His Stolen Bride
Their estimated net worth was high, but Jackson hadn’t found anything illegal or shady in their business dealings. They did seem to have incredible timing, often buying up properties at fire sale prices in the months before corporate mergers, gentrification or zoning changes boosted their value. It was enough to make Jackson curious, but the individual instances weren’t overly suspicious, and what he had so far didn’t come close to proving they were conning Crista.
Despite Trent’s suspicions, Vern Gerhard and Crista’s romance seemed to be just that, a romance.
“I say more power to him.” One of the groomsmen’s voices carried from the cathedral staircase, catching Jackson’s attention.
“I almost told her at the house,” said another groomsman. This one looked younger. He had the trademark Gerhard brown eyes, but he was taller than most, younger than Vern. His flashy hairstyle made him look like he belonged in a boy band.
“Why would you do that?” asked a third. This man was shorter, balding, and his bow tie was already askew. Jackson recognized him as a brother-in-law to Vern.
“You don’t think she deserves to know?” asked the younger one.
“Who cares? She’s hot,” said the bald one. “That body, hoo boy.”
“Such a sweet ass,” said the first groomsman, grinning.
“Nice,” Jackson muttered under his breath. The Gerhards might be rich, but they didn’t seem to have much in the way of class.
“So, why does he need Gracie?” asked the younger groomsman, glancing around the circle for support. “He should break it off already.”
“You want to stick to just one ice cream flavor?” asked the balding man.
“For the rest of your life?” asked the first groomsman.
“Some days I feel like praline pecan. Some days I feel like rocky road,” said the heavyset one with a chortle.
“And that’s why you’re sleeping with Lacey Hanniberry.”
“Lumpy Lacey.”
The other men laughed.
“Vern hit the jackpot.” The first groomsman made a rude gesture with his hips.
“On both fronts,” said the bald one. “Crista’s the lady, Gracie’s the tramp.”
“She’s going to find out,” said the younger man with the flashy hair.
“Not if you don’t tell her she won’t,” said the first man, a warning in his tone.
Jackson had half a mind to tell her himself. Vern sounded like a pig. And most of his friends didn’t seem any better.
“Gracie won’t last, anyway,” said the heavyset man.
“Vern will trade up,” said the balding one.
“Uncle Manfred’s girlfriends have been twenty-five for the past thirty years.”
“Wives age, girlfriends don’t.”
They all laughed, except for the young guy. He frowned instead. “Crista’s different.”
“No, she’s not.” The first groomsman slapped him on the back. “You’re young, naive. All your girlfriends are twenty-five.”
“I don’t cheat on them.”
“Then you’re not trying hard enough.”
“Get with the program.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson saw two white limos pull up to the curb. The groomsmen spotted them, too, and they turned to head up the wide staircase to the cathedral entrance, their voices and laughter fading with the distance.
So, Vern was cheating on Crista. It was a coldhearted and idiotic move, but it was none of Jackson’s business. Maybe she knew and accepted it. Or maybe she wasn’t as smart as everyone seemed to think, and she was oblivious. Or maybe—and this was a real possibility—she was only marrying the guy for his money and didn’t care about his fidelity one way or the other.
The limo doors opened and a group of pretty bridesmaids spilled out of one. The driver of the other vehicle quickly hopped to the back door, helping the bride step onto the sidewalk.
Crista straightened and rose in the bright sunshine, looking absolutely stunning. Her auburn hair was swept up in braids, thick at the nape of her neck, wispy and delicate around her beautiful face. Her shoulders were bare and looked creamy smooth. The white dress was tight across her breasts and her waist, showing off an amazing figure. The lace and beading on the full skirt glittered with every little movement.
Jackson didn’t normally fantasize about brides. But if he had, they’d look exactly like her. His annoyance at Vern redoubled. What was the man’s problem? If Jackson had someone like Crista in his bed, he’d never so much as look at another woman.
The bridesmaids giggled and clustered around her while the drivers returned to their cars to move them from the busy street.
“This is it,” said one bridesmaid, fussing with Crista’s bouquet and taking a critical look at her face and hairdo.
