Luc nearly winced as he heard the police therapist’s words coming out of his own mouth. How many times had Dr. Kaperski leaned forward in that very way, looking into Luc’s eyes and telling him he had nothing to hide?
That it wasn’t his fault.
“Of course not,” Tony said, looking away.
A quick glance around the table showed that Anthony and Vin weren’t meeting his eyes either, and Luc very slowly set his beer on the table, instincts buzzing in a bad way.
“What am I missing here?”
For a second, nobody responded, but then Vin gave him a not-so-gentle kick in the shin, brother-to-brother. “Just that you should be careful. Who knows what her motives are, you know?”
“Her motives are to get in my pants,” Luc said crassly. Ava wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment, but she’d like it a hell of a lot better than what his family was implying.
“So she doesn’t ask about your career?”
“Sure, I guess,” he said, feeling more agitated than ever. “I mean, you guys know that. You fucking told her all about it when she was at our house for dinner.”
His message clear: they couldn’t have it both ways. They couldn’t welcome her to the Moretti fold while telling him not to let it get personal.
It had been personal for weeks.
So what had crawled up their respective asses?
“Just be careful is all we’re saying,” Tony said. “We don’t want her asking about Mike.”
The table fell silent, and Luc waited for either brother to give their dad shit for breaking the unspoken code.
We don’t talk about fallen cops around family.
Certainly not around Luc.
But to his surprise, Anthony and Vincent exchanged a look that Luc was left out of.
A worried look.
“She hasn’t asked, has she, bro?” Anthony asked. His older brother had a smile pasted on his face, and since Anthony didn’t smile, the humming Luc had been feeling escalated to a full-on siren.
He pointed around the table. “Someone tell me what exactly I’m not supposed to tell her about Mike. It’s all public record if she wants to see it.”
There. There it was on his dad’s face. Guilt.
Luc’s eyes narrowed. “It’s public record. The Shayna Johnson case, Mike’s death.”
“There are police records, of course,” Tony muttered.
It was an odd distinction. A crucial one.
“Police records, but not media records?”
Again. The flash of guilt.
Luc ran a hand over his face, hoping to God he was misunderstanding their silence.
“Pops.” His voice was rough. “What the hell did you do?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Can you come over?
Ava was about to head down the steps into the subway station when she got Luc’s text. She’d had a rather epic shopping day with Beth, and was fully intending to head home, unpack her merchandise, and try desperately to forget the major damage she’d just done to her credit card.
When, exactly, had bra and panty sets gotten so expensive?
And why had she let Beth talk her into a half dozen sets of ridiculously unpractical lacy, strappy numbers?
Luc texted again: Please.
Ah, that’s why. Because after months of indifferent celibacy, she was finally getting some.
Getting the best she ever had, actually.
Still, instinct told her that Luc’s message was no ordinary booty call. For starters, it was Father’s Day, and he’d told her that he and his brothers were taking their dad out for a day at the pub to watch the US Open.
And second, there was something wrong with the tone of this message. It lacked the flirty coyness of their usual exchanges.
Ava started to respond, telling him she’d be there after she swung by her place to drop off her shopping bags.
But instead she found herself crossing the street to get on a northbound train to Luc’s place as she replied, be right there.
Fifteen minutes later, she was at his front door. For a half second she was paranoid about the fact that Nonna might open the door while Ava held two huge, magenta Victoria’s Secret bags. Then she remembered that this was the eighty-something-year-old woman who’d told Ava in excruciating detail how to use bronzer to “fake” cleavage.