The Bride And The Bodyguard

Prologue

Caroline Southeby glanced around nervously, then jammed the bills from the automated teller machine into her pocket. After punching the buttons one more time, she turned up the collar of her jacket against the cold drizzle and waited for the machine to register another transaction. At a hundred dollars a pop, it had taken most of the night to get the money. Five withdrawals with a guaranteed check card…Hop the subway to the next exit…another five hundred from MasterCard…Find another machine…five more, courtesy of Visa. And now, American Express. A grand total of two thousand dollars. It wasn’t much, but you could make it last if you knew what you were doing.

And she did.

Caroline pressed her back against the machine and studied the street in both directions. Nothing. No one.

A gust of wind whipped her hair and sent an icy chill through her body. For once she was glad. This was the kind of weather that kept the indigent huddled in the alleys and the gangs deep in their lairs. Even the police would gravitate to some local hangout on a night like this. Which was just fine with her. The last person she wanted to see right now was a cop.

She stooped down to tie the laces on her running shoe and covertly slipped the five bills under the arch of her foot. Next stop was the New York Port Authority Bus Terminal. She slung the backpack over her shoulder, tucked her chin to her chest, and sloshed along Thirty-seventh Street.

The rain was coming down harder now. Not the warm, gentle shower you expected in early May, but a cold, stinging rain that matched her mood. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of Johanna’s special-blend coffee and one of her own bakery confections. But The Coffee Café was undoubtedly being watched. She couldn’t go near her little shop until this mess was over.

She paid cash for her ticket to Pittsburgh, then climbed aboard the old Greyhound and took a seat in the back. Her denim jacket was soaked and she struggled out of it, then spread it on the seat next to her to dry. As the other passengers boarded the bus, she covertly watched them, taking mental stock. None of them paid her any attention. Finally the driver closed the door, and the bus pulled away from the terminal.

Caroline leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Almost at once, echoes of her brothers’ voices sounded inside her head. Remember, Caroline. If you’re ever in trouble, use cash. Once you hit the road, there can be no credit cards, no checks, no paper trail of any kind.

I know, Alden, she whispered.

Move at night. Double back if you have to. You’re on your own now, Princess. So remember the stuff we taught you.

I will, Brian. I won’t forget.

No, she would never forget. She would remember everything—all of it—remember the pieces of Alden’s boat dragged back to shore, his body lost at sea…remember seeing Brian blown away by a single shot…remember staring into the cold, hate-filled eyes of Augie Davis. She remembered running to the police, agreeing to testify against the crime boss who had killed her brothers. She remembered being spirited off to a cheap motel, surrounded by detectives who had sworn to protect her—men who passed the time playing cards…reading books…checking their guns.

Caroline shivered reflexively. Somebody, somewhere, had been willing to tell Davis what he needed to know. Like an ugly, monstrous octopus, his tentacles stretched far and deep. Protective custody had lasted only two months. A barrage of gunfire had exploded this morning, shattering the stillness. One cop was killed instantly, two others exchanged fire with the hired assassins, while the fourth jumped out a back window, dragging her with him. She remembered running and stumbling and running again. She remembered the confusion, the sirens, the gathering crowd—and that was when she knew. If she was going to live long enough to put Augie Davis away, she’d have to do it on her own. She bolted into the crowd, and zigzagged her way through stores and shops, until she was sure she had lost the detective.

Caroline looked out the bus window as the cold, gray city began to slip away. She had scribbled a postcard to the D.A.’s office saying she’d be back for Augie Davis’s trial. And in the meantime, she’d spend three long months on the road, living out of a backpack, eating at greasy truck stops, always looking over her shoulder. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was a whole lot better than the alternative. She couldn’t trust the police, and she’d never again agree to being locked up for her own good. She’d do it her way or not at all. And when the time came, she would go back to New York and avenge her beloved brothers.

Raindrops streamed down the window in rivulets, and Caroline watched her reflection cry.

First Alden, then Brian.

And everyone knew bad things always came in threes.

Chapter 1

Jeff McKensie looked from the cashier’s check in his hand to the man seated in front of his desk. Let me get this straight, Arthur. You’re offering me twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and a first-class, all-expenses-paid trip to the Virgin Islands.

That’s right.

Jeff rocked back in his tall leather chair and looked skeptically at the old man. Arthur Peterson—Federal Marshal and self-appointed protector of the McKensie clan. Because Jeff’s father and Arthur had been best friends, Arthur had been a pseudo member of the family for as long as Jeff could remember. Uncle Arthur seemed to think that gave him certain rights—namely, the right to involve Jeff in federal business whenever he needed help. Whatever it was Arthur wanted, it was guaranteed to interrupt, disrupt, and wreak havoc with Jeff’s orderly life.

