The Prosecutor

Chapter Seventeen


The following morning Emma forced down dry toast, a relatively boring breakfast, while surrounded by the fancy marble and stainless steel of their temporary kitchen. If she broke something in this palace, it would take a year to pay for it. Her phone whistled and she punched the screen, scanning Penny’s text summoning her to the criminal courthouse. In thirty minutes. Thirty minutes to shower, get dressed and face the end of rush-hour traffic.

Their lawyer truly was nuts.

At this point, with Alex Belson still being interviewed, the only thing Emma wanted from Penny was confirmation that Belson had killed Chelsea Moore and that Brian would come home. That’s it. The terror of the previous night would be worth it if Brian came home.

Why? Emma texted back.

Just get there.

Emma sighed.

“What is it?” Mom asked.

Emma contemplated a response. Something must have been happening with Brian. But she didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that. What if it’s not good?

They were too far gone for that. No more sheltering her mother. The load had gotten too heavy and this had to be—had to be—good news.

She met her mother’s stare. “I’m not sure. She wants me down at the courthouse in half an hour.”

“That’s good, right?”

I hope so. “It could be nothing.”

“I don’t care. I’m going with you. It’s time I started helping you.”

Wow. How far they’d come in a week. All because of the Hennings family. Emma glanced down at the phone in her hand. Those crazy Hennings siblings. They’d drive her mad before this was done.

And yet she welcomed the madness.

Putting her thumbs to work, she texted Penny. See you soon. She dropped the phone, shoved her chair out. “Be ready in five minutes. I’m gonna take the fastest shower of my life and throw some clothes on.”

“Put your hair back,” Mom called as she charged down the long hallway behind Emma. “It’s a mess.”

Exactly twenty-six minutes later, Emma and her mother joined the back of the security line at the criminal courts building. On her tiptoes, Emma counted heads in front of her. Ten. Not as bad as usual, but they’d never make it in four minutes.

She texted Penny. A second later her phone rang. She didn’t bother to look. She knew who it was. “Not my fault. I’m stuck at security.”

“Here’s the deal,” Penny said, the words firing faster than usual. “My father, Zac and I are walking into Judge Alred’s court. We’ve—the State’s Attorney included—filed a joint emergency motion to vacate Brian’s conviction and sentence.”

Every word rolled into a massive ball in Emma’s throat. She tried to speak, but only managed a high-pitched squeal. She spun to her mother and latched onto her arm.

Mom winced and Emma let up. “What?”

Finally, the massive ball trapping her words unfurled. “This is happening now?”

“Yes.”

“Is the judge a good one?”

“He’s perfection. A good guy and reasonable. Hang on... What?” A muffled sound came through the phone line. “He’s ready for us. Hurry. Judge Alred’s courtroom. 400.”

“Wait.”

Dead air. Emma jerked the phone from her ear and stared at it. Don’t get too excited. The judge could deny it. Anything could happen.

Mom’s face blanched.

Emma squeezed her mother’s arm again. “It’s good. They filed a motion to vacate Brian’s conviction and sentence. In a little while we’ll know if Brian is coming home.”

“My God.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. You know our luck stinks.”

Mom held her hands out, her eyes big and round and...well...happy. “But we’ve never gotten this far.”

The gray-haired security guard Emma had seen several times before motioned her to the x-ray machine. “Step forward please, ma’am. Cell phone down.”

She shoved her purse and phone on the belt. “Sorry.”

He waved her through. “No problem.”

Once through the machine, she grinned up at the guard. “My brother may come home today.”

He offered a thumbs-up. “Good luck. Hopefully I won’t see you here anymore.”

Her mother stepped behind her, both of them grabbing their items off the belt. This could be it. Brian coming home.

Don’t go there.

They got into the elevator, and Emma watched the numbers tick by until they reached their intended floor. Dragging her mother along, Emma dashed off the elevator, her low heels clickety-clacking against the tile floor. People cluttered the hallway, blocking her, forcing her to cut around them. Just get there. A door banged open and two men in suits stepped into her path. Move. Emma threw her arm out and angled around them. Her mother had better be keeping up. On her right, courtroom doors whizzed by. She checked numbers as she went. Almost there.

Courtroom 400.

She stopped and her mother plowed into Emma’s back. Emma grabbed Mom’s arm to keep her from falling over.


