"Jesus saves!"

"Jesus lives!"

"Jesus Christ," Savannah snarled as she stopped in her tracks, propped a hand on one hip, and took a look at the scene outside Frenchie's.

Patrons crowded the gallery, staring down, bemused at a dozen protestors who were toting signs bearing such intelligent slogans as "Close Frenchie's. End Sin." The picketers were gathered in a knot at the bottom of the steps, putting on a show for the camera of a Lafayette tele-vision station, chanting their slogans in a vain attempt to drown out the swamp pop music that spilled through the screens.

In the center of the righteous stood the ringleader of their band, Reverend Jimmy Lee Baldwin, resplendent in a white summer suit, fresh out of the JC Penney catalog. Two thousand dollars' worth of too-white caps shone as he spoke to a reporter who looked as though he used enough hair spray to put his own personal hole in the ozone.

Jimmy Lee was good-looking, standing an inch or two past six feet tall, and had once been lean and athletic, though in the years since high school basketball, firm muscle had softened. He wore his tawny hair slicked straight back from his face, drawing attention to his eyes, which were the color of good scotch, and to the dazzling dental wonders that lined his smile like big white Chiclets.

Though he was barely thirty-eight, lines of dissipation were etched deeply beside those tawny eyes and around a mouth that had a certain weakness about it. Between the teeth and the tan that looked as though he'd gotten it down at the Suds 'n' Sun Laundromat/Tanning Parlor, Jimmy Lee looked just a little too tacky to be truly handsome. Not that anyone could ever have convinced him of that.

"Who is it?" Laurel asked, shoving her glasses up on her nose. The sight of the white news van automatically made her nervous. The irrational fear that they had come here to track her down flashed through her mind, but she resolutely crushed it out with the gavel of practicality. She wasn't news any longer.

"The Reverend Jimmy Lee Baldwin. Saver of lost souls, purveyor of heavenly blessings, leader of the Church of the True Path."

"I've never heard of it."

"No. I reckon Georgia had its own religious screwballs. The Revver showed up here about six months back and started to gather himself a flock. He's got his own show now on local cable up in Lafayette. Fixin' to be a big star in the televangelist ranks, he is."

Savannah dug a cigarette out of her pocketbook and lit it, taking a long, considering drag as she stared at Jimmy Lee through her sunglasses. He was on a roll, gesturing like a wild man as he began ranting about the dens of iniquity.

"Come on, Baby," she said on a breath of smoke. "I need to get me that drink."

Laurel started for the side door, having no desire to call attention to herself by crashing a picket line. But Savannah made a beeline for the action, miniskirt twitching across her thighs, hips swaying alluringly. She gave her head a toss, fluffing her long, wild mane with her free hand as she went. She looked like a walking ad for wanton sex and decadent living. Laurel bit back a groan and followed her. Trouble had always been a magnet to Savannah, and she was headed toward this mess with a sly smile teasing the corners of her mouth.

Her approach did not go unnoticed. Almost immediately a chorus of wild cheers and wolf whistles rose from the men on the gallery. Of the group involved in the protest, the reporter saw her first, his head snapping around in a classic double take as he held the microphone in front of Reverend Baldwin. He elbowed the cameraman, who swung his lens in her direction. Reverend Baldwin broke off in midtirade, clearly annoyed to have his moment in the spotlight cut short. He recovered quickly, though, and moved to turn the situation to his advantage.

"Sister, sister, be redeemed!" he called dramatically. "Let Christ Jesus quench your thirst."

Savannah stopped a scant six inches from the minister, cocked a hip, and blew a stream of smoke in his face. "Honey, if He shows up in the next five minutes with a Jax long-neck, I'll be glad to let Him quench my thirst. In the meantime Frenchie can serve that need just fine."

She blew a kiss to the camera while the crowd on the gallery howled laughing, and sauntered on, the picketers-turned-gawkers parting like the Red Sea to let her pass on up the steps. Laurel tried to hurry after her before the faithful closed ranks on their leader again, but Baldwin caught her by the arm.

"Turn to God, young woman. Find the True Path! Let the Lord quench the thirst in your soul with conviction and righteousness!"

Laurel looked up at him, her brows pulling together in annoyance. She had no patience for the likes of Jimmy Lee Baldwin. Televangelists ranked a notch lower than disreputable used-car salesmen in her book, bilking the poor and the elderly out of what limited funds they had, selling them the kind of salvation God offered free of charge in the Bible. She hadn't come here looking for a fight. In fact, she would have given anything to have passed unnoticed through the throng. But she wasn't about to be used as a pawn. She pulled in a deep breath and felt the fire that had been turned low leap inside her.

