“We’re going to handle everything as adults who are only interested in our daughter’s best interests?”

Megan nodded, hoping to reassure him.

“All right. Sounds like a plan.” Grabbing his glass in one hand and the decanter in the other, Nic strode toward her. “Come on. Let’s go talk money.”

Megan didn’t get a chance to reply, or to back away from the archway of the entry to the dining room before he was on top of her. Hanging on to her own glass so she didn’t do anything stupid like spill wine all over herself, she glanced up at him and was startled at what she saw in his golden-brown gaze.

Surprise.

It flared in his eyes unmistakably, and with a gasp of premonition, Megan knew what he was going to do even before he took that last step that closed the distance between them.

Before he brought his mouth down on hers.

Dear Reader,

New Orleans, Louisiana. Historic. Legendary. One of a kind. A city that has always been near and dear to my heart—and to the hearts of so many whose lives were touched by Hurricane Katrina.

In the years since Katrina, this magnificent city is reemerging stronger and more unique than ever through the efforts of brave citizens, generous benefactors and people who care enough to take an opportunity to make difficult changes for a greater good.

Change doesn’t come easily. Opening our eyes to our flaws demands a great deal of courage and accountability. But it’s through change that we grow. So in honor of New Orleans, Then There Were Three is a story all about growth and second chances. Ordinary women. Extraordinary romance. That’s what Harlequin Superromance is all about.

I hope you enjoy Megan, Nic and Violet’s story of how they grow into a unique family unit all their own. I love hearing from readers, so please visit me at www.jeanielondon.com.

Peace and blessings,

Jeanie London

Then There Were Three
Jeanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jeanie London writes romances because she believes in happily-ever-afters. Not the “love conquers all” kind, but the “two people love each other, so they can conquer anything” kind. She lives in sunny Florida with her wonderful family—two beautiful daughters and her very own romance hero, who reads fantasy and watches football and doesn’t mind eating the same meal three nights in a row while she’s writing. And she loves to write! She has published twenty-five books in romance mass market, trade paperback and hard cover, winners of such industry awards as RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice, National Readers’ Choice, Holt Medallion, Reader and Bookbuyers’ Best, Venus Book Club and Waldenbooks’ Most Romantic Moment. As far as Jeanie is concerned, she has the very best job in the world.

For everyone impacted by Hurricane Katrina.

All those who lost their lives. All those who lost

loved ones. All those who lost beloved pets,

treasured homes and much-needed jobs.

All those who were able to rebuild.

All those who weren’t. All those who found

hope and all those who brought hope.

God bless you all.

And special thanks to Maryam H.

for your writer’s eyes. You are talented and

creative and smart and generous

and such a delight to know!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER ONE

“MOM WOULD KILL ME IF she knew where I was right now,” Violet Bell whispered, though no one was around to hear her. The words bubbled out of her mouth anyway as she ran across the street to change her hiding place for the zillionth time. The alley was the best place to hide, but then she couldn’t see the front of the building without being noticeable. She didn’t want to be noticed.

Dashing into the alcove of a parking garage, she pressed against the wall and waited, straining to hear any sound from inside. The garage echoed like a cavern, so she’d hear an approaching car with lots of time to get out of the way before the door opened.

Violet knew the drill by now.

Daring a glance, she shifted her gaze from the locked doorway of the brick condo building across the street—she’d already tried to get in—to the garage entrance.

Nada. Not a soul in sight.

She swallowed a laugh. Hysteria, probably, because she felt really bad. She wouldn’t lie. Mom and GigiMarie would be having total cows right now, not knowing for sure where Violet was. Mom was insane about that kind of stuff on a normal day. And GigiMarie, who called herself Violet’s honorary grandmother, wasn’t much better. They were on a whole different continent today, which was hardly normal.

Or maybe Violet was distracting herself from how badly she needed to pee. She’d been stalking this building ever since the taxi had dropped her off around two o’clock this afternoon.

It was after ten now.

The only thing saving her was that she hadn’t had anything to drink in forever. On purpose. Earlier there’d been places open with bathrooms. She’d found a bunch of art galleries and a kids’ museum in one direction. But she couldn’t get in without paying admission and she hated wasting Mom’s money on something so stupid. Not on top of everything else she’d been spending.

The tire place a few blocks in the other direction had been perfect. She pretended to belong in the customers’ waiting area. Someone’s kid killing time in front of the TV while the car was serviced. That had worked until the tire place closed.

Violet hadn’t taken one sip of water since. Of course, she’d barely been able to choke down the crumbled granola bars that had made up one very crappy dinner, but she’d been starving so, oh, well.

And now that he’d come home she wasn’t moving from this spot. He’d been driving an unmarked police cruiser. She’d only caught a glimpse of him through the windshield—the only window that wasn’t too darkly tinted to see through—before he’d turned, but she would have recognized him anywhere.

Her dad.

She’d searched him on the internet before leaving Chile and had found a few photos. The best had been on the New Orleans Police Department website, but there’d been others. The newspaper had published one with the mayor who’d appointed her dad as chief of police. Another had been an announcement that a brother who looked like her dad had accepted some fellowship at Charity Hospital.

Violet had an uncle, too. And he was a doctor.

Just the thought gave her a thrill. Who needed a drink or a bathroom? She’d hold it all night if she had to because now that her dad had come home, she wasn’t leaving until he did. She didn’t want to miss him.

Not that he was likely to be going anywhere at this time of night, but he was the chief of police. Cops got dragged out on calls all the time if she could believe SVU and NCIS.

Resting her head against the wall, Violet swallowed another laugh. She couldn’t believe she was really here.

Of course that thought lasted about one second before she thought about Mom again.

Ugh.

It wasn’t that she wanted Mom to get gray hair. But what was Violet supposed to do? Let Mom keep her from her dad? That wasn’t fair. And Mom was usually pretty good about things like that. She always let Violet and GigiMarie decide what projects to accept with that nutty job of hers. Not that Violet didn’t like traveling. She did. So did GigiMarie. But Mom’s projects always lasted at least a year…who wanted to get stuck in a jungle somewhere for that long?

But this time Mom had turned down a project without ever even saying a word. And a project right here in New Orleans at that. They hadn’t been in the States since Violet was eight, and this was the only place in the world they had any real family.

Okay, so Mom wasn’t tight with the grandparents. Violet had only seen them, like, three times in her whole life. Something was up with that, but would it have really killed Mom to suck it up so Violet could see what being around family was like?

She didn’t think that was asking too much. But Mom hadn’t even asked what Violet thought about going to New Orleans, which was totally un-Mom. Instead, she’d shot back an email declining to even think about the project until some other time. Violet made it her life’s quest to find out why.

And found him.

Which had been sheer brilliance, if she had to say so herself. Her birth certificate hadn’t helped one bit.

Father unknown?

That was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Mom had to know. Violet thought about asking, but hadn’t had to. One trip into Mom’s locked fireproof box had given Violet a big head start.

A hiss echoed through the quiet. She frowned in the direction of the sound, gaze riveting to the front door of her dad’s building as it swung wide and someone stepped outside.

OMG! Her dad!

Just the sight of him melted away all the bad. She was in New Orleans, the only place in the world she had any family. But now…she had a real family. A dad and a doctor uncle.

And there her dad was, walking quickly across the street, as if he knew exactly where he was going and wanted to get there fast. Her heart just came to a complete stop when he got close enough that she could actually see the expression on his face. Serious. Kind of like his photo on the website. His face was all hard lines and his hair was buzzed short.

Then he passed and her heart started beating again. He hadn’t noticed her. Whew! Still, she didn’t leave the shelter of the garage until he’d turned the corner of Magazine Street. Then she hauled butt after him.

Thank God the street was lined with cars to keep her out of sight. Her dad was a cop, so he noticed things. If he spotted her, she’d have to explain who she was. She wasn’t ready to do that yet. Stupid, since she’d traveled all this way to see him, but… He didn’t scare her. He looked okay, as far as dads went.

He was tall and rugged. Buff but not too buff, and he had her dark blond hair and tan skin. But she’d already known that from the photo. She was Italian. Who knew?

Violet shouldn’t be surprised that he was fit. Mom was obsessed with fitness, always eating right and taking vitamins and getting enough exercise… She could hear the familiar litany streaming in her brain even on a different continent.

Her dad wasn’t really dad material, she decided, the more she watched him. At least not like other dads she knew. Her friend Camille’s father always joked about the doughnut around his middle, but that doughnut was more like the tire on a 4x4.

And Maddie’s dad was even shorter than Maddie. That was saying something. Gabby’s dad never came out of his shed so Violet couldn’t be sure about him.

Esperanza’s dad was about the only one who was remotely babe material, and he was gay. Of course, he’d only figured that out after marrying Esperanza’s mom. But guilt worked big-time on Christmases and birthdays and whenever Esperanza needed the newest technology, so she didn’t make it a big deal.

