sighed and replied, “Ten years.”
“Around the time your grandfather died?”
Cooper remembered when Grandfather had died? He had been deployed at the time; he must have had greater concerns on his mind than her loss—such as it had been. Benedict Bradford had never been a very warm or loving man.
“Yes,” she replied. “I didn’t get them all that often—only when I started seriously seeing someone.”
“Someone sure didn’t want you collecting your inheritance,” he mused, staring down at the box of threats.
She sighed again. “They got what they wanted.” And they’d gotten Stephen, too. Would they give him back...without the money?
Her stomach churned with dread and worry that they wouldn’t, that she might never see her dear friend again. And the tears she’d been fighting back for so long rushed up with such force that they burst out. She couldn’t hold back the sobs while tears streamed from her eyes.
Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. And a big hand gently patted her hair. “No, they haven’t gotten what they wanted.”
She shook her head, and his fingers slipped through her hair and skimmed down her neck. A rush of heat stemmed her tears. “There’re only a few days before my thirtieth birthday. I hope we find Stephen before then.” She doubted that they would, though. “But even if we do, I can’t put him at risk again. I can’t marry Stephen.”
“You’re not going to marry Stephen,” he agreed.
Because her groom was missing...
What if he was already dead? Her heart beat heavily with anguish. And more tears trickled out, sliding down her cheeks.
Cooper wiped them away with his thumbs. “You’re going to marry me.”
Her heart rate quickened to a frantic pace. She gazed up at him in disbelief. “What? You didn’t agree to that.”
“I changed my mind,” he said. “I’m going to be your groom. You’re still getting married tomorrow.”
Maybe Rochelle’s slaps had hit her hard enough to addle her brain. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. What he meant...
Maybe it was because he was too close, his arms around her—his heart pounding hard against hers. And he was leaning down, his head so close that she could see tiny black flecks in the bright blue of his eyes. She could see the shadow of his lashes on his cheeks and the stubble that was already darkening his jaw.
She wanted to reach up and run her fingers over that stubble, up his chin to his lips. All these years later she still remembered how they felt—silky but firm. But she didn’t want to just touch his lips; she wanted to kiss them. The urge was so great that she rose on tiptoe.
But before she could close the slight distance between their mouths, she jerked out of his arms. She couldn’t be having these thoughts—these desires for Cooper. She needed air to clear her head, so she moved toward the big arched window that looked out onto the street below. But before she could lift the bottom pane, the glass shattered.
Gunshots echoed.
And she was falling to the ground, pushed down as more gunshots rang out. Pain radiated throughout her body and she wondered if it was already too late.
Would she live to see her wedding day?
Glass showered down over them, nicking Cooper’s face and the back of his neck. Too bad he still had his military brush cut. Blood trickled from his nape over his throat.
He needed to jump up and return gunfire. But that would mean leaving Tanya unprotected. And he couldn’t do that. Again. He covered her body with his, pressing her into the hardwood floor.
Since the shooter on the street wouldn’t be able to hear them, he leaned his face close to her ear and whispered, “Are you okay?”
She shivered, trembling beneath him. But she didn’t speak. Maybe she was worried that the shooter could hear them.
But the gunfire had stopped. Maybe the assailant was just reloading. Or maybe he had gone.
“Tanya, are you okay?” he asked again.
Her breath shuddered out in a ragged sigh. She must have been holding it, and she murmured, “I think so...”
But he heard the doubt in her voice and eased up so she could roll over and face him. “Were you hit?” he asked. He ran his hands down her sides, checking for wounds. Just for wounds...
But he found soft curves and lean muscles instead. Heat tingled in his hands and in other parts of his body. A few minutes ago, he’d thought she was going to kiss him. Their mouths had been only a breath apart, but maybe that was because he’d leaned down—because he’d wanted to kiss her so badly his gut had clenched.
The woman got to him as no one else ever had. And that made her dangerous—almost as dangerous as the shooter.
She squirmed beneath him. Apparently she was still as ticklish as when they’d been kids. He used to tickle her then—just as an excuse to touch her.
But he’d had a reason to touch her this time. “Are you hurt?” he asked again.
When his hand skimmed over her rib cage, she sucked in a breath. “Just sore,” she murmured, “from my fall.”
She’d fallen twice. Once in the church when her sister had attacked her and again when the car had nearly run her down. Actually, three times since he’d shoved her to the floor—which was unyielding hardwood.
He wasn’t doing the greatest job protecting her. Maybe Logan had been right and he wasn’t ready yet for a field job. But he couldn’t imagine anyone else protecting her. Or marrying her.
She lifted her hand and skimmed her fingers over his throat, making his pulse leap even more wildly. And her eyes widened with shock and horror. “You’re bleeding! You’ve been hit! We need to call an ambulance!”
He brushed away the trickle of blood. “It’s just a scratch from the flying glass.”
He brushed some of those glass fragments from her silky blond hair and his fingertips tingled. He didn’t even notice the bite of the glass. All he noticed was the fresh flowery scent of her and the soft feel of her. She was so close. He only needed to lean down a few inches to close the distance between them and press his lips to hers.
“I’m fine,” he assured her. But he wasn’t. He was tempted to kiss his best friend’s bride while the man was missing. But hell, Cooper was the one who was going to marry her. Tomorrow. He drew in a deep breath to steady his racing pulse. “We should call the police.”
“He’s gone?” she asked hopefully.
He wasn’t certain about that...even though he had heard the squeal of tires as a car sped away.
“We
