All movement drops into slow motion as I make my way down the aisle to the sounds of the Wedding March.
The man I love more than anything in the world is ahead of me, standing at the end of the aisle next to Dev and Ozzie. I wish I had some way to tell him how I feel right now, but I don’t. All I’ve got is a dress, a handful of flowers, and a shitty plan. God help me.
Guests line the walkway marked by a pink runner on either side of me, sitting in white folding chairs decorated with bows. The catering staff and at least one murderer are standing in a group next to some bushes, off to the side in Jenny’s backyard.
My teammates are all on alert, ready for anything. Thibault is walking from the front door to Jenny’s side yard as quickly and as quietly as he can, headed to a spot directly behind Marc Doucet. His job is to take this criminal down while the rest of our team protects the guests and looks out for accomplices who may have wiggled their way into the celebration.
Hands are resting lightly on guns in holsters covered by jackets. Any obvious movements on our part could make bad guys’ fingers go to triggers and pull, so we need to avoid that if at all possible. We know how these gangbangers operate. As long as we keep them thinking their plan is still in motion, we have a chance of stopping it before it starts.
When I’m halfway down the aisle, I stop, putting my hand to my belly. “Oh!” I yell out with exaggerated volume, trying to look surprised.
Several guests turn to look at me, frowning in confusion.
I drop my ratty bouquet and clutch my belly with both hands, slouching as best I can in my stupid dress. “Oh, my god. I think I just had a contraction!”
The people closest to me stand.
I hold out my hand. “No, sit, sit, sit, I’ll be fine.” When the man nearest me holds out his hands toward me, I glare and growl at him. “Sit, I said!”
His wife pulls him back and he takes his seat reluctantly.
I try to grin through the pain of aching ribs as I whisper, “Sorry. Just playing a part here.” I take another step and then stop, bending over again and gasping. I speak as loudly as I can without being too obvious. “Ow! What the heck! I think I’m in labor!”
Hopefully, Marc Doucet doesn’t know a hell of a lot about pregnancies, since I don’t look like someone nine months along. I risk a glance in his direction and see him standing there with no expression on his face. He’s stone-cold serious as his hand moves slowly into his jacket. Time slows.
Thibault’s too far away. He’s just made it to the gate separating the side yard from the backyard. I can see him through the chain link. He’ll never make it in time.
I bend over again, yelling louder. “Oh, boy! That was a big one! Watch out!”
Lucky takes a step toward me.
I hold out my hand to stop him. He needs to stay out of the line of fire. I can’t let him get hurt.
Marc starts pulling his hand slowly from his jacket. I see the butt of a gun coming with it.
“Oh, hey, Marc!” a high voice yells out from behind me. “You came! Oh my god, you are so crazy!”
What the . . . ?
I turn with my jaw dropped open to watch May streaking out from the house with her dress’s train gathered up in one arm and her bouquet in the other. “How did you know the address? I forgot to call you!”
Everyone . . . and I mean everyone . . . in the entire place just stares at her. Even Marc. My feet are rooted to the ground, but even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to stop this train wreck from coming down the rails. Thibault is still too far away to intervene and Ozzie doesn’t have wings. It’s all up to May now.
She stops about ten feet away, when his hand comes out of his jacket with a pistol in it. She tilts her head to the side. “What are you doing, Marc—trying to ruin my wedding?”
I see everything happening at once like it’s part of a film I’m watching from a movie theater seat:
Thibault pulls his piece out of his holster and throws the gate open.
Ozzie