Keeping Secret: Secret McQueen, Book 4 (31 page)

It was Desmond.

Chapter Forty-Three

The first thing I noticed, aside from the lack of Lucas, was Desmond wasn’t dressed for a wedding. Instead of a tux, he was wearing a leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans. He looked great, but that wasn’t the point.

“Desmond?”

He came up the aisle with his head low, not meeting anyone’s gaze, least of all mine. In the open doorway, Kimberly stood bewildered, watching him close the distance between us. He stopped in front of me, not on the platform but on the ground, so I had to look down at him for the first time in our relationship.

“What’s going on?” I didn’t ask why he was here. He was invited. He was the best man. I did wonder, though, why he wasn’t dressed appropriately.

“Can we talk?” He held out a hand, ignoring the glares he was getting from the crowd.

“Is this really the best time?”

“Secret, will you come with me, please?”

“No.” I turned my attention back to the ballroom doors, waiting. If Lucas came in and I was off with Desmond? No. I couldn’t do that. This day was too important, and I wouldn’t be the one to fuck it up.

“I don’t want to do this here.” His hand was still out, and the room was so quiet I could have heard a pin drop.

“You had plenty of chances to talk to me. You left. This.
Isn’t
. The. Time.” I stepped back, fighting against the wave of tears threatening to be unleashed at any minute.

“Secret…”

My glance cut from the door back to him.

“Will you please come with me?” There was something in his eyes, a pain I’d only seen once or twice before, and always because of something Lucas had done that I didn’t understand. The mate bond. The pack marriage ceremony.

The smile I’d been forcing fell.

“What is it?”

“Come with me.”

I shook my head. “Just tell me.”

He jumped the short step onto the platform, dipping his head so he could whisper without being heard. He couldn’t hide the face he made before I drew close, or the way he sniffed when he got nearer. Apparently being close to me was still physically difficult for him. When I pulled back, Desmond glanced over his shoulder. Three hundred guests stared back with mute anticipation. He sighed and scrubbed his face with both hands, pushing his dark hair off his forehead and taking a big breath before he spoke again.

“Lucas isn’t coming.”

In spite of how quiet he’d been, an audible gasp escaped from the collected masses, my bridesmaids included.

“What are you talking about?” I frowned. “Of course he’s coming.” Even as I said it I was looking at the open ballroom doors where Kimberly was standing peering at me and listening like everyone else. My shoulders drooped, and the bouquet suddenly felt so, so heavy in my hands.

“No.” I shook my head, hoping by denying it over and over I might make it turn out differently. “No, you’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mercedes put a hand on my shoulder, but I couldn’t look at her. If I saw even an ounce of the pity that showed on Desmond’s face mirrored in hers, then the jig was up. Mercedes was my rock. If she believed what he was saying, I would have to accept it.

I didn’t want to accept it.

My mind started to spin, kicking into high gear. “Is he okay? What—”

“He’s fine.” Desmond let his hand drop. “He’s in Louisiana.”

Murmurs started to spread like wildfire through the room. The sound of three hundred people talking all at once should have been deafening, but all I could hear was the throb of blood behind my ears and the slow, broken sound of my own heart.

“Louisiana?”

He rested one hand on my arm as he spoke, a gesture that would have once made me feel safe and comforted. “Your uncle called this afternoon. Some sort of last-minute emergency. A final negotiation about the borderlands.”

“But…we settled that.”

“Not according to Callum.”

I pushed him back and met his gaze. “You’re telling me Lucas got a call on the day of our wedding, and instead of telling my uncle to wait twenty-four
hours
, he ran off without so much as a word?”

“I wouldn’t have known except Dominick called me a half hour ago. Apparently he thought Lucas had sent Morgan to tell you.”

I looked at the guests. The ones who weren’t gossiping stared back with silent, apologetic half-smiles. My guess was everyone was waiting for the inevitable meltdown.

Desmond, even, kept one hand on me like he was afraid I might fall apart if he let me go.

“He’s not coming?” I asked again, not yet willing to accept it.

Desmond shook his head. “No.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but quite unbidden, a sob came out. It was a loud, ugly sound, and when I tried to laugh it off, another followed quickly behind it. The bouquet fell from my fingers, and I felt myself go limp. Desmond caught me before I slipped to the floor and held me tightly. The familiar smell of him so close to my face should have comforted me, but instead it reminded me of all I had lost.

I’d chosen Lucas because he needed me. He needed to show the pack how strong and unified we were. But he’d told me the pack would always come first, and tonight he had proven it. I’d done everything I could to demonstrate my loyalty, including driving away the man I loved most in the world, and when push came to shove, Lucas had chosen a land dispute over me.

Sob after sob racked my body, but no tears came, just the loud choking sounds of my lungs struggling for air.

Today was supposed to be about a new beginning. About the life Lucas and I were going to have. Instead I was in the arms of a man who would never again be mine, and the man who claimed to love me was nowhere to be found.

Desmond held me tight while the girls hovered around. He was whispering things that should have been soothing, but every word was a reminder of the two of us. His warmth and scent were traces of the life we’d had before Lucas had screwed everything up with the mate bond and the very public proposal.

He’d made it clear he wouldn’t play second fiddle to Desmond.

He’d won.

And I’d lost it all.

As far as bad-to-worse situations go, it doesn’t get much worse than having the love of your life tell you you’re being stood up on your wedding day.

Or so I thought.

Chapter Forty-Four

They say it’s bad form to kick a man when he’s down.

I would take that saying and change it a little to add it’s the worst form ever to shoot a woman who has been stood up on her wedding day.

