Eve’s Wedding Knight

by Kathleen Creighton

  It wasn’t unusual for Eve to take such moments to reflect on her good fortune. She was a happy person by nature, and besides that, she’d witnessed enough of the world’s misfortunes to know how richly she herself had been blessed. First with a safe, if somewhat boring and conventional childhood, followed by a relatively angst-free adolescence, thanks to parents who’d managed somehow to nurture without smothering, during which she’d been allowed-even encouraged-to dream big dreams. And thanks to a career she’d blundered into through roughly equal parts charm, talent, perseverance and luck, she’d had most of those dreams fulfilled. She’d wanted to travel the world, have marvelous adventures… explore oceans and mountaintops, fly an airplane, ride a camel! And she’d done all those things, plus so many more, she couldn’t have listed them all if she tried. And now the icing on the cake: just when her biological clock had begun chiming its wake-up call, she’d met the perfect man.

  Oh, yes… they were going to make beautiful babies, she and Sonny. How could they not? Not only was her fiancé tall, strong and healthy; handsome as all get-out and rich as Croesus-not that that mattered to Eve, since she’d done quite well in the financial department herself-but he was witty and loaded with charisma. Plus, he treated Eve the way she expected to be treated, which was very well indeed. And he wasn’t too bad in the sack, either.

  A warm little shiver of anticipation rippled through her as she hiked up the skirts of her bridal gown with one hand and hurried through the garden.

  Really-how could she be so lucky? So far, life had been good to her-so good that when restless little doubts and vague uncertainties did creep into her thoughts, she instantly felt guilty and ungrateful, and banished them with almost superstitious assurances to whichever Fates might be listening that she didn’t mean it! How could she, who had so much to be thankful for? How dared she still feel that there must be something… more? That something of vital importance was missing from her life-if only she could figure out what it was!

  But… there were no such clouds upon her spirits now as she ran lightly down the shaded paths of the lovely old garden that separated the church from the rectory, a bride on her way to a wholly improper and deliciously naughty prenuptial tryst with her groom. She felt sexy and mischievous, and as full of effervescence as the champagne bottle she carried in her hand. Through the live oaks and banks of azaleas she flitted, the skirts of her gown lifting and floating like the wings of a giant butterfly, the promise of laughter on every breath.

  The flash of movement on the video monitor caught Special FBI Agent Jake Redfield’s attention.

  “What’s this?” he muttered aloud to himself as he leaned forward to adjust the zoom. A moment later he sat back with a flat “Ah!” of recognition, and although the blushing bride was not the party he was supposed to be watching, for a few moments he allowed himself to track her progress through the church gardens just for the sheer enjoyment of it.

  Though it wasn’t anything like enjoyment he felt when he thought about the likes of Sonny Cisneros with a woman like that. What was it, he wondered, that made a slimeball like Cisneros so damned attractive to women? Was it the money? The power? Except that this woman-Eve Waskowitz-didn’t strike him as the type to be susceptible to any of those things. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think so.

  Watching her like this-though he was well aware that no one looking at him would ever guess it-made him feel like smiling. Reed slender she was, buoyant as a ballerina but without the dancer’s studied grace. There was something artless about her, something wild and carefree, almost spritelike, that made it hard to believe she could be as old as he knew her to be. According to his information, about to turn forty-three. On All Saint’s Day, which seemed fitting, in some obscure way.

  But what in the hell was the lovely Miss Waskowitz, soon to be Mrs. Cisneros, doing flitting about in the church gardens little more than half an hour before she was scheduled to become the wife of one of the most powerful crime bosses west of the Mississippi? And as much as he’d have liked to indulge his curiosity in regards to that question, Jake doubted it had any relevance to the reason he was spending taxpayers’ money sitting in front of a Savannah church in a surveillance van.

  He was there for one reason, and that was to keep a watchful eye on Sonny Cisneros. If it was the last thing he ever did, he was going to bring the man and his organization down. Bring them down hard. Bring them down for good. It was more than just a job to him. His superiors knew it, too, and had threatened more than once to take him off the case. An agent who let a case get too personal was no help to the Bureau and a danger to himself-he knew that. The Bureau’s patience and his time were both running out-he knew that, too.

