“Help, please… there’s a man… he’s armed… in the Sculpture Court…”

The guard tensed. “The wedding?”

I nodded. Clearly, he’d been briefed. He grabbed my arm and spoke into the radio headset he was wearing. As we ran toward the back of the museum, I told him everything I knew. He related the information over the radio to the NYPD.

Two minutes later, we were entering the European Sculpture and Decorative Arts wing, and the guard visibly relaxed. “They have him in custody, ma’am,” he told me, tapping his earphones. “He tried to approach the wedding party, and they grabbed him.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” I gasped, the tension flowing out of me.

Although the pubic was still milling around the museum, the European Sculpture Court was closed for our private party. I saw its atrium ahead, the waning sunlight glinting off its marble figures. Tired as I felt, I increased my pace.

Entering the court, I spotted a flurry of motion near the table of wedding gifts. Sully and Lori Soles had a tuxedo-clad man in handcuffs. As the detectives turned him around, I saw his face.

“You’ve got the wrong man!” Javier Lozado cried. “Listen to me! Why won’t you listen?”

There was no time left. I raced forward, toward the coffee and dessert station. Matt and Breanne stood there alone, framed against Nunzio’s star-crossed fountain. The guests were at least ten feet back, clearing the area for the photographers to snap away. Madame was stepping up to the couple, her sterling silver gift tray in her hands, two freshly pulled shots ready to be served.

That’s when I spotted Hector, hiding behind a cameraman. He was reaching into his evening jacket! I was too far away to do anything more than shout at the top of my lungs, “Matt! It’s Hector! Hector’s got the gun!”

Matt turned at the sound of my voice, but the photo flashes had limited his vision. He couldn’t see Hector in the crowd! Breanne froze with stark fear, but she didn’t know where to look, and her bodyguard had stepped far back from the couple so he wouldn’t be in their wedding photos!

Madame was right beside them now, and she knew what Hector looked like. Spotting him, she lurched forward as he raised his weapon and aimed for Breanne. The gunshot boomed, the sound echoing inside the massive space. Breanne, Matt, and Madame all went down in a tangle. The silver tray clanged against the floor; dark liquid seeped across the white marble. Screams and shouts lifted up, echoing off the pitched roof, drowning out the mannered music. The crowd shrank back, and I rushed forward.

A scuffle broke out: Rocky Friar wrestled with Hector Pena. The Colombian refused to release his small-caliber weapon, even as the muscle-bound detective squeezed his wrist.

“Give it up!” Rocky cried.

“You heard him!” Sue Ellen Bass shouted, rushing forward to Rocky’s aid. Together, the two disarmed Hector and cuffed him.

I turned at a new sound: my partner’s voice. Matt was sitting up now, clutching his new bride in his arms, wailing like a man who’d lost his one true love.

“No…” I whispered.

I saw the dark stain on Breanne’s delicate white wedding gown, right over her heart. The liquid bled slowly across the handmade silk. Then Breanne’s royal blue eyes fluttered, and I saw the empty espresso cup in her lap. The dark fluid wasn’t blood! It was coffee!

But if the bullet missed Breanne, who did it hit?

I whirled. Madame was still on the white marble, Otto Visser bent over her, his face twisted with emotional pain.

My God, no! Not my mother! I rushed to her side, fell to my knees. “Madame? Are you…”

Her gently creased face turned toward mine. She pointed to the sterling silver tray on the floor. The metal was badly dented: the tray had deflected the bullet!

“You saved Breanne’s life!”

“Your cry saved her, Clare. And Matteo, too…” Madame grabbed my arms, pulled me in. “Thank you…”

Relieved beyond words, I hugged her tightly. When we parted, Otto and I helped Madame to her feet. We took a moment to check her out, make sure nothing was broken.

“I’m afraid my gift is broken,” Madame said, shaking her silver head at the dented tray.

“On the contrary.” Otto laughed. “I think the couple will cherish it for years to come.”

Nodding in complete agreement, I looked around, wondering where the bullet had ended up. Noticing the slight damage to a nearby stone pedestal, I pointed. “Thank heaven no one was hurt. Not even a sculpture.”

Otto smiled and squeezed my shoulder. Then Madame’s gaze shifted-and she gasped. “Look, Clare,” she whispered. “Look at them now!”

I turned to see Matt still sitting on the stained marble floor, holding Breanne close, kissing her, petting her, telling her he was there for her.

“Madame? I don’t understand. What is it?”

Her blue eyes had dampened. “It’s love, my dear.”

Otto laughed. Then he put his arm around his girl and kissed her, too.

“I’m so happy, Otto!” Madame declared as they headed for the bar. “My son does love his bride…”

Still uneasy, I remained behind, surveying the crowded room. When I saw Hector being led out in handcuffs, I finally sagged against my perfect coffee and dessert table.

Matt was still holding his new bride in his arms, kissing her with a passion I hadn’t seen him display since our own Hawaiian honeymoon.

It was then I finally noticed our daughter in the crowd, watching her father, her pretty young face full of mixed emotions. I knew how Joy felt. It was surreal, given all that had happened, all that we’d been through.

Oh, sure, on the scale of human history, you could hardly deem the wedding of my ex-husband a significant event. Not like, say, Christopher Columbus discovering the New World. In my own little life, however, it was a moment that changed everything. This really was good-bye to the handsome groom of my youth; the swaggering father of my child; the globe-trotting spouse who liked to pretend that, no matter how many women he slept with, I was his only love.

For a fraction of time, I felt a sadness grip me, the quaking that comes from unforeseen loss. But the seismic shift was a small event, and when it was over, I heard another man call my name.

“Clare! Over here! I’m over here, sweetheart!”

I saw Mike then, breaking through the crowd. With a sure and steady voice, I answered him, because now I was ready, more than ready, to explore his new world.

EPILOGUE

DESPITE starting off with a bang (literally), Matt and Breanne’s wedding reception came off quite well. The champagne started flowing, and the well-heeled crowd was soon buzzing with the realization that they now had a fabulous new saga of urban survival-a wedding favor that would keep on giving with retellings at cocktail hours and dinner parties for months to come.

Nunzio’s fountain turned out to be the biggest draw of the night, making our coffee and dessert bar a huge hit. (Janelle received no less than thirty requests for her business card.) And Matt’s passion fueled Breanne’s emotional recovery. Giddily soaking up her groom’s repeated, ardent kisses, the usually restrained, ultra-cool sophisticate was feeling no pain, laughing and animated and uncaring that her exquisite Italian silk creation had been stained like a macchiato. I had to give the woman credit, she wore the espresso like a badge of honor-even insisted more photos be taken with the damaged tray and the spattered gown.

“Hector’s shot missed Breanne,” I told Madame as the evening wound down, “but it killed bridezilla for sure.”

As for the sad-eyed Colombian murderer, I had to wait two more days to hear what the police finally got out of him…

“SUICIDE by cop?” Mike told me.

“Suicide by what?”

“You’ve never heard of it?”