Back then, her mother had called her all the time, but they’d worked through the trauma and for years enjoyed a pleasant weekly conversation that wasn’t tainted with Rosa’s fear and worry for Lucy. But now, since Rosa had seen Lucy’s injuries and scars and learned that her job was dangerous—more dangerous, according to Rosa, than Carina’s job because Carina never came home with bruises and cuts and had never been shot—she called or e-mailed her almost every day. Lucy had to respond or her mother would worry about her safety. And now, apparently, Rosa was talking to Dillon about her.
That couldn’t continue, but Lucy didn’t know how to make it stop. She loved her mother and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Yet … how could she tell her that this was her chosen life? That while she didn’t seek out dangerous situations, they often found her?
Lucy didn’t want to work out of the San Diego Field Office. She loved her family, but there were some things she wanted to keep from them. Dillon was different—not only was he married to Lucy’s best friend, Kate, but he was a forensic psychiatrist. Lucy could talk to him when no one else would understand. She’d lived with Dillon and Kate for six years and there was a comfort and trust there that she didn’t really have with anyone else. If Lucy lived here in San Diego, she didn’t think she’d be able to keep anything from her family.
Sometimes, ignorance was better. Safer.
“Who’s here?” she asked.
“No one yet, except John Patrick. I’m so blessed, I watch him when both Nick and Carina have to work. They’ll be here any minute.”
Lucy felt a pang she hadn’t expected … her mother had also watched Justin all those years ago. That’s why Lucy felt so close to her nephew, she was practically raised with him. Like a brother. A twin. Lucy had wanted Justin to be her brother because her real brothers and sisters were all so much older than she was. In fact, they’d often pretended they were twins—though they were born ten days apart, they always had a joint birthday party.
Justin would forever be seven to Lucy. He should have been here with her. He should have graduated from high school with her. Gone to college. Fallen in love. He should have had a full life with friends and family, but it was stolen from him.
Sean rubbed her back, then kept his hand on her. She leaned into him, grateful beyond all measure that she had Sean not only here tonight, but in her life.
“Where’s J. P.?” she asked, hoping her mother didn’t sense her melancholy.
“Your father is spoiling him, I’m sure.”
Pat Kincaid walked in carrying the seven-month-old boy in one arm. “Here’s the little bruiser.” They were both grinning—though J. P. was drooling profusely. Her mother reached over and wiped his chin with a tissue, then kissed J. P. on the head.
Lucy smiled, though she felt that all-too-familiar pang of loss because she was sterile. She didn’t think it would ever go away, but it was a little better now than it had been the first time she saw J. P. after his birth.
Sean entwined his hand in hers. “Let us help you in the kitchen,” he said to Rosa.
“You can set the table—don’t let my daughter touch the stove or we’ll be ordering out for pizza. Why is it none of my daughters can cook? I don’t understand it. My boys, they cook. My girls?” She shook her head and mumbled rapidly in Spanish that Lucy decided not to translate for Sean.
Nothing had changed in the kitchen. The dishes were in the same cabinet they had been in when Lucy was growing up, the napkins in a drawer, the place mats in the dining-room hutch. She brought everything out to the table and let Sean set the places. Eight—there was a high chair in the corner.
“Lucy,” Sean whispered, “what’s wrong?”
“Nostalgia,” she said.
“Your mom’s right—you could request a transfer at the end of the year.”
“Sean, would you really want to live in the same town as my family?”
“I like your family. You love them.”
Sean had a large family as well, but they were wholly different than the Kincaids. Not as close. And he’d recently faced the truth that he didn’t know all of them as well as he’d thought.
“Or,” Sean said, “maybe we can just stay in San Antonio and visit more often.”
“That would be perfect.” She leaned up and kissed him.
“I could buy a house here—a beach house.”
“Don’t spend that kind of money for a place we might visit once a month.”
“I want to.”
“You just bought the house in Vail.”
“I could sell it.”
She must have looked panicked, because he laughed and kissed her again. “I won’t sell it.”
“Good. We have memories there. Great memories.” They’d spent their honeymoon in Vail, and Lucy hadn’t wanted to leave.
“I would never sell the house. Maybe we’ll retire there.” He kissed her. “Celebrate every anniversary alone.”
She smiled. “I miss the hot tub on the deck.”
“We have a Jacuzzi at home.”
“Not the same.” She wove her fingers in the hair that curled at Sean’s collar and pulled him down for another kiss.
The front door opened and Connor and Nick walked in together.
“What, the honeymoon isn’t over yet?” Connor said. He came over and gave Lucy a hug, then shook Sean’s hand. “What a great surprise, sis,” Connor said. “When Mom called this afternoon and said you were coming for dinner, I thought it was a ruse to get me over to fix something.”
“Connor Kincaid,” Rosa said as she came in with a basket of freshly made tortillas. “If I want you to fix something, I would tell you so. I don’t need to lie.”
“I was joking, Ma,” Connor said and kissed her on the cheek.
“Nick, Pat has John Patrick, took him out back to watch the sunset. Don’t think J. P. knows what he’s seeing.” But she smiled. Rosa loved having her grandson here as often as possible. Lucy was so happy her mother was finding peace. She’d be seventy at the end of the year … Lucy was used to having older parents—older than her friends at any rate—but seventy was a turning point.
“Thanks.” Nick nodded to the group and went out to the backyard.
“Where’s Julia?” her mother asked Connor.
“On her way, she had a late meeting. Stanton took the afternoon off, dumped a shitload of—um, a bunch of work—on her desk.”
“Go toss the salad, then dish up the carnitas. Use the brown bowl, with the lid, not the blue one. Check the rice—it should be done by the time you’re finished with the salad.”
“Yes, Ma.” Connor winked at Lucy, then followed their mother into the kitchen.
“I hope Andrew didn’t say anything,” Lucy said. “I want to be the one to tell my family.”
“Why would he? He didn’t even want you talking to them.”
“That simply isn’t an option.” She paused. “Max wanted to come.”
Sean snorted. “You know what I would have enjoyed? Putting Max in the same room with Jack. Now that would be fun.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Your brother would take her down a peg or two.”
“She’s very smart. She thinks like a cop.”
“You like her?”
“I don’t know her, not yet. I just think she’s more complex than she seems on the surface. She’s very straightforward, she’s obviously driven—and she doesn’t have much tolerance for people who get in her way. As long as she doesn’t think I’m hindering her, the temporary partnership should work.” Might be wishful thinking on Lucy’s part.
“I meant it, Luce, if she starts digging around again, I’ll retaliate.” He kissed her. “I’m not going to have either of us the subject of a news program.”