M
ichelle’s father returned from the abbey at a quarter of six to report that the scaffolding had been removed, and the red carpet had been rolled down the center aisle. The florist and her assistant were frantically working to tie the bouquets to the ends of each pew. It would be close, he told his wife, but he was sure the church would be ready when the wedding march began.
Michelle’s mother, a vision in blue chiffon, continued to worry, but the bride took all the last-minute wrinkles in stride. She sat on the bed with her back against the headboard and watched Laurant dress while she caught her friend up on the latest gossip she’d heard.
“They’ve got an APB or a ABP—whatever it is—out on Lonnie now. They’re going to charge him with arson and hopefully lock him away for the rest of his life. He’s gotten away with so much in the past couple of years. He deserves to rot in prison.” She paused to take a sip of lemonade. “And everyone is still in shock about Steve. Don’t pin your hair up, Laurant. Leave it down.”
“Okay,” Laurant agreed. She picked up the peach silk dress she’d draped over the chair and slipped it on. She had her back to Michelle as she zipped the dress up and adjusted the bodice. Then she turned around, the full skirt floating about her ankles. “What do you think? Does this work or not? I could wear the blue Versace, but I thought this color would blend better with the dark pink dresses the other bridesmaids are wearing.”
Mrs. Brockman walked into the bedroom to try once again to hurry her daughter along. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw Laurant.
Both mother and daughter appeared to be speechless. Laurant felt self-conscious under their close scrutiny. “Say something, Michelle,” she demanded. “Do you like the dress or not?”
“You look like a princess in a fairy tale,” Michelle whispered. “Doesn’t she, Mother?”
“Oh yes,” she agreed. “My dear, you look exquisite.”
Michelle awkwardly scooted off the bed and held on to the post as she stood. Her mother noticed her grimace. “Is the new brace still bothering you?”
“A little,” Michelle admitted. Her gaze was locked on Laurant. “If I could look like that . . . Turn around and look in the mirror. Mother, Laurant doesn’t have any idea how beautiful she is. She doesn’t see herself the way the rest of the world does. I should make her wear a grocery sack over her head because every eye in the church is going to be on her.”
“No, they’ll be staring at the beautiful bride.” Laurant laughed then. “Well, you
will
be beautiful as soon as you get your hair out of those ridiculous jumbo rollers and put some clothes on. Or were you planning to wear that old robe down the aisle?”
“Yes, that’s it, Laurant. Hurry her along. She won’t listen to me, and she’s going to be late for her own wedding,” Mrs. Brockman said as she turned Michelle around and gave her a gentle nudge. “I’m too old for this stress,” she added. “I was already old when I had Michelle,” she reminded them.
Michelle grinned. “Yes, Mother. I was your change of life baby, and I changed your life.”
Her mother smiled. “You’ve been a blessing. Now get dressed, or I’m going to send your father in here.”
Michelle tightened the belt on her robe and began to pull the Velcro rollers out of her hair.
“Laurant, your bra’s showing,” she said. “Just below the straps.”
Laurant tugged on the bodice, but the white lace continued to show. “I don’t have any other bras with me.”
“Then don’t wear one,” Michelle suggested.
Her mother gasped. “Laurant will not go braless into the house of God.”
“Mother, I’m not suggesting she go topless. No one will know if she’s wearing a bra or not. The dress is lined.”
“God will know,” her mother announced. “I’ll get the safety pins.”
As soon as the door closed, Michelle said, “She’s a nervous wreck, and so is Daddy. He got all teary-eyed this morning. He told me he was losing his little girl. Isn’t that sweet?”
Laurant pulled out the chair for Michelle so she could sit at the vanity table.
“Yes, it is sweet,” she said. “Did you remind him that you and Christopher will be living two blocks away?”
“It’s not the same,” she said. “He’s going to cry when he walks me down the aisle, and I’ll be crying too if the church isn’t ready.”
Laurant picked up the brush and handed it to her friend. “Do you realize how lucky you are? You have such wonderful, loving parents, and you’re about to marry the most wonderful man. I envy you,” she added in a sigh.
Michelle looked at her friend in the mirror. “It won’t be long before I’m helping you get ready for your wedding.”
Laurant could have told her the truth then, that it had all been a lie and that she and Nick weren’t getting married, but she kept silent. Today was Michelle’s day, and Laurant didn’t want her friend to waste a minute thinking about anything else.
