BRIDAL JEOPARDY (16 page)

Jack stroked Rachel’s hair. “What happened?” he asked.

“There was an explosion near Houma. Turn on the television set.”

Jake picked up the remote from the end table and clicked on a news channel. Instantly, they were in the middle of a breathless report from the affiliate in Houma.

“It is believed that Mr. and Mrs. Craig Branson were killed in the explosion that destroyed a cottage at the Morning Glory B and B,” the reporter was saying. “Authorities are still not sure what caused the explosion.”

“A bomb,” Rachel whispered.

Jake shuddered. “And the couple are dead?”

Rachel closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her forehead. “No.”

He stared at her. “What happened?”

She dragged in a breath and let it out. “They escaped. Craig was out trying to get some information about the Solomon Clinic. Stephanie...”

“Their names are Craig and Stephanie?”

“Craig Branson and Stephanie Swift.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t she have a dress shop on Royal Street?”

“Yes.”

“And...isn’t she supposed to marry a nasty piece of work named John Reynard?”

Rachel nodded. “Yes. Only that was her father’s idea. Then she met Craig, and she knew she couldn’t marry Reynard.” Rachel gripped her husband’s hand. “Reynard found out where she and Craig were staying. He found a way to get Craig out of the house. He kidnapped Stephanie and had his men set the cottage to explode when Craig came home. Only someone else set off the bomb.”

“And you know all this—how?” Jake asked in a rough voice.

“It...came to me.” She looked at her husband. “Stephanie and Craig each think the other is dead. Both of them are devastated. Think about how you’d feel if you thought I was...gone.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m trying to make you understand why this is so urgent.”

Jake’s chest tightened as he imagined his own grief if he somehow lost Rachel.

He knew she followed his thoughts and emotions, knew from the way she wrapped her arms around him and from her own churning mind that she was imagining the same terrible situation—in reverse.

We can’t leave them like that,
she silently whispered.

We agreed that contacting them could be dangerous,
Jake argued.

Are you saying you can leave them in so much pain?

Jake let the question sink in.
No. What do you want to do?

They’re far apart now. I think I can boost the signal between them. Let them talk to each other.

She turned to her husband.
But I can’t do it alone. Will you help me?

He hesitated, caught by the urgency of her request and the need to keep both of them safe. Not just themselves, but Gabriella and Luke, too.

They’d made a commitment to the other couple; now Rachel was saying they should act on their own.

Can’t we wait?

They might go mad or kill themselves if we just wait.

Chapter Sixteen

Stephanie rarely drank anything stronger than wine. Now she sipped the brandy John had given her, welcoming the fiery sensations as it slid down her throat. Wanting to be alone with her private agony, she kept her gaze focused on the television, hoping against hope for some scrap of news that would tell her Craig had survived the blast.

“We should move up the wedding,” John was saying. “I want the chance to be close to you, to make up for what you’ve just been through.”

Her gaze swung to him, and she knew he was watching for her reaction to that bit of news.

“Yes,” she said.

“We can have the ceremony here at the plantation. We’ll just invite a few friends—and your father, of course. I’m thinking a morning ceremony, then lunch around the pool.”

She nodded numbly. Was there any escape from this lovely plantation that was really a fortress? And where would she go if she could get away? It would have to be somewhere John could never find her. Out of the country for sure, but why bother if Craig was dead?

“Claire has been very helpful. She’s been making a guest list, which she’ll share with you. And she tells me that your wedding dress arrived at your shop.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll arrange to have it delivered here.”

“And we can contact a catering company,” Claire added brightly. “And a florist. That’s all you need.”

“And a license and man of God,” John added. “But all that’s easy to arrange.” He made a dismissive wave of his hand.

She tried to take all that in. Everything was moving too fast, and she wanted to scream at John to slow down, but she had to act as if she loved the idea of marrying him right away—because anything less was dangerous.

And then what? She imagined kissing him. Imagined his hands on her body, and she had to keep herself from screaming.

As she fought to look normal, something happened that made her head spin, and she gasped.

John tensed. “Stephanie, what?”

She tried to speak, but she couldn’t get the words out. John’s face swam before her, and she saw the panic in his eyes.

“I’m sick. Migraine headache. Need to lie down,” she whispered.

“I didn’t know you had migraines.”

Neither did I,
she thought, but she only said, “Yes.”

Because she needed to be alone. Now.

* * *

J
OHN
HELPED
S
TEPHANIE
to the bedroom, taking in her pale face as she kicked off her shoes. She looked sick. No doubt about it, but he was having trouble believing anything she said now.

