Scott cast a concerned eye over Jeannie. She was way too calm considering all that had happened. He knew this was her way of coping -- finding something else to occupy her. So, she turned to her nurturing instincts. It was a way he wanted to encourage, because it meant she was taking care of him.

The next step would be loving him. He could wait -- he'd waited this long.

He pointed at the clipboard. "Finish up what you can, and I'll have someone drive you home."

"No. I'll be fine. I drove. We'll be fine." Jeannie smiled down at Little Bits, still asleep at her mother's side.

"No. One of the security guards can follow you home. It's not that far. You should know as well as anyone that New Orleans is a rough town at night, especially in the Quarter."

Scott refused to budge on this issue. Charles's death, in Jeannie's home, at this point in time, was too coincidental. Until the autopsy showed some freakish, but natural, ischemic attack, Scott wasn't allowing Jeannie to go anywhere without someone watching her. He'd be calling in a bunch of favors, but she was worth protecting with all the resources he had available.

"Okay. Whatever you say."

The mulish look on Jeannie's face indicated she was humoring him and that he wouldn't have it so easy the next time he tried to run roughshod over her. He was lucky she was too tired and grief-stricken to fight for independence tonight.

'Wednesday, 9:00 a.m.'

Jeanette lay awake.

Brigitte played in the other room.

She'd kept her daughter home because of the disturbing night they'd spent and out of respect for Charles. Sister understood and said she'd send Brigitte's work home with the neighbor's son from across the courtyard. With only two more weeks of school remaining, Brigitte couldn't afford to lag behind.

The phone rang, startling Jeanette out of her lethargy.

"Hello?" She held her breath, fearing it might be Rutherford.

"Jeannie? You okay?" It was Scott! "You sound sort of far away, lost-like."

"I'm fine. Have you heard anything?"

"That's why I'm calling."

Scott exhaled. The breath came across the digitally clear line. He sounded ...

what? Disgusted? Angry? Both?

"They aren't doing an autopsy."

"What? Why not?" Jeanette strained to remember her course in legal medicine

which all technicians were required to take to get licensed. She was sure unexplained deaths of healthy, young people were always autopsied by the coroner.

"No explanation. The body was sent to the hospital morgue with papers issuing its release to a funeral home. The only good news is the next-of-kin hasn't been reached yet to finalize the burial arrangements. So, I called Charles's law office and used my credentials to get the brother's number in Atlanta. Then I called him."

"And?"

"And I asked him to authorize a private autopsy."

"And did he say yes?"

"Yep. My buddy who is a pathology resident and I are gonna do it tonight

after everyone else goes home. We'll release the body tomorrow, early, before the hospital wakes up."

"Scott? Are you doing anything illegal?"

"No. Andrew did have the power of attorney for Charles and is his Executor.

He was happy to sign the autopsy consent. In fact, he would've called the New Orleans Parish Coroner to complain, but I talked him out of it."

"Then why all the secrecy?"

"Let me ask you this. Why didn't the Coroner do the legally required autopsy?"

Jeanette's mind reached a horrifying conclusion, one which she was sure Scott

had reached the night before. She hadn't seen it, because she hadn't wanted

to. Charles must have been murdered and someone didn't want the police to find out.

"Scott, be careful. I don't want to lose you, too."

"You won't. Trust me."

"I do." 'With my life.'

"Stay home. Little Bits there with you?"

"Yes, I kept her home."

"Good. I've contacted an old Marine buddy of Paul's and mine. He owns a security firm. He's going to arrange bodyguards for when I'm unavailable."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yes. I wouldn't do it if I thought it wasn't."

Jeanette heard the tension, the worry in his voice. She decided not to argue

with him. Truth be told, she would be glad to have someone here.

"Why aren't you coming home? Are you still at work? You need to sleep and

eat sometime." Especially if he was going to work on his night off -- performing an autopsy.

"I'm at the airport. Andrew is flying in. We're going to his brother's apartment

and look for anything that might help us. Andrew works for the Center for Disease Control, Jeannie. He wants to know what killed his brother as much as we do. Try to think what else Charles had to eat -- something we didn't. If you think of it, isolate it from the rest of your food. Better yet. Get food delivered until we figure this out."

"You think he ate something here that caused his death?"

She trembled at the thought. Covering the phone with her hand, she shouted,

"Brigitte! Don't eat anything until Mommy says so. Uncle Scott is worried about something being bad."

Turning back to the phone, she asked, "Scott? What could it be? Brigitte had

cereal and milk this morning. Should I be worried?"

"No, darlin'. It has to be something else. You'll think of it. Just calm down.

Tony will help you. This is what he does for a living -- provide security. Just let him walk you through last evening. Okay?"

"Okay. When will I see you?"

"I'll be bringing Andrew over to your place before I go to do the autopsy."

"Fine. Be careful."

"I will. You too."

Jeanette heard the dial tone before she could reply. All she could do now was wait -- and figure out what in her house could've killed Charles.

Realization hit her in the face. If her emotions hadn't been so befuddled with Charles's death, she would have seen it sooner. If his cause of death was in her house, then it had been meant for her -- not Charles. Scott understood this. He was doing all these things not just to find evidence to lead to Charles's killer, but to protect her from being the next victim.

"Mommy. There's a man at the door. He said he knew Daddy and that Uncle Scott sent him." Brigitte's excited voice reached shrill heights. "And he's got a gun."

Jeanette threw her covers off and pulled on a chenille robe as she ran from the room. Standing on the other side of the locked screen door was the biggest man she'd ever seen.

"Hi. Jeannie?" His white teeth showed brightly against his coal black skin. No Creole blood in this Louisiana boy. "I'm Tony Fortier." He held his private investigator's license up against the screen. "Scott tell you why I'm here?"

"Yes. Please come in." Jeanette unlocked the screen door.

"Momma? Can I talk to him about Daddy? Please?" Brigitte looked wary.

Jeanette hadn't talked about Paul much since his death, not even with Scott. Although she'd never actually kept Scott from speaking to her daughter about him, she hadn't encouraged it either. It dawned on her that her all-consuming grief had her locking Paul away in her heart and mind oblivious to the needs and wants of all those around her. First, Scott's interest in her, now her daughter's need to know the father she barely remembered.

What a self-centered ass she'd been.

"Sure, honey. You can even pull out the scrapbooks and look at the pictures of Daddy." She smiled at Tony. "I believe there are some of his Marine unit. Maybe you can find Mr. Fortier in them."

"I'll be happy to look at the pictures." Tony allowed himself to be led into the living room. "You go ahead and get dressed for the day, ma'am. I'll take the watch."

"Thank you." Jeanette smiled, then turned toward her bedroom. At the door, she stopped and turned back. "Mr. Fortier?"

"It's Tony, ma'am."

"It's Jeannie, Tony. I'm sure that's all you heard from Paul and Scott, so you might as well use it, too."

Tony's face was solemn, then it tightened into something fierce and dangerous. "No one will hurt Paul's widow and his child while I'm around. There are others coming to help. Paul was our commander. He saved our hides so many times I can't begin to tell you. It's the least we can do. You just go gussy yourself up. Let me do the worrying today."

Jeanette nodded, then hurried from the room before he could see her tears.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

'Wednesday, 11:00 a.m., Charles Carter's apartment'