“Dez—”

“Then we have the fresh fruit and the dark chocolate waterfall. Of course it’s all dark chocolate. At least seventy-two percent cacoa. There’s chocolate fondue and twelve—yes, twelve—different kinds of chocolate cakes. Then there are the brownies and pies—”

“Desiree!” Sissy cleared her throat. “Just. Pick. Something.”

Covering her mouth with her hands, Dez’s eyes went from one end of the table to the other. “I…I can’t! I’m in chocolate overload!”

Good Lord.

“Darlin’, you know I love you, but there is a table of unsuspecting males playing Texas Hold ’Em, and it’s calling my name.”

“You can’t,” Dez said offhandly, reaching for a plate. “Maybe I’ll take a little of everything…except the fruit. I can do without the fruit. Why screw up chocolate with fruit?”

“Why can’t I?”

“Last time I was in there, so was your mother.”

“That woman is everywhere.”

“Should I mention she was in the Karaoke Room belting out—”

“No!”

“All right then.”

Dez walked over, her plate piled with bits of this and that from the available chocolate selections.

“Desiree.”

“What? I wanted to be covered.”

“Your thing for chocolate is unhealthy.”

“And there’s still the wedding cake. That thing is dark chocolate. Wish my wedding cake was like that.”

“Your cake was chocolate.”

“Not dark chocolate. Not like that.”

“I can’t have this conversation with you anymore.” Sissy turned to walk away.

“I’m sure you could have this conversation if I were Mitchell. And we were outside in the garden…under the romantic moonlight,” she taunted.

Sissy squinted. “You’re armed, aren’t you?” Dez kept her service weapon on her at all times. She even had a small pistol on her at her own wedding. Yup. A full-human predator all right.

“Every day,” Dez confirmed.

“Damn.” There went that potential beating Sissy had been all ready to give.

Mitch sat alone at a big table and picked at his slice of wedding cake. It wasn’t that the cake wasn’t delicious. It was. In fact, the cake wasn’t just chocolate; it was dark chocolate with seventy-two percent cacao. He knew this because the bride had announced it before cutting the cake and a collective “ohhhh” had come from the wild dogs—and Dez. To Mitch, chocolate was chocolate.

Nah. It wasn’t the cake. It was him. His family was right. He was getting thin. He simply wasn’t hungry these days. Must be the overall fear of death that had screwed with his appetite.

It had been, what? Five years ago when he’d used his old high school connections to dig his way into the O’Farrell crew.His department had made him look like a dirty cop, and his old history of being the high school football star had greased the wheels.

But after all that work and risk, it mostly wasn’t for shit. Almost all the charges against the O’Farrell crew had been dropped after more legal wrangling than seemed possible. In fact, this whole situation should be over now. Except for the one charge that wouldn’t go away. The one that had blown Mitch’s cover, that he couldn’t bring himself to tell his family about, and that still gave him nightmares.

First-degree murder against Petey O’Farrell, head of the O’Farrell crew. Mitch was the only witness to what that sick old fuck had done—and Mitch was now the only thing between freedom and life for O’Farrell.

If Mitch didn’t testify, the case would crumble. If Mitch was dead, O’Farrell would be out of jail faster than he could spit.

Bottom line…he needed Mitch dead.

Not a very comforting thought. No wonder Mitch no longer had an appetite.

Sissy dropped into the empty seat beside him, undoing her shoes and kicking them off her feet. Funny, her mere presence soothed him. He’d never noticed that before.

Turning the chair around, Sissy pushed her feet into his lap, ignoring the fact he was still eating…or in this case, picking.

“Rub my feet.”

Mitch placed his fork on the table and looked down at her feet. “Don’t I need a veterinarian’s license to handle hooves of this size?”

She lifted her foot a bit and brought it back down onto his groin, causing him to grunt.

“Rub them,” she ordered.

Liking his balls in working order, he did what she told him to do. “How are you holding up?”

“So far, so good. I’ve avoided her. She’s on one side of the floor, I make sure I’m on the other. If she starts looking above the crowd like she’s trying to find me, I run like I’m going for the gold in the Summer Olympics.”

“That’s your plan for the rest of the evening? Dodging your mother?”

“Yes. That’s my plan. And since you’re insistent that killing your parents is so wrong, I really have no other choice.”

“Good point. It’s almost over, though. A few more hours of New Wave music and bad wild dog dancing, and this all will be a distant memory.”

Sissy stared out over the dance floor. “Lord, that is some bad dancin’.”

“But it’s exuberant.”

She shook her head and looked away.

“I have to say, Sissy, I thought you had a few more brothers.” Sissy followed his gaze to Smitty, who stood talking to one of the cousins who’d bothered to attend, and he’d come from Smithville or Smithburg…one of the other Smith places the States were apparently littered with. It seemed that many of the family from Smitty’s hometown were woefully absent.