Carla Cassidy - Interrogating The Bride

Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

Title Page Interrogating the Bride Carla Cassidy www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author CARLA CASSIDY is an award-winning author who has written more than fifty novels. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. she’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

CARLA CASSIDYis an award-winning author who has written more than fifty novels. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. she’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

In and out, he told himself. That was his job. Get in, get what he was after, then get out before there were any problems.

Micah Stone stood on the deck of the small ferry that would carry him to the tiny island of Fortuna just off the coast of Louisiana. The island, touted as a playground for the rich, was lit like a gaudy Christmas tree rising up from the sea.

This was the last ferry of the night, carrying wealthy tourists from the Louisiana coast to the island that had been transformed by a smart businessman into a semi-private escape for the wealthy and bored. The ferry would begin running again at eight in the morning, but by then Micah would be long gone.

Despite the warm July night air, a faint mist cooled his face and forearms as he leaned on the deck railing and mentally prepared for the job ahead.

As an ex-Navy SEAL he knew all about mentally preparing for an assignment. He drew a deep breath, centered himself and envisioned success. If all went well, within an hour he’d be in a small Cessna 192 plane on his way back to Kansas City.

His partners Troy and Luke would be happy. The bank would be happy. The only unhappy person in the mix would be Jason Worthington, who had managed to get the plane on credit with the power of his family name, and then neglected to make a single payment. The young man refused to take phone calls from the bank about the payments and ignored the letters sent to him.

Loser, Micah thought. It hadn’t taken much research to learn that Jason Worthington was a trustfund brat with few morals and no direction. The bank that had financed the plane had been patient, not wanting to stir the ire of Jason’s father, Grant Worthington, a mover and shaker in the Kansas City area. But after almost a year of no payments and no excuses from the young man, the bank had hired Recovery Inc., the business run by Micah and two of his best friends and ex-Navy SEAL buddies.

That morning the men of Recovery Inc. had gotten word that three days ago Jason and his personal pilot had flown from Jason’s home in Kansas City to the island of Fortuna for a weeklong visit. The plane now sat on a private runway outside the private residence owned by Jason’s grandfather, but if Micah had anything to do with it, the plane wouldn’t be there for long.

“Looks like Las Vegas,” a female voice said from just behind him. “All the sparkle and glitter out there.”

He turned to see a tall, attractive redhead eyeing him with a predator’s gaze. He fought a sigh of irritation. He’d come up here on deck to be alone, hoping that nobody would notice him, nobody would be able to identify him if things went bad.

“Yeah,” he replied and turned back to face the glittering island, hoping to discourage her from any further conversation.

She sidled up next to him at the railing, engulfing him in the scent of expensive perfume, and placed her hand far too close to his on the railing. A cocktail ring the size of an orange rode one of her fingers. “Staying at one of the hotels?” she asked with a distinctly seductive tone in her voice.

“No,” he replied, not giving her any more information.

“I’m staying at The Fountains,” she replied, obviously not put off by his disinterest. “My name’s Miranda Killory. Just give me a ring if you feel like a party.” She smiled and slid her gaze from the top of his head to his feet. “I’m always ready for a party.”

Thankfully she drifted away when Micah remained silent. It wasn’t the first time an attractive woman had come on to him, but it was definitely one of the most inconvenient.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the ferry approached the dock. He had all that he’d need for the recovery of the plane on his person…. his gun and a flashlight. The rest of what he needed was in his head.

He’d memorized the terrain of the island and had plenty of experience in covert operations. He anticipated no trouble as he knew how to get in and out of a situation like a shadow in the night.

Once the ferry had docked, Micah slipped off and disappeared into the thick brush that hugged the bank. According to the maps of the area he’d studied, the Worthington estate was less than three miles away, an easy jaunt for a man in his physical prime.

He took off at a fast pace, the air filled with the noise of the nearby resort and the tangy scent of the sea. Music poured from open doors and the sounds of people rode the faint light breeze.

Micah stayed near the shoreline and moved with the stealth of an animal, creeping forward to where his sources told him the private runway existed at the back of the Worthington estate.

It never failed to amaze him how many wealthy people didn’t pay their bills. Recovery Inc. didn’t go after the little fellows who got strapped for cash and didn’t make a couple of car payments. They were in the big league, repossessing boats and planes and occasionally people who found themselves in trouble.

He shoved all thought of the business aside as he approached the Worthington estate. Despite the fact that it was after midnight, lights shone from the windows of the two-story mansion.

Micah skirted the house and headed for the back where he hoped his sources were right and the Cessna would be sitting on the runway. He didn’t expect a guard, but if there was one, Micah knew a dozen ways to incapacitate a man without killing him.

As the runway came into view, a sliver of moonlight danced on the wings of the small plane. Bingo, Micah thought with a sigh of satisfaction.

He crouched down in a stand of brush to one side of the runway and waited. He remained there for just a few minutes to make sure there were no guards, no patrols of any kind for him to encounter.

He never went into an assignment without planning for every contingency. If things went badly he knew not to expect help from any law enforcement agency. At best, the relationship between the men of Recovery Inc. and the local police force was one of strained tolerance. He had a feeling the authorities on Fortuna wouldn’t look kindly on him either.