Undercover Husband. Rebecca Winters

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      “It’s absolutely breathtaking, Brit. You lucky...” she murmured under her breath.

      Brit and Denise had been best friends since they were ten years old, long enough for Brit to realize Denise had just sent her a private message.

      Roman’s mouth turned up at the corner. Obviously he was amused and pleased that Denise was playing her part so well.

      “Denise—” Brit interjected at last “—since Roman is my fiancé, I want you two to become close friends.”

      “That won’t be hard,” Denise exclaimed. “Rod? I think we should celebrate. Why don’t you run to the store and bring home some drinks and donuts. Dad left money in the drawer in the kitchen.”

      “Okay. I’ll go.”

      “You have a nice brother,” Roman said as soon as Rod disappeared out the front door. “In fact you did a masterful job of covering up the truth, Ms. Martin.”

      “Denise,” she urged him before her expression grew solemn. “Thank you. So did you. I mean—you and Brit—Well, let’s just say that you both could have fooled me.”

      “That’s good.”

      “Please.” She spread her hands. “Make yourselves comfortable. Rod will be back before we know it.”

      “I’m glad he’s out of earshot. Just so you know, I’ve assigned some of my colleagues to keep round-the-clock surveillance on you and your brother. As I told Brit, no one knows how much information Baird picked up on the two of you that you’re not aware of. We do know he mentioned you in the letters to Brit, so I’m not taking any chances.”

      “Thank you, Roman.” Denise’s voice shook. “Like Brit, my parents and I will be willing to pay any price for peace of mind.”

      “We’ll worry about the bill later, all right?”

      She nodded. “You’re very kind. What can I do to help?”

      “For one thing, we’ll want you and Rod to witness our wedding in three days’ time. I’m thinking we’ll do it at Brit’s parents’ home, if they agree.”

      “Three days?” Denise blinked.

      “That’s right,” he murmured. “We have to move fast.”

      Brit spoke up. “I—I’m sure it will be fine with Mom and Dad, Roman.”

      He nodded approvingly before his gaze switched back to Denise. “What we need from you is to throw us a party day after tomorrow. Let’s make it an evening affair, informal. I’ll pay for the pizza. Phone anyone you want. Brit’s friends from work, from her church, your mutual friends.”

      “Like a couples’ shower?”

      “Exactly.” He grinned. “You know the kind.”

      Denise’s eyes looked mischievous. “I do.”

      “When we leave here, you can get on the phone to people. As for right now, I want you to tell me everything you can remember about Glen Baird from the very first moment you saw him. I want to hear any details you can share, no matter how insignificant they may have appeared to you at the time.”

      She shared a private look with Brit. “I’m sure she’s told you everything. He gave all of us the creeps. But when everyone shied away from him, I felt kind of bad for him. That is until we got home and he started sending Brit those ghastly letters.”

      Roman nodded. “I can understand that. Most stalkers are disgruntled humans reaching out for love or attention in the only way they know how. In the course of their actions, they make mistakes a child could follow and are soon caught.

      “The large percentage don’t have intentions of causing physical injury, though they put their victims through unquestionable hell and emotional anguish. Unfortunately Baird is an unknown commodity, which is why we need to assume he could be dangerous to Brit and you.”

      Brit stirred restlessly. “I think being stalked is one of the most awful things that can be done to a person.”

      Roman’s gaze flicked to her. “It’s the reason for the anti-stalking laws. But in the end, it comes down to money. Our local law enforcement agencies don’t have the funds to pay for extended stakeouts and surveillance.

      “This last year I’ve been gathering information to prepare a bill for the Utah legislature which asks that public funds be granted to known stalking victims to bring their perpetrators to justice in the shortest amount of time possible. Bills like this are being initiated in other states, as well.

      “But enough of that for now. You two need to help me understand Baird. Try to remember. Any little detail could help.”

      You’re an amazing man, Roman Lufka. One in a million. How was I lucky enough to have picked you out of all the other private investigators?

      CHAPTER THREE

      “YOUR parents are delightful people, Brit.”

      In the darkness his deep voice reached out to touch her as they drove along Wasatch Boulevard toward his home. The thought of living with him filled her with an inexplicable excitement. Try as she might, she was having trouble remembering that he was simply a private investigator hired to guard her. On both an emotional and physical level, no man had ever affected her this profoundly.

      “Thank you. They were very impressed with you, too.” So impressed, in fact, that they were willing to put their faith in his hands. Not once did they raise an eyebrow over the unorthodox situation.

      Brit wasn’t surprised. Roman made a powerful impact on people. Even Denise hadn’t been immune to his commanding, virile appeal.

      As for her parents, their eagerness to comply with Roman’s wishes and put on a wedding in so short a time—despite her father’s heart condition—was nothing short of miraculous. They acted almost as if it were going to be the real thing, conversing animatedly with Roman, treating him like a true son-in-law to be.

      The specter of Glen Baird seemed to have taken a back seat to the wedding preparations, all of which Roman assured them he would handle down to the last detail. Tonight Brit, herself, could be forgiven for thinking the unsolicited letters sent by that freak were a figment of her imagination.

      “We’re home,” he murmured at last, slowing down to turn into the driveway of a home hidden by trees on densely wooded property. He pressed the Genie on his sun visor and they slid quietly into the double car garage where she saw a slate-blue BMW convertible parked.

      The modern glass-and-wood house on Spruce Hollow Drive, aptly named for its many pine trees, was definitely a man’s domain. No feminine frills anywhere, yet it invited.

      When Roman came around to help her from the car, her arm accidentally brushed against his solid male chest, sending another dart of awareness through her body. On trembling legs she followed him through a door at the side of the garage into an entry hall where framed graphics of surrealistic drawings hung on the walls, capturing her attention.

      Brit СКАЧАТЬ