Gunning for the Groom (11 page)

“Frankie—”

“I'm going alone. You won't change my mind.”

“Fine.” He scowled at her. “At least take your cell phone.”

With a sigh, she grabbed it and dashed out the door. Considering it a good warm-up, she took the stairs down for a few flights, pausing to stretch on the landings.

Outside, the cool night air washed over her and she drew in a deep breath as she set out down the block toward a nearby green space that flowed along the waterfront. Using the app on her phone, she programmed a route that circled back to the building. That way she wouldn't be tempted to stay out later just to annoy Aidan.

Probably not smart to alienate her only ally in town. If she could call him that. He kept insinuating she wasn't capable of objectivity. It stung, knowing he was right. But couldn't he put himself in her shoes for just a few minutes?

The man had been a top investigator in Europe and he was a whiz with undercover work. He should be able to see her point of view on this. How was she supposed to frame her life if everything she'd learned about love and strength, and all she'd known about the two people who'd mattered most, was false? In her place, up against these terrible questions, she couldn't imagine Aidan doing anything different.

She ran, letting the questions float through her mind, releasing the pent-up stress with every exhale. Her father had been relocated to Washington during her senior year of high school. She and her mother had stayed behind so she could finish school with her friends. Had that decision also been motivated by trouble in their marriage Frankie hadn't seen?

She concentrated on her footfalls, rather than get sucked into that quagmire. She was out here to escape the situation, not wallow in it. Her legs were warm, her stride strong and powerful, though she was mindful of the smallest twinge in her back.

She knew the difference between healthy and a signal to ease up and evaluate. Every step was a victory over the initial, bleak prognosis. Good thing she didn't believe in quitting. Her mother must have been told the odds were slim that Frankie would even walk again. Odds were no match for grit and determination, though the navy wouldn't believe her. Their loss, she thought as she pressed on, feeling the welcome strain in her lungs now.

She checked the route on her phone, thinking about Aidan's comments that Sophia had chosen to be with her in those early days. It was a point in her mom's favor that she'd never once told Frankie a full recovery was impossible.

Giving a nod to passing runners, she was tempted to snap a picture for Aidan. There was nothing to fear out here, especially not for an armed woman trained by the military's best experts. She didn't take the picture, nearly turned off her phone, except he'd likely call out a search party if she did that. The mental image made her smile. No one had cared so much about her survival since she left the navy. Aidan would probably tell her Sophia cared, but Frankie didn't want to think about her mother any more tonight.

At the two-mile mark, she hit the sweet spot where it felt as though she could run forever, and she let herself relax into her stride. Following the programmed route, she turned at the next path and looped around, dutifully heading back toward the apartment.

She sensed trouble just before it lunged out of the deep shadows between the trees. A man in a blue sweatshirt and gray athletic shorts, wearing a dark cap and bright white shoes, blocked her path.

“Gimme your money!” His demand was slurred around the edges, but she didn't smell any alcohol on him.

“Why?” She hoped the question would buy her precious seconds as she stutter-stepped closer to the next streetlamp. He kept his head low and moved to tackle her. She spun, letting him flow by her, drawing her knife. “Better luck next time,” she said, racing down the path toward safety.

He chased after her rather than giving up. She kicked into high gear, but he matched her pace, finally bumping her off the paved trail and down a grassy slope.

Her phone fell, but her grip on the knife was sure as she rolled, coming to her feet braced for battle. He charged, gravity and momentum aiding his attack.

She drove an elbow into his ribs when he went high, but before she could follow through with a kick, someone else dragged her to the ground from behind. Her battle-starved heart swelled at the challenge of two opponents.

“Stay put,” Aidan ordered, leaping between her and her assailant.

Not an opponent, a teammate. She jumped up, refusing to cower while he handled it. Confronted with losing odds, the mugger grabbed her phone and ran off.

Frankie started after him, but Aidan caught her around the waist. “Are you nuts? Let him go.”

“He's got my phone!”

“It's replaceable. You aren't.” Aidan's hands swept over her, checking her for injuries.

“Give it a rest. I'm fine.” She was in no mood for an “in character” exchange. “There's evidence on my phone,” she added in a furious whisper.

“I don't care.”

