Orange Blossom Brides (5 page)

Lilli grabbed her purse, knocking over the accordion file Mrs. Rumpold had given her earlier. Wedding gown photos spilled to the floor. Exasperated, Lilli knelt down to collect the pictures, her eye catching on an image of a beautiful gown. The white strapless creation hugged the model’s body before flaring out in an embroidered trumpet skirt and train.

“Coming?” Jewel called.

“Be right there.” She took one last look at the gown before scooping up the remaining pictures, securely placing them in the file and out of her sight before her resolve to stay unaffected by weddings unraveled.

CHAPTER THREE

M
AX
HELD
THE
PRINTOUT
with the particulars of the Wingate collection in his hand. He perused the information, realizing this collection was not just fancy jewelry. The pieces, which showcased several diamonds and sapphires, were more like artwork, he noted. His eyebrows rose when he saw the estimated value of the collection. Unbelievable. Why on earth would Clare Wingate loan her collection to a friend? Benefit or not? Thankfully, the collection had full insurance coverage. That lowered his heart rate some.

He’d do everything in his power to keep the collection safe, but couldn’t deny he’d be glad when the pieces were returned to their owner.

Tossing the fax onto his desk, Max leaned back in his chair and stacked his bootheels on the windowsill, taking a moment to contemplate the scene from his office window. From here, he had an unimpeded view of the beach and the Gulf waters. If he’d realized all the stress that went into starting his own security firm, he might have had second thoughts. He’d loved police work, being something of an adrenaline junkie, but when word of his grandmother’s bad heart had reached him he decided to come back to Florida.

Laverne Sanders had raised him after his father died and his mother couldn’t deal with a son who tended to get into mischief. He grinned. His grandmother’s kind description of his actions. Most people had plain-out called him trouble.

His old friend and mentor, the town police chief, called to inform Max that he’d assisted Gram after a fainting spell in the produce section of Winn Dixie. Apparently she’d been dealing with some health issues and hadn’t told Max because she didn’t want to worry him. He also found out her finances were a mess, so he came home to pitch in and help, whether she wanted him to or not. Each was all the family the other had. She’d always been rock solid for him, now he would take care of her.

Another reason to make sure his business became successful here in Cypress Pointe. Folks of this fine town might remember him as a hoodlum, but Gram knew better. The burden of proving he’d changed would be tough, but he’d always liked a good challenge.

She’d be miffed when she found out he’d turned down the groom position for the charity function, since she’d been telling him he needed to get out and meet people. Women people, to be exact.

Right now he had to concentrate on his security business. The longer he was in town, the more he realized the need here. And he would make himself indispensable.
Even if it means volunteering for the wedding fashion show?
The thought made him shudder, until one particular bewitching redhead came to mind.

Max had to admit, working undercover might be his only option to guard both the jewelry collection and the vintage gowns, but he wouldn’t give in easily. He ran a hand through his hair and drank the last of his coffee. Gone stone-cold again, along with his mood. The more he thought about Miss Barclay—which he’d done pretty much nonstop since she’d waltzed into his office, dragging the past with her—the more he vowed to prove himself to the folks of Cypress Pointe. He rose and walked to the outer office to get another mug of coffee just as Blanche breezed through the door.

“I’m back, boss.”

“I could have used you about two hours ago.”

“Why?”

“I had a visitor try to talk me into volunteering as a groom at that charity function.”

She stopped just inside the threshold, closing the door behind her. The middle-aged control freak with short, spiky blond hair regarded him with an amused tilt of her lips as he explained Miss Barclay’s visit. “I’m gone for the morning, and this place falls apart.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” He told her how he turned Lilli down flat. “She pretty much ran out of here.”

“After such a heartfelt refusal? What a shocker.”

Max scowled at his secretary, not missing the sarcasm in her tone.

“Hey, I agreed to security. Nothing more.”

“Even if it means spending time with a pretty, young,
single
woman?”

“How do you know all that?”

“Please, you’ve forgotten that this is a small town.” Blanche grinned. “Remind me never to leave you alone again.”

He scowled at her.