“I’m okay?” Crista asked.
“You’re perfect.”
Crista drew in a deep breath.
The women started for the staircase that led to the cathedral’s big front doors. Jackson’s first instinct was to step forward and offer his arm, but he held back.
Crista spotted him. She looked puzzled at first, as if she was struggling to recognize him. Their gazes locked, and he felt a shot to his solar plexus.
Her eyes were green as a South Pacific sea and just as deep, flickering in the sunshine. She looked honest. She looked honorable. In that split second, he knew her father’s words had been true. She wouldn’t put up with a cheating husband, which meant she didn’t know about Vern and Gracie.
Jackson wanted to shout at her to stop, to get out of here. She might not know it, but she was making a mistake. Deep down in his gut, he knew she was making a terrible mistake.
Maybe he should tell her the truth about Vern, just call out, right here, right now. Then at least she’d know what she was getting herself into. He told himself to do it. He owed Vern absolutely nothing. He formed the words inside his head, opened his mouth and was ready to blurt it out.
But then a bridesmaid whispered to Crista. She laughed, and her gaze broke from Jackson’s, releasing him from the spell.
The women moved up the staircase, and the moment was lost.
He shook himself. It was time for him to leave. There was nothing more he could do here, nothing he could do for Trent except hope the man was wrong. The Gerhards seemed like a singularly distasteful family, and if they really were after her diamond mine, she had herself some trouble. But it wasn’t Jackson’s trouble to borrow. He’d done as he’d promised, and he’d found nothing concrete, nothing that said the Gerhards were nefarious criminals.
The bridesmaids filed in through the doorway, chattering among themselves. Crista hung back, touching each of her earrings, fingering her necklace then grasping her large bouquet in both hands and tipping up her chin.
Then, unexpectedly, she twisted her head to look back again. He felt that same rush of emotion tighten his chest cavity. He knew with an instant certainty that she deserved better than Vern. It might be none of his business, but surely she wouldn’t tolerate a husband who’d sneak off and sleep with a string of mistresses.
The heavy door swung shut behind the bridesmaids.
Just he and Crista were left outside.
Jackson glanced around and confirmed that for these short seconds, they were alone.
Before his brain could form a thought, his feet were moving. He was striding toward her.
Her green eyes went wide, and she drew her head back in obvious surprise.
“Crista Corday?” he asked.
“Are you a friend of Vern’s?” Her sexy voice seemed to strum along his nervous system.
“Not for long,” he said. He scooped her into his arms and began walking.
“What?” she squeaked, one of her hands pushing on his shoulder, the other gripping the big bouquet.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He lengthened his stride to the sidewalk.
“You’re not...what are you doing?”
“There are things you don’t know about Vern.”
“Put me down!” She started to squirm, glancing frantically around.
“I will,” he promised, speeding up his pace. “In a moment.”
He reached out and opened the driver’s door of his SUV. He shoved her across to the passenger side. Before she had a chance to react, he jumped in behind her, cranked the engine and gunned the accelerator, peeling away from the curb, narrowly missing a taxi, which responded with a long blast from its horn.
“You can’t do this,” Crista cried, twisting her neck to look back at the church.
“I only want to talk.”
“I’m getting married.”
“After you hear me out if you still want to get married, I’ll take you back to him.”
And, he would. Trent was a criminal. He could easily be lying about the Gerhards for reasons of his own. So, if Crista was okay with infidelity, Jackson would return her to Vern. It would go against every instinct inside him, but he’d do it.
Two
“Take me back now,” Crista shouted at the stranger who seemed to be abducting her. Her mind raced to make some sense out of the situation.
“As soon as you hear me out.” His jaw was tight, his eyes straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel as they gathered speed.
“Who are you?” She struggled not to panic.
She’d always considered herself a smart, sensible, capable woman. But in this scenario she had no idea what to do.
“Jackson Rush. I’m an investigator.”
“Investigating what?” She struggled to stay calm. What was he doing? Why had he taken her?
