Circumstantial Marriage
The plan was just too risky….
“I still think it would be better if I did this alone,” he said. “If something happens to me, you’ll still be alive and able to figure another way out of this.”
“You need someone to watch your back, otherwise it’s just a suicide mission.” Her gaze sharpened. “And at least one of us cares whether you live or die.”
He recognized that stubborn gleam in her eye. Arguing would just be wasting breath.
Audrey suddenly got quiet. “Even if the plan works, it seems wrong that the truth won’t come out.”
“All I care about is you not being killed.”
Only when the words were out did he consider how they might have come across. Like she mattered to him. Which she did, he immediately recognized, his chest tightening.
He didn’t want it to be the case, and he’d done his best to fight it. But suddenly he knew the thought of anything happening to Audrey scared the hell out of him.
KERRY CONNOR
CIRCUMSTANTIAL MARRIAGE
To Patty, my favorite journalist and an even better friend.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A lifelong mystery reader, Kerry Connor first discovered romantic suspense by reading Harlequin Intrigue books and is thrilled to be writing for the line. Kerry lives and writes in New York.
Books by Kerry Connor
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
1067—STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT
1094—BEAUTIFUL STRANGER
1129—A STRANGER’S BABY
1170—TRUSTING A STRANGER
1207—STRANGER IN A SMALL TOWN
1236—SILENT NIGHT STAKEOUT
1268—CIRCUMSTANTIAL MARRIAGE
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Audrey Ellison
—She was targeted for death by forces determined to keep a long-hidden secret from being revealed.
Jason Stone
—A man who’d lost everything, he had no interest in anyone else’s secrets, but he couldn’t stand by when a woman running for her life came to him for help.
Hal Talmadge
—The journalist had uncovered the scoop of a lifetime—one that cost him his life.
Richard Bridges
—A politician with a bright future…and a dark secret in his past?
Dick Bridges
—Seeing his son become president was his life’s ambition. How far would he go to see it fulfilled?
Julia Bridges
—Was the ideal political wife as perfect as she seemed?
Marybeth Kent
—The innkeeper wasn’t a fan of her hometown’s favorite son.
Will Kent
—The small-town mayor had big-time aspirations of his own.
Tim Raymer
—A name from the past that kept coming up.
Clint Raymer
—He had plenty to say, but could he be believed?
Albert Shaw
—A man with a job to do and no qualms about doing it.
Contents
Prologue
In the two years Audrey Ellison had lived in her apartment building, she had never felt unsafe there. Living in a big city like Baltimore, she knew to be careful and alert to her surroundings, but her neighborhood was decent and the quiet four-story brownstone had never been anything but peaceful. So, as she climbed the stairs to her third-floor apartment at one that morning, she had no reason to feel uneasy.
Instead, she simply felt exhausted, barely capable of making it up the stairs. She never stayed out this late on a weeknight, but her friend Jackie was getting married over the weekend, and Audrey had been roped into one last, impromptu girls’ night out to celebrate Jackie’s impending nuptials and final days as a single woman. Audrey hadn’t intended to stay as long as she had, but had gotten caught up in the festivities and lost track of the time.
Jackie hadn’t stopped beaming once all night, Audrey thought with a smile of her own. Getting to share in Jackie’s happiness was worth the lost sleep that would inevitably leave her dragging in the morning. If she was honest, it gave her hope that happy endings still existed, and someday she herself might find what Jackie and so many of her friends had. Someday….
She finally reached the third-floor landing. The smile still on her face, she unlocked and opened her door, thinking only of stumbling to her bedroom and collapsing into bed.
Stepping inside, she kicked the door shut behind her without turning on the light. She didn’t plan to be in the living room long enough to need it. Reaching for the strap of her messenger bag to lift it over her head, she started to ease out of her shoes.
The prickle of unease at the back of her neck was her only warning. It came out of nowhere, pure animal instinct. The sensation snapped her awake and made her go still.
Her eyes flicked over the darkened room, the faint light that managed to break through the curtains offering little illumination. She could see nothing, hear nothing. She knew just the same.
Something was wrong.
She dropped the strap of her bag and reached out to turn the light on after all.
She never got the chance.
Two seconds later something hard and round pressed against the back of her skull.
She froze, even before a low, deep voice ordered, “Don’t move.”
That vague sense of unease exploded into full-fledged terror at both the man’s presence and the instinctive knowledge of what he was pushing into her head.