She hadn’t slept with Brandon? He wanted it to be true, but he couldn’t be sure.

She was such a beautiful, desirable woman—from an old family that had seen better days. Probably her social standing had been one of the reasons he’d been willing to wait until marriage to make love to her. That and the convenience of having Claire as a willing bed partner. It had amused him to sleep with the woman who was spying on his fiancée. He’d even entertained some fantasies of taking the two of them to bed. He knew Claire would be totally okay with that. Maybe it would take some persuading to get Stephanie to agree.

She was a lady, and he’d thought she was adhering to what she considered proper.

His mind circled back to the moment when he’d decided to marry Stephanie Swift. It had been at one of the damn charity events that he was expected to attend. This time at the St. Charles Country Club. One of the other men there, Larry Dalton, had called him aside to ask about their business transaction. Larry had gone in with John on an import deal, two million dollars worth of heroin packed in toys coming in from Taiwan. Only someone must have tipped off the Feds because they’d sent in an inspector to check the shipment. And it had been the guy’s bad luck.

John’s men had caught him on the boat while it was at sea, and the federal agent had ended up overboard in the Pacific Ocean.

John had gotten a report about it before he’d left for the reception, and when Larry had approached him at the event, he’d been in a bad mood. He’d told him about it, watching the man’s face as he realized he was a party to murder.

John had enjoyed spoiling the man’s evening. And then he’d turned around and seen Stephanie Swift in back of him. Had she heard? He wasn’t sure, and she certainly hadn’t said anything, but he wasn’t going to take a chance on her telling anyone about it. Which was why he’d started keeping her close.

He’d decided that if she married him, she couldn’t testify against him, and he’d been glad when she’d agreed to the marriage, because he’d rather screw her than kill her. But maybe he was going to end up doing both.

Of course, now he had other things to think about. Like why had Branson been dragging her around? Had he talked about the long-ago death of his brother—and of Arthur Polaski? If she knew about any of that, she was more dangerous to him. But he’d find out after the wedding. After he took what she owed him.

* * *

C
RAIG
HAD
DOZED
OFF
.
He jerked awake when he heard a voice in his head. A woman’s voice.

Craig Branson.

Hope flared inside him.

Stephanie? Oh, Lord, is that you, Stephanie?

No. I’m a friend.

He tried to cope with the instant wave of despair and with the confusion swirling in his mind. Had grief driven him mad, and he had invented an invisible friend to compensate for the loss of the woman he loved?

The voice pulled him back to her.
You aren’t crazy. This is important.

I doubt it.

Stephanie isn’t dead.

His whole body went rigid as the words blasted into him, yet he couldn’t allow himself to believe. Sitting up, he looked around the motel room, confirming he was alone.

Who are you?
he repeated.

Rachel.

She was speaking to him—the way Sam had spoken to him. And Stephanie.

Do I know you?
he asked in an inner voice that he couldn’t quite hold steady.

No.

Is this a cruel joke?

No. I understand what you are suffering.

He scoffed at that statement.
How could you? How could anyone?

Because I am one of the children from the Solomon Clinic, and I bonded with another one of us.

He made a low sound. Of course, he should have realized why she could reach his mind.

You must rescue Stephanie.

He scrambled off the bed, ready to charge out the door, if he only knew where he was going—and what had happened.

How did she escape?

Two of John Reynard’s men captured her after you left. Then they set the explosive charge to kill you. Only someone else was caught in the blast.

Ike Broussard. I saw him. I didn’t understand why he was there. He said he was going to meet me at a restaurant.

I think Reynard ordered him to meet you.

How do you know?

My husband knows which cops are corrupt in New Orleans. Ike Broussard was one of them.

Then why did he come to the cottage?

I can only guess at that. What if he hated being under Reynard’s thumb and thought that the two of you could work together to take him down?

Craig considered that. It might fit the facts, and he was sorry the man was dead, but his main focus was Stephanie.

The woman named Rachel must have read his thoughts.
I can boost the signal between you.

And then, all at once he caught Stephanie’s silent voice.

Craig?

Yes.

Oh, my God, you’re alive! Reynard said you were dead.

I’m fine.

Thank God, but how are we talking?

Someone’s helping us. Another one of the children from the clinic.

Yes, I...heard her in my mind. I didn’t know what was happening.

Where are you?
Craig asked.

At the plantation Reynard owns, near Morgan City.

I’m on my way now.

Be careful. It’s heavily guarded. With armed men.

