Warrior Son

by Rita Herron

  Megan kissed him again, and Roan laughed and drew her in his arms. The kiss was just a prelude of the life they were starting together.

  And one day they would have a family of their own.

  But today Megan was all he needed. Although he was grateful for the McCullens and the land he and Megan could now call home.

  * * * * *

  Find out what really happened to

  the missing McCullen twins when

  THE HEROES OF HORSESHOE CREEK

  continues later this year! Look for them

  wherever Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from APB: BABY by Julie Miller.

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  APB: Baby

  by Julie Miller

  Prologue

  Dr. Niall Watson would rather be at the crime lab conducting an autopsy instead of standing at the altar, babysitting his brothers.

  But saying no to his baby sister on the day of her wedding wasn’t an option. Putting on the groomsman’s suit and facing the crowd of smiles and tears that filled the church was as much a gift to Olivia and her fiancé as the sterling silver tableware he’d bought at the online department store where they’d registered. If Olivia, the youngest of the four Watson siblings, and the only sister, asked him to keep older brother Duff and younger brother Keir in line today, then Niall would do it. It was a brilliant strategy on her part, he silently admitted. Not only would their rowdier brothers be kept in check, but asking the favor of him was sure to keep Niall engaged in the ceremony. It was smart to give him a specific task to focus on so his mind didn’t wander back to the dead body he’d analyzed yesterday morning at the lab in southeast Kansas City, and the follow-up notes he wanted to log in, or to the facts on a drowning victim he wanted to double-check before turning his findings over to the detectives supervising those particular cases.

  As a third-generation cop in a close-knit family of law enforcement professionals, it was practically impossible not to be filled with investigative curiosity, or to have dedication and responsibility running through his veins. When it came to work and family, at any rate. And for Niall, there was nothing else. Work filled his life, and the Watson family filled his heart.

  Except when they were screwing around—like Duff beside him, running his finger beneath the starched collar of his white shirt and grumbling something about Valentine’s Day curses while he fiddled with the knot on his cherry-red tie. Or Keir, chattering up the aisle behind Niall, saying something outrageous enough to the bridesmaid he was escorting to make her giggle. Then Keir patted her hand on his arm and turned to wink at Millie, the family housekeeper-cook they’d all grown up with, as he passed the silver-haired woman in the second pew. The older woman blushed, and Keir blew her a kiss.

  Niall adjusted the dark frames of his glasses and nailed Keir with a look warning him to let go of the bridesmaid, stop working the room and assume his place beside him as one of Gabe’s groomsmen, already.

  “Natalie is married to Liv’s partner, you know.” The tallest of the three brothers, Niall dropped his chin to whisper under his breath.

  “Relax, charm-school dropout.” Keir clapped Niall on the shoulder of the black tuxedo he wore, grinning as he stepped up beside him. “Young or old, married or not—it never hurts to be friendly.”

  Olivia might be the youngest of the four siblings, all third-generation law enforcement who served their city proudly. And she might be the only woman in the tight-knit Watson family since their mother’s murder when Niall had barely been a teen. But there was no question that Liv ran the show. Despite Duff’s tough-guy grousing or Keir’s clever charm or Niall’s own reserved, logical prowess, Olivia Mary Watson—soon to be Olivia Knight—had each of them, including their widowed father and grandfather, wrapped around her pretty little finger. If she asked Niall to keep their headstrong Irish family in line today, then he would do exactly that.

  With Keir set for the moment, Niall angled his position toward the groom and best man Duff. He didn’t need to adjust his glasses to see the bulge at the small of Duff’s back beneath the tailored black jacket. Niall’s nostrils flared with a patience-inducing breath before he whispered, “Seriously? Are you packing today?”

  Duff’s overbuilt shoulders shifted as he turned to whisper a response. “Hey. You wear your glasses every day, Poindexter. I wear my gun.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you knew what the term Poindexter meant.”

  “I’m smarter than I look” was Duff’s terse response.

  Keir chuckled. “He’d have to be.”