Then she saw a red light coming up. He’d have to stop for it. When he did, she’d jump from the vehicle. She quickly glanced at the passenger door to locate the handle.
She’d open the door, jump out and run to... She scanned the businesses along the section of the street. The Greek restaurant might be closed. The apartment building doors would be locked. But the drug store. That would be open, and it would be crowded. Surely one of the clerks would lend a bride a phone.
She realized she was still holding onto her bouquet, and she let it slip from her hand to the floor. She didn’t need it slowing her down. Vern’s mother would flip. Then again, Vern’s mother, along with everyone else, was probably flipping already. Had anyone seen this man, Jackson, take her?
She surreptitiously slanted a glance his way. He was maybe thirty. He looked tough and determined, maybe a little world-weary. But there was no denying he was attractive. He was obviously fit under the tux, and very well-groomed.
The vehicle was slowing. She lifted her hand, ready to grab the handle.
But suddenly he hit the accelerator, throwing her back in her seat and sideways as he made a hard right. Another car honked as their tires squealed against the pavement.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“How well do you know Vern Gerhard?”
What a ridiculous question. “He’s my fiancé.”
“Would it surprise you to know he was cheating on you?”
Crista’s jaw dropped. “Where did that come from?”
“Would it surprise you?” Jackson repeated.
“Vern’s not cheating on me.” The idea was preposterous.
Vern was sweet and kind and loyal. He made no secret of the fact that he adored Crista. They were about to be married. And his family was extremely old-fashioned. Vern would never risk disappointing his mother by cheating.
No, scratch that. Vern wouldn’t cheat because Vern wouldn’t cheat. It had nothing to do with Delores.
“Okay,” said Jackson, the skepticism clear in his tone.
“Take me back,” she said.
“I can’t do that. Not yet.”
“There are three hundred people in that church. They’re all waiting for me to walk down the aisle.”
She could only imagine the scene as the guests grew more restless and Vern grew more confused. She wasn’t wearing a watch, and she didn’t have her cell phone. But what time was it? Exactly how late was she to her own wedding?
She scanned the dashboard for a clock. Traffic was light, and Jackson seemed able to gauge the stoplights and adjust his speed, making sure he didn’t have to come to a halt.
“Would you care if he was cheating?” asked Jackson, eyeing her quickly. “Would that be a deal breaker for you?”
“He’s not cheating.” It didn’t look like she’d have a chance to bail out anytime soon. “Do you want money? Will you call in a ransom demand? They’ll probably pay. They’ll probably pay more if you take me back there right away.”
“This isn’t about money.”
“Then what’s it about?” She struggled to keep her tone even but panic was creeping in.
He seemed to hesitate over his answer. “You deserve to be sure. About Vern.”
“You don’t even know me.” She stared at him more closely. “Do you? Have we met?”
Could he be some long-lost person from her past?
“We haven’t met,” he said.
She racked her brain for an explanation. “Then do you know Vern? Did he do something bad to you?”
She realized she ought to be frightened. She’d been kidnapped—kidnapped. This stranger was holding her hostage and wouldn’t let her go.
“I’ve never met Vern,” he said.
“Then are you crazy? Though I suppose that’s a stupid question. Crazy people never question their own sanity.” She realized she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“I’m beginning to think I am,” he said.
“A sure sign that you’re not.”
He gave a chopped laugh and seemed to drop his guard.
She tried to take advantage. “Will you let me go? Please, just pull over and drop me off. I’ll find my own way back to the church.”
It had to be at least fifteen minutes now. Vern would be frantic. Delores would be incensed. Unless someone saw Jackson grab her, they probably thought she ran away.
Now she wondered what Hadley was thinking. He might guess she’d taken his advice, changed her mind, that she didn’t want to marry Vern after all. She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. How had things gotten so mixed up?
“He’s cheating on you, Crista. Why would you want to marry a man who’s cheating on you?”
“First of all, he’s not. And...” She paused, experienced a moment of clarity. “Wait a minute. If I say I don’t care if he’s cheating, will you let me go?”
“If you honestly don’t care and you want to marry him anyway, yeah, I’ll let you go.”
