To Catch A Husband (U.S. Marshals, Born And Bred Book 4) Read online

  She shook her head.

  “If you do, tell him—”

  “Okay,” she snapped. “Do you mind? I’m trying to work.”

  “Ex-cuuu-uuse me,” he said. “What bug crawled out of your collection and up your—”

  “Cut her some slack,” Adam said to Bear, barging into her cubicle, helping himself to the microwave popcorn she’d popped more to keep her mouth busy than because she’d been hungry.

  “Tell her to cut me some slack,” Bear said. “All I did was ask her to hang with us at Ziggy’s and she bit my head off.”

  “She’s sick, okay?” Adam said.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Um, guys? Hello?” Charity waved. “I’m sitting right here.”

  “Well?” Bear asked Charity. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. Now, would both of you please leave, so I can get some work done.”

  “I thought you told me you had woman problems?” Adam said. “You know, all that stuff about how you want to get pregnant but—”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked Adam, shoving back her chair so hard she rammed it into the cubicle’s back wall and, in the process, managed to knock down a few thick procedural guides. “I told you that in private. Why couldn’t you keep your big mouth shut?” Standing, snatching the mini-backpack she used for a purse, she shot both men her dirtiest look, then headed for the door.

  “She’s pregnant?” Bear asked Adam once Bug was out of earshot.

  “Nah,” Adam said, finishing off her popcorn, wondering what he’d said to tick her off this time. “At least, I don’t think so. Guess she could be, but who could be the dad?”

  “I dunno,” Bear said. “Only guy she ever hangs with is…” He looked straight at Adam and grinned. “Congratulations, man. I didn’t even know you and Bug were an item. Well, I knew you two hung together, but—”

  “Cut it out,” Adam said, taking off after her.

  Dammit, Bug was his best friend. What had happened between Sunday morning at her apartment and now? All he’d done was ask her to pretend to be his date. Had that really been so much to ask?

  Hell, he’d helped her move—twice! Seemed to him that’d been a whole lot harder than a measly few nights out on the town.

  He just couldn’t deal with going on a string of meaningless dates. Casual, he could do. But putting himself out there in a romantic way hurt too damn much—especially because no matter how hard he tried, nearly a decade later, he just couldn’t seem to work through what’d happened to Angela.

  He’d met her while on assignment. Her dad was a high-powered judge, and death threats had been made against not just him, but his wife and only daughter. Adam, who was twenty-five at the time and easily blended in with her college crowd, had been assigned to be her closest contact.

  Adam had always considered himself to be a man’s man, not easily swayed by batting eyelashes or pouty lips. But one look at Angela and he’d been a goner. Even though he’d known getting involved with her was against the rules, when she’d showed classic signs of interest, he’d fallen hard. They’d managed to keep things under wraps for a while, but pretty soon, with Angela wired for sound, his boss caught on to the fact that every time her mike cut out, Adam had been cutting in. Lord, but they’d had some hot make-out sessions in her sorority house attic.

  He’d tried, for Angela’s safety—and his sanity—to cool things down, but that had only made her want to be with him all the more. God help him, he’d felt the same. He’d loved her. For the first time ever, he’d known what it was like to be willing to die for someone.

  He’d been pulled off the case. Then, over a candlelit frozen lasagna dinner at his apartment, asked her to marry him. With an excited squeal, she’d accepted.

  Adam had expected trouble from her family—he was far from her social standing—but to the contrary, her dad had been a self-made man, working two jobs to get through law school, and he’d adored Adam. He’d also loved the fact that Adam wasn’t one of Angela’s typical spoiled frat boys. Despite ever-increasing death threats, Angela’s mother had launched plans for a wedding fit for royalty. She’d been warned it wasn’t safe. But she’d said a life lived in fear wasn’t worth living. Adam had admired the hell out of her moxie, yet he’d worried.

  The size of the family’s security detail doubled.

  Still, Adam worried.

