Page 11 of SEAL’S Baby Surprise (Lanes #2)
JASON LEROY WINTERGREEN
I hold a state-of-the-art iPhone to my ear. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I understand completely. No, I’m not holding her for ransom. Why would I? She’s run off — didn’t even leave a note.”
The person on the other end of the conversation starts screaming. I hold the phone away from my ear for a moment, to diminish the volume of the voice on the other end.
“I get it,” I snarl into the phone. “But it’s difficult to have a wedding without a bride.
So why don’t you have your guys get on the stick and see if they can find her.
She’s a boarding school princess, for Pete’s sake, not a criminal mastermind.
” I don’t add that they are the criminal whatevers – probably not masterminds.
Someone knocks at the door. I put the caller on hold and ask, “Who is it?” I make my voice gruff to mask my sudden flash of fear.
“It’s Steve.” The voice sounds muffled, heard through the door. “They’re just about ready for you, sir.”
“I’ll be right there,” I reply. I flick a button on the phone. “Gotta go. They’re ready for me on set.” I disconnect without waiting to see if the person on the other end heard me.
They had been recording. They always record — it was part of their Masterplan. “Blackmail R Us,” I mutter resentfully, then check myself in the mirror.
Light stubble, hair artistically mussed, dark circles under the eyes — the very picture of a distressed, jilted bridegroom. Or a bridegroom whose bride has been the victim of foul play.
I step out of the dressing room. Then I follow Steve onto the soundstage where the talk show host is waiting for me.
“Mr. Wintergreen!” The talk show host greets me. “What a pleasure it is to have you on our show. However, I guess your reason for being here is not so wonderful.”
“No,” I agree mournfully. “My bride has disappeared. She was at a fitting for her gown, then, poof! She is gone.” And all her money, I think. What am I going to do?
I am pulled back into the moment by the host’s next question. I startle, not much of a fake as I’d been thinking about what was going to happen to me if I didn’t come up with the funds to cover my gambling debts.
I didn’t hear what he said, so I guessed and made the most logical reply I could think of. “Oh, I, uh…I reported her missing at once, of course. Rylie is extremely responsible. She wouldn’t just run off.”
“What did the police say?” the host asks.
I make a disgusted face. “They won’t do anything. She hasn’t been missing long enough. My darling might have been mugged for her jewelry and left for dead somewhere. She was wearing the first prototype of her wedding dress.”
“What does she look like?” the host asks. “We have a wide coverage area. We can help you get the word out.”
“Thank you so much. That’s exactly why I wanted to be on your show tonight.” Not really. I had hoped to be here tonight with Rylie so that SOB would get off my case about the money I owe the casino.
“I understand,” the host says. “Tell us about your wife-to-be.”
“She’s five feet tall, weighs in at around 160 pounds. She looks like a cute, chubby little girl, but she participated in gymnastics until she was eighteen. So, a lot of what looks like chubs is actually muscle. She’s dyed her hair pink. You might not expect it, but on her it looks really cute.”
Just like one of the fat little pigs on my granddad’s farm. She does a good job carrying it off, but still…why can’t the slim, lovely girls have lots of money?
I sigh dramatically. “I have a picture . . . she was cast as Peasblossom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. A summer theater production, you know.”
“I know the kind of show.” The host takes the picture. “Can we borrow this for a few minutes?”
“Of course,” I say. “But be sure to bring it back. It’s the only picture I have of her. The wedding shots were scheduled for tomorrow.”
“We’ll be very careful of it,” The host says.
In a few minutes a publicity shot of a sweet-faced, cute girl appears on the monitor screen. “We’ll run this on the hour, every hour until she is found,” the talk show host says. “Now it’s time for a commercial break.”