one of the cases they'd worked on. However, he doubted that any of them had been preempted by a journalist in their own family. His sister, Christine, had done it to him twice in the past. Once even compromising her son, Timmy's safety. He thought she'd learned her lesson, but he didn't trust her. It was almost as if she couldn't help it. Like a drug addict. Even now he avoided returning her calls. Was she concerned or looking for a scoop?
Briefly he realized her calls might concern their dad, but Christine would say so, wouldn't she? His dad's health had been deteriorating the past several months, bad to worse with no hope of recovery. The stroke he'd suffered four years ago had reduced him to a shadow of the man Antonio Morrelli had once been. But some things never changed and Nick thought the old man was stubborn enough to stick around just out of spite and to ruin Christmas for all the rest of them. Maybe deep down that's what Nick hoped. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he wasn't quite ready for his father's departure, for him to be gone completely and forever from his life.
He scratched at the stubble on his jaw and rubbed at his eyes. When he looked up he found Maggie watching him from across the table. The others were talking about food, their attention buried in the large menu placards. But not Maggie. She had one elbow on the ridge that separated the booth from the wall. Her cheek rested against her hand. David Ceimo sat directly across from her, Yarden right next to her and yet, she was watching Nick from clear across the diagonal of the table.
At first he glanced away. But her eyes were still there when he looked up again and this time he met them despite the flutter they stirred in his gut. She looked tired, but she smiled, just a little. Her eyes were still serious with an intensity he recognized. From the first time he met Maggie O'Dell he felt like those eyes could examine anyone deeply, and he knew they missed nothing.
Their drinks came at that moment. Before Chris finished setting them down, Yarden was pointing at the television screen, waving his arms to get their attention.
'Holy crap,' Yarden blurted as he tried to stand up for a better look. 'They have the bombers.'
Nick had to look over his shoulder. Three photos of three young men were displayed in the middle of the screen. Names appeared beneath them and on the CC crawl at the bottom of the screen.
Chris reached up and turned the volume on:
'Son of a bitch.' Ceimo was the first to speak. 'What sources? Where the hell did they get photos and names?' He was pulling his smartphone from his jacket pocket, as he slid across the booth's bench. Nick barely got out of the bench and out of his way.
Nick glanced around the table as he sat back down. Both Yarden and Jamie's eyes were still glued to the television screen. Maggie's face had gone white and she was digging for her own cell phone.
'What is it?' Nick asked her. She looked like she had seen a ghost.
'Patrick Murphy.'
He noticed her fingers had a slight tremble as she punched at her cell phone's menu. He could see she was searching for a number.
She glanced back up at him. He thought he saw a glimpse of panic before she looked back down. Without giving him her eyes again, she said, 'Patrick Murphy is my stepbrother.'
CHAPTER 45
Maggie excused herself, suddenly feeling claustrophobic up against the wall. Yarden and the bomb expert named Jamie couldn't move quick enough to release her from the corner of the booth. She needed to get out of the noise and the crowd and the prying concern of Nick Morrelli's eyes. She escaped to the restroom, only to find a long line waiting for the stalls. But it was quiet here if you didn't count the cell phone conversations.
On her own phone she searched the queue for Patrick's number. She had called him a week ago?ten days at most?to invite him to Thanksgiving. He already had plans. He was going out of town with friends to spend the long holiday with them. She pretended like it was no big deal.
Maggie blamed herself. She was the adult, twelve years older and yet, she had no idea how to take on the role of the decision-maker, the family planner. No idea how to be or act like a big sister. Hell, she had no idea how to act like a family.
Now as she searched her phone's menu she wondered why she hadn't memorized his phone number. She was good with numbers and details. Even as she jotted things down while viewing the videotapes she knew she didn't need the notes. The discovery of Patrick two years ago had brought with it a whole storm, not just about having a brother but all her preconceptions about her father. The parent she loved and missed and remembered with adoration had actually led a secret life. And for two decades her mother continued to keep his secret. Patrick reminded Maggie of that every single time she saw him or talked to him. It was crazy and she needed to find a way around it if she ever intended to have a relationship with him. But not having his phone number was another reminder that she evidently wasn't ready. Now here she was hoping Patrick's number was in her phone's call history.
Her fingers kept hitting more than the arrow buttons. She had to focus, to concentrate despite the flushing toilets and the nagging little girl who wanted to go into the stall by herself. Even from behind the stalls there were conversations. People on their phones. Couldn't they go to the restroom without talking about their day? Though tonight's conversations were sprinkled with excitement and concern about the bombing and the newly released suspects.
Finally, Maggie found the number. She started to hit 'return call' then glanced around again and stopped. How exactly was she going to do this? She moved away from the line, back into another corner by a sink that had an Out of Order sign posted on the mirror in front of it.
She hit the button, closed her eyes and waited. It didn't need to ring twice.
'Becca?' It was Patrick, anxious and out of breath.
She had no idea who Becca was. Of course not. She had no idea who any of her brother's friends were.
'It's Maggie, Patrick.'
The silence lasted so long she was afraid he had hung up.
'Patrick, are you involved in this?'
She wished he'd ask what? Maybe even pretend he had no idea what she was talking about.
'I wasn't with Chad and Tyler, if that's what you're asking.'
Maggie leaned against the tiled wall. God! He knew who they were. If he hadn't known them, he wouldn't call them by name. They'd only be the other two suspects.
'You know them?'
'They were friends of one of the friends I was with.' He let out a long sigh. 'That sounds lame, doesn't it?'
He sounded so young. Had she ever been that young, that nadve? She noted that he said 'were.' Past tense. Did he know the two young men were dead?
'You're wanted for questioning,' she told him and hated that she sounded entirely like an FBI agent and not at all like a sister. Why could she not get a hang of this?
'Yeah, I just saw.'
'Where are you?'
Silence.
'Patrick, you're going to have to trust me or I can't help you.'
'Let me think about it.'
She was pacing as much as the corner allowed, getting frustrated. What was there to think about? Letting her help him or trusting her?
'I'll let you know,' he said in what sounded like a rush. And then he was gone. Silence.
'Damn it!'
Her anger surprised her and drew looks. Even a couple of stall conversations came to a halt. Maggie
