Contract Bride. Debra Webb

his gun and simultaneously shoved the key into the lock. He pushed open the door.

      To his surprise it was dark inside, but blessedly cool. The drapes were pulled tight. He felt for the light switch but a distinctly feminine voice stopped him.

      “Close the door first.”

      Moving into defensive mode, Ethan closed the door behind him and tightened his fingers on the weapon.

      “Now you can turn on the light.”

      He flipped the switch, blinked once to focus, his gun leveled in the direction of the sound of her voice.

      A woman who looked no older than seventeen or eighteen, clad in tattered hip-hugger jeans and a cut-off T-shirt stood on the opposite side of the room. She wasn’t very tall, five-two maybe, and waif-thin. Long blond hair, pale blue eyes, elfin features. Ethan couldn’t say for sure if she was Dr. Jennifer Ballard or not, but she definitely resembled the girl in the five-year-old photograph he’d seen. With one major exception—this woman was holding on tight with both hands to a small-caliber handgun, the barrel pointed at his chest.

      “I need to see some identification, Mr. Delaney.” She moistened her lips and exhaled a shaky breath. “But first, I’ll need you to put your gun down.”

      Chapter Two

      Please, God, Jenn Ballard prayed, don’t let him realize this gun isn’t loaded.

      “I said, put your gun down,” she repeated to the large, dangerous-looking man standing on the other side of a bed that would prove less than adequate as a protective barrier.

      “I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you put yours away and then I’ll do the same.”

      She trembled at the sound of his voice. Smooth but lethal. What should she do? She’d expected him to obey her command. They always did in the movies…the ones she watched anyway.

      She had no other choice. Gritting her teeth for courage, she drew the hammer back, cocking the weapon just as she’d seen guys like Clint Eastwood do. The resounding click echoed loudly in the still room. “Put it down now,” she demanded with as much gravity as she could marshal. She sure hoped all those late-night movies she used to watch weren’t wrong.

      The man, whom she prayed was really Ethan Delaney, stared at her for two endless seconds before he relented. She let go the breath she’d been holding when he placed his weapon on the bedspread. Thank God.

      “Now, the ID,” she reminded.

      “Just stay cool, lady.” He opened the left lapel of his lightweight leather jacket wide, showing her he had nothing to hide, and reached with his thumb and fore-finger into an interior pocket. His evaluating stare never left her as he produced a small black leather credentials case. He tossed it onto the bed still eyeing her speculatively. She knew how she looked, but she couldn’t help that. The ragged jeans and the midriff top were the best she could do under the circumstances. The fact that the getup was reasonably clean had been her only concern when she’d bartered for it. With her hair down instead of in its usual neat bun and sporting the funky clothes she doubted anyone would recognize her. Even her beloved fiancé.

      Which was the whole point.

      Never taking her eyes off the man looming a mere mattress width away, she reached for the case he’d tossed onto the bed. She flipped it open and glanced at the Colby Agency picture ID. Ethan Delaney. Thirty-four, six-four, 220 pounds. Brown hair and eyes. She looked back and forth between the ID and the man himself. The hair was really long, tied back in a ponytail, and the eyes an uncommonly dark coppery brown. Her throat went a little dry. A guy this size could definitely do some damage. Maybe she shouldn’t have begun their meeting in such an unfriendly, distrustful manner.

      “Satisfied?” he asked pointedly.

      Oh, yes. She’d definitely made a mistake. But what choice had she had?

      None.

      She nodded, then lowered her weapon. “Sorry about that, but you can’t imagine how frightened I’ve been.” Suddenly feeling too weary, she dropped both her gun and the ID case onto the bed. “I’m glad you’re here.”

      He reached for his gun, tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, and snagged hers up next along with his ID. Once the ID was back in his pocket he checked her weapon.

      The glare that followed was penetrating, fierce. “Did you know this weapon isn’t loaded?”

      She collapsed onto the edge of the bed. She was too exhausted and too emotionally wiped out to explain fully. “Yes,” she admitted. “I didn’t have anything left to trade for bullets.”

      That piercing gaze intensified. “Trade? What the hell are you talking about?”

      She shrugged tiredly. “I had to make a run for it with no money or plastic. I met a guy in an alley near the bus station who traded me the gun for my Rolex. I’d already traded my engagement ring for a bus ticket out of Chicago and my shoes for these clothes and sneakers. I didn’t have anything left.”

      “You are kidding, right?”

      Indignant, she shook her head. “I didn’t have any choice.” What was the big deal? Though she couldn’t accurately assess the value of the engagement ring, it could have been as fake as her fiancé. The remainder of the items had been top of the line. The girl who got her shoes certainly got the better bargain. They were Guccis after all. The wedding dress a Vera Wang, but it had been ruined, and she’d had to cram it into a trash bin. The horrible memories she’d kept at bay for nearly 72 hours now spilled one over the other into her weary mind.

      Her stomach roiled. There had been so much blood.

      Uncle Russ was dead.

      She blinked back the tears that threatened. She had to be strong, had to get back to her father. His already fragile life might be in danger, too. No matter what else happened, she had to have help getting her life back. She had to make sure he didn’t hurt her father. Her father’s safety was of primary importance. With his health so poor, almost anything could finish him off. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him yet, and certainly not like this.

      The man, Ethan Delaney, looked at her with something new in his eyes…pity, maybe? Anger kindled in her belly and was joined by indignation. She didn’t need his pity; she needed his investigative expertise.

      “When did you eat last?” he asked quietly, concerned.

      She thought about that one for a moment, then remembered. The last three days were like one big blur of runaway emotions in her memory, some images more vivid than others. She immediately pushed those away. “The man at the front desk gave me a bag of peanuts and a soft drink when I checked in this morning,” she admitted. “Since I didn’t have any money I was profoundly grateful.”

      “Really?” Ethan said, clearly skeptical. He lifted an eyebrow in punctuation. “How’d you pay when you checked in if you didn’t have any money or plastic?”

      He probably wasn’t going to like this part. “I told him the man I was expecting would pay. Apparently that’s customary at this establishment.”

      Ethan puffed out an impatient breath, then massaged his chin trying to decide what to do with her. Finally, as if he’d fought his own better judgment and lost, he shook his head. “Let’s go get you something to eat, then we’ll talk.”

      She swung her head side to side in adamant disagreement of his suggestion. “I don’t feel leaving the room would be a wise move until we come to an agreement. Can’t you call for something to be delivered?”

      His facial features set in grim lines, he stalked over to the table next to the bed and jerked the single drawer open. She tried not to dwell on the fact that she’d already alienated her only hope and they’d barely met. She had to work seriously on her people skills. But first, before anything else, she had to convince him to believe her. Success depended solely on