Nope, Violet’s dad wasn’t really dad material, after all. Totally not the kind of guy she could see Mom hooking up with. Violet shook off that thought fast. The idea of Mom hooking up made her twitch. Puh-leeze. Fortunately, her dad distracted her by crossing the street.

She could see better now and not worry so much that he’d hear her and turn around. If she’d have known she’d be doing the whole stalker thing, she’d have worn sneakers and not flip-flops that made stupid soft slapping sounds with every step she took. And she couldn’t even change because all her clothes were still in the duffel bag she’d stored in a locker at the airport.

But her dad didn’t notice. He seemed pretty focused actually, distracted. Violet wasn’t sure. She tried to blend in, but there weren’t many people around. She guessed tourists weren’t in this part of town at night.

And it wasn’t too, too dark, either. The almost-full moon still let her see the sky through the trees and the buildings. And the streetlamps helped her keep her dad in sight.

Her dad.

The cell phone in her pocket vibrated and she automatically slipped it out to see who was calling.

Mom.

For a second, Violet froze. Oh, man. The very last thing in the world she wanted to do right now was pick up. She’d been shooting Mom drive-by texts since leaving Chile, telling her not to worry. Of course, Violet hadn’t told her where she was going. She’d left Mom to figure out that part on her own.

The vibrating stopped. The call had rolled to voice mail.

Mom would be in a panic, Violet knew and felt bad. She should shoot another text to keep Mom from having a total meltdown. But Violet couldn’t. Not right now. Not when she was stalking her dad. If she took her eyes off him for a second, she might lose him.

The vibrating started again.

Mom would know that Violet’s phone was on since it took so long to go to voice mail. She’d know Violet was ignoring the call. Or, knowing Mom, she’d think Violet was being held captive by some pervert and couldn’t pick up the call. Or, even worse, that she was dead.

Argh.

She hit the talk button. “I’m alive, Mom.”

The dead silence that greeted her from the other end of the phone swelled so loud that Violet felt guiltier than she’d ever felt in her life. She breathed a sigh that had nothing to do with how fast she was walking.

“Mom, I’m okay.”

More silence. Now her dad was approaching a big intersection, so Violet had to hang for a sec to see what he did. And pay attention because there were lots of cars zipping up and down this street.

“Violet.” Mom totally didn’t sound like Mom.

“I’m perfectly okay, so please stop worrying.”

“You’re safe.”

“Totally.”

If one didn’t count crossing a busy street against the light. But her dad was crossing when there was a break in the traffic—some chief of police!—so Violet had no choice.

“I know you’re going to kill me.” She cut right to the chase. “I’ll probably be grounded forever, but please give me a chance to explain—”

“Violet, we can discuss everything when I get there,” Mom shot back, suddenly sounding like Mom again. “Right now all I’m interested in is your safety and your location.”

“I’m in New Orleans—”

“I know you’re in New Orleans, and I’m glad you’re okay. Where are you in New Orleans?”

Mom did not want coordinates. Oh, man. Here goes…

“With Dad.” Violet watched the figure in the distance, still slipping in and out of the light from the streetlamps.

“You’re with your father now?”

“Yes.” Sort of, anyway.

“Okay.” More silence. “You’ll be safe until I get there?”

“You don’t have to come—”

“Violet Nicole Bell, I’m not sure what part of this you think is acceptable, but—”

“Violet Nicole Bell DiLeo. You forgot—”

“I did not forget anything, young lady.”

Whoa! Violet pulled the phone from her ear and glanced at it. She’d never heard that tone before.

“I would have explained if you’d given me the chance,” Mom continued, her voice a raw whisper. “All you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to put your safety at risk by running away.”

“Really, Mom? Really?” The words were out of Violet’s mouth before she could stop them. “Like I haven’t traveled before.”

“We’ll discuss this in person. Now please put your father on. And don’t vanish. I’ll speak with you when we’re through.”

Violet didn’t have a chance to respond because one second her dad was in front of her and the next he was gone. Oh, man. She was lagging because she wasn’t paying attention. Did he turn the corner? She started to run.

“Dad can’t talk right now. Can we call you back?”

“First give me the details about where you’re staying, and a phone number, too—”

“Gotta go. Battery’s dying.” She tried not to sound winded, but she was starting to breath heavy. “I’ll charge my phone and call you back, okay?”

“Violet, don’t—”

Click.

Calling back wasn’t okay. That much Violet knew, but she had to find her dad before she lost him completely.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” she whispered, even though Mom wasn’t there to hear her.

CHAPTER TWO

MEGAN BELL SANK INTO the chair, relief sapping every drop of strength from her legs. She stared disbelieving at the BlackBerry as the display darkened.

Violet.

Then she let her eyes flutter shut, blocked out everything but the sound of her daughter’s voice, impatient, irritable, alive… Okay, Violet was alive.

Start there, Megan, she warned herself. Don’t get too far ahead here. Violet’s alive.

Since this whole nightmare began, Megan had received three texts. She’d tracked credit card purchases to piece together a trajectory that had her daughter heading to New Orleans of all places, but until she’d heard Violet’s voice…

“Take a deep breath, dear, and tell me what she said.”

Megan did exactly that then forced herself to open her eyes to find Marie looking as relieved as Megan felt. As always, Marie’s presence had a calming effect.

A slender, stately woman with bright white hair that fell in gentle waves around her face, Marie Gleason was an honorary grandmother to Violet and dearest friend in the world to Megan. She was such an important part of their lives, in fact, that after her husband had passed away nearly six years ago, she’d come to live with Megan and Violet, traveling to whatever part of the world Megan’s job took them. As a project consultant for nonprofit organizations, she worked all over the world.

“I’m good.” She forced the words out, as much to reassure Marie as to convince herself. “Violet’s with… him.”

Too many years had passed for Megan to wrap her mouth around his name so easily. Years of mental preparation to explain the situation to Violet about why she’d chosen not to tell him about his daughter. But all Megan’s careful preparation for an unavoidable conversation was wasted since she hadn’t anticipated the impulsivity of a headstrong teenager.

Marie crossed the room and sat on the ottoman in front of Megan. “Well, you’ve known it was coming. I’m surprised Violet lasted this long. A girl’s relationship with her father is so important. You know that.”

“I know.” Her own father had influenced so much in her life, rocky though their relationship had been for the past fifteen years.

Reaching forward, Marie slipped her hands around Megan’s and gave a supportive squeeze. “It’s going to be okay, dear. You can only control so much.”

Megan nodded. She knew that, too.

Had it only been twenty-four hours since this nightmare had begun? Twenty-four hours since Violet hadn’t returned from her friend’s house, where she was supposed to have spent the night during their spring break from school. She’d been texting at all the appropriate times—at night before bed, in the morning when she awoke—so Megan had had no reason to suspect her daughter wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

If she’d had any clue that Violet had unearthed the hidden past, Megan might have been able to address the situation before it had gotten out of control. The very thought made her struggle for another breath.

Out of control? This situation was a train wreck.

“If she had questions, why wouldn’t she ask me, Marie? Why all this subterfuge and drama?”

“I’m as surprised by that as you are,” Marie admitted. “By the subterfuge, anyway. Violet doesn’t usually mince words. I’m not surprised much by the drama. She is fourteen.”

Fair enough. Violet was an only child, used to exercising a fair amount of control over her life. While Megan took her parenting responsibilities seriously, she felt equally strongly that their daily lives should take everyone’s needs into consideration. She liked to think of it as a democratic dictatorship, with the dictator part only surfacing if all attempts at negotiation failed.

She’d never wanted to shelter or control her daughter the way she’d been sheltered and controlled growing up. She wanted Violet to learn to explore and enjoy life, not live by someone else’s narrow interpretation of right and wrong. To have balance and flexibility and accountability and appreciation for whatever life threw her way.

And, Megan supposed, she was getting a taste of her philosophy in action now. Violet clearly hadn’t thought about the effect of her actions on anyone except herself. She hadn’t even considered school, which would be back in session next week.

“We’ve been dismissing all her moodiness as hormonal.” Megan groaned, feeling stupid and guilty and horribly powerless. “How could I have missed this?”

“You’re not a mind reader, dear. If Violet had something brewing and wanted to keep it from you, then she would have.”

“No argument there. This had to have been percolating for a while. How she even managed to find out who he was…” This was all Megan’s fault. For trying to cover all the bases.

If she hadn’t asked her attorney to add a clause in her will entrusting Marie, as Violet’s guardian, to facilitate a meeting with Nic should Violet want to know her father…

If she hadn’t kept that photograph, one of her only connections to the past, so Violet would have one keepsake of her parents together…

“And the trip. She hopped on a flight for another continent without even leaving a note.”

Marie’s eyes twinkled, and for the first time since this whole nightmare began, she looked amused. “Well, you reared her, after all. Did you really expect anything less than a competent and independent young lady?”

“Competent? Independent? Marie, she flat out ran away. From South America to New Orleans. And right when I’ve been angsting over whether or not to take a project there. The timing can’t be coincidental. Oh, I honestly can’t believe this.”

