Secret Weapon Spouse

He had stopped in front of an old five-story building on the edge of an area of the city that had gone to seed long ago. “This can’t be right,” he said handing the address to Samantha.

“It’s the address you have written here,” she said, equally surprised. The neighborhood had a deserted feel to it and had for blocks. “It looks like some sort of renewal project.”

“My sister can’t possibly live here.”

A set of headlights flashed behind them, followed by the single whoop of a siren and the flash of blue from a light bar. Samantha looked in her rearview mirror as a patrol car pulled up behind them. Not a cop car but a private security company.

“I’ll handle this,” Alex said and climbed out to walk back as a uniformed man exited the patrol car.

“Wait—” But her words were lost as the door closed. She picked up her purse from the floorboard, slipping her hand in to close her fingers around the grip of the gun she’d brought as she watched the two in the side mirror.

She waited, reading their body language, one hand on the gun, the other on the door handle. She didn’t like the looks of the neighborhood and she knew some of the types who filled security cop openings. This one was late middle age, Hispanic and looked harmless enough.

She saw the security guard point in the direction of the building with the address Alex had found for Caroline.

A moment later, Alex started toward her. The guard climbed back into his patrol car, but didn’t leave.

She released her hold on the gun and put her purse back down as Alex opened his door and leaned in.

“You’re right about this being a renewal project,” he said. “It seems my sister owns it and is its first resident. She lives on the top floor of this building.”

He looked as skeptical as Samantha felt. Why would Caroline Graham live here when she could afford to live anywhere? There had to be a mistake.

Alex shut the car door and came around to open hers. As she got out, she looked back at the security guard still sitting in his car behind them. She could see his face under the streetlight and she knew he could see hers, as well.

She gave him a small smile and a nod. The guard would remember her if she needed to come back here.

Alex used one of the keys on the ring he said he’d found in his sister’s purse at the hospital and braved the elevator although it appeared to be new and in good condition. It hummed up to the fifth floor and opened.

“What the hell?” Alex said beside her.

Samantha was equally surprised to find the hallway under construction. The location was questionable although she suspected it would have a great view of the Atlantic and was on the edge of an area that was obviously seeing some positive changes. But this place didn’t appear to be finished.

“I don’t believe this.” Alex shook his head and didn’t step out of the elevator for a moment as if only more convinced he had the wrong place. “Caroline can’t be living here.”

Apparently she was. At least according to the address Alex had found. And what the security guard had told him.

“Seems to be undergoing a renovation,” Samantha said following him as he finally stepped off the elevator into the unfinished hallway.

He shot her a disbelieving look. “The Caroline I know—or knew anyway—wouldn’t be caught dead living under these kinds of conditions.” He realized what he’d said and grimaced. “It’s just that she’s always demanded the best that money could buy and had enough money that she never had to compromise.”

“I’m sure there is an explanation,” Samantha said as she watched Alex try several keys before the knob turned and the door swung open.

From what she could see, most of the condo was walled off behind large sheets of plastic with work being done behind them. “Maybe she saw it as a good investment. Investing does run in your family, right?”

Alex shot her a smile. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s working.”

She pushed aside a corner of the plastic into what was the living room and adjoining kitchen. There was new Sheetrock on the walls and new tile on the counters and backsplash in the kitchen. But the cupboards were still missing and there was Sheetrock dust everywhere.

In fact, Samantha could see tracks in the thick white dust on the floor. Alex might be feeling better about all this, but she wasn’t.

Something was wrong here. She just didn’t know what yet.

She followed Alex as he pushed aside another plastic area and opened a door on the right. The master suite and bath—and obviously the first rooms completed because it appeared someone had been living in there. There was carpet on the floor, the rooms were furnished and several items of discarded clothing lay across the foot of the crumpled sheets and duvet on the large unmade bed.

Samantha spotted two champagne glasses and an empty bottle on one of the nightstands. She itched to collect both for prints but couldn’t in front of Alex without making him suspicious. Wedding planners usually didn’t run fingerprints as a sideline.

She would have to come back for them.

ALEX HAD HOPED he’d find something in his sister’s condo that would convince him he had nothing to worry about when it came to his sister’s fiancé. But coming here had done just the opposite.

What the hell was going on with Caroline?

“Well, this was a mistake,” he said and noticed the way Samantha moved to the closet but was careful not to touch anything as if this was a crime scene.

Is that what she suspected? he wondered with a jolt. That Caroline’s hit-and-run wasn’t an accident?

She seemed to scan the clothing inside as if looking for something in particular.

“I’m telling you my sister can’t be staying here,” he said. “Look, when I asked my father, he said that she was in the process of moving and had most of her stuff stored at the house.”

“Isn’t this her clothing?”

He glanced into the closet. While the walk-in closet wasn’t overflowing with clothing so it couldn’t be Caroline’s—at least not yet—there were enough items to make it clear that someone had been staying here.

That’s when he noticed a purse on the top shelf with an odd-print scarf tied to the strap.

“That’s hers,” he said. “I saw her with it one day uptown.” He didn’t mention that he’d ducked in a store to avoid talking to her. It had to be hers. He remembered the unusual scarf.

“I smell her perfume on some of the clothing,” Samantha said from inside the closet. “I also recognize one of the dresses she wore at an appointment I had with her.”

Her movements were slow, purposeful. He found himself watching her rather than looking for evidence of Preston Wellington III in the condo.

At first glance, Samantha Peters wasn’t the type of woman a man would even notice. Hell, he wouldn’t have given her a second glance under other circum-stances. It was the way she dressed, he realized with a jolt.

Not that he knew anything about women’s clothing, but even he could see that the suit she wore was too large for her slim, small frame, the cut all wrong. She wore it like armor, as if protecting herself, he thought with surprise.

And her hair. It was colored too dark for her pale skin and cut shoulder length, long enough that it often covered part of her face.

And those tortoiseshell glasses. The frames took away from the gold in her brown eyes.

He frowned, wondering why she dressed like that. The woman was too savvy for it to be anything but a calculated choice. Almost as if she was hiding from something, he thought, even more intrigued.

He realized she was looking intently at one of the men’s shirts hanging in the closet. “What is it?”

She let go of the sleeve. “Nothing.”

Like hell. As she came out, he slipped past her to reach for the shirt, wondering what she wasn’t telling him. Was she trying to protect him? Why else wouldn’t she tell him?