Page 21 of Joel
A loud wrapping startles us both, and I hop off Joel’s lap as though we’re teenagers who were nearly caught by a teacher making out behind the bleachers.
“What—”
“Where are you two lovebirds?” a female voice announces.
“If you’re naked, get some clothes on,” another woman’s voice adds.
“I know you haven’t officially met us yet, Kylie, but we’re taking you wedding dress shopping,” a third chimes in.
“We have to get a move on it,” another says. “You two didn’t give us much time to plan anything.”
“What the?—”
Joel picks up my blanket and wraps it around me. We’re still out on the covered porch, but we’ll have to face this mob of women any second. “I might have said something to the J-Squad about our getting married tomorrow. I meant to warn you last night, but?—”
Though panic is pulsing through my entire body right now, I force an easy smile. “It’s okay,” I tell him, surprising myself. Going wedding dress shopping with the wives of Joel’s closest friends is a far cry from playing fake fiancé at a single dinner out in a public place, but I’ll manage. This is something I can do for him today.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”
I force another smile and pull the blanket around me tighter. “It might be fun.”
10
JOEL
I watchas Kylie piles into an oversized SUV, driven by Blakely and filled with the wives of the J-Squad. I knew all I had to do was tell Jonas yesterday, and the wives would be alerted within the hour. Was I expecting them to go so overboard? Not exactly. But I’ll pay for the wedding dress if it can’t be returned.
The bigger question is should I be concerned that my fake fiancé and I haven’t cemented our story? Maybe. But how much could we have to make up in the past forty-eight hours? Even if it does feel more like forty-eight days.
Though I was looking forward to carrying my fake bride-to-be back to my bedroom, the impromptu kidnapping gives me an opportunity to take care of something important. I don’t want to waste another minute.
In between all the chaos of yesterday’s emergency rescue, I managed to make a few inquiries about Todd Mercer. Including one to a buddy in tech who has a particular knack for tracking down hard-to-find, incriminating information quickly. I’ll owe him a couple of cases of Caribou Creek Lager after this is all over.
Today, I’m calling the man himself.
“Mercer Industries,” a woman answers.
“I’m looking for Todd.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
I consider telling herThe Coast Guard. But I suspect that’ll earn me aI’ll take a message and have him get back to youbrush-off. Worst case, it gets my ass in hot water with my superiors. As a petty officer, there’s not much I can do with that angle, and I’m not stupid enough to impersonate someone who has more authority.
Today, I am just a man who’s protecting the woman he loves.
Fuck.
Iloveher, don’t I?
“Sir?”
“A new client,” I say, returning my focus to the call. I’ll deal with the startling revelation later.
“Do you have a name, Mr. New Client?”
“I do,” I answer, not fooled by her pleasant tone. She’s there to protect Todd. But the less people who know about the details of this call, the better. “And I’ll be happy to share it with Mr. Mercer.”
“He’s not in right now.”
