Agent Bride. Beverly Long
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Pulled out another T-shirt, this one white and long-sleeved, and some gray sweatpants. “We’ve got to get you out of that wet dress,” he said.
What?
She looked down. Saw what she was wearing and felt her heart start to race in her cold body.
How had this happened?
“Are you injured?” he asked.
Huh? He had evidently easily gotten past that she was wearing a wedding gown but she was having trouble moving on.
A wedding gown. She lifted her hand, touched the satin fabric, noting, rather dispassionately, that it was dirty in several places. Her hand started to tremble.
The man reached his own hand out, caught her fingers. “You’re shaking,” he said.
“Cold,” she said. She had been. For sure. But that wasn’t why she was shaking. Her body felt odd. As if she was on edge, just this close to spiraling out of control. At the same time, she felt nauseous, as if maybe she’d drunk too much and gotten too little sleep.
She turned her head to look at him. To try to offer up some sort of explanation.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his cadence quick. “I didn’t see that earlier.” He leaned toward her and, with surprisingly gentle hands, prodded the right side of her head, just above her ear, with the tips of his fingers. She heard him hiss.
“You’ve got a hell of a knot here,” he said. “But just a small slice in the skin. It’s already stopped bleeding.”
She reached up. Their hands connected and she could feel his barely contained energy. His skin was warm. Vibrant.
He pulled his hand away. She continued to press and realized there was something on her head. A veil. Pinned tight into her hair.
She started yanking bobby pins and tossing them onto the floor. One bounced off the dash. She pulled and pulled. When the veil was loose, she ripped it off her head.
The man was staring at her, his hazel eyes assessing.
She reached up, pulled down the visor and stared into the mirror. Terror seized her, making her want to throw up.
Think. You need to think.
But it was as if all coherent thoughts had deserted her.
She started to shake. Badly. Not just her fingers or her hands. Her whole body.
And the man moved suddenly. Using both hands, he pulled the dry T-shirt over her head, stuffed both arms in. Pushed her forward in the seat, so that he could reach around her back. She felt him release the zipper of the dress. Felt him unclasp her bra.
Then he was pulling down her dress, her strapless bra, and lowering the T-shirt at the same time, preserving her modesty. His touch was quick, impersonal, but she felt the intimacy of it. She shook his hands off.
If she didn’t do this, he would.
She pulled the T-shirt down. It came to her thighs. Then she yanked on the wet, heavy wedding dress. When she had it off, she handed it to him. He tossed it into the backseat. She pulled on the sweatpants, cinching the tie strings as tight as she could. When he handed her thick white socks, she put those on, too. She was drowning in his clothes but it felt absolutely wonderful to be warm and dry.
“I’m not sure where the nearest hospital is,” he said, “but I think our safest bet is to head back to the Interstate.”
Hospital? She grabbed his arm. “No.”
He stared at her. “What the hell is going on here?”
She had no idea. All she knew was that she couldn’t go to a hospital. Couldn’t go anywhere.
They would find her.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t trust this man with the truth.
He waited.
“What’s your name?” he asked again.
“Mary. Mary Smith.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t think so.”
She said nothing.
“How about I just call you...” He paused. Then looked forward, into the blowing snow. “Stormy,” he finished. “That’ll do.”
“What’s your name?” she asked quickly, desperately trying to shift his focus.
He seemed to hesitate for just a moment. “Cal. Cal Hollister.” He put the car in gear, pulled back onto the highway and started driving.
“Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer her.
He was taking her to the hospital. She just knew it. She had to get away. She reached for the door latch.
He was faster, stretching his arm across her body, blocking her hand. “Please. I would like to help you. I just came from a diner where there were two cops. I think they may be your best bet.”
The police. Again, she could feel her heart start to race. Why? She searched her mind, her terrifyingly empty mind, and tried to reason it out. Was she in trouble with the police? Was she running from the police?
“I just need a place to stay. To get some sleep,” she said. “Can you just drop me off at a hotel?”
He waved his hand in a semicircle. “We’re sort of in the middle of nowhere.”
She could see that. Everywhere she looked there was snow. And it was getting dark.
“Will you drive me as far as the nearest town?” she asked. “I’ll pay you. I promise. I mean, I don’t have any money with me, but I’ll send it. Just give me your address.”
He stared at her, his eyes showing absolutely nothing. Was he about to kick her out of his car, thinking that she was going to be more trouble than she was worth?
“I won’t be any inconvenience,” she promised.
“There have to be people looking for you, worried about you. At the risk of stating the obvious, I think today might have been a big day for you.”
Had she gotten married today?
She didn’t think so. She’d know that. Deep down she would know. Right?
“I’ll contact people once I get to the hotel,” she said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Handed it to her.
Her arm felt as if it weighed eighty pounds when she reached to take it. Her fingers brushed against his.
Warm skin.
So different.
And a flash of a memory, jagged at the edges, in grays and blacks, like an old movie, jumped into her empty head. Cold hands. Wrapped around her upper arms. Pushing her. Cold, cold hands.
She closed her eyes. Willed it to come. But that was it.
“Please just take me to the nearest hotel.” She put his phone down on the gearshift console. Maybe rest would help.
If it didn’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do.
Under normal conditions, having a beautiful woman beg him to take her to a hotel was not an invitation that he needed to give much consideration to.
Hell, yes.
And if all went well, a half hour after they’d checked in, neither one of them would even remember it was snowing.
But there was nothing normal about this. The woman had