“Sorry. This is it.”

She stared at the double doors, rocked onto the balls of her feet. “You ready?”

Mom breathed in. “I have to be.”

“We’ve got this, Mom.”

Emma swung one of the doors open, ushered her mother inside and eased the door shut. The soft click echoed and she winced. Don’t piss off the judge.

She spun around, her gaze landing smack on the judge, a man appearing to be in his late forties. He sat behind the bench, two fingers pressed against his meaty cheek. His face gave away nothing. Not a scowl, not a smile, not a frown. He simply listened, and Emma imagined that she’d go mad wondering what the heck the man was thinking.

Zac spoke from his place at the prosecutor’s table, his voice, as usual, assertive. Confident. Penny and her father sat behind the defendant’s table, their postures tall but not stiff. Almost relaxed, but that couldn’t be. Could it?

Judge Alred focused on Emma, then her mother, the only two spectators in the room. Not wanting to cause further disturbance, Emma slid onto the nearest bench. So what if it was way in the back? She needed to sit before her legs gave way.

Her mother landed next to her and gripped her hand. This was it. Emma clung to her mother and directed her attention to the front of the room where the judge addressed Zac.

“Counselor, why is this a joint motion?”

“Your Honor, new evidence has come to light. After examining this new evidence, we determined that said new evidence changes the State’s position.”

Emma tapped her foot. Yeah, yeah, we get it. New evidence. Blah, blah, blah. Get on with it.

“Because of this new evidence,” Zac continued, “the State joins in the motion to vacate and set aside.”

Please, please, please. A loud whoosh filled her head, smothered the voices of Zac and the judge. She closed her eyes. Hot little stabs traveled up her arms and made her itch. Please let him come home. Never had she prayed so hard, but this warranted it. She wanted her brother back. Maybe she wanted a few other things, too, but Brian coming home was the priority. If that happened, they’d rebuild their lives as a family. And, if the world could be so generous, she’d be free to have her own life and maybe make Zac Hennings part of it.

That’s what she wanted. Zac, her brother and her mother. With them, she almost believed anything could happen. With them, the impossible became possible.

An immense calm inched over her, slowly smothering the pinpricks her body had just endured. Her mind went quiet and a male voice sounded. The judge.

“Okay, counselors, motion granted. Defendant is ordered immediately released.”

What? Emma snapped her head sideways. “What?”

Penny leapt to her feet. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

Mom held her fingers to her lips before the judge yelled at them. Wait. Emma turned to the front again, stared at Penny’s back. Beside Penny stood Mr. Hennings and the two high-fived, their faces glowing. It’s happening. On the other side of the aisle, Zac shoved a folder in his briefcase, all serious prosecutor but chances were he was dying to smile. He’d never give his sister the satisfaction. He’d make her beg for it.

The judge rose from the bench and rounded the corner, his long robe swaying behind him as he entered his chambers. Just like that, they were done.

Brian was free.

Penny whipped around, a mile-wide grin on her face. “Now you can talk.”

But Emma shook her head. The words immediately released looped in her mind, over and over and over, and she breathed in. Don’t believe it. Not yet. Not until they told her. Then she’d allow herself to believe that finally, after endless trudging through the justice system, they’d won.

Zac closed his briefcase, and turned to her. Their gazes held and he finally offered up a grin that sent blood racing into Emma’s brain.

Penny stood in the aisle hugging Mom whose sad, wilting eyes were now gone. My mother is back.

Emma jumped up. Too fast. The rush made the room spin and she held on to the bench in front of her, taking it all in. The Hennings crew huddled together, father, son, daughter. Zac and his dad shook hands, slapped some backs and—they’d done it.

“Come here, girlfriend,” Penny said. “Give me a hug. We won.”

And Emma lost it. She held her arms in front of her as tears barreled out of her eyes. We won. Mouth gaping, happy sobs rocked her. Darn, she was tired. So tired.

The foursome gathered around her, their faces a mix of surprise, shock and—in Mr. Hennings’s case—curiosity. Mom had her own set of waterworks going and Emma had to look away. It was all too much. All the emotion that had been shoved deep inside, brutally packed away with the lid slammed down, came bursting free and she sobbed harder.

Zac eased her mother out of the way and stepped beside Emma. He slid his arms around her and squeezed. He’s so good. She buried her face in his chest, bawling on his suit jacket and gripping the material at his back. Just hold on.

