Julie Garwood: Mercy

maid of honor.

The bride was radiant, but terribly nervous as she held on to her daddy's arm on that long walk down the center aisle of the church. When the groom stepped forward, looking so devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, and winked at her, she began

to relax.

Daddy had wanted to rent a fancy ballroom in one of the expensive New Orleans hotels, but Theo and Michelle wouldn't hear

of it. They wanted the reception to take place at The Swan.

Since they wouldn't compromise, Daddy gave in and decided then to use a little bit of his inheritance from Catherine to spruce the place up. He left the swan on top of the building alone because he felt the wing hanging down gave the place a little added charm, but he paved the parking lot, rented a big white tent, and filled it with flowers and tables covered in white Jinen cloths.

He hired a band too, but at the last minute Theo's brother Zachary had to fill in for the drummer, Elton Spinner, who had flown the coop as soon as he heard how many law enforcement officers would be attending the affair. It seemed that Elton still had that warrant hanging over his head.

Theo stood next to his brother Nick, watching Michelle dance with their father. Laurant, Nick's bride, was dancing with little John Patrick; Noah and Mary Ann were glued to each other as they swayed to the music, while Daddy twirled Theo's mother around and around.

"Any word yet on John Russell? Or Monk?" Nick asked. "Noah told me they're following every lead…"

"They're closing in. It won't be long before they get both of them."

"That's an optimistic outlook."

"Hey, it's my wedding day. I'm allowed to be optimistic."

Nick changed the subject to a more pleasant one. "Noah and Jake won that tournament?"

"Yeah, they did. They donated the cash to the football team. All the players are getting new cleats, and Jake's trying to figure

out a way he can advertise The Swan on the side of the shoes."

Nick smiled. "So, now you're a football coach on top of everything else, huh?"

Theo couldn't take his gaze off his beautiful bride long enough to look at his brother. "Yeah, I am. Go figure."

Nick laughed. "It's gonna be nice having a doctor in the family. So tell me," he said, elbowing his brother to get his attention.

"What?"

"How'd that happen?"

"How'd what happen?"

"How'd you end up being a coach?"

Theo grinned. "There was this kid…"

It was another glorious night in paradise. The air was crisp and clean; the sky was filled with stars shining down on the golden city.

Dressed in a silk robe and suede slippers, John stood on the terrace of his palatial penthouse apartment, looking out at the night. Life didn't get any better than this. He took a drink of the warm brandy in the crystal snifter and sighed with contentment. The sweet fragrances of the night swirled around him.

This was Utopia. He had a new life, a new identity, and so much money he would never have to touch the principal. He could live like a king on the interest alone. And that was more glorious to him than his surroundings.

Behind him, he heard the rustle of clothing and knew the woman was getting dressed. She called out to him. He glanced back just as she blew him a kiss and walked out the door. This one, he thought, had been better than any of the others, and he knew he would have her again. She was so creative in bed, so brashly uninhibited. Perhaps he would call her tomorrow, but then he remembered the blond he had scheduled to entertain him. What was her name? He couldn't remember. He did remember how she had intrigued him. She reminded him a little of Dallas, and perhaps that was why he wanted her. A remembrance of the past. The Sowing Club. It seemed a lifetime ago, yet it had only been a little over six months since he'd climbed into that plane. Dallas and Preston were dead. He'd read about them in the paper, and he often found himself wondering exactly how they had died. Had Buchanan killed them, or had the other one shot them? What was his name? Clayborne. Yes, that was it.

Ironic, he thought, that the weakest member of the club had survived. Poor, poor Cameron. John knew how claustrophobic he was. How was he enjoying prison life, he wondered, and then he smiled. Had his mind snapped yet?

Monk was probably dead. John had seen the blood on his shirt. He wouldn't have risked getting medical aid, and John thought he probably crawled into a hole somewhere like a wounded animal, hiding while he died.

He finished his brandy and put the glass on the table. Yawning, he walked through the living room and down the hall. The woman had worn him out, and tomorrow was going to be a busy day. He wanted to get up early so that he could be on his yacht by nine. He would do his last-minute packing for his cruise in the morning.

He opened the bedroom door, stepped inside, and turned on the light. He could smell the woman's perfume. He smiled again. No, life didn't get any better than this.

Turning toward the bed, he lazily stretched his arms out and then untied his robe. He took a step forward, then leapt back. "No!" he cried. "No!"

There in the center of the satin sheets lay a long-stemmed red rose.