"Adam Sinclair, don't you dare go playing the 'if game!" she warned. "You were doing your best to make the right decisions at the time. And I'm willing to believe that you succeeded."
Adam reached up and brushed her cheek, smiling faintly.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I wish I could promise you something like this won't ever happen again."
"I haven't asked you to," she replied. "Suffice it to say that I love you too much to let anyone or anything scare me away. Now get some sleep. If you're determined to be fit enough for a wedding in five days' time, you're going to have to cooperate with your very grumpy doctor!"
Thanks to the discreet offices of friends in high places, the facts surrounding the rescue of Sir Adam Sinclair from the clutches of his kidnappers were never allowed to surface in the media. Any resentment that might have been harbored by journalists on that account, however, was soon assuaged by the newsworthy manner in which Sir Adam and his radiant bride celebrated their marriage on the following Saturday.
The features and photographs detailing the wedding and reception dominated the society pages for several days in succession. The romantic glamour surrounding the match continued to sell newspapers, prompting a number of society reporters to join the small crowd of well-wishers who gathered at Edinburgh Airport a week later to welcome the couple back from their short honeymoon abroad.
As Sir Adam and the new Lady Sinclair settled into the waiting comfort of a classic Bentley, their departure was noted at a distance by two observers in a yellow Mercedes, rendered anonymous by oversized sunglasses, deep-brimmed hats, and well-wrapped scarves. The driver was a man with a lean, wiry build. The passenger was a woman with heavily bandaged hands, whose painted lips curled in studied malice as the Bentley slipped away into traffic.