  He’d had high hopes for Hal Robey. The man had had something on the Cisneros syndicate; there was no doubt about that in Jake’s mind at all. Something big enough to send Sonny’s thugs after Robey in a very determined way, even to the point of threatening the man’s ex-wife and two little kids. When Robey had died before he could hand over his information, Jake had figured he’d reached a dead end. But then, almost immediately thereafter to find out that Cisneros planned to marry Hal Robey’s ex-wife’s sister-no, no, coincidences like that didn’t just happen. Not in the real world. Not in Jake’s world. If Cisneros was still hanging around that family, there had to be a reason for it. There was something there. All Special Agent Redfield had to do was find out what it was.

  At the intersection with the walkway that ran along the side of the rectory building, Eve paused once more. Several of the leaded casement windows were open, and she could hear the murmur of voices issuing forth on the warm autumn breezes. Her heart beat faster as she turned left, tiptoing now, making for the door at the far end.

  The voices were directly overhead-men’s voices. And was that…? Yes, it was her fiancé’s voice. Sonny had such a loud, brassy voice, like a seventies Vegas playboy; she’d know it anywhere. But dammit all, he wasn’t alone.

  Her lips formed a little pout of disappointment. Why hadn’t she foreseen the fact that the two “groomsmen” would be with him? Sergei and Picky-and Mirabella was quite right, they were Sonny’s bodyguards, and why not? Sonny was a wealthy man, and he’d made his money in a dangerous business-nothing illegal, though; Eve was certain of that. Although, to be honest, that little element of danger was part of why she’d been attracted to the casino owner in the first place. Anyway, it stood to reason that such a man would have enemies. That he would protect himself seemed to Eve to be only a matter of good sense.

  But what was she going to do about this? She’d have to handle things so as not to embarrass Sonny in front of his men. He tended to be overly sensitive about that sort of macho nonsense, unfortunately. Okay, so nobody was perfect. Anyway, she couldn’t just go slithering in, champagne at the ready and sex in her smile. This was going to take some thought…

  As she stood there beneath the window, pondering her course of action, the murmur of conversation drifting out over her head began to separate into words and sentences. She paid no heed to the words at first, her mind being full of other things. Until all at once two of them-just two-exploded in her consciousness with the reverberating impact of a Chinese gong.

  “…Hal Robey. ”

  Hal Robey? Eve’s sister Summer’s ex-husband, now her late husband, the compulsive gambler Hal Robey? But how did Sonny Cisneros, multimillionaire hotel casino owner, know a weasel like Hal? And to speak of him with such venom in his voice?

  So loudly and shockingly did those questions and their implications clamor in her mind that she missed the next few words. When her senses once more connected to her brain, she heard, “…dead, Mr. Cisneros.” Sergei, with his Russian accent.

  Then Rick, sounding like a character in a bad gangster movie. “Yeah, Mr. C-me and Serge, we both saw him go off that bridge. There’s no way he coulda lived through that. No way. It was Robey’s body they found-hadda be.”

  And Sonny again, his voice so low and tense, Eve fel
t herself stretching taller, up on her tiptoes, straining to hear. “The fact remains-the little bastard stole those computer files from me. If he had ‘em on him when he went in that river, why weren’t they on him when they found his body? Huh? Tell me that. If they had been on him, or in his car, the feds have got ’em and I’m in jail by now. And if he didn’t? What’d he do with ‘em, huh? I’ll tell you what he did with ’em-he stashed ‘em somewhere, that’s what. Those damn files are sittin’ somewhere like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for somebody to stumble over ‘em. So where are they? Think about it… think about it…” After a prolonged and unresponsive silence, there was a disgusted-sounding snort, and then, “Okay, look-here’s what I figure. The little weasel wasn’t stupid. If he hid those files, he’d hide ’em someplace he’d be able to get back to without raising suspicions. Call it a gut feeling-I think he stashed ‘em with his ex and his kids.”