Megan buried her face into her outstretched hands, unable to wrap her brain around Violet’s journey. All the things that might happen to a young girl traveling alone—Another deep breath. Her beautiful daughter—Right now she was north of the equator while Megan was still south.

With him.

What part of this was okay?

“Come on, dear,” Marie said softly. “You’ll have nearly seventeen hours in the air to dwell on all the whys and why nots and what you might have dones. Let me help you pack. We have to leave for the airport soon.”

Deep breath. She looked up, ready to cope again. “Okay, thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re always the calm in the storm.”

“Then you should let me fix you a bite to eat, too. You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’m fine. I had soup last night.”

Marie had the advantage and ran with it. “I would hardly call hot water and a bouillon cube soup. You didn’t even drink the whole thing.”

“I’m having trouble swallowing.” Stress had that effect.

Marie didn’t approve, but didn’t bother arguing. “I’m packing munchies in your carry-on. They’ll be there if you start to feel faint.”

“Thank you.” Megan propelled herself into action, suddenly infused with purpose—mania most likely—but she’d take whatever she could get.

Striding across the living room of the rental that had been their home for over a year and a half, she headed into her closet and dragged out the bag that was never far away.

Marie was right. She’d have plenty of time on the flight to obsess about the mess she’d made of all their lives.

At least Violet was safe now. With him.

Megan might not have spoken with the man since the summer after her high school graduation, but she knew in her heart he would never hurt their daughter regardless of whether he’d known of her existence or not. Of course, finding out he even had a daughter would knock him back a few steps.

That thought overwhelmed her again, forced her to grab the doorjamb to hang on. Squeezing her eyes shut, Megan tried to manage the sensation that things were impossibly out of control.

It wasn’t only him or the idea of him being sandbagged by an unexpected daughter after so many years. As if that wasn’t enough. She was also struggling with memories of a time in her life when she’d felt so powerless and alone, so betrayed.

But not by him. There’d never been any doubt he’d assume responsibility, none at all. She’d felt betrayed by her parents, by their refusal to accept that Megan didn’t want to give up her daughter for adoption.

Nor had they prepared her for any life but the one they’d deemed acceptable. They’d sheltered her so completely that Megan didn’t have the first clue about how to cope when an unplanned pregnancy had turned her life upside down.

She was a much stronger and better person for learning how to stand on her own, and for that she was truly grateful. But she’d tried to rear Violet differently, to embrace life to the fullest, to be responsible for her actions. She’d always wanted Violet to have the skills to cope with whatever came up, to roll with the punches and trust herself to make good choices.

This choice had not been good. Her daughter had been clever enough to track down her father, but she didn’t know the whole story, wouldn’t understand why Megan had chosen to keep her a secret.

A memory of the sweet little girl who’d loved to chatter about everything, always trusting her thoughts to her mom, suddenly brought tears to Megan’s eyes. Those sturdy little arms would wrap around her neck and cling so tight.

Clearly, Violet didn’t trust her thoughts to Megan anymore.

If she had only asked… Of course, she shouldn’t have had to. Megan should have been honest, instead of choosing to wait until Violet asked, which would have signaled she was old enough to handle a truth that would rock her world. But there had been no perfect solution to the mess Megan had made. None.

There had only been damage control.

Throwing open the closet doors, she stared blindly at the neat row of clothing. Formal wear. Suits. Business casual. Casual casual. Purses and belts hanging from a unique hanger that Bonsom, their maintenance man in Ghana, had fashioned from akasa, a local wood. Shoes lined neatly on a three-tiered shoe rack for easy access. Orderly.

Exactly what her thoughts weren’t right now.

Megan hoped with her whole heart and soul that he had handled the shock of finding out about his daughter well.

Violet had sounded okay, but Megan knew her daughter, and meeting her father must have been the most important thing in her world to prompt this titanic mutiny.

If things didn’t turn out well, Violet would be so hurt. And he hadn’t had a chance to prepare. He would have been blindsided by the news. Who knew what was going on in his personal life? She could only learn so much on the internet. What if Violet had to not only contend with her father’s reaction, but the reactions of his loved ones? Given his position in the NOPD, what if an illegitimate daughter was not only a shocker, but an embarrassment?

Megan had almost placed Violet for adoption. She’d learned all about the process. She knew children sought out birth parents all the time, but reunions didn’t always yield fairy-tale endings.

If only they’d have had the one all-crucial conversation, they could have come up with a solution to deal with this mess together. A solution that would have prepared Violet and not left him unexpectedly facing a daughter who looked so much like him.

Megan’s thoughts raced with a plea—Please, please, please don’t let Violet be heartbroken. Or…Nic.

There, she’d said his name. In her head at least.

CHAPTER THREE

“NOW WHAT IN HELL IS this problem you couldn’t tell me about on the phone, Jurado?” Dominic DiLeo, newly installed Superintendent of the New Orleans Police Department, demanded when he caught up with the night’s shift commander.

“It’s a juvenile, Chief.” Deputy Chief Emile Jurado cast a scowling glance around the operations center as if afraid half the duty shift might overhear them. “Picked her up last night in the Quarter for curfew infraction.”

Nic stared at the short powerhouse of a man, clearly missing something. “What’s the problem?”

Another glance around the room. “Not here.”

“Let’s go to my office.” Nic led the way through the rank and file of New Orleans’s finest, inclining his head in silent greeting whenever he made eye contact with any of his men.

Keeping the benign expression on his face proved to take some effort. He was in no mood to play twenty questions this morning. Not after a near-sleepless night spent dealing with his younger brother Damon’s latest drama.

No one in the family was remotely unhappy Damon’s girlfriend had dumped him and run. No one was even surprised—except by how long she’d hung around. If Damon ever listened to anyone, he wouldn’t have been shocked Roxy had vanished from the apartment they’d shared with no more than Ciao scribbled on a napkin and the contents of their joint checking account.

Nic was damned tired of cleaning up Damon’s messes. And everyone else’s for that matter. Nic had put his own life on hold after his father had died. As the oldest, it had been his responsibility to see everyone settled.

Vince’s residency at Charity Hospital should have been the end of the line for Nic. He’d gotten his youngest brother through med school. Marc traveled as a bounty hunter. Anthony had a life with Tess and the twins. Damon was a train wreck, but Anthony had given him space for a dojo above the auto repair shop, so at least Damon could teach martial arts whenever he wasn’t getting involved with the wrong kind of woman.

His baby sister, Francesca, had blown out of New Orleans the day after she’d graduated from high school, so there wasn’t much he’d been able to do there. Except blast her for not keeping in touch. On voice mail, usually, since she didn’t bother picking up his calls.

Everyone was as settled as they were going to be. But no sooner had Nic started looking forward to a life that didn’t involve taking care of someone named DiLeo than he’d been derailed when the new mayor had appointed him as the new superintendent, a glorified title for the chief of police.

“We’ve got to clean up this department, Nic,” the mayor had said. “We’ve got to earn the community’s trust again. I don’t care what the good old boys around here say. They’re part of the problem. You’re the right man for this job and the Feds agree.”

What was Nic going to do except trade his title as commander for superintendent and postpone living a while longer?

In the corridor to his office, he reached for the door—

“Wait a sec, Chief. You don’t want to go in yet.”

Nic paused with his hand on the knob and glanced over his shoulder. “Why not?”

“She’s in there.”

Nic shook his head, unsure he’d heard correctly. “Let me get this straight. You picked up a minor in violation last night and she’s not at the curfew center, but in my office?”

Jurado shrugged. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because she refused to talk to anyone but you.”

“Help me out here, Jurado. Where’d you pick her up?”

“Big Mike’s place on Iberville.”

That got Nic’s attention. He’d taken a stroll to Big Mike’s place on Iberville last night, and since he didn’t believe in coincidences… “You want me to start guessing wildly?”

“Got the call after midnight. Ever since we received that anonymous tip Busybodies Massage Spa was a front for prostitution, we’ve been keeping an eye on the place.”

“That much I already know.” He’d still been Eighth District commander when Big Mike, proprietor of Insane, Ink, had leased space to Busybodies to keep his doors open in the down economy.

“Disturbance in the massage spa. Customer allegedly got handsy with one of the therapists,” Jurado explained. “The owner called in because she thinks we’re looking for some reason to shut her down. She was afraid this customer would cause trouble if he didn’t get what he wanted.”

“Let me guess…Dubos.”

“Good wild guess.”

Not so much. An informant from Nic’s days as commander had tipped him that Busybodies was Judge Hugo Dubos’s new massage joint of choice. Nic had been keyed up after a dinner with the mayor and U.S. attorney last night, so he’d hit the streets like in the old days, walking to take the edge off.

Might have worked, too, until Damon.

“Get anything?”

Jurado snorted. “Statements from the therapist and the owner. That’s about it. Apparently, there was an argument. Dubos left before the duty officers got there. Couldn’t get a statement out of Big Mike. Said he didn’t see or hear anything. Details are in the incident report.” He held up a lumpy folder.

