MYSTERY BRIDE.

by B.J. DANIELS.

Prologue.

Seattle, Washington.

Friday night.

Lucas heard the heavy tread of footsteps coming up the back stairs just as he finished burning the CD. In the dimly lit office, he popped the CD from the disk burner and grabbed one of the game boxes on his desk. Tossing the game's CD into the trash, he put his disk inside and snapped the box shut.

Hurriedly, he pried open the back of the computer and ripped out the memory board, smashing it on the floor with the sole of his shoe. Then he destroyed the CD burner and zip drive.

Just a few more minutes. He thought of his son waiting for him nearby at a friend's house and the train tickets he had bought for tonight. He heard a sound like a door closing somewhere in the office building.

He snapped off the desk lamp and moved to the fifth-floor window. On the street below, he spotted a figure hunkered in the shadows near the front door of the building.

He swore. Panicked, he picked up the stack of CDs he'd burned. Five total. Five pieces of a puzzle he'd spent his life dreaming of solving. And finally had.

Another sound echoed up from the belly of the building.

They're coming. Destroy the CDs. Before it's too late.

But even as he thought it, he knew he couldn't. Not just because of all the years of work that had gone into them-but because of his son. Lucas needed to leave something behind. So far, he'd just left a trail of mistakes.

As he desperately looked around the office, he spotted the mail chute, and suddenly had an idea. Hurriedly, he scooped up the CDs and rushed into his outer office. Sitting down at the remaining intact computer, he typed out a note and made five copies of it.

He stopped to listen, but heard nothing beyond the usual creaking and groaning of the old building. But he knew he was no longer alone.

As quickly as he could, he addressed five envelopes, stamped them and began slipping the note and a CD into each.

Just as he was about to put the last CD into the envelope addressed to one Samantha Murphy of b.u.t.te, Montana, he heard footfalls. The stairway door down the hall groaned open.

But what stopped him dead was the sound of small feet running down the worn carpeting toward his office and a single cried word. "Daddy!"

Oh, G.o.d. Zack.

He dropped the final CD to the floor, his heart catching in his throat, as his five-year-old son came running into his office. With dark eyes wild with fear, Zack threw himself into his father's arms.

"Daddy, they made me get in the car. I didn't want to. But I kicked the big guy and got away and ran-"

"It's okay, Zack," he said, hugging his son. He could hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, slow and steady. They knew they had him trapped. They just didn't realize how desperate he was.

With Zack still in his arms, he ripped out the mother board from the last remaining computer in his office, destroyed it, then rushed to lock the outer office door. Then grabbing up the envelopes and the fallen CD, he hurried them into his office and locked the door, knowing it was only a stopgap measure. There was no escape now.

He put Zack down and knelt beside him. Zack wore the little red jacket Lucas had bought him for the flight and the navy backpack they'd loaded with a few of his favorite toys. After all, they'd be traveling light.

"Are you all right?" he asked his son.

Zack nodded and put on his little tough-guy face.

It was all Lucas could do not to break down at the sight. He struggled, with his emotions, with his frantic thoughts. The men after him had known where to find Zack. This changed things, Lucas realized.

His mind scrambled for an out. But he knew there wasn't one. Trying to hide the CDs would be futile. Destroying them wouldn't save his son. Just the opposite.

Something heavy slammed against the outer office door, rattling the windows. Resigned, he did the only thing he could. He picked up the four CDs already in the addressed envelopes and dropped them down the mail chute. The sound of them sliding down to the first floor mail drop was m.u.f.fled by the splintering of wood at his outer office door.

Lucas picked up the fifth CD box, and praying he was doing the right thing, slipped it into his son's backpack, then he opened his desk drawer and started to take out the loaded .38. Earlier he'd been prepared to kill anyone who tried to stop him. Now, he glanced at his son and slowly closed the desk drawer without removing the gun.

Everything had changed.

He picked Zack up again and hugged him fiercely, committing to memory the feel of his son in his arms, fearing he'd never hold him again. His son. Of all his regrets, Zack was at the top of the list.

"Listen to me, Zack," he said as the outer office door gave way with a loud crash. "I need you to be strong and very brave."

Zack looked up at him, his eyes fearful, but full of trust and love.

Lucas explained what the boy had to do.

Zack nodded, tears in his eyes. "I will be very brave," he said, his small body trembling.

Something large and heavy hit his office door with a resounding boom.

He lowered his son down on the floor. "Get under the desk and remember what I said." The boy scrambled back into the hole. "Zack? I'm sorry about all this. I love you."

