Free His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons) by Barbara Dunlop

She toyed with her engagement ring, twisting it around and around as she went over the confrontation with Vern.
    He’d been quick to assume she’d run away. She was disappointed, of course, but she wasn’t sure she could blame him completely for his reaction. It must have seemed like the most logical conclusion at the time. Though it would have been nice if he’d asked her what happened.
    The worst part was that he’d suggested divorce. As if getting married and then quickly divorcing was preferable to ruining a party. He’d worried about the embarrassment to his family. He’d worried about her dress, his mother and the mayor. The only thing he didn’t seem to worry about was Crista.
    In the thick of the argument, it had seemed clear that it was over. But now other memories were crowding in, good memories. Did one ugly argument obliterate everything they’d shared?
    On the other hand, it had been an alarming experience, seeing a side of Vern she’d never known existed. She found herself questioning the photographs, no longer completely convinced they were fake.
    She took another swig of the soda. Maybe she should call him. Or maybe she should confront him in person again, flat-out ask him if he was cheating.
    Maybe he’d tell her the truth. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Or maybe she’d never know.
    She came to her feet.
    Ellie was her next phone call, not Vern. Ellie would have good advice. She always did.
    Crista pulled open the glass door, entering the cool of the air-conditioned room. She was chilled for a moment, but then it felt good. She sat down on the bed and dialed nine for an outside line. Then she punched in Ellie’s number.
    Before the line connected, there was a knock on the door.
    Crista didn’t need towels or mints or anything else from a housekeeper. But she also didn’t want a hotel employee barging in on her conversation. She quickly replaced the telephone receiver and went to the peephole.
    It was Jackson.
    Puzzled, she drew open the door. “Did you forget something?”
    “Yes.” He walked in without an invitation.
    “Come on in,” she muttered, letting the door swing shut behind him.
    “I forget to tell you not to phone anyone from the room.”
    “Not even Ellie?”
    “Who’s Ellie?”
    “My maid of honor.”
    “Not even Ellie. The Gerhards have a big security staff. They’ll be covering all the angles.”
    “Their security staff looks after the Gerhard buildings. They don’t care about Vern’s love life.”
    “They care about what Manfred Gerhard tells them to care about.”
    “You’re paranoid. And anyway, I thought you’d left.”
    “I’m not in a hurry.”
    “You don’t have a job to get back to? A life that requires your attention?”
    Instead of answering, he sat himself down on the small blue sofa. “What do you know about the Borezone Mine?”
    “What’s the Borezone Mine?”
    “Have you ever heard of it?”
    “No. Was it in the news?”
    “No.”
    She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. She wondered if he was making small talk, delaying his departure for some reason. She tried to figure out why he might want to hang around.
    “I won’t go wild with your credit card, if that’s what’s got you worried,” she tried.
    “I’m not worried about my credit card.”
    “Are you worried I’ll make a phone call? Because it won’t matter if I do.”
    “Ha. Now I’m definitely worried you’ll make a phone call.”
    “I need to talk to Ellie.” What she needed was a girlfriend to listen to her fears about Vern.
    “Talk to me instead.”
    She took the armchair cornerwise from where he sat. “Sure. I’ll just sit here and bare my soul to the strange man who kidnapped me from my wedding. I can’t see any downside to that.”
    “Good. Go ahead. Bare away.”
    “You’re not funny.”
    Surely he could understand that this was traumatic for her.
    “You absolutely need to call Ellie?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    With a shake of his head and an