30

THE WEDDING

(Twelve Months Ago)

The bride wore white.

I didn’t want to, of course. I’d always been much more comfortable in black, and to don the color of purity and innocence on a day like this one seemed sacrilege of the highest order. Besides, Grant and I were getting married in a West Virginia county clerk’s office with all of four people in attendance. Going full bridal seemed like overkill.

“Oh, Pen. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Jordan put to rest any fears I might have had that the dress made me look like a meringue. She put her hands on my shoulders and spun me, causing the skirt of my short, party-style gown to flare. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“Please don’t,” I said, mostly out of a sense of self-preservation. Weddings had never caused me to start welling up before, but there was something about this one that had me teetering perilously close.

Oh, right. Because it was mine.

The fact that I was standing in a public restroom and my bridesmaid was rummaging through her bag to find a lipstick that wasn’t a plastic explosive in hiding didn’t change any of the surreal factor. This was really happening. I was going through with it.

“Aren’t you so glad I made you get this dress?” Jordan asked as she made a few minor adjustments to my ensemble. Tuck a strand of hair here, wipe a smudge of mascara there—I couldn’t tell if she was keeping busy to distract me or herself.

Either way, she stopped when she hit the cameo brooch pinned to my neckline.

“Holy smokes, that’s gorgeous!” She leaned in for a closer look. “Real shell, from the looks of it. Is it your something new or your something, er, borrowed?”

I laughed. For once in my life, nothing on my person was borrowed.

“It’s my something old,” I said, fingering the delicate carving. “Grant gave it to me a few months back.”

Jordan’s eyes met mine in a look of swift understanding before she lowered them again. Jewelry had never been something we held onto for very long, for obvious reasons. Why wear what you can hawk? A valuable piece like this—appraised at four grand, according to Riker’s best guess—would have gone a long way in helping us plan the next big heist.

“Well, the man has good taste, that’s for sure,” she said. “Though I guess that was never in question. He picked you, didn’t he?”

It was a nice thing to say to an anxious bride-to-be, but there was too much forced joviality to make either of us comfortable. Unfortunately, hiding in the bathroom for the next few hours wasn’t a viable option, and there weren’t any windows to escape out of, which meant my comfort had to take a backseat to reality.

“Is he out there?” I asked.

“Yes, and he’s more nervous than you, if you’d believe it.”

I didn’t believe it, and I was pretty sure she knew I wasn’t talking about the groom. “No, not Grant. Riker.”

Jordan nodded. “Yeah. He’s right outside.”

“I better go talk to him.” I gave myself another once-over in the mirror, but there wasn’t anything to fix. Jordan had attended to all the details, made sure there wasn’t so much as a smudge of lipstick out of place. Whatever the knot in the pit of my stomach might say to the contrary, I certainly looked the part of the blushing bride.

As Jordan promised, Riker was waiting for me in the hallway. Like me, he looked his role to perfection. Although the ceremony itself wasn’t much—just a courthouse room and the traditional marital vows—our attendants were dressed to the hilt. Grant brought his mom and Simon; I had Riker and Jordan. Just four people in this whole vast world to witness our union, but at least Riker did that tuxedo justice. He looked like a rock star with a hangover.

“Hey,” I said.

He didn’t offer a response, not even a blink at seeing me standing there with a veil.

“Okay, you have five minutes.”

He was slouched against the wall opposite the bathroom, but other than a slight lifting of his head, he didn’t change his posture. “What?”

“Five minutes.” I gestured at the clock above his head. “Say what you need to say. Get it off your chest. I’m giving you five minutes of repercussion-free time to outline why I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life, and then I have a wedding to attend.”

He pushed himself to a standing position. “No.”

“No?” Was he saying that about the five minutes or the wedding?

“No,” he echoed, clarifying nothing. But then he offered me the crook of his elbow and stood perfectly rigid until I placed my arm on his. “Your betrothed was afraid you might bolt before the ceremony, so he tasked me with the job of making sure you get there in one piece. Lucky me, huh?”

Oh man. That sounded exactly like a challenge Grant would offer…and exactly like a challenge Riker couldn’t refuse.

“He’s either the smartest bastard on the face of the planet or the stupidest,” Riker said, his sentiments echoing mine. “I’m getting tired of trying to figure out which. Are you?”

I blamed all the lawyers and cops milling around the hallways for my lack of understanding. “Am I tired of trying to figure him out?”

“No, going to bolt?”

“Of course not. We’ve talked about this, Riker. It’s what’s best for all of us.”

“Sorry. My bad. I keep forgetting how you’re doing this for my sake.”

I didn’t say anything. Not because we were done with this argument—far from it, especially given how many times we’d repeat it after that day—but because we approached the heavy wooden courtroom door where I was supposed to meet my groom.

Supposed to being the operative phrase.

“He’s not here?” I whirled, looking for signs of the wide, capable shoulders that were supposed to carry me through this thing. “Oh God. He’s not coming, is he? It’s a trap. He lured us into a courthouse, and we’ll never be able to get out in time.”

“Relax,” Riker said, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. “He’s waiting for you inside. He wanted to make it a big old thing with you walking in on a cloud of pillows and light. Where’s Jordan?”

“I’m coming!” she called, a bouquet of English daisies in her hand as she jogged to catch up. I’d always liked English daisies—to most people, they were an obnoxious, difficult-to-eradicate weed. I thought they were pretty. “Here you go. Flowers, check. Veil, check. Dress, check. I think you’re ready. You’ve got everything you need.”

