Eve’s Wedding Knight

“There now-I’m all set.” She turned, brandishing the champagne bottle by its foil-wrapped neck in one hand, the two wineglasses by their stems in the other. “Now, all I need’s mah man. Where is he, dahling, do you know?”

That attempt at whimsy was lost on Mirabella, who had an unpredictable sense of humor at the best of times. She flushed furiously and bit out, “The men are supposed to be dressing in the parlor-and by the way, who are those guys, anyway? They look more like bodyguards than groomsmen. Anyway, that’s across the garden. Follow the walkway that goes alongside the rectory-door’s at the far end. And I swear, if you mess up that dress-”

Eve interrupted her sister’s scolding with laughter; never had she felt so deliciously wicked. “Will you stop worrying about my dress? How do you suppose they got along in olden times, with all those corsets, laces and petticoats? Didn’t you ever see the movie, Tom Jones?” She waltzed toward the door.

“Eve, you are impossible!”

“So I’ve been told!”

Her exit line was spoiled somewhat by the closed door and the fact that both her hands were full, but she shifted the champagne bottle to the crook of her arm and managed to get herself through the door without spilling or dropping anything. In the dim, empty hallway with the high stone walls of the church soaring around her, she paused to get her bearings.

Best if she bypassed the sanctuary, narthex and front entrance,. she supposed. She could hear organ music coming from the sanctuary-the organist was practicing, it sounded like-and from somewhere nearby the sounds of muffled voices, the scuff of footsteps. She turned right, doing her best to tiptoe in her high-heeled shoes and voluminous skirts, laughter and mischief tickling her nose like an incipient sneeze. Even as a child, Eve had taken impish delight in being naughty.

Outside in the garden she paused again. Like most Southern gardens, this one was deeply shaded by huge live oaks and magnolia trees. In the springtime it would be a breathtaking riot of azaleas, rhododendrons and flowering dogwood, but now, in early autumn, it was an Eden of cool, quiet greens. On the other side, through the dark lace of foliage, she could see late-afternoon sun shimmering on the stone walls and leaded windows of the rectory. The air was warm, and alive with the songs of birds. In that pause, in that one brief moment, she thought how happy, how lucky she was and how right she’d been to have chosen this time and this place for her wedding.

It wasn’t unusual for Eve to take such moments to reflect on her good fortune. She was a happy person by nature, and besides that, she’d witnessed enough of the world’s misfortunes to know how richly she herself had been blessed. First with a safe, if somewhat boring and conventional childhood, followed by a relatively angst-free adolescence, thanks to parents who’d managed somehow to nurture without smothering, during which she’d been allowed-even encouraged-to dream big dreams. And thanks to a career she’d blundered into through roughly equal parts charm, talent, perseverance and luck, she’d had most of those dreams fulfilled. She’d wanted to travel the world, have marvelous adventures… explore oceans and mountaintops, fly an airplane, ride a camel! And she’d done all those things, plus so many more, she couldn’t have listed them all if she tried. And now the icing on the cake: just when her biological clock had begun chiming its wake-up call, she’d met the perfect man.

Oh, yes… they were going to make beautiful babies, she and Sonny. How could they not? Not only was her fiance tall, strong and healthy; handsome as all get-out and rich as Croesus-not that that mattered to Eve, since she’d done quite well in the financial department herself-but he was witty and loaded with charisma. Plus, he treated Eve the way she expected to be treated, which was very well indeed. And he wasn’t too bad in the sack, either.

A warm little shiver of anticipation rippled through her as she hiked up the skirts of her bridal gown with one hand and hurried through the garden.

Really-how could she be so lucky? So far, life had been good to her-so good that when restless little doubts and vague uncertainties did creep into her thoughts, she instantly felt guilty and ungrateful, and banished them with almost superstitious assurances to whichever Fates might be listening that she didn’t mean it! How could she, who had so much to be thankful for? How dared she still feel that there must be something… more? That something of vital importance was missing from her life-if only she could figure out what it was!

But… there were no such clouds upon her spirits now as she ran lightly down the shaded paths of the lovely old garden that separated the church from the rectory, a bride on her way to a wholly improper and deliciously naughty prenuptial tryst with her groom. She felt sexy and mischievous, and as full of effervescence as the champagne bottle she carried in her hand. Through the live oaks and banks of azaleas she flitted, the skirts of her gown lifting and floating like the wings of a giant butterfly, the promise of laughter on every breath.

The flash of movement on the video monitor caught Special FBI Agent Jake Redfield’s attention.

“What’s this?” he muttered aloud to himself as he leaned forward to adjust the zoom. A moment later he sat back with a flat “Ah!” of recognition, and although the blushing bride was not the party he was supposed to be watching, for a few moments he allowed himself to track her progress through the church gardens just for the sheer enjoyment of it.

Though it wasn’t anything like enjoyment he felt when he thought about the likes of Sonny Cisneros with a woman like that. What was it, he wondered, that made a slimeball like Cisneros so damned attractive to women? Was it the money? The power? Except that this woman-Eve Waskowitz-didn’t strike him as the type to be susceptible to any of those things. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think so.

Watching her like this-though he was well aware that no one looking at him would ever guess it-made him feel like smiling. Reed slender she was, buoyant as a ballerina but without the dancer’s studied grace. There was something artless about her, something wild and carefree, almost spritelike, that made it hard to believe she could be as old as he knew her to be. According to his information, about to turn forty-three. On All Saint’s Day, which seemed fitting, in some obscure way.

But what in the hell was the lovely Miss Waskowitz, soon to be Mrs. Cisneros, doing flitting about in the church gardens little more than half an hour before she was scheduled to become the wife of one of the most powerful crime bosses west of the Mississippi? And as much as he’d have liked to indulge his curiosity in regards to that question, Jake doubted it had any relevance to the reason he was spending taxpayers’ money sitting in front of a Savannah church in a surveillance van.

He was there for one reason, and that was to keep a watchful eye on Sonny Cisneros. If it was the last thing he ever did, he was going to bring the man and his organization down. Bring them down hard. Bring them down for good. It was more than just a job to him. His superiors knew it, too, and had threatened more than once to take him off the case. An agent who let a case get too personal was no help to the Bureau and a danger to himself-he knew that. The Bureau’s patience and his time were both running out-he knew that, too.

He’d had high hopes for Hal Robey. The man had had something on the Cisneros syndicate; there was no doubt about that in Jake’s mind at all. Something big enough to send Sonny’s thugs after Robey in a very determined way, even to the point of threatening the man’s ex-wife and two little kids. When Robey had died before he could hand over his information, Jake had figured he’d reached a dead end. But then, almost immediately thereafter to find out that Cisneros planned to marry Hal Robey’s ex-wife’s sister-no, no, coincidences like that didn’t just happen. Not in the real world. Not in Jake’s world. If Cisneros was still hanging around that family, there had to be a reason for it. There was something there. All Special Agent Redfield had to do was find out what it was.

At the intersection with the walkway that ran along the side of the rectory building, Eve paused once more. Several of the leaded casement windows were open, and she could hear the murmur of voices issuing forth on the warm autumn breezes. Her heart beat faster as she turned left, tiptoing now, making for the door at the far end.

The voices were directly overhead-men’s voices. And was that…? Yes, it was her fiance’s voice. Sonny had such a loud, brassy voice, like a seventies Vegas playboy; she’d know it anywhere. But dammit all, he wasn’t alone.

Her lips formed a little pout of disappointment. Why hadn’t she foreseen the fact that the two “groomsmen” would be with him? Sergei and Picky-and Mirabella was quite right, they were Sonny’s bodyguards, and why not?