Jeanie London - Then There Were Three

Deep breath. She looked up, ready to cope again. “Okay, thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re always the calm in the storm.”

“Then you should let me fix you a bite to eat, too. You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’m fine. I had soup last night.”

Marie had the advantage and ran with it. “I would hardly call hot water and a bouillon cube soup. You didn’t even drink the whole thing.”

“I’m having trouble swallowing.” Stress had that effect.

Marie didn’t approve, but didn’t bother arguing. “I’m packing munchies in your carry-on. They’ll be there if you start to feel faint.”

“Thank you.” Megan propelled herself into action, suddenly infused with purpose—mania most likely—but she’d take whatever she could get.

Striding across the living room of the rental that had been their home for over a year and a half, she headed into her closet and dragged out the bag that was never far away.

Marie was right. She’d have plenty of time on the flight to obsess about the mess she’d made of all their lives.

At least Violet was safe now. With him.

Megan might not have spoken with the man since the summer after her high school graduation, but she knew in her heart he would never hurt their daughter regardless of whether he’d known of her existence or not. Of course, finding out he even had a daughter would knock him back a few steps.

That thought overwhelmed her again, forced her to grab the doorjamb to hang on. Squeezing her eyes shut, Megan tried to manage the sensation that things were impossibly out of control.

It wasn’t only him or the idea of him being sandbagged by an unexpected daughter after so many years. As if that wasn’t enough. She was also struggling with memories of a time in her life when she’d felt so powerless and alone, so betrayed.

But not by him. There’d never been any doubt he’d assume responsibility, none at all. She’d felt betrayed by her parents, by their refusal to accept that Megan didn’t want to give up her daughter for adoption.

Nor had they prepared her for any life but the one they’d deemed acceptable. They’d sheltered her so completely that Megan didn’t have the first clue about how to cope when an unplanned pregnancy had turned her life upside down.

She was a much stronger and better person for learning how to stand on her own, and for that she was truly grateful. But she’d tried to rear Violet differently, to embrace life to the fullest, to be responsible for her actions. She’d always wanted Violet to have the skills to cope with whatever came up, to roll with the punches and trust herself to make good choices.

This choice had not been good. Her daughter had been clever enough to track down her father, but she didn’t know the whole story, wouldn’t understand why Megan had chosen to keep her a secret.

A memory of the sweet little girl who’d loved to chatter about everything, always trusting her thoughts to her mom, suddenly brought tears to Megan’s eyes. Those sturdy little arms would wrap around her neck and cling so tight.

Clearly, Violet didn’t trust her thoughts to Megan anymore.

If she had only asked… Of course, she shouldn’t have had to. Megan should have been honest, instead of choosing to wait until Violet asked, which would have signaled she was old enough to handle a truth that would rock her world. But there had been no perfect solution to the mess Megan had made. None.

There had only been damage control.

Throwing open the closet doors, she stared blindly at the neat row of clothing. Formal wear. Suits. Business casual. Casual casual. Purses and belts hanging from a unique hanger that Bonsom, their maintenance man in Ghana, had fashioned from akasa, a local wood. Shoes lined neatly on a three-tiered shoe rack for easy access. Orderly.

Exactly what her thoughts weren’t right now.

Megan hoped with her whole heart and soul that he had handled the shock of finding out about his daughter well.

Violet had sounded okay, but Megan knew her daughter, and meeting her father must have been the most important thing in her world to prompt this titanic mutiny.

If things didn’t turn out well, Violet would be so hurt. And he hadn’t had a chance to prepare. He would have been blindsided by the news. Who knew what was going on in his personal life? She could only learn so much on the internet. What if Violet had to not only contend with her father’s reaction, but the reactions of his loved ones? Given his position in the NOPD, what if an illegitimate daughter was not only a shocker, but an embarrassment?

Megan had almost placed Violet for adoption. She’d learned all about the process. She knew children sought out birth parents all the time, but reunions didn’t always yield fairy-tale endings.

If only they’d have had the one all-crucial conversation, they could have come up with a solution to deal with this mess together. A solution that would have prepared Violet and not left him unexpectedly facing a daughter who looked so much like him.

Megan’s thoughts raced with a plea—Please, please, please don’t let Violet be heartbroken. Or…Nic.

There, she’d said his name. In her head at least.

“NOW WHAT IN HELL IS this problem you couldn’t tell me about on the phone, Jurado?” Dominic DiLeo, newly installed Superintendent of the New Orleans Police Department, demanded when he caught up with the night’s shift commander.

“It’s a juvenile, Chief.” Deputy Chief Emile Jurado cast a scowling glance around the operations center as if afraid half the duty shift might overhear them. “Picked her up last night in the Quarter for curfew infraction.”

Nic stared at the short powerhouse of a man, clearly missing something. “What’s the problem?”

Another glance around the room. “Not here.”

“Let’s go to my office.” Nic led the way through the rank and file of New Orleans’s finest, inclining his head in silent greeting whenever he made eye contact with any of his men.

Keeping the benign expression on his face proved to take some effort. He was in no mood to play twenty questions this morning. Not after a near-sleepless night spent dealing with his younger brother Damon’s latest drama.

No one in the family was remotely unhappy Damon’s girlfriend had dumped him and run. No one was even surprised—except by how long she’d hung around. If Damon ever listened to anyone, he wouldn’t have been shocked Roxy had vanished from the apartment they’d shared with no more than Ciao scribbled on a napkin and the contents of their joint checking account.

Nic was damned tired of cleaning up Damon’s messes. And everyone else’s for that matter. Nic had put his own life on hold after his father had died. As the oldest, it had been his responsibility to see everyone settled.

Vince’s residency at Charity Hospital should have been the end of the line for Nic. He’d gotten his youngest brother through med school. Marc traveled as a bounty hunter. Anthony had a life with Tess and the twins. Damon was a train wreck, but Anthony had given him space for a dojo above the auto repair shop, so at least Damon could teach martial arts whenever he wasn’t getting involved with the wrong kind of woman.

His baby sister, Francesca, had blown out of New Orleans the day after she’d graduated from high school, so there wasn’t much he’d been able to do there. Except blast her for not keeping in touch. On voice mail, usually, since she didn’t bother picking up his calls.

Everyone was as settled as they were going to be. But no sooner had Nic started looking forward to a life that didn’t involve taking care of someone named DiLeo than he’d been derailed when the new mayor had appointed him as the new superintendent, a glorified title for the chief of police.