand behind him and switched on the bedside lamp. A soft golden glow spilled over the room, and when he turned back to her, he saw the wildness that flared in her eyes, the fear, and knew the nightmare still held her in its grip. “It was a dream,” he told her again, and dragged a knuckle across her cheek, catching a stray tear. “Just a dream.”
She shivered at his touch, her unblinking gaze locked on his. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. “A dream. A nightmare,” she said on a low moan, and shivered again.
He wanted to draw her back into his arms, comfort her, but thought better of it. Instead, he shifted away, preparing to rise, to put some distance between them. “Are you okay now?”
She grabbed his arm before he could stand. “Please,” she begged, her nails biting deep, her grip on him, as well as her