Gunning for the Groom (15 page)

The man jerked the wheel and slammed his hand on the horn as he aimed for the left shoulder, searching for any opening on the crowded roadway. The acrid odor of burning rubber tinged the air when he gunned the engine through tight spaces. The car that hit them gave pursuit. Aidan and Paul were tossed back into the seat and then side to side as the driver evaded within his limited options.

“Where's a cop when you need one?” Paul grumbled. Keeping his head low, he managed to get the glassware back into the console and tuck the liquor station away.

Aidan muttered something agreeable as he mentally weighed his limited options. He hoped Frankie and Sophia weren't experiencing a similar attack.

Paul's driver cut across traffic from the left shoulder, aiming for the next exit. Aidan couldn't understand the decision. The surface streets would give the maniac behind them better access as they jerked in a stop-and-go pattern between lanes.

Bullets started to fly again. One after another struck the window closest to Aidan, creating spiderweb patterns in the glass. He ducked down, taking Paul with him. “Are you hit?”

“No,” the older man said. “What about you?”

“I'm good.” Aidan pulled a pen from his sport coat and wrote down the plate number of the car that had hit them. “Got the license,” he muttered.

Paul gave him a small smile. “Good job.”

“We're clear, boss,” the driver said.

Aidan followed Paul's lead, resuming his place in the backseat as they merged with traffic exiting the freeway. “What now?” he asked.

The remnants of the rear window exploded and Paul's answer was swallowed by a spray of sparkling glass and a violent oath. Aidan felt a burning in his back and across his arm as a wet warmth seeped slowly down his side. The coppery tang of blood filled his nostrils. “I'm hit.” Had he managed to get the words out or had he only thought them?

It was his first gunshot wound and he hadn't expected it to make him woozy. He didn't understand how the shot was even possible until he looked back over his shoulder and caught the movement of a sniper on the overpass above and behind them.

He'd been set up, he thought, afraid this time he had said it aloud. “Hospital,” he rasped, reaching for his phone.

Paul shouted orders to the driver while applying pressure to Aidan's back.

Aidan reached into his pocket, relieved his phone was in one piece. He pulled up Frankie's contact page.

“What are you doing?” Paul demanded.

The call went to voice mail. The sound of the greeting Frankie had recorded on her new phone made him feel better immediately.

“Fr-Frankie,” Aidan stammered. “Baby,” he said, using the code word for trouble. “Got shot.” It was only a small fib, not an outright lie. “Here's Paul.”

He handed over the phone. “Tell her what hospital.”

He listened as Paul explained where they were headed, and then he reclaimed his phone.

“I'll call Sophia as soon as we get to the ER,” Paul assured him. “Just in case they don't get the voice mail.”

“Good.” Aidan let his head drop back onto the seat, hoping that didn't make him a better target. The wind rushed through the destroyed rear window, the sound and chill keeping him awake as the driver sped to the nearest hospital.

It felt like a small eternity before the car stopped. Aidan was soon surrounded by people in scrubs helping him from the vehicle. He heard Paul explain they'd been attacked on the freeway and then, finally, he heard nothing more than the orders of medical staff around him.

“It's not that bad,” he murmured as they cut away his clothing. “I need my phone.”

A nurse argued with him, but he had to tell Victoria. “Aidan Abbot, Interpol,” he said, hoping they wouldn't ask for official ID. “I need five seconds to send a text, and then you can have at it.”

Over the gurney a doctor exchanged a look and a shrug with the nurse. The woman handed him his phone and he managed to send the text. Victoria would know what to do next. “Thank you,” he said. His head was swimming again, just from that small effort. “What the hell happened to my head?”

His questions went unanswered as the medical team worked to assess and address his injuries. At least he was out of Paul's reach for the moment. Assuming that bastard was behind the whole mess.

More important, if he didn't survive this, the Colby Agency would protect Frankie and could flush out the mole inside Leo Solutions.