No surprises here. Big Mike had been around long enough to be a French Quarter institution. He’d weathered Katrina when many businesses had gone under or relocated and wouldn’t want attention given to the way he skirted legalities to make ends meet. His infractions were small potatoes in this city.

Until Hurricane Katrina.

When New Orleans had emptied out, the crime had gone with it. That’s why the U.S. attorney and his federal buddies had come to town—to make sure the new mayor and police chief got a grip on the city as it filled back up. That would take some doing because they weren’t only cleaning up the city but cleaning inside the department.

“This juvenile see something?” Nic asked.

“Told you, Chief. She won’t talk to anyone but you.”

Obviously, Nic wasn’t going to get this on his own. He tightened his grip on the door handle, ready to end the suspense. “Anything else?”

“Good luck.” Jurado handed him the file folder containing the incident report. With a sigh, he headed toward Operations. “You know where I’ll be.”

The instincts that had kept Nic alive for so long on the streets suddenly revved into gear. He didn’t know what was on the opposite side of this wall, but Nic knew that whatever—whoever she was—would rock his day.

Not bothering to glance at the report, he opened the door to find a teenage girl dozing in his chair, sandaled feet with brightly polished toes propped on the corner of his desk.

She jerked awake at his entrance. Her head snapped back, and she glanced at him, blinking away sleep.

Nic had been with the NOPD for years. Before the new mayor of New Orleans had appointed him police chief, he’d been commander of the high-profile and highly pain-in-the-ass Eighth District, which included the French Quarter, Central Business District and Harrah’s Casino. He’d seen it all. Nowadays it took something really good to surprise him.

The young girl staring at him through unfamiliar eyes surprised him. Probably because the only thing unfamiliar about her were the eyes. The rest of her, from the top of her tawny head to those brightly painted toenails, was pure DiLeo.

Nic blinked, but the girl was still there, staring up at him from a face all-too recognizable to deny a blood connection.

If the tawny hair and olive-skinned features didn’t give her away, the look in her eyes did—a mix of curiosity and attitude and a little too much pride.

This girl was a DiLeo, no question.

He wasn’t going to catch a break, was he? And here he’d thought he was done cleaning up family messes.

With a mental sigh, Nic calculated her age, trying to guess which one of his brothers might be responsible.

Fourteen, he decided, early high school. She seemed to be poised right on the brink of becoming a real have-an-answer-for-everything, demand-the-car-keys teen. Nic knew the look. Knew it very well, in fact, as the oldest of six siblings. Which took his youngest brother, Vince, out of contention straightaway. Too young. That left Marc, Anthony or Damon.

Nic’s money was on Damon. But to be fair, Marc could have done the deed. He would have been knee-deep in his rock-star phase about the time this young girl became more than a twinkle in her daddy’s eye. Marc’s band had practiced in the garage behind the family house and no matter how often Nic and his mother had patrolled the premises, the groupies marching through those practices rivaled a Mardi Gras parade.

Definitely not Anthony. His girlfriend of the time had spent more time at the DiLeo house than Anthony. Still did. No way could she have kept a pregnancy secret.

So Nic was going with Damon. Just because he was on Nic’s shit list today.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the girl announced before he’d gathered his wits enough to begin the interrogation. “I didn’t know about the curfew. And if that disgusting old pervert hadn’t been yelling at those women, the police wouldn’t have even come at all.”

Nic noticed a few things straight off. Her accent for one. There, but distinctly not there. As if no one place had taken root, yet many had left an impression. For some reason he wanted to say European, but knew that wasn’t right.

Then there were the glaring flaws in her reasoning. Namely, she would have still been breaking the curfew ordinance even if she hadn’t been caught. So unless there was parent or guardian in possession of a notarized letter in the folder he held, that fresh piercing on her nose also contradicted the part about her not doing anything wrong, too.

Nic was back to his original question.

Opening the folder—no parents or guardians in here—he glanced down at the incident report and…a passport. A few more facts clicked as he snapped open the booklet one handed. The girl was a U.S. citizen, a traveler.

Croatia. Africa. Thailand. He’d been right about the accent. The most recent custom stamp came from Chile, South America.

Raking his gaze over a photo taken a few years ago, when she’d been ten maybe, he glanced at the name—

Violet Nicole Bell.

The hair on the back of his neck crawled, and for a blind instant, he could only stare as every shred of reason rebelled.

Violet Nicole Bell.

The name jolted him from the present and filled his head with a memory from long ago…a memory of the beautiful girl he’d once been involved with.

Megan Bell.

He might not have thought about her in years, hadn’t seen her in even longer, but Nic didn’t have to close his eyes to pull up a vision of her face. Heart-shaped with a delicately pointed chin. Porcelain skin and a full mouth, a kissing mouth if ever there had been one. A mass of silky chocolate hair and eyes so deeply blue they looked almost violet.

Violet Nicole Bell.

With a quick shake of his head, he tried to dispel the image of that face, tried to shock himself back to the present where a young girl was staring at him, a young girl who couldn’t…shouldn’t exist. Nic shook his head again, determined to get control of himself, of the memories and speculations and facts that were paralyzing him. He needed to get a grip, so he could figure out what to think, what to feel.

Fingers trembling over the remaining papers, he forced himself to focus on the documents—a visa, some sort of permission form, a photo.

He knew this photo before he could bring himself to look at the smiling young faces. He fingered the paper frame that had yellowed over time, cartoon gravestones and grim reapers with scythes, a keepsake from a French Quarter ghost tour.

Unable to stop himself, he glanced at the back of the photo at the inscription.

Always, Nic.

At the time, he’d meant it.

Now, he had to force himself to flip the photo over, to look at the image, to shock himself with the knowledge that always hadn’t lasted a month after this photo had been taken.

And there they were. He and Megan sitting together on the curb, so close they might have been fused at the hips, his arm around her shoulders, her hand resting casually on his thigh. Their heads were pressed close. Their expressions revealing no clue of what would be in store for them. They were immortalized in a way that couldn’t have been any more permanent than the young girl in front of him.

Nic was suddenly aware of her gaze, tense, expectant. She was waiting for something.

His reaction?

He didn’t have one. Megan had disappeared shortly after this tour, though she hadn’t intended to leave for her pricey private university until August. Nic had refused to believe she would walk away from him without a word, but Megan had never contacted him again. Not even to explain why she’d left so suddenly.

Nic’s shock must have been all over him because suddenly the girl—Violet—laughed and said, “I know. Crazy, isn’t it? I just found out myself.”

Her laughter finally penetrated his shock. Megan’s laugh. He hadn’t even known he remembered.

It took every ounce of his not-inconsiderable willpower to keep a poker face as he lifted his gaze to face this beautiful young girl with unusual blue eyes.

One glimpse of the uncertainty she was trying so hard to hide, and he knew his reaction mattered. He could see it all over her. He could feel it in the tight knot in his gut.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, the gears started grinding, and the only thing Nic knew for sure right now was that he couldn’t give over control of this situation.

It didn’t matter that a levee had collapsed and the past flooded in. It didn’t matter that his head was buzzing and long-ago memories and resentments were colliding inside. Not when Violet—his daughter—stared at him expectantly.

So Nic forced a smile. Then he said the only thing he could think to say, “Crazy works for me.”

Her expression melted, all the expectation evaporating into relief. He could see amusement, too, uncertain amusement, true, but it was still there.

A place to start.

CHAPTER FOUR

“WE’RE BEGINNING OUR descent,” the captain announced.

Thank God! Of all the flights Megan had taken over the years, forgettable and memorable, smooth and turbulent, these flights would hold the distinction of being the worst ever.

Nearly seventeen hours in the air, out of contact with Violet, angsting about everything from her daughter’s physical and emotional well-being to what the future might hold for their family. Nearly seventeen hours of imagining scenarios of what the meeting between Violet and Nic had been like and stressing about the potential long-term consequences. Nearly seventeen hours of revisiting every decision she’d ever made regarding Violet and analyzing why she’d made it.

And gearing up to face this mess she’d made.

Once in the States, she’d sent Violet a text message:

Boarding in Atlanta. You have three choices. Pick up your phone. Text me your address. Or be at that gate when I arrive. I expect to see or hear from you. I trust you’ll make a good decision. Love you very much. Relieved you’re okay.

An understatement to say the least, but now the ball was in her daughter’s court.

Would she be at the airport? Or would Megan have to track her down? No, Violet may be fiercely independent, which was a trait she’d had since she’d been old enough to form the words, “I do it.” She may have gone berserk on this quest to find her father, but she was still an intelligent, good kid.

No, Megan wouldn’t have to chase her.

But when Megan emerged from the gate with her carry-on over a shoulder, she didn’t find Violet, but him.