She tucked the knife back into the sheath and started up the slope to the path. He fell into step beside her. “What were you thinking? I could've stabbed you.”

He snorted. “You're welcome. I told you it wasn't safe out here.”

She let her breath out in a slow hiss. It didn't calm her down. “If you'd been paying attention, you would've noticed I had it under control.”

“Oh, right.”

“I can't believe you followed me.” She pulled the tie out of her hair and shook it loose as they walked along the path. Her scalp was sweaty and the confrontation pissed her off. Aidan's interference only exacerbated the anger beating through her veins.

“Good thing I did. He had fifty pounds on you.”

“I had it under control,” she repeated, flexing her hands. “Why couldn't you let me have this one hour to myself?”

“Because your safety is my priority.”

“Bull. Victoria sent you along so I don't create more scandal than my father did.”

“That's not true,” he snapped.

“You promised me honesty.” She broke into a jog, needing to get away from him. She couldn't look at him right now, didn't want to hear his voice. If she had any choice at all, she'd pack up and run to her mother's, claiming a lovers' spat.

She was deep into that stupid scenario when Aidan caught up with her again. He earned points for not speaking until they were a block from the apartment. “The bugs are live,” he murmured. “And we've earned an upgraded team.” His gaze slid past a dark van at the end of the block.

“I noticed the van when I set out.”

“Did you use an app for your run?”

“Yes.” Her temper dissolved as she realized what he was saying. “Good grief.” She stopped short and he moved in as if they were swept away by a romantic moment. His lips on her cheek, brushing over her ear, almost derailed her train of thought. “You think someone purposely set that mugger on me to get my phone?”

Leaning back, Aidan smiled down at her, and her foolish heart tripped and fell over the concern and affection shining in his blue eyes.

“I do,” he said. His palm was warm at the small of her back as he turned her toward the entry. “I like the sound of those two words together,” he added as they crossed the lobby to the elevators. “Are you sure we can't just go to the courthouse this weekend?”

So he'd decided the building staff couldn't be trusted, either. At the moment, she shared his paranoia. “You heard Mom at dinner. She'd be heartbroken if we did that.”

“Well, I don't want to be responsible for that.”

“You've been such a good sport about all this,” Frankie said, leaning into his touch as the elevator arrived. She might've gripped him a little tighter than necessary, but he didn't seem to mind. As they boarded the elevator, she murmured, “I'm still mad at you.”

“Get over it quickly,” he suggested. “Once we cross that threshold, we're ‘on' again.”

Knowing he was right didn't make it any easier.

“You should call the police,” he said as they walked in, rolling his hand so she'd follow his lead.

“And say what? The guy didn't hurt me and we left the scene. I'll just buy a new phone.”

“You could give them a description.”

Frankie stared at Aidan, shaking her head and holding up her hands. What did he want her to say? “I guess you're right. I'll call after I get a shower.”

She walked toward the bathroom and started the water. “This is silly,” she murmured, when he followed her in so they could talk for a minute.

“If you've got a better idea, I'm listening,” he said.

“Fine. We'll come up with a new option tomorrow.” She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. “Still think that ‘recipe' I found is useless?”

“I never thought it was useless.” He leaned forward, his arms caging her between his broad, lean chest and the countertop. “Tell me you backed it up somewhere besides your phone.”

If he was trying to intimidate her, it wasn't working. It was turning her on. She reached under her shirt, nearly laughing when he jerked back.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm not jumping you,” she said with more than a little regret. She pulled a small flash drive out of her bra. “Giving you something to work with.”

Turning one of his hands palm-up, she placed the drive in his palm and curled his fingers around it. “Now get out of here.” She set her knife on the counter and plucked at her T-shirt. She refused to undress in front of him. Kisses were one thing, but she didn't want to see his face shift to disgust when he saw the scars and divots where chunks of muscles had been blown away. “I really want a shower.” It was no business of his if it was cold.

“Right.” His gaze trailed from her head to her toes and back up again. “Right.”

“Aidan.” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Go away.”

He shook his head briskly. “I need one more thing.”

