His Brother's Bride

William smiled at her and nodded, then turned her face toward Scott. “See?”

“Oh.” The woman looked, blinked, and looked again. “Thank God,” she whispered, and then started to cry.

Murphy stood beside Scott, both of them grinning.

Then William looked behind Scott as though something else caught his attention.

“Laurel? Is that you, child? Or am I dreaming things again?”

“It’s me, William,” Laurel said, coming forward. She was crying, too. And as much as Scott knew he should be mad at her for not following his orders, he was inordinately pleased she was there.

She needed this. Deserved it. He couldn’t believe, after all she’d been through with him this week, she was still there, believing in happily-ever-after. She was the stronge

st woman he’d ever known.

Yet when he met her eyes briefly, there was a longing in them. He foolishly, briefly took hope, thinking that it was for him.

On her knees, with one arm around each of them, she hugged William and Cecilia. “I’m so glad we finally found you,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion. “Glad that you waited for us.”

Murphy said he was going to call the paramedics, and then, when the captives had had a couple more minutes to orientate themselves, Laurel helped both of them to their feet. After a week in captivity, William and Cecilia were weak, and Scott stepped forward to help, but Laurel took their weight as though they were rag dolls.

Cecilia was a slender woman, dressed in what must have been a very elegant and expensive dress when she’d put it on the week before. Her silver hair was now completely matted to her head.

William’s suit was torn and wrinkled, his face stubbly with a week’s growth of beard. What little hair he had was sticking straight out.

As Scott watched Laurel help the couple stand, he knew he’d been wrong about that longing look.

Laurel was a professional. Capable. Strong.

She didn’t need him.

* * *

IT WAS A LITTLE late for introductions, but as they stood together in the boiler room that had been home to the couple for an entire week, William introduced Cecilia to Laurel, who, in turn, introduced Scott.

“So how long’s it been since you’ve had anything to eat or drink?” Scott asked. Laurel was relieved when he moved forward to help shoulder the weight of the older couple.

“I think it’s only been dark under the door once since we finished off the last of the bread and fruit that bastard left us,” William said. “There’s still a little water, but only because we’ve been rationing so carefully.”

Cecilia cringed and started to cry, burying her face against William.

“You’re talking about Dennis Arnett,” Scott said.

“Cici’s little brother, yes,” the author said, and there was no doubting the bitterness he felt toward the man.

Scott figured the news of Arnett’s death could wait awhile.

“By the way, do you have any idea how long we’ve been here?” William asked, frowning.

“Today’s Saturday. You’ve been missing a week.”

Cecilia still shaky, but steadier than she had been, turned to Scott. “Our daughter’s here,” she said, her gaze focusing as though she were only now coming to her senses.

“Your daughter?” Laurel and Scott asked at once.

“Yes, our daughter,” Cecilia said. “I wish I’d had the courage to say that thirty-five years ago.” Her eyes filled with tears again.

“Shh, you promised,” William said softly, his eyes earnest as he looked down at Cecilia. “We aren’t going to waste time going backward.”