“It all worked out,” Claire assured Casey. “Kennedy finally went to sleep, a lot more peaceful than she has been. I talked briefly to Maureen, who somehow contained herself from blurting out the dozens of questions she was dying to ask.” A small smile. “But I’d be lying if I said she didn’t look both eager and curious.”
“She’ll handle the rest of the family,” Ryan assured them.
“All good news,” Casey said. “In which case, I suggest we all catch some sleep.” Her gaze shifted to Marc. “Not quite yet for you. You have a meeting to set up.”
Ryan’s Apartment
Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York
Saturday, March 18, 2:30 a.m.
Ryan lay on his side on the bed, his arms wrapped around Claire, holding her tight as he listened to the even sound of her breathing that told him she’d fallen asleep. After the endlessly long day—and the two hours they’d spent making love—it was no wonder she was wiped.
So was he. But, despite how depleted he was physically and how much Claire had taken him down mentally, he was on major sensory overload.
And that sensory overload stemmed not just from the investigation, but from the beautiful woman lying in his arms—the woman who, over the past hellish week, had stepped up to give him her strength, to be his support and his constant since this nightmare had begun.
Ryan’s mind returned to his previous thoughts for the future—thoughts that tonight had only intensified.
Loving Claire was a given. Since the day they’d committed to each other, spoken those three life-altering words aloud, their relationship had deepened, grown. It wasn’t just explosive sex anymore, nor was it only playful banter, biting debates, bouncing things off of each other, and tender moments. It was something bigger, richer, and definitely more all-encompassing. And that reality had struck him like a blow to the chest tonight, in a more powerful way than it ever had.
Claire was his perfect counterpart, ethereal and instinctive to his grounded and scientific. Yet through this tragedy, the roles had subtly reversed. She’d been his rock, strong and take-charge as she guided him through the pain, the loss, and the solutions. She’d also become part of his family, and, most of all, she’d come to be his other half.
Which changed everything.
This was no longer just about his objections to their separate living arrangements. Not anymore. It was more than that. Much more.
He’d wait until this case was solved and the healing was underway. But after that, he and Claire were going to have a very different and life-altering conversation.
23
Marc and Madeleine’s Duplex
Upper East Side
Manhattan, New York
Saturday, March 18, 11:15 a.m.
Marc opened the door and let his brother in. The two men looked much alike—tall, dark, and broodingly handsome, as Emma always like to describe them. But where Marc’s eyes were dark and slightly narrowed at the edges—favoring their mother’s Asian heritage—Aidan’s eyes were rounder and midnight blue, indicative of their father’s European blood.
Now, Marc shook his brother’s hand and shut the door behind him. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“I aim to please.” Aidan strolled into the living room, his lips curving into a smile as he saw Maddy propped up on sofa cushions, a blanket covering her lap and a snack tray filled with a plate of French toast and a cup of tea beside her. “Hi, Maddy. How are you feeling?”
“Starting my third trimester, and getting big,” she said, putting down the novel she’d been reading and placing a palm on her growing belly. “But I have no complaints. The baby and I are doing great.” She glanced behind Aidan, looking disappointed. “You didn’t bring Abby with you? I would have happily watched her while you and Marc talked.”
Aidan chuckled at the image of his wild, precocious six-and-a-half-year-old daughter taking it easy on Maddy. “You’re on bed rest, remember? Abby would have you doing gymnastics in no time. That would be a big no-no for you and for the baby. Besides, my little princess is on the verge of winning a popularity contest. She’s at yet another play date with one of her school friends, and I was not invited. They’re polishing each other’s nails. Both her friend’s parents are there, as is Joyce, who’ll be with her all weekend.”
Aidan was referring to Joyce Reynolds, Abby’s middle-aged nanny, who took care of Abby on weekdays—and on weekends when work required his full attention, plus whenever Aidan had to travel or work overtime. She spent many an overnight or a late night in Aidan’s guest room. She also cooked, straightened up the apartment, and took Abby to school, as well as to her afterschool activities and play dates. She had twenty years of experience, an enormously long fuse, and a genuine fondness for her little charge. She was a lifesaver.
“The deal I made with Abby was to behave with Joyce,” Aidan continued. “In return, I had to promise to play nail salon with her tonight. I’m sure I’ll have neon nails by bedtime.”
Marc barked out a laugh at that image.
“Laugh while you can,” Aidan informed him. “In six-plus years that will be you.”
“I’ll survive—with pleasure.” Marc was gearing up for the joys of fatherhood, something he’d been wanting for a long time. He and Maddy knew they were having a girl, and he was over the moon about it. “Besides, Abby gets practice sessions in on me, too. So far, I’ve escaped being made-up, but I’m sure that will come.” He sobered. “Much as I love talking about our girls, you and I need to have that meeting.”
