Authors: Carolyn McCray
Was this really her? Was this really happening? Then she looked down at her long white wedding dress. Okay, not exactly pure white. She was in her thirties
,
and Brandt had just received an annulment from a woman who claimed to be carrying his baby. So pure white seemed a stretch. Bone white seemed a far more appropriate color. For many, many reasons.
“
Don
’
t you dare start crying,
”
Bunny said, nudging Rebecca away from the mirror.
“
You
’
ve just got to make it twenty
-
one more minutes.
”
Dear God, she was getting married in less than a half hour? Tears threatened. She struggled against them
,
but it was futile. After everything Brandt and she had been through? Chased across continents. Hunted by religious zealots. Hounded by ruthless mercenaries.
In the mirror
’
s reflection
,
Bunny smiled, helping to tuck one loose blond
e
strand back into its proper place. The younger woman
’
s bright
-
red hair also had that sheen only a can of hair spray could produce. Despite trying to keep an upbeat attitude about the day, Rebecca couldn
’
t help but notice Bunny
’
s lean frame and young,
“
I don
’
t need a support garment
”
bustline.
Despite the fact her maid of honor was clothed in a rather uncomplimentary peach
-
colored bridesmaid dress, Bunny radiated beauty. And if anything
,
the other two bridesmaids, Brandt
’
s younger sisters
,
were even prettier. Not beauty pageant pretty. But
“
I swept all the categories in the pageant
”
kind of pretty.
Both were slim with rich dark hair. Rebecca wasn
’
t the prettiest one in the room. Hell, she wasn
’
t even in the top five.
What did Brandt see in her? He had grown up around Southern sophistication. He was used to women who were actual
ladies
. Rebecca
’
s skin chaffed at the lace edging her dress
,
and seriously
,
who wore panty
hose in Charleston in
August
? With a full-length skirt and four
-
foot train, who the hell was going to see her legs?
But Brandt
’
s mother had been quite insistent. Actually
,
she had been quite insistent on everything. From the peach bridesmaids gowns to the nylons to the flowers in Rebecca
’
s bouquet. Nothing about this wedding had been decided by Rebecca
,
and you know what? Rebecca was more than happy about it. She would have just eloped, but Brandt had family
,
and by God
,
his family wanted a Southern wedding.
“
Oops,
”
Bunny said
,
pointing out a red scrape along Rebecca
’
s temple. A wound courtesy of a little
“
outing
”
Bunny and she had taken earlier in the week. It had begun as a simple research trip to Iceland. The theory had been to do some research into a strange Viking connection with the Disciples of Moshe, the religious fanatics
who
had plagued them across Europe. Of course
,
nothing had gone routine about the trip.
But maybe that was what Brandt saw in her. An ability to take a head blow and not faint
—
or at least not for long.
Bunny turned to one of Brandt
’
s stunning sisters. Rebecca was still trying to figure out which was which.
“
Hand me a little cover up, would you?
”
As Bunny applied the extra makeup
,
an itch sprang up in Rebecca
’
s foot and traveled up her calf, settling in her knee. She knew the rules about breathing, let alone moving in her elaborate wedding dress, but she couldn
’
t help it. Rebecca reached her hand down
,
but before a single finger could touch the fabric, a whip
-
slender woman rushed across the room.
“
No, no, no, dear,
”
Mrs. Brandt chided with a
S
outhern drawl. How come if people said things with that drawl you couldn
’
t take offense to it?
“
You must pick up the dress at the sides so that you don
’
t crease the chiffon.
”
Little did her mother-in-law-to-be know that Rebecca had almost dared to
scratch
the fabric. Rebecca decided to keep that little gem of a plan to herself. Because Mrs. Brandt turned out to terrify Rebecca more than any of the aforementioned threats combined.
“
Sorry, ma
’
am,
”
Rebecca mumbled.
“
Do not
ma
’
am
me, young lady,
”
Mrs. Brandt corrected in that silky
-
smooth tone, scolded as only a
S
outherner could.
“
Call me Mama.
”
Yeah, that was never going to happen.
“
Oh no,
”
one of the sisters exclaimed.
“
There
’
s a piece of lint!
”
Apparently
,
in wedding day mode
,
that constituted a five
-
alarm emergency. Brandt
’
s other sister
—
Kaydria, Rebecca thought
—
dove for the lint brush as Mrs. Brandt took a magnifying glass, an actual
magnifying
glass
,
to the wedding dress.
