Whitelaw's Wedding

“What do you plan to do, live the rest of your life like a nun? You deserve better. You’re allowing some lunatic to dictate the terms of your life.”

“Two men that I’ve cared for have died tragically,” Manda said. “First Rodney and then Mike.” She cupped her hands over her mouth and sighed in an effort to not cry again. “Someone killed them because he’s obsessed with me and doesn’t want me to marry anyone else. Whoever killed Rodney and Mike is probably still watching me, waiting for me to… I refuse to endanger another man’s life. Not ever again!”

Perry knew that when she got like this there was no point in trying to reason with her. He felt certain that Boyd’s food poisoning had been an accident, but Manda was bound and determined to blame herself. Poor girl. The woman standing before him bore little resemblance to the carefree, spoiled little hellion she’d once been. Rodney Austin’s death in a car crash only a week before their wedding had devastated Manda. That had been twelve years ago. It had taken Manda years to get over that loss, but eventually she had become engaged to her good friend, Mike Farrar, who had lost his wife to cancer. When they became engaged, Manda had received a series of letters warning her to not marry Mike, that if she did, he would die, just as Rodney had. They had taken the letters to the police, but the local law enforcement had been unable to trace the letters to find the author. Only days before the wedding, Mike had disappeared. His body had been found in the Poloma River. He’d been shot in the back. His murderer was never found.

For the past five years, Manda hadn’t dated. It had taken him months to convince his sister to accept Boyd’s pleas for a date.

Had he been wrong to encourage her to put the past to rest and move on with her life?

The letter arrived a week later. Manda had stopped by Perry’s law office in downtown Dearborn and tossed the nondescript white envelope on his desk.

“Read it,” she’d said.

The author of the printed missive had assured Manda that he was not responsible for Boyd’s illness. But he had pointed out that even Fate didn’t want Manda with another man. He had ended his letter with a warning.

You know that I’ll never let you be happy with anyone else. If you ever try to marry another man, I’ll kill him. And if you’re foolish enough to allow it to happen again, I might have to kill you, too.

The letter was similar in tone and wording to the six letters that Manda had received in the weeks leading up to her wedding to Mike. A second wedding that never took place.

Perry had insisted Manda take the letter to the police, just as they’d done in the past. He had gone with her, of course, and as he had expected, the local authorities reluctantly admitted that there was little chance of apprehending the culprit, with nothing but the letters as evidence.

Damn it all, he wasn’t going to allow his sister to crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after her. She was young— only thirty-three—and beautiful, with so much love and passion to give the right man. But out there somewhere was a nutcase determined to control Manda’s love life. There had to be a way to put an end to this craziness. He should have done something years ago, after Mike’s death. But he’d known Manda needed time to heal and he had allowed the years to slip by without forming a plan of action.

What Manda needed was a fiancé capable of not only outwitting a would-be assassin, but one able to protect her, too. Perry grinned. He knew just the man. He’d call him tonight. And tomorrow he’d tell Manda that she was going to marry the man of her dreams—her teenage dreams.

Hunter Whitelaw propped his feet up on the rustic log coffee table, eased his weary shoulders into the back of the overstuffed sofa and groaned. He and his fellow Dundee agent Matt O’Brien had just completed a month-long assignment and agents Jack Parker and David Wolfe had also recently finished with a difficult job. Hunter and Matt’s case had taken a toll on them and had dredged up some unpleasant memories for Hunter personally. An American billionaire had given his eighteen-year-old twins a trip to Europe as a high school graduation gift, but he’d wanted the two girls, Risa and Rhea, protected day and night. On the surface, it had seemed to be a plum assignment—a month in Europe, all expenses paid. At least that was what Matt had thought. Hunter could have warned them, but figured he would find out soon enough just how much trouble two cute little girls could be. Hunter had learned that lesson years ago.

The smell of frying fish wafted through the cabin. Jack Parker was cooking supper for them. Frying fish and hush puppies. Hunter closed his eyes and sighed. He could almost taste the delicious catfish they’d caught in the river this morning. He and Jack had persuaded Wolfe to go with them and the guy had turned out to be quite a fisherman. Apparently, Wolfe was good at whatever he did. But the man was too damn quiet, too reclusive. Hunter had actually been surprised that he’d accepted his offer to join them on their weekend trip.

Jack liked to fish as well as Hunter did. The gregarious Texan was a fellow who seemed to love just being alive. He was the exact opposite of Wolfe, a somber, solitary man, who seemed to carry the woes of the world on his shoulders. And then there was Matt, their movie-star-handsome buddy who had women swooning at his feet wherever they went. Hell, Risa and Rhea had been all over Matt, and the former Air Force Cowboy had been out of his league with the two nymphets. It had taken both of them working diligently to stay one step ahead of the twins and at the same time keep the girls out of their beds. If they’d been smart, they would have suggested Ellen, Dundee’s CEO, take this job herself and enlist several female Dundee agents to help her.

Hunter chuckled. He hadn’t been propositioned by a teenage girl since he’d been twenty-two and Perry Munroe’s little sister had given him an eyeful that summer he’d been home in Dearborn on leave from the army. Her outraged grandmother, who had believed Manda’s tale that Hunter had come on to her, had forbidden Hunter to set foot in the Munroe house ever again. Of course, Mr. Munroe and Perry had known the truth and assured Hunter he was always welcome.

