Eve’s Wedding Knight

Calhoun, Jess and Sammi June home, and J.J. and Amy Jo had gone along for the ride. He’d probably stay an hour or so at least, visiting and talking business with his brothers.

The sun was going down in a rosy-gold blaze behind the leafless woods. A chill was in the air-there would be frost, the weatherman said, by morning. Which meant no more fresh tomatoes, Mirabella thought, and felt a pang of sadness for the passing of the season and the coming of winter.

“She’s probably not-” she started to say, just as Summer did the same. They both broke off, laughing. Summer recovered first and finished it quickly, “I’m sure she’s not…you know. Cheating on Sonny. That would be too much, even for Evie.”

“Sonny does strike me as a dangerous person to cross,” Mirabella conceded. Then, suddenly angry, “But since when has Evie ever balked at danger? You know how reckless and impulsive she is. She just…does things. Sometimes I think she does things just because they’re dangerous.”

“You know what Mom said.” Summer’s murmur was placating. A troubled frown puckered her forehead. “That Evie does those things because she is afraid.”

Mirabella waved that impatiently aside. “I know, and I find it hard to believe. What’s she ever had to be afraid of? Everything’s always come so damned easy for her.”

“Oh, well-I wouldn’t say that. Evie’s worked hard to get where she is. Filmmaking is a tough field.”

“Okay, but the point is, she’s made it-how many people can say that? Don’t tell me it’s all hard work-a lot of it is pure luck. Even she will tell you that. And think back when we were kids. She always got good grades without even trying, won every contest she ever entered, always had boys crazy about her. Everything she wanted she got.”

“How do you know? You don’t know what she wants. She hasn’t got what we’ve got.” Mirabella had no answer for that. After a moment, Summer said thoughtfully, “I don’t think it’s that things come easier for her. Things come to everybody. Evie knows how to grab on to them when they come her way.”

“That’s it,” Mirabella said, still angry. “She grabs. Evie’s greedy, that’s what she is. Greedy for…I don’t know…”

“Life,” said her sister, nodding. “Evie’s greedy for life. That’s what makes her so special. She is special, Bella.”

Mirabella didn’t say anything for a moment or two, because she had a lump in her throat; she hadn’t the faintest idea why.

Riley, the children and the Beatle-dog were coming toward them across the lawn. She cleared her throat. “Well, this time I think she’s bitten off more than she can chew.”

“I’m worried about her, too,” Summer said in a catching voice, turning abruptly to hug her. “But until she’s ready to ask for our help, I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

Mirabella sniffed and whispered miserably, “I know.”

There was a flurry of leave-taking while everyone paid one last visit to the bathroom, traded hugs and goodbyes and promises to call, and then the Mercedes crunched away down the driveway and turned left onto the paved road. Mirabella watched, rubbing her arms against the chill, until she could no longer see the big car’s taillights in the dusk. Then she turned and went back inside.

She walked through the house, turning on a light here, turning one off there, tidying… setting things to rights. It was always a relief to have her home back to normal again. As much as she loved her family, and had come to love Jimmy Joe’s, Mirabella did cherish her space and her privacy. And order. Yes, she did like things to be orderly-organized, planned, everything in its place.

Maybe, she thought with a rare flash of insight, that was what she found hard to take about her oldest sister. Eve-and her life-were so disorderly. Chaotic, tempestuous, impulsive, spontaneous, uninhibited-qualities many found charming, Mirabella knew, but she found them discomfiting. Even alarming.

Feeling indefinably better, she was heading upstairs to check on the condition of the bathrooms when the doorbell rang. Back down the stairs she went, utterly mystified. Peepholes being all but unheard of in her part of the world, Mirabella called through the door, “Who is it?”

There was a pause, and then… “FBI, ma‘am,” said a voice-a man’s voice, and strangely familiar. “Jake Red- Sold-we’ ve spoken on the phone.”

Mirabella threw open the door and stared at the man who stood there on her front porch. She was unable to utter a single word, her heart was pounding so hard.

The first thing she thought was that he didn’t look like an FBI agent. Not at all the way she’d pictured him. He was wearing casual clothes-didn’t all FBI agents wear suits and ties?-and his hair was unruly, with a tendency to stick out in spikes, as if he’d slept on it wrong. He had a long, melancholy face and grave, deep-set eyes and a bad case of five o‘clock shadow.

But he was holding his ID up in front of his chest, holding it into the light where she could see it. She stared at it intently, then back at his face.

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Starr,” he said in his grave voice. “May I come inside? I’d like to talk to you. It’s about your sister.”

Mirabella’s heart lurched. “Summer? But I thought that was over.”

“No, ma‘am. This is about your other sister. Eve.”

“Evie?” said Mirabella faintly. She thought, I was right I was right.

“If you’ll let me come in,” said Agent Redfield, “I’ll explain everything.”

“You want to do what?” Don Coffee shouted. “Are the two of you completely out of your minds?”

Birdie raised his eyebrows in a look that said plainly, Hey, don’t look at me.

Thanks, buddy, Jake thought as he shuffled gamely into the breech. “We believe there’d be a minimum of risk-”

“Have you forgotten,” his supervisor interrupted in a derisive tone, “what happened the last time I authorized an operation involving the use of a private residence? This particular residence? The only thing that saved us from civilian casualties, as I recall, was some quick thinking on the part of a couple of household pets.”

Jake threw up his hands and muttered, “Aw, for Pete’s sake-”

But before he could say more and maybe get himself in real hot water, Birdie interceded, saying diplomatically, “Sir, the difficulties encountered on that operation involved a hurricane. The odds against that happening a second time have got to be…way up there.” Coffee snorted. Birdie glanced at Jake and cleared his throat. “If I’m not mistaken, sir, hurricane season officially ends on the thirtieth of November.”

Coffee muttered something sarcastic about December and blizzards, and Birdie argued that Charleston, South Carolina, didn’t really have all that many blizzards, but by that time Jake had regained control of his temper.

He said patiently, “The difference here is that we have a definite time frame, and we will be on the premises the whole time. We’ll go in there in advance, have the place wired before anybody else gets there. This is a surveillance operation, nothing more. Every move Cisneros makes will be on camera. If he finds what he’s looking for, we wait until he’s clear of the premises before we make a move. If he doesn’t find it, no harm, no foul.” He glared at his supervisor, arms outstretched and eyebrows raised to add an unspoken “Well?”

Coffee glared back at him. Then exhaled and growled, “Redfield, I can think of a dozen things that could go wrong.”

So could Jake, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit it. “We’re going to be there to make sure it doesn’t.”

“There will be children there.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve factored that in. We intend to make every possible provision to ensure their safety.”

Coffee rose and disgustedly sailed a file folder onto his desk. “Ah, damn,” he muttered with a sigh, “I miss the old Mafia. At least they had rules about involving families-wives and kids. These newcomers-the Russians, Asians, Colombians, freelancers-they’re capable of anything. All bets are off.”

Jake and his partner looked at each other. Jake cleared his throat. “Does that mean-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got your authorization. But Redfield, hear this-” and he leaned forward on his hands and