  Duff’s muscular shoulders shifted. “So help me, baby brother, if you give me any grief today, I will lay you out flat.”

  “Zip it. Both of you.” Niall knew that he was quickly losing control of his two charges. He scowled at Keir. “You, mind your manners.” When Duff went after the collar hugging his muscular neck again, Niall leaned in. “And you stop fidgeting like a little kid.”

  A curious look from the minister waiting behind them quieted all three brothers for the moment. With everything ready for their sister’s walk down the aisle, the processional music started. Niall scanned the rest of the crowd as they rose to their feet. Their grandfather Seamus Watson hooked his cane over the railing as he stood in the front row. He winked one blue eye at Niall before pulling out his handkerchief and turning toward the aisle to dab at the tears he didn’t want anybody to see.

  And then Olivia and their father, Thomas Watson, appeared in the archway at the end of the aisle. A fist of rare sentimentality squeezed around Niall’s heart.

  His father was a relatively tall, stocky man. His black tuxedo and red vest and tie—an homage to the date, February 14—matched Niall’s own attire. Niall knew a familiar moment of pride and respect as his father limped down the aisle, his shoulders erect despite the injury that had ended his career at KCPD at far too young an age. Other than the peppering of gray in Thomas’s dark brown hair, Niall saw the same face when he looked into the mirror every morning.

  But that wasn’t what had him nodding his head in admiration.

  His sister, that tough tomboy turned top-notch detective, the girl who’d never let three older brothers get the best of her, had grown up. Draped in ivory and sparkles, her face framed by the Irish lace veil handed down through their mother’s side of the family, Olivia Watson was a beauty. Dark hair, blue eyes like his. But feminine, radiant.
Her gaze locked on to Gabe at the altar, and she smiled. Niall hadn’t seen a glimpse of his mother like that in twenty years.

  “Dude,” Duff muttered. He nudged the groom beside him. “Gabe, you are one lucky son of a—”

  “Duff.” Niall remembered his charge at the last moment and stopped his older brother from swearing in church.

  Gabe sounded a bit awestruck himself as Olivia walked down the aisle. “I know.”

  “You’d better treat her right,” Duff growled on a whisper.

  Niall watched his brother’s shoulders puff up. “We’ve already had this conversation, Duff. I’m convinced he loves her.”

  Gabe never took his eyes off Olivia as he inclined his head to whisper, “He does.”

  Keir, of course, wasn’t about to be left out of the hushed conversation. “Anyway, Liv’s made her choice. You think any one of us could change her mind? I’d be scared to try.”

  The minister hushed the lot of them as father and bride approached.

  “Ah, hell,” Duff muttered, looking up at the ceiling. He blinked rapidly, pinching his nose. The big guy was tearing up. “This is not happening to me.”

  “She looks the way I remember Mom,” Keir said in a curiously soft voice.

  Finally, the gravity of the day was sinking in and their focus was where it should be. Niall tapped Duff’s elbow. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

  “The rings are tied up in it.”

  “Here.” Niall slipped his own white handkerchief to Duff, who quickly dabbed at his face. He nodded what passed for a thank-you and stuffed the cotton square into his pocket, steeling his jaw against the flare of emotion.

  When Olivia arrived at the altar, she kissed their father, catching him in a tight hug before smiling at all three brothers. Duff sniffled again. Keir gave her a thumbs-up. Niall nodded approvingly. Olivia handed her bouquet off to her matron of honor, Ginny Rafferty-Taylor, and took Gabe’s hand to face the minister.

  The rest of the ceremony continued with everyone on their best behavior until the minister pronounced Gabe and Olivia husband and wife and announced, “You may now kiss the bride.”

  “Love you,” Olivia whispered.

  Gabe kissed her again. “Love you more.”

  “I now present Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Knight.”

  Niall pondered the pomp and circumstance of this particular Valentine’s Day as the guests applauded and the recessional music started. Logically, he knew the words Liv and Gabe had spoken and what they meant. But a part of him struggled to comprehend exactly how this sappy sort of pageantry equated to happiness and lifelong devotion. It was all a bit wearing, really. But if this was what Olivia wanted, he’d support her wholeheartedly and do whatever was necessary to make it happen.