Chapter Twelve

Frankie was completely overwhelmed and more than a little worried when her mother drove out to a small, private airfield on the west side. “We're flying to interview bakers?”

Sophia chuckled and reached across the console to pat Frankie's knee. “No. I just needed neutral territory to bring them all together. A friend of mine let me use the conference room here. And I didn't want any distractions from the office.”

Frankie was distracted enough with all the details and emotions she could barely fit into the box in the corner of her mind. This woman didn't reconcile with the distant widow Frankie remembered after her dad's suicide. She was much closer to the vibrant, reliable mother from Frankie's childhood. “You didn't have to do this,” she said, her guilt riding heavy on her shoulders.

“I want to. You're going to marry a wonderful man and your wedding should be perfect from start to finish.”

Only in her dreams, Frankie thought. “You barely know him.”

“I know you,” Sophia countered. “You're smart and an excellent judge of character. If he wasn't worthy, you never would've said yes when he proposed.”

Frankie knew that no matter how delicious the presentation, she would taste only bitterness today. Sophia put the car in Park and wiggled her fingers. “A man who puts a ring like that on your hand is serious about forever.”

Oh, God. This wedding business was way out of control.

Sophia patted her arm. “Sweetheart, you're starting a life together and I want to celebrate that moment with you to the fullest.” She reached for her door handle. “Let's go eat cake!”

Frankie managed to make a sound that resembled laughter. If she was such an excellent judge of character, why did she feel that her family was one lie on top of another? She had believed her parents were in love, devoted and committed to each other and to her. She'd believed her mother had supported her dad through the accusations. Then she'd believed her mother had set him up. And now she believed, as Aidan did, that something bigger and darker had manipulated them all.

What did she know about anyone's true character? She barely recognized herself anymore, running around pretending one thing while thinking and feeling ten others.

Further self-assessment took a backseat as she walked into the conference room. Her mother had pulled out all the stops. Tables were draped in white, and seven different bakeries had created elaborate displays. “Holy cow,” Frankie whispered. “Mom.”

“This is fabulous,” Sophia gushed, striding forward to greet the bakers. “Thank you all so much for doing this at the last minute.”

Frankie marveled at the effort she had made, as well as the bakers. This had taken more than a few phone calls. Would the real Sophia Leone please stand up?

She and her mother set out to evaluate each display. They tasted two samples from each baker and flipped through presentation books of designs. Overwhelmed didn't begin to cover it. Sophia conducted a group interview of sorts and Frankie chimed in with an occasional opinion. No pricing was discussed, just options and preferences. It was clear to everyone in the room Sophia wasn't putting a limit on the wedding budget.

If Frankie could've crawled into a hole, she would have.

“If we have a family recipe for a specific cake, is that something any of you would consider? Not for the formal cake,” Sophia clarified, “but for a groom's cake or a honeymoon suite surprise. I don't want my daughter or me worried about baking on the day of, you understand.”

That generated more favorable responses and Frankie found herself as enamored as the bakers by Sophia's bright, happy smile.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she checked the display, irrationally hoping it was Aidan. Seeing that she'd missed a call from his number, she excused herself to listen to the voice mail.

He stammered her name, sounding drunk.

Her heart lunged into her throat.

“Baby.” Hearing the code word for trouble, Frankie rapped on the glass window to get Sophia's attention. “Got shot,” Aidan's message went on.

Frankie swayed at the news. “Oh, my God!” Suddenly Paul's voice was telling her the car had been attacked on the freeway and they were headed to the hospital.

Frankie fought down a tidal wave of panic as her mother joined her. “We have to go,” she told Sophia, her hands shaking. “Aidan's been shot.”

Her mom's eyes went wide. “How? Where?” She dashed back into the conference room for her purse. “He and Paul were together,” she said as they ran for the car.

“Paul sounded fine,” Frankie assured her through clenched teeth. She used her phone to search the news networks for any reports of a freeway sniper. No results. Either the story was too new or the attack had been focused solely on Paul and Aidan.

