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streets, and I’m sure you saved lives. The way they were going, sooner or later, they would have killed somebody.”
    â€œThank you, sugar,” Savannah replied. “But tonight, it’s Ryan and John we’re proud of. Just look at this place. Look at this crowd! Everybody who’s anybody is here for this opening.”
    It was quite true that the beautiful and the famous had come to celebrate Ryan’s and John’s dream come true.
    Everywhere Savannah looked, she saw celebrities: well-known actors, directors, and producers from the television and film industries ; media moguls; titans of industry; sports figures; stars of the music world; respected journalists; and powerful politicians galore.
    Then there was their little table. Peopled with nobodies.
    The Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency in all its lackluster “glory.”
    Frequently, Savannah felt outclassed when attending a function hosted by Ryan and John, although her longtime friends did everything they could to make her feel comfortable. Years ago, after a stint in the FBI, the twosome had become high-priced bodyguards for those who could afford only the best personal protection. She could hardly hold it against them that they traveled in A-list circles.
    Due to the amiability of the pair, many of their clients had become close friends. Tonight that impressive, if eclectic, group had assembled here in this one exquisite setting to enjoy the fruits of their friends’ labors.
    The promise of eating food prepared by a world-class chef didn’t exactly hurt either. Judging from the smiling faces and the sound of laughter and excited chatter, the crowd was looking forward to an awe-inspiring culinary experience.
    As Ryan made a circuit around the room, meeting and greeting, he spotted Savannah and her gang and headed straight for their table. Bending from the waist like a Renaissance courtier, he kissed Savannah’s hand and set her heart atwitter. Many times she had thought Ryan Stone would look tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome in a barrel—or in her more exotic fantasies, a loincloth. But tonight, wearing an Armani tux, he was positively delicious.
    Now that she was a married woman, she tried not to think about how delectable Ryan Stone was with his bright green eyes, black hair, perfect bronze tan, and the musculature that would make a bodybuilder proud.
    She was pretty sure that Dirk had included “Lusting After Stone” as a “Don’t” in the fine print list of “Do’s and Don’ts” on the back of their wedding certificate.
    Not that Dirk was jealous or anything. Heavens, no. So what if a man’s wife was dear friends with a walking, talking, just-fell-from-the-heavens Adonis? What guy would get his boxers in a bunch over a little thing like that?
    â€œI’m so happy you were able to join us tonight, Savannah,” Ryan said, his voice soft and rich as fine, claret velvet. He turned to Dirk, and with a tad less velvet in his tone he added, “And you, too, buddy. So glad you could make it.”
    Ryan leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of Tammy’s glossy, golden head. She wriggled with delight—or maybe because she still needed to pee; Savannah wasn’t sure which. Tammy’s wriggles were frequent and pretty much all the same.
    As Ryan shook hands with Waycross, she heard the subtle tinkling sound of a cell phone. Ryan reached into his jacket pocket, and as he took out his phone, he said to them at the table, “Forgive me. Apparently, we have another issue of some sort brewing in the kitchen.”
    His eyes scanned the text message, and he frowned. “Oh, man. This new chef and his team. . . .” He shook his head wearily. “I’m starting to wonder if we made the right choice. His food is amazing, but his personality sure leaves something to be desired.”
    â€œHe’s a horse’s patootie?” Savannah