She could have spotted him in the middle of the Rex Parade crowd on Fat Tuesday. He stood taller than most of the people, his light hair cropped close. The chiseled features were the same, yet different. Weathered by life. Damage had been done to the once-straight nose. A fight, most likely, as there was a small but deep scar she didn’t remember marring his eyebrow.

She recognized the boy she’d been wildly in love with so many years ago.

Nic.

A man now. A stranger.

The uniform he wore only added to the impression. All sparkly brass and knife-creased edges.

Her daughter wasn’t anywhere in sight, and her absence combined with Nic’s presence rattled Megan. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped until someone bumped into her.

“Excuse me.” A man brushed past so fast all she saw was the back of him as she steadied her bag, which was suddenly swinging her off balance.

She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing, either, until she tried to respond. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out because Nic had spotted her. His gaze swept over her in an assessing glance, taking in everything at once.

But giving nothing in return. Nothing to make her brace herself. Nothing to reassure her. Nothing but grim recognition on that still devastatingly handsome face.

Sucking in a deep breath, Megan propelled herself into motion. The burden of this meeting was all on her shoulders, and she wouldn’t shirk it. Holding his gaze, she strode toward him, determined to deal with this mess head-on. She would not make a difficult situation any more difficult.

If that was even possible.

“Nic, I am so sorry.” The words gushed out. “I don’t even know what to say. Is she okay? She said she was, but—”

“Seems to be.” He inclined his head curtly.

Megan tore her gaze from his, glanced around, suddenly needing to look anywhere but at him. “She didn’t come with you?”

“She’s with my mother. Thought it would be best if we talked alone first.”

That made sense. A very good idea, in fact. She was glad someone was thinking, because despite her best intentions, she was overwhelmed: by the stranger he’d become, by the realization that fifteen years away from this man didn’t make one bit of difference because they were still connected through their daughter.

“Do you have a suitcase?” he asked in that stranger’s voice.

“I do.” Spinning on her heel, she took off in the direction of baggage claim.

What was wrong with her? She’d known this day would come, but right now all her rationality, all her carefully planned explanations didn’t seem so rational as she faced that guarded look in Nic’s eyes.

Betrayal?

He had every right to feel however he felt. Every right. She’d made all the choices. And he hadn’t known he should have had an equal say until their daughter had popped into his life out of the blue.

There was no way for Megan to sugarcoat her mistakes or the consequences, no way to miraculously avert this train wreck.

He was suddenly beside her, and she could practically feel him, a physical sensation. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, either, which surprised her. Fifteen years hadn’t diminished her awareness of him. It was ridiculous, the absolute last thing she needed to notice right now.

He was working hard to stay calm and controlled. It wasn’t obvious in his expression or in the way he strode silently at her side, so she wasn’t sure why she thought that. Maybe it was the silence. Heavy. Accusing. It didn’t matter that there was an entire airport filled with people, noise and chatter filtering through the place in tidal bursts. The silence between them was deafening. Or maybe she was projecting her anxiety.

Megan was relieved when they arrived at baggage claim and her flight number flashed on the overhead sign. She moved to plunge into the crowd, but Nic caught her arm. Nothing more than a light touch, but a touch that stopped her in midstride.

“What does your bag look like?”

“Lime-green. Can’t miss it.” She stopped obediently, not surprised. Nic, the boy she’d once known, had been equally attentive to details.

As he moved closer to the conveyor belt, the crowds parted to let him through. It might have been the uniform, but more likely it was the imposing figure he cut in the uniform.

Very imposing. Solemn, almost.

Megan hoped it was the circumstances. She didn’t like to think that the ultraresponsible teenager he’d once been had matured into a man who didn’t look like he smiled much.

Nic didn’t miss her bag. No one could miss a neon bag on the conveyor belt.

“We’ll need to pick up Violet’s before we leave, too,” he said after wheeling her suitcase over.

“She stored it?”

He nodded. “I’ve got the key. Want to grab a cup of coffee first? There’s a Starbucks.”

“Of course.”

Then Megan found herself on the concourse, standing on one side of a table facing Nic over two steaming cups of coffee. She could handle this. She’d known this day would come. And she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She was a woman who’d made choices and couldn’t take them back.

But as luck would have it the very first question Nic asked was one she hadn’t expected.

“Why didn’t you want our daughter to know me?”

CHAPTER FIVE

NIC HOPED LIKE HELL THE shock of the situation would wear off soon. Otherwise, he was in real trouble, because it didn’t feel as though fifteen years had passed since he’d last seen Megan.

More like yesterday.

Every time he met her gaze, he felt punched in the gut. Even her turmoil tugged at him. It was all over her face, a face he shouldn’t be so familiar with. Not after so long. Not after she’d blown out of his life without a glance back.

But he was aware, all right. Of every soft intake of breath. Of the way her lashes fluttered over her eyes as if she might block out everything for an instant. Of how her face had settled in with age, as if she’d grown into so much beauty, the blue, blue eyes, the full, soft mouth. Of the way her fingers tightened on the cup as if she were bracing herself.

He could relate to the feeling.

But when she lifted that magnificent gaze to him, she faced him squarely. “I didn’t keep Violet from you because I didn’t want her to know you. That never even crossed my mind. Not once in all these years.”

He didn’t have words. If she had wanted him to know his daughter, then she would have told him she was pregnant. That much seemed obvious.

“Why?” It was all he could manage, giving her a chance to make sense of this for him. It didn’t. None of it. Not the way she’d run away. Not the way she’d hidden her pregnancy.

She took another deep, shuddering breath, visibly steeling herself. He could see it all over her, in the tense set of her mouth, the rigid way she stood. She should have been a stranger by now. She wasn’t.

“Quite honestly, Nic, I was completely unable to cope with the situation. I freaked. My parents freaked. I wasn’t in any position to raise a child, and I knew you weren’t, either. Abortion wasn’t an option, but adoption seemed like a good one. My mother found a private agency that handled everything from the medical care to the legalities. She took a leave from the university and we went to one of their maternity centers.” She paused briefly as if considering her next words. “At the last minute I couldn’t go through with it. That’s it. I know that doesn’t even begin to explain—”

“No, it doesn’t.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Last I heard there were laws that protected fathers from this sort of thing.”

She flinched, but held his gaze steadily. “There are.”

God, he was struggling. He’d promised himself not to feel anything until he had the facts, to treat this no differently than any case, buy himself some time to figure out how to feel.

The anger surprised him, and he was suddenly grateful they were standing in public, an external control that would help him keep the floodgates in check.

He was the one who’d been kept in the dark, who’d been sandbagged by the sudden appearance of a daughter he’d never known existed. He had every right to be pissed. For a hundred reasons. Every one of them valid.

“What did you do, Megan, lie?”

“Yes.”

Simple. Factual. How could he attack an admission like that? The fact that he wanted to warned he’d better get a lid on his reactions before he found his face plastered all over the front page of the Times-Picayune with the headline: New Police Chief Creates Scene at Airport.

This was Damon’s damned fault. If Nic had slept last night, he wouldn’t be standing here, raw-edged and ready to explode. He might have had self-control on his side when he’d opened the door to his office and stepped into a minefield.

Megan wasn’t helping. She waited, so stoic, as if she’d known she’d have to face the music and was determined to take whatever he dished out. As if she felt she deserved it.

And she did. Every damned bit.

“Did you think I wouldn’t help?” He wanted an answer. “Or did you think I wasn’t good enough for you?”

Good enough to sneak around with, but not good enough to stand beside when life got demanding.

“Neither, Nic. I wasn’t thinking,” she said simply. “Not for myself. That’s the point. There was never any question you’d do the honorable thing, none at all. I knew you’d help in any way I needed you. I thought you might even suggest marriage.”

Another sucker punch. “That wasn’t good enough.”

She shook her head, sending dark waves trailing over her shoulders. “What I wanted had nothing to do with it. You have every reason in the world not to believe me, but I’m being entirely honest when I say it wasn’t about you at all. I was in love with you. I knew how hard you worked. I respected you for it. You made me feel spoiled and selfish by comparison. But I also knew how much you wanted a future, a chance to go to college. You didn’t need another family to support.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

“No, it wasn’t. But I didn’t realize that at first. I just reacted. You would have been able to handle the situation. I didn’t know how. I relied on my parents to make the decisions like I always had. What they said made sense at the time. They had their reasons—”

“Don’t bother telling me about your parents’ reasons. I don’t want to hear about how I was your dirty little secret.”

She paled in response to that verbal punch, her grip tightening on the cup until he thought the lid might pop off.

He gave a harsh laugh. “I never even questioned why you didn’t let me pick you up from your house. I suppose that should have been my first clue—”

“I’m so sorry, Nic.” Her words spilled out, a broken whisper. She let her gaze slide from his, couldn’t face him. “I am so, so sorry. If I could take everything back, I would. I never meant to hurt you.”

He couldn’t open his mouth. Simply didn’t trust himself. The past might have happened years ago, but the anger poisoning him was all about right now, about wanting to deny he’d ever given her that much of him.