Okay, this was shaping up to be the longest twenty-one minutes of her life. It seemed the entire family was trying to wipe away the memory of Brandt
’
s first awkward overseas marriage by putting on the largest, most glamorous wedding Charleston had ever seen.
Which wasn
’
t easy to do
,
given it was Charleston and this was
t
he Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, the largest church on the southern seaboard. This dressing room alone had enough gilded crosses to give the Vatican a run for its money, and Rebecca would know.
“
Don
’
t worry,
”
Bunny whispered.
“
None of it dates before the eighteenth century.
”
The younger woman gave a wink.
“
I checked.
”
And Bunny would know as well. The redhead was nearly as well versed in proto-Christianity as Rebecca. Which had come in handy several times in the past few months.
Still
,
Rebecca felt compelled to study the religious icons to assess if there wasn
’
t some deeper, hidden code buried in them rather than preparing to get married.
Get married
.
Okay, those two words were really starting to freak her out.
Bunny must have sensed Rebecca
’
s rising anxiety
,
as she tried to herd the Brandt women to the door.
“
I think the bride might need a little air.
”
It looked like Rebecca might get a reprieve from all of the clucking when Holly, Brandt
’
s youngest sister
,
burst into the room.
“
They
’
re still not here!
”
The other women dropped Rebecca
’
s dress and rushed over to the teen.
“
What do you mean?
”
Mrs. Brandt demanded.
“
Vincent said they were stuck in traffic and going to be a tad late
”
—s
he looked to her silver watch
—
”
b
ut the groomsmen should be in position by now.
”
“
Yes,
”
Bunny encouraged,
“
w
hy don
’
t you go see about that
?
”
In a rustle of satin, the mother of the groom and three of Rebecca
’
s bridesmaids rushed from the room as Bunny closed the door behind them.
“
They
’
ll be here on time,
”
Bunny reassured her.
Of that, Rebecca wasn
’
t so sure. This was Brandt
,
after all. If any man on the planet could find a way to get in some kind of international trouble on his wedding day
,
it was her fiancé.
The only thing Rebecca was certain of was that the men weren
’
t stuck in a traffic jam.
With Lopez driving, that was an absolute impossibility.
* * *
Sergeant Vincent Brandt clutched the machine gun to his chest as his other hand grabbed hold of the
train car
’
s panel to keep himself from being hurled out the window
.
Yes, he was clutching a machine gun on his wedding day. That didn
’
t stop t
he train
from
nearly derail
ing
as it took a sixty-degree turn at sixty miles an hour. Physics was not their friend today.
“
Slow it down!
”
Brandt yelled to Lopez but knew that it was futile. Especially as the corporal lashed
out
a hand to catch the video camera before it slid off the console.
“
Gotcha!
”
Lopez announced
, not to Brandt
,
but to the camera as he set it up again
.
Another one of O
peration
’
s bright ideas. Filming their missions. Even though the brand
-
spanking
-
new Ricoh military spec camera was solid state, eyes
-
only encrypted, with a self
-
destruct module, Brandt thought it was possibly the worst idea to come along since, well, since ever. And it didn
’
t help that Lopez was already a little too Evil Kinievel for Brandt
’
s tastes, but now? Now that he was being filmed for posterity? Forget about it.
But the upper brass
’
s new thing was accountability. They wanted proof of
a
mission
’
s
objectives. Brandt thought if they wanted that kind of deal
,
they might want to come out in the field with his team for a week. Strangely
,
no one took him up on his offer.
The crack of a
shot came from the right as
Davidson cursed under his breath. Clearly
,
the priv
ate hadn
’
t hit his driver of the train car in front of them
. How could he? The kid was good
—
damned
good
.
H
owever
,
the train they chased w
as just a speck on the horizon. And strong winds coming in from the east were making any long
-
distance shot reliant on prayer.
Davidson
pulled himself back into the car and
stretched out his scarred fingers, shaking off the pain. How the kid could sho
o
t at all after all those burns was amazing. The fact he could outshoot most snipers with ten years his training? That was about as near a miracle as you could get. Brandt
’
s
lips turned down
as he studied the melted ruin of Davidson
’
s left cheek.