She’d scored a bungalow fixer-upper in St. Louis Park with a view of the back alleyway.
But soon to have a new kitchen, starting with the tile and hopefully, running water. “Bro!” Eve directed her words toward Samson, sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. He wore a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, a baseball cap on backwards, his golden brown hair poking out the back, clearly on his way to work.
“Could you please explain to me why I found a strange man in my kitchen this morning?”
Samson raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you did last night—”
“Samson!” This from her mother. “That’s not appropriate.”
Samson grinned and Eve wanted to throw her muffin at him. “A plumber, okay? He shut off the water. I was in the shower.”
He made a face, wrinkled his nose. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize Chuck would be there that soon.”
“Well he was, and frankly he’s lucky I didn’t shoot him.”
“Shoot who?” her father said, coming into the room. He’d locked up his gun, toed off his shoes, and now reached for a cup of coffee.
The blood drained, just a little, from Sam’s face.
“Nothing, Dad,” Eve said, but walked over to the table. “However, I also found this at the scene of the crime.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a sample of the tiny square sea-blue glass tiles she’d found last night in boxes on her counter. “I thought we’d talked about installing subway tile.”
Samson, the inconsiderate jerk, had inherited the blue eyes of her mother, the build of their father, and enough charm that came from being the middle child to make him dangerous to her girlfriends, despite being five years younger than her. His smile contained a sort of homing beacon for trouble—hence his inability to stay in college. But he could swing a hammer, lay tile and frankly, he might have found his calling as a re-modeler.
If he could explain the tile.
“It looks better with your white cupboards, sis. All that dark wood on the island and the floor, you want something that pops, and I’m sorry, the subway tile sucks.”
Huh. “When did you turn into Martha Stewart?”
Her mom set a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table. “Sit down, honey, you’re just in time for breakfast.”
About then, Asher shuffled in, a headset around his neck. He set his CD player on the table and slid out the chair, his curly reddish-brown hair in a mop. He wore a pair of jeans, a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt, and looked ever so thrilled to be getting up at the crack of dawn for breakfast.
Eve had no sympathy for him. Asher should be used to her mother’s traditions by now. Whenever their father was assigned night shift, for however long, they all trundled down for breakfast together, her mother’s attempt at a regular family meal.
Of normalcy.
But nothing was ever truly normal when your dad was a cop. Every time he left the house, the unspoken ghost of fear slithered in and hovered in every conversation until he returned.
Eve would never forget the one time he didn’t. The call that came, the frantic drive to the hospital. Her mother’s declaration, after they’d discovered the gunshot wouldn’t kill him, that none of her children could be cops.
They’d obeyed, mostly. Lucas, a lawyer, and Jake went into the Navy. Sam turned to carpentry and Asher, well it looked like he’d never get a real job, the way he played on the computer constantly. But Eve hadn’t listened.
She was the one who couldn’t completely escape the family instincts, and after landing a degree in biology, went into crime scene investigation, a supposed-to-be temporary job that had tunneled under her skin and found her bones.
She loved it. The dissection of a crime scene, the thorough analysis, putting the pieces together. It led her into her master’s in Forensic Science.
Landed her the job for Booker.
Thankfully, Booker also hired her partner, crime scene technician Silas O’Roarke. Blond and with a quick smile, he was the guy who’d always showed up at 2 a.m. with a study pizza. They’d been friends since their college days at the University when he dropped down next to her in their 3000-level forensic anthropology class and handed her a donut. Because she looked like she needed it.
She knew Silas had picked it up at the back of the class, the first day’s offerings from the professor, but the thoughtfulness…Silas was like that. As loyal as a Labrador.
And, he noticed her.
Which, when surrounded by a larger-than-life father, and handsome, football-playing brothers, seemed significant.
She slid onto the bench next to Asher. Her mother put a plate in front of her, and Eve reached for a scoopful of eggs.
“Not until we pray,” her mother said, and of course, that was part of the tradition, too. Her treaty with God that everyone would return safely, one more day.
Asher turned off his music and for a moment, they were quiet. Together. Remembering Lucas in Chicago, and Jake—well, wherever he was.
The instant the prayer was over, Asher leapt for the bacon, and Eve filled her plate with eggs as her mother poured juice.
She noticed her father playing with his eggs, lost somewhere, probably on the job. He didn’t usually bring it home, but a darkness stirred in his eyes.
“Rough night, Dad?” Eve asked, one eye on the time, shoveling her food in.
“We had another working girl show up dead. There’s a predator out there. But I’ll get him.” He reached for his coffee and ran his thumb down the edge of his cup. “I just can’t seem to get there fast enough. I gotta be quicker.” It was a mumble more than a statement.
“No cases at the table, Danny,” her mother said.
“Sorry, Bets.” But he pushed his plate away. Eve got that—she’d often returned from her shift, her
