Barbara Dunlop - His Stolen Bride

“Trent has a problem,” said Colin, sitting down himself.

What Trent’s problem could possibly have to do with Jackson was the first question that came to mind. But he didn’t ask—instead, he waited.

Trent filled the silence. “It’s my daughter. I’ve only been inside for three years. A misunderstanding, really, I—”

“Save it,” said Jackson.

Seventeen years ago, he’d listened to Colin protest endlessly about how he’d been framed, then railroaded, then misunderstood. Jackson wasn’t here to listen to the lies of a stranger.

“Yes, well...” Trent glanced away.

Jackson looked at his watch.

“She’s fallen victim,” said Trent. He fished into the pocket of his blue cotton shirt. “It’s the Gerhard family. I don’t know if you’ve heard of them.”

Jackson gave a curt nod.

Trent put a photograph on the table in front of Jackson. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Jackson’s gaze flicked down.

The woman in the picture was indeed beautiful, likely in her midtwenties, with rich auburn hair, a bright, open smile, shining green eyes. But her looks were a moot point.

“She’s getting married,” said Trent. “To Vern Gerhard. They hide it well. But that family’s known to a lot of the guys in here. Vern is a con artist and a crook. So is his father, and his father before that.”

The woman obviously had questionable taste in men. Jackson found that less than noteworthy. In his line of work, he’d come across plenty of women who’d married the wrong guy, even more whose husbands didn’t meet with the approval of their fathers. Again, this had nothing to do with him.

He looked back to Colin. “What is it you want from me?”

“We want you to stop the wedding,” said Colin.

It took a second for the words to compute inside Jackson’s head. “Why would I do anything like that?”

“He’s after her money,” said Trent.

“She’s a grown woman.” Jackson’s glance strayed to the photo again.

She looked to be twenty-six or twenty-seven. He doubted she was thirty. With a face like that and any kind of money in the mix, she had to know she was going to attract a few losers. If she didn’t recognize them herself, there wasn’t anything Jackson could do about it.

Colin spoke up again. “She can’t possibly know she’s being conned. The girl places a huge value on honesty and integrity, has done her entire life. If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”

“So tell her.”

“She won’t speak to me,” said Trent. “She sure won’t listen to me. She doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me.”

“I’m sure you can relate to that particular viewpoint,” said Colin, an edge to his voice.

“That’s what you want to say to me?” Jackson rose to his feet. No way, no how was he buying into a guilt trip from his old man.

“Sit down,” said Colin.

“Please,” said Trent. “Year ago, I put something in her name, shares in a diamond mine.”

“Lucky for her.”

The woman might well be picking the wrong husband, but at least she’d have a comfortable lifestyle.

“She doesn’t know about it,” said Trent.

For the first time since he’d walked in, Jackson’s curiosity was piqued. “She doesn’t know she owns a diamond mine?”

Both men shook their heads.

Jackson looked at the picture again, picking it up from the table. She didn’t appear naive. In fact, if he had to guess, he’d say she looked intelligent. But she was drop-dead gorgeous. In his eight years as a private detective, he’d discovered features like that made women targets.

“Hear us out,” said Colin. “Please, son.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay. Fine. Whatever you want.” Colin was nodding again.

“You hear things in here. And the Gerhards are dangerous,” said Trent.

“More dangerous than you two felons?” Jackson didn’t like that he’d become intrigued by the circumstances, but he had.

“Yes,” said Trent.

Jackson hesitated for a beat, but then he sat back down. Another ten minutes wouldn’t kill him.

“They found out about the mine,” said Trent, his tone earnest.

“You know this for sure?” asked Jackson.

“I do.”

“How?”

“A friend of a friend. The Borezone Mine made a promising new discovery a year ago. Only days later, Vern Gerhard made contact with my daughter. Final assaying is about to be announced, and the value will go through the roof.”

“Is it publicly traded?” asked Jackson.

“Privately held.”

“Then how did Gerhard know about the discovery?”

“Friends, industry contacts, rumors. It’s not that hard if you know where to ask.”

“It could be a coincidence.”

“It’s not.” There was cold anger in Trent’s voice. “The Gerhards are bottom-feeders. They heard about the discovery. They targeted her. And as soon as the ink is dry on the marriage certificate, they’ll rob her blind and dump her like last week’s trash.”

Jackson traced his index finger around the woman’s face. “You have proof of that? You have evidence that he’s not in love with her?”

With that fresh-faced smile and those intelligent eyes, Jackson could imagine any number of men could simply fall in love, money or no money.

“That’s what we need you for,” said Colin.

“Expose their con,” said Trent. “Look into their secret, slimy business dealings and tell my Crista what you find. Convince her she’s being played and stop that wedding.”

Crista. Her name was Crista. It suited her.

Despite himself, Jackson was beginning to think his way through the problem, calculate the time he’d need for a cursory look into the Gerhard family’s business. At the moment, things weren’t too busy in the Chicago office of Rush Investigations. He’d planned to use the lull to visit the Boston office and discuss a possible expansion. But if push came to shove, he could make some time for this.

She was pretty. He’d give her that. Nobody in the Boston office was anywhere near this pretty.

“Will you do it?” asked Colin.

“I’ll scratch the surface,” said Jackson, pocketing the photo.

Trent opened his mouth, looking like he might protest Jackson taking the picture. But he obviously thought better of it and closed his mouth again.

“Keep us posted?” asked Colin.

For a split second, Jackson wondered if this was all a ruse to keep him in contact with his father. Did Colin plan to string him along for a while for some hidden reason of his own? He was, after all, a gifted con artist.

“The wedding’s Saturday,” said Trent.

That diverted Jackson’s attention. “This Saturday?”

“Yes.”

That was three days away.

“Why didn’t you start this sooner?” Jackson demanded. What did they expect him to accomplish in only three days?

“We did,” Colin said quietly.

Jackson clamped his jaw. Yeah, his father had been trying to get hold of him for a month. He’d been studiously ignoring the requests, just like he’d been doing for years. He owed Colin nothing.

He stood. “It’s not much time, but I’ll see what I can find.”

“She cannot marry him.” Trent’s undertone was rock hard with vehemence.

“She’s a grown woman,” Jackson repeated.

He’d look into the Gerhards. But if Crista Corday had fallen for a bad boy, there might be nothing her daddy or anyone else could do to change her mind.

* * *

Crista Corday swayed back and forth in front of the full-length mirror, her strapless lace and tulle wedding gown rustling softly against her legs. Her hair was swept up in a profusion of curls and braids. Her makeup had been meticulously applied. Even her underwear was white silk perfection.