“Wh—”

He interrupted her with a kiss, drawing her flush against his body as he laid claim to her mouth. She clutched his shoulders as much for balance as for the sheer pleasure. No one could hear them. No one was watching. This kiss was just for him. Or her.
Them.
She stopped trying to analyze the purpose and just enjoyed the sensual beauty of the moment. The night air lingered in his hair and she tasted the rich flavor of the beer he'd had at dinner. His lips, warm and tender, moved over hers, coaxed a delicious, instinctive response from her.

“When he jumped at you...” His voice trailed off and he dropped his forehead to hers. “I'm glad you had it under control.”

“Kissing me doesn't make me less mad at you.”

“I know.” He grinned and her heart fluttered in her chest. “That's part of the attraction.”

She gulped in a deep breath when he walked out. Held it. Released it slowly. She peeled away her sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower. The cold water poured over her, bringing her back to her senses. So much for keeping him at arm's length. If Aidan's career as an investigator stalled out, he had a promising career in acting.

Pressing her fingertips to her lips, she wondered which one of them he was trying to convince or distract, with expert kisses like that one.

Chapter Nine

Tuesday, April 12, 8:30 a.m.

Aidan focused on the new job as soon as he hit the office Tuesday morning, catching up on the progress of trainees. He was searching the calendar for ways to implement his own ideas when Sophia's elegant shadow crossed his doorway.

“Good morning, Aidan.”

He smiled at the woman who thought he'd be a son-in-law soon. “Good morning.”

“I heard there was some trouble at the apartment last night. Is everything okay?”

He shouldn't be surprised she'd heard about the police report. Frankie and Victoria had warned him of Sophia's extensive connections, and he knew from experience that old habits were the last to die. “No trouble. Frankie performed a bit of community service during a run in the park.”

“Pardon me?”

Aidan hesitated. “What exactly did Frankie tell you?”

“I haven't asked her. A friend of mine in the police department saw her name on an incident report. According to it, she fought off a mugger and lost her phone. I assumed, incorrectly apparently, that you'd give me the full story.”

Aidan leaned back in his chair. She was being candid, so he'd follow suit. “I'm not comfortable getting between you and Frankie. On anything.”

“Was she really out for a run?”

“Yes.”

Sophia beamed. “I thought maybe she'd exaggerated when she said that the other day. The girl
never
gives up. They called it a miracle she lived through that first night.” She fanned her face, tears brimming on her lashes. “Forgive me. I'm so glad to have my daughter back, so glad she's found happiness with you. You have no idea what it means to me,” she said before she hurried away.

Aidan disagreed. He had a clear sense how much the daughter mattered to the mother. And he was increasingly convinced, Frankie's opinion of the evidence aside, that Sophia was the one in the dark. If she knew the apartment was bugged, if she knew they were being tailed, she was a pro at hiding it.

He heard Frankie's voice in his head, reminding him of Sophia's career as a military analyst, of her contribution to the alphabet soup district in Washington, DC. So far, she'd proved herself a loving mother above all else.

He didn't care about Sophia's past; he felt like an ass for deceiving the woman this way. Making it worse was the knowledge that his fake affection for Frankie was growing into a serious fascination compounded by intense desire. Every tiny detail she revealed left him wanting to discover more.

When the mugger had jumped her last night, Aidan had felt murderous. He'd woken with a start in the middle of the night and left the couch to check on her. As he watched her sleep, it had hit him that this was more complicated than keeping her safe to avoid a repeat of his past.

He was doing the one thing he'd sworn never to do again: he was falling in love.

* * *

U
PSTAIRS
, F
RANKIE
KEPT
her attention strictly on the job today. Aidan had asked her to give him time to verify some details and make some calls. She was basically cooperating, even as she explored the documentation about the formation of the company. She had valid reasons if anyone questioned her, although her reasoning got a little weak when it came to how the documentation landed in her personal cloud storage.

Her email chimed with an instant message from her mother, asking for a private meeting in fifteen minutes.

Nervous that she'd been caught, Frankie forced herself to sit back and take a deep breath, then one more for good measure. She'd been granted full access. She hadn't done anything wrong. Her new job was to look at the past and present to help with a proposal for a future client. Satisfied with her logic, she checked her appearance and reached for her phone—which wasn't there, because she hadn't replaced it yet.