“Supper’s ready,” Jack called from the kitchen. “Come and get it while it’s hot.”

After opening the front door, Hunter repeated Jack’s invitation to Wolfe, who had escaped outside over an hour earlier. Then he walked halfway up the stairs to holler at Matt. Hunter waited for Wolfe to enter from the front porch and for Matt to emerge from the upstairs bedroom, where he’d been playing games on his laptop computer. Once the two men joined him in the living room, he followed them straight to the kitchen table. They all laughed when they saw Jack in a large floral apron, apparently left there by the last people who’d rented the cabin.

“Hey, don’t laugh at my stylish attire.” Jack plopped lightly breaded and browned catfish on each of the four plates. “You guys would starve if it wasn’t for my culinary talents.”

“Don’t think you’re indispensable,” Matt said. “There’s a steak house less than ten miles from here.”

The four men gathered around the wooden table in the kitchen and quickly delved into the catfish meal. Three of them ate, talked and laughed. Wolfe just ate. Hunter couldn’t figure the guy out, couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was about the man that bothered him. He had to be an okay kind of guy or he wouldn’t be working for the Dundee agency. Sam Dundee, the agency’s owner, had personally hired Wolfe. And no one was hired without a thorough background check. But Wolfe’s former life was a mystery—to everyone at the agency, even the CEO, who usually did the hiring.

“So, are y’all interested in watching the Braves on TV tonight?” Matt asked.

“I thought we had satellite TV here,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t mind checking out the Playboy channel.”

“Is that all you ever think about?” Hunter smiled. “If you don’t slow down, Jackie boy, you’re going to burn out before you’re forty.”

“That gives me two more years to burn the candle at both ends.” Jack downed the last drops of coffee from the earthenware mug, then got up to pour himself another cup. “Anybody else want more coffee?”

“Only if you baked us an apple pie for dessert,” Matt said.

The good-natured comradery between Hunter, Matt and Jack continued throughout the evening as they shared a couple of six-packs. Wolfe watched part of the Braves game with them, then excused himself to take a long walk. He returned after dark, said good-night and went upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Matt.

“What do you think it is?” Matt asked.

“Huh?” Jack stared quizzically at his buddy.

Matt nodded toward the stairs. “Wolfe. What do you think his story is? Why is he such a mystery man?”

“Who knows?” Jack shrugged.

“Whatever’s going on with him, past or present, is none of our business,” Hunter told them. “The guy obviously has some demons chasing him, but if he wanted us to know, he’d tell us.”

“What about you Whitelaw—you got any demons on your tail?” Matt asked.

Hunter chuckled. “Sure. We all do, don’t we? But it’s not something any of us talk about, so why should Wolfe?”

Jack stood, stretched and then glanced at his companions. “I think I’m going to go take a dip in the river. I sort of have a date to meet up with the gals staying in the cabin down the road. Either of you want to join us?”

“How many gals did you meet?” Matt asked.

“Two,” Jack replied. “A brunette and a redhead.”

“I’ll go.” Matt stood. “You don’t mind, do you, Hunter? I know you have a thing for blondes, so—”

Motioning a get-out-of-here wave, Hunter said, “Go on. I think I’ll grab another beer and then read for a while.”

He did just as he’d said. Got himself another beer, kicked back on the sofa and opened Tom Clancy’s latest bestseller. But for some reason, he couldn’t concentrate. The words on the page seemed to blur together. Hell, maybe he needed to have his eyesight checked. He was nearly forty. Bifocals were probably a part of his immediate future.

Forty in six months. Where had all the years gone? And just what did he have to show for his life? One marriage gone bad, ending in divorce ten years ago. No children. Not even a damn dog to call his own. However, he did have a job he liked and a fat bank account, and that wasn’t bad for a poor Georgia boy who’d grown up on his grandparents’ farm. From the age of sixteen when he’d first become friends with fellow Dearborn High football player Perry Munroe, Hunter had known that someday he wanted to be part of the privileged world in which the Munroes lived. A fine house on North Pine Street. A sleek sports car. Entree to the country club and the best homes in Georgia. But most of all he wanted a woman from that world, a lady who possessed a pedigree back to Adam.

Eventually, he had acquired everything he’d ever wanted. As a member of the top secret Delta Force, he had lived a life of excitement and danger. With some shrewd investments, he had acquired enough money to buy that big house and the sports car. And he had married Selina Lewis, a Virginia debutante. His wife had been a spoiled heiress to whom marriage vows meant nothing. Her affair with one of his Delta Force comrades had ended their three years of trying to make their mismatched union work. In the end, he had admitted to himself that no amount of education, money or polishing could completely erase the redneck Georgia boy from his personality.

The phone rang. Hunter eyed the source of the insistent ringing, wondering who would be calling any of them during their weekend getaway. No one from the agency would dare disturb them, not after Jack had given boss-lady Ellen fair warning that they weren’t to be disturbed.

In no hurry, Hunter rose languidly from the sofa and made his way across the room to the wall telephone near the staircase. He lifted the receiver and said, “Whitelaw, here. This had damn well better be important.”

“Hunter, this is Perry Munroe. And this is damn important.”

“Perry, how did you know where to find me?”

“I contacted the Dundee agency and told them it was a family emergency.”

“I don’t have any family left since Granny’s death two years ago, so it must be your family emergency and not mine.”

“Look, old buddy, I have a huge favor to ask of you.”