It’s not a mass casualty event. It’s not even an event. It’s a 990-N filing for a not-for-profit in Colorado. The treasurer’s name and the filing location of Alabaster triggered my custom rule, Amy Davis. The name I gave her when the marshals placed her into the witness security program. I shouldn’t have been involved. No one outside the handler was supposed to know her secret identity and location, but I know all her secrets. As I explained when she entered the program, “John is your handler on paper, butI’myour handler in reality.”
I drill down into what caused the alert. Within minutes, I have my answer and a rage headache. Amy Davis is a principal officer of a not-for-profit organization incorporated in Colorado. She’s listed as the treasurer. The fucking treasurer. The postcard-sized document that triggered the warning bears her signature. Is she trying to get killed?
My hidden encrypted file has her cell number. I can’t risk keeping it in my contacts. Opening it, I bring up the picture of her face again. Too bad the profile doesn’t include the image of her heart-shaped ass, which was made for spanking. Luckily, the memory has never faded. I’ll refresh it as soon as I can get to her and ask what the hell she thinks she’s doing.
Her phone rings through to voicemail. “Call me.”
I hang up, close the picture, and grip the desk, fighting the urge to say fuck it all and get on a plane today.
THREE
Amy
The flowersfrom the hotel garden will have to do. Poor Katherine. She spent so much time planning the perfect outdoor wedding to Gabe, and everything that could go wrong is goingterriblywrong. From the torrential rain to the frozen flower arrangements—what’s next?
At least I’m here for my friend. And the satin sheath dress she picked for me is gorgeous with its gauzy watercolor roses overlay. My heels sink into the ornately patterned runner that flows down the wood plank hallways. The venue is a beautiful historic hotel with widely spaced doors marked with brass numbers. I’m enchanted by the local artists’ works used to break up the pale mint walls. In a place like this and marrying a man like Gabe, Katherine should have a perfect fairy-tale wedding.
I could have told her those happily-ever-after stories were fiction, but why bother ruining the day before it happens? Especially when Mother Nature seems to have things well in hand in the “ruining things” department.
As I head toward Katherine’s dressing room, I fuss with the thick twine holding the autumn cuttings together—a couple of sunflowers, mums, asters, some rosemary, and everything else I could make work. I’m good at making things work and fixing problems as they arise. I wish someone could have made everything okay when my own life fell apart three years ago. Tyler kind of provided that, except he isn’t a friend. He’s…complicated. And he’s been calling way too much since Papa Enzo died and I was removed from WITSEC. I don’t have time to deal with that, not right now. One more day and I’ll—
No.
I freeze.
My heart rises to my throat.
Tyler stands right outside Katherine’s door. His glower travels the length of the hallway and grips the back of my neck. Fuck. He’s pissed off—at me. Despite his rumpled suit, he still looks like the sexy, powerful Dom who captivated me years ago. His crossed muscular arms help the vibe. I move a few feet closer, trying to ignore the flutter in my belly. Not a streak of gray mars his golden-brown curls, the same as always—long and curly on top and nearly nonexistent on the sides. His bronze skin still looks like he just spent a week on the beach.
“What are you doing here?” I ask before he gets a chance to take control. His forest-green eyes are on fire.
“You didn’t return my calls. That’s not what we agreed to. After forty-eight hours with no contact, I followed protocol.” Tyler’s voice is perfectly Midwest with no accent, but the command in his tone touches me intimately in a way he hasn’t achieved over the phone. Something about him in person—pissed off and growly—takes me right back to the club days.
I shake it off. I talked to him three—okay maybe four—days ago. “I’ve been busy with this wedding. I’mstillbusy.”
“And with the treasurer’s job for ABBA, too, I assume?”
Crap. He wasn’t supposed to know about that. Enzo’s dead. “It’s a tiny organization. No one’s going to notice.”
“Inoticed.”
“You’re supposed to.” At least I guess that’s his job since he seems to be good at it. “Leave or take a seat. I have to take care of this bouquet.”
“I’ll save you a seat.”
Why does that sound like a threat to my ass? “I’m the bridesmaid. I mean, matron of honor. I won’t be sitting.”
“If you don’t join me as soon as the ceremony is over, you’re damn right you won’t be.” He slides a lock of my hair through his fingers, giving it a tiny tug, his eyes smoldering.
Guess I was right about that threat to my backside. My pussy quivers, begging for me to agree. “As if. Those days are over.”
“Not for me.” He steps back, allowing me to enter Katherine’s room.
I rush in, clutching the bunch of flowers like a lifeline. Katherine fiddles with her earrings, pretending she hasn’t overheard my conversation in the hallway.
“I can’t believe him,” I say.
“Who?” Katherine widens her eyes, still trying to feign ignorance.
