Agent Bride (17 page)

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.

You crave excitement!
Harlequin Intrigue
stories deal in serious romantic suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.

Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!

Connect with us on
Harlequin.com
for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

Other ways to keep in touch:

Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com

Lucky Shot

by B.J. Daniels

M
AX
MADE
A
few calls to see what kind of interest there was in the photos of Senator Buckmaster Hamilton with his first wife, the back-from-the-dead Sarah Johnson Hamilton. There was always skepticism with something this big. But not one of the people he called told him to get lost.

“Where can you be reached?” they each asked in turn. “I’ll have to get back to you... Is there any chance of getting an exclusive if these photographs...?” The questions came.

Not one to count his chickens before they hatched, Max still couldn’t help feeling as if the money was already in his pocket. He could already taste the huge steak he planned to have as soon as he got Kat Hamilton to verify that the photos he’d taken were of her long-lost mother.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for the calls to start coming in and the bidding to begin. All he had to do was wait around until four for Kat.

He’d parked his pickup down the street, so he could watch the art gallery and see who came and went. A little after four, he spotted Kat Hamilton. She looked just as she had in her photo on her website. He watched her climb out of a newer model SUV, pull a large folder from the back and head across the street toward the gallery.

As he got out of his pickup, he admitted that he was flying by the seat of his pants. He wasn’t sure how he was going to play this. He just hoped that the Max Malone charm didn’t let him down. Passing a shop window, he caught his reflection and stopped to brush back his too-long hair. He really needed a haircut, and a shave wouldn’t hurt either, he thought as he rubbed a palm along his bristled jaw.

Well, too late for any of that. He straightened his shirt, sniffed to make sure he didn’t reek—after all, he’d spent the night sleeping under the stars in the back of his truck. He smelled like the great outdoors, and from what he could tell, Kat Hamilton might appreciate that. Most of her photographs he’d seen were taken in the great outdoors.

Still, he knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Kat Hamilton wasn’t just a rich, probably spoiled artist. She was a rich, probably spoiled artist whose daddy was running for president and whose birth mother was possibly unstable. He had no idea what it was going to take to get what he wanted from the unapproachable Kat Hamilton.

When he pushed into the gallery, the bell over the door chimed softly and both women turned in his direction. The gallery owner looked happy to see him. Kat? Not so much. He saw her take in his attire from his Western shirt to his worn jeans and boots. He’d left his straw cowboy hat in the truck, but his camera bag was slung over one shoulder.

“This is the man I was just telling you about,” the shop owner said.

Kat’s gray eyes seemed to bore into him as he sauntered toward her. Mistrust and something colder made her gaze appear hard as granite. She was dressed in an oversize sweater and loose jeans, that approach-at-your-own-risk look welded on her face.

“Max Malone,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m a huge fan of your work, but I’m sure you hear that all the time.”

Her handshake was firm enough. Her steely gaze never warmed, just as it never left his. “Thank you.” Her voice had an edge to it, a warning.
Tread carefully
.

“I was especially taken with your rain photo,” he said, moving in that direction, hoping she would take the hint and follow.

“You should show him your latest ones you brought in today,” the gallery owner said.

Kat didn’t jump at that.

“Would you mind if I took a photo of this? I want to show it to my wife. This would be perfect for her office.”

“That would be fine,” Kat said, clearly not invested in his company. He was reminded that she came from a wealthy family. She didn’t need to make money from her photographs.

He snapped the shot of her rain photo and then walked back to where he’d left her standing. Every line of her body language said she’d had enough of him. He felt as if he was chipping away at solid ice. Charm wasn’t going to get what he wanted. He hoped he wouldn’t be forced to buy one of her photographs. The prices were a little steep, and he doubted cash would warm her up.

He was tempted, though, to buy the one she’d taken of the pouring rain. There was something about the shot... “I hate to even show you the photo I took,” he said, stopping next to her to show her a scenery shot he’d taken on his camera while he’d been waiting for her to show up at the gallery.

She gave the photo a cursory glance and started to turn away when he flipped to the one he believed to be of her mother.