“Then I don’t care.” Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? “It’s fine. No problem.” She waved a dismissive hand. “He can cheat away. I still want to marry him.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” She was.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’ve never met me. You don’t know a thing about me.”
He shook his head. “I can tell you have pride.”
“I have no pride. Maybe I like to share. Maybe I’m into polygamy. After this wedding, Vern might find another wife. We’ll all live happily ever after.”
“As if.”
“Let me go!”
“I’m here because somebody out there cares about you, Crista.”
“I know somebody cares about me. His name is Vern Gerhard. Do you have any idea how upset he is right now?”
Jackson’s tone went dry. “Maybe Gracie could console him.”
The name set a shiver through Crista’s chest. “What did you say?”
“Gracie,” Jackson repeated, doing a double take at Crista’s face. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. No, I’m not. I’ve been kidnapped!”
“Do you know someone named Gracie?”
Crista did know Gracie Stolt. Or at least she knew of a Gracie Stolt. Vern had once used that name during a phone call. He’d said it was business. It had been business, making the name irrelevant to this conversation.
“I don’t know any Gracie,” she said to Jackson, her tone tart.
“He’s sleeping with Gracie.”
“Stop saying that.”
The vehicle bounced, and she grabbed the armrest to steady herself. She realized they’d turned off the main roads and onto a tree-lined lane.
A new and horrible thought crossed her mind, and her throat went dry. Was Jackson some sicko with a thing for brides?
“Are you going to hurt me?” she rasped.
“What?” He did another double take. “No. I told you. I’m not going to harm you at all.”
“I bet every psychopathic murderer says that.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up, but then quickly disappeared. “We have a mutual acquaintance. The person who sent me is someone who cares about you.”
“Who?”
“I can’t reveal my client.”
“I bet every psychopathic murderer says that, too.”
She was vacillating between genuine fear and disbelief that any of this could be real.
“I’m sorry you’re frightened right now, but I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, I promise.”
They rounded a corner, and a lake fanned out before them, the gravel beach dotted with weathered docks. He pulled to the side of a small, deserted parking lot.
“Are we there?” she asked.
“Almost.” He nodded toward one of the docks.
A tall white cabin cruiser bobbed against its moor lines.
Crista shrank back against the seat, her voice going up an octave. “You’re going to dump my body in the lake?”
He extracted a cell phone from his inside jacket pocket. “I’m going to call my staff.”
“You have a phone?”
“Of course I have a phone.”
“You should make a ransom call. My fiancé is from a rich family. They’ll pay you.”
At least she hoped the Gerhards would pay to get her back. She was certain Vern would be willing. His father, maybe not so much.
* * *
Jackson hated that he was frightening Crista. But he was operating on the fly here. Taking her a quarter mile offshore on Lake Michigan was the best he could come up with to keep her safe but under wraps. He wasn’t about to tie her up in a basement while Mac and some of his other guys looked into Vern Gerhard’s love life.
“You’re going to jail, you know,” she said for about the twenty-fifth time.
She stood on the deck of the boat, gazing back at the mansions along the coastline, their lights coming up as the sun sank away. Her extravagant white wedding gown rustled in the breeze. The intricate lace-and bead-covered skirt was bell shaped, billowing out from a tight waist, while the strapless top accentuated her gorgeous figure.
She was right. He was taking a very stupid risk. But the alternative had been to let the wedding go ahead. Which he could have done. In fact, he should have done. He owed nothing to her father and nothing to his own father. And Crista was all but a stranger to him. She was an intelligent adult, and she’d made her choice in Vern. He should have walked away.
“I’m hoping you won’t press charges,” he said, moving to stand beside her.
“In what universe would I not press charges?”
Though he knew she was frightened, her expression was defiant. He couldn’t help but be impressed with her spirit.
“In the universe where I did you a favor.”
“You destroyed my wedding. Do you have any idea how important this was to my mother-in-law? How much she planned and spent?”
“To your mother-in-law?”
“Yes.”
“Not to you?”
Her expression faltered. “Well, me, too, of course. It was my wedding.”