Reluctantly, Jeff studied the old man. His hair was a lot thinner than the last time he had popped into Jeff’s life, but his eyebrows were as bushy as ever. To a kid, those brows had been a source of amazement. Especially when Jeff’s brother, Mac, persuaded him they were two caterpillars who had taken up permanent residence on Arthur’s forehead. But even with those ridiculous brows, Arthur’s face was always controlled, exposing only what he wanted you to see.

Today, his face revealed nothing. And he seemed perfectly content to wait for Jeff to take the bait.

Not this time, Arthur.

Knowing the old man was watching every move, Jeff slowly folded the check in half lengthwise. Then he bent back the edges and glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. He certainly had the man’s attention. Jeff finished folding the check into a neat little paper airplane and ran his thumb and forefinger along the center crease. He zipped the plane through the air, across the desk, and watched it land, nose first, in Arthur’s lap.

Very amusing, Arthur said, his reserve cracking ever so slightly. But aren’t you even the least bit curious?

Jeff clasped his hands behind his head and smiled.

Nope.

You truly don’t want to know anything? Her name, her background, her life-threatening situation?

Sorry to disappoint you, Arthur, but I’m not interested. If I ask one simple question, I’ll be hooked. You’ll reel me in faster than a tuna off the back of Mac’s boat. Whatever it is, I won’t do it. So why don’t you leave and let me get back to work?

Arthur crossed his right leg over his left and settled in the chair. My dear boy, you wound me. When have I ever had anything but your best interests at heart?

Jeff threw Arthur a look that would have silenced most men.

Arthur cleared his throat. Well, be that as it may, I need your help.

No.

Jeff, a woman’s life is in my hands. At least hear me out. The next word was barely perceptible. Please.

Jeff looked at the stack of files littering his desk. There were a hundred things he should be doing right now, and listening to some damsel-in-distress story wasn’t even in the top fifty. Jeff sighed. The least he could do was to give the old man a sporting chance. I’m not biting, Arthur, he warned. But you’re welcome to dangle the bait.

Arthur’s normally controlled features flooded with relief and he pulled his chair closer to Jeff’s desk. Ever hear of a man named Augie Davis?

Jeff raised his eyebrows and looked at Arthur curiously. Every lawyer and lawman in the country has heard of Augie Davis, he answered. Small-time punk turned syndicated crime boss. He’s the biggest success story since Al Capone.

Arthur nodded. Davis clawed his way to the top, destroying everything and anyone that stood his way. For the last twenty years he’s had a very close association with an accountant named Donald Southeby. Rumor has it that Southeby did a lot more than just balance the books. Anyway, Southeby died of a heart attack. Coroner said it was completely legit. The old man’s arteries were as hard as cement. But get this—less than a month later, the oldest son, Alden, drowns in a boating ‘accident.’ And a few weeks after that, the younger son, Brian, is shot to death.

Arthur moved to one of the large windows overlooking downtown San Diego. Davis is into everything, he continued with his back to Jeff. And the NYPD has been trying for years to find something that will hold up against him in court. That something turned out to be someone. He turned around and faced Jeff once again. Caroline Southeby, the last of the family, witnessed her brother’s shooting. She’s willing to testify against Davis.

So what’s the problem? Jeff asked. She testifies. He goes to jail. Case closed.

"If she testifies, Arthur corrected. Davis isn’t going to sit around and wait for that to happen. He wants her dead."

Jeff came around to the front of the desk, propped one hip against it, and crossed his arms. That’s why we have cops, Arthur. You put her in a room with someone willing to stare at four walls and order a lot of room service, while the D.A. tries to move up the trial date. Cops do it all the time.

Thank you, professor, but we tried that—with four men.

And? Jeff prompted. The question popped out before he could stop it.

And something went awry, Arthur admitted slowly. Two guys stormed the place. When the smoke cleared, one officer and both hit men were dead.

And the girl?

Arthur shook his head. One of the detectives got her out, but she took off and he lost her in the crowd.

Smart lady, Jeff said. No offense, Arthur, but I’d split, too, if someone was shooting at me.

Arthur dropped down in the chair with an uncharacteristic resignation. She was on the road more than three weeks before we caught up with her. She’s pretty good. Has a lot of street smarts. But if we can find her, so can Davis, and needless to say, she refuses to have anything more to do with the police.

I repeat, Jeff said, smart lady. He pushed himself away from the desk and poured two cups of coffee.

Arthur accepted one of the cups with a grateful nod. Word on the street is that there are a couple of heavy-duty contracts just waiting to be filled.

So that’s where you come in, Jeff interjected. You put her in the Witness Protection Program, give her a new name, a new social security number, and dump her in the middle of Iowa.

Wrong. Arthur took a long, slow breath and swallowed. "That’s where you come in."

Jeff’s cup stalled halfway to his mouth.

