Page 516 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

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 likehe’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 gut raw from what she’d seen.

“So, Eve. Now that you’re over at the 5th, you get to meet theauthor.” Her father said it with not a little sarcasm in his voice, and she knew exactly to whom he was referring.

Rembrandt Stone.

Famed Inspector, not only for being one of the youngest in the force, but he’d published a tell-all about his rookie year and somehow it landed on the best-seller list.

“I have a copy ofThe Last Yearon my desk,” she said. “It’s actually good.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re a fan.”

She lifted a shoulder, then glanced at Samson, who smirked, onto her game.

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