Secret Weapon Spouse. B.J. Daniels

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СКАЧАТЬ Fresh from a quick shower, just as she’d suspected. She noted that his hazel eyes were red rimmed and he looked as if he’d been to hell and back. As she neared him, she felt anguish coming off him as well as a raw angry energy. She braced herself.

      Alex Graham looked up as she came down the stairs to meet him. His eyes locked with hers and she thought she glimpsed relief. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

      “Mr. Graham, why don’t we step into my office?” Samantha said in her all-business voice.

      He gave a sharp nod and stalked ahead of her into her office. She closed the door behind them and took her place behind the desk.

      “How is your sister?” she asked, although she’d called the hospital not long before.

      “Still unconscious,” he said his voice hoarse.

      To think that he’d sat in that same chair with his sister beside him only hours before. Except then he’d been ill at ease, nervous.

      Now Alex Graham was grieving and angry. “What the hell happened here today?” he demanded.

      “You know as much as I do,” Samantha said quietly as she adjusted her glasses.

      “I highly doubt that. Who was that woman in the limo?”

      “One of our clients,” Samantha said. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you her name because the police have instructed us not to.”

      A muscle in his jaw bunched. He was furious and looking for someone to blame for his sister’s accident, but also looking for answers. Samantha wished she had some for him.

      “I’m already getting the same runaround from the police, I don’t need it from you,” he said, his voice rising. “I want to know why my sister was run down outside your business.”

      She nodded and spoke in the same soothing tone she used with jittery brides-to-be. “We want to know the same thing, Mr. Graham.”

      “Alex. Mr. Graham is my father.” He raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. “My sister may not make it.” His voice broke. “I can’t reach her fiancé. You know a hell of a lot more than I do. Are you going to help me or not?”

      She felt a shiver as she glimpsed the raw pain in his gaze. This man was angry and hurting but he was no fool. He wasn’t going to be put off by sympathy and reassuring words. Maybe the hit-and-run had just been an unfortunate accident. But what if for some reason Caroline Graham had been a target?

      “I’m going to help you.”

      ALEX GRAHAM leaned back in the chair, all his anger spent. He needed to calm down, to sleep, to eat, but more importantly he needed answers. “Thank you.”

      She nodded and he found himself settling down a little. She had that kind of effect on people, he thought, remembering how she was with Caroline earlier that day.

      He studied her, trying to put his finger on what it was about her that bothered him. She was rail-thin, with huge brown eyes and straight brown hair that fell almost to her shoulders. She peered at him through tortoiseshell glasses. A quiet, unassuming woman, the kind who blended in with the wallpaper.

      At least that’s what she wanted him to believe.

      Where had that thought come from? He met her steady gaze and felt both sympathy and compassion and true concern. And yet as he looked into her eyes, he had the distinct impression that there was more to her, something she didn’t want him to see.

      “How can I help you?” she asked.

      He took a breath. “Let me be honest with you, Miss Peters. It is Miss, right?” Was there a slight flush under the cool porcelain of her skin? “I have never met Caroline’s fiancé and quite frankly, I don’t even know how to reach him.”

      “I have a number for him,” she said taking a fabric-covered book from her desk drawer. From where he sat, he could see that the contents of the drawer were as neat as the writing in the book.

      He watched her turn right to the page.

      “Preston Wellington III,” she said picking up a pen and printing the number on a Post-it in the same concise handwriting. She tore off the note and handed it to him, closing the book and crossing her arms over it.

      He stared at the number for a moment, then at her. “You already tried to call him, didn’t you?”

      “Yes.”

      “And you weren’t able to reach him.”

      “I’m afraid not.”

      He nodded, suspecting he wasn’t going to get much help here, either. “And this is the only number you have for him, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’ve tried it, as well, with the same results.” He sighed. “Have you met him?”

      She nodded. “He always came with Caroline for her appointments.”

      “Except today?” he asked, sounding surprised.

      “Yes.”

      “And your impression of him?” He saw her hesitate. “I realize I’m putting you on the spot here, but I need to know what I’m up against. I’m worried sick about my sister. Don’t you think it was more than odd that the only day her fiancé didn’t come with her she changed her wedding plans and then was struck down out front?” He saw something in her eyes that confirmed she, too, thought it odd. “Now no one seems to be able to reach him…. I need to know your impression of him.”

      She nodded slowly. “I liked him. He seemed very nice, very attentive to your sister. I felt the two of them were very much in love, they seemed to be…soul mates.”

      He heard the small catch in her throat, not sure what surprised him more—her obvious emotional reaction to witnessing what she’d thought was true love or that his sister and this Wellington III might really share something real.

      Was it possible he was wrong about the guy? “Would you mind trying the number again for me?” Maybe they would get lucky.

      “Certainly.” She picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory, then handed him the phone.

      With each ring, his uneasiness grew. He got Preston’s voice mail again but didn’t leave another message. He handed the phone back to her. “He hasn’t returned any of my calls or contacted the hospital. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

      She didn’t comment.

      He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. What was he doing here? What had made him think this wedding planner could help him? Maybe she really didn’t know any more than he did.

      But she had met Preston Wellington III, she’d thought the man was in love with Caroline. Then again, maybe she thought all her clients were in love. Maybe the woman was a hopeless romantic.

      He looked into her brown eyes, eyes the color of Cognac. But behind all that rich, warmth was something steely. This woman СКАЧАТЬ