She shook her head as she crossed the room to her desk. “Really, though, you should take advantage of these events. Look at it more as a business opportunity and less as getting wrangled to volunteer for Celeste.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Max, you were under the mistaken belief that you can say no to this event. I know those historical society ladies. They’re going to figure out a way to con you into volunteering, and they won’t stop until you give in. And the chief warned you. Celeste Barclay expects results.”

“She didn’t ask me. Her daughter did.”

Blanche shrugged. “Doesn’t matter who did the asking. It’s town tradition to volunteer and we all know what happens when you buck tradition.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t get any business. Trust me on this.”

“Like I have time for ridiculous stuff like escorting fake brides down the country club aisle,” he grumbled. “I’m going to be working that night.”

Blanche ignored him. “Think of Jake Riley and the animals at the shelter. How would he feel if you refused?”

He stared at her. “He’s a dog. He doesn’t care.”

“Honey, there’s just some things that are implied and this is one of them.”

Shaking his head, he raised an eyebrow at the petite, bossy secretary. “This is crazy.”

“This is Cypress Pointe.”

No matter what he decided, this had all the signs of a disaster in the making.

Blanche crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry, Max. You’ll have to go.”

The finality in her words made him cringe. She wasn’t sorry. Not in the least.

“Okay, but I don’t have to tell her right away.”

Blanche shook her head in resignation at her boss’s stubbornness.

Refusing to talk about it any longer, he handed her his mug in defeat. “More coffee?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He returned to his office and sank into the chair, closing his eyes to once again picture Miss Barclay with her cool smile and cooler eyes. Dressed in something that reminded him of the shade of summertime. A summer that had changed his life.

He couldn’t back down. Not so quickly. He may still have trust issues with the woman—okay, major trust issues—but dressing up as a groom? He shuddered.

He glanced at the wall clock and jumped up when he saw the time. Grabbing the tools of the trade he needed to go undercover, he sprinted through the office. “Gotta take care of that surveillance case.”

Blanche held up his mug. “What about your coffee?”

“Hang on to it until later.” He stopped and stared her down. “And please don’t volunteer me for anything before I get back.”

Blanche chuckled. “Sure. And you keep your mind on the job and off a particular pretty woman.”

Easier said than done. Max hurried down the stairs and stepped into the late-morning sun.

* * ** * *

O
NE
MORE
MOVE
,
B
ART
.
Then you’re mine.

Max folded the newspaper he’d been pretending to read, placing it on the bench beside him, his eyes never once leaving his quarry. Muscles tense, he waited patiently. Bad Bart, the town pickpocket, was about to mess up. Max could feel it in his bones. And when he did, Max would catch it all on tape.

“C’mon. Just do it,” Max muttered under his breath while he waited for Bart to relieve his unsuspecting victim of his belongings.

If anyone had told Max that small-town life held as much drama as the big city of Atlanta where he had worked as a detective, he wouldn’t have believed them. He’d been involved in undercover stakeouts in the most dangerous sections of the city, where he didn’t dare take his hand off his firearm for safety’s sake. He’d dealt with demanding bosses, low-life criminals and every type of perp who claimed he didn’t do it. He’d taken it all in stride, until two cases, coming on the tail of each other, made him rethink his career.

He’d been called to assist a multiple homicide. A mother and her two sons. Victims of domestic abuse. Max hated family violence. Long estranged from his mother, he couldn’t help but think he could have ended up like one of those boys had fate not intervened.

Max had been on hand for many of the calls to the apartment. He’d always hoped the mother would leave the guy, for the boys’ sakes as well as her own. He’d encouraged the brothers to help their mother leave and had struck up a tentative friendship with them. From time to time, he stopped by the park near their building to watch them play baseball.

The mother finally decided to leave her boyfriend after he’d managed to mess her up pretty badly, and not just her that time. Once the guy went after one of her boys, she’d wanted out. Thinking he’d be gone all day at work, she’d gathered the boys and their few belongings. She’d made it as far as the car when her boyfriend came home unexpectedly. He went into a rage and shot them all, including himself.