“You did it,” he whispered, his lips pressed against her ear. “Why are you wasting time crying when you should be on your way to get your brother?”

Emma slammed her eyes closed. He’s coming home.

Zac ran his hand over her head. “You’re okay now. Sshhh. Emma, you did it. You put your family back together.”

And then she laughed, a sort of pathetic snot-filled snort that at any other time would humiliate her, but for now, none of it mattered.

She backed away from him, grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and tugged. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” Penny said. “What the hell?”

Emma rolled her eyes, but the feeling she had inside, that easy, settled hum of joy, made her attempt at irritation a lost cause. “You know I’ll thank you, too. He makes me giddier than you do.”

“Oh, please,” Penny said. “Blah, blah, blah. We have paperwork to deal with and then you need to get on the road. Go get Brian and tonight we’ll have a celebration dinner.”

“But you’re coming with us, right? To get him?” Emma turned to her mom. “Wait. I’m sorry. Do you want it to be just us?”

Mom dabbed a tissue over her face and grinned. “The more the merrier.”

“Good.” She went back to Penny. “Can you come with us?”

“If you want, I’ll make it happen.”

“I want.” She turned to Zac. “And you, too. You should be there. We should all be there when he comes out.”

He bent low and kissed her, a gentle brush of his lips, right in front of Mom and Penny and his dad and—wow—that’s different.

Except he blew it by stopping. “A prosecutor welcoming a wrongly convicted man home. You’re determined to get me fired.”

She hadn’t thought about that. She tugged on his jacket, only a little disappointed. Maybe more than a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’ll be worth it. Let’s head north.”

The courtroom door opened and they all turned. Detective Leeks stood in the doorway, his vile gaze slithering over them. He shouldn’t be here. Not when he’d done so much to hurt them, to terrorize them and to steal Brian’s life.

“Leeks,” Zac said, but Emma threw her hand up and stepped toward him. Behind her, she sensed Zac following. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Leeks stood still, his arms now crossed over his chest. “Thought I’d take in the festivities. Guess I missed it.”

Pulverizing anger blasted through Emma. Her body buzzed and the sudden urge to lash out consumed her. She halted in front of Leeks. His son hadn’t even been guilty, yet he’d been willing to ruin another man’s life to protect him.


She wiggled the fingers of her right hand as Leeks stood there, that disgustingly smug grin on his face, and Emma couldn’t take it anymore.

Crack!

She smacked him. One solid blast and the man’s head flew sideways. From somewhere behind her, Mom gasped.

“You go, girl,” Penny said.

“Whoa.” Zac shifted in front of Emma. “This is over, detective. You’re lucky I didn’t have enough to charge you with having Brian Sinclair attacked in prison.”

Leeks stared up at Zac, his eyes burning, but there was nothing to be done. Not unless he planned on taking on all five of them.

“We’re celebrating,” Emma said. “And you don’t belong here.”

* * *

HOURS LATER, Emma, her mother, Zac and Penny stood outside the prison gates waiting for Brian. Emma leaned against the gleaming black stretch limo Zac’s father had provided and tilted her head to the sun. Spring, at least for today, had finally blessed them with its presence. All in all, a great day to welcome Brian home. Still, she had to admit, this was a scenario she’d never imagined.

Off to the right, Penny paced the edge of the parking area, talking on her phone. Mom stood by the gate, sometimes wandering back a few steps, but then returning, waiting for her baby to come to her.

Zac watched it all, occasionally checking his watch and sighing. For once, Emma didn’t mind the wait. Not when anticipating the moment her brother would be free offered such excitement.

“There’s one thing I’m wondering,” Emma said.

Zac clucked his tongue. “Only one?”

“Hardy-har. A comedian now. Why did that nasty Detective Leeks threaten me? If his son was innocent, why did he care? I should have asked him that before I slugged him.”

Zac gave her a thumbs-up. “That was a heck of a shot.”

“He deserved it. I still wonder, though.”

“I think he either wasn’t sure his kid was innocent, or he knew the investigation had been screwed up and he didn’t want their name dragged into it. Maybe both.”

“I guess. It makes me sad for the Moore family. We all trusted Alex Belson. They trusted him for very different reasons, but we were all traumatized. I hope that creep never gets out.”

