The restaurant sat silent, sheltered among hundred-year old live oaks.

Lingering on the air were the cries of swamp birds and remnant odors of the

special 'du jour,' fried fish by the smell of it. The lunch crowd was long gone.

She wished she'd been one of them. Wished she could be anywhere but here.

But she wasn't. She had to see this through. She couldn't allow Rutherford to

harm anymore people. Couldn't allow him to threaten her life and that of her child's. Couldn't let Scott down after he'd put himself at risk.

Evan waited for her on the sagging front porch of the small eatery.

"Jeanette?" His deep voice soothed the rough edges of her nerves. "You

okay?"

She nodded. Tried to speak, coughed, then tried again. "I think so. Just a little shaky."

Evan grasped her cold hand with his hot one. "You'll do fine. Just remember. Let Dubois finish the question before responding. Don't rush your answer. Measure your words. Keep your eyes on me. And..."

"You'll jump in to protect me whenever possible." Jeanette smiled as she finished Evan's cardinal rules of deposition-giving.

"You got it." Evan squeezed her hand gently, then led her inside.

The dining area had been set up as a conference room. Four tables were pushed together to form one long one. Ruel Dubois sat on the far side of the table with a young man, probably an assistant. The rest of the table was filled with piles of paper and files.

She swallowed hard.

Evan leaned down to whisper, "Puts out an impressive front, doesn't he?"

"Is that all it is?" she whispered back. "What's in all the files?"

Before Evan could answer, a woman said, "Ms. LaFleur. Mr. Devereaux. I'm Ms. Scorpius, the stenographer. I need to get some preliminary information before we start." The business-like brunette held out her hand.

Jeanette and Evan shook the proffered hand and followed the woman to the table. Jeanette had been so distracted by Rutherford's attorney that she'd overlooked the small set up to the side of the conference table. Ms. Scorpius took a seat at the extra table upon which sat a laptop computer attached to a contraption with several keys sitting on a pedestal.

"What's that?" Jeanette blurted the question without thinking. Her face flamed at a sneering chuckle from the youth at Dubois's side.

Ms. Scorpius glared at the young man. Turning to Jeanette, she smiled.

"This is my steno machine." She pointed to the small machine on the pedestal. "I use a form of short-hand, which prints out on the tape you see. In the old days I would then retype my abbreviated notes into a final document. But with a software translation program, I can type directly into the computer. I use the tape to double-check the computer document, since my short-hand has some quirks."

Jeanette smiled at the kind woman. "You said you needed some preliminary information?"

"Yes. Would you spell your name for me..."

The preliminaries soon over with, the grilling began.

For three hours, Dubois posited questions, then re-posited them in an attempt

to trip Jeanette up over minute details of the daily operations of the Eye Clinic and the Epi Study and its protocols.

Evan objected frequently.

But Jeanette didn't feel protected. She felt violated. Verbally raped.

In the end, if the deposition had been a ball game, the home team would've lost -- a zillion to zero. They'd been out-classed, out-gunned and out-manned.

Even the stenographer looked frazzled and upset on their behalf.

Jeanette glared at the urbane and smooth Dubois as he followed his legal

gopher out the door.

The defense counsel stopped before leaving. Looking down his elegant patrician nose, he said, "Ms. LaFleur, I want to extend my condolences for your recent loss."

The smarmy smile on his face chilled and repulsed her.

What loss could he be referring to? Charles had been dead for awhile. Why

would the bastard take it upon himself to say something about it now? And why? It had nothing to do directly with the law suit in question.

Evan must have felt the same and once more attempted to defend her against

the slimy lawyer's intimidation tactics.

"Now see here, Dubois. Mr. Carter's death is none of your..."

Dubois cut Evan's words off with a derisive laugh. "I'm not referring to

Charles Carter." He turned and caught her eyes with his cold, black ones. "I'm speaking about Scott Fontenot. It seems the good doctor died..."

The vicious bastard paused at her gasp.

"On the steps of the United States Embassy in Brasilia." He bowed his head.

"My condolences. I believe he was someone special to you, or am I mistaken, Ms. LaFleur?"

Jeanette cried out as the room whirled around her.

Gradually, Jeanette fought her way through a heavy blanket of

unconsciousness. It was the voices which caused her to return to the real world. Loud voices arguing in a mixture of Cajun French and

Louisiana-influenced English. They were arguing about her.

"She needs to know."

Tony's voice was harsh with what? Anger? Grief?

"The 'petit chou' can not handle much more." Frenchy's voice contained

sympathy mixed with sorrow. "It can wait. It is enough she knows that he might be dead."

"'Might' is the operative word here."

Evan's voice of reason jolted her from her languor "Scott might be alive?" Her voice was hoarse from the hours of answering questions and the tears she had yet to shed.

The three men all spoke at once.

"One at a time, please," she said.

She twisted her head and sought out Evan. "Evan, you seem to think what that

Dubois person said was wrong. Tell me what you know."

He knelt on the floor near her. His eyes reflected his concern and something else that looked like uncertainty. Even he wasn't sure whether Scott was alive or not. But being a lawyer, he wouldn't believe it until he had all the facts, the

proof. Maybe that was the way she needed to take this. Only believe proven facts.

Whatever Evan said, she would take it as hopeful, even though the other two

frowned behind him. The two realists in the bunch. Men who dealt with death and ugliness every day. Unlike Evan and her, who dealt with hope.

"Evan?"

"The facts aren't entirely clear..."

Tony protested, cutting off the lawyer. "Evan, you know..."

"Tony, let him talk." She turned her eyes back toward the lawyer, who ran his fingers through his hair. "Go ahead, Evan. I'll draw my own conclusions."

He attempted a smile, but failed. "Good girl. Like me, you need more proof than DEA gossip. Because that is all it is -- gossip. The DEA called Charles's brother and told him that the mission was completed, but that two lives were lost at the gates of the United States Embassy."

Jeanette grasped his arm and squeezed. "Thank you, Evan. Obviously, the DEA didn't specifically identify Scott by name."

"That's right. Until they do, there's always hope."

"Yes. There's always hope." Jeanette stressed the last word and dared the other two to contradict her.

"Ah, Jeanette," Evan said.

He sounded hesitant. What else could be wrong?

She turned expectant eyes toward his troubled ones.

"I'm sorry about today. About Dubois." Evan's faced flamed red. "I knew he was a hard-ass, but I didn't expect him to put you through an inquisition. You did good, but I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to bail on Lynn and me. She wouldn't want you to be hurt anymore."

Tears filled Jeanette's eyes. Evan was concerned for her. He would give up a chance to win his client's case to save her more distress.