Secret Weapon Spouse - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,4

soundproof room on the second floor of Weddings Your Way, watching the monitors on the wall.

The police had left hours ago. Now the only illumination came from the security lights that bathed the long palm-lined entry into the shop.

Weddings Your Way had been in an uproar all afternoon and evening. No one could believe that Sonya Botero had been abducted right out front and client Caroline Graham had been injured in the hit-and-run that followed.

“We are prepared for a ransom demand,” Rachel Brennan was saying now to the elite group of undercover agents positioned around the table. “Everything is in place. Since the abduction took place here, the kidnappers might contact us first. If it is a kidnapping.”

Samantha found herself only half listening as she watched the monitors that provided surveillance. She focused on the two that covered the front of the building.

“I’ve heard from Sonya’s father as well as her fiancé,” Rachel was saying. “Both are flying in tomorrow. Both will demand answers. Let’s do our best to have some for them.”

The air conditioner hummed in the large room devoid of windows. One end was a wall of computers and electronics. This was the command center, the heart of the true operation with Weddings Your Way being the front. Not that each agent didn’t perform wedding-related duties, living and working in the community while working undercover as part of the Miami Confidential team.

Rachel Brennan, tall, ebony-haired with sparkling blue eyes, in her early forties, was head of the elite group.

“I’ve looked at the surveillance tapes,” Rachel said. “The men knew about the cameras. They were careful to keep their heads down, faces in shadow. It was all very well planned and executed. We can’t rule out that Sonya’s abduction is connected with the recent assassination attempt on her fiancé.”

“So are we assuming this is politically motivated?” Sophie Brooks asked. Sophie, tall, willowy with long blond hair, had been sketching on a pad in front of her and now looked up. Along with being an agent, she was also Weddings Your Way’s invitation designer.

“It has to be connected to politics,” Julia Garcia said in a quiet voice at the end of the table. Julia was friends with Sonya when they were young and now worked as a seamstress for the wedding shop along with being an agent. “When you’re about to marry a politician from Ladera who has been making war on drug dealers throughout South America, you can’t help but be a target.”

The room fell silent for a long moment. Samantha continued to watch the monitors, the tragic events of the day weighing heavily on her. She knew what she was waiting for. Her instincts told her it wouldn’t be long now.

“Any word on the condition of Caroline Graham?” Isabelle Rush asked. The agent was small with shoulder-length strawberry blond hair and light brown eyes. She’d been handpicked for the Miami Confidential team as an expert in criminology.

“Still unconscious,” Samantha said without looking from the monitors. “The doctors aren’t sure she’s going to make it.”

“Is it possible she was a target, as well?” Isabelle asked.

Samantha recalled how the car had careened up onto the curb, just missing the limo driver and Alex Graham but hitting Caroline. “I don’t see how. Caroline didn’t even have an appointment. I had to fit her in at the last minute so no one could have known she was coming here.”

“Maybe,” Rachel said and turned to Clare Myers, who was sitting at one of the computers. “Let’s not take any chances. Find out everything you can on both. Did Sonya and Caroline know each other? I want to know if there is even the remotest connection between them.”

“I’m on it,” Clare said tapping at the keys. The small pixie-ish blond woman had a sharp mind and worked for the IRS investigating corporations trying to rip off the government before she was enlisted by Miami Confidential to work as the accountant for the wedding shop as well as use her expertise on digging up anything on anyone via the computer.

“What about Botero’s limo driver?” Rachel asked, checking her notes. “Craig Johnson?”

“He was admitted to the hospital complaining of headaches,” Isabelle said. “The police questioned him after he was admitted. Johnson said he didn’t remember anything after being struck on the head by one of the men.”

“Could be lying,” Julia said. “But it also could have happened so fast he really didn’t get a good look at his attacker.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I think one of