It was a gun. There was a man in her apartment with a gun pointed at her head.
It didn’t seem real. Who was he? How had he gotten into her apartment? What did he want?
The only question asked aloud came from him. “Audrey Ellison?”
Her pulse leaped at the sound of her name. He knew who she was. That erased any possibility this was just a case of mistaken identity or a simple burglary. He’d been waiting for her in the dark.
She didn’t know what to say. If she admitted it, would he pull the trigger? If she denied it, would he do the same, getting her out of the way to wait for the “real” Audrey?
“Answer me,” he ordered.
The cold hardness of the demand shocked her into responding without thinking. “Yes,” she whispered, the word loud in the stillness. She braced herself for his reaction.
“Do you have a copy of the book?”
She blinked into the darkness, not understanding. The words didn’t make any sense. “What book?” she made herself say.
“The book your uncle was working on.”
Clarity came in a burst. She had only one uncle, only one living relative, in fact. Hal was an award-winning journalist. His current top secret project was a biography of Senator Richard Bridges, the popular politician who was about to officially announce his run for the presidency, something, by all indications, he would win. Hal had been working on the book for almost a year and was on the verge of finishing. She knew he was excited about it, was convinced it was going to be all anyone was talking about upon its release. He said the book was going to be his legacy. On the few occasions she’d spoken to him over the past year, he’d made it clear he thought he’d found something juicy about the squeaky-clean Bridges.
Which he must have,
she realized. The only reason this man could be here, the only reason he could be asking about the book, was if Hal had found something. Something Bridges didn’t want to get out.
Bridges must have sent this man.
But why come to her? Why not—
The man’s exact words finally sank in.
Was
working on. That was what the man had said. Was. Past tense. He didn’t think Hal was working on it anymore.
Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, God. Had something happened to Hal?
The man drove the barrel of the gun harder into her skin, the pain making her wince. “Do you have a copy?” he repeated, emphasizing each word, his impatience clear.
Still, she hesitated. What should she say? She didn’t have a copy, of course. Hal was so secretive about his work, she would bet anything he was the only one who’d seen the book or had any idea what was in it. She’d been surprised he’d revealed as much about it to her as he had. But if she told the truth, would the man just shoot her?
She needed a plan. She needed an escape.
Her fingers tightened on the keys still clutched in her right hand. As soon as she felt what was there, she had her answer.
Another jab of the gun. “Well?”
“No,” she said slowly.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Was he trying to decide if she was telling the truth?
“Did your uncle tell you what was in it?”
“No. He wouldn’t tell anyone. Hal is always so secretive about his work. He keeps everything close until he’s ready to reveal it to the world.” Audrey knew she was babbling, hoped it covered any sound she was making in her hand until she had the object she wanted.
There was another interminable silence. Then the man finally said, “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you? Because if you are…”
She didn’t wait to find out the ending to that sentence. She simultaneously ducked her head and raised her hand, sending pepper spray shooting behind her from the small canister clipped to her key ring. The low roar that met her ears told her she’d hit her target. She lunged for the door, jerking it open and plunging into the hall. There was a rush of air against her back—his hands reaching for her, or a bullet?—but nothing stopped her as she lurched toward the stairs.
She didn’t look behind her as she dashed down them, moving so quickly she almost tripped and stumbled. She didn’t let herself, couldn’t miss a step, couldn’t fall. She had to get away. She had to get out of here. She had to get help.
She made it to one landing, then the next. She waited for an angry shout, for the sound of footsteps behind her, for the impact of a bullet. They never came. Almost before she knew it, she reached the front doors and was crashing through them.
Still she didn’t stop. She’d parked halfway down the block in a space on the street. When she was midway there, she finally risked a glance back. No one came out of the building, no one was on the street paying her any attention. The fact did nothing to ease her tension. The man didn’t have to be alone. There could be someone else, waiting in a car, waiting to ambush her now.
The idea made her pick up speed. She finally made it to the car, throwing herself into the driver’s seat and slamming the locks shut.
Only when she was peeling out of the parking space did she consider where to go now. She knew getting away had only temporarily solved her problem. Even if they believed she hadn’t seen the book and didn’t know what was in it, the fact that she now knew that there was something Bridges wanted hidden meant she was still a target, maybe even more of one than before.
