Bridal Reconnaissance (23 page)

Why?

Careful not to smear the handprint, he threw open the lid. Lying inside was the River City D.A., blood pooling around him from a wound in his chest. Evan checked the pulse in the man’s neck. Faint. But life.
Weering hadn’t taken the time to torture him like he’d tortured his other victims. Maybe because he feared the guards discovering him. Or maybe because he intended to use his time for torturing someone else.

Sullivan had a chance. If Evan got him help right away. But first he had to help Amanda. If he wasn’t too late.

Somehow Weering had gotten into the D.A.’s trunk and through the gate. And inside the house.

Evan didn’t hesitate, he ran for the front door, slamming hard into the solid wood when the lock held. Hands shaking with adrenaline and fear, he punched in the code and threw open the door.

“Amanda!”

A scream testified she was still alive. But the sheer terror in her voice shook him to his soul. Feet pounding on the slate floor, he rushed down the hall and rounded the bottom of the steps.

At the top of the metal staircase, Amanda wrestled with a killer. Her kicks were trapped beneath the heavy skirt of a wedding gown, and blood trickled from her neck down over the bodice, staining it red. Her hands clutched at the killer’s fists, keeping the blade of the knife from slicing her throat any deeper.

“Let her go, Weering!” Evan shouted as he charged up the stairs, the metal rattling beneath the hammering of his footfalls.

“Stay back, Quade. She’s not yours. She forgot you. She’s mine now. My bride.”

“No!” The denial tore from Amanda’s lips, and following some old moves Evan had taught her, she rammed her elbow into her captor’s stomach.

While Weering let out a surprised grunt of pain,
Evan moved in, clamping his fingers over the hand at Amanda’s throat. He pried it loose enough that she squeezed free, the knife blade glancing off, scratching her porcelain skin.

She stumbled, tripped over the skirt of the wedding gown and fell down on her knees.

“Go, Amanda, get up! Get help!” Evan shouted at her, longing to reach out and lift her up, but now he wrestled with the killer.

Weering regained his strength, twisting the knife and pointing it toward Evan’s chest. If Weering had killed Amanda, he wouldn’t have needed the weapon to pierce Evan’s heart. Her death would have destroyed him.

And now, locked in mortal combat with the madman, he knew he had to win. If he didn’t, Weering would finish the sick game he had begun with Amanda. He would torture then kill her. Evan had failed to protect her six years ago. He couldn’t fail her now.

Weering’s sighted eye gleamed with madness and frustration. “You messed up everything! You’ve destroyed Amanda’s destiny, and she’s mine.”

No, she was Evan’s. But he wasn’t about to argue. Instead he focused on overpowering the killer, seeking inner calm while he calculated how to disarm Weering.

From beside him, Amanda moved toward the stairs. “I’ll get help. I’ll get help.”

Tripping and stumbling, she half ran, half slid down the metal steps. “Evan…”

He wanted to shout out to her. Wanted to proclaim his love. But he couldn’t spare a minute of attention
from the battle. The knife blade gleamed with blood, probably some of Sullivan’s and some of Amanda’s.

Weering had hurt her again, had tormented and terrified her. And this time she would remember every minute of it.

Keeping his grip steady on Weering’s hand that held the knife, Evan lunged forward, slamming him back against the steel railing of the second-floor landing.

“No!” Weering cried out, tears gleaming in his pale eye. “You can’t ruin it! I have to have her!”

The tip of the knife pierced the leather jacket Evan wore, tearing the material right over his heart. Insanity gave Weering superhuman strength.

But Evan knew what would beat insanity. His love for Amanda. It was far more powerful, and as he’d discovered, he had no control over it. So he let his control go.

A
MANDA BURST THROUGH
the door ahead of the deputy. Her screams had called him from the gate, but she hadn’t waited for him. She’d run back into the house, desperate to help her husband deal with the killer she’d brought into his home and into his life.

At the top of the landing the two grappled, the knife blade flashing in the sun pouring through the skylights and the two-story windows. She wanted to call out, but she’d done that once and nearly fatally distracted Evan.