  Worried to the point that Angela had moved in with him, because he believed with his entire being no one could keep her as safe as him. After all, no one else could have comprehended loving her as he had.

  But in the end, the security hadn’t been enough.

  His love? That hadn’t done squat.

  On a blustery Tuesday afternoon, hustling to interview a wedding consultant, Angela had been shot outside Adam’s apartment door. He’d been right beside her. Two other marshals had flanked her. Four other marshals had covered the stairwell and parking area. The coward-ass sniper had shot through them all. Hit Angela straight through her heart. She was supposed to have been wearing a vest, but had whined it made her look fat. Yeah, well, there in his arms, she’d looked dead. And there wasn’t a damned thing—

  Swallowing hard, willing himself to breathe, Adam squeezed his eyes shut.

  He’d let her down. Yeah, she should’ve worn the vest, but he should’ve insisted. Made a game out of putting it on her himself.

  Should’ve. Would’ve. Could’ve.

  He could second-guess himself till the end of time, but the end result would still be the same. For all practical purposes, he’d killed the woman he’d loved. And now he would pay the consequences—for the rest of his freakin’ life.

  Sure, on the outside, he came across as a happy-go-lucky guy, but inside, he knew damned well he was damaged goods. Which was why it was so important for him to keep things right between him and Bug. He didn’t deserve another chance at love, but surely even screw-ups like him deserved a best friend.

  Which was exactly what Bug had become.

  He caught up with her in the parking garage just as she was about to climb into her company-issued black SUV. “You’re fast,” he said.

  “Why are you here?”

  “My car’s parked next to yours.”

  “And that’s it?”

  He sighed, wiped his face with his hands. “We’re together every Sunday, right?”

  “Usually. But what does that have to do with why you followed me?”

  “I didn’t follow you,” he said. “I just pointed out I was parked next to you.”

  “Okay. Great. See you tomorrow.” She opened her door and climbed in behind the wheel.

  “Wait.”

  She sighed. “Adam, I’m really tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “Yeah, I know. But yesterday, having to watch football without you—or your Velveeta dip—now that was a long day.”

  Lips pressed tight, she rolled her eyes.

  “Seriously, with both my brothers married and most of the other guys I know either in a serious relationship or rooting for another team, Sunday afternoon I realized just how alone I really am. The game was a blow-out, so I turned off the TV and went for a long walk. Thought about a lot of stuff. About how maybe instead of constantly grieving Angela’s death, I should celebrate her life. But what I can’t figure is how I’m supposed to do that if I have to be out wasting my time with women I don’t even like.”

  “Adam,” Charity said. “I’m really tired. Where are you going with this?”

  “Where am I going?” He laughed. “Bug, don’t you see? When I’m with you, losing Angela doesn’t hurt half as much. But when I’m not with you, I feel…” He looked away. “I’m bad at this. Really bad.”

  “How do you feel, Adam? Tell me.” Please. God knew she felt for Angela. Her too brief shining life. But were Adam to be granted the miracle of one more talk with her, Charity felt certain the woman would’ve told him to get on with things. To have a life. As he was, he just sort of wand
ered, not really living. Not really dying. Just being. If Angela had loved Adam even half as much as he’d loved her, she would never have wished this limbo on him. Worse yet, as much as Charity loved Adam, his limbo was now her own. “Tell me, Adam. How do you feel?”

  “Okay…” He scratched his stubbled chin. “Raw. Guess that about sums it up. Is that how you are? You know, about all that baby stuff you brought up the other night?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Bug?”

  “That’s not my name.”

  “Sorry. Charity. Is that what’s going on with you?” He stood in front of her, one hand holding the suit jacket he’d had to wear in court over his shoulder, the other tucked into the pocket of his dark slacks. He’d locked his beautiful brown gaze with hers, and though Charity wanted to look away, she couldn’t. “Well?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s exactly how I feel—not that there’s a lot I can do about it.”

  “Want me to fix you up with someone?”

