Chapter 1 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
Naomi Carter was still wearing her wedding dress when she slapped the man she was supposed to marry.
The ceremony had not happened.
The guests were still inside the venue.
Two hundred people believed a weather delay had pushed the outdoor vows back twenty minutes.
Only four people knew the wedding had stopped for a different reason.
Naomi stood inside the motorcycle garage behind the venue with her veil pulled loose over one shoulder and a sealed case summary still trembling in her left hand.
Marcus Reed was down on one knee in front of her.
Not proposing.
Not anymore.
He had followed her out of the bridal suite after she demanded an explanation.
He had barely started giving one.
Naomi grabbed the front of his white dress shirt.
Jerked him toward her.
Then slapped him hard across the face.
Marcus’s head snapped sideways.
His upper body twisted.
One hand hit the concrete floor to steady himself.
“Naomi—”
She pulled off her wedding ring.
The plain platinum band Marcus had given her during their private courthouse signing rehearsal two weeks earlier.
She threw it.
The ring struck the floor.
Bounced.
Rolled beneath the front wheel of a black Indian motorcycle.
Naomi stared at him.
“Marcus Reed died six years ago.”
Marcus looked up sharply.
For the first time since Naomi dragged him out of the venue, real fear appeared in his face.
“Where did you get that?”
Wrong question.
Naomi’s throat tightened.
“So it’s real.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
She stepped back.
The garage smelled faintly of oil, leather and old wood.
Marcus’s family had once run Reed Cycle Works from this building before the property became an upscale event venue.
Most of the motorcycles now were restored family pieces.
The ceremony had been planned twenty yards away.
Naomi had thought that history was charming yesterday.
Marcus pushed himself upright.
He moved toward her.
“Naomi, you don’t understand this.”
He reached for her arm.
She knocked his hand away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Listen.”
She shoved him in the chest.
Hard.
Marcus staggered backward.
His hip struck the side of the nearest motorcycle.
He grabbed the seat.
“Your name is in a sealed organized-crime file.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“And the man identified as Marcus Reed in that file was pronounced dead six years ago.”
Marcus said nothing.
Naomi’s anger rose again.
“You let me file a marriage license application with you.”
“Under my legal name.”
“That is your answer?”
“It’s the truth.”
She advanced.
“Then explain the dead man.”
Marcus pushed himself away from the motorcycle.
Naomi hit him again.
This time with a closed fist across the cheek.
Marcus staggered back into the bike.
He did not hit her.
He raised both hands.
“Stop.”
Naomi’s breath came fast.
The word landed.
Not because he was commanding her.
Because she had crossed something herself.
She stopped.
A moment later footsteps came from the wide garage entrance.
Renee Hayes entered quickly.
Dark suit.
Leather portfolio under one arm.
She had been the person who called Naomi thirty-eight minutes before the wedding.
The person who told her:
Do not marry him until you see the file.
Renee stopped when she saw Marcus.
Not Naomi.
Marcus.
Her entire body went still.
Marcus stared back.
“You.”
Naomi turned.
“You know each other?”
Renee did not answer.
More footsteps.
Gloria Reed entered behind her.
Marcus’s mother was still dressed for the wedding in a pale silver suit and pearl earrings.
She looked furious at first.
Then she saw Renee.
The fury changed.
“Why is she here?”
Naomi looked between them.
“You know her too.”
Gloria ignored the question.
“Naomi, whatever she told you—”
Renee opened the portfolio.
Pulled out an old case photograph.
She held it toward Naomi.
“Look at this before anyone explains anything.”
Naomi took it.
Marcus immediately moved.
“Give me that.”
Naomi jerked the photograph out of reach.
Renee looked directly at him.
“The man in that file isn’t him.”
Marcus froze.
Gloria’s face drained of color.
Naomi stared down at the photograph.
Old garage.
Same concrete floor.
Same wide entrance.
Same black Indian motorcycle behind them.
A man stood near the workbench.
He looked exactly like Marcus.
Younger.
Longer hair.
A different jacket.
Beside him—
Naomi.
Six years younger.
Standing inside this same garage.
Marcus bent down suddenly.
Naomi looked up.
He had found her wedding ring beneath the motorcycle.
He picked it up.
As he stood, his shoulder knocked the motorcycle’s old leather side case.
The brittle latch popped.
A stack of photographs spilled onto the floor.
Marcus stared down.
Genuinely confused.
Gloria made a sound.
Small.
Sharp.
Naomi crouched.
One photograph slid farther than the others.
It stopped against the hem of her wedding dress.
She picked it up.
Again—
younger Naomi.
This garage.
And the man who looked exactly like the man she was supposed to marry.
Naomi slowly looked at Marcus.
Marcus looked just as stunned.
Behind him, Gloria rushed forward.
She reached for the photograph.
May you like
Naomi snapped it away.
Gloria stopped.
