weapons and being held captive? Think. And do it fast.'

Jeanette looked for Scott. He was a mere six or seven feet in front of her. His gaze glued onto the gun at her head. Then he caught her eyes with his. An imperceptible nod. A slight smile.

Scott knew what she was thinking. He always had. For once, she didn't resent it.

Then he blinked three times.

Okay, on the count of three she would do what?

Whatever it was, she'd better figure it out.

Then she knew. Like a gift from God -- she knew.

She blinked back three times.

Scott smiled.

She watched him like a hawk, readying herself to move at his signal while around them the two Fed-sticks and Rutherford argued her fate.

Scott blinked once.

He blinked twice.

He blinked the third time.

At the third blink, she did three things in a concerted move which would either

allow her to live another day -- or not. She let the strength go out of her knees.

She reached back for Rutherford's balls with a free hand, grabbed them as hard as she could and twisted. And she dropped, taking advantage of his momentary distraction.

As she fell, several shots rang out at once.

"Jeannie? My God, where are you hit?"

She lay on the ground. Scott's voice, filled with panic, washed over her. She

didn't have the energy to move. But she didn't think she was seriously hurt, or if she was, she was too numb to feel it.

"Not hurt," she said. "I think."

"Thank God. At least you can talk to me."

Scott began to feel for any damage. Jeanette let him take control. It was nice

to have him back in one piece, taking care of her once again.

A warm, metallic wet oozed over the arm she'd thrown up to cover her head.

Blood. Was it hers? Scott's surgeon hands gently probed her head and neck.

She wanted to tell him her shoulder hurt, but she was afraid if she opened her mouth again she would either start bawling or screaming. She refused to break out into hysteria in a room full of strangers, especially ones with cameras and press credentials.

"No obvious injuries," Scott said. "Where are the goddamn medics? She

needs to be taken to the emergency room."

He spoke to someone other than her. All the while, he stroked her hair, her cheek. Why didn't he hold her? She needed to be held.

Through clenched teeth and tightened lips, she chanced speaking and was

happy to find that she was enough in control not to scream.

"H-h-hold me."

"Oh, baby, of course."

Scott pulled her onto his lap. She started to rest her head on his shoulder, then

remembered the blood and stopped.

"Blood on my face -- off."

Scott wiped a warm cloth over her face and head. The smell of blood

lessened.

Of course. It was Rutherford's blood. They'd shot him when she fell.

Scott nudged her head onto his chest, then tucked a blanket around her legs

and another over her chest.

She'd been shivering and hadn't even realized it.

Scott's concerned face appeared above her. He concentrated on her as if he

wanted to absorb her.

He smiled.

She smiled back. "Did I remember to tell you I love you?"

It was important that he know. Before anything else was resolved.

"Yeah, baby. You sure did." He shook her gently. "You almost got yourself

killed telling me. It could've waited."

"No." She reached up and touched his lips. He kissed the tips of her fingers.

"It couldn't. I'd put it off so long. Besides, why would God bring you back to

me if he'd meant for me to die?"

Scott just smiled and shook his head. "Crazy woman."

"But I'm your crazy woman, right?"

"You got that right, 'cher'." He leaned over and kissed her lips.

"Dr. Fontenot."

Scott broke off the kiss which had deepened to a point where Jeanette felt the

adrenalin pumping again, but for different reasons. The man who'd interrupted

the kiss probably saved her and Scott from an embarrassing moment.

Jeanette looked to see to whom Scott was speaking. Their conversation flowed over her like Lethe, the Greek stream of forgetfulness.

Love -- and yeah, she would admit it, lust -- had a way of healing all ills.

Scott said, "The bastard is dead, right?"

The hatred in his voice shook her out of the peaceful lethargy that his nearness

and kiss had brought her.

"Rutherford's dead?" Jeanette could barely speak, her voice tightened by the

memory of the gun jammed against her head and Rutherford's hateful voice in her ear.

"Yes, 'cher'." Scott gathered her even closer against his warmth. "He won't

ever hurt you or threaten those you love again."

"Then, can we go home? To Manchac? Our family must be worried to death."

Scott laughed out loud. "No need, my heart. Look who's coming down the

aisle."

A forest of legs parted in front of her. Down the aisle came Mama Chloe

holding onto Brigitte's hand with Frenchy and some of the other bayou men close behind.