“Don’t you get all emotional on me,” Michelle said. “Or mother will put you to work too. That’s how she deals with tears,” she explained. “She had poor Dad running all over town. She’s already made him make two trips up to the abbey. First, she made him go see for himself that the scaffolding was down. Then, she made him go back to make sure the flowers had arrived. And before he drives us to the church, he has to drive over to the Vandermans and pick up Bessie Jean and Viola.”
“Bessie Jean has a car.”
“Have you ever seen her drive it?”
“No, but I’ve seen the car parked in her garage.”
“She doesn’t want to drive. She wants to be chauffeured. She told mother, with so much traffic these days, it’s too dangerous.”
“Traffic in Holy Oaks?”
They burst into laughter. “And get this,” Michelle said. “She blames the Catholics. Says we drive like maniacs.”
They laughed again, but Michelle’s mother put an end to the conversation when she came rushing into the bedroom once more. “Michelle, I’m begging you now. Get dressed.” She headed for Laurant, brandishing two giant safety pins. “These were all I could find,” she said apologetically as she pinned Laurant’s bra to the lining of her dress.
Michelle was finally ready to leave for the church at twenty minutes to seven. Her beaded ivory wedding gown was a replica of a Vera Wang design she had seen in a magazine and had fallen in love with. It fit her petite hourglass frame perfectly. When she finally turned to face her mother and Laurant, they both grabbed Kleenex to dab at their eyes and wipe their noses.
“Oh, Michelle, you look beautiful,” Laurant whispered. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Your daddy’s going to cry when he sees you,” her mother announced, sniffling.
Michelle adjusted her veil, then squeezed Laurant’s hand. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
As she was walking to the door, she called over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to wear the necklace I gave you.”
Laurant would have forgotten it if she hadn’t been reminded. At the rehearsal dinner Michelle had given to all the bridesmaids a delicate gold chain as a gift.
It took her several tries to get the necklace fastened. Then she stood in front of the full-length mirror and put on her diamond-studded earrings. The only other piece of jewelry she had on was the engagement ring. She held her hand out in front of her and stared down at the shimmering diamond for a long moment. Tears blurred her vision. Her heart felt as though it were breaking. She thought about taking the ring off and giving it back to Nick right away, but then she changed her mind. She would wait until after the reception. Then she would give him the ring and say good-bye.
Dear God, how was she ever going to get through that? Oh, how she loved him. He had come into her life and changed it forever, for he’d made her open her eyes and her heart to the world around her, and to all the possibilities.
How was she ever going to live the rest of her life without him? Laurant stared at herself in the mirror and slowly straightened her shoulders. Her heart would be broken, yes, but she would survive.
Alone, once again.
T
he church was packed. Everyone who lived in Holy Oaks must have been invited to the wedding, Nick decided as he stood in the back of the church, watching the people stream in. Several families tried to go upstairs, but the iron gate that led to the balcony was locked, and there was a hand-printed sign above simply stating,
DO NOT ENTER
. Some of them tried to jiggle the lock loose and go upstairs, but then they gave up and went searching for a seat inside the main church.
Two ushers were urging guests to move closer together so that more people could squeeze into the pews even as the mother of the bride was being escorted down to the front row.
Nick was trying to stay out of the way. Laurant was with the bridal party in the vestibule below the balcony. The door was open, but the bride couldn’t be seen. Nick watched Laurant open the closet door and put her purse on the shelf inside. She caught his eye as she was turning around, gave him a hesitant smile, and then walked out of sight.
Michelle’s father had partially closed the double doors leading into the church so that the wedding party could line up and not be seen. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, peeking inside as he waited for Father Tom to come out of the sacristy and take his place in front of the altar. Worried and flustered that he would forget what he was supposed to do or that he would trip on his daughter’s dress and send her flying, he began to pant with anxiety. In a few minutes, he was going to be giving his only daughter away. He reached into the vest pocket of his rented tux and pulled out his handkerchief. It was while he was mopping his brow that he remembered the Vanderman sisters.
“Oh, good Lord,” he whispered loudly.
His daughter heard him. She saw the panic on her father’s face. “What’s wrong, Daddy? Did someone faint?”
“I forgot the Vanderman sisters,” he told her.
“Daddy, you can’t go get them now. The wedding’s starting.”
Her father frantically looked around for help, spotted Nick, and grabbed him. “Could you please go and get Bessie Jean and Viola? They’re probably waiting on the curb, and I’ll never hear the end of it if they miss this wedding.”
Nick didn’t want to leave Laurant, but he was the only available man or woman in the vestibule who wasn’t in the wedding. He knew it would only take him a couple of minutes to drive down the hill and back, yet he still resisted.