  She shook her head. “How about you? I heard one of the clerks in Judge Baker’s office just got divorced.”

  “Nah. Too much baggage. What I was really hoping is we could just hang out. You know, so things go back to the way they were.”

  “How’s that going to help either of us?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, breaking his stare, with his free hand, thumping her open door’s window. “Sorry I ever even brought it up.”

  So was she. Because no matter how insulted she was that he obviously didn’t think of her as a woman, she couldn’t get past the idiotic craving she had to go along with his plan. But why help scam his psychiatrist? How would that help Adam? And what about her? How would it feel to only pretend to be his date, knowing she didn’t have a shot at being the real thing? Better yet, follow her original plan to remain just friends? Maybe even sever that tie in favor of finding someone else to declare her best friend? Like a woman who might actually understand some of what she was going through?

  “Wanna go with the rest of the gang to Ziggy’s?” he asked.

  Yes. “Thanks,” Charity said, “but I don’t think so. Not tonight.”

  “Sure? It’s all-you-can-eat baby back ribs night.”

  She loved ribs. Would it really hurt to pal around with Adam just one more night?

  If she were truly serious about finding a husband instead of a guy friend—yes.

  “HOW COME you’re not with Adam?” her big sister, Stephanie, asked that night. She sat on the foot of her bed, painting her toenails Tequila Pink.

  “Since when is tequila pink?” Charity asked, reading the name on the bottom of the bottle.

  “Probably since the color designers ran out of legitimate pinks. Now, nice try at changing the subject, but you never, ever come to see me on a weeknight unless you need money. So out with it. How much are you short this month and what exotic bug am I helping to import?”

  “There are no bugs and can’t I come see you because I miss you?”

  “Sure. I’d love it if that were the real reason you’re here.” She put the final coat on her last toe, then screwed the lid on the bottle. Holding it out to Charity, she asked, “Want to do yours?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Different color?” she asked, pointing Vanna White-style at her vast array of polish.

  “Steph?”

  “Yes?” Duck-walking so as not to muss her toes, she headed to her closet for a dress to wear on her date with Dr. Larry, a pediatrician. This was her first real relationship since her amicable divorce with her stockbroker ex, Todd. He was East Coast, she was West, and the two never really met halfway.

  “This is going to sound strange,” Charity said. “But do you think I’m pretty?”

  “Of course.”

  “That was weak. Like you’re just saying that because you’re my big sister. Come on, I can take it. Tell me the truth.”

  “Sweetie…” Steph returned to the bed, put her hands on Charity’s knees. “If you’d let me have my way with your clothes and hair and makeup for a couple hours, you wouldn’t be just pretty, but gorgeous.”

  “Now I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

  “Wanna bet? And what brought all of this on? You’ve never given two figs about your appearance. I’ve always envied that in you. Your knack for being yourself.”

  “Yeah, well…” Charity made a face. “Right about now, being me sucks. All my mixed-up feelings are thanks to Adam.” She told her sister what had transpired between her and her supposed best friend—stressing the part about how mortifying it’d been that here she’s crazy in love with him, yet he only sees her as a pal who’d be handy for duping his shrink.

  “And so you turned down his proposal?” Steph asked.

  “He didn’t propose! He asked me to be his fake date!”

  “I know,” her sister said. “You get what I mean. His proposal for the two of you to pretend date.”

  “Of course, I turned him down,” Charity reasoned. “You think I shouldn’t have?”

  “Well…” In the bathroom, Steph expertly wielded her hair-straightening iron. “Seems to me, if you’re serious about having a baby and husband, maybe you’re going about this all wrong. What if you agreed to be Adam’s date, only to show him how fantastic the two of you could be on another level?”

  “Oh, please.” Playing around with her sister’s eyeliner, Charity said, “How am I going to do that when he doesn’t even see me as a woman?”

  “That’s a cop-out,” Steph said. “I’ll guarantee if you doll yourself up, he’ll see you differently. And another thing, you’re scared that even if you make an effort to transform yourself into a bona fide hottie, Adam still won’t get the message. And then what?”

