Protecting His Witness. Marie Ferrarella

in his pocket.

      “We need to talk,” Andrew declared, doing his best to harness the emotions that had prompted him to call and ask Brian to come over as quickly as possible.

      “As I recall, you do that far better than me, big brother.” Chief of Detectives Brian Cavanaugh braced himself as walked into his older brother’s house.

      The former chief of police had summoned him via a voice message that he’d left on his answering machine. Andrew’s message, unlike his normal, friendly fare, was very somber. He hadn’t a clue as to why.

      Considering the fact that he and Lila McIntyre had given Andrew carte blanche to do whatever he wanted for their wedding reception, he would have expected his brother to be in fantastic spirits. Since leaving the force to care for his then-motherless brood of five, Andrew had turned his attention toward his second passion: cooking. Cooking was his way of keeping not just his immediate family but his entire family together. With one hand tied behind his back, the man could create huge, sumptuous meals for an amazing amount of people. No one who ever went to Andrew’s house remained hungry once they crossed his threshold.

      But one look at Andrew’s face told Brian that this wasn’t about food. Still, trying to keep the mood light and far too happy to allow himself to be brought down, Brian cracked, “What’s the matter, the man doing the ice sculpture decide to back out?”

      Andrew didn’t even attempt to smile. Instead, he led the way to the kitchen and nodded toward a chair. “Sit down, Brian.”

      Something in Andrew’s tone undercut any further attempt at humor. Andrew sounded just the way he had when he’d broken the news to him that their middle brother, Mike, had been killed in the line of duty.

      They’d all followed in their father’s footsteps and joined the force in their early twenties. Of the three of them, Mike had been the black sheep, the one who grew more and more resentful of the rut he found himself in. Andrew had done his best to keep Mike in line, to make him see and appreciate just how rich his life actually was. But Mike would have none of it, becoming envious as both his brothers received accolades and promotions while he remained a beat cop. Toward the end, there’d been hatred in Mike’s eyes when he looked at them. Hatred because he felt he could never “measure up.” Hatred mingled with self-loathing he’d tried to anesthetize with progressively more alcohol. All that did was generate even more problems.

      Brian looked at his brother, trying to fathom whatever was coming. “I’ll take whatever you have to say standing, Andrew.”

      This wasn’t easy for him. Andrew had been the patriarch ever since a heart attack had claimed their father all those years ago. The patriarch and the voice of reason. After everything he’d been through in his life, he’d earned the right to expect tranquility, not turmoil, to fill the end of his days. But even beyond the grave, Mike managed to toss a little chaos their way.

      “I had a visitor the other day,” he began, searching for the right words. This was going to be a shock. Not just to Brian, but to Patrick and Patience, Mike’s kids. Maybe especially to them. “Three visitors, actually,” Andrew amended.

      When Andrew paused, Brian prodded him along. He’d promised to stop by Lila’s. Her oldest was on some special assignment and she hadn’t heard from him in a week. She needed reassurance.

      “And?”

      Andrew gazed at him. Brian tried to remember when he’d seen so much sadness in his brother’s eyes. “They were Mike’s kids.”

      Was Andrew getting muddled? He knew the names and ages of not only his kids and their spouses and children but the names and ages of all his nieces, nephews and their spouses and children.

      “Mike didn’t have three kids,” Brian reminded him. “He had two. Patrick and Patience.”

      Andrew’s expression never changed. “Besides Patrick and Patience.”

      Brian’s eyes narrowed and his mouth dropped open. “Mike had three other kids?” That didn’t seem possible. They would have known, he and Andrew. “You’re kidding, right?”

      If anything, Andrew seemed more somber. “You know me better than that. I never kid about family.”

      “When? How?” Questions popped up in Brian’s head like wild mushrooms after a summer rain. “Do they live in Aurora?”

      An ironic smile twisted Andrew’s lips. “Not only do they live in Aurora, but they’re all cops, the lot of them.”

      “I’ll take that seat now,” Brian murmured, sinking down onto the barstool.