  Following Duff to the center of the aisle, Niall extended his arm to escort bridesmaid Katie Rinaldi down the marble steps. Despite his red-rimmed eyes, Thomas Watson smiled at each of his children. Niall smiled back.

  Until he caught the glimpse of movement in the balcony at the back of the church. A figure in black emerged from the shadows beside a carved limestone buttress framing a row of organ pipes.

  In a nanosecond frozen in time, a dozen observations blipped through Niall’s mind. The organist played away upstairs, unaware of the intruder only a few yards from his position. The figure wore a ski mask and a long black coat. Clearly not a guest. Not church staff. The pews were filled with almost two hundred potential targets, many of them off-duty and retired police officers. His new brother-in-law had made more enemies than friends with his cutting-edge editorials. What did he want? Why was he here? Didn’t have to be a cop hater with some kind of vendetta. Could be some crazy with nothing more in mind than making a deadly statement about a lost love or perceived injustice or mental illness.

  The gleam of polished wood reflected the colored light streaming in through the balcony’s stained-glass windows as the shooter pulled a rifle from his long cloak. Mauser hunting rifle. Five eight-millimeter rounds. He carried a second weapon, a semiautomatic pistol, strapped to his belt. That was enough firepower to do plenty of damage. Enough to kill far too many people.

  Time righted itself as the analytical part of Niall’s brain shut down and the years of training as a cop and medical officer kicked in. Move! Niall shoved Katie to one side and reached for his father as the shooter took aim.

  “Gun!” he shouted, pointing to the balcony as his fingers closed around the sleeve of Thomas Watson’s jacket. “Get down!”

  The slap, slap, slap of gunshots exploded through the church. The organ music clashed on a toxic chord and went silent. Wood splintered and flew like shrapnel. A vase at the altar shattered. Flower petals and explosions of marble dust rained in the air.

  “Everybody down!” Duff ordered, drawing the pistol from the small of his back. He dropped to one knee on the opposite side of the aisle and raised his weapon. “Drop it!”

  “I’m calling SWAT.” Keir ducked between two pews, pulling his phone from his jacket as he hugged his arms around Natalie Fensom and Millie Leighter.

  Niall saw Gabe Knight slam his arms around Liv and pull her to the marble floor beneath his body. Guests shouted names of loved ones. A child cried out in fear, and a mother hastened to comfort him. Warnings not to panic, not to run, blended together with the screams and tromping footfalls of people doing just that.

  “I’ve got no shot,” Duff yelled, pushing to a crouching position as the shooter dropped his spent rifle and pulled his pistol. Niall heard Keir’s succinct voice reporting to dispatch. With a nod from Katie that she was all right and assurance that her husband was circling around the outside aisle to get to her, Niall climbed to his knees to assess the casualties. He caught a glimpse of Duff and a couple of other officers zigzagging down the aisle through the next hail of bullets and charging out the back of the sanctuary. “Get down and stay put!”

  Niall squeezed his father’s arm. He was okay. He glanced back at the minister crouched behind the pulpit. He hadn’t been hit, either. The man in the balcony shouted no manifesto, made no threat. He emptied his gun into the sanctuary, grabbed his rifle and scrambled up the stairs toward the balcony exit. He was making a lot of noise and doing a lot of damage and generating a lot of terror. But despite the chaos, he wasn’t hitting anyone. What kind of maniac set off this degree of panic without having a specific—

  “Niall!” His grandfather’s cane clattered against the marble tiles. Niall was already peeling off his jacket and wadding it up to use as a compress as Thomas Watson cradled the eighty-year-old man in his arms and gently lowered him to the floor. “Help me, son. Dad’s been shot.”

  Copyright © 2016 by Julie Miller

  ISBN-13: 9781488005589

  Warrior Son

  Copyright © 2016 by Rita B. Herron

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