Eve’s Wedding Knight

chuckled in companionable agreement.

But as they started back down the dune together, under the cover of darkness Jake was frowning. The fact that his partner had made a success of his marriage when so many agents’ relationships failed had always been a mystery to him. Now, it seemed like one it might be important for him to solve.

“Seriously,” he said when they were slogging through the sand, making their way back to the side road where they’d parked the van. “Isn’t that what women want? Flowers, gifts… jewelry?”

Birdie threw him a look. “You really don’t know much about women, do you?”

“That comes as a surprise to you? It’s pretty obvious I don’t know what it takes to make a woman happy. It’s pretty obvious you do. So?”

Birdie hunched his shoulders and muttered uncomfortably. “Hell-don’t put this on me. I’m no expert on women in general. Anyway, there’s no such thing as ‘women in general.’ Far as I can see, they’re all different. One thing I have noticed, though…”

He paused, and Jake prodded, “Yeah?” Birdie turned to face him. “Seems to me, when it comes to gifts, it’s not the cost or what it is that matters, it’s how she feels about the giver. Bottom line? She loves you, she’ll love the gift.”

“Oh, come on.”

Birdie shrugged and walked on. “Okay, maybe there are some women, all they care about is money-there’re men like that, so why not women? But the ones that matter? Why do you suppose mothers go ape over plaster of Paris handprints and cards made out of macaroni? A kid brings his mom a handful of wilted dandelions, she cries every time. Guaranteed.”

“Yeah, but that’s her kid. That’s different. For us-”

“Same principle applies. Hey-I gave Margie a Weedwacker for her birthday once. She was so happy, she cried.”

“Yeah, but that’s Margie. You got a genuine saint.”

Birdie laughed. “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

“You ask me, I think you got the last one, partner.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” Birdie’s head swiveled toward him, and Jake could feel the speculation in his eyes even if he couldn’t see it. “And even if it were true, not everybody wants a saint. Ever think about that? For instance, would you?”

Jake didn’t say anything. But he was thinking about a certain battered and barefoot bride reeking of garbage and drunk on champagne who could never be called a saint.

Chapter 9

Eve really hadn’t known what to expect; although she didn’t know much about Dr. Matthew Shepherd, she was fairly sure he wasn’t really a practicing G.P., at least not in Savannah, Georgia.

But as it turned out, she’d reckoned without the resources of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Dr. Shepherd’s offices had been set up in a busy, modern medical complex not far from the hospital, where she’d spent her first two nights as a Bureau undercover informant, and not even the most suspicious and critical eye could have found anything to suggest he hadn’t been in residence there since the day the complex opened.

Quite a few heads turned as the white stretch limo wove its way through the parking lot and eased to a stop at the main entrance. People walking by on their way in and out of the building tried hard to look without seeming to as Sergei, six and a half feet tall and built like Arnold Schwarzenegger, emerged from the driver’s seat and walked around to open the passenger door.

They must wonder who in the world I am, Eve thought as she took Sergei’s gloved hand and allowed him to help her out of the car. Exiled royalty? Rock star? Or more likely, just somebody with wa…ay too much money. The possibilities didn’t exactly amuse her, but they did provide distraction from her quickening pulse and the nervous knots accumulating in her stomach.

She paused in a breezeway to check the directory. “I’m not sure where it is-he just moved here recently,” she explained to Sergei, waiting impassively at her shoulder. It had occurred to her that he would almost certainly report to Sonny the fact that she’d had to look up the location of her own doctor’s offices. “Oops-there it is.” She pointed to the letters that spelled out Matthew Shepherd, General Practice, with a suite number on the ground floor, then turned her whole body so she could look Sergei in the eye. “I’m sure I’ll be okay from here on, if you need to go and park the car.”

He stared back at her, unblinking. “The car will wait.”

Damn. What was he going to do, follow her right into the exam room? She drew a resigned breath.

God, she felt nervous; her teeth all but chattered. Why, because somewhere in this place, only a few doors away, now, Jake would be waiting for her? Because in a few more minutes, for the first time in more than a week she’d be seeing him face-to-face? What was the matter with her? Why was she like this, scared as a virgin bride on her wedding night?

Ah-there it was, the door, like all the other doors, with a plaque like all the other plaques, identifying this as the office of Dr. Matthew Shepherd, General Practice. Eve pushed open the door and went in, Sergei trudging right behind her.

Maybe that’s what it is, she thought-just the idea of the doctor’s office. She hated going to the doctor-always had. Her supposedly annual checkup was an ordeal she dreaded, and usually managed to postpone at least a few months past the due date.

This doctor’s office was like any other she’d ever visited, down to the last detail-a huge lighted tank filled with tropical fish along one wall, a child-sized table littered with children’s books and play blocks in one corner, tweed- covered chairs and racks filled with well-thumbed copies of News-week, Woman’s Day, Reader’s Digest and’ Sports Illustrated. From the other side of a counter a cheery and efficient-looking receptionist greeted her and invited her to “sign in” on a roster attached to a clipboard, then please take a seat. She then looked around Eve at Sergei and said, “May I help you?”

Sergei’s cold blue eyes swept the waiting room, narrowly scrutinized its only other occupant, a burly man in a plaid wool shirt-jacket and an Atlanta Braves baseball cap who was deeply engrossed in Sports Illustrated. “I’ll be back,” he rumbled, and turned and walked out of the office.

The receptionist waited until the door had closed completely. Then, eyes sparkling with unmistakable amusement, she murmured, “Did he really say that?”

Eve let go of a breath of relieved laughter. “I’m afraid so.” The man in the baseball cap lowered his magazine and winked at her, and her mouth popped open with surprise as she recognized Jake’s partner, Agent Poole.

Before she could say a word, however, the receptionist pointed to a door next to the counter and said quietly, “You can come on back.”

Eve’s heart pounded beneath the weight of her collar as she reached for the knob and turned it. Would he be there waiting for her, she wondered, just on the other side of the door?

But when she opened the door and walked through, into the corridor beyond, it was the receptionist who met her. She identified herself as Agent Franco, then led Eve down one hallway, around a corner and into another, past several closed doors and finally ushered her into a large exam room.

“I’ll take that collar,” Agent Franco said in a brisk but not unfriendly tone as she followed her in and closed the door.

Numbly, Eve undid the fastenings and handed it over.

The crushing weight of her disappointment was an eye-opener. It also both appalled and humiliated her. What had she been thinking? When had she forgotten, if indeed she’d ever really realized before, the fact that it wasn’t simply Jake Redfield who wanted Sonny brought to justice? This wasn’t Jake’s operation, it was the FBI’s. What had given her the notion that it was…somehow personal?

And the worst of it was, though she didn’t want to, she still had to ask. “Is Jake-I mean, Agent Redfield…?” She stopped, cheeks flaming.

Agent Franco was speaking to the pocket of her uniform. “We’re clear,” she murmured, then nodded at Eve. “Just have a seat.” She went out, carrying the collar.