The next case had hit even closer to home. A teen with an already growing record had stolen from his neighborhood convenience store and been caught on tape. Max and his partner went to the teen’s apartment, only to find him arguing with his mother. She told Max to take the kid away. She was done worrying about him. Hadn’t Max heard those same words, only from his own mother? Too many times to count.

They’d taken the kid to the station and booked him. As he always did, Max talked to the teenager, hoping he could get the kid to see the error of his ways. He never knew if he reached any of the young people he spoke to, but he hoped they would listen. Max visited the boy a few times, thinking he’d made some headway. Then, shortly after, Max learned that while in lockup the boy had been killed in a gang attack.

Max’s story had played out differently after he came home from juvenile detention. His mother had packed up and gone, leaving Max homeless. If not for his grandmother, who knew where he might be today? In jail? Or worse, like the teen he’d tried to help?

Max had wondered what he could have done differently to help the boys in both instances. Logically, he knew he couldn’t have done more. Still, the memories had haunted him enough that he knew he had to leave the city. That’s when he’d begun thinking about starting his own security business.

Life in Cypress Pointe promised to be calm, serene, even. Getting the security business up and running would take time, but he was eager to get going. Until Bad Bart.

Cliché? You bet. Bad Bart Bradbury had named himself and the nickname stuck. Pickpocket Bart was more appropriate.

He was a thorn in the side of the Cypress Pointe Merchants Association, Max’s current client. They wanted this scourge of society off the streets. When Max heard this description, he wondered what kind of menace terrorized the streets and why on earth his grandmother hadn’t warned him about the criminal element. Then he’d gotten his first glimpse of Bart. A scourge? Far from it. Slippery? Oh, yeah. But Max hadn’t met a criminal he couldn’t capture and bring to justice.

Determined to close the case file today, Max sported his new spy-cam sunglasses. A perk in his line of work. He loved playing with high-tech gadgets. When Bart proved to be a worthy adversary, Max had purchased the surveillance kit. With the camera mounted on his belt, he resembled another tourist jamming to an MP3 player when he was actually recording Bart’s movements. When Bart slipped up—and he would—the proof would be given to the association, his job done and a check sent to him in the mail.

Max regarded his subject, shaking his head. A nice enough kid, Bart worked as a busboy on the breakfast shift in a downtown restaurant. Five-eight, shaggy hair, maybe all of nineteen. Somewhere along the way he’d grown tired of his ho-hum life and decided picking pockets made him the center of attention in an invisible life. He didn’t keep the money or the items he pilfered—a wallet here, a cell phone there. Max knew the items “anonymously” appeared on the counter at the police station before anyone could nab Bart. He just wanted people to acknowledge him.

Maybe he needed a girlfriend.

Or an hour with Max’s grandmother. Laverne would fuss over him, urge him to stop his pickpocket ways and turn his life around. She’d given Max a talking to on more occasions than he cared to remember, and when he’d thought he’d burned his last bridge with her, he’d finally listened.

Squinting against the bright April sun, Max focused on Bart as he headed toward the new eatery in town. Max had observed that Bart finished his shift in the early afternoon, then mingled with the tourists who were out in large numbers looking for a place to eat or shop. Instead of following a mark, which was his normal M.O., today Bart waved at two women as they turned the corner to join him on the sidewalk. Max’s eyes narrowed and surprise kicked through him.
No way.
Miss Charity Coordinator herself.

He shook his head, not sure if he should growl or groan. Not wanting his quarry to escape without getting the action on tape, Max jumped up from the bench. With a determined stride, he crossed the pavement, edging closer to what he hoped would be the end of this assignment. So far, Bart’s elusiveness had proved to be a wrinkle in his plans. Max was so close to catching Bart. He couldn’t let Lilli Barclay interfere with his goal.

Oh, yeah, he’d remembered her name once the shock of seeing her had worn off. Then he’d dug around for more. What kind of self-respecting security consultant would he be otherwise? He’d called the historical society office. The lady answering the phone had told Max everything he wanted to know, from Lilli’s family, to where she worked and what coffee shop she frequented. Like he needed to know her coffee preference. But at this point, gaining the upper hand in every situation was the name of the game. And this pretty, pesky society babe constituted a situation.

Now he had to deal with her again, in a most inconvenient scenario.