Kat Hamilton froze. Her gaze leaped from the camera to him. She took a step back, her gray eyes sparking with anger.

“I’m sorry,” he said innocently, even though he felt a surge of pleasure to see some emotion in her face. “Is something wrong?”

“Who are you?” she demanded. “You’re one of those reporters who have been camped outside the ranch like vultures for weeks.”

That pretty well covered it, while at the same time confirming what he already knew. The photo was of Sarah Hamilton.

“I guess I don’t have to ask you if the woman in the photo is your mother,” he said as he put his camera away.

“Do you want me to call the police?” the shop owner asked as she stood wringing her hands.

“No, this man is leaving,” Kat said, glaring poison darts at him. She looked shaken. Clearly, he’d caught her flat-footed with the photo.

“For what it’s worth, I really do like your photos.” With that he left. She hurled insults after him. Not that he didn’t deserve them.

He was just doing his job. He doubted Kat Hamilton had ever had a real job. But even though he could and would defend his to the death, he was always sorry when innocent people got hurt.

It was debatable how innocent Sarah Hamilton was at this point, though. Unfortunately, her daughters would pay the price for her notoriety.

* * *

M
AX
HAD
PLANNED
to drive back to Big Timber. But as he crossed Main Street, he realized that he was starving. His productiveness had left him ready to call it a day. Stopping at a hotel with a restaurant on the lower level, he decided he’d stay in Bozeman for the night. He was about to leave his camera bag and laptop in his pickup, but changed his mind.

He knew he was being paranoid, but just the thought of someone breaking into his pickup, and stealing them and the photos on them, made him take the equipment with him. Earlier at Big Timber Java, he’d put the photos on a thumb drive and stuck it in his pocket. Still, he didn’t want to take any chances.

He’d just sat down in the restaurant after getting a room, when the calls began coming in. He let them go to voice mail. He’d go through them in his room later. If he seemed too anxious it would make him look as if he didn’t have the goods. He’d just ordered the restaurant’s largest T-bone steak with the trimmings when he saw a pretty brunette sitting alone at a table perusing a menu.

She looked around as if a little lost. They made eye contact. She smiled, then put down her menu and got up to walk over to him. “I know this is going to sound forward...” She bit her lower lip as if screwing up her courage. “I hate eating alone and I’ve had this amazing day.” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’d prefer—”

“Have a seat. I’ve had a pretty amazing day myself.”

All her nervousness seemed to evaporate. “Thank you. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m not sure what came over me,” she said as she took a seat across from him. “It’s just that I noticed you were alone and I’m alone...”

The woman looked to be a few years younger than his thirty-five years. After the day he’d had, he was glad to have company to celebrate with him.

“Max Malone,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Tammy Jones.” Seeing what was going on, the waitress set up cutlery at the table and took her order.

Tammy explained that she was a retail buyer for a local department store. She was in town visiting from Seattle. “I’m only in town tonight. I normally don’t invite myself to a stranger’s table. But I’m tired of eating alone and today I got a great raise. I feel as if I just won the lottery.”

He told her he was on vacation and just passing through town. He’d found when he told anyone that he was a reporter, it made them clam up, too nervous that they might end up in one of his articles.

“I saw your camera bag. So what all do you shoot?” she asked, leaning toward him with interest.

“Mostly scenic photos,” he said. “It’s just a hobby.” He didn’t want to talk about his job. Not tonight. He didn’t want to jinx it.

Their meals came, and they talked about movies, books, food they loved and hated. It was pleasant, so he didn’t mind having an after-dinner drink with her at the bar. She had a sweet, innocent face, which was strange because she reminded him a little of Kat Hamilton, sans the gray eyes. He kept thinking of those fog-veiled eyes. Kat was a woman who kept secrets bottled up, he thought.

“Am I losing you?” Tammy Jones asked, touching his hand.

“No.” He gave her his best smile.

“You seemed a million miles away for a minute there.”

