have my orders, Miss Forrest.”
His smooth baritone held a faintly lyrical hint of a Southern accent. Frankie imagined she heard a note of distaste. Perhaps he despised Max’s stepson, Julius, as much as she did.
Which didn’t matter, since he wasn’t moving. She backed off the steps and plunged her icy hands into the parka’s deep pockets. She peered suspiciously at his face and wished he’d take off the sunglasses. She didn’t believe him about Max not being here. Yet, it made no sense for McKennon to lie about something so obvious. “Did you screw up, and baby-sitting is your punishment?”
The taunt failed to move him.
She tossed him a glare of pure disgust and went in search of another entrance to the chapel. The tiny building, built of logs and stone, contained a native-stone apse and a double row of pine pews. She walked completely around the building, but the stained-glass windows were too high off the ground for her to see through or even to pound on. She debated throwing rocks at the windows to catch the attention of the people inside, but the windows were handcrafted antiques, and if she broke one, she’d never be able to replace it. The door was her only hope.
McKennon watched her stomp her feet to clear snow off her boots and jeans. Goon, she thought hatefully. Nothing but a hound, following orders.
Then a solution occurred to her. She filled her lungs with winter air and let rip with her loudest, most blood-curdling scream.
McKennon jumped like a burned cat. “Stop that!”
“Help!” she hollered. “Rape! Fire! Murderers! Help! Help!”
McKennon bounded down the steps. His speed startled her. Men his size rarely moved so fast. She darted away and screeched loud enough to bring down the heavens. McKennon lunged for her left arm; she danced to the right Too late, she recognized a feint. He snatched her right wrist in an iron grip.
“Ra-a-a-ape—”
He twisted her against his solid body and slammed a gloved hand over her mouth. His chest heaved against her back. “You’re acting outrageously, Miss Forrest. Stop it.”
She called him every filthy name she knew, but his hand effectively muffled the words. The leather glove tasted unpleasantly metallic. She slammed a foot down, aiming for his instep, but he anticipated the move and she struck gravel. The arm around her chest could well have been carved from oak. He practically lifted her off the ground. She fought to regulate her breathing. No easy task considering that the cold had stuffed up her nose. She snuffled desperately and hated him even more.
“I have orders. No one interrupts the wedding. Not even you. Do I need to contact the police?”
She mouthed murderous threats against the leather glove. She squirmed, attempting to slip from beneath his arm, but he held her tighter, crunching her rib cage.
A commanding voice rang from the chapel door. “What is the meaning of this?” Her uncle, Colonel Horace Duke, decked out in a black tuxedo, his silver hair shining, glared at the scene below. “Francine? Is that you? Mr. McKennon, unhand my niece at once.” The Colonel closed the door firmly behind him.
As soon as McKennon removed his hand from her mouth Frankie yelled, “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Colonel! But first, stop the wedding!” She managed to wriggle one arm free and rammed her elbow into McKennon’s gut. His surprised woof gave her a small measure of satisfaction. She sprang away from him, whirled and put up her fists. “I’ll get you for that, you big bully.”
He tugged his lapels and used a knuckle to slide his sunglasses higher on his nose.
The Colonel marched down the steps. “What are you doing here, Francine? The latest report showed you deployed to Europe.”
“Europe?” That gave her pause. The farthest she’d ever traveled had been camping trips to Arizona, Utah and New Mexico. “What would I be doing in Europe? Oh, never mind. Let me into the chapel. I’ve got to stop the ceremony.”
The Colonel placed a hand on her arm. “They’re speaking their final vows. You can’t interrupt.”
Taking on McKennon was one thing, but the Colonel, her late mother’s brother, was another matter altogether.
“If Penny said I was in Europe, she lied. I can’t believe she roped you in. Let me inside the chapel. Then I’ll explain everything.” She beseeched him with her eyes.
Organ music filled the still, mountain air, the bass tones rumbling through the heavy doors. Frankie groaned and covered her eyes with a hand. When the colonel took her arm and hustled her away from the steps, she made no protest.
Penny and Julius, legally wed—her worst nightmare had just come true.
The chapel doors were flung wide. Seconds later, a bride and groom appeared. Frankie took in the bridal gown, yards and yards of creamy silk encrusted with glittering crystals and gleaming pearls. A headdress rose from the bride’s pale hair like a frothy crown trailed by an endless swath of pearl-dotted tulle. For a disconcerting moment Frankie felt she’d made a horrible mistake. No way could Penny have come up with a dress like that on such short notice. But no, that was Penny, looking radiant. She seemed to glow.
Frankie felt certain the top of her head was about to blow off.
Penny’s smile switched off like a blown lightbulb. Next to her, slick as an oil spill, Julius Bannerman clutched his bride’s elbow. He smiled greasily at Frankie.
Frankie knew McKennon always carried a sidearm, and wondered if she could get it away from him. Spending the rest of her life in prison seemed a paltry price to pay in order to rid the world of Julius Bannerman.
Behind the bride and groom, the Duke family gathered. Aunt Elise and her children, Janine, Kara and Ross and his wife, Dawn, were dressed in full finery, a further indication that this wedding had been no mere impulse. The Dukes—traitors all!—had helped Penny.
“I do not believe this,” she said, each word clipped.
Aunt Elise hurried to the fore. Arms outstretched, she skipped down the steps toward Frankie.
“Francine, dear! I am so glad you were able to return home from Europe. Penny said—”
Frankie threw up her hands, backing away from her aunt. “I never went to Europe. I can barely afford the gas to get up here.” Unable to take her eyes off her sister, she shoved her fists in her pockets.
“What diff does it make, now?” Julius said. “We’re sister and brother. Isn’t that peachy? Welcome to the family, Frankie darling.” Full of false cheer, each note rasped across Frankie’s nerves like sandpaper. Julius’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a convulsive swallow. “Aren’t you happy for us? Now that you’re here, we can all celebrate in proper good form, what hey?”
Penny snuggled closer to her new husband. Her face had lost what little color it possessed, but her eyes glinted with pure rebellion. “Go away, Frankie. I’m married and there’s nothing you can do about it. Stop trying to ruin my life.”
The words struck with the force of a punch. Frankie opened her mouth, but air refused to move past her throat. For the past eleven years she’d sacrificed everything for Penny. Loved her, mothered her and nurtured her.
