She was short, and the men guarding her were as tall as redwoods. If Rutherford was going to try and do something before the conference, he would have to chop through her protection first. Hopefully, he was leaving the country, trying to get to his assets before the federal government convinced the Caymanian Bank to freeze them.

But then, when had Rutherford ever done the smart thing?

The smart thing would have been to fire her and bury the evidence. But no, his hubris -- his machismo -- his goddamn-I'm-god-and-no-one-can-touch-me attitude hadn't allowed him to do the rational thing. He'd gotten away with murder and more for so long that he really couldn't see an insignificant female like herself taking him down.

Well, he'd been wrong. But look at the price she'd paid.

"Tony, why am I here?"

Tony looked down at her. His frown told her it was an excellent question.

"I don't know," he said. "I told Evan it would be hard to protect you in a crowded room. Hell, any of those guys out there could be a sniper on Rutherford's payroll."

He shrugged, then rolled the tension out of his shoulders. "Evan said it was important for you to be here. Maybe the Feds will acknowledge your part in this. Who knows? But if they're going to give you a goddamn medal, they could do it later, after Rutherford's in jail."

"Are they arresting him?" Jeanette peered through a gap between the two big men guarding her front.

"They were supposed to serve the warrant and take him into Federal custody at least fifteen minutes ago." Tony snorted, the sound somewhere between a laugh and disgust. "The local law enforcement now wants a piece of him. They heard somehow -- probably through the same sources that Rutherford uses -- that the deal was coming down. Now, New Orleans wants to charge him with all sorts of crimes."

"Stupid, stupid. What difference does it make who arrests and tries him? Just so long as he is punished for all the grief and harm he's caused." Jeanette shook her head. Even elected officials had to get into the dominant-territorial-male act. It was the herd that always paid for it, though.

"They're starting." Tony reached out and grabbed her arm.

"I can't see."

Jeanette steamed. You would think she would at least be able to watch while Evan brought the lid down on Rutherford's casket.

Tony issued low-voiced orders to the men in front of her. Still shielding her with their bodies, the two angled themselves so she had a full view of the podium.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the press. May I have your attention, please?" Evan said.

The clamor in the room died down. Only an occasional scuffing of feet, a cough here and there, and the sound of chairs moving across the wooden dance floor were heard. Evan had their complete attention.

To his right, the side nearest her and her bodyguards, stood the New Orleans Chief of Police. She recognized him from all the times she'd seen him on the six o'clock news. An arrest like this on his territory, even though he had nothing to do with the man's apprehension, would be a coup come election time. Maybe it was more than a territorial thing for him; to him, it was his survival.

Everybody had an angle.

On the far side of Evan was a man she'd never seen before. She assumed he was a federal government representative -- maybe DEA, since they seemed to want a piece of Rutherford and One World so damn bad.

Jeanette stifled a sob. In all this, no one cared about Scott or Charles or Sally or poor Stu Thomas. All of them dead because of Rutherford and his ilk. The people in this room only cared about drug-running activities.

Well, Evan had promised to set them all straight. She'd seen the statement that was being handed out to the press. That ought to open their eyes. Someone out there would report the victims' stories.

"The report circulating through the room spells out in detail the list of crimes of which Dr. Byron Rutherford, his partner, Dr. Manuel Lopez, and their nonprofit organization, One World, are felt to be guilty." Evan paused. "Please glance over the papers. When the remainder of our podium panel arrives -- which should be in just a few minutes -- we'll be ready to address all your questions."

One reporter yelled, "Has Rutherford been arrested yet?"

The Chief of Police stepped up to the microphone. "Cars have been sent to his residence and his clinic. We have the sheriff and the State Police alerted to

keep a look out for his car on the roads leaving New Orleans. We have also covered the airport, the train and bus stations. We expect an imminent arrest."

Jeanette's heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest. "Tony?"

"They'll get him, kiddo." He stroked her arm. "You won't be left alone. We're

here for you until he's in jail and his connections to his thugs are severed."

A commotion at the back of the ballroom had the reporters turning 'en

masse'. The show being put on in the room was the most exciting thing to happen to New Orleans since Mardi Gras.

Peeking through the burly arms of her two front protectors who'd closed the

gap when the disturbance had occurred, Jeanette saw several men enter the

room.

The two lead men looked like her bodyguards, yet stiffer. Must be Feds. She always heard they all walked and talked alike -- as if they had a poker up their behinds. The next man was very distinguished looking, an ad for Gentleman's Quarterly. The third man was...

"Scott!" Jeanette screamed his name.

"Jeannie?"

A frail-looking Scott called her name. His head whipped around searching for

her in the crowd.

With a strength she didn't know she had, she barreled through her protection like a running back slipping through the defense.

Her goal was Scott. And no one, no how, was going to stop her.

"Jeanette, no!" Tony roared behind her. "It isn't safe."

Jeanette didn't care. If she died now, it would be in Scott's arms with the

words "I love you" on her lips. She hadn't told him that enough. She wanted him to know.

But she didn't plan on dying. God wasn't that cruel.

She flew down the aisle. Reporters cleared out of her way as she approached.

Camera flashes lit up the room.

Then the shooting began.

"Jeannie, get down!"

Scott's frantic words reached her a second before the stinging burn of a bullet

creased her blouse on her upper arm.

Yet, even though someone was shooting and all hell had broken loose in the room, she didn't stop moving toward Scott. Crouching, she made herself as small a target as possible.

Hell, what did Scott think he was doing telling her to get down? He was a

target, too!

"You get down!" There she'd said it. And she'd give him piece of her mind after all this was over. Evan, too. Parading Scott down the center aisle like bait.

Damn, that's why they'd done it. Bastards. Hadn't Scott been through enough?

The room erupted in chaos. Reporters yelled. Cameras flashed. Bullets flew.

But in her concentration to get to Scott she saw none of it.

She didn't even notice Rutherford until he popped up next to her.

He grasped her arm, then jerked her around in front of him. A gun jabbed at

her head.

"Everybody shut the fuck up!" he screamed.

Rutherford's mask of civility had slipped completely. He now sounded like the

street-smart thug he'd hidden for years.

"Give it up, Rutherford," a stiff-figured man who'd arrived with Scott called

out. His gun was drawn and pointed at Rutherford -- and her. "The building is surrounded. There is no place to run. Let Ms. LaFleur go."

Rutherford snarled a vile epithet, then called out, "Bennie? You out there?"

"Bennie is dead." The twin to the stick figure spoke. "Throw down your gun,

please."

"The hell I will." Rutherford prodded her temple with the cold metal barrel.

"She's my pass out of here. I want a helicopter outside, now. She stays with me until I reach my destination."

"No can do, Rutherford." Number-one stick answered this time.

"Then I'll just blow her brains out right here." Rutherford shrugged and

jammed the gun into her temple even harder.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

'Think, Bootsie. The FBI and the New Orleans police must have

sharpshooters in the room. What had Scott and Paul taught her about