“He’ll go away for a long time. Between the murder, obstruction of justice, what he did to you, arson, and the litany of other charges my office will come up with, he’ll be an old man if he ever gets out.”

A buzz sounded and Emma glanced up. Inside the fence, her brother stepped out of the building, flanked by two guards. Emma’s pulse kicked. Brian wore baggy jeans and a wrinkled, button-down shirt—the clothes he’d been arrested in that were now a size too big. He held a bag in his hands, most likely his personal effects. From where she stood, Emma couldn’t see if his bruises had healed. Who was she kidding? Even if they’d faded, eagle-eye Mom would probably notice and Emma would finally have to explain. Later. Much later.

He’s coming home. Emma placed her hands over her mouth and looked up at Zac. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” He put an arm around her and squeezed. “Emma Sinclair, I think you’re the love of my life.”

“You think? Charming, Zachary. Charming.”

“I do what I can.” He turned toward her, rested one arm on top of the limo. “I should thank you. At the beginning of this, I was bent on proving that your brother was a murderer. I had it all figured out. He did it and I was gonna be the guy to prove it. Except nothing was what I thought. I had to experience that. Plus, I got to meet you. Something tells me that will change my life in the best way possible. I don’t want to freak you out, but now that this case is history, I’ll be all over you. Just so you know.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“Nope. Keeping you updated.”

She tugged on his jacket, went on tiptoes and kissed him quick. “Excellent. And just so you know, I will be an eager participant as it relates to your affections.”

“Glad we got that clarified.”

Another buzz sounded and Emma faced front as the long steel gate slid open. Her brother stopped and looked at each guard, waiting for permission to leave. Apparently, he was stunned by the morning’s activities. One of the guards set his hand on Brian’s back, gave him a smile and shoved him through the gate.

The guards, like most people, were fond of Brian.

And then, for the first time in eighteen months, her brother stepped out of the prison gate. He stood there, on freedom’s side of the entrance, staring at the pavement. Emma absorbed the simple joy of seeing her brother experiencing freedom. Let it heal her. No one moved. Not even their mother. Somehow, they understood that Brian needed a moment. Finally, he pushed his shoulders back and raised his head. His gaze locked on Emma’s and held. Joy fused with the pain of lost time and unfurled in her chest. For months she’d imagined this moment, imagined the hoots and hollers and yet there was only quiet. The celebration would come later, but now, in the parking lot, the prison gate behind them, there was only Emma, Brian and their mother. Together.

Finally.

They’d done it.

Mom broke the spell and ran to Brian, throwing her arms around him. She sobbed, the sound of it loud and piercing and wonderful. Emma turned into Zac’s side and buried her head in his shoulder.

Zac kissed the top of her head. “You did it.”

Head still buried, she nodded. “He’s coming home.” She straightened, looked up into Zac’s blue eyes and her smile, for a change, came easy. She’d smile more now. Life would be for living again. She grabbed Zac’s hand and pulled him toward the gate. “We did it. He’s got his life back.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Yep. And you, Zachary, will be part of it. Are you good with that? Because you have to help me with constitutional law.”

“Honey, I’m great with that. We’ll be a happy, twisted family.”

Family. Emma’s heart banged and she slapped her hand over it. For the first time since her father had passed, she pictured a complete unit. Her complete unit. Zac, Mom and Brian. If she threw Penny into the mix, she’d have the sister she’d always wanted. Even if Penny was crazy. Now, with Brian free, she’d grab hold of that unit and never let go. What more could a girl want? Finally, after years of losses, she’d won.

Her luck had definitely changed.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from BRIDAL JEOPARDY by Rebecca York.





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Prologue


The horror of that day had replayed over and over in Craig Branson’s mind. What if he, Mom, Dad and Sam had gone to a different restaurant? What if they’d stayed home and ordered in? Life as he knew it would have continued on the same happy track.

But Dad had just brought in a big ad buy at the local TV station where he was promotions manager, and he’d been in the mood to celebrate his hard work.


“Where should we go to dinner?” he’d asked his twin sons, two dark-haired, dark-eyed boys only a few people could tell apart.

Craig and Sam were identical twins, born when a single egg had split in their mother’s womb. Twins were supposed to be close, but there was more between these two eight-year-olds than anyone else knew. There was a hidden bond and a fierce love born of the connection they could never explain to anyone else.

