“Do you believe him?”

Parker’s eyes slitted. “Not for a minute. He’s primed to make a scene. He’ll need to be watched like a hawk because he’s going to parade that woman into the reception if we don’t stop him. Which we won’t be telling anyone in the wedding party.”

Huffing out a breath, Parker handed Mac a stack of printouts with the photograph of an attractive blonde. Under the photo it read:

ROXANNE POULSEN

NO ADMITTANCE

“Pass these out to subs. I’ll give Laurel a stack for the caterers.”

“I’m on it. You know, Parks, sometimes I just love this job beyond reason. Oddly, this is one of those times.”

“Right there with you.” Parker crunched down on the antacid. “We probably need therapy.”

MAC DELIVERED WHAT SHE THOUGHT OF AS THE MUG SHOTS TO Emma and her crew, then passed the rest to the small hive working in the Grand Hall. She helped dress the tables—lavender cloths over blue—adding setups while Emma delivered centerpieces. In widemouthed glass bowls white star lilies floated above a bed of shimmering stones.

“Nice,” Mac decreed.

Emma set little vases holding the heads of fat roses and white candles around the center bowl, scattered petals and tiny red hearts, blue stars. “Nicer. Only nineteen more to go. Let’s get the favors set up,” she called out. “Let’s finish the . . . Oh, hello, Carter.”

“What?” Mac spun around.

In a dark gray suit, Carter stood in the middle of the pre-event chaos. He looked, Mac thought, like an island of baffled calm in a sea of motion and color.

“Ah, somebody named Lois said I should just come back. There’s a lot going on. I’m probably in the way.”

“No, you’re not,” Emma assured him. “But be careful, anybody capable of moving, lifting, or hauling may be put to use at any time.”

“I’m happy to help if I can.”

“The magic words. We have a hundred and ninety-eight favors, bubble bottles, and candy nets to set out. Mac, why don’t you get our newest slave started? I have to check on the Parlor.”

“Sure.” How could she have forgotten she’d asked him to come? And what was she supposed to do about this flutter in her belly that just wouldn’t stop when she looked at him? “Nice suit.”

“It’s not tweed. You look beautiful and professional at the same time.”

“Staff needs to blend. I’m sorry, I’m distracted. We’re on red alert. The CBBM may try to sneak the SBP into the reception.”

“Wait a minute.” His brow furrowed. “I think I’ve got it. The best man and the business partner. The one he had an affair with. He’s going to bring her? That’s rude.”

“At bare minimum. Violence may ensue. So.” She opened her camera bag, took out the mug shot. “This is the target. See it, report it. Okay?”

“All right.” He studied the photo, smiled a little, then folded it to tuck it in his inside pocket. “Is there something else? It feels . . . You seem upset.”

“Upset? No. No. Just distracted. I said that already, didn’t I? The bride’s upset, and that could affect the portraits, so . . .”

Deal with it, she ordered herself. Just explain the way things are.

“Actually, Carter.” She took his arm to lead him to a relatively quiet corner in a room that buzzed like a hive of hornets. “I did want to say I’ve been thinking we should discuss—Damn it.” She tipped up the walkie hooked to her pocket. “That’s my cue. Bride’s on the property. I have to go. I guess you’d better come with me.”

“Do you need me to get any of your equipment?” he asked as he adjusted to her hurried pace.

“No, I have what I need for this. Everything else is up in the Bride’s Suite. She’ll go there. But I need shots of her arrival. Just make sure you stay out of the shot.”

“Hey, Carter,” Parker said as she fell into quick step with them. She flicked the faintest questioning glance at Mac, then switched to full-business mode. “The bride’s a solid nine point five on the emotion scale. Constant reassurance, support.”

“Got it.”

“We need her upstairs, busy, and focused on herself ASAP. I’ve already put champagne up there, but let’s not let her pull a Karen.”

“Won’t be a problem.”

“MOH and two of the BAs are with her, as well as the MOB. MOB is a rock. If I’m not available and the bride or the MOH go on, get the MOB.”

“Is Jack on his way?”

“ETA fifteen minutes. I’ll send him straight up.”

“Who’s Karen?” Carter wondered.

“Former bride, arrived half drunk, finished the job before we got a handle on it. Puked over the terrace shortly before the ceremony.”

“Oh.”

Outside, the women stepped to the side of the porch where the rails were already dressed in Italian lights and tulle.

“Where are your coats?” Carter asked. “I’ll get them for you?”

“No need.” Mac took out her camera. “Adrenaline works.”

As the white limo cruised down the drive, Emma and Laurel came out.

“I wanted all four of us,” Parker explained. “Solid wall of ‘we’re here to make your day perfect.’ Happy faces, everyone.”

The limo stopped. Mac framed a shot of the bride turning to exit the open door with what could only be called a brave and wobbling smile on her face.

Mac thought: Crap.

“Your day,” Parker said from the steps. “Guaranteed.”

The smile brightened, just enough. Mac got the shot before the bride’s face crumbled. She sprang out of the car, arms outstretched, and said, “Oh, Parker!”

“Hey!” Mac’s voice stopped the bride in midstride. “Are you going to let that bitch give you puffy red eyes in your portraits? Give me one, give me a beaut. One that’ll make her cry like a baby when she sees it.”

It might’ve been rage, but the bride’s face went radiant. “I’m getting married!”

“Damn right.”

“One of both of us.” The bride grabbed the hand of her maid of honor, grinned fiercely at her friend. “Together. Solidarity.”