"I have convictions of my own, Mr. Baldwin," she said, smiling inwardly as he jerked his head around and looked at her as if she were a mute suddenly healed. He hadn't expected her to stand up to him. "All of them more important than the sale of perfectly legal alcoholic beverages in a licensed establishment."

Jimmy Lee recovered admirably from his shock. "You condone the sin of drink, lost sister? May the Lord have mercy-"

"If I'm not mistaken, it was Christ who changed the water into wine at the wedding at Cana. John, chapter two, verses one to eleven. Liquor itself isn't bad, Reverend, just the foolish acts committed by those who overindulge. And alcoholism is an illness, not a sin. Perhaps God should have mercy on your soul for suggesting otherwise."

He bared his snowy-white teeth at her in what would pass for a smile on videotape, she supposed, and his fingers tightened on her upper arm, telegraphing his anger. "I come only as God's soldier in the war to save men's souls. Our battlegrounds are the dens of iniquity where men's weaknesses are exploited for monetary gain."

"If you're only interested in saving men's souls, then perhaps you could take your hand off me," she said dryly, pulling free of his grasp. "As to exploiting people's weaknesses for monetary gain, my interests run more in the direction of the disposition of monies solicited by television preachers. I wonder what the Lord would have to say about that."

As the audience on the gallery cheered, Baldwin flushed red. His mouth tightened, and the whiskey-brown eyes, which had moments ago glowed with the bright lights of glory, hardened like amber. He took a step back from her, admitting defeat as far as Laurel was concerned. She gave him one last hard look and started to turn for the steps, but the reporter outflanked her, and she flinched away from the light of the handheld strobe an assistant shot up behind the cameraman.

"Miss, Doug Matthews, KFET-TV, can we please get your name?"

Memories of other times and other cameras flashed through Laurel 's mind. Reporters pressing in on her, yapping and jumping at her like a pack of hounds. Questions, accusations, snide remarks, hurled at her from all sides like darts.

"No," she murmured, fighting the tightness that suddenly squeezed her chest. "No, please just leave me alone."

Savannah stepped down off the gallery and pushed the cameraman's lens down. "Leave my sister alone, sweetheart," she said, her gaze leveled on the reporter, "else I'll take that cute little microphone and shove it up your tight little ass."

Hoots and shouts issued from Frenchie's patrons. Gasps rippled through the crowd of believers as the Chandler sisters went up the steps and into the bar.

Jimmy Lee stepped away from them, dragging Doug Matthews with him. "You'll take that shit out, or I'll beat her to that goddamn microphone," he growled, looming over Matthews, who was jockey-short and coward-yellow.

Doug Matthews sent him a contentious look, making a token show of journalistic integrity as he smoothed a hand carefully over his blond hair. "It's news, Jimmy Lee."

"So is your penchant for pretty young men." His eyes darted to his throng of disgruntled followers who were milling around the parking lot looking as though their parade had been hailed on. "Fuck news. This is supposed to be the launch of my big campaign against sin. I'm not gettin' shown up by some little skirt in horn-rimmed glasses. You take that tape and cut and paste until I look like Christ himself forgiving Mary Magdalene." He cuffed Matthews on the chest, scowling ferociously. "You got that, Dougie?"

Matthews pouted and rubbed at the sore spot, carefully straightening his turquoise tie. "Yeah, yeah. I got it. I wonder who she was, anyway. She sure as hell cleaned your clock."

Jimmy Lee rubbed his knuckles against his chin, his gaze on the screen door the two women had gone through. "Sister," he murmured, the oily wheels of his mind whirring like windmills. "Savannah Chandler's sister." Awareness dawned, and he brightened considerably as the seeds of a plan took root. "Laurel Chandler."

"Poor Jimmy Lee," Savannah said without sympathy as they stepped into the cool, dark interior of Frenchie's. "He's only trying to rid the town of impurities, immoralities, and prurient behavior. He's a firsthand expert on prurient behavior." Sliding her sunglasses down her nose, she looked at Laurel and smiled wickedly. "And I ought to know, 'cause I've gone to bed with him."

" Savannah!"

"Oh, Baby, don't look so scandalized." She chuckled as she glanced around the room for a choice place to roost. "Preachers get the itch too. And let me tell you, Jimmy Lee likes his scratched in some of the most inventive ways…"

She sauntered toward a table, feeling a little bit mean and a little bit vindicated. Coop had rattled her, something she didn't like at all. Making a fool out of Jimmy Lee went a long way toward making up for the scene at Madame Collette's. And truth to tell, shocking Laurel made up the rest. Laurel, such a good girl. Laurel the upstanding citizen. Laurel the golden child. It did her good to get thrown for a loop every once in a while. Let her see how the other half lived. Let her think There but for the grace of God and Savannah…