Her love for him burned in her heart, the declaration in her throat. But she couldn’t utter it. Behind her she heard footsteps on the asphalt as the deputy neared the open door. He’d have a gun. He’d help
Evan while she was helpless to do anything but watch.

And as she looked on, the battle grew fiercer. Grunts emanated from each man as they struggled. Then the blade flashed and blows landed. And over the steel railing, a body tumbled down to the ungiving surface of the slate floor.

Just a few feet from where she stood lay William Weering III. And as his last breath sighed out of him, his blind eye closed in a wink.

She shuddered, wishing for the comfort of Evan’s arms. Tearing her gaze from the horror of Weering’s dead body, she glanced up to where Evan leaned over the railing. His jacket was torn, blood smeared over it and his face and hands.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, heading up the stairs as the deputy ran in behind her.

The deputy knelt beside Weering’s body, checking for a pulse. “He’s dead, Mr. Quade.”

Evan emitted a ragged sigh. “I know. There’s also another man down—the D.A. He’s in the trunk of his car.”

“I called it in. I’ll go see if I can help him…”

Amanda turned back to Evan as the deputy rushed off again. “Mr. Sullivan’s still alive?”

“Maybe. He’s hurt bad.”

She reached the top of the stairs, but more than a few feet of landing separated them. There was betrayal. She’d lied to him. She’d tried to leave again. She hadn’t trusted him to stop Weering. She could feel Evan’s pain and she wanted to soothe it. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Not much.”

Blood oozed from his palms and from a scratch on his clenched jaw, betraying the lightness of his statement.

He held out one of those scraped hands, sliding it along her neck. “You’re hurt, Amanda. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time. I’m sorry he got to you. I promised you he wouldn’t—”

She pressed her fingers against his lips. “You kept your promises, Evan. I’m the one who lied, who tried to leave. Again.”

And just like last time, she’d been wrong to even consider it.

His dark eyes burned with concern and regret, and she sensed a wall between them. If he didn’t feel betrayal, what did he feel? Love?

He had loved her six years ago. She’d known it even as she’d left him. But her parents had nurtured twenty-four years of insecurity and cynicism. She’d been taught that marriages don’t last. The first warning sign of the end had been forecast as a request for children.

So when Evan had wanted to start a family, she’d panicked, hearing the repeat of all those warnings crashing over her. And as her parents had taught her, she ran whenever anything got complicated.

Gave up.

But while at her mother’s house, she’d discovered she was pregnant. And she had realized she’d had something worth fighting for—Evan’s love and Evan’s child.

But did she
still
have his love?

“You need to have that looked at.” He slid his
thumb below the shallow cut, smoothing over her skin.

In the distance sirens wailed, announcing the approach of ambulances and other police officers.

“I’m fine.” Or she would be…if she could regain his trust and his love.

A
MANDA RELIVED THAT
moment, bursting back inside the house while two men tussled at the top of the stairs. But this time, when the body bounced off the slate floor near her feet, it was Evan’s. It was Evan’s dark eyes that stared vacantly at her.

She shot upright in bed, a scream tearing from her throat. Then she reached for him, trying to assure herself that it was all a bad dream. But her fingers slid across the silk sheets. He wasn’t there.

She was alone.

The bedroom door creaked open, and she turned expectantly, hoping he was back.

“Hi,” Lindsey Warner-Matthews said, her dark eyes full of concern. “I heard you scream. Are you all right?”

Amanda sighed and flopped back against the pillows. “He has you baby-sitting me.”

And he’d had the paramedics treat her, had had a doctor prescribe a sedative to relax her. He was treating her as if she were fragile, breakable.

A victim again.

Lindsey laughed. “Technically I’m baby-sitting Christopher. Sarah brought him back to you, remember?”

She’d had a moment’s panic when she’d needed to see her son, to close her arms around his small wiggly
body and feel his warmth and love. “Yes. I’m so glad she did.”

The paramedics had treated her, treated Mr. Sullivan and removed Weering’s body, and all the while the madman’s words had haunted her.
Anyone could be bought.

“I kept thinking about what Weering said, what he’d done. And even though Weering was dead, I just needed Christopher here with me, to know he was safe.”

“And you couldn’t trust anyone else with him.”

