Page 63 of But For You

“But you’re missing all the rest of today and tomorrow.”

This was true.

“You guys will still have fun.”

“But why are you leaving?”

“I’ll let Sam tell you.”

“Tell me what?” she asked.

I looked over at her son, saw him standing where he had been for the last twenty minutes, with Duncan, two Scottsdale detectives, three of the guys from the northern district, from his office in Chicago, and two marshals who had driven over from the field office there. The last person there was Sam’s boss, Clint Farmer, and he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Sam. The other guy I didn’t know, but he was listening intently, even as he was on his cell at the same time. It didn’t look good to me; it looked like extended time away from home.

“Jory?”

“Sorry.” I forced a smile. “We just need to go home, Regina. Apparently, we’ll be under police protection, with a patrol car outside, until the man that Sam is looking for is found.”

“Oh my goodness.” She sounded worried and scared. “Sweetheart, we should all go, then. You should move in with us until this whole thing goes away.”

“No, I⁠—”

“And we can help you with the kids.”

“I don’t need help,” I explained. “And home is better for them so they don’t have their routine upset.”

“Jory,” Michael began, “don’t you think it would be better if you⁠—”

“Oh … wow,” Milt breathed out, clearly and utterly floored by whatever he was seeing.

“Uncle Dane!”

I looked over—we all did—and there, crossing the lobby of the hotel, was Dane Harcourt. People stopped and stared. It was a known reaction.

The first thing you noticed about my brother was his towering height. He was six-five, so you couldn’t miss him. Next, it was the stare, normally a slight squint, just enough to pinch his brows together and to convey his irritation with the world at large. The length of his stride and the way he moved commanded interest. There was an energy you could feel, and looking at him was a pleasure. I was not alone in my assessment that Dane could still, even in his mid-forties, begin a lucrative modeling career. Yes, he was a wealthy architect, but he could grace fashion magazines all over the world. The glossy black hair and charcoal-gray eyes with flecks of silver in them, chiseled features, and swimmer’s build made the man a standout in any room he was ever in. As he walked across the lobby of the hotel, all eyes were on him.

I had thought, as Dane aged, that his appeal would wane. But even now, with the white at his temples and the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes much heavier, he was stunning. Women flirted harder, men were drawn faster, and Dane, being Dane, just scowled. He was private; he had a small circle of friends and his family, which included me and Sam and our kids, who were precious to him, and that was all. Dane didn’t invite new friendships. When he had been younger, he’d been more patient, more able to forgive things, but now, with his focus on his wife and children, he didn’t have the time or energy to devote to newness. You could be an acquaintance of his, but really, he was done making lifelong friends.

“Jory, who’s that?” Milt was breathless.

“My brother,” I said as Hannah wiggled down off the chair and ran, arms flailing like she was running from a fire, to greet her uncle.

He went down on one knee, and everyone saw it then—the smile, so rare, so unguarded, that it took your breath away.

Hannah hit him hard. She was not a gentle flower, my girl, more like a projectile missile, and she wrapped her little arms around his neck. He hugged her tight, rubbed her back, and then, when she wanted—and only then—did he let her go so they could talk. Kola was right behind her, but he leaned into Dane’s arm, and they hugged gentler.

When Dane stood, he had a kid in each arm and, seeing me, began walking over.

“Is he gay too?”

“No,” I told the very hopeful man lusting after my brother. “He has a wife and two kids.”

“That doesn’t mean⁠—”

“It does for Dane,” I assured him. “The man is madly in love with all of them.”

“Got it,” Milt said as Dane stepped into my personal space.

“Tell me now,” my brother demanded instead of greeting me.