We’ll figure something out,
he said, wondering what it was going to be.

I can’t hold the connection...
the woman who had made the long-distance contact between them said, and suddenly there was silence inside Craig’s head—leaving him dazed and confused.

* * *

J
AKE
H
ARPER
SWORE
aloud as he picked up his wife from the couch. Lowering himself to a sitting position, he gathered her limp body in his arms.

“You hurt yourself,” he whispered as he stroked his hands over her back and shoulders.

“I’m...okay,” Rachel managed to say.

“You...”

She closed her eyes and clung to him. “They had information to give each other—and I was the only way they could do it.”

“And now you’re going to stay away from them,” he said in a hard voice.

“They may need us.”

“I’m not going to lose you because you feel some sort of obligation to two strangers.”

She raised her head and looked at him. “Jake, they’re two of Dr. Solomon’s children.”

“So were Tanya and Mickey,” he bit out, referring to the telepaths who had tried to kill them.

“Craig and Stephanie are different. They’re good people. They just want to be free to live their lives.”

“So we can stay clear of them.”

“Maybe that’s not going to work.”

“Maybe it has to,” Jake said, punching out the words. He tipped Rachel’s body so that she was looking up at him. “I was along for the ride on that mental conference call. Something you’re not saying is that someone was after Craig. Not Reynard’s men. There’s something else going on.”

He saw her swallow. “Yes.”

“Maybe someone who knows about the clinic.”

She gave a small nod.

“Wellington and Solomon are dead. So who is it?”

* * *

C
RAIG
BRACED
HIS
HAND
against the wall, fighting to stay on his feet. His head was swimming as though he’d just suffered a blow to the jaw. But he didn’t care.

He knew Stephanie was alive. And she knew he was okay, too. That was important, because Reynard had her, and if she thought Craig was dead, there was no telling what she’d do.

And he knew where she was. At least the general location. He started to charge out of the motel room, then checked himself. Men had chased him around Houma. If they didn’t think he’d been blown up in that explosion, they would be searching for him again.

First he looked out the window to make sure nobody was lurking in the parking lot. Then he cautiously stepped outside.

He climbed into his car and used the GPS to set a course for Morgan City, driving below the speed limit so as not to call attention to himself. All he needed was to get stopped by a cop and have them find out he was still alive. If they did, they’d probably hold him for questioning in the death of Ike Broussard—when they found out he was the guy who’d gotten caught in the explosion.

Hopefully, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon because the big advantage Craig had now was that Reynard thought he was dead. If he could keep it that way, he’d have a better chance to get Stephanie out of there.

And then what? He’d worry about that after he sprang her.

When he reached the approximate vicinity, he stopped at one of the gas stations. After filling his tank, he went inside the station. As soon as he saw the racks of junk food, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He put a soft drink and some peanut-butter cheese crackers on the counter and paid for them, along with the gas, glad that he’d brought a fair amount of cash with him—and that he also had the use of the thugs’ money. But eventually he was going to need more cash. Maybe he could rob the gas station, he thought with a snort before turning toward the cashier.

He ran his hand through his hair and looked around as if he thought the interior of the station would answer a vital question.

“I’m supposed to be delivering an important package to the Reynard estate,” he said as he put his wallet back into his pocket, “but I’m not sure of the address. Can you tell me where it is?”

“It’s about five miles south of town on the Old River Road,” the man answered. “But you won’t get in unless they’re expecting you, because there’s a guard at the gate.”

“Thanks for the information,” he said.

Before leaving town, he stopped at a dry-goods store and bought a tractor cap and a work shirt, which he put on in the men’s room. He would have to stop to buy some more clothing, because he’d lost everything in the explosion. But he had brought his computer along in the car, which kept him from having to make a major purchase.

After doing what he could on short notice to disguise his appearance, he used the GPS to find Old River Road, then drove south. As the gas-station attendant had said, the Reynard estate was surrounded by a high chain-link fence, topped with razor wire, and a gate, with several men in attendance, controlling access to the property. As he drove past without stopping, he glimpsed a stately plantation house through the live oaks lining the drive.

How much surveillance equipment did Reynard have? he wondered as he put a mile between himself and the gate. Pulling off the road, into a small clearing, he tried to send his mind to Stephanie, but he was too far away and couldn’t reach her.

He’d have to come back at night and hope that he could get close enough without alerting the guards.

* * *

A
KNOCK
AT
THE
DOOR
made Stephanie go rigid. When the door opened, she expected to see John, but it was only Claire.