“Don’t forget: Jordan, check,” I said, smiling at her. And then, my smile not quite as wide, “And Riker, check.”

“Riker, check,” he echoed.

No one made a move to open the door or head inside, our sudden silence heavy with meaning. Just when it seemed we’d stand there awkwardly until the courts closed for the day, a bailiff rounded the corner to escort us inside. The tan uniform added an air of authority to the proceedings, only serving to make me more nervous about our possible escape routes, until the man paused and cleared his throat.

“Oz, check.”

I almost burst into tears at the sight of him.

“You came!” I cried, fighting the urge to throw my arms around his neck. Only the knowing press of his finger against his lips stopped me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. My whole family is here now.”

“You ready?” Jordan asked, her own eyes suspiciously moist.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Truth be told, I wasn’t ready—not even close—but if I didn’t go through with this ceremony now, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to.

“Then it’s go time.”

* * *

The groom wore black.

He looked good in it, too—all those muscles of his packed into a tuxedo that molded to his body, outlining his handsome physique. His hair gleamed, his crinkly-eyed smile was pointed right at me, and there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t perfection in shirtsleeves. Still, none of it floored me quite as much as the single daisy tucked into his lapel.

He must have stolen it from my bouquet or asked Jordan for a spare. It looked wilted from his body heat and lonely without the rest of my bunch to keep it company, but the message was the same.

He wore it for me. Sad and scraggly and pale in comparison to his splendor, that flower was nonetheless nestled next to his heart.

“Hey,” I said for the second time that day. I was really killing it in the moving speeches department.

His response couldn’t have been more different from Riker’s. There was nothing sullen in his posture, nothing lacking in the way he lit up at the sight of me. Despite the fact that we were in a court of law and his mother was present, he pulled me into his arms and crushed every last finishing touch Jordan had made on my coiffure.

He also kissed me in a way I was pretty sure was supposed to be reserved for after the ceremony.

“Hey, yourself,” he said, his lips moving against mine. “I sure am glad to see you here.”

For the second time that day, my eyes welled up with tears. Poetically speaking, it was hardly the stuff of legends, but no words had ever sounded sweeter to my ears.

“I sure am glad to see you here, too,” I managed.

The judge who was marrying us, a kindly-looking woman in sober black robes, cleared her throat. “I take this to mean we’re all present and accounted for?”

I cast a quick look around the room to confirm. Everyone I wanted was there. Grant’s mom, wearing a floral dress and a hat straight out of a horse derby. Simon, looking dour and uncomfortable among so many thieves. Jordan, beaming at me as she sniffled into a tissue. Oz, feigning professional indifference over by the door.

And Riker, of course.

I was half-afraid Grant was going to say something to set him off—send him on another errand or comment on his sullen expression—but instead, he nodded once. Riker waited a full ten seconds before moving, but when he finally did, it was to return the gesture with a quick nod of his own.

And that was it. Without a word being spoken aloud, the ceremony was underway.

I barely heard any of it—not the vows the judge asked us to repeat, not Grant reciting after her, not me reciting after him. Everything moved so quickly and swept along without any help from me, it was almost as if I was sitting in the defendant’s chair, watching someone else’s story being told.

I did, however, feel the constant pressure of Grant’s hands on my own. I couldn’t bring myself to look up in his eyes, but that touch, that reassurance, was all I needed to make it through.

Until, of course, the judge released a soft chuckle. “I apologize for this next part, but it has to be done. Is there anyone here who knows of any legal impediment to this marriage? If so, now would be a good time to bring it up.”

Although Jordan and Myrna offered an obliging laugh, the rest of us froze. Legal impediments abounded on all sides—they boxed us in, trapped us, built a cage that no amount of kisses and soft words could break down.

I didn’t even know if an FBI agent’s alliance with a known criminal was allowed. There had to be some kind of rule in place about this sort of thing, an escape clause so Grant could arrest me, prosecute me, and testify against me all in the same day. Maybe our marriage certificate would be a lie committed to paper. Maybe he could turn around and annul it at any moment, with no more pretext than a list of my sins.

Maybe this entire day was nothing more than a sham.

“I can’t think of a single reason why I wouldn’t want to make this woman mine,” Grant said. “Legal or otherwise.”

I glanced up at him, surprised at how confident he sounded, how sure.

“There are no impediments,” he said. “You may proceed.”

“But—” I began.

He turned to me, his expression melting into one of inexplicable tenderness. “Not a single reason, Penelope. Not now, and not in the next hundred years. I’m ready to do this thing. How about you?”

There were literally hundreds—no, thousands—of reasons why it made sense for me to turn on my heel and run, not the least of which was the fact that this man stood, upright and honorable, for everything I didn’t. Yet, as I stared up at him, falling into the affection of his gaze, I couldn’t think of one.

Not a single one. Not now, and not in the next hundred years.

I nodded.

It was all the consent the judge needed. With a triumphant shout, she formally announced us husband and wife. “And now you may kiss your bride,” she said.

Grant was all too willing to comply. He swept me up into his arms, crushing my daisies and my mouth with a single movement. For the longest time, I couldn’t breathe, so caught up was I in his embrace. But it didn’t matter, because I didn’t need to. In that moment, surrounded by the people I cared about most in the world, air was only a secondary consideration.

I was happy.

“You won’t regret this, my love,” Grant said, pulling away just long enough for the words to settle like a blanket over my heart. “I can’t promise you much, but that’s the one thing I’ll always make sure of.”

Yeah, right. That turned out to be the biggest lie of all.