The Wedding Trap (Second Service) Read online

  And they were petty. Beth knew it. Just like she knew she had brought all of this grief on herself.

  She strode past the bar and headed straight for the set of double doors at the end of the hall. If she just got some air, maybe she could think a little clearer.

  She had gotten herself into this mess. Now she was going to have to figure a way out.

  Chapter 2

  Alex Tanner jumped over the short fence that separated the valet lot from the rest of the Kensington Hotel parking. The cherry red BMW wasn’t hard to find. It was at the far edge of the lot, right up against the edge of the perfectly landscaped hill.

  He did a quick scan of the area before approaching the car. There was a cluster of people just outside the hotel entrance. The small crowd that was milling around down by the corner looked like they were waiting for a bus. A woman walking through the small garden to the right of the lot was the only person close enough to see his face, but she was busy looking down at her own feet, seemingly too absorbed by her own troubles to concern herself with his.

  Alex kept walking and pressed the button on the keychain device in his pocket. Every car alarm in a ten foot radius silently disabled. The button next to it unlocked the doors. A little B&E had never been easier thanks to his friends over at DARPA.

  Alex opened the driver’s side door, keeping one leg on the ground outside as he sat down on the leather seat. He flipped both sun visors down. Nothing.

  He popped open the glove box. Car manual. Registration. Insurance information. That was it.

  He wasn’t surprised. The chance of finding anything useful in the best man’s car had been a long shot. There were three more vehicles to check after this, and, though Alex wasn’t holding out much hope for any of them, he still had to try.

  His best bet had been the rooms, and he’d already had the opportunity to go through three of the four—the groom, the best man, the maid of honor. That only left the bride. She had been the only one who hadn’t left her room today.

  But a quick glance at the hotel restaurant reservation book had shown that she would be out for dinner in a little over an hour.

  Not that Alex expected to discover anything. Every piece of information they had on Isobel Munoz indicated that she had little contact with her father’s family in Venezuela. It was unlikely that she had any knowledge that her uncle was using her wedding as a cover to buy intelligence on the US strategic oil reserves from a leak in the CIA.

  Unlikely, but not impossible.

  That’s why the Agency had shipped him all the way out from Virginia to partner with an old friend in the Department of Homeland Security on this one. The DHS was taking care of Munoz. With the man’s violent past and strong ties to the most extreme anti-American factions of the Venezuelan government, it surprised Alex that he had been allowed into the country at all. But apparently the DHS had felt that it was worth the risk to catch him in the act on American soil. That way the international community would have to accept his capture.

  His friend John had this place covered. Besides the usual visual and audio surveillance, John and his team were wired to intercept and filter through every cellular transmission inside the walls of the Kensington Hotel.

  Alex’s role in the mission was clear. He was here to find the CIA leak, plain and simple. The Agency didn’t mind sharing information and helping out the Department of Homeland Security in taking down Munoz, but when it came to double agents, the Agency insisted on taking care of those on their own.

  He took one more quick glance around the car. He wasn’t expecting to see any familiar names on the Munoz-Masterson invite list, but he wasn’t ruling anything out. Besides, he had a feeling that this was as close to exciting as this assignment was going to get. Without a cover to insert himself into the wedding preparations, he would be spending the next three days sitting in the lobby doing some very basic recon work.

  It wouldn’t be the most thrilling weekend that he’d ever spent, but—

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Alex snapped his head up and looked out of the windshield. The woman who had been strolling through the garden was now standing in front of the car. It wasn’t just any woman. It was the one from the stairwell. Beth Bradley. Isobel Munoz’s maid of honor.

  She stood with her legs braced, fists on her hips, brows pulled together. Alex knew she was trying her best to be threatening with the aggressive posture, but there was nothing menacing in the woman. She was all round curves, from her flushed cheeks to the swell of her hips. A long chestnut-brown ponytail bobbed behind her.

  He could tell the instant that she recognized him. Her shoulders fell. Her expression softened, though there were still more than a few suspicious crinkles around the edges of her big brown eyes.

  “Hello, again.” Alex gave her a smile as he slid back out onto the pavement. “I just needed to get something out of my car.”

  “This isn’t your car,” she said. There was no quiver in her voice now.

  Damn.

  Her eyes were still focused on his mouth, and her tongue snaked out to wet her bottom lip. She felt an attraction to him, but she wasn’t blinded by it. Still, it was worth a shot to use it against her.

  He widened his smile. A few more of those tension lines disappeared.

  “Of course it is,” he said with practiced authority.

  “No, it’s not.” She was more sure. “Not unless there are two bright red Beemers with TOO HOTT vanity plates. This is Spencer Masterson’s car.”

  Alex kept his body loose as he shut the car door. He crossed his arms and leaned his back against the BMW.

  “That would explain why I didn’t find what I was looking for,” he said.

  She held his gaze for a brief second before a look of real concern came over her face. She looked down at her feet and took a step away from the car. He could see the path of her thoughts clear enough. If he wasn’t the owner of this car, then what did that make him?

