"Just what it sounds like. Day and night for as long as it takes, I'm staying here." Scott looked around. "I can sleep on the couch or bring a sleeping bag and sack out on the floor. Doesn't matter to me. All that counts is your and Little Bits' safety."

"Charles might have something to say about that."

Scott glanced at Jeannie's face. She was teasing him. The little minx.

"Charles won't say nothin'." Scott pulled her into his arms. He bent his head until his lips were mere inches away. "You know what I learned today?"

"No." Jeannie's answer was a mere whisper of sound across his lips.

"I learned that it doesn't pay to give the woman you'd die for too much grieving space." Scott brushed a light kiss over her trembling lips. "I can't wait any longer for you, Jeannie. You could've died today, and I would've died right along with you."

"Scott? What are you saying? I don't understand."

"Of course, you don't. I never told you. You were too busy grieving for Paul

and then trying your wings with city-boy Charles."

"Scott, uh, I..." Jeannie shook her head slightly.

"Shhh, darlin'. You don't have to say anything. Just give yourself a chance to

get used to the idea." Scott feathered another kiss across her lips. "Let me court you. Let me protect you and Little Bits. I 'need' to do that."

Scott held his breath. Hoping he'd not gone too far, too fast.

"You want to court me?"

He nodded.

She touched her lips with trembling fingers. "I, uh, never knew you felt this way. Never dreamed ... What about Charles?" She looked up -- her eyes confused, seeking answers. "What do I say to him?"

"Were you planning on marrying him?"

Scott held his breath. Afraid of her answer. Afraid the answer would kill his dreams.

"Well, no." Jeannie looked away, her cheeks tinged pink.

Scott remembered to breathe as he closed his eyes in relief. Thank God, she

wasn't serious about the man. Brushing her cheek with the back of his finger, he thought at least the conversation was putting some color back into her cheeks. Was she embarrassed? Upset? Mad?

She was silent waiting for an answer. He gave the only one he could. "Then, tell him whatever you want. But I'm letting him know he has competition. It's only fair."

"Right. It's only fair."

She gazed up at him, her eyes reflecting -- relief. Maybe she wanted to ease Charles out of her life and hadn't known how to do it. Well, he'd take whatever edge he could get. By the time Charles was history, he'd be firmly

entrenched. After all he had two things on his side -- he'd been her husband's best friend and Little Bits wanted him as a daddy.

Scott smiled. "Thank you, darlin'. We'll get through this. And, I know how to

protect my own."

Then he took her lips in a deep and satisfying kiss.

'I'll keep her safe, Paul. I promise.'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Byron Rutherford was pissed.

The man whom he blamed for his state of mind sat across from him -- making excuses.

"Gee, doc. You said to get the bag with the papers and to deal with Flower." Walter squirmed in the leather chair, his leather pants making squeaking noises with each movement. "Roth just did what came naturally."

"Except he got caught." Rutherford enunciated each word slowly.

"You can't blame me for that. He'd never been caught before. Damn, the man had a string of successful kills. Who knew Flower could take out a stone cold killer that way?" Walter glared across the desk. "Besides, there's always the back-up plan."

"Back-up plan?" Rutherford sat up. His angry eyes sought and held Walter's. "What back-up plan?"

"Roth always has a back-up." Walter sat back and smiled. "She'll never testify against him. No testimony. No conviction. Maybe he'll get a little assault and battery thrown at him, but he didn't have a weapon. So, light time. And the kicker is they can't hang those other cases on him either -- they'd use her to show a modus operandi -- no Flower, no connection to the other crimes. Roth thinks of everything."

"You didn't answer my question, you cretin! What exactly is this back-up plan?"

"Well, he didn't tell me specifics, mind you. Just that she would die some time soon if he failed. It would be like fate, Roth said."

"Great." Rutherford threw his hands up in the air and looked to the ceiling. "She's still out there digging up evidence on our operation, and we have to depend on some low-life, murdering thug's idea of fate as a back-up plan." Rutherford lowered his head to glare at Walter, then slammed his fist on the desk. He'd have liked to put it in Walter's face, but he needed the man to do the dirty work. "This operation is worth millions of dollars, Walter. I've made you a wealthy man. Fate is too vague for me at this point in time. Go talk to this Roth and find out what in the hell the back-up plan is. Got me?"

"Sure, doc." Walter stood and backed out of the room. "I know just how to do it. Be back in a few."

Before Walter could make his escape, Rutherford called out, "And after you find out what the back-up plan is, see about getting rid of Alex -- permanently. He's become greedy and careless. A loose end, and you know how I hate those."

"Yeah, doc. I know." Walter tipped his hand to his head in a mockery of a salute and left.

Walter left the New Orleans Police Department lock-up.

The sweltering afternoon heat and humidity blasted him in the face. He shrugged off the blazer, then tore off the tie he'd put on to support his role as Roth's attorney. He'd been lucky that Roth had refused a public defender and insisted on his own lawyer. Walter had passed out a few business cards, authenticated them with a fake driver's license, and he was in. Wouldn't the jailers be amazed when the real legal eagle showed up? He chuckled.

Roth's back-up plan was a doozy. Rutherford would shit a brick. But Walter thought it had a great chance of working -- and no one would be the wiser.

Hemlock. In her allergy capsules. Genius, sheer genius.