Laurant saw his hesitation. She got out of line and hurried over to him, her silk skirt rustling about her ankles. “You won’t miss anything,” she said loud enough for Michelle’s father to hear. Then she leaned closer and whispered, “It’s over, remember? You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed reluctantly. “I’ll go in just a minute, after you walk down the aisle.”
“But if you hurry—”
“I want to watch you walk down that aisle,” he said a bit more abruptly than he’d intended. In truth, what he wanted was to make sure she was in Noah’s capable hands before he left the church.
He didn’t give her time to argue further, had that been her inclination. He slipped inside the church and hurriedly walked along the back wall to the south corner so that he was directly in line with the sacristy. He was waiting for Tommy and Noah to come out so that he could get Noah’s attention.
A hush of expectancy fell over the crowd. Then Tommy walked out, and with a noisy clatter, the guests got to their feet. Tommy was wearing his ceremonial white and gold robes, and he was smiling as he slowly made his way around the altar to take his place at the top of the three steps in front of the main aisle. Once he was in position, he folded his hands, then glanced at the pianist and nodded.
The second the music started, the crowd turned in unison to the double doors, craning their necks and shifting for the best view when the bride appeared at the entrance.
Noah had followed Tommy out onto the altar, but he stayed in the background by the sacristy door with his arms folded across his chest. His hands were hidden inside the sleeves of his black cassock, his right hand curled around the butt of his Glock as he slowly scanned the audience.
Nick raised his hand and motioned to Noah. The first bridesmaid had just started walking toward Tommy when Noah went down the side steps and crossed to the side aisle heading for Nick.
By the time he reached the corner where Nick was waiting, the second bridesmaid had just stepped into the main aisle.
“I got stuck doing an errand,” Nick said. “Once Laurant’s down at the altar, I’ll leave. I’ll only be gone a couple of minutes, but I need you to cover her and Tommy until I get back.”
“No problem,” he assured him. “I won’t let either one of them out of my sight.”
Nick looked relieved. “I know I’m being stubborn about this . . .”
“Hey, you’ve got to go with your gut,” Noah said. “I’d trust your instinct over Wesson’s hard evidence any day of the week.”
“Like I said, I’m only going to be gone five, ten minutes tops.”
Noah nodded toward the back doors. “There’s Laurant. Lord, she’s hot.”
“You’re in church, Noah.”
“Right, but man oh man, does she look . . . good.”
Nick barely glanced at her. While Noah slowly made his way back to the altar—getting waylaid by young women who grabbed hold of his hand to say hello as he passed their pews—Nick searched the faces in the crowd.
Nick spotted Willie and Mark near the front. Neither one of the men had shaved, but they had changed their clothes to short-sleeved shirts and ties. They, too, focused their complete attention on Laurant.
As soon as she reached Tommy and turned to join the other bridesmaids at the bottom of the steps, Nick went out the side door. He ran to his car, cursing loudly when he saw that the parking lot was crammed with cars blocking his exit. He got inside, started the motor, and then drove over the curb, and down the manicured lawn, trying to avoid the flower beds brimming with impatiens and rosebushes.
He went at a snail’s pace until he reached the main driveway. Then he floored it and sped down the street. He was fighting the instinct to turn around and go back to the church. He tried to reason away the panicky feeling. Laurant and Tommy were safe with Noah. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to them. As long as they were in church, they were okay. The ceremony and the mass would take about an hour, depending on how long Tommy’s sermon ran. Even if Nick was delayed, everything would be fine.
He wouldn’t be so tense if he had the results of the damned reports. What was taking so long? Nick thought about calling Pete now to find out if he knew anything more, but then he changed his mind. He knew Pete would call him the second he had the information.
He was going sixty by the time he reached the Vandermans’ street and had to brake hard to come to a screeching stop in front of their driveway. The car was still rocking as Nick shoved the gear into park. Bessie Jean and Viola were waiting on the sidewalk. He left the motor running as he jumped out and ran around to the other side to open the back door for them. He noticed Viola was holding a large plastic container but didn’t want to waste time asking her what it was. Besides, Bessie Jean was lacing into him, irritated that she was missing the wedding.
“I just hate to be tardy. I don’t like to be late for anything, not even—”
“Couldn’t be helped,” Nick said, cutting into her complaints. “Let’s go, ladies.”
“We might as well take our time now,” Viola said. “We’ve missed the bride walking down to meet the groom, haven’t we?”
“Well, of course we have, Sister. The wedding was set to start at seven o’clock, and it’s after that now.”