Audrey checked her mirrors, trying to see if anyone was following. It didn’t look like it, but that fact didn’t make her feel any better. She clamped her hands on the steering wheel and pressed down on the accelerator, wanting to put as much distance as possible between her and the man in her apartment.
She knew immediately she couldn’t go to the police. Richard Bridges was a United States senator. The front-runner to be the next president of the United States before he even officially announced his candidacy. The man had to have connections everywhere. He’d somehow managed to find out that Hal had uncovered something about him before Hal told anyone else or turned in the book.
Hal.
Her thoughts screeched to a halt. Fumbling in her bag with one hand, she pulled out her phone. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was fine. Maybe…
She hit the speed dial for Hal’s home number and waited as the line rang, her heart climbing into her throat with every subsequent buzz.
No answer.
She automatically redialed, turning the car toward D.C. She had to go to Hal’s house. He could be asleep. He could have the ringer off. She clung to the slight hope the ideas offered. He could be fine. And if he was, he would know what was going on. Either way, she had to go to D.C.
One hour later, she sat on Hal’s street, staring down the block toward Hal’s town house.
Or at least, where Hal’s town house had been.
There was nothing there now but the charred husk of a burnt-out structure. Crime scene tape blocked off the front of the space, fluttering slightly in the night wind. There were no fire engines or police vehicles in view, nor could she see any investigators poking through the rubble. The street was quiet. The fire must have happened hours ago, long enough for peace to settle in again.
No.
The word pressed at her lips, nearly emerging as a sob. The burnt building before her began to swim as tears filled her eyes. She made no move to wipe them away, unable to do anything but sit there, hands on the wheel, and stare at the horrible sight in front of her.
The man in her apartment had been telling the truth. She had no doubt that Hal had been inside the building when it went up in flames.
Hal was dead.
He hadn’t been much of an uncle, always too consumed by his career to give a thought to his only niece. If she hadn’t made the effort to give him a call every now and then, she doubted he would have bothered keeping in touch himself. But he’d been all she had, ever since the deaths of her parents when she was eleven.
And now he was gone.
The sob finally slipped free, the watery sound of it filling the car’s interior. She felt the tears pouring down her face and swiped at them. She couldn’t do this. Not now. There wasn’t time. She shot a frantic glance around her to make sure no one was watching or had noticed her sitting here. Reassured when she didn’t spot anyone, she put the car into gear, sniffling back the last of the tears.
She had to get out of here. She had to find someone who could help her, someone she could trust.
As the car raced away from Hal’s street, her mind remained stubbornly blank. She certainly didn’t have those kinds of connections anymore. She was a family photographer. She took pictures at weddings, of school-children. Family portraits. She hadn’t kept in touch with anyone from her own reporter days. Even if she knew how to contact someone, she couldn’t trust them with this.
Hal would have, of course. He knew people. He would have known what to do, and if he hadn’t, then one of his connections would.
Unless one of them had betrayed him.
Frustration and fear churned inside her. She had to find out what had happened to Hal. And she had to figure out where to go. Somewhere they wouldn’t find her.
Jason Stone.
The name floated to the forefront of her mind out of nowhere, and as soon as it appeared, everything inside her went still, certainty taking hold within her.
Of course. There was one person she could trust.
Jason Stone.
He’d been Hal’s protégé, a promising young reporter who’d gone on to be a highly acclaimed journalist in his own right. If there was one person Hal would have talked to about the book, it was him. He was one of the few people Hal respected and trusted, and if she remembered correctly, he’d covered Richard Bridges early in his career. Not to mention, Hal wouldn’t have considered him a professional rival.
Because Jason Stone wasn’t a reporter anymore. Two years ago, he’d quit his job and left every remnant of his former life behind. According to Hal, he’d deliberately disappeared, doing his best to ensure no one could find him. Still, she had the feeling Hal was one of the few people—perhaps the only one—who knew where Stone was. If Stone hadn’t told him, Hal would have found him, especially once he started working on the book about a subject Stone was familiar with. Everyone knew how close Hal and Stone had been.
Which meant anyone looking for someone Hal would have talked to about the book would be looking for him, too.
A jolt shot through her. She slammed her foot down on the accelerator, adrenaline and determination surging through her veins. She couldn’t continue using her phone, couldn’t risk her location being tracked. She had to find an internet café, had to get started on tracking down Stone immediately. He was the only person she could think of who could help her, and if she was right, the only person in as much danger as she was.
She had to find him first, for Hal’s sake and their own.
Both their lives depended on it.