Chapter One.

Billings, Montana.

Friday night.

Samantha Murphy slipped off her high heels, shimmied her dress up to her hips and began to climb the rock wall. As she dropped to the patio on the other side, she heard the sound of fabric tearing. No more silk for undercover work.

She tugged down her dress, inspecting the rip up the right side clear to her knee. Great, Great, she thought, as she slid back into her heels. Belatedly she realized she wasn't alone. she thought, as she slid back into her heels. Belatedly she realized she wasn't alone.

"Champagne, miss?"

She spun around to find a waiter holding a tray filled with sparkling gla.s.ses. Behind him through the closed French doors to the house, she could hear the faint sound of cla.s.sical music, the gentle tinkle of gla.s.ses and soft murmured conversation.

She and the waiter were alone on the patio, no doubt each wondering what the other was doing there. She had the distinct impression that he'd probably been taking a breather from the party and had caught her "revealing" grand entrance. She was glad she hadn't worn her thong underwear.

While his expression remained impa.s.sive, she could have sworn she caught a glint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes as he held out the tray.

Her cheeks warmed as she took a gla.s.s. "Thank you, I could could use a drink." use a drink."

He gave her a slight nod and then moved to the French doors, opening them wide before disappearing inside.

She took a sip of the bubbly and watched him. While she doubted he'd go to the trouble of telling the hostess that a party crasher had just landed on the patio, she had every reason to be anxious. Through the open doors she could see men in tuxedos and women in expensive, formal gowns standing around making idle conversation over canapes and c.o.c.ktails. She couldn't have felt more out of place at a nudist colony.

She took another sip of the champagne and headed for the French doors.

But just before she reached them, she caught her reflection in the polished gla.s.s. She hardly recognized herself. The white silk dress hugged her curves-the rip up the right side seam almost looked as if the dress had come that way; the strappy high heels added a much-desired three inches to her slight five-foot-four frame; the sophisticated hairdo swept her usually wild mane up into an intricate maze of perky curls and strategically located tendrils that framed her perfectly made-up face.

"Not bad," she whispered. Her own mother wouldn't recognize her.

Feeling like Cinderella at the ball, she gave the woman in the gla.s.s a conspiratorial wink, checked to make sure the miniature camera was still snug in her bra between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then braced herself. Chin up. Stomach in. Show time. Show time.

WILL SHERIDAN KNEW what he was looking for. He stood at the edge of the party, searching the crowd. He'd planned this, just as he'd planned everything else in his life. Now with his thirty-sixth birthday approaching, he was ready for the next step. Marriage.

That decision made, it was just a matter of finding his perfect mate before his birthday-his self-imposed deadline. He wasn't worried. He'd taken some time off from his business to get the situation settled. He approached it as he had everything else in his life: methodically. Find the woman, romance her and, after the proper amount of time, marry her.

And he knew exactly exactly what he wanted in a wife, so he didn't think it would be difficult. It was one of the reasons he'd accepted his sister's invitation. Katherine Sheridan Ashley threw the kind of parties he a.s.sumed his prospective wife would attend. The woman of his dreams would no doubt travel in these circles, have a career that complemented his, share a similar family background with these people, and have the refined tastes that would make her the perfect wife and mother of his children. what he wanted in a wife, so he didn't think it would be difficult. It was one of the reasons he'd accepted his sister's invitation. Katherine Sheridan Ashley threw the kind of parties he a.s.sumed his prospective wife would attend. The woman of his dreams would no doubt travel in these circles, have a career that complemented his, share a similar family background with these people, and have the refined tastes that would make her the perfect wife and mother of his children.

Used to consulting experts when he needed advanced expertise, he'd agreed to attend one of his sister's many parties at her grand home on the rim-rocks overlooking Billings. It was as high society as he could take.

Katherine had a.s.sured him he wouldn't be disappointed. She had just the woman in mind for him.

Not that he thought he'd need much help. In fact, he firmly believed that he'd know his future wife the moment he saw her. That's why he wasn't the least bit surprised when she appeared like a vision, stepping in from the night through the ornate French patio doors in a white gown.

SAMANTHA WORKED HER WAY through the party crowd, smiling, nodding, exchanging pleasantries, looking for a man. She knew exactly what she was looking for and wasn't surprised when-after a couple of canapes and another gla.s.s of champagne, consumed only as part of her cover, of course-she found him.

Stealthily, she studied the man from a distance, recognizing him from the black-and-white photograph she'd been given. A second man approached him, and the two took their conversation down the hallway to a far wing of the rambling dwelling.