“Nope.” Just at the gallery across the street where he’d seen a light on in the back. Was Kat Hamilton still over there? She’d brought in new photos, if that large flat portfolio she’d been carrying was any indication. He wished now that he’d asked to see them before he’d gotten thrown out.

“I know it’s awful, but I’m not ready to call it a night.” She met his gaze with a shy one. “A drink in my room?”

How could he say no? They took the stairs to her room on the second floor.

What could one more drink hurt? With a feeling of euphoria as warm as summer sunshine, he reminded himself of the photos he would be selling tomorrow.

When he woke the next morning, he was lying in the alley behind the hotel. While he still had his wallet, his camera and laptop were gone.

* * *

A
S
HE
STUMBLED
through the stupor of whatever he’d been drugged with, Max tried to figure out who’d set him up. He knew why he’d been so stupid as to fall for it. He’d wanted someone to celebrate with last night. As much as he loved his job, he got lonely.

Now, though, he just wanted his camera and laptop and the photos on them back. Maybe Tammy Jones—if that had even been her real name—had just planned to pawn them for money. But he suspected that wasn’t the case once he checked his wallet and found he had almost a hundred in cash that she hadn’t bothered with.

His head cleared a little more after a large coffee at a drive-through. He put in a call to the department store where Tammy Jones said she worked as a buyer, hoping he was wrong. He was told no one by that name worked for the company, not in Bozeman, not in Seattle.

He groaned as he disconnected. Whoever the woman had been last night, she had only one agenda. She was after the photos.

But how did she even know about them? He’d made a lot of calls yesterday and quite a few people were aware that he had the shots. All the people he’d called, though, he’d worked with before and trusted them. That left... No way was that woman from the restaurant hired by the senator to steal the photos. If the future president had known about the photos he would have tried to buy them if not strong-arm him, Max was sure.

That left Kat Hamilton.

He drove back downtown. It was early enough that the gallery wasn’t open yet, but the light was still on in the back. He parked on Main Street and walked down the alley. The rear entrance in the deserted alley had an old door and an even older lock. One little slip of his credit card, and he was inside, thankful for his misspent youth.

The first thing he saw was a sleeping bag in one corner of the back area with a battery-operated lamp next to it and a book lying facedown on the floor. The woman clearly didn’t appreciate the spines of books.

He found Kat wearing a pair of oversize jeans and a different baggy sweater. Clearly, this must be the attire she preferred. But he thought about bottled up secrets. Was she hiding under all those clothes? She stood next to a counter in the framing room of the gallery, her back to him, lost in her work. “I want my camera and laptop back.”

At the sound of his voice, she spun around, gray eyes wide as if startled but not necessarily surprised. If he’d had any doubt who’d set him up, he didn’t any longer. She’d known she’d be seeing him again.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked haughtily.

He enunciated each word as he stepped toward her. “The woman you hired to steal my camera and laptop? Tell her I want them back along with the photos of your mother and—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He laughed. “Did anyone ever mention that you’re a terrible liar?”

She bristled and looked offended. “I don’t lie. Nor do I like being accused of something I didn’t do.”

“Save it,” he said before she could deny it again. “I show you a photograph of your mother, and hours later my camera and laptop are stolen and you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

Kat shrugged. “Maybe you should be more careful about who you hang out with.” She turned her back to him as she resumed what she’d been doing. Or at least pretended to.

“Look. Someone is going to get a photo of your mother sooner or later. Why go to so much trouble?”

She turned to face him. “Exactly. If not you, then someone else will get her photo. Do you think I really care that you took a photo of my mother with plans to sell it to some sleazy rag? I didn’t and I still don’t. I’ve lived in a fishbowl my whole life. I’ve had people like you in my face with cameras since my father first ran for office. It comes with the territory. My mother is just another casualty.”

He took off his hat and scratched the back of his neck as he considered whether or not she was lying. He’d been bluffing earlier. “I’m not buying it. I saw your expression when you recognized your mother in the photograph.”

She sighed. “Think what you like.”

“Let’s talk about another woman, the one you set me up with last night.”