When Frankie walked to the end of the corridor, Sophia's assistant wasn't at her desk and the office door was open, so Frankie peeked in. But her mother wasn't there. Being perpetually early was a curse of being raised by a top general. Her stiff back was a by-product of her ambitious career and a restless night after the mugging, so Frankie decided to walk a lap around the floor rather than sit and let her muscles lock up.

She heard voices as she approached the stairs near the break room at the corner opposite Sophia's office.

“People get mugged in Seattle all the time.”

Frankie recognized Paul's voice and froze, just out of sight.

“She's my daughter, not a random stranger.”

“That doesn't warrant a protective detail. How many times have you told me she can take care of herself?”

“And she did,” Sophia admitted. “I'm not pulling them.”

“Sophia. Call them off,” Paul insisted. “The rumors...”

“Don't exist,” Sophia snapped. “Anyone working for
me
knows better than to talk about it.”

Talk about what?
Did that mean people working for Paul were chatty? The facts lined up in a shocking revelation. Her mom was responsible for the team tailing them? Frankie's stomach twisted and questions tumbled through her mind. It was all she could do to stand there when her body vibrated with the urge to confront them both.

“We can't afford to show any weakness,” Paul said. “If this gets out, it could wreck everything.”

“Please. Our clients have more sense than that.”

“Sophia, think about it.”

“I don't need to. I'm not pulling them until I'm sure.”

Frankie gave herself a mental kick. If she'd had her phone, she could be recording this. Aidan would have to reconsider Sophia's innocence when he heard about this exchange. Hearing them part ways, Frankie pushed open the stairwell door as though she'd just walked through it, turning for her mom's office.

Her palms were damp and her legs trembled, making her gait awkward.
Breathe, think, breathe.
She had to get herself under control before her mother spotted her.

“Oh, there you are.” Sophia glided up, offering a half hug so Frankie had plenty of room to evade the contact. “How are you feeling today?”

She gave in and accepted the gesture. “Better than ever,” she replied, pretending her mom wasn't privy to last night's problems.

“Aidan told me what happened,” Sophia said, when they were alone in her office.

Frankie couldn't hide her surprise. “You spoke with him about me?” Why bother, when she'd hired a team to follow them?

“It wasn't like that,” Sophia said quickly. “A friend of mine on the police force mentioned the report you filed. I know how you typically understate matters, so I asked Aidan about it.”

Frankie folded her arms over her chest. “And you're asking me now in order to confirm his story?”

“No. He refused to tell me anything beyond the facts in the report. I can see you're okay.”

Frankie immediately relaxed. She'd thank Aidan at the earliest opportunity.

“You've chosen a smart man,” Sophia continued, muggers apparently forgotten as she crossed her office. A mobile wardrobe had been parked next to the couch by the window. She turned, fanning her face. “The way he
looks
at you, sweetheart. Well, it's reminiscent of my early days with your father. You're a lucky woman.”

“Mom.”
Frankie's heart did a happy dance and she quickly reminded herself Aidan was an excellent actor. While it would've been a compliment years ago, now the comparison felt all wrong. Dirty. Could she use the opening and ask about what had changed between her parents to have her mother assist with the general's conviction? Frankie wanted the relationship answers nearly as much as the professional ones.

And Aidan had asked for time. She pushed her questions to the back of her mind. “What did you want to discuss?” she asked, pasting a smile on her face.

Sophia grinned. “Feel free to tell me if I've overstepped, but I called in a favor or two.”

To keep an eye on me
, Frankie thought. Eventually all this would come out. “Do I want to know?”

Sophia pulled back the curtain on the wardrobe. “I couldn't resist.”

Wedding dresses. Frankie was stunned. There had to be twenty gowns, individually bagged and crammed tightly together on the rack. It was so unexpected she just stood there gawking.

“I know you think we have months,” Sophia said, “but September will be here before you know it.”

“We— I— Mom.” She rubbed a fist along the ache at the front of her hip. “Mom, this is your office.”

“I know it's silly, but I thought we could at least narrow down the styles you prefer.” She held up a stack of magazines. “I bought out the bridal section on my way into work. And a few planning guides.” She tapped a pile of thick books on the corner of her desk.

“You have wedding fever.”

Sophia's enthusiasm drained away. “You're unhappy.”

On too many levels to count, Frankie thought, feeling terrible.
Play the part.
It wasn't just her life or reputation on the line. If she faltered, Aidan would be screwed, too. That fear helped her sell it. “It's just so much.” She gave the dresses her full attention. “Too much. We could've made an appointment.”

