The Getaway Bride

“I’m sorry if you were frightened,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know what else to do to find out what was going on with you. Blake assured me he wouldn’t hurt you. He didn’t, did he?”

“No,” she admitted, shrugging off the momentary discomfort caused by the prick of the needle in her arm. “He was quite considerate, on the whole. Very efficient—as though kidnapping women was something he did often. Where did you find that guy, anyway?”

“He was recommended by the investigator I’d hired prior to him. The last guy couldn’t get anywhere on the case, and he could tell I was getting frustrated with him. He gave me Blake’s name and number. Apparently, Blake is well known in the industry.”

“What’s Blake’s last name?”

“I have no idea.”

Page blinked in surprise. “You hired a guy without asking his last name?”

Looking a bit sheepish, Gabe cleared his throat. “He didn’t seem to think it necessary. I could tell from the first that he was good. And he said if he didn’t find you, he wouldn’t charge me anything. That was becoming important, since I’d spent so much on the other guys already.”

Page fought down a wave of guilt. She had no idea that Gabe would go to so much expense looking for her.

It occurred to her again that she had gravely misjudged her husband.

“Did you know he investigated you?” she asked, trying to redirect her thoughts.

Gabe’s smile was crooked, revealing just a glimpse of that intriguing dimple in his left cheek. “I heard. That’s when I knew I’d finally hired the right guy. He let nothing escape him.”

“How did he find me in Des Moines?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t believe in explanations—only in results.”

Page shook her head. “He seems a little spooky.”

Gabe chuckled. “That’s one word to describe him, I guess. And yet—I sort of like him.”

Page wrinkled her nose and sighed. “Unfortunately, I sort of do, too.”

“I think he can help us, Page.”

Us. The word made a funny little quiver go through her middle. She’d thought of herself as alone against the world for so long that she was still having a hard time adjusting to the knowledge that there was someone—two “someones,” actually—on her side now.

“I thought Detective Pratt could help me,” she said, forcing herself to hold on to the pessimism that had propelled her for so long. “Look what happened to him.”

“Blake will be better prepared. He’s more aware of what he’s up against.”

And if Blake did somehow manage to bring an end to this? Then what? Did Gabe imagine that they could simply go back to where they’d left off?

Page didn’t have the courage to ask. Or even to contemplate the future. She would concentrate, instead, on getting through another day, alone with Gabe.

“I’ll scramble some eggs,” she said abruptly, brushing past him without meeting his eyes. “Why don’t you pour us some coffee?”

GABE WASN’T SURE how to read Page this morning. She’d made their breakfast, served it and eaten it with only a minimum of conversation. She seemed to be avoiding his eyes, and yet he sensed that she watched him closely when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her hand wasn’t quite steady when she lifted her coffee mug to her lips.

It felt very much like an awkward “morning after.” Which was ridiculous, considering that this woman was his wife, Gabe thought grumpily, eyeing the gold ring he’d replaced on her left hand last night.

He was relieved she hadn’t taken it off. He would have insisted that she put it back on again. The rings they wore were a physical reminder of the promises they’d once made, the unbreakable partnership they’d forged. And Gabe didn’t intend for Page to forget those promises again.

He wanted very badly to take her into his arms right now, to remind her forcibly of the strong bonds between them—legal, physical and emotional bonds. Remembering the way she’d responded to him in bed, he suspected that she wouldn’t resist him, or deny that the bonds were still there, still binding.

But he knew they couldn’t fully concentrate on their feelings for each other as long as there was a chance that they were in danger from the lunatic who had driven them apart. And so, he forced himself to keep the distracting emotions suppressed—at least for now.

“I have to check in at the office,” he said when the dishes had been cleaned and put away. “I left a couple of things hanging when I took off Friday afternoon.”

“Your business is doing well?” she asked a bit too casually.