They’d looked at each other and begun a silent conversation about the merits of various choices.

Then Sam had spoken for the two of them. He’d asked to go to Venario’s, an Italian restaurant. If they ate at Venario’s, they could order an extra pizza and have it for breakfast the next morning.

Mom had protested that pizza was no kind of breakfast, but Dad let the boys have their way. If it made his twins happy to bring home pizza, he was all for it, as long as they had a nice portion of chicken or veal for dinner.

That evening they’d sat across from each other at the square table topped by a snowy cloth, silently debating the merits of ground beef or ham on their take-home pizza. Almost as soon as they’d come home from the hospital, they’d been able to read each other’s thoughts, a skill they instinctively kept hidden from the world. Mom suspected, but she had never asked them about it because the idea was too outlandish for her to wrap her brain around. She was a down-to-earth woman who wanted her sons to be strong and independent, even when their inclination was to present a united front.

At the next table, a group of men was talking loudly; their voices annoyed Mom and Dad, but they didn’t interfere with the Branson boys’ happy conversation.

That was another what-if that had tortured Craig for the twenty-two years since that night when his whole world had been shattered.

What if he and Sam hadn’t been so focused on each other? What if they’d been paying more attention to their surroundings?

Could Craig have saved Sam’s life?

He didn’t know because it all had happened so fast.

The door burst open, and two men had charged into the restaurant with guns drawn, already shooting as they ran. The guys at the next table hardly had time to react. One of them tried to stand and went down in a hail of bullets. Another one collapsed in his chair. And the third fell to the side, hitting Mom as she screamed in horror.

People all over the confined space were crying out and hitting the floor. But the chaos around Craig had hardly registered. His total attention was focused on Sam, who had been sitting closer to the scene of disaster.

He’d made a strangled sound and had fallen forward, his head hitting the table as blood spread across the crisp white cloth. His chest had been a mass of pain that Craig felt as though it were his own body on fire.

He’d leaped out of his seat, charging around the table to his brother’s side, slipping from his father’s grasp as he reached for Sam, struggling to maintain the fading connection between them. Panic rose inside him, and he’d clutched at his brother with his hand and with his mind.

Sam, don’t leave me.

Craig?

Sam. I can’t hear you, Sam.

I...can’t...

Those were his last memories of his brother. He had started screaming then, his cries drowning out the sound of a siren approaching.

His father’s arms had folded him close, protecting him from harm. But the harm was already done.

Sam was gone, vanished as though he had never been—leaving an aching gap in Craig’s soul.

Despair and anger raged inside the boy who lived. But even at the age of eight, Craig knew that he would find out who had killed his brother and avenge his death.



Chapter One

The light from the computer screen gave a harsh cast to Craig Branson’s angular features, yet he couldn’t conceal the feeling of elation surging inside himself.

He’d only been eight when his twin brother had been cruelly ripped away from him, but on that terrible day, he’d vowed that he would find the killers and bring them to justice. Now, finally, he had a lead on one of the shooters in a gangland assassination twenty-two years ago.

The restaurant where crime boss Jackie Montana and two of his men had been gunned down had been full of witnesses. Many of the patrons had identified the killers from their mug shots. They were two hired hit men named Joe Lipton and Arthur Polaski who had taken jobs all over the U.S.

Although the cops knew the assassins’ names, the men fled the scene and disappeared from the face of the earth. Now Craig knew why.

Unable to sit still, he stood and strode out of his office, then paced into the hall of the brick ranch house where he’d lived in Bethesda, Maryland, for the past few years.

It was in an upscale neighborhood just outside the nation’s capital, the perfect place for the career he’d started planning even before Sam’s funeral. He would make sure he was tough enough, smart enough and well trained enough to find his brother’s killers. To that end he’d graduated from college at George Washington University, then enlisted in the army and gone to officer-candidate school right after basic training. From there he got his first choice of assignments, the military intelligence service. After learning everything he could about investigative techniques, he returned to civilian life and started his own detective agency.

When his dad died nine months after Mom, he inherited all the money he’d ever need—if you considered his unassuming lifestyle. He had no family. No wife and children, because he knew he was lacking something that most people took for granted—the ability to connect with others on a deep, personal level. He craved those things with a fierce sense of loss because he’d had them with Sam. When his brother had been ripped from him, his anchor to the human race had been severed.