Jeff, I can’t ‘dump her in the middle of Iowa,’ as you so quaintly put it, and leave her alone and unprotected. There’s got to be someone with her—someone like you.

Forget it, Jeff said flatly. Find someone else.

"There is no one else, and I wouldn’t be here if I had other options. The raid on the motel leaves little doubt that Davis had a contact inside the department. She doesn’t trust the police, so I need a civilian, Arthur said coolly. Twentyfive to thirty years old, reasonably good-looking—"

Jeff laughed. I’m flattered.

He needs the instincts of a cop, the experience of a bodyguard, and the talent of an actor. I say that’s you.

And I say you’re crazy. I’m a lawyer now, not a P.I. I shuffle papers for a living. The guy you want has an office three floors down. His name’s Bond. James Bond.

Arthur wasn’t laughing. You don’t lose the skills just because your license expires. Besides, your new career is perfect. No one will suspect a lawyer of being able to do anything.

Gee, thanks, Jeff said. But I’m still not interested in joining your cloak-and-dagger set. He picked up a thick file from his desk and casually opened it. Good seeing you again, Arthur.

I’m not going anywhere, Arthur replied. He leaned forward and put his cup on the desk. Not until I convince you to help.

Jeff clenched his teeth and steeled himself for the oncoming lecture. Any time Arthur really wanted something, he brought out the big guns.

Jeff, I’ve been part of your life since the day you were born. Hell, you and Mac were the sons I never had. When your father died, I swore on his grave I’d finish what he started. Fact is, there wasn’t much left for me to do. Your brother was already on his own and at twelve years old, you were well on your way. But I was there for you. I made it to football games, band concerts, graduation, the whole works. I helped you get your P.I. license and watched you work your tail off to get through college and law school, and I couldn’t have been prouder if you were my own son.

Jeff raked a hand through his hair. Arthur’s contributions to the McKensies’ success seemed to grow with the passing of time. But it wasn’t worth debating. I know, Arthur.

And look at you now. Arthur made a great show of admiring the tastefully decorated office with its walnut desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with law books. Mr. Upand-Coming Attorney, an associate in a prestigious San Diego law firm. Rumor has it you’ll be a full partner in about three years.

Rumor, huh? Jeff shook his head. Then you’ll appreciate why I don’t want to give this up.

Which is why you’ll be compensated for your inconvenience. Arthur smoothed out the check and put it back on Jeff’s desk.

’Inconvenience’? Jeff laughed at the absurdity. Arthur, I make good money sitting behind a desk. I don’t need to risk my life to get more. Besides, I seriously doubt the managing partner is going to understand my wanting a twomonth vacation in Iowa.

"Au contraire, Arthur said, grinning. He understands completely. Your job and your clients will be waiting for you when you return."

Jeff blinked. You already talked to him?

Of course, my boy. I would never risk your career.

No, just my life, Jeff muttered.

And for the record, Arthur said, ignoring Jeff’s comment, you won’t be going anywhere near Iowa. You’re getting married.

"Say what?"

It won’t be a legitimate ceremony, Arthur amended. Real license, real chapel, real cake, phony minister. Just enough to persuade people that this is on the up-and-up.

Jeff looked at Arthur as though he were certifiable. No one is going to believe I woke up this morning and decided to marry the first woman who walked through the door. And stop talking as though I’ve already agreed to this harebrained scheme.

Everyone will believe it, Arthur insisted. She’s someone you met while taking the bar review and now she works in northern California. Or maybe she’s an old college sweetheart you recently ran into and the passion was rekindled. Be creative. Make something up. And after the wedding, you’ll take your new bride on a nice, long, quiet, relaxing honeymoon in the Virgin Islands.

Spending a couple of months dodging bullets with a total stranger is not my idea of ‘quiet and relaxing,’ Jeff countered. Besides, I can’t pull this off by myself. I’ll need help, and you don’t trust the people in your own department to back me up.

Then bring Mac in. We’ll pay his expenses, too. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you. Anything at all. The appeal in Arthur’s voice was unmistakable. Just say yes.

Jeff had a real soft spot where the old man was concerned, and what was worse, Arthur knew it. But this time he had gone too far. Jeff shook his head. Come on, Arthur, you must know a dozen guys who do this for a living.

Sure, I know them. But right now, you’re the only one I trust. Arthur stood and pulled a photo from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. I’ve got a dozen look-alike operatives running across the country trying to divert suspicion from her. He threw the picture on the desk in front of Jeff. But if you don’t help her, she won’t live to see her next birthday.

Reluctantly, Jeff glanced at the photo. It was of a woman in her mid- to late-twenties and slender, which gave her a delicate, fragile appearance. Appearances were deceiving, he reminded himself. She had already survived attempted murder and living on the streets. She was probably stronger than he was.

