Yeah, but sometimes it works against you -- especially when it sends the man into danger.

"You might want to check out the Desire area."

Maggie's suggestion to Evan roused Jeanette from the slippery slope back into depression. She wouldn't worry, just walk the path of righteousness and hope for the best. They had a battle to fight -- and just as Scott meant to hold up his end, she would hold up hers. Sometimes you just had to trust in God, Allah, Karma or Fate to make it all work out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

'Federal Building, New Orleans, 2:00 p.m.'

Andrew and Scott sat on one side of what seemed to be a mile-long conference table in a meeting room of the DEA's offices. On the other side sat representatives of Justice, Customs, DEA, CIA and FBI. Both sides glared at one another.

Scott had never been so pissed.

The same country that had sent him armed to the teeth with all the resources of the United States at his command to win a war he wasn't even sure why they'd fought refused to protect citizens within its own borders.

Well, he would protect his own. Tony was on board for the duration and Jeannie was going to the bayou with Little Bits if he had to hog-tie her to get her there.

What really hashed his grits was they were all thrilled to have a man with his military training and medical knowledge, but they weren't willing to back him up with on-the-ground support -- other than the one agent they already had there, who was a volunteer like himself. And who had no military training and was a woman to boot.

Now, he understood why the other doctor hadn't made it back.

"Dr. Fontenot, you have to understand our predicament," the CIA representative said.

The FBI man at the table picked up his counterpart's thought. "We can't operate within the borders of another sovereign nation."

"That's bullshit. We've gone around and around on this. Let's cut to the chase. You want me to find the evidence of drug trafficking. Once it's found, you'll use all the drug treaties signed in the Western Hemisphere and anywhere else to involve yourself in the business of another sovereign nation, whether they like it or not. Oh, and you'll nail Rutherford and Lopez."

Scott took a breath and unclenched his fists. "But you won't lift a finger to help me get that evidence for you. Never mind that innocent lives are at stake every damn day, both here in New Orleans and abroad in Brazil and anywhere else that One World operates."

Andrew smiled at Scott. "I'd say you summarized the last two hours of bureaucratic BS quite nicely." He glared at the men across the table. "Since we've heard everything you gentlemen can't do, what can you do to help Dr. Fontenot and his contact at San Jacinto camp?"

"We can provide a secure satellite phone. And once you have the information, we might be able to insert a team at a meeting place away from San Jacinto to get you out of there -- as long as it's not in the middle of the wet season," the DEA rep offered.

"Well, that just thrills me to no end," Scott drawled. "Since I will most likely be leaving in the middle of the wet."

The suits started to talk all at once, but shut up when Scott slammed his fist on the table.

"Let me tell you what," Scott whispered so they all had to strain to hear. "I'll get myself in and out of the Pantanal, after all it'll be a swamp in the wet and I know swamps. Y'all just give me that secure satellite phone and a promise of safety in Brasilia after I manage to get me and the other poor sucker who volunteered out. Okay?"

The suits turned to one another. Whatever signal passed among them, Scott couldn't discern, but they all turned to him and nodded.

Scott wondered if he'd ever see the phone, and made a note to ask Tony to set him up with one.

'Medical Center Eye Clinic, 4:30 p.m.'

"I'm going -- and that's that."

Enough was enough, Jeanette thought. Since Charles's death, she'd followed the rules laid down by Scott and all the other alpha males in her life, but tonight she was going to have some downtime -- some freedom from the prison of protection in which they'd swaddled her.

"Jeanette, be reasonable." Tony, her bodyguard 'du jour', sounded almost whiny with his pleading. "The New Orleans' Fair Grounds are just too wide open to protect you without a small platoon of men. And with the Jazz Fest crowds, well, I couldn't even promise maximum coverage."

"Tony -- I'm going." Jeanette stood firm. "Charles's ensemble is playing tonight and dedicating their performance to him. I'm gonna be there, with or without you. So, what's it gonna be?"

"Damn." Tony punched a number on his ever-present cell phone and waited.

If glaring could kill, she'd be on the ground dead. He was that mad. Well, fine, she thought, but she couldn't go on living the way she had been. She missed her daughter -- nightly phone calls did not make up for her little darling's hugs and kisses, sweet-smelling hair and sticky little hands. She hadn't been able to take her nightly stroll to the coffee shop near her apartment for latte. Hell, she couldn't even go to the Med Center cafeteria to eat. Tony or one of the other men guarding her would take her order and bring it to her in the Clinic. Scott was pissed that she was going to work at all. If he had his way, she'd be hidden in an even more fortified prison -- one of bricks and mortar, instead of overly protective men and colleagues.

"He wants to talk to you." Tony held the cell phone out to her. A grim smile told her she didn't want to hear what Scott had to say.

"Scott, I don't care what you say. I'm going."

"Jeannie."

He sounded disappointed. One word in that tone of voice which managed to convey his love and concern all at once and she felt like caving in to his desires.

"Jeannie -- if it means that much to you -- go."

She couldn't believe her ears. There had to be a but; there always was a but.

"'But' please wait for me to get to the Fair Grounds with Andrew and a few

of the others -- okay?"

Jeanette knew a compromise when she heard one -- and she could definitely

live with it. It wasn't one hundred percent freedom, but it was better than staring at the four walls of her apartment.

"Sure -- tell Tony where and when -- and we'll be there." Jeanette handed the

phone back to the obviously crest-fallen guard.