“I have no excuses.” She shrugged, such a helpless gesture. “What I did was wrong on every level. I knew my parents didn’t approve of you, but I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to them, so I sneaked around behind their backs because I wanted to be with you. It’s really that simple. I handled my pregnancy no different. I listened to what I was told and let it make sense.”

She finally let go of the cup. When she faced him again, he saw resolve in her expression, and resignation.

“For the record,” she said, “I don’t blame my parents. Not for my choices. They did what they felt was right. Whether I understand or respect their reasoning doesn’t take away the fact I was responsible. What I did was unfair to you and our daughter. If I’d have been thinking, I might have realized it. But I panicked. By the time I’d figured everything out, I’d made a huge mess and didn’t know how to fix it.”

Even the hurt he felt didn’t touch the anger. And her apologies didn’t take anything away, didn’t explain why he was only finding out he had a daughter when she was nearly grown.

He brought the cup to his lips, more for something to do than the cooling coffee. At this stage of the game, caffeine wasn’t going to do a damned thing except wind him even tighter.

Nic was so aware of her standing across from him, that ridiculous neon bag by her feet. He heard what she said, but nothing was processing. He didn’t understand, was almost disbelieving that the girl who’d not only given him her virginity but who’d lain in his arms and claimed to love him would have handled things this way. God, it was like he was eighteen years old all over again.

That made him angry, too.

“Even if I wanted to believe you,” he finally said, “how does any of that translate into now? Every day you woke up with our daughter, every time you took her on a plane and moved her from one country to another, you chose to keep her a secret.”

“I did. And that was intentional, Nic, damage control, because the choices I made impacted Violet.”

“I’d say so.”

“If you’ll give me a chance to explain, this part might actually make sense.”

He sincerely doubted it, but nodded anyway.

“The minute Violet was born, I knew I couldn’t go through with the adoption. Everyone tried to reason with me—my parents, the people at the maternity home. Everyone said it was a knee-jerk reaction to giving birth. But it wasn’t. It was the first time in my entire life I actually thought for myself. I heard what everyone was saying, but I knew what I wanted. Strangers were not going to raise my daughter. That’s about all I knew. I didn’t have a clue how I was going to care for her.

“The agency is a reputable one. It’s a religious not-for-profit that operates in several disadvantaged locations around the world, places with high mortality rates from poverty and disease. This agency places children with stable families wherever they can find them. The maternity homes are for mothers who’ve lost husbands or whose families can’t afford to feed them. Sometimes these homes are the only chance an infant gets to survive. They really do a lot of good work.”

Keeping him in the dark was good work?

“Your mother took you out of the country so you could circumvent the law about getting my permission for the adoption?” He wasn’t sure why he asked when the answer was obvious. Maybe he simply needed to hold her accountable in some lame way, to feel the illusion of some control.

She nodded, that haunted look on her face not making him feel any better. “Since the agency isn’t based in the States, the legalities are easier to get around. But if I had admitted who Violet’s father was, you’d have been contacted. That’s the way it works to make adoption legal.”

She didn’t get a chance to continue when a woman with small kids passed, her stroller bumping Megan’s bag. The table rocked and Nic grabbed his coffee.

“So sorry,” the mother said, correcting the stroller one-handed while hanging on to a toddler with the other.

Megan smiled automatically, nudging her bag farther under the table with a foot. “No problem. You’ve got your hands full.”

The mother rolled her eyes and swept past with a smile. Megan watched her vanish into the crowd, looking thoughtful. She lifted the cup to her lips and took her first sip.

“It took me a long time to get on my feet, Nic. I had no job, no way to support us. I needed to get through college so I had some employable skill.”

“Your parents?”

She only shook her head. He didn’t ask, although now that he thought about it, Violet had been his first clue all wasn’t well in that quarter. She’d told him how she’d been stalking him at his condo before following him to Big Mike’s tattoo place. If she’d had a relationship with the Bells, she probably wouldn’t have been burning the night at Insane, Ink. She might have told Jurado to call them when she’d been picked up.

Nic wasn’t sure what he thought about that, except to admit he was surprised. “How’d you manage?”

“The maternity home let me stay for the first few months. They weren’t happy I reneged on my end of the deal, but they are in the business of helping people. They understand that things don’t always work out as planned.”

She sounded as if she was on more solid ground now. “My parents were waiting me out, convinced I would change my mind when the reality of being a single teenage parent set in. That wasn’t going to happen. Not when every second I spent caring for Violet only strengthened my determination to keep her.”

And yet she still hadn’t contacted him, hadn’t given him a chance to help her, or help take care of their daughter. She’d toughed out the situation on her own. He didn’t understand why.

“What about your job? Violet said you travel. You made it through school?”

“Finally. Took forever, I won’t lie. I took online classes in between taking care of Violet and working.” She met his gaze and he thought she was putting on a brave face for his benefit.

“What did you do?”

“I was fortunate. I became friends with a couple at the maternity home. They were like angels. He worked for the consulting firm I’m with now. His wife was a volunteer who liked to travel with him. He hired me as his administrative assistant, and I learned the ropes of dealing with not-for-profits. By the time I finished school, I’d been with the company so long, I stepped into a permanent position as a consultant. I worked my way up from there.”

Nic might not understand all the reasons for the choices she’d made, but he didn’t doubt what she said—that she’d had a long time to consider the effects.

He’d had a couple of hours. No damned wonder he felt like the top of his head was about to blow off. “Did you know Violet was coming here? She’s been sidestepping some of my questions, so I figured she wasn’t telling me everything.”

Megan shook her head as if still disbelieving. “Not a clue. As far as I knew she was at her friend’s house spending the night. I’d spoken to the mom beforehand and Violet texted me at all the right times. Then she didn’t come home…” Her voice trailed off, and he could see a suspicious glint in her eyes.

Nic knew this look. He’d seen it through the years in every frightened parent he’d ever had to face. Kids rebelling. Kids running away. Kids foolishly getting behind the wheel after partying in the Quarter. Sometimes kids guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time and winding up as tragic statistics.

For the first time since seeing Megan in the crowd at the gate, Nic felt his anger dull, enough maybe even to think past it.

“I am so sorry about everything.” Her voice hitched and she started again. “I never lied to Violet about you, and I was fully prepared to explain the situation when she was ready to hear it. She didn’t give me the chance. I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me. But I respect however you feel, and how you choose to handle it.”

She inhaled deeply, shrugged. “I’m not sure where we go from here, but I do hope we can work together to figure out something. I trust that regardless of how you feel about me you’ll put our daughter’s best interests first. If you don’t believe anything else I’ve said, I hope you’ll believe that.”

Suddenly he could see how tired she looked, the bruised smudges beneath her eyes, the tightness around her mouth. She was running on adrenaline, and when Nic thought about it, he could guess what the past few days must have been like for her.

The shock of discovering Violet had disappeared. The worry. The uncertainty. The fear. Toss in the fact that she was going to have to face him and a really long flight, and it was a wonder she was still upright.

Nic didn’t know what to believe, wasn’t going to take the time to figure it out. Not when someone needed to be thinking here. Megan may have gotten off that plane ready to face her past mistakes, but there’d been no way she could anticipate the mess Violet had unknowingly stepped into at a tattoo parlor in the Quarter. But Nic knew.

Their daughter was now an eyewitness to a crime involving a judge on the criminal bench. Being an eyewitness could make Violet vulnerable anywhere, but especially in this city, ranked top in the nation’s criminal activity for a decade running. Nic knew all too well how eyewitnesses could run into trouble around here, which meant getting his head on straight, because he needed to resolve this situation fast.

As usual.

CHAPTER SIX

EVEN VIOLET WAS A LITTLE rattled by how fast her dad unloaded her. He’d wheeled his unmarked car into a handicap space in front of Angelina’s Hair Salon. She couldn’t figure out why they were here, but was going with the flow. Her hair was a wreck but, come on, even though she hadn’t taken a shower since leaving Chile, it couldn’t be that bad.

Jumping out of the car before her dad had a chance to get her door, she followed him inside. The salon wasn’t very big—only four stations—but it was decorated nice with big windows in the front. There was a lady cutting hair at one station and another shampooing at the sinks in the back.

But it was the woman behind the reception desk who caught Violet’s attention. She was an older lady, but really pretty in an older lady sort of way. Makeup and hair were perfect. Her shirt was summery and bright. She even wore matching earrings and necklace. Very put-together, Mom would have said.

She looked up as they entered, peering over her reading glasses, and said instantly, “Nic, what’s wrong?”

Violet couldn’t see her dad’s face, but he stepped aside, put his arm around her shoulders and drew her next to him.

“This is my daughter.” He blurted it out, drawing the attention of everyone in the place. “Can she stay here for a while? I have to pick up her mother.”

The woman behind the desk blinked. Everyone else was staring, too. Violet felt a little awkward, she wasn’t going to lie.

