Which had made the sting of betrayal all the more painful. The sound of two cars pulling in the driveway was followed by the slam of car doors. Rick straightened. “Speak of the devil.”
“Be nice. If you don’t want to fight, eat.”
The front doorbell chimed. “Why ring the bell?”
“Respect. It’s your casa, Bro.”
Frowning, Rick moved to the door and snapped it open. He found Deke and Alex inspecting the rehab work he’d done on the front porch.
Deke turned first. The oldest of the Morgan children, he was tall, broad-shouldered, with a perpetual grim expression, a carbon copy of their father. Many of the old-timers on the Force still called him Buddy as if caught off guard when they saw him. Twice divorced, Deke had moved into the house while Rick was recuperating. He’d blamed the move on decimated finances after his second divorce but he’d basically been keeping the place afloat until Rick could stake his claim. He’d happily moved back to the city last fall and was seriously dating a local attorney, Rachel Wainwright.
Alex shared his brother’s olive complexion and dark hair but he had a long, lean build that stretched to six foot three inches. He wore his thick hair short, his shirts starched, and his suits were handmade. Since he was a kid, all the Morgans had assumed Alex would not only run for public office but would land in the governor’s mansion before he turned forty.
Deke grinned when he made eye contact with Rick. “You’ve done a hell of a job with this place. How do you like living in the sticks?”
Rick’s stomach knotting, he accepted Deke’s hand and shook heartily. “Seems to suit Tracker and me. Never asked, but how was vacation?”
“Nice to get away with Rachel for a few days. No phones. No work.”
Rick barely heard the answer as he faced Alex and wrestled a surge of annoyance and anger. “Alex.”
Alex gave no hint to what was happening behind eyes as black as coal. He possessed an icy demeanor that had always made him very hard to read. “Rick. Place looks great.”
“Thanks.”
“I hear you closed the Diane Smith case,” Deke said.
Word was getting around about Jonas Tuttle, but Rick still had too many missing pieces to close the case in his mind. “Looks that way. We’ll see.”
“Any idea why the guy killed her?” Alex asked. He extended his hand to Rick.
Homicide had always served as neutral territory for the Morgans. No better way to dodge emotions than to dig into the latest murder. He accepted his brother’s hand and this momentary truce. Each squeezed hard, giving as good as the other before releasing the grasp. “He was stalking her for months. Acted out killing fantasies with a hooker. But why he chose Diane, I don’t know. And he had expensive camera equipment that would have been beyond his means.”
“Sounds like you don’t want to mark it closed,” Deke said.
Alex stood silent. He’d done his due diligence by breaking the first chunk of ice.
“In a day or two,” Rick said. He stepped aside so his brothers could enter. As they moved down the hallway, he added, “I want to dig just a little deeper. Something doesn’t seem quite right.”
“Is that Mexican I smell?” Deke asked.
“Georgia brought food.”
“Did she cook it?” Alex asked.
“No,” Rick said.
The relief on his brothers’ faces almost made him smile. This moment was the most normal the three Morgan brothers had had in so long. Homicide and jokes about Georgia’s cooking . . . didn’t get better than that. “She figured we’d behave with food on the table.”
“She has a short memory,” Alex said.
Rick let the comment slide and to Deke asked, “How is Rachel?”
Deke’s expression softened in a way it had never done before. “Working on another case and determined to save all the downtrodden in the world.”
Rachel’s intensity reminded him of Jenna. The women were different in many ways but both carried with them a drive that set them apart from most people. “She should’ve come.”
“She’s in court tomorrow. Will be hard to get her to focus on much until she’s got a resolution.”
As the three Morgan men entered the kitchen Georgia grinned up at them. She, more than any of the four siblings, missed the family gatherings. For that reason, and that alone, he was sorry for the rift with Alex.
Georgia moved to the sink to fill Tracker’s water bowl. The dog knew he was most likely to be heard if he came to the kitchen, the place where Rick had all but lived the last few months during the renovation.
“Wolf-dog was at the back door,” Georgia said. “Should I feed him?”
Rick checked his watch. “Sure. His food is in the pantry. He gets exactly one scoop.”
Georgia frowned. “That sounds kinda mean? Can’t I give him a chew or a bone?”
“If I keep his weight in check, he feels and moves better. Extra weight equals pain. So no more sneaking him chips.”
Looking innocent, she vanished into the pantry and appeared with a bowl of food that looked to be exactly one scoop. “Seems kinda sad never to be able to have a fun snack again.”
Rick shrugged off his jacket, the shoulders suddenly feeling tight. “We’ll play with his chew toy tonight and he can bark at squirrels later. He’ll be fine.”
She dumped the food into the bowl. She winked at the dog and rubbed him between the ears. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Deke set a file folder on the counter. “Don’t look so sad, Georgia. He loves the chew toy.”
She shrugged and snapped up a chip, which she ate in one bite. “Whatever.”
Rick nodded toward the folder. “Those the papers?”
Deke lifted the case slightly. “Rachel drew them up just as we asked. They’re ready to sign. I brought copies for everyone to read after we eat.”
“I don’t have time to eat,” Alex said, checking his watch. “Deke, do you mind if we sign the papers now? I’ve got to get back to town.”
“You can’t eat?” Georgia asked. “Alex, I did takeout and didn’t cook just for you!”