Sophia reached over and clutched Frankie's hand as she drove. “Paul won't let anything happen to Aidan. Just hang in there.”

Frankie hoped she was right. It felt like hours rather than minutes before they reached the ER, and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Sophia dropped Frankie at the door and then drove off to find a parking space.

Frankie raced up to the emergency room information desk. “Aidan Abbot.” She paused, the words jammed behind the panicked beating of her heart. “My fiancé. Gunshot wound.”

The nurse behind the desk nodded in recognition. “He's stable. If you'll have a seat, we'll tell you more when we know something.”

“I need to see him right now.” A rush of tears blurred her vision. “Now,” she repeated. She hadn't been this frantic since waking in that hospital bed with no feeling below her waist.

“Frankie.” His hand at her elbow, Paul drew her aside.

She looked up, wiping the tears from her cheeks as he put his arm around her. Where had he come from? Why wasn't there a mark on him? Was that Aidan's blood on his jacket? Fear tore through her. She shrugged off Paul's touch and stepped out of his reach. “You did this. Somehow.” She thought of the travel documents and the Lennox interview. If not Sophia, it had to be Paul pulling the strings. “You set this up.”

“You're upset.” The man's voice was gentle, but his eyes were cold. “Understandable. Just take a breath.” His gaze slid past her and she heard high heels clicking rapidly on the tile flooring.

Frankie attacked, drilling a finger into his chest. “It's you. Last night you tried to kill me, and now him. No way I'll let you get away with this.”

“Frankie,” her mother said. “What's going on? How is Aidan?”

“He's stable,” Paul answered before Frankie could.

“Thank God for that.” Sophia pressed a hand to her chest. “What happened?”

“Road rage, I guess,” he explained, without explaining anything at all. “Aidan claims he caught some of the license plate of the car. We were rear-ended and then shot at.”

Sophia sucked in a breath. “Are you sure you're not hurt?” She gestured to the bloodstains on his clothes.

“I'm fine.”

Frankie had calmed down enough to speak again. Though she doubted anyone would like what she had to say. “Of course he's fine. The attack was aimed at Aidan. Paul here wants us off his trail.”

“You're out of your mind,” Paul accused.

“I'm right.” Frankie fisted her hand, eager to reach for the knife in her purse. “We've been tailed and mugged, attacked and shot at. You even bugged the apartment.”

Staring at her in bewilderment, Sophia echoed, “Bugged?” She looked to Paul. “What is she talking about?”

“This is hardly the place to discuss these things,” he chided, his voice low. “Your mother is the public face of a prominent security company.”

“I want to see Aidan,” Frankie demanded. Her mother's arms went around her, drawing her close. Frankie's first instinct was to pull away, but she simply didn't possess the wherewithal.

“He's going to be fine,” Paul insisted. “The police are on their way.”

“As if I'd believe anything you say.” Frankie jerked out of her mother's embrace. “Either of you. I came here, we came here because—” She caught herself in the nick of time and dragged in a deep breath. “Because I thought we could be a family,” she said to her mom. “It was Aidan's idea.” She tried to remember more of the cover story and couldn't. She pushed her hands through her hair. “I just need to see him.”

Her mother's full lips compressed to a straight line and she stalked back to the registration desk.

“How's that family idea working?” Paul stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Since you showed up with that chip on your shoulder, she's bent over backward for you and you—”

“Frankie.” Sophia snapped her fingers and pointed to a nurse wearing a harried expression. “Hurry.”

Frankie didn't have time to figure out what Paul meant or listen to a lecture from the sullen man. With a parting glare for him, she joined the nurse and tried to pull herself together before seeing Aidan.

She supposed it couldn't be too bad if he wasn't in surgery. Still, she'd be the one to decide if he was fine. Not Paul, standing out there without a scratch on him, lecturing her about family. Bastard.