Her dad didn’t even wait for an answer. He looked at her and said, “This is your grandmother. You’ll be okay here until I get back.” Then he headed toward the door.

“She’s not going to be Mary Sunshine, FYI,” Violet called after him. Only fair to give him a heads-up. Mom was already steaming. Sending him to the airport hadn’t been one of the options in her last text.

“Got it,” he said before walking out.

Violet watched him hop in the car and speed off. “Good luck with that.”

She turned to find the whole place filled with people staring at her. Swallowing hard, she looked at the woman behind the desk.

Her grandmother.

“So, what’s your name, gorgeous?” her grandmother asked.

“Violet.”

“That’s beautiful. Matches your beautiful eyes. So you’re my Nic’s little girl?”

Violet nodded, still kind of embarrassed by the way she got dumped here. “I think I freaked him out when I told him Mom was about to land.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. Big-time, I’ll bet.”

Violet didn’t think that was a bad thing because her grandmother was suddenly smiling. “He’s picking your mother up…at the airport?”

Violet flipped open her phone to check the time. “A flight from Atlanta. She’ll be landing in about ten minutes. Will he get there in time? It shouldn’t be too traffic-y, do you think?”

Her grandmother shook her head, didn’t seem to care that everyone was watching them. “He’ll use his light and siren if he’s in a hurry.”

“Oh, that’s right. He’s the police chief. He can do that.” Violet felt better already. If Mom got off that plane with no one to greet her… That hadn’t been an option, either.

“So you’re from Atlanta?” her grandmother asked.

“No, Chile. There’s a layover in Atlanta.”

Her grandmother looked surprised. “Well, that must be a long flight. And your mother is…?”

“Megan.”

For a moment her grandmother stared, then if possible, her smile grew even bigger. “Megan Bell.”

It wasn’t a question, but Violet nodded anyway.

“Imagine that.” She laughed, a really happy sound. “Well, there’s definitely a story here, Violet, and I want to hear every word.” Popping up from behind the counter, she addressed their audience. “I say we head to the house for lunch, ladies. I’ll whip something up. What do you think?”

She must be a really good cook because everyone liked that idea. The lady at the shampoo bowl said, “I’ll finish here and lock up.”

“Perfect. Lunch will be on the table in thirty minutes. Give or take.” Her grandmother glanced at the hairstylist who stood behind the chair with the scissors still poised over her client’s wet head and said, “Corinne, will you swing by Mauricio’s and pick up some bread?”

“Will do.” Corinne never took her eyes off Violet’s reflection in the mirror. “Want me to cancel your appointments for the rest of the day?”

“You’re a doll,” her grandmother said while circling the desk.

She was a teeny-tiny woman, Violet realized. Even with heels on her sandals, she was barely eye-level with Violet, who wasn’t all that tall herself.

“Are you hungry, gorgeous?”

“Starving,” she admitted.

“Perfect.” Looping their arms together, her grandmother led Violet through the salon. Not toward the front door, but into the back. “I need to let Anthony and Damon know I’m cooking. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t, and one of them needs to give us a ride home.”

Violet had no idea who Anthony and Damon were and honestly didn’t care. She had a chief dad, a doctor uncle and a really, really cool grandmother.

Did it get any better?

MEGAN WATCHED NIC TOSS his empty cup in the trash, recognizing their interview was over.

“Ready to get Violet?” he asked.

A no-brainer, but Megan nodded, determined to keep things moving as smoothly as possible. “I appreciate you picking me up and giving us a chance to talk privately.”

He inclined his head and led her in the direction of the airport lockers. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

She managed a smile at the understatement. “Once I collect Violet, I’ll start making arrangements for a place to stay while we’re in town.”

“Your parents?”

“No, a hotel, I think.” Her plate was brimming at the moment without heaping her parents on. She’d visit, of course, wouldn’t feel right about being in town and not seeing them. But only after she got things settled with Violet and Nic. So much was up in the air right now, and she didn’t have a clue what sort of working situation they’d come up with, couldn’t even begin to formulate a plan until she got a hold of her runaway. “Someplace central so it’s convenient to get around.”

Violet would want to see and do everything, and that would likely start with spending time with her father. Megan wondered how much time Nic would make for her.

“How long can you stay?” he asked.

“As long as it takes,” she answered honestly. “I’m afraid I don’t have a clue what Violet has in mind. And it’s only fair to give you a chance to wrap your brain around this and figure out what you want, too.”

He inclined his head, so solemn. “What about work and school?”

“School won’t be too much of a problem. Violet takes several online classes, so they won’t be an issue. I’ll talk to the school about the rest. Her teachers will make her work available so she can keep up. And the timing isn’t so bad for work, either. I’m on the tail end of a project, so everyone’s trained and functioning independently. If anything comes up, I should be able to solve any problems long distance.”

“Violet said you consulted for nonprofit organizations. She didn’t seem too clear on the details.”

“Pretty much what it sounds like—I set up their organizational structures and help them get established and operational.”

He fished a key from his pocket as they arrived at the lockers. Scanning the rows, he found what he was looking for on the bottom.

Good girl, Megan thought. Violet had remembered to store her bag on the floor rather than at eye level or overhead where thieves were more inclined to break in. Nice to know her daughter paid attention sometimes.

Nic opened the locker and slid out a duffel bag in a familiar shade of neon-green. “I thought you must have gotten a helluva deal on that suitcase, but I guess not. You actually chose this color.”

“Custom made. We paid a fortune,” she admitted. “But we travel so much it makes life easier at baggage claim.” She reached for her own bag. “I can take—”

Their fingers brushed as Nic reached for the handle at the same time. His warm fingertips connected with hers, a physical sensation. He jerked back as if shocked.

“Sure. Go ahead. I’ll get this one.”

He headed toward the terminal exit, leaving Megan flush with the knowledge that he was as whacked about being together as she was. He had seemed like a stranger with his law enforcement poker face that concealed so much more than it revealed. But now she knew.

Seeing her was rattling him.

And she felt bad. Nic hadn’t caused this awkwardness. The last choice he’d had any control over had been when Violet had been conceived. The rest was on her head.

Following him in silence, she reasoned that the only thing she could do to ease the tension was buy this man some time to come to terms with all these changes.

He led her to an unmarked cruiser, stowed the gear in the backseat. Ever the gentleman, he held the door. Megan slipped in, and the silence stretched as he wheeled onto I-10 and headed toward town.

“I left Violet with my mother at her shop,” Nic finally said, as if the silence had been getting to him, too.

“She’s still doing hair?”

He nodded. “At her own place. Not the house.”

“Good for her,” she said. “She make out okay with Katrina?”

He shrugged. “Better than some—the damage was mostly on the lower level. We managed to keep her out of a FEMA trailer while we repaired the house. She had fun redecorating. What about your parents? Are they still in town?”

“Yes, thanks. They made out okay.” She gazed out the window at the passing city. Another stranger. “I was almost afraid to see what everything looked like. It’s totally different, but some things haven’t changed at all.”

“Looks a lot better than it did,” Nic agreed.

Megan could definitely see the changes. Lots of new construction in long-established neighborhoods. Easements with no landscaping. Vacant lots with weeds and not much else. But her hometown had character, and though there were still boarded-up windows on shop fronts, other places showed the strength of people determined to rebuild.

“We were living in Hat Yai at the time,” she said. “We didn’t get a lot of news coverage. But what we saw was so horrible. Took me days to track down my parents to make sure they’d gotten out okay.”

Of course, the real culprit hadn’t been spotty cell reception, but that her parents had changed cell carriers and Megan hadn’t had their new numbers. She didn’t share that information with Nic. Not when it was such a sad commentary on the health of that relationship.

By comparison, Nic’s family had seemed to have grown closer in the years since Megan had left, judging by the sign above the parking lot Nic drove into.

The large commercial property that housed Anthony DiLeo Automotive also was home to Angelina’s Salon and International Studio of Martial Arts, Damon DiLeo, sensei, on the upper story.

Nic was already scowling as he pulled right up in the handicap space, close enough to read a sign on the door that read Be Back Soon.

“Not good?” she asked.

“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 ago, his confusion over the way she’d dropped out of his life so suddenly and completely.

“How could she not tell me?” That was all he could manage to say.

Glancing at the table, his mother frowned. “I don’t know, Nic, but give it time. This is a big shock for all of you.”

“All of us?”

“Violet told me she found you on her own. Megan had no idea she was coming here.”

That much he already knew. “I’m not interested in how Megan feels right now. And you’re about to be down one son if Damon doesn’t get some manners.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Finding out you’re a father is not your brother’s fault.”

“No, but it is his fault I didn’t get any sleep last night. A few hours and all this might not feel so shitty.”

She arched an eyebrow in a skeptical expression. “You think?”

Dragging his fingers through his hair, Nic wondered if there was any possible way he could bow out of here. Claim he had to get back to work, which wouldn’t be a lie. He was the damned police chief and he’d waltzed out of the station and not looked back. Hell, he couldn’t even remember his schedule for the day. Did he have appointments? He always had appointments. And crises. Hadn’t he given up this family drama? He was sure he had.

