BEVERLY BARTON - Whitelaw's Wedding

The moment Manda saw him, she halted her frantic pacing and ran toward him. He opened his arms and embraced her. She trembled as she clung to him.

“Oh, Perry, it’s happened again. Boyd and I were having dessert and coffee, when he suddenly became very ill. I don’t know how it’s possible, how anyone could have done it, but I know someone tried to kill him.”

Perry grasped Manda’s shoulders. “What does the ER doctor say?”

“He said it was food poisoning, but I know better.” Manda glared at Perry, her eyes wild with fear. “I thought…I hoped and prayed that I could at least have a nice, comfortable friendship with a man, without—without—” She took in huge gulps of air. “We’ve had only three dates. Nothing serious. Just companionship. But then that’s all there was between Mike and me. A marriage of two good friends, both who had lost a loved one in the past and… He won’t let me have anyone else in my life, will he? Not even a friend.”

Perry’s stomach knotted painfully. “Look, brat, I honestly don’t think that lunatic who might or might not have been responsible for Mike’s death had anything to do with this. It’s just a coincidence. It has to be. People get food poisoning fairly often. And you haven’t gotten any notes predicting Boyd’s demise, have you?”

She shook her head. “No, but… I’ll have to tell Boyd that I can’t see him again. Not socially. I can’t take the risk. If anything happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.”

“What do you plan to do, live the rest of your life like a nun? You deserve better. You’re allowing some lunatic to dictate the terms of your life.”

“Two men that I’ve cared for have died tragically,” Manda said. “First Rodney and then Mike.” She cupped her hands over her mouth and sighed in an effort to not cry again. “Someone killed them because he’s obsessed with me and doesn’t want me to marry anyone else. Whoever killed Rodney and Mike is probably still watching me, waiting for me to… I refuse to endanger another man’s life. Not ever again!”

Perry knew that when she got like this there was no point in trying to reason with her. He felt certain that Boyd’s food poisoning had been an accident, but Manda was bound and determined to blame herself. Poor girl. The woman standing before him bore little resemblance to the carefree, spoiled little hellion she’d once been. Rodney Austin’s death in a car crash only a week before their wedding had devastated Manda. That had been twelve years ago. It had taken Manda years to get over that loss, but eventually she had become engaged to her good friend, Mike Farrar, who had lost his wife to cancer. When they became engaged, Manda had received a series of letters warning her to not marry Mike, that if she did, he would die, just as Rodney had. They had taken the letters to the police, but the local law enforcement had been unable to trace the letters to find the author. Only days before the wedding, Mike had disappeared. His body had been found in the Poloma River. He’d been shot in the back. His murderer was never found.

For the past five years, Manda hadn’t dated. It had taken him months to convince his sister to accept Boyd’s pleas for a date.

Had he been wrong to encourage her to put the past to rest and move on with her life?

The letter arrived a week later. Manda had stopped by Perry’s law office in downtown Dearborn and tossed the nondescript white envelope on his desk.

“Read it,” she’d said.

The author of the printed missive had assured Manda that he was not responsible for Boyd’s illness. But he had pointed out that even Fate didn’t want Manda with another man. He had ended his letter with a warning.

You know that I’ll never let you be happy with anyone else. If you ever try to marry another man, I’ll kill him. And if you’re foolish enough to allow it to happen again, I might have to kill you, too.

The letter was similar in tone and wording to the six letters that Manda had received in the weeks leading up to her wedding to Mike. A second wedding that never took place.

Perry had insisted Manda take the letter to the police, just as they’d done in the past. He had gone with her, of course, and as he had expected, the local authorities reluctantly admitted that there was little chance of apprehending the culprit, with nothing but the letters as evidence.

Damn it all, he wasn’t going to allow his sister to crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after her. She was young— only thirty-three—and beautiful, with so much love and passion to give the right man. But out there somewhere was a nutcase determined to control Manda’s love life. There had to be a way to put an end to this craziness. He should have done something years ago, after Mike’s death. But he’d known Manda needed time to heal and he had allowed the years to slip by without forming a plan of action.

What Manda needed was a fiancé capable of not only outwitting a would-be assassin, but one able to protect her, too. Perry grinned. He knew just the man. He’d call him tonight. And tomorrow he’d tell Manda that she was going to marry the man of her dreams—her teenage dreams.

Hunter Whitelaw propped his feet up on the rustic log coffee table, eased his weary shoulders into the back of the overstuffed sofa and groaned. He and his fellow Dundee agent Matt O’Brien had just completed a month-long assignment and agents Jack Parker and David Wolfe had also recently finished with a difficult job. Hunter and Matt’s case had taken a toll on them and had dredged up some unpleasant memories for Hunter personally. An American billionaire had given his eighteen-year-old twins a trip to Europe as a high school graduation gift, but he’d wanted the two girls, Risa and Rhea, protected day and night. On the surface, it had seemed to be a plum assignment—a month in Europe, all expenses paid. At least that was what Matt had thought. Hunter could have warned them, but figured he would find out soon enough just how much trouble two cute little girls could be. Hunter had learned that lesson years ago.

The smell of frying fish wafted through the cabin. Jack Parker was cooking supper for them. Frying fish and hush puppies. Hunter closed his eyes and sighed. He could almost taste the delicious catfish they’d caught in the river this morning. He and Jack had persuaded Wolfe to go with them and the guy had turned out to be quite a fisherman. Apparently, Wolfe was good at whatever he did. But the man was too damn quiet, too reclusive. Hunter had actually been surprised that he’d accepted his offer to join them on their weekend trip.

Jack liked to fish as well as Hunter did. The gregarious Texan was a fellow who seemed to love just being alive. He was the exact opposite of Wolfe, a somber, solitary man, who seemed to carry the woes of the world on his shoulders. And then there was Matt, their movie-star-handsome buddy who had women swooning at his feet wherever they went. Hell, Risa and Rhea had been all over Matt, and the former Air Force Cowboy had been out of his league with the two nymphets. It had taken both of them working diligently to stay one step ahead of the twins and at the same time keep the girls out of their beds. If they’d been smart, they would have suggested Ellen, Dundee’s CEO, take this job herself and enlist several female Dundee agents to help her.

Hunter chuckled. He hadn’t been propositioned by a teenage girl since he’d been twenty-two and Perry Munroe’s little sister had given him an eyeful that summer he’d been home in Dearborn on leave from the army. Her outraged grandmother, who had believed Manda’s tale that Hunter had come on to her, had forbidden Hunter to set foot in the Munroe house ever again. Of course, Mr. Munroe and Perry had known the truth and assured Hunter he was always welcome.