Free 7 Brides for 7 Bodies by Stephanie Bond Page A

the future holds?”
    Carlotta arched an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”
    “Fine. Did you get your autograph?”
    She nodded and withdrew the book to show him the inscription.
    His mouth quirked. “Perfect man, huh? That’s a lot of pressure.”
    She surveyed the sexily imperfect man before her. “It’s a figure of speech, Jack.”
    He gestured toward the exhibition hall. “Since Mr. Big Shot doesn’t need me at the moment, I think I’ll make some rounds and check in with the other security officers.”
    “Okay. Will you be back to watch the fashion show?”
    He made a face. “That’s not really my scene, but I guess I’d better stay close to Jett.”
    Something in his tone made her squint. “Has he received threats?”
    “Allegedly. Could be a promotional stunt, though.”
    “Hm...I haven’t heard about it in the tabloids.”
    Jack gave her a pointed look.
    “Not that I read the tabloids,” she rushed to say.
    He looked dubious.
    “Well...maybe a quick scan at the grocery checkout, but who doesn’t do that?”
    “Me.” He quirked a brow, then strode away.
    Carlotta watched him, her senses on alert. Was it her imagination or was Jack’s body language tense? His shoulders seemed pulled in, his chin lower than usual. And although he was never quick to smile, he seemed more withdrawn.
    And there was the money thing.
    Carlotta worried her lower lip. Granted, losing a work partner and closing a grueling serial killer case was bound to take its toll, even on a man with Jack’s fortitude. And maybe the loss of Maria had made him feel a little less invincible, had forced him to think about the future and financial security.
    She sighed...it seemed everyone she knew was more burdened these days. Was this how adulthood progressed? Mounting pressure until one’s body finally gave out?
    She pushed aside that cheerful thought and went in search of her Neiman’s contact. She was supposed to be working, after all.
    And keeping her distance—mentally and physically—from Jack.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
     
    CARLOTTA FOUND EDWARD KING, her Neiman’s contact, in one of the tents, fussing with the shirt collar of a male model dressed in a sleek charcoal gray suit. The handsome forty-something black man was totally old school, always well groomed and dressed to the max. He was a Neiman’s veteran, had worked nearly every department, and was widely rumored as the person who would someday have Lindy Russell’s job if and when the woman ever stepped down or moved on.
    “This is a nice surprise,” Edward said, offering an air kiss to her cheek in deference to having his hands full of pins and tape. “I thought I was going to get stuck with that Patricia girl.”
    “Patricia’s not so bad,” Carlotta murmured guiltily.
    “Well, look at you, being all generous,” Edward said with a grin. “I guess I’ll have to get to know her better. Hey—what are you even doing here? Weren’t you stabbed or something?”
    “A flesh wound,” she said with a wave.
    He shook his head. “Lately, you’ve been on the news more than the mayor.”
    She squirmed. Edward was from New York, so hopefully he wasn’t privy to the entire sordid story of Randolph “The Bird” Wren flying the coop and his subsequent return. “Put me to work. What can I do?”
    Edward gestured at the dozen or so male models wearing exquisite tuxes and suits, horsing around, and rolled his eyes. “Help me corral these young bucks. They have to be fitted, their hair combed, and lined up with their brides in thirty minutes. It’s like taking a bunch of toddlers on a field trip.” Indeed, they were destroying a cart of fruit and pastries sitting nearby, oblivious to the crumbs and powdered sugar falling onto lapels
    Edward’s jaw hardened. “Who brought in that food cart? Get it out!” He looked back to her and shook his head as two men wheeled it outside even as they stuffed donuts in their mouths. “Who thought