  Sergei’s heavy voice interrupted. “No, boss. Rick and me we searched every inch of that trailer before we torched it. They were not in there, I would swear to it.”

  Eve heard a faint whimpering sound and realized to her horror it had come from her own throat.

  But now, incredibly, impossibly, there was Sonny’s voice again, edgy with annoyance. “No, no, no-not then. Robey had the files with him when he came back to the States. Hey-he must have. He was ready to deal. And where does he go? Straight to his ex. And what does he do? He leaves a package-a present, he says. For his kids.” He hissed a word so replete with disgust, it made Eve’s stomach cringe, then muttered, “You two choirboys…shoulda just done ‘em both and taken the smokin’ package while you had the chance.” Only he didn’t use the word “smokin‘,” but one he’d promised Eve faithfully he’d never use in her presence.

  Rick said, “Don’t look at me. I was out cold at the time.”

  Sonny’s laugh was derisive. “Yeah-tripped over a cat and took a header down a flight of stairs. I’d been better off if I‘da hired the Three Stooges.”

  “Maybe it was only a present for his children,” Sergei muttered, sounding sullen. “If it was the files in that package, why did she not turn it over to the feds?”

  “Because she obviously doesn’t have any idea what she’s got.” And Sonny’s voice, though still soft, was pure, cold steel. “It’s a damn computer disk-Robey coulda hidden it in just about anything. They just haven’t found it yet, is all. It’s just sittin’ there in that damn fortress-a smokin’ time bomb, is what it is.” He sounded as if his teeth were grinding together. “Do you know what it’s been like the last four months, waitin’ for that thing to go off? Here-help me with these studs, will you?”

  There was a moment’s silence, then Ricky said, “Too bad Robey’s ex had to go and marry that damned lawyer-that house of his is like Fort Knox! If it hadn’t a‘been for that hurricane knockin’ out the power, we’d never have got in there.”

  Sonny snorted. “I figure I’ll marry the sister, right? Then I can go in there as a member of the family-make some excuse to visit, you know?-so I can have all the time I need to look for the disk without anybody bein’ the wiser. And what does the broad do? She goes and gets it in her head she has to get married in Savannah, for God’s sake-in a blinkin’ church!”

  Someone-Sergei or Rick, she couldn’t tell who-muttered something she couldn’t hear. Then Sonny’s voice came again, not loud, but tense and with a hard edge of fear. “I’ve got a bomb about to blow up in my face. If it does… if it does, I’m a dead man, you hear me? A goddamn dead man. I gotta find it, and I mean find it fast. Before-”

  At that moment the two crystal champagne glasses slipped from Eve’s nerveless fingers and dropped onto the stone walkway, where they shattered with a horrible, splintering crash.

  Chapter 2

  Eve never knew how she did it-it wasn’t a conscious decision on her part-but the next thing she knew she was running. Running for her life, not even aware of her feet touching the ground.

  But running where? She had no idea; hers was a purely instinctive, adrenaline-induced panic flight, like the gazelle’s stampede, or the skyward leap of a flushed quail. And with as much real hope of escape.

  OhGodohGodohGod …

  They couldn’t help but see her. All they had to do was look out the window! They would know who it was, know she’d heard. How could they not know? She had nowhere to go, no place to hide, and in that damned white dress she’d stand out like flashing neon. Why was she even bothering to run? They’d chase her down in a minute, and what would she say? What could she possibly say? “Hey, guys, I didn’t hear anything, I swear. I won’t tell anybody, honest I won’t!” Yeah, sure.

  OhGodohGodohGod …

  Then she saw something at the end of the walkway, just past the rectory door. Something in the stone wall that extended between the sanctuary and rectory buildings and enclosed the garden, making of it a peaceful refuge, a world apart from the alley beyond. A gate. A wrought-iron gate that would be chained and padlocked after dark, but which now, in midafternoon with a wedding scheduled, stood open to allow access from the parking areas across the alley.

  Hope surged within her as she made for it with a fresh burst of energy, catapulted through it and into the arched breezeway and the alley beyond.

