Page 63 of Issued

Oh. I probably should have clarified, seeing as I just dropped my lurid past on him no more than twenty minutes ago. “Not the one who killed my father.”

Lyons extends his hand. Jim eyes it for a moment before reaching out with his own. The two men size each other up and exchange a brief handshake while my pulse returns to normal.

Jim turns back to me. “So, what’s that you were saying when I walked up? You found a picture?”

Quickly, I fill Jim in on the cloud, the DVD, and the photo that I found, linking Marco and Santoro to the man who’d supposedly randomly killed my dad.

At the end, Lyons’s eyes are wide and dark. Shaking his head, he lowers his voice. “I still don’t understand. Why the fuck would Marco do this? To us? To your dad?”

His shoulders slump and I reach out and squeeze his arm, understanding the need for comfort. “I don’t know. Has anyone else gotten hurt?”

Lyons shakes his head. “Marco’s been quiet. No one’s been visiting the bakery. Actually, Marco disappeared for a couple of days a little while back. Thought maybe he got what he deserved. But then he popped up again.”

My eyes narrow. “You’re not still trailing him personally, are you?”

Lyons turns and straightens to his full height. “Hell, yeah, I am. He betrayed us. We were his family. I’m not letting him get away with it.”

Before I can protest, Jim nods approvingly. “Best to keep track of your enemies, so that they can’t sneak up on you.”

My mouth hangs open. Why do the men in my life have to be so damn stubborn?

Lyons exhales, dragging his hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I know today of all days isn’t one to go through all of this.”

Understatement of the year. Though I should never have to go through any of this on any day, but on my birthday—the first one since my father passed—is just a cruel twist of fate. Somehow though, having Jim by my side, makes me feel better. Stronger.

Jim frowns. “What day is it?”

Lyons shuffles his feet in the sand and slides me a sideways glance as if to say “sorry.”

I sigh. “It’s no big deal, just my birthday.”

Jim touches my cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug and duck my head. “I don’t know. Because it’s really not all that important? And because it reminds me of my dad.”

“It’s important to me,” he says, his voice soft.

A short silence follows until Lyons breaks it with a brisk clap of his hands. “Why don’t we continue this conversation somewhere a little less open? I can make my world-famous hot chocolate as a birthday treat and you can tell me all about newlywed life.”

I glance around the deserted beach and wrap my arms around my waist. Lyons is right. Our house would be a lot more comfortable—not to mention, safer—place to talk about Santoro.

“You got a ride?” Jim asks Lyons, who nods. “All set then. Follow us.”

The ride back home is short and mostly silent. Until Jim reaches over and squeezes my thigh. “Please, don’t ever run out on me like that again. Especially now that I know the truth about your dad.”

“I promise.”

The rest of our conversation waits until the three of us are safely tucked away inside Jim’s kitchen. Once Lyons finishes making hot chocolate, we all carry our steaming mugs into the living room. I curl up on the sofa next to Jim, leaving Lyons with the love seat.

Jim takes a sip, and then lifts his mug at Lyons. “You weren’t joking about world famous. Shit’s damned good.”

Lyons brushes his knuckles on his chest and grins. “We all have our things we’re good at.”

“And modesty isn’t one of Lyons’s things,” I say.

“Just like cooking isn’t one of yours. Speaking of which, strong work not burning down the kitchen... yet.”

Jim snorts. “Oh, don’t worry, she tried that the first morning she was here. Her attempt to make microwave pancakes. May they rest in peace.”

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