Mercy (41 page)

H
e lasted three long miserable weeks.

Then he called the movers, put his boats up for sale, packed the trunk of his car, and drove to Bowen. He stopped by The Swan first, shook Jake’s hand, and formally asked for permission to marry his daughter.

Then he went home. To Michelle. He knocked on the door, and when she answered, he pulled her into his arms and told her, in no uncertain terms, that he had no intention of staying away from the woman he loved for six months. He was there to stay, and she was going to have to deal with it.

She wasn’t arguing with him — she was too busy trying to kiss him — but Theo was on a roll and couldn’t stop. He told her he would open an office in Bowen and give the sleazy attorneys in St. Claire some competition, that he would also do some government work in New Orleans a couple of days a week — Justice wasn’t going to let him go — and that he had enough money invested to keep their heads well above water.

He could actually retire now, thanks to his sister, Jordan. He and the others in the family had invested in her company, and she had made them a small fortune. And one last thing, he added as he dodged her hands, he had already called Conrad and informed him that he would be signing the coaching contract.

Then he kissed her and told her how much he loved her.

“I came to Bowen in search of what I had lost. I wanted to feel that passion and energy again. Now I feel alive. My life is here with you, Michelle. I’m home.”

Tears streamed down her face. “I love you, Theo.”

He hugged her tight. “If you
ever
send me away again, I swear I’ll do something so embarrassing, you’ll never live it down. The people in Bowen will be telling our grandchildren about it.”

“I’m a doctor,” she reminded him. “Nothing embarrasses me.”

“Yeah? So then if I call the hospital while you’re making rounds, you won’t be embarrassed when I have the operator page Dr. Smarty-pants?”

She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. “You wouldn’t . . .”

“Try me.”

“I’ll never send you away again. I promise.”

The tension eased out of his shoulders and he relaxed. “I want you to go with me to my brother’s wedding next weekend. It’s in Iowa. I want you to meet my family, and they’ll all be there. Okay, sweetheart?”

“Theo, are you sure —”

“I’m sure,” he said emphatically. “You can get Landusky to cover for you, can’t you? Your dad told me you still haven’t taken a vacation.”

“When did you talk to Daddy?”

“I stopped by The Swan on my way here. Will you marry me, Michelle?”

“Yes.” As simple as that. The joy she felt was overwhelming, and she began to cry.

“I asked your dad for permission to marry you.”

“That was sweet.”

“He cried.”

She got teary-eyed again. Then he made her laugh. “John Paul cried too.”

“He’ll get used to you.”

“The whole town’s going to be celebrating. Everyone’s been trying to help you catch a man.”

“What?”

He grinned. “That’s why there weren’t any ‘Welcome to Bowen’ cards with all that food. How come you didn’t figure it out? Everyone knew we belonged together, everyone but you.”

Before she could get upset over the conspiracy, he kissed her again. Then he checked the time.

“Gotta go, sweetheart. I don’t want to be late for practice.”

She stood on the porch watching as he drove away. Then she sighed. She had a wedding to plan. She thought about all the things she would need to get done and decided that if she rushed, she could throw it together in six months. That was doable. Yes, six months.

They were married in three.

The wedding was elegant. The reception was a blowout. Michelle’s brothers, Remy and John Paul, were groomsmen, and Theo’s sisters, Jordan and Sydney, were bridesmaids. His brother Nick was Theo’s best man, and Mary Ann was Michelle’s 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 linen 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 . . .”

I
t 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.