Another nurse stepped out of the emergency treatment bay. “You're the fiancée?”

Frankie nodded. The fake fiancée dumb enough to have fallen in love with her undercover groom.

“He's been asking for you.”

“Thanks.” She walked through the split in the curtain and, seeing him alert and smiling, her anger and worry faded. He motioned her closer to the bed and laced his fingers with hers.
Relief
wasn't a strong enough word. He was pale, but the monitor showed steady vitals. “You're okay?”

She examined every inch she could see as the words
I love you
and
don't scare me
danced on the tip of her tongue. She wouldn't say them, not here. She couldn't put that pressure on him. It wasn't his fault she'd fallen so hard and fast.

“Stop looking for trouble,” he said. “I'm fine, I promise.” He raised her hand to his lips.

“Hardly fine. You're in an ER,” she pointed out. “You've been shot.”

He laughed a little and then winced at the resulting pain.

“Tell me what happened.” She kept her voice low and bent to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Did you find something?”

He shook his head, but the gleam in his eyes told her the answer was yes. He didn't want to discuss it here.

“None of the news agencies are reporting a freeway sniper.”

He grunted. “I gave the plate number to the cops who came by a few minutes ago.”

“How bad is it, really?”

“I'm fine,” he insisted. “It's all superficial. I got clocked behind the ear with debris and have a mild concussion. That gave me more trouble than the gunshot.”

When the doctor came around an hour later to discharge him, Frankie verified that he'd left nothing out regarding his injuries and that she understood the instructions and danger signs to watch for overnight.

* * *

I
T
WAS
NICE
, in a strange way, to have Frankie fuss over him. To watch her dark, expressive eyes fill with relief when he finally convinced her the bullet had done little more than graze him. He had a few stitches, and thanks to the concussion he was bordering on exhausted by the time they convinced her mother he was fine and escaped to the hotel where they'd spent last night.

“What do you need?” she asked, pushing the U-lock and dead bolt into place.

“I'm good.” He eased himself onto the bed and smiled at her. “Just relax.”

“How? You were attacked—”

He wanted to tell her the attack was sloppy, to point out—again—that he'd survived. She needed to hear something else. He understood. “Now you know how I felt last night.”

Her mouth closed and her eyes went wide, her dark eyebrows arching, and then she scowled. “Yeah, okay.”

She dropped into the chair across the room and he stifled a smirk. “How was the cake tasting?”

“Cake is the least of our concerns,” she replied.

He eyed the ring on her finger, liking the look of it there. “They didn't send any samples with you?” That earned him a sharp glare. A smarter man wouldn't bait this particular woman, but he happened to be fond of the way her eyes sparked when she was annoyed.

Fond. Yeah, that was an understatement. Despite the close call, it didn't feel like the right time to tell her how “fond” he was.

“We left in a rush.” She stood up and pushed her hands through her hair. “Are you sore? Do you need something for pain?”

“No,” he answered. “I only need one thing.”

“Tell me,” she said, eager to help.

“Come here and kiss me.” He hoped it would distract them both from the inevitable talk about the case. When she learned that he'd sent his latest findings and theories to Victoria without consulting her, Frankie would be angry. At the very least.

Before he faced that, he wanted some tangible reassurance they were both still breathing, and committed to this case. To each other. He shoved the errant thought aside. Yes, he needed her touch more than he wanted to admit, but he'd just been shot. Sappy, random things were supposed to wander through his concussed brain.

She walked over, pulled a chair close to the bed and took his hand between hers. “You scared me.”

Her quiet admission surprised him. “Given a choice, I'd never do that.” He tugged on her hand until she was in range of his lips. For a long moment, he savored the sweet, soft kiss.

Her mouth curved in a gentle smile when she broke away. Then she caught her plump lower lip between her teeth. Stepping out of his reach, she hooked her thumbs into the back pockets of her khaki slacks. “I did something stupid while you were back there,” she said. “Before they let me see you.”