“Give it some time, Nic,” his mother said. “I know you haven’t asked for my opinion, but if you’ve never listened to anything I said before—which you haven’t—do yourself a favor and listen to me now. What’s happening is important. Violet and Megan are your family whether you were aware or not. You’ll want to make sure you react in ways that count.”

He wanted to argue that Megan wasn’t anything but someone who hadn’t had the courtesy to share some essential facts, but technically, his mother was right.

Whether or not he’d known he’d fathered a child. Whether or not he’d seen Megan yesterday, six months or fifteen years ago, if a DNA test proved he’d fathered Violet, then the law considered him and Megan intimate partners.

He didn’t need a DNA test, or his name on a birth certificate for that matter, to know he’d fathered Violet.

His mother reached up and patted his cheek. “Do you have any idea how long they’re staying?”

“Megan said as long as it takes. Whatever that means. She’s planning to get a hotel—”

“Her parents aren’t in town anymore?”

“She said they are.” He shrugged. “I don’t have a clue what’s up with that. She said they’d get a hotel.”

“No. They’ll stay here.”

“Excuse me?”

“They’ll stay with me.” His mother nodded decidedly. “Bring their stuff upstairs, will you please? Put Violet in Damon and Vince’s old room. Megan in yours.”

Arguing would be a waste of time. Nic might have even considered saving Megan from publicly going head-to-head with his mother had it not been for his concern about Violet. He still had to get her down to the station to give a statement.

He needed Megan to do that.

Violet was a minor. Megan was her legal guardian. Fathers who weren’t on birth certificates had no authority. In this case, though, the only difference that made were the potential ethical questions.

Jurado had taken one look at Violet and known she was a DiLeo. All sorts of questions could arise if and when someone found out Violet belonged to him. The press had been having a field day looking for any damned thing they could find to question his appointment. An illegitimate daughter would sell a lot of papers.

Until Nic got a grip on whatever was going down with the judge, he wasn’t comfortable with Violet staying at some random hotel. Big Mike might not be talking, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have anything to say. Violet had seen a kid passing off an envelope to the judge. Add that envelope to the equation, and Nic had a little mystery on his hands. One that stank of graft. One the U.S. attorney would want to know about.

Judge Hugo Dubos was a remnant from an embarrassing past, an era when public corruption ran as rampant as the criminals on these streets. No one had evidence to convict him of anything, but he was a weak link in the judicial chain, part of an ugly cycle that undermined the police department’s best efforts to clean up this town. Nic wouldn’t be surprised, and didn’t think anyone else would be either, to learn Dubos was on the take.

If they could build a case against him, Nic’s department would be doing its job and a public service. New Orleans would have one less burned-out, corrupt or plain bad public servant who couldn’t easily be removed from the bench.

The NOPD could arrest criminals, but when judges like Hugo Dubos consistently set obscenely low bails, witnesses and victims who’d agreed to cooperate changed their minds. They knew the criminals would end up back on the streets, wanting retribution from the people who’d turned them in. When no one was willing to talk, the district attorney’s office would wind up dropping the charges. It was precisely this sort of thing that had undermined the department with the public for too long.

Megan might be getting worked up about the ring on Violet’s nose, but that was only because she hadn’t heard about the real trouble yet. Their daughter had been picked up by the NOPD and potentially witnessed a crime.

That should go over well. Megan would think she’d reproduced with an idiot. Nic wasn’t sure why he cared. He couldn’t have known he had a daughter when walking out the door last night since he wasn’t a mind reader, but he damn sure should have known he had a tail.

No, until he got a lid on what was going down, Violet—and Megan by default—needed to stay someplace safe. Nic knew who he could trust in the department and who not to turn his back on. The officers he’d assigned to this beat knew his mother’s house and kept their eyes on it. Family was important to the good guys on the payroll.

He doubted Violet had gotten around to filling Megan in on the details of her ride to the station in a cruiser, so he would probably get to break the news. Irony at its finest. He and Megan hadn’t had a thing to do with each other for fifteen years and now all they needed to do was talk.

“Yo, Daddy, you ever joining the party?” Damon’s annoying voice broke into Nic’s thoughts. “Save us from giving your life history to my beautiful niece.”

“Looks like congratulations are in order, big bro,” Vince said. At least Nic had one brother who wasn’t such an asshole.

“What’s with this family? Doesn’t anyone work?” Nic hissed under his breath as he glared at his mother. “You pick today for a freaking family reunion. Thank you.”

“I wanted Violet to feel welcomed, and I thought you could use backup.” His mother headed into the kitchen to run interference, probably scared she would be down more than one son with Nic in his current mood.

“Knock it off, you two,” she admonished. “Nic and Megan haven’t eaten yet. Let me grab some plates.”

Tess started to rise, but his mother motioned her to stay seated. “Thanks but no thanks, honey. You’ve got your hands full. Come on, Violet. It’s time for a tour.”

“You’re Italian.” Anthony winked. “Kitchens are going to be a big part of your life from now on.”

Violet hopped up, so clearly eager.

“Tell me you’ve been raising my niece right.” Damon wrapped an arm around Megan’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “She does know what a cannoli is, right? Aglio Et Olio?”

Megan smiled cordially. “We traveled through Abruzzo on our way to Rome while we were living in Croatia. Does that count?”

“Yeah, and it was so great we went back to hike in Majella on holiday.” Violet stood on tiptoe to grab the good plates that were in a cabinet above his mother’s reach.

“Abruzzo?” Damon asked in mock horror.

“We’re from the wine country in western Sicily,” Anthony explained. “Your grandfather was from Ravenna, but we don’t like to talk about that.”

“Don’t let them worry either of you.” Tess bounced Annabelle on her lap. “The closest I’ve ever been to Italy is a neighborhood in New York, and I make out fine around here.”

“Don’t know how we ever got along without her.” His mother blew a kiss to Tess. “She helps me keep these boys in line.”

“And they are a handful,” Tess added. “Trust me.”

With a laugh, Violet set a plate down in front of Megan, and Damon did the honors of serving. Megan’s eyes widened as he heaped enough pasta on her plate to feed a small country.

“Just a taste, please.”

“When was the last time you ate Mama’s food?” Damon asked.

“Honestly, so long ago I don’t remember.”

Nic remembered, though. The last time he’d brought her to the house for Sunday dinner, a time-honored DiLeo tradition. She’d been quiet even then, overwhelmed by all the noisy chaos of his big family, of the family and friends coming and going at all hours.

Now she didn’t look so much overwhelmed as determined to hold her own in the midst of a lot of strong personalities. A protective mother, maybe. Or unsure of her reception. Nic couldn’t figure it out.

“Trust me then.” Damon drizzled olive oil over the plate. “You’ll want seconds. Parmesan or Romano?”

Nic didn’t hear her reply because Violet appeared and asked politely, “Where would you like to sit?”

He could see the uncertain excitement in her expression, the waiting. His mother was right. He needed to be careful with whatever he said and did right now.

“Next to Anthony, thanks.” Wouldn’t hurt to keep the table between him and Damon in his present frame of mind.

“Budge up,” he told his brother then slid another chair to the crowded table and sat.

Violet set the plate in front of him then returned to artfully arrange a place setting in front of him as if it mattered. She didn’t seem to notice everyone watching her. Megan looked as if she was barely holding it together.

He wasn’t sure why he noticed.

“Thanks. Looks great.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, but he did want her to know he appreciated her effort.

“Would you like something to drink?”

He wanted coffee, but as she’d set a glass in front of him, he said, “Water, please.”

Off she went back to the counter to grab the pitcher, and he half expected someone—Damon most likely—to make a crack about her eagerness to serve him, but even his idiot brother kept his mouth shut this time.

Normally, every damned one of them would have thrown him under the bus, but today they cut him slack, seeming to understand the importance of this first family gathering, the fact that he and Megan—and Violet for that matter—hadn’t figured out how to handle the situation yet.

Or deal with the shock, in his case.

So they kept Violet talking about school and living abroad and her hobbies, getting to know the new family addition, while Megan pushed food around her plate, answering questions whenever they were directed her way. Talk finally circled to how long they intended to stay in New Orleans.

“Megan, you mentioned going to a hotel.” Nic braced himself to meet that blue gaze across the table. “But my mother invited you and Violet to stay here. You good with that?”

Surprise flashed in her eyes, and he knew he was putting her on the spot. But she might as well get used to being part of the family. She said she wanted to work something out, and at the very least that meant they’d be running into each other on important occasions for the rest of their lives.

Graduations. Weddings. Baptisms.

They were Violet’s parents. They were in this together, forever.

He started pushing food around his plate, too.

“That’s very nice of you to offer,” Megan began.

“I insist,” his mother said, going straight for the throat. “I absolutely insist. I’ve got this big empty house and Violet said you’ve been living in South America. Who knows when I’ll see you again?”

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