Although that was a pretty dramatic way to put it, he understood the concept perfectly. Other people formed close friendships and loving relationships. He’d never been able to manage either, although he thought he faked it pretty well. He had friends. He’d had physically satisfying affairs with women, but he had always known that marrying one of them would mean cheating her out of the warmth and closeness she deserved.

Failing that, he’d focused on his work, partly because it was intensely rewarding to put bad guys away and partly because it was a means to an end.

He would find who had killed his brother, and he would make sure they would pay for what they had done.

He’d traveled around the U.S., and he maintained contacts with police departments all over the country. One of those contacts had just paid off big-time.

He walked back to his desk, activated the printer and made a copy of the report that had come in from a lieutenant named Ike Broussard in the New Orleans P.D. According to the detective, the body of one of the men who had shot up that restaurant, Arthur Polaski, had just turned up dead on private property outside the city. The local police had identified him by dental records, and the murder weapon was with him.

A very neat package. Maybe too neat.

Craig skimmed the report again. Polaski was beyond his reach, but that didn’t mean there would be no justice for Sam. The hit man hadn’t been operating on his own. Every indication was that he’d been working for a local New Orleans bigwig named John Reynard.

As a boy, Craig had focused on bringing Polaski and Lipton to justice. But as he’d matured, he’d come to understand that the shooters were just hired thugs working for someone who wanted a rival crime boss dead. Now Polaski had led Craig to John Reynard.


Craig worked into the evening, collecting information on his quarry. Finally, when he saw that it was almost ten, he got up and stretched, then fixed himself a ham-and-cheese sandwich, which he took back to the computer, along with a bottle of beer. One advantage of living alone was that he didn’t have to stick to regular meal times, eat at the table or stop work while he fueled up. Once he knew about Reynard, it was easy to find a boatload of information on the man. He was in his early sixties and owned an import-export business in New Orleans, probably a front for drug smuggling. But the cops apparently didn’t look into his company too carefully, undoubtedly because Reynard was very generous with his bribes and also contributed significant amounts to local charities. Public record presented him as an upstanding citizen, although it was interesting that two of his former wives had died while married to him.

Craig took a swallow of beer as he came to an intriguing piece of information. Reynard was about to tie the knot again. In the society pages of the Times-Picayune, there were pictures of him with his bride-to-be at several charity events. She was a very lovely blonde woman named Stephanie Swift who looked to be half the age of the man she was going to marry.

Craig shook his head. He could see why Reynard was attracted to the woman. But what did she see in him?

As Craig studied her wide-set eyes, her narrow nose, her nicely shaped lips and the blond hair that fell in waves to her shoulders, he felt an unexpected jolt of awareness. Something about her drew him, and he struggled to dismiss the feeling of attraction to her. He didn’t want to like her. What kind of a woman would marry a lowlife like Reynard? Could it be that she was too stupid or unaware to understand what kind of man her fiancé was? Or maybe she was attracted to his money, and she didn’t care what the man was really like.

He made a snorting sound, then warned himself to stay objective. That usually wasn’t a problem for him, but apparently it was with Ms. Swift, and letting himself feel anything for her would be a big mistake.

With another shake of his head, he clicked away from a smiling picture of her with Reynard and went back to her dossier. Apparently she came from a family that had been prominent in the city. But the Swifts must have fallen on hard times because now she spent her days in the dress shop that she owned in the French Quarter.

Well, she’d be able to give up that business and get back to her society lifestyle once she married Reynard.

But maybe in the meantime she’d be useful to Craig. What if he got to know her before he made a move on Reynard? Yes, that might be the way to go.

* * *

THE BELL OVER the shop door jingled, and Stephanie Swift looked up. It was a delivery man, carrying a long cardboard box. When she saw the logo on the package, she stiffened, but she kept her voice pleasant as she spoke to the deliveryman.

“Thanks so much.”

He nodded to her as he set the package down on the counter and left her Royal Street shop.

Before the bell stopped jingling again, her assistant, Claire Dupree, came out of the back room, where she’d been unpacking merchandise that had arrived from New York that morning. Claire was a pretty, dark-haired young woman who wanted to get into fashion, and she’d offered to work for Stephanie at minimum wage for the chance to learn the business. She was a quick study, and Stephanie had come to rely on her.

