ith his tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, Michael headed toward the bar, intending to open a bottle of champagne while Leigh was getting dressed for their wedding. They still had almost two hours to go, and the Plaza was only a few blocks away, but Jason Solomon had phoned a while ago and said he needed a ride from the theater on Broadway to the Plaza. For some reason, Leigh had agreed to go all the way down to the theater district to pick him up, instead of telling him to take a cab or phone a car service.

Michael was in the process of opening a bottle of Dom Pérignon when he heard O'Hara answer the phone in the kitchen. A moment later, O'Hara appeared and said, "Lieutenant McCord is downstairs in the lobby with Detective Littleton. Is it okay to let them come up?"

"It's fine," Michael said, but he was understandably puzzled by the arrival at his home of two of his wedding guests, whom he expected to see later, at the Plaza, instead.

As Leigh had suggested at the hospital, they'd sent McCord two front-row tickets to Leigh's play, and McCord had escorted Samantha Littleton. After the play, Michael took everyone to the Essex House for dinner at Alain Ducasse, and during their three-hour meal, a sudden friendship had sprung up between the two women. On the surface, they had little in common except two things: They were both about the same age, and they were both in love with men who were unapologetically in love with them. Within minutes after sitting down to dinner, Michael had sensed that McCord was completely hooked on the pretty brunette detective, and when Michael made a pointed, joking remark about that, McCord hadn't denied it.

That at least gave Michael something in common with McCord, which was a good thing, because Michael had the distinct impression that Leigh and Sam Littleton wanted McCord and him to be friends; though, at the time, he couldn't imagine why two intelligent, lovely women would think that he and McCord had anything whatsoever in common. Nevertheless, Michael went along with their scheme because he sensed that Leigh wanted to forge new friendships of their own, as part of her life with him, rather than drawing him into all her old friendships, many of which were tainted with memories of Logan.

Since McCord was heading up the mayor's investigation into all the charges brought against Michael by the City of New York, McCord and he were required to meet periodically to discuss all that, so they'd actually seen quite a lot of each other in the last three weeks. To Michael's secret amusement, he was actually developing a wary liking for his former enemy, and he knew McCord felt the same way about him.

As he thought about that, he heard O'Hara letting them in and he poured champagne into four glasses. He handed the first one to Sam Littleton, who gave him a smile and a quick hug. "You look very handsome," she told him. "I don't know how you do it, but you and Mack both manage to look macho and rugged in tuxedos, instead of like penguins."

"Thank you," Michael replied with a lazy grin. "And may I say that you look extremely feminine in that gown even though I know the bulge in your beaded handbag is probably a large, loaded, semiautomatic weapon."

"You're right, it is." She laughed. "Where's Leigh?" she asked, accepting the glass of champagne he was handing to her.

"Getting dressed," Michael said.

"I'll go see if she needs any help," Sam said, and Michael handed her another glass of champagne to take to Leigh.

He gave the last glass to McCord along with an inquiring look, which McCord understood. "I'm here to deliver a wedding gift from the mayor," he explained.

Since McCord had a glass of champagne in his right hand and his left hand was in the pocket of his black tuxedo trousers, Michael said, "What gift?"

"You have to look out the window to see it," McCord replied, strolling over to the wall of glass that overlooked Central Park West. "Look down there on the street."

Michael did, and what he saw, twenty-eight floors below, was his limousine surrounded by a bevy of uniformed police officers on motorcycles. "Oh, good," he said dryly. "Cops. Just what I always wanted."

"It's a motorcycle escort," McCord clarified with a chuckle. "Compliments of His Honor, the Mayor."

"Really? From up here, with those helmets on, I thought they might be skeet, and I was going to ask to borrow your gun."

Together they strolled back to the bar. The granite countertop was high enough for Michael to comfortably lean his right forearm on it, which he did while keeping his eye on the living room, waiting for his first glimpse of Leigh in her wedding dress. "We have to leave early," Michael said idly, taking a sip of champagne. "We're picking Solomon and Eric Ingram up at the theater and taking them to the hotel."

McCord walked around to the other side of the bar and leaned his left forearm on the granite countertop. "Why?" he asked, lifting his own glass to his mouth.

Michael shook his head, his voice filled with tolerant amusement. "I have no idea why Leigh agreed to pick them up there, but she did. Do you want to ride with us?"

"We'll pass," McCord replied. "Solomon is in a snit because the IRS is auditing him. He thinks it's because we questioned him about Manning's two-hundred-thousand-dollar cash deposit, and then sent the IRS after him. He's written a stern letter of protest to the governor."

Michael chuckled and sardonically said, "That will do him a hell of a lot of good."

"Sam and I are getting married," McCord said quietly.

Michael glanced over his shoulder and quirked a brow at him in mock surprise. "What kind of drug did you use on her to get her to agree to that?"

"A slightly less potent one than you used on your bride, I imagine," McCord replied unconcernedly.

"I own a château in France. If you actually get that beautiful woman to marry you, instead of shooting you, you could use it for your honeymoon."

"Sam's a hell of a marksman," McCord remarked proudly, taking another sip of champagne.

"In that case, be sure you never let her go to bed with you when she's angry," Michael replied with a chuckle, taking a swallow of his drink.

"She'd love a honeymoon in a French château, I think. So would I."

Michael nodded. "Let me know the dates you want it, and I'll make sure it's staffed and ready."

Sam and Leigh emerged from the bedroom, started across the living room, and then stopped in amused surprise at the sight of the two men at the bar. They were both leaning on a forearm, drinking champagne, and regarding each other over their shoulders. "They are so much alike!" Sam whispered with a laugh. "I realized it a long time ago."

"So did I," Leigh replied. "But they don't think they're anything alike."

Sam was quiet for a moment, thinking of an analogy that fit them. "A pair of lions," she said aloud.

Leigh nodded, looking at Michael. "They would have made terrible foes."

At the sound of their voices, Michael looked up and his breath caught at the sight of Leigh walking toward him in a long, strapless cream sheath covered in French lace. At her throat she was wearing the diamond-and-pearl choker he'd given her. Deep inside her slender body, she was sheltering his child.

She handed him the aquamarine velvet wrap she was carrying over her arm, and she turned around. He draped it over her shoulders; then he slid his hand protectively over her flat abdomen. "Thank you," he whispered.

She covered his hand with hers and gave him a melting smile over her shoulder. "I was going to say the same thing to you."