The Cop. Cara Summers

      “They’re not dead?”

      “They’re not even in the church. Neither is the blonde you mentioned.”

      “You’ve checked the choir loft?”

      “Empty.”

      J.C. pressed a hand to her stomach as relief streamed through her. Had she been worried all along about the possibility of more dead bodies? Was the fear and adrenaline rushing through her body the reason she’d become so obsessed with Nik Angelis?

      “Did you see anyone else enter the church?”

      She shook her head. “No.”

      He pulled out a notebook. “When were you first contacted by the bride and groom?”

      “I wasn’t. I don’t even know who they are.”

      Nik stared at her. “You catered the wedding and you don’t know who the bride and groom are?”

      “Father Mike was keeping it hush-hush. But he did drop the names, Juliana and Paulo. I thought they might be minor celebrities. Winners of Survivor or something like that.”

      “So you didn’t know that they were Juliana Oliver and Paulo Carlucci?”

      It was J.C.’s turn to stare as she let out a long low whistle.

      “You do know them then?”

      “Not personally. But I recognize the last names. Those two families are big business rivals, right?”

      “Did the bride and groom arrive together?”

      “No. I’d just brought the cake in when the two women arrived in a taxi. I told you before—I figured the young, dark-haired one for the bride, and the blonde for the maid of honor. Father Mike had told me to prepare cake and champagne for five—the bride and groom, the best man and maid of honor, and him.” She frowned. “He didn’t say anything about the bodyguard.”

      “The bodyguard?”

      “The dead man. He drove the groom here. You’ve got to admit he has the build. Of course, he might have been the best man.”

      “When did Roman Oliver arrive?”

      “Maybe five minutes later. I didn’t recognize him at first, not until the fight started and someone used his name.”

      “Tell me about the fight.”

      J.C. described the noises, and what she’d heard.

      “When I heard the shots, I called 911 and ran across the walkway and into the sacristy. I nearly tripped over the big man’s body. Then I heard Father Mike’s voice from the altar and I got there just in time to see this man in a ski mask raise his gun.”

      “He was wearing a ski mask?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then it wasn’t Roman Oliver who shot Father Mike?”

      “No.”

      Nik didn’t allow himself to feel relieved. Not yet. Roman could have brought help if he’d come here to stop the wedding. “Did you see Roman at all after you entered the sacristy?”

      “No. All I saw were the dead man, Father Mike and the man who shot him.”

      “So you’re in the doorway, you see the guy with the ski mask pointing a gun at Father Mike. What happened next?”

      “I yelled at him to stop and I threw my cell phone at him. I got him, too, but I was too late to save Father Mike.”

      “Maybe not. Father Mike took a bullet in the shoulder. I bet the shooter intended that bullet for his heart.”

      “Oh.” J.C. let out a little sigh and felt her knees go suddenly weak. “Oooops,” she said as she slid down the wall to the floor.

      Nik got to her in two quick strides and squatted down, taking her hands in his. “You all right?” She didn’t look all right. Her face had gone white. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

      Her eyes sharpened then and her chin lifted. “I never faint. I grew up with four brothers. There’s not much I haven’t seen. It’s…just starting to sink in.”

      “Sir, I’ve got the almonds.”

      Nik gestured for them, and then handed the little silver bowl to J.C. When she’d finished a handful, he said, “So what happened after you hit the guy in the ski mask with your cell phone?”

      “He whipped off the ski mask and pressed it against the back of his head. I must have hit him pretty hard. Then he turned and pointed his gun at me.”

      Nik noticed that her knuckles had turned white where she was gripping the silver bowl.

      “His eyes were like a snake’s. When I looked into them, I knew that he was going to kill me. So I ran and hid in the closet.”

      Guts, Nik thought. She had them in spades. And she’d used a cell phone to try to stop a killer. “Back to the blonde. Tell me about her. What did she look like?”

      J.C. thought for a minute while she ate another almond. “I didn’t see her face. She had her back to me the whole time she was walking into the church. But she’s short and slender, and she’s a girly-girl. Her suit was expensive and fashion-forward.”

      “You could tell all that from a back view?”

      “Sure.” She said it in the same tone that Sherlock Holmes might have used to say, “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

      “Do you know what happened next?”

      J.C. shook her head. “Maybe Snake Eyes kidnapped them.”

      “Maybe.” Nik didn’t like that scenario, but he couldn’t dismiss it. “I was close enough to get here within two or three minutes of your call to 911. Snake Eyes could have heard the siren and decided to bolt.” At least he hoped that was the way it had gone down. If that were true, then there was a chance that the mystery woman and the bridal couple had taken off on their own steam. “Tell me about Snake Eyes again. Everything that you can remember.”

      She did, and when she got to the part where he was moving in on her and she was paralyzed, Nik gripped her hands again. He didn’t like the fact that she’d raced into the sacristy after hearing the first shots. That had been foolhardy. And admirable. She’d saved the priest’s life. Yet, she’d been scared to death. Hell, she was scared now just talking about it. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way she was squeezing his hands.

      “I need more nuts,” she said with a shaky voice.

      Nik had a different idea. It was against all the rules, but the desire to kiss her had been building inside of him since she’d stepped out of that damn cupboard. He’d tried to ignore it, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore. He was the one in his family who’d had to struggle the hardest against a reckless streak. Kit was a dreamer and Theo was the intellectual, the politician. Becoming a cop had allowed him to channel his recklessness and his love of adventure and—he hoped—put it to good use. But he’d been thinking about kissing the redhead, and if he’d just get it out of his system then, maybe, his head would finally clear.

      “Let’s try this instead.” He covered her mouth with his.

      4

      THE KISS WASN’T AT ALL what she’d been expecting. There were storms inside this man. She’d sensed them, seen them in his eyes, and she’d anticipated that his mouth would be hard, demanding, and that it would set off answering storms in her. Instead, he barely brushed his lips against hers.

      J.C. moistened her lips with her tongue and tasted him. His flavor reminded her of something rich and forbidden. When she leaned closer for more, he released one of her hands and raised his to cup the back of her neck. Then he took his time, sampling, nipping, tracing the shape