Secret Weapon Spouse - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,20

Samantha Peters.

He remembered her face in the warm lights of the café, the soft cadence of her voice, her engaging smile. He found himself smiling at just the thought of her.

His smile faded at the memory of her expression when she’d turned away from the chauffeur’s hospital room door. She’d been on the offense, ready to strike out, expecting someone else behind her.

Why would a wedding planner instantly think she had to defend herself? Especially in a hospital with a guard right down the hall?

And it didn’t seem like her style, eavesdropping like that. Nor had she been happy when he’d caught her at it.

He frowned and realized how little he’d learned about her after spending hours with her this evening. When he thought about it, he recalled how she’d sidestepped any personal questions, turning the conversation back to ask about him.

Maybe it was just part of her training as a wedding planner. Like self-defense?

He shook his head. Nothing odd about a single woman knowing self-defense. That wasn’t what was bothering him. He couldn’t put his finger on it but at every turn he felt there was a hell of a lot more going on with Samantha Peters than she wanted him to know. Than maybe she wanted anyone to know.

He took a sip of his beer and spied his sister’s purse lying on the table by the door where he’d dropped it earlier. The hospital had insisted he take it home with him.

He’d only made a cursory search of the purse looking for keys, Preston’s phone number, his sister’s home address.

Now he wished he hadn’t seen where she’d been staying. All it had done was leave him more upset and worried. What was going on with her? When he’d called his father, he hadn’t mentioned what he’d found out. But when he’d asked about where Caroline was living, his father had said she was staying with a friend while some new place of hers was being renovated. Basically it didn’t sound like C.B. knew any more than Alex did.

And where was Preston Wellington III?

Not knowing anything was driving him crazy.

He retrieved his sister’s purse and took it to the couch where he sat down, and after a moment’s hesitation, dumped the contents out on the coffee table.

He had no idea what he was looking for as he rummaged through the assortment of makeup and vitamins and lotions in between taking drinks of his beer. The bag was like a small drugstore. Did his beautiful sister really need all this beauty stuff?

He picked up her wallet, opened it and found a dozen different credit cards, her driver’s license, a few snapshots. One of a good-looking man who he assumed was Preston. Another of Alex himself. It was an outdated family photograph when he and Caroline and Brian were kids.

Guilt stabbed through him. He’d made no effort to get along with his family for years. Hell, he’d had a chip on his shoulder as big as a California redwood.

Maybe that’s why Caroline had called him today and wanted him to meet her at the wedding planner’s. Because she was hoping to bring the family back together before her wedding. Maybe that’s all there had been to it. And her hit-and-run had been just an accident.

He had to admit he liked the idea of being close to his sister again. No chance of him being close to his brother, Brian. Or even their father. He was barely civil with them and he didn’t feel as though it was all his fault. But he could try for Caroline’s sake, he promised himself. He would do anything—if she would just get better.

He opened her checkbook and was surprised to see how low her balance was.

And then he saw why. He would have expected her most recent checks to be to Miami’s most expensive clothing stores. Instead they were for plumbing and lighting fixtures, drywall contractors and material, lumber.

He sat up, spilling his beer. What the hell? She was footing the bill for all the renovations to the condo? Where was this fiancé of hers? And why wasn’t he paying for the repairs?

Then Alex saw something that stopped his heart cold. Check after check to the same company: Wellington Enterprises, a company no doubt owned by his sister’s missing fiancé.

SAMANTHA COULD TELL that the man in the doorway hadn’t seen where she’d fallen. He was listening, trying to find her in the dark room.

She told herself he might be the security guard. But she hoped