  Alex didn’t try to guide her decision either way. It was a damn pain in the ass being caught breaking into a car, but he’d been in worse situations. Much worse. He could deal with one neurotic bridesmaid.

  “Listen,” she said, holding up her hands. “I don’t care what you were doing with Spencer’s car. I really don’t. Whatever it was, you couldn’t have picked a more deserving jerk to do it to. Hell, I was imagining keying the damned thing as I was walking over here.”

  “Is that right?”

  She glanced up at him, a hint of a guilty smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  She was cute. Not a bombshell, not long-legs-and-short-skirt gorgeous. But a certain vulnerability combined with all of her soft features in a strangely attractive way.

  “I wouldn’t really have done it,” she said.

  “Of course not.”

  Silence fell between them as it became obvious that she wasn’t going to scream her head off for the police, and he wasn’t going to pull a weapon. Her shoulders relaxed even more as a calculating look appeared in her eyes. At first, it was barely a glimmer of an idea, but Alex watched it grow until she was staring as boldly at him as he was at her.

  She bit her lower lip, and teased it back and forth between her teeth. It was obvious that she wanted to say something, was damned near desperate to say it, but she needed to build up the courage to get it out first. Alex waited; he didn't have to be anywhere for an hour, and he was starting to find this woman more than a little amusing.

  It took her another half minute before she’d gathered enough courage to open her mouth. "I was wondering if you might consider doing me a favor."

  "A favor?"

  "Yeah. It's not a big thing. Well, not unless you consider lying a big thing. But I figured that since you’re a..." She waved her hand in a lazy circle in the direction of the car instead of saying the words.

  Alex changed his mind. She was damned amusing.

  “Well, anyway, I figured you might not mind," she continued. />
  “What did you have in mind?”

  "It would only take five minutes of your time.” She glanced back toward the entrance to the hotel, before risking a step closer to him. “Ten, tops."

  A smile threatened to pull at the corner of Alex's mouth, but he held it back.

  "Go on," he said.

  "I've gotten myself into a little bit of trouble. Just a little, nothing major. Not like..." She waved her hand at him and the car again. "But still. And I might be able to use you to help me get out of it."

  “Use me? How's that?"

  "I just need you to pretend to be a guy named Charlie."

  "Charlie?"

  "For five minutes. All you have to do is walk into the hotel with me, hold my hand a little, introduce yourself to my mother and a few other people, and say that you're terribly sorry, but you’re going out of town on business for the rest of the weekend. That's it."

  She smiled at him expectantly, her eyes wide as she waited for his answer.

  Alex pushed off the car.

  "You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend in front of your mother?"

  "And my ex-boyfriend, Spencer.”

  “This Spencer?” he asked, inclining his head toward the Beemer.

  She scrunched up her nose and two little lines creased the space between her brows. “Like I said, I've gotten myself in a little bit of trouble."

  "And you think they'll believe it."

  "Of course, they'll believe it. You make a perfect Charlie. You're tall. In that suit you look like you’re incredibly successful. And you’re every bit as gorgeous as I've described him."

  Alex arched a brow.

  She didn’t blush. She didn’t even bat an eye. She was too lost in her plan.

  "Like you don't know it," she added.

  Alex took a step toward her. She didn’t move away.

  “How do you know I won’t do something to hurt you between here and the entrance to the hotel?”

  She shrugged. “You would have done it already. Truly violent people go to violence first. They usually don’t stand around and chat for a while.”

  “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

  “I got mugged once. The guy didn’t stick around to help me pick up my stuff after he’d slammed me to the ground and snatched my purse.”

  Her tone was matter-of-fact. She wasn’t fishing for pity, but Alex still didn’t like the image that popped up in his mind of her smacking against the pavement. He didn’t like it one bit.

  “And what happens if I say no to this little proposal of yours?”

  "Well…” Her voice trailed off. This was obviously something that she hadn’t considered. “Then I tell everyone that I saw you breaking into Spencer's car. I'll call the police."

  “Blackmail?”

  “Yeah,” she said, tilting her head back to look up at him, her wide smile completely free of guile. “I guess so.”

  “Then it looks like I don’t have much of a choice, do I, Miss…”

  “Bradley.” She stuck out her hand. “Beth Bradley.”

  There was an expectant look in her big brown eyes as he slid his hand into hers.

  “It would probably be better for both of us if I stayed just Charlie.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re the most unusual blackmailer I’ve ever dealt with.” He let his grip on her hand linger.

  “I get that a lot.”

  ***

  Beth liked the feel of Charlie's hand in hers a little too much. Enough that she had to remind herself that he wasn't really Charlie.

  Of course, he wasn’t. No one was. Charlie was nothing but a desperate invention, a fantasy. But it was strange how perfectly this stranger fit into the mold her mind had made for him. It was as if for a brief moment her imagination had sprung to life. Just long enough to save her ass from a weekend's worth of torture and humiliation.

  Charlie walked with her across the parking lot, his grip strong and his stride confident. His skin felt warm against hers.

