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one.
    Suzanne held out a hand to her, smiling, as she walked up. She held out an arm. “Lauren. There’s someone I want you to meet. I was just telling him what a talented artist you are. He wants to see your portfolio.”
    Suzanne was visibly quivering to tell whoever this guy was the truth. Not letting Lauren take the credit for the artwork was driving her crazy.
    Sweet, sweet Suzanne. Funny, smart Suzanne. Loyal, affectionate Suzanne. She shimmered in the bright light of the exhibit space as Lauren blinked back tears. She looked at her friend, absolutely stunning in a pale peach satin gown, dark blond hair drawn back in some kind of complicated bun that on any other woman would have required three hours at the hairdresser’s. Suzanne had an innate style, a natural elegance. She probably scooped up her hair after the shower and styled it herself in two minutes.
    She was classy and smart and warm, a woman in a million, a friend in a million—and Lauren would never see her again.
    This was breaking her heart.
    Suzanne’s eyes honed in on Lauren’s face and her smile faltered. Oh God, Lauren had forgotten how incredibly perceptive she was.
    “Is something wrong, Lauren?” Suzanne looked around, as if there could be muggers lying in wait among the petit fours, ready to spring out and do Lauren harm. Her husband, who was rarely far from her side, picked up on the vibe and moved even closer to his wife.
    Lauren hesitated for a second. John—known for some reason as Midnight to the men he worked with—was frowning too as he studied her face. It was a characteristic of the Alpha Security men—John, Senior, Jacko—and their friend, Portland PD detective Bud Morrison. Most men didn’t notice much outside themselves but these men did. And being noticed was dangerous.
    Lauren found herself leaning heavily against Jacko, against that reassuring warm wall of muscle. She straightened, brought a hand to her head. “Suzanne, honey, I am so sorry, but I have this killer headache.”
    Suzanne frowned. “I can see that you’re not feeling well. You’re very pale. I’m so sorry.” She looked up at her husband. “Do you think you can drive Lauren home?”
    “Sure,” he answered easily, as if leaving right in the middle of his wife’s successful show were nothing.
Just driving my wife’s crazy friend home, all across town. In terrible weather. No biggie.
    “Oh no!” Lauren was appalled. “I was going to take a taxi but as it happens, Jacko offered to drive me home.”
    Suzanne’s frown didn’t change. If Lauren didn’t love her so much she’d hate her. Even frowns looked good on Suzanne. “I don’t know.” She looked from Lauren to her husband and to Jacko. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you home alone if you’re not feeling well.”
    The music from heaven had stopped and Allegra appeared at Suzanne’s side, one graceful musician’s hand reaching for Suzanne’s shoulder. Senior trailed behind her. “Is something wrong? I saw Lauren looking pale. Are you okay?” she asked Lauren.
    “Metal’s a medic,” Senior said in his rumbling bass. He pointed a big thumb at another one of Alpha Security’s men in a bespoke tuxedo, the only kind that could accommodate his massive shoulders, scarfing down smoked salmon on toast points. “Can he help?”
    As if operating on an invisible signal, Metal raised his head, toast point in hand, and looked at Senior, then at Lauren, ready to come over and help.
    This was getting out of hand.
    The whole group had simply adopted her, welcomed her into their fold, and Lauren had no doubt that if her headache were real instead of an attack of stark raving terror, and she asked for help, she’d be accompanied home in an ambulance. Suzanne and Allegra and Claire would start sending along gallons of chicken soup. Knowing them, they’d probably come in to fluff her pillows for her. Put a mint on the bedside table. Rub her feet.
    Friends like these were priceless and she was