Jeanie London - Love In Plain Sight

The table was full. His mother was all about first come, first served, and hers was the only reserved seat—the corner closest to the stove. This was her throne to hear her tell it, so she could easily replenish serving bowls. While Marc had been growing up, that seat had been at his father’s right.

“My best girl and right-hand man,” Marc could remember his father saying. “My better half.”

Today, she was Marc’s savior. After taking one look at him, she started directing traffic.

“Scoot the twins toward Anthony,” she said. “Marc, sit next to Violet. She’ll make room.”

“Come here, Uncle Marc.” Violet patted the space on the bench beside her, a strategic corner placement so Marc would be able to stretch his leg out of everyone’s way.

By the time he dropped heavily onto the bench, food started making its way toward him. Marc turned his attention to filling his plate as the conversation resumed about the wedding. Nic was finally going to marry his high school sweetheart and the mother of his teenage daughter, Violet. This wedding was a long time in coming, and the family was thrilled.

Marc didn’t want any reminders of the upcoming nuptials, though. When he had agreed to be Nic’s best man, he had assumed accompanying his big brother to the altar wouldn’t be a problem. Now the thought of being on display to a church filled with guests annoyed him. He’d already tried to beg off, citing an inability to accomplish his best man duties, but Nic had flatly refused to accept his resignation.

Marc made quick work of dinner, glad when the conversation turned from the wedding to the Saints’ performance during preseason. Everyone had an opinion, and he listened, distracting himself from his awareness of Courtney, who ate next to nothing although she made a good show of pushing food around her plate.

He was probably responsible for her lack of appetite, too. His troublemaking mother must have thought so, because when the talk about the Saints lagged, she solicited opinions about whether or not he should help Courtney with her problem.

Marc should have seen it coming. He would have bet money Courtney hadn’t. Her expression froze along with the fork she held over the plate.

“Wait a second.” Anthony swallowed hard around a bite. “Am I hearing this right? Are you telling me Boba Fett DiLeo can’t track down a missing kid? Who is this kid—the Golden Child?”

Courtney blinked a few times, still surprised her shitty situation had become the entrée of table conversation.

Violet pulled a face. “I know Boba Fett, but who’s the Golden Child?”

“Vintage Eddie Murphy, niece girl,” Damon said. “Before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.”

Nic scowled. Some things never changed, and he did not like reminders that he hadn’t been privy to the existence of his daughter until two years ago.

“I didn’t say can’t track down,” his mother explained matter-of-factly. “I said won’t.”

Marc should have known nothing with this family could ever be simple. Setting down his water glass, he settled back to watch the show. He would not prepare a defense. He refused to play this game.

“I don’t understand.” Anthony feigned confusion. “Why won’t you help out Courtney?”

Every gaze at the table was suddenly on Marc. As brother in the middle, Anthony was slick. He had learned long ago to maneuver between family factions. The top shelf contained the power brokers—his mother, Nic, Marc himself. More often than not, Anthony preferred to swing with them, but there were times he played devil’s advocate or peacemaker. He wielded humor and stupidity with equal skill, and usually managed to emerge from family disputes unscathed. Marc did not have the patience for his brother today. Any of them.

“I have helped. The lady asked for an opinion. I gave one.”

The lady still looked like a deer caught in headlights, but she recovered quickly, suddenly becoming very interested in the food she’d been pushing around on her plate.

“Courtney, you better hope your missing kid didn’t run away like this one—across continents.” Damon patted the top of Violet’s head, and she beamed at the mention of the antics that had led her to find the father she’d grown up without knowing.

Now she was the oldest grandchild and resident superstar, her status as shiny and new to the family made her special, and she was old enough not only to revel in her position but milk it for all it was worth.

“I’d have given Uncle Marc a run for his money,” she said saucily. “Can you say South America to Louisiana? There are lots of countries in between.”

Nic directed his scowl her way this time. “That’s because you don’t respect normal boundaries.”

“I don’t do continents,” Marc said.

“Really?” Violet wanted to know. “Why not?”

“I can’t legally bring anyone over the border,” Marc explained. “That’s half the fun of my work—luring criminals into the country, so I can catch him. Or her. There are lots of hers. None as pretty as you.”

That earned him a high-beam smile, and for a moment, Marc thought he might have redirected the conversation. No such luck.

“Then what’s up with this missing kid?” Anthony persisted. “Not in any real danger, I hope?”

All gazes swung Courtney’s way. She was caught and had no choice but to be sucked into this nonsense.

“It doesn’t look good,” she said simply. Then she made the mistake of pausing to draw breath.

His mother stepped into that breach and interjected her two cents about Marc’s refusal to help. By the time she was done, everyone was making noise about how he shouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t help track down a missing kid.

The only thing Marc could say for Courtney was that she clearly wasn’t in collusion with his family. And the frown on her pretty face suggested she didn’t much like being used as a reason to bully him. But she didn’t not like it enough to open her mouth and tell everyone to shut up. He found that disconnect between self-interest and outrage, a struggle so evident on her face, interesting for the woman who had involved his mother in the first place. Then again, Courtney had arrived early to speak with him privately. She hadn’t intended for him to be put on the spot. He gave her credit for that.

Which begged the question about why she was so solicitous. Did she feel sorry for him?

Marc shouldn’t care one way or the other. But there was something about the way she sat there, scowling at his mother, slanting horrified glances at him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. Each time someone opened his mouth, she sank lower into her chair. She felt bad. That much Marc knew. And he didn’t want to be the object of anyone’s pity, not even for the time it took to finish dinner. So he did exactly what he had refused to do—defend himself.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m with you. I don’t want to think about anything bad happening to this kid.”

“Then why won’t you help Aunt Courtney?” Violet asked.

“Because the situation isn’t so simple or else your father would be helping Aunt Courtney.” What was wrong with his family? A few dinner invitations made someone an honorary member?

Damon snorted with laughter. “I thought you were the dude who never met a skip you couldn’t track.”

“I track people who want to vanish. That’s a big difference from a little kid who all of a sudden went missing one day.”

“What if she didn’t just go missing? What if someone took her?” Anthony went the confused route this time. “Sounds like she disappeared a long time ago. How old was she, Courtney?”

“I can’t discuss details,” she said in an obvious attempt to redirect. “All I can say is the last accurate documentation we have on her was before the hurricane evacuations.”