Missing: One Bride. Alice Sharpe

for his wayward bride, or should they separate and cover twice as much ground? No, she’d better stay close to him, at least close enough to act as a buffer so that Natalie didn’t have to face Thorn alone.

      Actually, what she really wanted to do was to plant herself in the hotel lobby, preferably near a functioning heater vent. Maybe she should broach this subject now and together they could settle on a plan of action.

      One short peek at Thorn quelled that notion. His features were set in a frown that suggested whatever events he was mentally reviewing weren’t happy ones. She decided she had no desire to interrupt his thoughts and looked ahead instead, anxious only to get this over with.

      After a long, slow curve, the road straightened out and ran beside the beach. Only a few determined walkers and people throwing sticks for frantic dogs were visible. The promontory on the north end of the beach was called Otter Point, and even from a distance of two miles, Alex could make out the hotel, which appeared to cling to the rocks with the tenacious grip of a limpet. The tiers of decks jutting from the main structure were outlined in twinkling white lights, while the interior of the hotel glowed yellow in the gathering dusk.

      “We’re almost there,” she said.

      Thorn spared her half a glance but said nothing.

      “Do you have any idea what you’re going to say to her?” Alex persisted.

      “No.”

      She took the hint—the man did not want to talk, at least not to her.

      Thorn stopped the car opposite a pair of wide glass doors etched with seabirds. Within seconds, a young man in a teal green uniform appeared, opening Alex’s door, offering her a hand. Stiff from the long ride and chilled through to the bone, Alex knew her exit from the car was something less than graceful. As she unwound the scarf from her head, she felt half her hair tumble to her shoulders and looked up to find her helper, whose name tag identified him simply as Roger, staring at her with a bemused smile.

      She reached back inside and grabbed her shoes. By the time she’d straightened, Thorn had come around the car and was waiting on the curb for her.

      “Any luggage, sir?” Roger asked.

      “What?” Thorn grumbled as he fished in his pocket.

      “Luggage, sir?” Roger repeated.

      Thorn, looking distracted, said, “No. I mean, yes. In the trunk.”

      Alex looked at Thorn. “You brought luggage?”

      “Honeymoon,” he snapped.

      “Oh.”

      “And I guess I’ll have to catch you later,” Thorn added as he turned back to Roger, his hands empty.

      “That’s fine, sir.”

      Another uniformed teenager had slid in behind the wheel to whisk the car away to parts unknown. He added, “We understand, sir,” and followed the comment with a broad wink.

      “Understand what?” Thorn asked impatiently.

      With a pointed look at Alex, the one in the car said, “How it is, you know, on your wedding day and everything.”

      Alex opened her mouth to speak but a swift shake of Thorn’s head silenced her.

      Roger gestured at the convertible. “You know, sir, this goop on your car can’t be good for the paint.” Nodding at the driver, he added, “Me and Todd would be happy to wash it off for you.”

      “Yeah, no problem,” the driver said.

      Thorn looked at the two younger men as though they were speaking Greek, and Alex realized these mundane concerns were beyond him at the moment. Taking matters into her own hands, she said, “Great.”

      Thorn grabbed her arm and steered her through the doors, into a huge lobby decorated in a dozen shades of blue and green, the colors of the sea. Without saying a word, he strode purposefully toward the reception desk, Alex struggling to keep up with him. She hadn’t yet had a chance to put on her shoes and without the heels to add another two inches to her height, the dress dragged awkwardly on the floor.

      The desk clerk was a woman in her twenties with enough blond hair for two people. She swept tousled bangs away from her eyes as she watched Thorn approach, then moistened her lips with a quick flick of her tongue. Her name tag read Candy.

      “What can I do for you, sir?” The question was uttered in a voice that suggested the possibilities were endless.

      “I want to know if you have a Miss Dupree registered,” he said. “Natalie Dupree.”

      As Candy punched a few keys on the computer, Alex snuck a peek up at Thorn’s face. His gaze was directed solely on the clerk, or to be more specific, solely on the clerk’s hands. She wondered if Candy was aware of the tension building in Thorn’s body as he watched her red nails click against the plastic keys, seconds passing so slowly, each seemed to have a separate identity.

      At last, Candy chirped, “No, sir. I’m sorry, but no one by that name is registered here.”

      Alex, amazed, said, “Are you sure?”

      “Quite sure,” Candy said without so much as a glance at Alex.

      “Wait a minute,” Thorn said. “Maybe she’s using a different name. She’s about this tall,” he explained, holding his hand below his chin, “with reddish blond hair and green eyes. She’s twenty-six years old.”

      “I’m sorry, sir—”

      “She may be with someone else,” Thorn said reluctantly.

      “I’m sorry,” Candy repeated as Roger appeared at Thorn’s elbow, a brown leather suitcase clutched in his hand. “I just came on duty a few minutes ago. I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description.”

      “Fitting what description?” Roger asked.

      Once again, Thorn described Natalie, this time adding the make and color of her car, but he was met with the same blank stare. “’Course, I’ve only been here since six,” the boy said, “and there’s a billion cars down on the extra lot.”

      Thorn swore under his breath.

      Candy, staring at the suitcase, said, “Are you staying with us? Do you have a reservation?”

      Thorn once again looked baffled by a couple of simple questions. Apparently, he’d been so positive Natalie was registered at the Otter Point Inn that he was temporarily set adrift when he found out she wasn’t. As Alex had no idea what he wanted to do next, she decided to keep her mouth shut.

      Roger, however, was not bound by these same concerns. “They’re on their honeymoon,” he told Candy, “in one gorgeous car.”

      Immediately breaking eye contact with Thorn and sliding Alex a brief glance, Candy said, “How nice.”

      Alex blurted out, “Not really—” but stopped as she noted the two startled expressions that greeted the beginning of this sentence. To heck with them, she thought, vowing once again to stay quiet.

      “Well, by chance, the honeymoon suite is open,” Candy said as she scanned the computer screen. “As a matter of fact, it’s our only vacancy. We had a late cancellation.”

      Thorn looked down at Alex. For a second, the rest of the world seemed to recede as his eyes probed hers. At last, he said, “Do you want me to drive you back to Cottage Grove or shall we take the room for a night and think this thing through?”

      While two gaping strangers looked on, Alex stared at the man standing in front of her and wondered if pride alone was keeping him on his feet. His eyes looked drawn and tired, his square shoulders sagging under the continual blows to his ego. She smiled and said, “Whatever you want, Thorn. You call it.”

      He looked back at Candy. “I don’t have my wallet on me. We left in kind of a rush.” Candy looked at him