Barbara Dunlop - His Stolen Bride

He wanted to kiss her neck. It was ridiculous, given the circumstances, but there was something incredibly sensual about the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw, the lush red of her lips.

“And you should see my underwear,” she said.

Their gazes met. She took in his stare and obviously saw a flare of desire. Those gorgeous green eyes widened in surprise, and she took a step back.

He wanted to tell her he’d give pretty much anything to see her underwear. But he kept his mouth firmly shut.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, worry in her tone.

“I wouldn’t,” he affirmed. “I won’t. I’m not going to try anything out of line.” He turned his attention to the shoreline.

“Will you take me back?” she asked.

“I doubt there’s anybody left at the church.”

“They’ll be crazy with worry,” she said. “They’ll have called the police by now.”

“The police won’t take a missing-person report for twenty-four hours.”

“You don’t know my future in-laws.”

“I know the Chicago Police Department.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I was hired to look into Vern Gerhard’s integrity.”

“By who?”

Jackson shook his head. “I have a strict policy of client confidentiality.”

Given their understandably fractured relationship, bringing Trent’s name into it would be the fastest way to completely lose her trust. Not that he’d blame her. He felt the same about anything his own father touched.

“But you don’t have a strict policy against kidnapping innocent people?” she asked.

“To be honest, this is the first time it’s come up.”

“I am going to press charges.” It was clear she was serious.

There was no denying that the situation had spiraled out of control. But there was also nothing to do but keep moving forward. If he took her back now, the Gerhards would definitely have him arrested. His only hope was to find proof of Vern’s infidelity and turn Crista against her fiancé.

His phone rang. He kept eye contact with her as he reached for it.

It was Mac, his right-hand man.

“Hey,” Jackson answered.

“Everything okay so far?” asked Mac.

“Yeah.” Jackson turned away from Crista and moved along the deck toward the bridge. “You come up with anything?”

“Rumors, yes. But nothing that gives us proof. Norway’s looking into Gracie.”

“Pictures would be good.”

“Videotape better.”

“I’d take videotape,” said Jackson. “Is somebody on the family?”

“I am.”

“And?”

“They’ve contacted the police, but they’re being waved off until morning. I guess runaway brides aren’t that unusual.”

“If Vern Gerhard is a typical example of our gender, I don’t blame them.”

Mac coughed out a laugh.

“I guess we’ve got till morning,” said Jackson.

It was less time than he would have liked. But that’s what happened when you threw a plan together at the last minute.

“And then?” asked Mac. “Have you thought through what happens in the morning?”

He had, and most of the options were not good. “We better have something concrete by then.”

“Otherwise she’s a liability,” said Mac.

Jackson had to agree. “At that point, she’s going to be a huge liability.”

Crista was predictably angry at having her posh wedding ruined. If they didn’t find something to incriminate Vern, Jackson’s career if not his freedom would be at stake.

He heard a sudden splash behind him.

He spun to find the deck empty, Crista gone. His gaze moved frantically from corner to corner as he rushed to the stern and spotted her in the water. “You gotta be kidding me!”

“What?” asked Mac.

“Call you back.” Jackson dropped his phone.

She was flailing in the choppy waves, obviously hampered by the voluminous white dress. She gasped and went under.

He immediately tossed two life jackets overboard, as close to her as he could.

“Grab one!” he shouted. Then he stripped off his jacket, kicked off his shoes and dived in.

The water closed icy cold around him. He surfaced and gasped in a big breath. She was twenty feet away, and he kicked hard. He dug in with his arms, propelling himself toward her.

When he looked up again, she was gone. He twisted his head, peering in all directions, spotting a wisp of white below the surface. He dived under, groping in the dark until he caught hold of her arm. He clamped his hand tight and hauled her upward, breaking the surface and wrapping his arm firmly around her chest.

She coughed and sputtered.

“Relax,” he told her. “Just relax and let me do the work.”

She coughed again.

He grabbed one of the life jackets and tucked it beneath her. The boat was close, but the water was frigid. He wasn’t going to be able to swim for long. Her teeth were already chattering.

He found another life jacket and looped it around the arm that supported her. He used his legs and free arm to move them through the water.

“You okay?” he asked her. “You breathing?”

She nodded against his chest.

“Don’t fight me,” he cautioned.

“I won’t,” she rasped.

The side of the boat loomed closer. He aimed for the stern where there was a small swimming platform. It was a relief to grasp on to something solid. His muscles throbbed from the effects of the cold water, and his limbs were starting to shake.

He unceremoniously cupped her rear end and shoved her onto the platform. She scrambled up, her dress catching and tearing. He kept her braced until she was stable. Then he looped both forearms over the platform and hoisted himself up, sitting on the edge, dragging in deep breaths.

“What the heck?” he demanded.

She was breathing hard. “I thought I could make it.”

“To the beach?”

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s a quarter mile. And you’re dressed in an anchor.”

“The fabric is light.”

“Maybe when it’s bone-dry.” He reached up and pulled himself to his feet. His legs trembled, and his knees felt weak, but he put an arm around her waist and lifted her up beside him.

With near-numb fingers, he released the catch on the deck gate and swung it open.

“Careful,” he cautioned as he propelled her back onto the deck.

She held on and stepped shakily forward. “It tangled around my legs.”

“You could have killed us both.” He followed her.

“It’d serve you right.”

“To be dead? You’d be dead, too.”

“I’m going to be dead anyway.”

“What?” He was baffled now.

She was shivering. “I heard you on the phone. You said tomorrow morning I’d be a liability. We both know what that means.”

“One of us obviously doesn’t.”

“Don’t bother to deny it.”

“Nobody’s killing anyone.” He gazed out at the dark water. “Despite your best attempt.”

“You can’t let me live. I’ll turn you in. You’ll go to jail.”

“You might not turn me in.”

“Would you actually believe me if I said I wouldn’t?”

“At the moment, no.”

Right now, she was having a perfectly normal reaction to the circumstances. Proof of the truth might mitigate her anger eventually, but they didn’t have that yet.

“Then that was a really stupid statement,” she said.

“What I am going to prove is that I mean you no harm.”

It was the best he could come up with for the moment. The breeze was chilling, and he ushered her past the bridge, opening the door to the cabin.

“How are you going to do that?”

“For starters by not harming you. Let’s find you something dry.”

She glared at him. “I’m not taking off my dress.”