Amanda considered her words. “That’s not it.” At least, she didn’t
think
it was…

Lindsey sighed. “I can’t blame you for being protective. You’ve been through hell.”

Amanda stiffened, her chin lifting with pride. “Don’t pity me.”

Lindsey smiled. “I won’t unless you let the best thing that’s ever happened to you slip away because you’re scared to trust.”

“Evan. My marriage.”

“You remember?”

“All of it,” she confirmed. “I was so scared back then. It’s ironic really. I always thought I lost my courage after the attack. Instead—”

“You’d gotten some with the attack.”

“No, before. When I’d decided to return to Evan, to bury my pride and apologize for acting like a fool and fight for our marriage. We would have made it. I’m sure of it. He loved me then.”

“He loves you now.”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve hurt him too much.
I killed whatever he felt for me. He holds himself back. He’s closed himself off.”

“Because he thinks he’s saving you—”

“He did!”

Lindsey shook her head. “Not from Weering. He thinks he’s saving you from himself.”

Confusion swam in her head with the aftereffects of the sedative, and she fought to clear her mind. “What? Because of what his biological father was? That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I think so. But there’re plenty of people who believe genetics figure strongly into who we are and how we act. Evan’s one of those scientific-minded people.”

“I don’t care what’s in his DNA. I care about what’s in his heart.” And if she could believe that included love for her, she’d fight again for their marriage.

“Ask him.”

“He’s still gone?” He’d left when the paramedics were treating her, his dark gaze tender on her face before he’d caught himself and turned away.

Lindsey nodded.

“Tell me where to find him.” She flung back the covers, uncaring that she wore only her underwear in front of her sister-in-law. She was a woman with a mission.

“Maybe the office. Maybe the police station. I don’t know where they all went to powwow.” Her dark eyes burned with resentment. “But they damn well better fill me in. I need tomorrow’s headlines. It’ll look pretty pathetic if the local paper doesn’t get the biggest story…”

Lindsey blushed as she trailed off. “Sorry…”

“Where’s his office?” She had the van here; all she needed was to know where to go to find her husband.

Lindsey relayed directions with a native’s vagueness. But Amanda figured she could stop somewhere and get more information if she got lost.

“And,” her sister-in-law added, “it probably is a good idea to go as you are. Might make it harder for him to think scientifically.”

Amanda glanced down at her coral bra and panties. A giggle slipped through her lips. “Um…I can always use that idea later. I probably should get dressed first.”

E
VAN’S OFFICE WASN’T
close enough. A little over a half hour later, she rode the elevator to the top floor. She’d driven fast, but thirty minutes was too long to wait to see him again. To plead for their marriage.

William Weering III had been right when he had claimed that she would beg for her life. But Evan would be the one to whom she’d beg.

When the doors slid open, she strode off, determination in her quick step. But she faltered outside his office door. What if he wasn’t there? Should she leave a note? Where should she look next?

Inside the office someone moved about. Papers rustled. Fingers tapped on computer keys.

Amanda gathered up her flagging courage and walked inside. “Hello?”

Cynthia Moore, the secretary, lifted her brassy blond head. Her dark eyes, swollen and red, burned with resentment. “He’s not here.”

She had an open box atop her desk and she filled it with a mug and some picture frames. Her fingers closed around her brass nameplate.

“You’re leaving?” Amanda asked, not certain why she cared. She had known at their first brief meeting that this woman was in love with her husband. But then maybe that was why she pitied her now.

Cynthia nodded. “I can’t keep working here.”

“Because of me?”

“No, you were never a threat.”

“What?” Pride replaced the pity. “I’m his wife.”

“Not for long.” The younger woman laughed at what must have been a confused look on Amanda’s face. “Didn’t you wonder why he found you now? Why he looked so hard?”

She had. “That’s not your business.”

“But I know. I know everything about you, Mrs. Quade. But you won’t be
Mrs. Quade
much longer.”

The woman’s fingers, with long talonlike nails, reached for a folder, shoving it toward Amanda. “Here. This is why he wanted to find you.”

Although she knew she shouldn’t, that it would bring her nothing but pain, Amanda reached for the folder, noting the letterhead of a legal firm.