Mercy

"What?"

"She wanted me to ask you, but I figure I didn't need to," he said. "It's understood."

Theo held his patience. "What's understood?"

"You're go

"What about Noah?"

"He's in the wedding, of course, but I'm expecting you to be best man. I figured you already knew that, but Laurant thought I should ask you anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, what?"

Theo smiled. "Yeah, okay."

His brother was a man of few words. "Okay, good. Have you given your speech yet?"

"No, that's not until tomorrow night."

"When do you get your trophy?"

"It's a plaque, and I get it right before I give my speech."

"So if you blow it and put all those armed officers to sleep, they can't take the trophy back, can they?"

"I'm hanging up."

"Hey, Theo? For once, stop thinking about work. See the sights. Get laid. You know, have a good time. Hey, I know… why

don't you give Noah a call? He's on assignment in Biloxi for a few months. He could drive over to New Orleans, and the two

of you could have some fun."

If anyone knew how to have fun, it was Noah Clayborne. The FBI agent had become a close friend of the family after working

on several assignments with Nick and then later assisting Theo with his investigations as a federal attorney for the Justice Department. Noah was a good man, but he had a wicked sense of fun, and Theo wasn't sure he could survive a night out with Noah just now.

"Okay, maybe," he answered.

Theo hung up the phone, stood, and quickly doubled over from the pain that radiated through his right side. It had started in his belly, but it had moved down, and, damn, but it stung. The muscle he'd pulled felt like it was on fire.

A stupid football injury wasn't going to keep him down. Muttering to himself, he grabbed his cell phone from the charger, put it into his breast pocket with his reading glasses, and left the room. By the time he reached the lobby, the pain had receded and he was feeling almost human again. That, of course, only reinforced his own personal golden rule. Ignore the pain and it would go away. Besides, a Buchanan could tough out anything.

CHAPTER THREE

It was a night to remember. Michelle had never attended such an extravagant affair before, and as she stood on the steps overlooking the hotel ballroom, she felt like Alice about to fall through the looking glass into Wonderland.

There were flowers everywhere, beautiful spring flowers in sculptured urns on the marble floors and in crystal vases on all the white linen tablecloths. In the very center of the ballroom, beneath a magnificent crystal chandelier, was a cluster of giant hothouse magnolia trees in full bloom. Their heavenly fragrance filled the air.

Waiters glided smoothly through the crowd carrying silver trays with fluted champagne glasses while others rushed from table to table lighting long, white, tapered candles.

Mary A

"I'm out of my element here," Michelle whispered. "I feel like an awkward teenager."

"You don't look like one," Mary A

"No, they're staring at my obscenely tight dress. How could anything look so plain and ordinary on a hanger and so-"

"So devastatingly sexy on you? It clings in all the right places. Face it, you've got a great figure."

"I should never have spent so much money on a dress."

"For heaven's sake, Michelle, it's an Armani. You got it for a song, I might add."

Michelle self-consciously brushed her hand down the side of the soft fabric. She thought about how much she'd paid for the dress and decided she would have to wear it at least twenty times to make it cost-effective. She wondered if other women did that— rationalized a frivolous expense to assuage the guilt. There were so many more important things she could have used the money for, and when, in heaven's name, was she ever going to have another opportunity to wear this beautiful dress again? Not in Bowen, she thought. Not in a million years.

"What was I thinking? I never should have let you talk me into buying this dress."

Mary A

Michelle nodded. "You're right. I'll stop worrying."

"Good. Now let's go mingle. There's hors d'oeuvres and champagne out in the courtyard, and we've got to eat at least a thousand dollars' worth each. That's what I heard the tickets cost. I'll meet you there."

Her friend had just gone down the stairs when Dr.Cooper spotted Michelle and motioned for her to join him. He was the

chief of surgery at Brethren Hospital, where she had been moonlighting the past month. Cooper was usually reserved, but the champagne had rid him of his inhibitions, and he was quite affectionate. And effervescent. He kept telling her how happy he was that she was using the tickets he'd given her and how pretty she looked all dressed up. Michelle thought that if Dr. Cooper got any happier, he was going to pass out in the soup.

While Dr. Cooper expostulated on the attributes of the crawfish, spraying spit every time he said the word "fish," she backed

away to get out of the firing range. A few minutes later, Cooper's wife joined them with another older couple in tow. Michelle used the opportunity to sneak away.

She didn't want to get trapped sitting next to the Coopers during di

And that's when she noticed him. He was leaning against a pillar, hunched over, tilted protectively to one side. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, well-built, like an athlete, she thought. But there was a sickly gray pallor to his complexion, and as she walked toward him, she saw him grimace and grab his stomach.

He was obviously in trouble. She touched his arm to get his attention just as the elevator doors opened. He staggered upright and looked down at her. His gray eyes were glazed with pain. "Do you need help?" He answered her by throwing up all over her.

She couldn't get out of the way because he'd grabbed hold of her arm. His knees buckled then, and she knew he was going to go down. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tried to ease him to the floor, but he lurched forward at the same time, taking her with him.

Theo's head was spi

He tried to bring her face into focus. She had pretty blue eyes, more violet than blue, he thought, and freckles on the bridge of her nose. Then, as suddenly as it had stopped, the fire started burning in his side again, so much worse than before.

A spasm wrenched his stomach, and he jerked. "Son of a bitch."