  Damn. Was she really so hard up for human contact that holding hands with a stranger was enough to give her the sizzles?

  It appeared so.

  She hadn't known what to think when she'd found him breaking into Spencer's car. He sure didn’t look like a car thief in his finely tailored suit. But what did she know of criminals?

  Not that it mattered what he was. All that mattered was that he was playing along. She didn’t care how he made his piles of money as long as he helped her out. Hell, if this went well, she might personally hand him the keys to Spencer's car. Of course, that wasn’t likely if they didn't get their stories straight before they got inside.

  "I should probably tell you a little bit about yourself," she said, slowing her step.

  "Okay." He didn't slow his, practically pulling her across the parking lot. He must have been anxious to get this over with. Not that she blamed him. If she had half a brain, she would be too.

  “Your last name is Parker.”

  He kept going, but shot her a backward glance. “Parker? Charlie Parker?”

  “Somebody asked, and I panicked. You should be thankful that I didn’t go with Brown.”

  “I suppose I should.”

  “I’m no good under pressure.”

  “You seem to be doing just fine.” A hint of humor laced his words.

  He wasn’t taking this seriously. Beth dug in her heels, refusing to take another step until he listened to her.

  He stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

  "You’re in the music business," she said.

  "Got it.”

  "That's why you work weekends. You fly all over the country listening to bands."

  "Makes sense." He pulled on her arm, making her skitter across the pavement.

  "You're from Iowa originally. Des Moines."

  He gave one quick jerk on her arm, and she flew to his side. He let go of her hand just long enough to wrap his arm around the curve of her waist, and tucked her in close to his side. Beth's heart sped up.

  Damn, she was hard up.

  "I've got this,” he said looking down into her eyes. “I promise.”

  Beth opened her mouth, but nothing had come out.

  Isobel was right. It appeared there was a first time for everything.

  A few more steps and the doorman opened the front door of the Kensington Hotel.

  Pressed so tightly against him, Beth could feel how solid he was. She could feel every muscle moving under the material of his suit. He didn’t seem tense or stressed. He felt totally natural, like he really was Charlie. He was a frighteningly good actor.

  She, on the other hand, was a shaking bundle of nerves. What had seemed like the perfect plan in the parking lot now showed all of its flaws. There was no way anyone was going to believe that someone this cool and gorgeous was going out with her. She'd just cranked the dial on the humiliation predictor to eleven. What had she been thinking?

  Simple answer—she hadn't been. She'd been pulled in by a pair of stormy blue eyes and the delicious temptation of flaunting them in front of Spencer.

  Beth spotted everyone crowded around the same elegant couches that she’d stormed away from twenty minutes ago. Spencer was still there, as was her mother, but now they had company. Mr. and Mrs. Masterson were sitting on either side of Isobel. Jordan was standing next to his brother.

  No one had looked her way yet. There was still time to come to her senses and call this whole thing off. If she turned and ran like hell, maybe she could make it out the door before anyone spotted her.

  Charlie—or who ever the hell he really was—must have sensed her nervousness. He pulled her tighter. The pressure of his body against hers was strangely reassuring.

  “Everything is going to be fine, Beth," he said. "Trust me."

  Trust him? He was a common criminal. No, wait, that was unfair. He was obviously a very uncommon criminal

  Why did he care how nervous she was? He was only here because
she was blackmailing him, for heaven's sake.

  She looked up and saw nothing but certainty in his smoky blue eyes. She stared into them for a second too long and ended up stumbling on the marble tile. The soles of her shoes squeaked loud enough to echo off of every marble column in the entryway. She had to cling tighter to Charlie’s arm to keep from falling flat on her face.

  So much for making a clean getaway. Every face was turned her way, including Spencer’s. There was no turning back now.

  Charlie gave her waist a reassuring pat as he guided her toward the group. A smile barely lifted the corners of his mouth—not too eager, not too fake, like he really was happy to meet her friends and family.

  Hell, this actually might work.

  It would only be five minutes. She could fake anything for five minutes.

  Beth’s smile didn’t feel half as natural. She was tense enough to crack in two. And it only got worse the second her eyes locked with Isobel’s.

  Beth was going to have a lot of explaining to do after dinner tonight.

  "Hi, everybody," Beth said. Despite her best intentions, her voice came out high pitched and squeaky. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Look who I found outside. Turns out Charlie was able to stop by for a second on his way to the airport."

  For a moment, there was nothing but stunned silence and half a dozen faces staring at her and the incredibly handsome man at her side. Dear God, had no one believed her pathetic little lie? No one at all?

  "Hello," Charlie said, breaking the silence. If he noticed the less than warm reception, he didn't show it.

  “Charlie, this is my mom,” Beth said.

  Her mother popped up from the couch.

  "Mr. Parker, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you," she said. "I was beginning to believe I would never would."

  “Mrs. Bradley,” he said taking her hand. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  Beth could barely believe the hint of blush that appeared in her mother's cheeks. Damn, this guy was good.

  Beth introduced him to the rest of group. She left Isobel for last.