My saying wasn’t as well-known, though. That must have been why Morgan didn’t know it was poor form. Or she really didn’t give a shit.

As Kimberly was busy escorting my bewildered guests out of the ballroom, I looked up to see one of the members of Lucas’s pack, a young man named Ewan, trying to guide Morgan from the room.

I hadn’t had time to process what Desmond had said, about Lucas expecting Morgan to be the one who broke the news to me, but seeing her argue with Ewan, the revelation came back to me.

Morgan knew I was going to be stood up, and she hadn’t told me. But why?

“No.” She jerked her arm away from Ewan and shoved him. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.” Her voice sounded high-pitched, edging on crazy. Guess she couldn’t let me be the only drama queen in the room. “He
ruined
the whole fucking plan.” This time she pointed at Desmond.

I was too muddled and too broken to really pay attention to her, until I heard Mercedes say, “What does she think she’s doing?”

Morgan had clambered up onto one of the chairs, out of Ewan’s reach. My first thought was,
Why is she climbing on the furniture
? But that was quickly pushed aside to make room for the more pressing,
Why is she pointing a gun at me?

Mercedes said aloud what my brain was thinking. “What the fuck?”

Desmond and the girls all looked up, but it was the werewolf lieutenant who responded fastest. Morgan pulled the trigger, and Desmond threw himself on top of me. Mercedes was hollering at Owen for her purse, and the remaining guests were screaming. Some ran for the exit while others hit the floor.

The weight of Desmond’s body pinned me to the wooden floor, so my interpretation of what was happening was based entirely on what I could hear. I tried to reach the hem of my dress, instinct telling me I needed to get the gun I’d strapped to my thigh.

Leary had thought I was nuts for wanting to wear a gun under my wedding dress. Turned out it really
was
always better to be safe rather than sorry.

“Desmond, get up. I need to get my gun.” Funny how the sound of one bullet being fired could snap me back to my senses. This wasn’t the time to be a sad, wilting girly girl. Right now I couldn’t be the jilted bride.

Right now I needed to be the killer I’d been before love had gone and fucked me up.

Desmond didn’t move.

His weight felt heavier than it should. Limper.

“Desmond?”

The front of me felt warm. Warmer than I would expect from just the heat of his body. I snaked my arm around him, my fingers sliding over the pebbled roughness of the leather jacket until they met something wet, warm and sticky.

I didn’t need to see it to know what it was. I was very familiar with blood.

“Oh, God. Desmond.” I shook him. “Desmond?
Desmond
.”

Someone lifted him off me, and he went too easily, none of his limbs resisting. I tried to hold on to him, but soon he was lying on the floor beside me, unmoving, his eyes closed and his skin much, much too pale.

I didn’t notice myself being pulled away until Tyler had me halfway across the platform. I shook him off and stumbled, crawling across the stage to where Desmond was lying stock-still. “I can’t leave him.”

Tyler grabbed the laces of my dress and yanked me backwards, hard and almost violent. “He took that shot to save you. You’re not doing anyone any good if you die. Especially not him.”

I was stronger than Tyler and I debated knocking him out, but now that I was on my feet I could see what had unfolded while I was under Desmond’s body.

Morgan was no longer on the chair. She had Kimberly in a chokehold and was using her as a shield while she kept her back to the wall and her gun aimed at me. Mercedes had gotten her purse from Owen and was training her gun steady on Morgan, waiting for a clear shot.

She wasn’t the only one.

Tyler had pushed me behind him, and he, Keaty and Shane all had their weapons drawn and leveled on the werewolf. Even Eugenia was preparing herself, muttering words in
La Sorcière
’s strange French, her right hand glowing bright red.

But Morgan wasn’t stupid—she hadn’t come alone, either. Three men and a woman were spread through the ballroom with their own weapons drawn and aimed at my friends.

I’d never been in a Mexican stand-off before.

Holden was tucked into a corner near the entrance, but I knew better than to think he was hiding. He was unarmed, but his focus never left Morgan.

I kept behind Tyler and hiked up my skirt, releasing my gun from the holster and arming it.

“Morgan, let her go.” Tyler probably intended for me to stay behind him, but I couldn’t do it. Not only did it make him an unnecessary target, but I’d promised to protect him in front of a dozen wardens. If he died when I could have done something, it would look as if I couldn’t protect my people, and Mercedes, Nolan and Brigit would be in more danger than they were now.

I stepped out from behind the detective, my weapon raised and ready. Morgan’s was leveled on me. I’d never seen her shoot, but I was confident I was a better marksman. At least I would tell myself that as long as I needed to in order to get me and my people out of here alive.

My gaze cut to Desmond’s form lying in an ever-growing pool of blood.

The assassins looked uncertain. Their job, of course, was to kill me. But they were all otherwise occupied by my gun-toting wedding guests.

“It didn’t have to happen like this,” Morgan said. “I wanted to get you alone, but the fucking lieutenant had to screw it all up to play the hero.”

I couldn’t think about Desmond right then or I risked losing it entirely. “You came for me. Let her go.”

“Put your gun down.”

I laughed then, short but loud. “You must think I’m an idiot. No, this isn’t going to be that kind of debate, Morgan. You let her go, then we talk. Just us girls.”

Morgan glanced from me to all the extra weapons she hadn’t been anticipating.

“If I let her go, they’ll shoot. We walk out of here
alone
, and then I’ll let her go.”

“Secret,” Keaty said, his tone calm and level. “I can get a shot.”

“Odds?”

“Sixty-forty.”

I coughed. Sixty percent odds he’d take Morgan out without hitting Kimberly. And that depended on the wedding planner holding still and Morgan not moving her once the shot was fired.

“Not the best odds.”