While Tony relayed logistics, Jeanette collected her purse. She was going out!

"So, you did Alex, huh?"

Matthews leaned against a pillar of the Medical Center's main underground

parking garage. Flower's car was two rows away, within sight, but not so much so that she or her hired muscle would see them. Monnier wasn't sure what Matthews wanted to hear about Alex's death, so he skirted the issue.

"Yeah," he said. "I heard you did Stu Thomas -- with a car. Nice work."

"Thanks." Matthews threw him a hooded glance. "So, how did the new drug work? Did he linger -- or did it work fast?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Monnier would be very careful of what he ate and drank until he got on the plane heading for Australia tomorrow night. He wanted to live to enjoy all the money in his offshore accounts.

"Just curious. The boss -- uh, Dr. Lopez -- wants to sell it to some clients, but he doesn't know what it does to humans -- just to rats."

"Ahh, a scientific query then."

Like hell, Monnier thought. Like they think I'm not smart enough to realize I'm just as loose an end as Alex Randolph or Stu Thomas.

"It worked fast. He sort of seized like a heart attack, could barely breathe or talk. Not much noise at all. Nice, quick and clean. Happy?"

Matthews spit out his gum onto the garage floor. "Yeah, sure."

His stone face didn't reflect happy thoughts. He looked as if he wanted to hear that Alex's death had been gory and gruesome. Tough.

"You want some gum, Walter?" Matthews held out a pack of Big Red.

"Why? So I can spit it out on the garage floor for someone to step in like you did?"

Matthews sneered. "I'll take that as a no. Touchy bastard, aren't you?"

Monnier ignored him. One of his biggest pet peeves was people who spit gum on sidewalks. Hell, he could easily kill Matthews for that one thing alone. Never mind the fact he suspected the man had orders to "do" him after they killed Flower. Well, Walter Monnier was not an easy man to kill -- and Eric Matthews, the gum-spitting son-of-a-bitch, would find that out -- later.

"Heads up." Matthews straightened from his slouch and moved to hide behind the back of the panel truck they were driving. "Bitch and her guard dog just left the elevator."

"Guy looks mad," Monnier observed. "Flower has a way of pissing guys off. Little Miss Priss."

Matthews snickered. "Sounds to me like you've got the hots for her. Rutherford thought so -- said I should make sure you kill her, not fuck her. He wants this to look like an accident, not a mugging or attempted rape."

Matthews headed for the driver's side.

"So, how are we going to kill her?" Monnier asked as he got into the truck through the door on the side away from Flower's car. Matthews already had the vehicle started and in gear as Monnier shut the door.

"We'll improvise," Matthews said as he followed the car out of the garage. "It's a dangerous world out there, buddy."

Monnier shivered. Buddy? Yeah, sure. A friendly sounding Matthews was the most deadly kind. Monnier would make sure the danger didn't bite him in the butt and that any improvising didn't include him as the patsy.

* * * * "Promise me you'll stay close, Jeanette." Tony had her tucked close to his big body, protecting her from being pushed about by the large crowd standing around the bandstand. Charles's jazz ensemble was playing. Charles's sax was lying on an empty stool, surrounded by flowers, as a memorial to him.

"How can I not stay close? You're holding me."

Jeanette shouted in order to be heard above the noisy crowd and music, then she wiggled her body to prove her argument. Tony pulled her closer. She sighed. Well, at least when Scott got there, he would take over the close body-guarding.

Ignoring the whispers and looks aimed at her and Tony, she lost herself in the music. The guys were playing "Baker Street, "one of Charles's favorites. Tears formed as the plaintive tenor sax played the introductory notes to the song. Charles shouldn't have died. It wasn't fair.

'Hell, Bootsie, life just ain't fair some days. Ya just have to go on living the best you can.'

A commotion roused Jeanette from her music-induced lethargy. "What's going on?"

Tony whipped his head from right to left and back. "I'm not sure, but I thought I heard someone scream something about a gun."

He swore succinctly under his breath. "In this crowd that's like yelling 'Fire' in a theater." Pulling her toward a small opening in the packed crowd, Tony yelled, "Come on. Let's move out of here."

"But what about Scott?" Jeanette winced as someone jabbed an elbow into her waist. "He'll be looking for us here."

"He'll go to Plan B." Tony urged her along, never letting go of the death-like grip he had on her arm.

"Plan B?"

Tony laughed. "Honey, there's always a Plan B. Now, come on. Save your breath in case we have to run."

"You think someone planned this?" Jeanette struggled to keep up with the longer-legged man.

"Yeah."

Tony didn't even hesitate when the crowd miraculously opened up a path to the left, which led toward the front of the fair grounds. He just moved into the breach in the crowd, tugging her with him.

Jeanette was breathing heavy now. A stitch in her side and a cramp in her arch hindered her ability to stay with Tony's grueling pace. She had to stop before she fell.

"Tony," she gasped. "Please ... uh, I have to catch ... my breath." She pulled on the arm holding her.

Tony swung her off her feet and to the side, under the shelter of a live oak. "Sorry. I think we'll be okay here. It's defensible."

Jeanette saw his point. In front of them were wide open vistas and behind the oak was a large wooden fence, marking one of the fair ground's outer boundaries. She leaned against the tree and concentrated on breathing while Tony kept his eyes on the plaza in front of them.