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 h
e 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 fr
om 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.
Then There Were Three Page 5