Jeff looked again at the picture. She had an oval face and dark brown hair that brushed the tops of her shoulders and curled in waves around an elegant neck. She was smiling, her lips were full and sensuous, her nose was small and straight. And her eyes…

Slowly he picked up the photo. Her eyes were a mesmerizing deep brown. Dark and tempting. Laughing now, but filled with passion. Eyes that touched his soul, stupid as that sounded.

He glanced at Arthur, then looked back at the picture. Once again, those eyes made his stomach knot.

Jeff slowly released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. You don’t play fair, Arthur.

Arthur’s expression was a painful mixture of affection and determination. I can’t afford to.

* * *

Mr. Davis? The young lady rapped softly on the open door.

Yes, Susan, what is it? He beckoned with his hand and she crossed the plush carpet to stand in front of his desk.

Reports have been coming in all morning from around the country—about the missing woman. Susan offered him a stack of pink message slips.

Thank you, my dear. He smiled benevolently. That will be all for now.

One by one, Augie Davis carefully spread out the pieces of paper. Caroline Southeby spotted in Tampa. Southeby woman last seen in Oregon. Southeby reported in New England. Woman matching Southeby’s description on the run in Dallas.

Pulling a lined pad from a drawer, he drew up a twocolumn list—location on the left; operative on the right. He recorded each message, then ran the pink slips through the paper shredder.

And that was exactly what he would do to Caroline Southeby.

Jeff slumped against the inside of the phone booth. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Arthur had talked him into this madness, and already Jeff regretted it. Last night he had flown to Sacramento. This morning he had gone through a rigorous briefing/training session which only served to confirm what a fool he’d been to let Arthur talk him into this assignment. And then this afternoon, he and a policewoman posing as Caroline Peterson, niece of Federal Marshal Arthur Peterson, went to the Clerk and Recorder’s Office and took out a marriage license. Arthur had the real Caroline under lock and key while he prepared the new identity. On the day of the wedding, Arthur would turn her over to Jeff and from then until the trial she was his responsibility.

Jeff pulled a wallet from his back pocket and gently withdrew the photo tucked in the billfold. He had probably looked at that picture a dozen times and every time those eyes hit him in the gut.

He slid the picture back into his wallet and pulled out a telephone calling card. Charging the call to his home number, he drummed his fingers impatiently while he counted the rings.

’Lo? The voice on the other end sounded groggy and thick with sleep.

Mac, is that you?

Hey, bro. Mac yawned loudly into the phone. What d’you want at this hour of the morning?

It’s the middle of the afternoon, Mac. Open the blinds on that dinghy you sleep in and see for yourself.

The rattle of venetian blinds going up was followed by a loud wince and the crash of the self-same blinds coming down. You made your point, kid. Now if there’s nothing else I’m going to put out an A.P.B. on a bottle of aspirin.

Wait a minute, Mac. I didn’t fly all the way to Sacramento to give you a long-distance wake-up call. We have to talk.

Sacramento? What are you doing up there?

Jeff took a deep breath. I’m getting married next week and I want you to be my best man. The silence on the other end had Jeff convinced Mac had gone off in search of something for his headache. Mac, you still there?

Oh, yeah, I’m here. The sleep had drained from Mac’s voice, and, if nothing else, Jeff at least had his brother’s full attention. Kind of sudden, isn’t it? Mac continued.

Yeah, well, it can’t wait.

Mac’s epithet was colorful to say the least. Damn it, Jeff. How could you be so careless? Are you sure it’s yours?

Jeff stared at the phone in disbelief. Yesterday he was sitting in his office, minding his own business, thinking the world was a pretty nice place. Today he had a fiancée who was being chased by members of the New York underworld and a brother who was looking to become an uncle.

It’s not what you think, Mac. I’ll explain everything when I get back. Just clear your calendar and start packing. I’ll need your help when I get her to the Virgin Islands.

The sounds of someone rummaging through cabinets vanished as Mac’s laugh sang across the wires. Sorry, kid. But I taught you everything I knew when you were thirteen. If you haven’t got the hang of it by now, there’s nothing more I can do for you. The raucous laughter continued. On second thought, maybe I should help you out. After all, that’s what brothers are for. Jeff listened as Mac drank something, glugging loudly into the phone. So tell me, what’s this lady like?

Jeff grinned. How should I know? I haven’t met her yet. The sound of choking gave Jeff a satisfying feeling of revenge.

Is this your idea of a joke? Mac sputtered.

Funny, that’s exactly what I said to Arthur when he—

Arthur’s involved in this? No wonder you’re not making any sense. How can you even think of hooking up with him again? I haven’t forgotten the last mess he coaxed us into. You ended up with cracked ribs and I spent three days in jail.

This one’s different.

"Oh, sure. This time I’ll get the cracked ribs and you can sit in jail. Listen, bro.