The Wedding Trap

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 him.

  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’s, the best man’s, and the maid of honor’s. That only left the bride’s. 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.”

  ***