  “I’m not scared,” Charity said. “Of anything.” Except maybe missing her window of opportunity.

  She wasn’t sure why she wanted kids. Because as Adam had pointed out, raising them would take up a huge chunk of her time. Work would be logistically tough. But knowing that didn’t stop the wanting. The yearning every time some lucky woman returned from maternity leave, brandishing her newborn, passing him or her around. When Charity took her turn and felt the trusting warmth against her chest, the impossibly soft scents of lotion and powder, and cute little clothes, she wanted a baby all her own, all the more. Along with the adoring husband proudly standing nearby, lugging around baby equipment.

  That was the eternal problem. Sure, in this day and age, all Charity had to do to get a baby would be to pay a visit to the local sperm bank. Surely a town the size of Portland had one, or a dozen. But what was the fun in having a baby if she didn’t have anyone to share it with? Meaning what she really wanted in her greedy heart of hearts was the total package. The perfect little family to match her already perfect job.

  Charity pitched the eyeliner in the cosmetics basket and headed for the bathroom door. “I’d better get going and let you finish dressing for your big date.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” Steph said. “In fact, why don’t you come with us? Larry’s been saying he’d like to meet you.”

  “Thanks,” Charity said at the door to her sister’s bungalow. “But I’ve got a big night. Just got a Eupatorus gracilicornis in from Thailand that needs mounting.”

  “Okay, but if you ever want to take me up on that makeover, I’ll be here. Seriously, Charity, enough’s enough where Adam’s concerned. Not that it’s any of my business, but it’s high time you gave the man a wake-up call.”

  That made Charity laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “The notion of Adam ever realizing we could be so much more than friends. In fact, I set him up with someone in the hopes of him moving on. That way, maybe I could move along, as well.”

  Steph rolled her eyes.

  “WHO WAS THAT?” Bear asked Adam on Tuesday as they filed back into the courtroom after the noon recess.

  “Oh, you mean the redhead I did lunch with?”
Adam asked.

  “Duh. She was hot. A scorcher.”

  Adam shrugged. “True. Bug hooked us up. But truthfully, while she’s easy on the eyes, and from what I read between the lines, a closet nympho, I thought by the end of it, my ears were gonna bleed. Blah, blah, blah…If I’d had to hear one more thing about her demon ex, I’d have gnawed my hand off to get it out of her whiny clutches. What I wouldn’t have given to just do lunch with Bug.”

  “What’s up with you two?” Bear asked, holding open the door while Adam stepped through.

  “Long story. Don’t ask.”

  All through the afternoon session, Adam was forced to stare at Bug. His best friend. Who for some unknown reason since Sunday morning had pretty much refused to speak to him—except for setting up his lunch from hell. Which, come to think of it, she might’ve done it for spite.

  He didn’t get it. One minute they’d just been palling around, and the next, Bug acted as though he had the plague—at the very least a nasty flu.

  Once court was out, he waited around the office until most everyone had left but her.

  Enough was enough.

  One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of what was bugging his Bug.

  “Hey,” he said, holding out an unpopped bag of microwave popcorn. “Peace offering?”

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

  “What are you, then?” He sat on the edge of her desk, playing with her collection of wind-up bug toys. He wound a jumping cricket, then let it go.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? And quit messing with my stuff before you—aggghh!”

  Crash!

  The already struggling ivy she’d kept alive for two years crashed to the floor. The terra-cotta pot was in twenty pieces, mixed in with dirt and crumpled leaves, and the still-jumping mechanical cricket topped the whole mess. Adam lay alongside it, having lunged to the floor to catch the pot, ultimately making things worse.

  “Oops,” he said, rubbing his aching lower back.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, instantly out of her chair and on her knees beside him.

  “I’ve been better. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, “I’m just glad you’re not hurt. But you should be. I told you to quit messing with stuff.”