“It was an odd way to put it, worrying about your mother-in-law first.”
“What I meant was, from my own perspective, I can get married any old time, in the courthouse, in Vegas, whatever. But she has certain expectations, a certain standing in the community. She wants to impress her friends and the rest of the family.”
“She sounds charming.”
“It comes with the Gerhard territory.” There was a resignation to her tone.
“What about Vern? How did he feel about the opulent wedding?”
“He was all for it. He’s close to his family. He wants them to be happy.”
“Does he want you to be happy?”
Crista glanced sharply up at Jackson. “Yes, he wants me to be happy. But he knows I don’t sweat the small stuff.”
Jackson lifted a brow. “The small stuff being your own wedding?”
She shrugged her bare shoulders, and he was suddenly seized by an urge to run his palms over them, to test the smoothness of her skin. Was she cold out here on the lake?
“It’ll work just as well with three hundred people in the room as it would with two witnesses and a judge.”
Jackson stifled a chuckle. “You sure don’t sound like the average bride.”
Her tone turned dry. “The average bride doesn’t have a five-hundred-dollar wedding bouquet.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think that’s in the ballpark.”
Jackson drew back to take in the length of her. “And the dress?”
She spread her arms. “Custom-made in Paris.”
“You flew to Paris for a wedding dress.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The designer flew to Chicago.”
This time Jackson did laugh. “You have got to be kidding.”
“And that was only the start. I’m wearing antique diamonds.” She tilted her head to show him her ears.
He wanted to kiss her neck. It was ridiculous, given the circumstances, but there was something incredibly sensual about the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw, the lush red of her lips.
“And you should see my underwear,” she said.
Their gazes met. She took in his stare and obviously saw a flare of desire. Those gorgeous green eyes widened in surprise, and she took a step back.
He wanted to tell her he’d give pretty much anything to see her underwear. But he kept his mouth firmly shut.
“You wouldn’t,” she said, worry in her tone.
“I wouldn’t,” he affirmed. “I won’t. I’m not going to try anything out of line.” He turned his attention to the shoreline.
“Will you take me back?” she asked.
“I doubt there’s anybody left at the church.”
“They’ll be crazy with worry,” she said. “They’ll have called the police by now.”
“The police won’t take a missing-person report for twenty-four hours.”
“You don’t know my future in-laws.”
“I know the Chicago Police Department.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I was hired to look into Vern Gerhard’s integrity.”
“By who?”
Jackson shook his head. “I have a strict policy of client confidentiality.”
Given their understandably fractured relationship, bringing Trent’s name into it would be the fastest way to completely lose her trust. Not that he’d blame her. He felt the same about anything his own father touched.
“But you don’t have a strict policy against kidnapping innocent people?” she asked.
“To be honest, this is the first time it’s come up.”
“I am going to press charges.” It was clear she was serious.
There was no denying that the situation had spiraled out of control. But there was also nothing to do but keep moving forward. If he took her back now, the Gerhards would definitely have him arrested. His only hope was to find proof of Vern’s infidelity and turn Crista against her fiancé.
His phone rang. He kept eye contact with her as he reached for it.
It was Mac, his right-hand man.
“Hey,” Jackson answered.
“Everything okay so far?” asked Mac.
“Yeah.” Jackson turned away from Crista and moved along the deck toward the bridge. “You come up with anything?”
“Rumors, yes. But nothing that gives us proof. Norway’s looking into Gracie.”
“Pictures would be good.”
“Videotape better.”
“I’d take videotape,” said Jackson. “Is somebody on the family?”
“I am.”
“And?”
“They’ve contacted the police, but they’re being waved off until morning. I guess runaway brides aren’t that unusual.”
“If Vern Gerhard is a typical example of our gender, I don’t blame them.”
Mac coughed out a laugh.
“I guess we’ve got till morning,” said Jackson.
It was less time than he would have liked. But that’s what happened when you threw a plan together at the last minute.
“And then?” asked Mac. “Have you thought through what happens in the morning?”
He had, and most of the options were not good. “We better have something concrete by then.”