“Please. I know you. You inherited a double dose of drive and commitment from your father and me. The client proposal will be fine.” She waved off the contract of the year as though it were an annoying fly. “Let's take half an hour for this.”

“I can just imagine the staff's opinion of our meeting.”

“I'd do this for any one of them,” Sophia replied.

Frankie raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” she amended, “maybe not this, precisely, but I take the time to know what's going on with my people. Now, tell me what you had in mind.”

Frankie wondered how many surveillance teams Sophia had at her disposal. “I haven't had dresses in mind at all,” she said. There wasn't room for much beyond her determination to clear her father. “No ruffles,” she added, when her mother gave her an anxious look. “Simple is better.”

“Clean lines. Got it.” Sophia nodded and turned to the rack. “What about lace?”

Frankie struggled to come up with any fashion terms applicable to wedding gowns. “Wasn't your dress lace?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It was fashionable at the time.” She unzipped one of the garment bags. “Let's start with this one.” She handed the gown to Frankie. The curtains that blocked the window to the rest of the floor were already closed. She locked the door and motioned for Frankie to undress.

“Here?”

“Our next appointment can be at the boutique with champagne and the works.” Sophia waved her hands. “Come on, sweetie.”

Frankie thought about the burn scars on her thighs and the surgical scars on her back and sides. She hadn't let anyone see them since the rehab hospital declared the wounds healed. “Can we just look at the dresses today? I'm not comfortable doing this in here. At the office,” she added, hoping to appeal to her mother's work ethic.

Sophia studied her with one of those X-ray gazes only mothers possessed. “What is it? Talk to me, sweetie.”

How could Sophia have her followed—possibly mugged—one minute and turn the office into a bridal boutique the next?

“It's not how I imagined it, that's all. I haven't imagined it,” she said, hoping the right words would tumble out of her mouth if she kept talking. “You know I was never the little girl who dreamed of walking down the aisle.”

“Is it the scarring?”

Frankie shivered at Sophia's astute guess. “No,” she lied. That was only vanity, anyway, though she'd forever think twice about wearing shorts and short skirts. “When my friend Jack got married, his wife had one of those big princess gowns with the, um, little tucks in the skirt.” Jack had died in the attack that left Frankie wounded and paralyzed, but his wedding was the only one she'd attended. Hopefully his widow would forgive her for surviving.

“Here.” Sophia put a bridal magazine in her hands and nudged her toward a chair. “Flip through that and dog-ear the pages that appeal to you. Don't analyze, just gut reactions.”

Frankie obeyed, ignoring the slide of zippers and whooshes of fabrics behind her. Where was Aidan when she was in real trouble? Muggers were no problem compared to a determined mother of the bride.

“All right, turn around.”

Again Frankie cooperated, helpless to remain aloof as Sophia beamed in front of a wall of white. “Do any of these resemble what you marked?”

There were gowns of every style, from a bell-skirted ball gown to a sleek and modern sheath with a band of sparkles at the waist. “Is it even possible to walk in a mermaid gown?” Frankie asked.

“I'll teach you, if it's the one,” she promised. “All the more reason to choose early.”

Unconvinced, Frankie walked over, standing by her mother to assess the dresses in the lineup. “I guess I like the sweetheart neckline,” she said, flipping to a page in the magazine showing a similar style.

“Very romantic,” Sophia said approvingly as she reached up and moved that dress to the far left. “Anything else?”

“I do want to try on an extravagant ball gown,” Frankie admitted. “Just for fun. Aidan would laugh if I wore it,” she lied. He wouldn't laugh, because they weren't getting married.

“Not a chance,” Sophia declared. “I've never seen a man so adoring.”

Frankie let that go, choosing two more gowns and handing her mother the magazine. Then she noticed the last dress. “Mom,” she whispered. “That's
your
wedding dress.”

Sophia smiled. “Your father swayed on his feet when he saw me. He never admitted it, but I was sure there were tears of joy in his eyes when I walked down that aisle. There's no pressure at all, but it might be a nice way to include him on your special day. We were married in May,” she said, her voice full of memories. “It might not be right for a September wedding.”