Casey’s earlier irritation ebbed as she saw just how exhausted her husband was. Between his responsibilities at the Bureau and his insistence on taking care of her, these past three months had taken their toll on him.
She kissed him back and smiled. “Technically, Hero woke me when he realized his favorite wrestling partner was home. But it’s fine. Nap time is over.”
Hutch frowned, tracing the dark circles under her eyes with his forefinger. “It shouldn’t be. You’re still wiped out. You spend way too many hours at your office. And you don’t get enough rest. I’m worried about you.”
Casey kissed him again, this time tenderly. “I know you are. And I love you for it. I’ve kept all my PT appointments, and I have a follow-up with my surgeon next week. But, Hutch, please understand. I can’t just lie here in between health checks. Especially with a major investigation going on. I’m losing my mind.”
“I do understand. That doesn’t stop me from worrying.”
“Or from taking charge of my life,” Casey noted dryly, holding his gaze. “Marc is right. You’re acting like my sentry.”
A corner of Hutch’s mouth lifted in amusement. “Your sentry? Maybe so. But it doesn’t work well enough. What you really need is a full-time security guard and a full-time medical professional assigned to you. Unfortunately, there’d be no applicants. You’re way too difficult to manage. You’re impossible.”
“You’re pretty impossible yourself. A knight overseeing his fortress—and strengthening it to the max.”
Hutch didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “If I am, then it’s only because you and your team are impeding a Federal investigation—or trying to.”
“And you’re shutting us down.”
“That’s kind of my job.”
“And getting past you is mine.”
Rather than angry, Hutch looked amused. “Go for it.”
Casey lightly punched his shoulder. “Have I told you how arrogant you are?”
“Frequently.” He caught her fist and brought it to his lips. “Have I told you how sexy you are when you battle me?”
“Once or twice.” Seeing the darkening look in Hutch’s eyes, she scooted over on the bed. “Let’s call a short truce. You want me to stay put? Give me an incentive to.”
Hutch was already unbuttoning his shirt. “With pleasure. My libido is what brought me home early.”
Casey laughed and tugged off her t-shirt. “Then let’s take care of that now.”
The McKay house
East 236th Street
Woodlawn, Bronx, New York
6:35 pm
The funeral mass had been held at Basilica of Saint Patrick’s Old Cathedral in Manhattan, the beautiful church where Ryan’s family were long-time parishioners. The ceremony had been solemn, painful, and Ryan had somehow managed to give the eulogy without breaking down. He’d relished the time for reflection, done in reverent silence, where he could think about Shane, the years of memories they’d made together, and the gaping hole his death had left behind. There were readings, prayers, and songs, all of which had been soothing and inflaming at the same time. Quiet sobs, glistening tears, and—worst of all—Kennedy’s frozen silence as she clung to her great-aunt, had twisted a knife in Ryan’s gut.
The burial site was closer to the McKay’s home, a grassy plot that held the few members of their small family. Seeing the coffin lowered into the ground had been almost surreal, with Kennedy gripping Ryan’s fingers so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and Claire on his other side, gently holding his arm. Then came a handful of condolences, after which the attendees disbanded and the procession of McKay cars traveled back to Maureen and Colin’s house.
Hours later, seated on the living room sofa, Ryan glanced around, noting that the last few guests had trickled out of the house. It was just the immediate family now, with everyone clustered in this one room, sipping a cup of coffee or tea and talking quietly about the day. Maureen hadn’t yet sat down, and was moving around to make sure her children and her husband were all holding up.
Every few minutes, she turned to gaze at Kennedy, who’d been curled up against Ryan’s side, and had nodded off minutes ago, her face streaked with tears, her fingers tightly clutching her pendant. Ryan had eased her head onto his lap so she could sleep more comfortably. Claire, who’d been talking with Fiona, had made her way to the sofa moments ago, settled herself on Ryan’s opposite side, and begun stroking Kennedy’s hair with a gentle hand.
“She’s wiped,” Ryan murmured, pain etched on his face. “I really don’t think she can hold up much longer.”
“We’ll make sure she does,” Claire replied. “We’ll also help her move on to the new challenges she has to face.”
“Other than praying for her mother to come home and mourning the death of her father?”
“Yes.” Claire nodded. “Her loss and her worry will remain. But the wake and the funeral are behind her. It’s time to deal with the grief she’s holding inside. I researched the appropriate child psychologists, spoke to a few, and selected the right one for Kennedy. I’ll share the information with your mom when she’s ready.”