With the floor plan fresh in her memory, she eased out a side door away from the crowd. Slipping off her heels again and holding them in one hand she hoisted her dress and raced around the perimeter via the many patios, until she found herself directly outside the library. She put her heels back on, then standing breathlessly in the dark, she watched from behind a large, leafy plant as the first man withdrew a wad of bills from his tuxedo jacket. He handed them to the second man in exchange for a manila envelope.

From her bra, she pulled out the camera and snapped a couple of quick shots as the two men made the exchange. As the first man took the envelope over to the desk, turned on the desk lamp and pulled out the contents, the second man counted the money.

She zoomed in and took another shot of what were clearly bids for the new highway construction project. As she moved to get one final incriminating photo, she b.u.mped into the huge flowerpot with a resounding thunk. thunk.

The men in the library looked up-right in her direction, although she knew they couldn't see her. Yet. The first man drew a gun as he moved toward the patio-and her.

"h.e.l.lo."

She jumped at the sound of a male voice directly behind her. Hurriedly sliding the camera back into her bra and praying everything was safely covered inside her snug-fitting dress, she swung around, ready to defend herself if necessary.

She'd half expected the man behind her to be the waiter she'd met earlier, although she feared if it was, he wouldn't be offering her champagne this time.

It wasn't the waiter. Far from it.

This man was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a tuxedo. She had to look up to see his face, and although only faint light leaked from the library window, she caught her breath at the sight of him. Not a woman to be knocked off her high heels by simple good looks, she felt herself wobble just a little. He had a strong masculine jaw, cla.s.sic features and thick dark hair. A pair of intense blue eyes the color of faded denim peered at her through small wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. He was so close she could smell his faint aftershave. Umm.

He held two full champagne gla.s.ses and smiled tentatively at her. His smile set the air around her vibrating. Goose b.u.mps rose on her skin, and she swore the hair on the back of her neck stood on end-not to mention what he was doing to the rest of her.

"h.e.l.lo," he said again. His voice was deep and soft. Hypnotic. His denim-eyed gaze was intent.

For just an instant, she lost herself in all that heavenly blue. Then the sound of footsteps behind her in the library jerked her back to earth. Any moment, she knew the library door would burst open and the men she'd photographed would see her. And get the wrong impression. Actually, the right impression, in this case. An impression that could get her and this handsome stranger killed.

She always had a backup plan. Sans a plan, she punted.

Impulsively, she threw her arms around the man's neck and kissed him. He stiffened in surprise. But there wasn't much he could do, considering both his hands held champagne gla.s.ses. She heard the library door bang open as she buried her fingers in the stranger's thick, lush hair and deepened the kiss, listening behind her for the familiar sound of a bolt sliding back on a weapon just before it was fired.

To his credit, it took him only seconds. He tossed the champagne gla.s.ses over his shoulder and pulled her into his arms, kissing her back with nothing short of wanton abandon. She barely even heard the champagne gla.s.ses break on the rock wall behind them as he stole more than her breath.

She surfaced slowly from the kiss, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he leisurely lifted his lips from hers. She blinked, then glanced around in confusion. The patio was empty except for the two of them; the library door was closed, the lights extinguished, the two men gone. She hadn't even heard them leave. She hadn't heard anything but her pulse roaring in her ears and the erratic thump thump of her heart. of her heart.

She looked up at the stranger in whose arms she was still enveloped.

He looked as stunned as she felt. "Wow," he said as he pulled back, his expression clearly shocked and...a little uncertain? "So much for idle chitchat."

She felt her face flush. "I-"

"Please, don't apologize. I'm flattered." He offered her his hand. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Will Sheridan."

His large, warm hand closed over hers.

"Sam-Samantha-" she stammered. "Moore." Or less. "Samantha Moore."

He smiled again, and she felt his powerful force field pulling her in.

"I'm delighted to finally meet you," he said in that soft, deep voice of his. "I can't tell you how long I've waited for this." He sounded a little embarra.s.sed. "Although, I have to admit, it didn't go quite like I'd planned it."

Was he saying he knew her? She was sure she'd never met him before. He wasn't the kind of man she'd forget. One thing she was sure of: she'd never kissed him before. But she definitely wouldn't mind kissing him again.

"You took me by surprise," she stammered. Especially his kiss. Boy howdy.

"Trust me, not half as much as you did me."

His laugh warmed her like summer sunshine.

"You have a great smile. I want to know everything about you."

She doubted that. Still, she felt her cheeks redden from the heat of his gaze. This man could charm a woman right out of her high heels.