Sabriel Mercer guarded the churchâs arched doorway, nodding curtly at each arriving guest, wishing he were anywhere but there. He rolled his shoulder against the starched stiffness of the rented tux and tugged at the noose-tight shirt collar with a finger. Only for a fellow Seeker would he endure such torture.
Church bells pealed, echoing with joy in Winter-greenâs Currier-and-Ives town square. Indian summer spiked the air with warmth on this first weekend of October. With their explosion of gold and red, even the trees got in to the celebration.
A perfect day. His hands itched to plane the maple planks heâd joined for the kitchen cabinets of the cabin he was building. Instead, there he was holding a basket with a big cranberry bow. He wasnât sure what heâd done to deserve this public emasculation.
âCell phone.â Sabriel shoved the basket at Hale Harper, straggling in late, as usual. Rumor was Harper was Falconerâs cousin, which would explain the slack Falconer cut him.
âItâs off.â Harper held the device up so Sabriel could verify his claim.
âOrders from the boss. Hand it over.â
Harper glowered, his dark brows and eyes pinching much like Falconerâs did when he wasnât pleased. âFalconer?â
âLiv.â
Without another word Harper dropped his cell phone with the dozen already in the basket and made his way into the nave. There was no point arguing with Liv. Even the newest Seeker understood that Sebastian Falconerâs wife always got her way.
Standing in the refuge of the vestibule, Sabriel scanned the crowd seated in the wooden pews. Most were strangers, people from the bride and groomâs hometown in Massachusetts. With no desire to join the crush, he melded deeper into the shadows.
The organ overhead in the loft stopped its nasal whine midbar, then burst into âThe Wedding March.â The notes plucked at memories heâd thought heâd reconciled. But was there ever a way to explain a senseless death?
His jaw knotted. Eyes ahead.
On the arm of her former WITSEC inspector, Abrielle Holbrook glided down the aisle. She glowed in champagne silk. Sabriel knuckled the tender spot at his breastbone, grinding down until the serrated pain dulled. His wife had done that, tooâchosen an off-white dress because sheâd wanted to shine on her wedding day. Sheâd said that pure white made her look dead.
If only heâd knownâ¦. He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on Reed and Abbieâs moment of happiness.
Grayson Reed looked as if heâd swallowed the sun as his bride made her way up the crimson carpet.
Noah Kingsley, Seekers, Inc.âs computer wiz, stood at Reedâs side, red suspenders visible under the black tux that fit his compact body as if it had been made for himâand probably had.
Falconer and Liv, wrapped arm in arm, beamed at the bride.
The newly engaged Dominic Skyralov held hands, fingers twined with Luci Taylor. His other arm looped around her sonâs shoulders. There was a settled air about the blond cowboy that had been missing before heâd found Luci and Brendan. The corner of Sabrielâs mouth twitched. Watching Skyralov play Mr. Mom when Luci started at the police academy next month was going to be a kick.
Sabriel squeezed his nape and the portrait of joy before him turned into mist. Had he ever been that happy? He couldnât remember. Heâd thought so once. But his few months with Anna were nothing more than a dream, eclipsed by the nightmare that had followed. Heâd barely survived the Colonelâs revenge. But heâd kept Annaâs secret.
A phone warbled a tinny melody. His? He frowned down at the pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Other than the Seekers gathered in this church, only his mother and Tommy had this number.
And neither would dial it unless he was their last recourse.
LAST NIGHT.
Tommy Camden had many faults, but the one quality he had in spades was patience.
In the cold of night, he squatted by the Camden estateâs iron-and-stone fence, watching, waiting. Heâd zapped the CCTV with a program to loop already filmed footage. His father had always underestimated him. Lack of military motivation didnât equal lack of brains.
Caesar and Brutus, the German shepherd guards, were chowing down on Benadryl-laced hunks of moose. Tommy had spent months priming them to override their training to be fed only by their handlerâwhose own free lunch had proved soporific. When he woke up, he wouldnât tell. Not if he wanted to keep his job. Tommy smirked. And where else was there to work in this butt-end-of-nowhere town except for the Camdens?