  There she halted, quivering with indecision. Which way? Which way? Any minute now, they’d be after her. Any minute!

  Once again it was instinct that decided for her, pointing her toward the right, the shortest distance to the corner, to the street, to people and cars. To witnesses. But as she ran down the alley behind the rectory building, she heard the sound she’d dreaded: running footsteps. And there were no shouts, no alarms, just those rhythmic swishing sounds, like sandpaper on stone, all the more sinister for their stealth.

  It was still much too far. She’d never make it to the street before they caught her. Not on this cobbled pavement. Never in a million years…

  Just before the rectory wall ended, it jogged inward into a small alcove, with stone steps leading down to a basement entrance. Her heart gave a leap. Would the door be unlocked? What if it wasn’t? She’d be trapped down there, cornered. No, no-she couldn’t risk it.

  No, but in the alcove there was also a trash bin!

  Eve didn’t have to think twice. The notion hadn’t even taken shape in her mind before she had the heavy metal lid lifted up and was hauling herself over the side of the bin, champagne bottle, satin skirts and all. But-oh God-now she was caught on something! Her veil had caught on the edge of the Dumpster, and while she was trying to pull it loose, down came the lid on her head, with enough force to make her see stars.

  As she huddled in the darkness, dizzy and a little nauseated from the conk on the head, she could hear her pursuers’ footsteps out there in the alley, shuffling around in indecision. And while it was true that neither Sergei nor Rick had ever struck her as being overly endowed in the brains department, surely in another second it was going to occur to one of them that they should split up, one go one way, one go the other. Seconds-that was all she had before someone came running by her hiding place.

  What an idiot she’d been! The bin was the first place they’d look! And here she was, like a rat in a trap. The Dumpster hadn’t much trash in it; and oh, what she’d have given for a couple of cubic yards of nice, smelly garbage to burrow under!

  Half-smothered by her own air-starved lungs, all she could do was listen…praying…rubbing the knot on her head… while a few yards away in the alley, footsteps scraped on cobblestones, coming closer…running hard. Any second now. Any second…

  They were running…running…right on by!

  Was it possible? Was the notion of a bride hiding in a Dumpster simply too ludicrous to occur to those two idiots?

  She felt an impulse to laugh, but discovered instead that she was crying. And trembling. Yes, she was, shaking like a leaf and making little whimpering, gasping sounds, just one degree from a humiliating-not to mention dangerous-case of hysteric
s. Because she wasn’t safe yet. Sonny’s goons would be back. Of course they would. How could they let her go? They’d have to keep looking until they found her. Until…

  The thought made her feel chilled and sick. But she couldn’t lose control now-had to keep her wits, keep calm. Keep calm, Evie…don’t lose it now…

  It was then that it occurred to her that at least part of the cold in the middle of her chest wasn’t fear after all, but a bottle of unbelievably expensive vintage French champagne.

  For a moment she felt as if the bubbles from the champagne were in her nose, tickling and prickling behind her eyes. She took several quick, shallow breaths, then lifted the open bottle to her lips and drank. She choked a little, spilled a little, coughed and drank some more. The wine prickled her throat and made her eyes water, but the panic seemed less imminent. She drank again, and felt a subtle warmth spread through her chest.

  She leaned against a plastic bag filled with foam plastic cups-the trash from a choir practice coffee break, perhaps? -hugging the bottle of champagne against the pearl-encrusted bodice of her wedding dress while shudders coursed through her body. When she felt the urge to cry creeping back she drank champagne until it went away again.

  She tried not to think, but her mind insisted on bringing up the question: Evie, what are you going to do now?

  Mirabella was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when Summer opened the parlor door. “Ah, here you guys are.” She came on into the room, closed the door behind her, then did a small double take and said, “Where’s Evie?”

  Choosing to ignore that for the moment, Mirabella countered instead with, “Who’s minding the kids?”

  “Riley volunteered to keep an eye on them. Thought I’d see if you needed any help. Guess not-you look fantastic.”