“My mother must have closed the shop and taken Violet with her.”
Megan reached for her purse. “I can call—”
“They’re probably at the house.”
Without another word, he eased into traffic and took her to the house he’d grown up in. The DiLeo’s modest two-story was in a residential neighborhood in the Lower Garden District. The house and yard were well cared for with a colorful array of springtime blooms dripping over the fence. Cars crammed the driveway and overflowed onto the street, and while the house looked barely large enough to raise a family with six kids, it had a lived-in look and a friendly feel that still felt welcoming.
“Damn it.” Nic drove up on the curb without preamble and made a spot to park on the front lawn. “What is she doing? Throwing a block party?”
Megan didn’t know what was taking place inside that house and didn’t care as long as her daughter was among the guests. Megan had weathered the storm and now finally, finally, all the uncertainty of this nightmare, all the fear, all the guilt of facing her actions and putting on a good face for Nic came crashing in on her. Violet would be inside, and the most important part of this nightmare would be over. The rest she could handle, as long as her daughter was okay.
“You ready?” Nic asked.
She nodded. And then they were on their way inside a place that had been a forgotten memory. The decor may have changed, but the impression of Nic’s home remained the same.
A home filled with love and laughter.
A sort of numb disbelief took hold as Megan walked beside him. She knew exactly where he was heading—the kitchen at the rear of the house. They passed through the hall then the living room and…there she was.
Seated at the head of the table, Violet held court, alive and in one piece and not looking any worse for the trip.
She glanced up as if it was the most natural thing in the world to find Megan standing there. “Hey, Mom.”
As casual as if she’d arrived home from a friend’s house. As if the past few days had never been and she belonged in the family home of the father she hadn’t known existed in the entire time she’d been alive.
She hopped up with that long-legged grace Megan knew by heart. No longer her beautiful little girl, but an independent young woman, her own person, who thought for herself and knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to do what it took to get it.
Even if it meant running from one continent to another.
But none of that mattered right now. They were mother and daughter and came together as naturally as breathing. Violet slipped her arms around Megan’s waist and rested a cheek on her shoulder in a familiar hello.
And Megan held on.
No matter what had passed between them, the decisions, the mistakes, the tiny betrayals, love won out over all of them. Violet was as relieved to see her mom as Megan was to see her. She could feel it in those slender arms that held her close, hear it in the sweet voice that asked, “You okay, Mom?”
They were together and that was all that mattered. Now wasn’t the time for recriminations or accusations or anything but the only thing that was really important.
Violet was okay.
Megan pressed a kiss into her daughter’s hair. “I am now.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
NIC CAME TO A STOP IN the doorway. His life had suddenly become a YouTube video, loading jerkily into his brain, streaming only long enough to almost make sense of what he saw.
Violet. His daughter. She sat in the middle of his family. Anthony and his wife, Tess, each with a twin on their lap. Vince, still in dress pants and shirt, which meant he’d come straight from the hospital.
Damon was in the thick of things as usual, looking like a rebel with his long hair pulled in a ponytail, laughing it up as if he hadn’t kept everyone awake last night with his nonsense. Mom’s stylists were there, and a mechanic from Anthony’s garage, too.
The usual crew.
Marc wasn’t in town right now; his job as a bounty hunter was keeping him on the road more and more lately. A few other familiar faces were missing as well, but then, it was the middle of a workday when normal people worked.
When had this family ever been normal?
Violet had made herself at home, facing everyone with a blinding smile and fast laughter until she looked up and saw Megan.
Nic must have blinked, because the next thing he knew Megan and Violet were standing in the middle of the kitchen.
Somehow he knew Megan was thinking about every horrible thing that might have happened to Violet on a solo trip from South America, every tragedy she’d ever read about in the paper or seen on the news. He didn’t need to see her face to recognize the relief melting her slim body as she wrapped her arms around Violet, a motion as natural as breathing.
He could see Violet, though. She was barely taller than Megan, the perfect height to rest her face on her mother’s shoulder. From where he was standing, she looked like a young girl who had nestled into the safest place in her world.
Every image of a mother and child Nic had ever seen flashed in his head. Memories from his family. Scenes from television. This was what a mother and daughter were supposed to look like. He didn’t see examples often enough in his line of work.
He tried to grasp onto the fact that this was his daughter with the woman he’d once loved so much it had hurt, but Violet raised her head, took a step back and asked, “You’re not going to melt down about my nose, are you?”
“Saving the meltdown for later.” Megan’s return was deadpan. “It’s coming, though. Be forewarned.”
Violet narrowed her gaze in a look that was all surly teen and lightning-fast mood swing. Megan turned enough so he saw her narrow her gaze and scowl right back, giving as good as she got.
Everyone watching the exchange had the sense to keep their mouths shut—even Damon—as Violet flounced to her seat of honor at the head of the table.
A miracle for this family.
Violet motioned Megan forward. “Come on, Mom. Sit down. Do you know everybody? If you don’t, I’ll introduce you.”
She demonstrated such a curious mix of youth and maturity that Nic suspected was a function of her unusual upbringing. And being an only child. He’d heard that made a difference, too.
Damon was the one to rise and drag over a chair, making some crack about butt space for the chief’s baby mama. Nic didn’t get a chance to respond because little Rocco made a play for the serving fork in the lasagna pan and Anthony intercepted with a loud, “I don’t think so, buddy.”
Then the moment passed and, looking somewhat shell-shocked, Megan sat—she didn’t really have a choice—while Nic stood his ground in the doorway, envisioning the headline: Chief of Police Arrested on Alleged Murder Charge.
Only there wouldn’t be anything alleged because he was going to kill Damon one of these days. Guaranteed.
The only thing saving him right now was paralysis from watching Megan and Violet together…a family of two.
Except he was here. Standing in his mother’s kitchen surrounded by his family with his daughter and Megan.
What in hell did he do with this?
Suddenly, his mother appeared beside him. “How are you holding up?”
He shook his head. He didn’t have an answer for that, either. She knew better than anyone how much Violet had sandbagged him. Was probably the only one on the planet who’d been privy to the intensity of his relationship with Megan all those years