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intolerant of those who were not.
    Bridey’s feet hit the terrace and she came into the circle of
light, grabbing Hank’s hand. “What a wonderful party. I just know everyone had
the best time.”
    Her family turned toward her, mouths tightly closed and their
silence speaking volumes.
    Hank squeezed her hand but his smile was weary. “Mom and Dad
are so sorry they missed the party.”
    A lump formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow, and
tears pricked the backs of her eyes, but she refused to cry. She would not cry.
She’d wanted everything to be perfect, needed everything to be perfect, and her
first attempt had fallen short. Hank’s parents hadn’t made it and her family
looked like they were sucking on lemons.
    She gave herself a tiny shake. She knew perfection took hard
work and she’d never been one to walk away from that and she wasn’t about to
start now. Life was a series of steps that needed to be taken in the correct
order so that everything fell into place. For her, these steps started with a
big engagement party and finished with a huge wedding. Her parents hadn’t taken
all the steps and their marriage had ended in divorce.
    No way was Bridey getting divorced. She was going to do
everything right. However, the tiny fact that she’d
been the one to propose to Hank had her stressing that they’d already started
out wrong, breaking the proper order of things—which is why she now had an
elaborate plan. A plan to right things in her world, to realign the universe and
to appease all or any deities to ensure her future happiness with Hank. Nothing
or no one was going to get in her way.
    * * *
    “I’m Finn Callahan and I’ve come down as requested to
check the charge sheet against Donna whoever-she-is.” Resignation clung to his
words because more than anything he wished he was home in his quiet cabin, free
of women, free of family and in a place where he could forget the whole
miserable night.
    The police chief, looking as weary as most people do at one in
the morning, rose to his feet and joined him on the other side of the counter.
“Thanks for coming down, Mr. Callahan.”
    “No problem. This is going to be quick, isn’t it?”
    “I’m hoping so.”
    “Hey, Rory, I got us some hot choc— Oh.”
    What the hell ? Finn spun around at the sound of a very
familiar smoky voice.
    Donna stood stock-still clutching two steaming mugs. Except for
her voice, her French nails and a fading black eye, she was unrecognizable. Gone
were the high heels and evening dress, and in their place she wore red canvas
shoes ripped-at-the-knee jeans and a blue hoodie. Her face was now scrubbed
clean of ruined makeup, making her eyes seem larger than ever, but the biggest
surprise was her hair. What had seemed to be a mousy blah color when wet was now
a startling white-blond with sun-kissed streaks of gold. Instead of being swept
up in a French chignon, it was pulled back in a simple ponytail which made her
look ridiculously innocent and wholesome instead of designer and predatory. Then
he remembered her mouth—full of delicious sin—and how he’d lost total
control.
    Anger at himself, as well as her, surged back and he turned
around, slapping the counter. “Why isn’t she in a cell?”
    The police chief calmly stood his ground. “She was wet and cold
so I sent her home for a hot shower before she caught a cold. She knew she had
to come back.”
    “She lives here?” He’d assumed she was a stringer from Chicago,
plying her trade with the trashy publications of the big city.
    “I’ll just go sit in the cell.” Donna put down one of the mugs
and hot chocolate slopped over the side, creating a brown river that snaked its
way toward the paperwork. “Oh, sorry.” She grabbed a wad of tissues out of her
pocket as if they’d been there for the express purpose of cleaning up a
self-induced mess.
    “No, you need to stay here.” The policeman sipped his hot
chocolate. “This is good, Anni.”
    “It’s the