Roth had followed Flower for a week, peeping in her windows, going to volleyball games and the like. Then one day he broke into her apartment, in order to doctor something in her place with one of the poisons he carried. He found the capsules in a prescription bottle on her kitchen counter. He dumped them out and injected a few of them with some hemlock.

It was Russian roulette with pills.

Walter laughed out loud, drawing the attention of several cops going into the jail. Waving at them, he yelled, "Just got the joke."

Then he laughed some more. The cops smiled at him and waved back.

Flower's death would mimic a respiratory attack of some sort. One minute breathing, the next dead. Perfect.

Rutherford steepled his fingers, resting his chin on top of them.

"Hemlock. Good choice. I take back all the nasty things I said about your Mr. Roth. He is a genius. An easy, quick and natural-looking death. No way to diagnose it without running a tox screen, and coroners don't normally unless they suspect alcohol or drugs. In this case, they wouldn't."

Walter blew out a breath and visibly relaxed. "I thought so."

"I want you to plan something similar for Alex." Rutherford closed his eyes and rubbed them. "Instead of hemlock, I've got an experimental drug that SRP has nixed because it always causes heart failure when mixed with alcohol." Rutherford opened a locked drawer and pulled out a small bottle of capsules. He handed them to Monnier. "They knew the FDA wouldn't allow human testing on it. Can't count on some idiot not to take his meds with booze. Let's use Alex as a test case, huh?"

"Sounds good. But when and where do you want it done? In a public place? At home? Should I make it look like a sudden death? Or suicide?"

Rutherford hesitated. "Suicide -- definitely. Remorse over murdering Sally. I'll type up and print out a note on the office printer for you to leave with the body." He rocked back in his chair. "And let's make it public. Why don't you take Alex out for a nice dinner -- on me, of course. Then, propose a visit to a local sex club. I believe Alex likes Lady Marmalade's particular style of entertainment. After he has one last night of debauchery, you can slip the stuff into his drink. He always has a drink afterwards." Rutherford's lips twisted into a smile of remembrance. "Swears it ends the evening on a proper note. Chivas with a twist."

"I've seen him do it, boss. I'd say that would be a right nice send off." Walter stood up to leave. "I'll set it up for tonight. No use wasting time."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

'Monday evening, Rock 'N Bowl, South Carrollton Avenue.'

The bowling alley cum jazz club was busy for a Monday. Most of the alleys were filled with happy and, truth-be-told, slight tipsy bowlers jumping up and down at every roll of the ball, no matter if it were a gutter ball or a strike. Amateur night, Jeanette figured. League bowlers would be more serious about their games.

Charles had arranged to meet her and Scott here, because his jazz group had scheduled to play a gig this week in order to warm up for the Jazz Fest. Charles was almost as intense about his music as he was his law practice.

Jeanette sipped white wine. The warm tones of Charles's alto sax solo washed over her, giving her an excuse to close her eyes and relax. She shut out the background noise of balls striking pins, triumphant shouts, and less happy moans. She attempted to shut out thoughts of Scott, whom she thought she knew and now realized she didn't.

Ever since the kiss, she'd reexamined every aspect of her life before and after Paul's death to discover if there had been any clues about Scott's professed feelings for her.

She'd found none, or at least nothing she could specifically put her finger on.

Simply put, he'd always been there.

First, as Paul's best friend.

Later, during the aftermath of Paul's death, as her sole support, a rock of strength and advice.

And lately, as her good friend, helping her to deal with life's ups and downs -providing a daddy figure for Brigitte. He was someone who'd known Brigitte's daddy and could tell her the childhood stories that had died with Paul.

"Jeannie?" Scott's low, rough tones cut through the babble in the club. "Stop worrying it."

She opened her eyes. Scott stared at her, his eyes reflecting understanding and warmth. "Worrying what? I'm just enjoying the music, and wondering what Charles has to tell us."

"Little liar." Scott caressed her face with an intimate look which caused her to blush. "I meant what I said. I won't rush you -- much. It's just that..."

"I know ... it's just that you could've lost me today, and you've been patient long enough." Staring into the wine glass, she blew out a breath, causing little waves to ripple over the surface of the wine. "It's so sudden. I never even thought ... had a glimmer of what you've been feeling. How..."

"How long have I known I loved you? Wanted to make you mine?" Scott took a sip of his beer, then sighed. "From the day Paul and I first met you."

Shocked, Jeanette didn't know what to think, what to say. So long ago -- and he'd never said one thing; never acted out of line at any time. Even during the funeral, he'd touched her, held her, with what she'd interpreted to be friendly compassion. And in the years of grief which followed, he was always there with a strong shoulder to cry on and a compassionate ear. There'd never been one iota of sexual passion in his touch, his eyes.

Or had she missed it? So centered on herself that she'd just plumb missed it.

"Darlin', stop it." Scott leaned across the table and stroked the hands clutching the wine glass in a bone-crunching grip. "You won't find anything in the past."

How had he known what she was thinking? Was he that in tune with her? In the years since Paul's death, she'd never once asked him what he wanted, felt or needed. She'd just used him for her own comfort, her own needs. Shame spread through her. She'd taken him for granted -- and he loved her.

"Jeannie, listen to me. Stop beating yourself up." Scott took the wine glass out of her hands, then grasped them gently.

She looked at him.

"I never let on, because when Paul was alive you were his wife -- and I loved Paul too much to hurt him in any way. Then afterwards, well, you weren't ready."

"And you think I'm ready now?"