Red Clover Inn. Carla Neggers

room at the pub also allowed her to get her bearings before tomorrow.

      Weddings.

      She took a breath and sat on a stool at the bar. A quiet drink without any back-and-forth with a federal agent and then she’d collapse into bed. By daylight, she’d be ready to pour herself into her maid-of-honor dress. The long train ride from Edinburgh to Oxford and then a cab to the small English village where her cousin was getting married had left her drained. She’d had too much time to think. Inevitably, her mind had drifted to thoughts, questions and regrets best avoided on her way to a wedding.

      “Scotch,” she said to the tawny-haired barman. “Smoky and expensive.”

      “What are we celebrating?”

      “We are celebrating that I’m here for my cousin’s wedding tomorrow, alone, single and in one piece.”

      The barman poured a pricey single malt and set the glass in front of her. “Cheers, then.”

      Charlotte held up her glass and smiled. “Cheers.”

      * * *

      Brody Hancock planted a fresh beer in front of Greg and sat across from him. “Do I need to go find that woman and apologize on your behalf?” Brody asked.

      Greg picked up the beer. “That woman is Charlotte Bennett, Samantha’s cousin and her maid of honor.”

      “Even more reason to apologize.”

      “Apologize for what?”

      “You tell me. I’m going to make an educated guess and say you were jerking her chain.”

      “She started it by assuming I was drunk.”

      Brody groaned. “That’s so third grade, Greg.”

      “I know. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

      “For you, maybe.”

      Greg didn’t argue the point with his friend and colleague. Brody was a good-looking guy in his midthirties, dressed for the night in a suit, probably because it was his brother-in-law who was getting married tomorrow.

      “You’re doing some assuming of your own,” Brody added. “You don’t know what Charlotte was thinking.”

      “I do. She told me. She’s blunt. She threatened to disarm me.” It was an exaggeration and Greg knew it. “I swear.”

      “How was she going to disarm you, Greg?” Brody asked, sighing.

      “I don’t know. It could have been interesting to find out.”

      Brody shook his head. “Don’t make me regret getting you invited to the wedding.”

      “I won’t. Relax. That’s what I’m doing. Relaxing.”

      “Sure, Greg.”

      He realized his eyelids were drooping. Damn, he was beat. He’d been going all out for months. A wedding in the English countryside was just what he needed. “Charlotte’s uptight and was looking for a distraction,” he said, confident in his assessment. “Fretting about me gave her something to do. If anyone needs to apologize, it’s her.”

      “Somehow I doubt she’s the one who needs to make apologies.”

      “Charlotte Bennett can hold her own. Trust me. And it’s Charlotte, by the way, not Char or Lottie or anything else. Charlotte.”

      “And you’re an ass,” Brody said with a grin.

      “I do a good imitation of one, anyway.” Greg considered his encounter with tomorrow’s maid of honor. “She’s hiding something. I can tell these things.”

      “You’re good, Greg, but even you aren’t a mind reader. Enjoy your beer. We don’t have to worry about getting in a car and driving on the wrong side on the winding country roads.”

      Heather, Brody’s dark-haired, blue-eyed bride of a few months, joined them. She and Brody had grown up in the same town, an out-of-the-way little place west of Boston called Knights Bridge. Greg had been there over the winter and met a bunch of locals, including Heather’s five older brothers. They were all here for tomorrow’s wedding—especially Justin Sloan, since he was the groom. Being the youngest and only girl, Heather was another one who gave as good as she got. Brody had never intimidated her. Neither had the animosity between him and her older brothers that had gone back to their teen years. All water over the dam now. On Greg’s one and only visit to Knights Bridge, Brody had just returned to his hometown after more than a decade and he and Heather Sloan were doing the dance, wondering if they were meant for each other. But they were. Greg had seen it right away. Love for them had come fast and fairly easily, and he was certain it would last.

      Heather set three glasses of water on the table. “Figured it’s time for us to switch to H2O,” she said cheerfully as she sat next to her husband.

      Greg thanked her but stuck with his beer. “We haven’t had much chance to talk since I got in from parts unknown. How’s married life for you two lovebirds?”

      “It’s perfect,” Heather said without hesitation.

      Brody smiled. “Just what I was going to say.”

      “We’re loving London,” she added. “Having my family here for the wedding is great. Helps with any homesickness.”

      “You’re not down on the farm anymore,” Greg said.

      “We have a construction business. My parents live in an old farmhouse, but it’s not a working farm.”

      “It’s an expression, Heather.” Greg got a kick out of her. “I’m glad you two are happy. I said you would be, didn’t I?”

      “You’re always right, Greg,” Heather said, then drank some of her water.

      He laughed but he could feel the rawness of his exhaustion.

      Brody lifted his water glass. “Are you going to pass out here, Greg? You look like you need toothpicks to keep your eyes open.”

      “Here would be good but Samantha’s marine archaeologist cousin would probably sic the local cops on me.” He abandoned his beer barely two sips into it. “I’ll stumble up to my room.”

      “Want me to spot you?” Brody asked.

      “No.” Greg snorted as he got to his feet. “Spot me. Hell.”

      He did stumble, though. Imperceptibly, he thought, but there was no denying it. He didn’t give a damn. He’d had a rough few months since crawling off his deathbed and going back to work.

      How close was I to dying, Doc?

      Close.

      Seconds? Minutes? I want to tell my ex-wife.

      His doctor hadn’t thought that was funny. Laura wouldn’t have, either, but Greg would never tell her. Divorced or not, he was the father of their two teenage children. She’d often grumbled that life as his wife was like being widowed, but she had never wanted him to die for real. Decent of her, considering she’d had a point. He’d left her high and dry too frequently during their marriage. They’d married young and had two kids right away, and they’d never been easy as a couple, not like Heather and Brody. Finally, they’d accepted they no longer were a couple and it was time to move on, end their marriage.

      It hadn’t been Laura’s fault. It damn sure hadn’t been the kids’ fault.

      They lived in Minnesota near Laura’s family and liked cold weather. Andrew and Megan had no idea what their father’s life was really like. They’d see a Diplomatic Security agent in a movie and think that was it. But it wasn’t.

      Greg took the blame, every bit of it, for the distance between them, but he knew, at least intellectually, blame and guilt got him nowhere. He wasn’t going to let them be an excuse to keep his distance, prevent him from living the life he wanted to