walk away from her.
He found himself strongly attracted to her. But more than that, he was intrigued by her. She couldn’t have had an easy life. Her father was a criminal like Jackson’s. Yet, here she was, running a business, hobnobbing with Chicago’s elite, almost marrying into one of the city’s wealthy families.
She was obviously a survivor, and from what he’d seen of her, she was tough. She’d jumped into the bay, for goodness’ sake, planning to swim for it to save herself. Okay, so maybe she was more reckless than clever. But the same could be said of him.
“Their driveway is the next right,” she said.
She’d redressed in her damp wedding gown, which was now stark against the black leather seat of the Rush Investigations SUV. Jackson appreciated the drama of the visual—breaking your engagement in a ruined wedding gown—but he doubted she was thinking about that. She likely just wanted to get it over with. He couldn’t say he blamed her.
He swung the vehicle into the driveway, passing a pair of brick pillars. They had lions on them. Who did that? Then he steered around the curves of a smooth, oak-lined driveway.
A quarter mile in, the mansion came into view. It was a rambling stone building, three stories high, sprawling in the center of manicured lawns and colorful flower beds. The driveway circled around a cherub fountain. Water spurted from three statues, foaming into a concrete pond.
“I should tell you,” said Crista, her tone flat as he pulled to the curb and stopped in front of the grand staircase. “Just so you understand what’s coming next.” She angled her body to look at him. “I didn’t buy it, not for a second.”
He shifted to Park, his brain sorting through her words for some kind of logic. “Buy what?”
“The fake pictures of Vern. I’m sure the fake emails were just as creative.”
Jackson saw where she was going, and it was nowhere good.
“I’m turning you in,” she continued. Then she made a show of shoving her engagement ring back on her finger. “I’m telling them everything, and I’m not sorry.” She swung open the door.
He lunged for her, but the shoulder belt brought him up short.
“Don’t do that.” He tore off his seat belt and leaped out of the car.
She moved fast considering her spiky shoes and the awkward dress. He rushed to catch up with her.
“They weren’t fake,” he said, kicking himself for having been taken in like a chump. He’d let his mind get ahead of events instead of properly focusing on the moment. He’d let himself project forward, debating whether to offer her comfort right away or wait a decent period of time before asking her out on a date. Distracted by his attraction to her, he’d missed the signs that she was lying.
At the top of the stairs, she rounded on him. “You think I don’t know my own fiancé.”
“Crista—”
“No.”
“Crista?” A man spoke from the doorway behind her.
“Vern,” she gasped in obvious relief, a smile coming over her face.
Her steps quickened, and her arms went out, obviously expecting to rush into his embrace.
But Gerhard was frowning.
“Wait until I tell—” she began.
“What were you thinking ?” he demanded on a roar. “And who is this guy?”
She stopped short. Jackson’s instincts told him to leave. His duty was done. He was risking arrest and imprisonment by staying.
“Your dress is absolutely ruined.” Gerhard gestured to the soiled and torn gown.
And your fiancée is safe , Jackson wanted to shout out.
Crista drew back, obviously shocked by the reaction. “I—”
“Do you have any idea what Mother has been through?” asked Gerhard.
Jackson waited for Crista to say that she’d been through something, too. He took a reflexive step away, telling himself to make good his escape before she could tell the story of how she’d been kidnapped and held against her will.
“Mother was mortified ,” said Vern. “She nearly collapsed right there in
He found himself strongly attracted to her. But more than that, he was intrigued by her. She couldn’t have had an easy life. Her father was a criminal like Jackson’s. Yet, here she was, running a business, hobnobbing with Chicago’s elite, almost marrying into one of the city’s wealthy families.
She was obviously a survivor, and from what he’d seen of her, she was tough. She’d jumped into the bay, for goodness’ sake, planning to swim for it to save herself. Okay, so maybe she was more reckless than clever. But the same could be said of him.
“Their driveway is the next right,” she said.
She’d redressed in her damp wedding gown, which was now stark against the black leather seat of the Rush Investigations SUV. Jackson appreciated the drama of the visual—breaking your engagement in a ruined wedding gown—but he doubted she was thinking about that. She likely just wanted to get it over with. He couldn’t say he blamed her.
He swung the vehicle into the driveway, passing a pair of brick pillars. They had lions on them. Who did that? Then he steered around the curves of a smooth, oak-lined driveway.
A quarter mile in, the mansion came into view. It was a rambling stone building, three stories high, sprawling in the center of manicured lawns and colorful flower beds. The driveway circled around a cherub fountain. Water spurted from three statues, foaming into a concrete pond.
“I should tell you,” said Crista, her tone flat as he pulled to the curb and stopped in front of the grand staircase. “Just so you understand what’s coming next.” She angled her body to look at him. “I didn’t buy it, not for a second.”
He shifted to Park, his brain sorting through her words for some kind of logic. “Buy what?”
“The fake pictures of Vern. I’m sure the fake emails were just as creative.”
Jackson saw where she was going, and it was nowhere good.
“I’m turning you in,” she continued. Then she made a show of shoving her engagement ring back on her finger. “I’m telling them everything, and I’m not sorry.” She swung open the door.
He lunged for her, but the shoulder belt brought him up short.
“Don’t do that.” He tore off his seat belt and leaped out of the car.
She moved fast considering her spiky shoes and the awkward dress. He rushed to catch up with her.
“They weren’t fake,” he said, kicking himself for having been taken in like a chump. He’d let his mind get ahead of events instead of properly focusing on the moment. He’d let himself project forward, debating whether to offer her comfort right away or wait a decent period of time before asking her out on a date. Distracted by his attraction to her, he’d missed the signs that she was lying.
At the top of the stairs, she rounded on him. “You think I don’t know my own fiancé.”
“Crista—”
“No.”
“Crista?” A man spoke from the doorway behind her.
“Vern,” she gasped in obvious relief, a smile coming over her face.
Her steps quickened, and her arms went out, obviously expecting to rush into his embrace.
But Gerhard was frowning.
“Wait until I tell—” she began.
“What were you thinking ?” he demanded on a roar. “And who is this guy?”
She stopped short. Jackson’s instincts told him to leave. His duty was done. He was risking arrest and imprisonment by staying.
“Your dress is absolutely ruined.” Gerhard gestured to the soiled and torn gown.
And your fiancée is safe , Jackson wanted to shout out.
Crista drew back, obviously shocked by the reaction. “I—”
“Do you have any idea what Mother has been through?” asked Gerhard.
Jackson waited for Crista to say that she’d been through something, too. He took a reflexive step away, telling himself to make good his escape before she could tell the story of how she’d been kidnapped and held against her will.
“Mother was mortified ,” said Vern. “She nearly collapsed right there in
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