“You’ve been expecting your wedding dress. Is that it?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Claire eyed the box. “I’m dying to see it.”

“We’ll open it in the back room,” Stephanie answered, struggling to sound enthusiastic. She’d known all along that John Reynard was the wrong man for her. Or she’d known that perhaps there was no right man, given the way she failed to connect with anyone on a truly intimate level. But she’d held out hope for...something more.

Then fate had overtaken her hopes.

Still, she wasn’t going to let on to her assistant that she had doubts about her upcoming wedding. She was too private a person to talk about her secret worries. And she couldn’t shake the nagging impression that it might be dangerous to reveal her state of mind to anyone. Besides, even if she weren’t marrying John Reynard out of love, maybe it would turn out okay.

That was what she told herself, even when she feared she was heading for disaster. Too bad she was stuck with the bargain she’d made.

“Should I open the box?” Claire called from the next room.

“I’ll be right there,” she answered, then took a couple of deep breaths as she looked around the shop that had been the major focus of her life for the past two years. It was feminine and nicely decorated, a showplace where women could relax while they browsed the dresses and evening outfits that Stephanie imported from designers on the East Coast and Europe.

She’d always dressed well and loved fashion, but her interest morphed from an avocation into a business when her father had given her the bad news about his gambling debts.

She’d wanted to scream at him, but she hadn’t bothered raging about his lack of regard for anyone but himself. The criticism would just roll off his back like rain off a yellow slicker.

Instead, she’d taken her sense of style and the money that her mother had left her and bought a small shop in the French Quarter, a shop that had done well until a downturn in the city’s business cycle had put her in jeopardy.

She stepped into the back room and found Claire talking on her cell phone. When she saw Stephanie, she clicked off at once.

“Sorry. I was just checking in with Mom.”

“Sure,” Stephanie answered, distracted. She knew that Claire’s mother was living in a nursing home and that her daughter spoke to her frequently.

Taking a pair of scissors, she began to carefully open the dress box. The top came off, revealing layers of tissue paper. Beneath them was an ivory-colored sleeveless gown decorated with seed pearls and delicate lace. She’d seen it at a wedding outlet in New York and had used her professional capacity to order it at the wholesale price.

“Beautiful,” Claire breathed as she touched the delicate silk fabric.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you try it on? I can help you with the buttons up the back.”

“Not now.”

Stephanie slipped the dress onto a hanger, then turned away to put it on the rack in back of her, where it dangled like a headless hanging victim.

She winced, wishing she hadn’t thought of that image.

Of course, that wasn’t the only thing she wished. What if she’d never met John Reynard? What if her shop hadn’t taken that downturn? What if she met a man who could connect with her in ways that she could only imagine?

She made a disgusted sound. As if that was going to happen.

“What?” Claire asked.

“Nothing. I’m not really feeling well. Do you mind if I get out of here for a few hours?”

Claire gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, no. You’ve got that reception with John this evening.”

Stephanie felt a wave of anxiety sweep over her. She’d put the reception out of her mind, but now she knew what had been making her feel unsettled—even before the dress had arrived. “Lord, I forgot all about that.”

“You’d better go home and rest. You don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Right.” Once again, she wished that she’d never met John Reynard. Wished that he hadn’t listened to her dad’s sob story, then stepped in to pay her debts—and Dad’s. But she’d taken his money because her father had begged her to let John Reynard handle their problems. And at the time, it had seemed the only way out. She’d been willing to let her shop go under. She could always find a job with someone else, but that wouldn’t work out so well for Dad. He’d lose the house—his last tie to the luxurious past that the family had enjoyed. And she’d known deep down that would kill him.


If she were the cause of that, her guilt would be too great for her to bear. Which was the irony of this situation. She’d never really felt close to her parents, yet she was compelled to make sure her father ended his days in the manner to which he was accustomed. Probably because she’d never felt like a dutiful daughter—and Dad had made sure she understood that.

Claire’s voice broke into her troubled thoughts.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.” She thought for a moment. “If Mrs. Arlington calls to ask about her ball gown, tell her it hasn’t come in yet.”

“Of course. Don’t trouble yourself about it,” Claire repeated.

Stephanie nodded, wishing she could really relax and stop worrying about her future.