“Let’s get in the car, ladies,” Nick urged, trying to hold on to his patience.
Viola wasn’t going to be rushed. “Nicholas, will you be a dear and run this cake across the street? Put it in the kitchen, please. The boys aren’t home.”
“They’re at the wedding,” Bessie Jean said. “They probably got there in plenty of time too.”
“I baked the cake for Justin,” Viola said, “because he helped with the flower bed.”
“Couldn’t you take it over tomorrow?” Nick asked, his frustration near the boiling point.
“No, dear, it will go stale,” Viola said. “I would carry it over, but I’m wearing my brand-new patent leather shoes, and they’re pinching my toes. It won’t take you but a minute,” she added as she held the cake out to him.
It was quicker to do what she asked than stand on the curb arguing with her. Nick grabbed the cake out of her hands and ran across the street.
“I told you to wear sensible shoes, but you never listen to me,” Bessie Jean chided Viola.
Nick crossed the yard and ran up the stone steps. He wanted to leave the cake at the front door, but he knew Viola was watching, and if he didn’t follow her instructions, she might nag him into going back.
What a pain in the ass, he thought as he shoved the door open. It was dark inside, and cool, the only sound the gentle hum of the central air conditioner kicking on. He crossed the cluttered living room, stepping on old newspapers and discarded pizza boxes and empty beer cans littering the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a cockroach scurry into one of the boxes. He noticed the beer cans and bottles on all the tables and on the carpet by the coffee table, that also was piled high with old newspapers and empty beer cans. On top of the stack of papers was a large pink and yellow seashell, obviously meant to be decorative, but instead being used as an ash-tray. The shell was overflowing with cigarette and cigar butts, and the air in the room was rank and stale.
The place was a pigsty. The dining room table was covered with an old, torn, paint-splattered tarp, and on top were several unopened cans of house paint and a couple of big plastic sacks from the local hardware store with paintbrushes sticking out. A swinging door connected the dining room to the kitchen, exactly like the one in Laurant’s house. Nick pushed the door open and then stepped into the kitchen.
The first thing that struck him was the pungent smell. It was strong, acrid . . . familiar. Whatever the stringent combination was, it made his eyes tear and his throat burn. Unlike the other rooms, the kitchen wasn’t cluttered. No, it was immaculate. The counters were bare, spotless, shining . . . like another kitchen he’d been in. Recognition was sudden. He remembered the odor . . . vinegar and ammonia . . . and he remembered exactly where he’d smelled it before. His gaze frantically searched the kitchen. Truth slammed into him like a wrecking ball. Everything clicked into place. He dropped the cake and instinctively reached for his gun as he whirled around toward the table, guessing before he looked what he was going to find. There in the center of the table, placed neatly between the salt and pepper shakers, was an extra large, clear plastic, quart-size jar of antacid tablets. Pink. The tablets were pink, just like he remembered. And right beside the jar sat a tall, narrow-necked bottle of red hot sauce. The only thing missing was the cocker spaniel trembling in the corner.
“Laurant!” He lunged through the doorway. He had to get back to the abbey before it was too late. As he ran through the living room, he crashed into the coffee table, overturning it. He leapt over the legs and ripped the front door open. The church. The bastard was going to grab her when she left the church. Shoving the gun back into his holster, he raced to get to the phone in his car.
He couldn’t waste valuable time trying to reach the closest authorities. Pete could sound the alarm and get him help while Nick and Noah protected Tommy and Laurant—the pawns in Heartbreaker’s deadly game.
He reached the street, shouted to Bessie Jean, “Go inside and call the Nugent sheriff. Tell him to get every available man to the abbey.”
He dove into the car, leaving the door open as he reached over to pull a Glock and another magazine out of the glove compartment. He grabbed the phone and continued to shout at the stunned ladies watching him. “Go,” he screamed. “And tell them to come armed.”
He jerked the gear into drive and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The momentum shut the door as the car shot forward. He punched the speed dial for Pete’s cell phone. He knew he always carried it and that the only time the power was turned off was when he was home or in the air.
He got his voice mail on the first ring. Shouting a blasphemy, Nick disconnected, then hit the speed dial for Pete’s home number. As he raced up the hill, going seventy miles an hour now, he chanted into the phone, “Come on, come on, come on.”
One ring. Two rings. Then on the third ring, Pete answered the phone.
Nick shouted, “It isn’t Brenner. It’s Stark. He’s using Laurant to get to me. It was a setup from the very beginning. He’s going to kill her and Tommy. Get some help, Pete. We’re all targets.”